So this year, for the first time in my life, I will ring in the new year at work. And to tell you the truth, I'm kind of looking forward to it.

I think New Year's Eve is my least-favorite holiday. I've had very few positive New Year's experiences. Last year at Starfire's house was fun, up until the point where the party (or at least some of the party) moved to Luce, at which time it was definitely necessary to give up and go home. I'm not going to explain in detail all the reasons why I hate ringing in the New Year, but in general it has to do with two things.

The lesser of these is that New Year's Eve, like St. Patrick's Day, is Amateur Night at the bars. The world is filled with people who normally do not drink often and do not know have the slightest knowledge of drunk ettiquette. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You've had 8 martinis and you're the king of the world. Ok. But this isn't so bad, because there's always one or two of these in any establishment on any given weekend night.

The worst is the feeling of desperation among the partygoers. That facial expression, where you can just read the secret, dark, thoughts: I have to have a good time tonight. I must have fun. Am I a fun person? How can I have fun? Oh, God, let me please be a fun person tonight.

I think the ideal New Year's party, for me, would have a cast of about 12-15. None of the desperate, lameoids would be invited, only fun people, like you for instance. And there would be a sworn oath to never give up the ship and go to a bar. And no one would drive home drunk.

Another reason I'm looking forward to working the New Year's shift is that I take perverse pleasure in doing something productive and wholesome when most people are out getting hammered and participating in debaucherous behavior. Even last year, I didn't drink much at all, and felt great when I sprang out of bed the next morning with the knowledge that most of the world was nursing a vicious hangover and nauseating sexual regrets. It's sick, I know, but it makes me feel like a good citizen. Besides, drinking gallons and losing all your morals is much more fun, like, say, on a random Wednesday in August.

This year, I will briefly look up from my computer screen to holler Happy New Year. There is no one at my job I would like to kiss, and if I did I would probably be fired, so that's not a problem, either. Then at 5, I'll finish my shift, come home, drink 0-3 celebratory cocktails, and bask in my sick pleasure, knowing that somewhere out there at that very moment, a naked stranger is puking in your hamper. Meanwhile, I'm safe and happy at home, watching the fucken Smurfs.

I need help.
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