New Year's Eve sucks as a holiday once you're past the age of eight. Some may disagree. A holiday about drinking and kissing and staying up late—what could be better? Just about anything. Too much pressure! Because you have to kiss and you have to stay up late. Plus it's cold out. Plus there are no costumes or presents. Plus the success or failure of this night is seen as a positive or negative forecast for the entire upcoming year. Pressure pressure pressure pressure!
Those pre-eight years, those are the good ones. You max out on sparkling grape juice and snacks well before midnight, pass out on the couch, and get carried to your room by someone who loves you. Really, aren't most of our adult New Year's celebrations just attempts to emulate that situation? Drink, pass out, get carried home. It's a creepy fun-house mirror version that's achievable as an adult, of course.
I'm too lazy for New Years Eve. I can't be bothered to wear heals and a dress in the freezing, snowy cold. I don't want to party. I don't even want to leave the house. I'd like to read and listen to music and maybe bake some cookies. But for some reason, quietly ringing in the new year alone at home, content and warm, seems like the most pitiful thing you could do. If Christmas is a holiday about goodwill towards man, New Years Eve is a popularity contest spurred on by misanthropy.
That said, I'm really hopeful about this year's plans.