Fuck The New Year's Kiss

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The New Year’s Kiss. The “When Harry Met Sally” moment when the clock strikes at midnight and you kiss that person you’re going to be with forever and ever until you both choke on your own spit in your sleep and die together. Beautiful.

I’m calling bullshit. I’m getting a restraining order for New Year’s Eve. New Year’s eve, rather like Halloween, is one of the most stressful and disappointing nights of the entire year and I blame sitcoms and Trump. And Ted Cruz, that guy sucks too.

You have two choices. The first is a crowded and overpriced bar where you can barely hear your friends and you can’t get drunk fast enough because the line to the bar manages to be longer than the room is wide. Or a party which could be fun if you happen to know someone throwing one who has decent booze, space, music, and attendees. Who in the hell has that? I’ve been to one such party and it was a fluke.

Even if you do find the perfect venue the pressure is the same: bring or find someone to kiss at midnight. It better be someone good because that kiss sure as shit better be the most mind-blowing kiss of your entire life. A smooch-a-thon to end all others. The be-all, end-all of make outs.

More likely is you don’t find someone to have that perfect kiss with and you leave with an “F” for the year. Or you have someone and you do kiss but their lips were a little dry because you’ve been drinking all night and the kiss was a little rough and sloppy because of the drinking. The failing grade peeks it’s head around the corner again. Or you find someone to kiss but you leave your dateless friends in the process then your kiss turns out to be with a Trump voter who believes strongly in the power of tongue but you can’t go back to your friends because they were butthurt at your abandonment and ubered home without you.

Save yourself the headache. These big moments are almost always a letdown because they’re not worthy of being a big moment. Your entire year is not going to be summed up and packed away with a smack of the lips. You’re not going to ride into the next 12 months on a blazing stallion of kiss-fueled glory. Stay home, have a drink and watch the ball drop with your friends. Heck, watch it alone then go to sleep early. Have an earth-shattering kiss on January 17th. I hear it’s gonna be huge this year.

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