New Year's Eve is decidedly my least favorite holiday. Every year I silently decide to un-celebrate it by staying home in jeans and intending to be so engrossed in a book or movie that the stroke of midnight goes unnoticed. "Too much unnecessary self-reflection! Bad for your brain!", says the girl with the daily blog about herself. Besides, champagne gives me a wicked hangover.
So of course, around 9 or so, I always start itching for social stimuluation and decide that maybe I could put on some mascara after all. Maybe I could drink a beer or six. Maybe I would like to be with friends, to send the old year packing and make pie-in-the-sky promises for the new year. Because that's what you do.
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