New Year? Sure. Naughty night? Nah.

I remember the days when not having plans on New Year's Eve seemed like the end of the world and the possibility of going up to NYC to be herded like cattle and contained within fencing to watch an overrated lighted disco ball drop down a metal pole seemed like an exciting adventure.


Now? Not so much.


It's not that I'm old or decrepit. It's not because I'm a parent that has her priorities in order, either. Though I do secretly pride myself on that attribute. I blame the fact that I've had much better and far more thrilling experiences on pretty much any other night of the year.


I've been disappointed in this world renowned party hardy holiday far too many times to ever bank on bliss being created during the official end of one year and the ever anticlimactic transition into another. It's really just another day. The only difference is the roads are filled with drunk drivers and the streets are packed with drug addled mischief makers looking for trouble.


No thanks. I'd rather stay home tucked safely, and soberly, in my bed.