An Open Letter to Epic New Year’s Eve Plans

I’ve had enough of your tricks. For this year, at least.

Dear Epic New Year’s Eve Plans,

You annoy me. But I love you. I find you obnoxious. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Is this confusing?

Well now you’ll understand what we feel when facing another flip of the calendar, believing that you will, more than any of the other 364 nights out of the year, be worth all the build-up and excitement you’ve commanded. You’re a modern-day ark of expectations: if you build it, we will fall into it. You’ve even positioned yourself in the title of one of this year’s biggest movies. Props to your PR Team.

So we depend on you to lead us into the best year of our lives. Of course, we also depend on a really fantastic dress, but the fantastic dress can be used again. You’re useful for a few hours, tops. Sometimes, ten seconds. I’m not blaming you, though. It’s a choice I make on my own, a choice that comes partly as a result of all the dull days I’ve had this year, the bad days, and the worse nights. And partly from all the times I’ve watched When Harry Met Sally. I don’t even like Billy Crystal. But that final scene. Magic.

Even in years where my bad and worse days are thinly numbered, you’ll still look like the smartest, most attractive option out there. Despite that you’ll cost me more than an indulgent friend’s birthday party, build stress levels to rival coordinating the entrance of a drunken wedding party, and rev up my expectations harder than Prom Night 2001, I still end up falling for your ploys each year. But you’re really no different from any of these great expectation-filled days. Someone will always cry over another year passing, someone always passes out early. And just like my junior prom, the end-of-the-night ritual ends in disappointment and unwanted face slobber. In fact, that’s a best-case scenario.

I need a break from you, Epic New Year’s Eve Plans. Maybe later down the line, when I have an obscene amount of cash to throw away, and the type of throw-away friends who I don’t care about seeing upset, I’ll come back to find you again. Maybe you’ll even live up to your epic surname, and I’ll redact this open letter and commit myself to polishing your semi-tarnished reputation as overrated noise.

Or maybe I’ll invest my hopes and assets elsewhere. You might do well with a little bit of competition. How does the phrase “Epic New Moon’s Eve Plans” sound to you?

Awesome party image [via]

About the author


a coastal-hopping country-come-cosmo girl who can be found getting her feet dirty all around Brooklyn and writing all over the Internet. She is the probably lovechild of Jay-Z and Dolly Parton. Follow her on Twitter @karinabthatsme

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