(Drunk babies are funny.)
I phoned a friend this morning, to wish her a Happy New Year. I asked what she was doing.
“Uh, cleaning?” she said, in a tone usually reserved for dull-eyed, mouth-breathing children.
“Oh, are you guys having a party?”
“No. You can’t go into the New Year with a dirty house. It’s bad luck, bad karma, bad juju, just….bad.”
Apparently, there’s a whole mess of superstitions concerning New Year’s. And unfortunately, I’m fucking up on all accounts.
You’re not supposed to go into the New Year with any debts. Bwah ha ha….I’m gonna need a minute to collect myself…
The first person to enter your home is supposed to be a man, dark, tall, good-looking. Well hell, yeah, I wish, but the first person likely to cross my threshold is the pizza guy. Who fulfills only one of those requirements. Maybe.
Nothing is supposed to leave the home on New Year’s Day, to avoid letting luck out. I’m telling you right now, I’ve got 2 sick kids, I’m sick, we’re going through a box and a half of Kleenex every hour. I’m not letting the snot pile up. Letting snot lay around your house cannot be lucky.
At the stroke of midnight, you’re supposed to open the doors and windows, to let the old year out completely. It’s gonna be -25 (minus 12 for you farenheiters) tonight. Fuck. That.
So when I complain that 2009 is craptastic, remind me of this post, and how I brought it all on myself, won’t you?
(Seriously, though, Happy New Year to all of you. Have a lovely time tonight. Take a cab home, or pass out where you fall. And for god’s sakes kiss someone.)