Kittens. Babes. Vixens. Virgins. Queers and heterosexuals alike. It's me Zara, your loyal lesbian internet big sister and I have a very important message for you for NYE 2017.
This is my very first New Year's Eve PSA, ever, and I feel this one in my deepest core, THE PULSE of my bleeding heart. Here goes...
Your weekend PSA (the New Year's Edition!) is as follows: Don't black out. Let's make 2017 be the year that we actually remember ringing in.
I know it sounds simple, and you're probably thinking "you're so BASIC, Zara! Gawd, maybe in 2017 I'll stop following your work if it's going to be SO BASIC!"
And you're right, it's a little basic, but hear me out.
Look we're all in a highly emotional place right now. Maybe I'm projecting my own stuff on to you (entirely possible) but I feel like the end of the year is always wildly triggering.
We're dealing with the druggie-like comedown from the sparkly lights of Christmas (do you know that the days following Christmas have some of the highest suicide rates?).
Maybe your heart is broken because of the current political state of the world. Maybe you had your heart smashed into a million little pieces this year by someone you loved with every fiber of your being.
Maybe you finally fell into the arms of love and it's as amazing as it is terrifying because you're like me, and you don't trust it when good things happen so you're battling the urge to sabotage it, and it's a total mindfuck.
Maybe you had your heartbroken AND fell in love all in the same year (also like me). Maybe you lost someone who meant a lot to you. Maybe you bought your first house and you're freaking out because you lost your job too and how the fuck are you expected to pay the bills?
Maybe you got your first tattoo and you secretly hate it. Maybe you had a Zika virus scare and it's entirely irrational because you live in Alaska, but you're still scared to death.
Maybe you got pregnant, and maybe you tried to get pregnant and that shit just didn't happen for you and you're afraid that you're physically unable.
Regardless, honey, emotions are running VERY high right now. Anytime there is a mile-marker, like New Year's Eve, a time in which we reflect on our lives and compare them to others, it's emotionally loaded AF.
When our feelings are running faster than the speed of light, you're far more vulnerable to a booze blackout. Because when things get really, really heavy we want to make them ~lighter~.
Especially on New Year's Eve. It's a sparkly time of year. Everyone is wearing sequins mini dresses and fishnet stockings and a lot of sparkly highlighter.
There are probably disco balls and glitter and chrome and SHINY RED LIPSTICK-wearing girls who just seem SO HAPPY all around you.
You're going to want to seamlessly fit into the party vibe, even though, subconsciously you're feeling some pretty deep feels baby.
Oh, so what's the best way to numb? CHAMPAGNE, girl. Champagne. You're going to want to suck back the champagne until you can't feel feelings anymore.
Only when you have so much fire burning inside of you, champagne ain't going to calm you down. Nah, it's going to wind you up!
All booze will. The next thing you know, you'll be pouring your heart out to a bartender and crying expensive black mascara tears down your face.
Which is fine.
There is no shame in drunkenly weeping. I plan on shedding a few tears this NYE, personally.
But this is where the danger comes in. The shame. You're going to be embarrassed because you cried, and you know we aren't supposed to be HUMAN, we aren't supposed to CRY, so you're going to drink some more.
Maybe even take some shots with some fuckboys who think that shots are the answer to everything.
And BOOM. It will be a total blackout.
You'll wake up in January 2017 and not remember how you rung in the new year.
"Shit did I make out with my ex? Shit, did I tell my best friend that I actually think her shitty fiance gave her a fake diamond when he proposed? Did I call my parents? WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?"
You'll start out the new year in a flood of panic. Shame shudders. Hungover anxiety. So many fears stirring in your body a damn valium won't do the trick.
And girl, I don't want you to energetically start 2017 in the throes of post-blackout stress. I don't want to myself, either.
So let's make a pact, you and I. A promise between you and your lesbian big sister: we will not black out this New Year's Eve. We will not black out this New Year's Eve.
We can drink. We can get a little wild. We can shed as many mascara tears as our broken, shattered, smashed hearts desire. But let's remember it all.
If there's one thing I want to do in 2017, it's to be awake to things. I'm tired of feeling fuzzy, like I can't properly see the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm walking through life with smeared designer sunglasses on.
Let's wipe the fucking lens clean, girls.
The world needs woke girls like you and I to be on our A-Game in 2017, because it's looking kind of scary. I'm not one of those people who thinks "how you start New Year's Eve sets up the rest of your year." That's too radical yogi fake bitch for me.
But I do think we need to give 2017 the best shot we possibly can. So, let's get a little *spiritual* this year. Let's pull our friends away from the dance floor for a minute and ask them what they want for the year. Let's throw our dreams and fantasies and wishes for 2017 into the glorious universe.
Let's wake up with a hangover on January 1st, but a good, old-fashioned hangover.
A hangover that hurts but can be remedied with some Advil — not the kind that kills your soul and makes you feel like someone has stuffed cotton balls into your skull.
Let's be clear as day so we can handle all the shit that life throws at us. Because it's up to us this year, kittens. It's up to us to take the bad guys down and fill the world with badass babes like us.
And our badass babe energy is NOT on point when we're recovering from a blackout. So that's my call to action: lez not blackout.
And if you're getting ready to take that shot, imagine me standing behind the bar at the party. I'm wearing a very expensive-looking, but very tacky, vintage Gucci onesie. It's made of lycra.
You think it's a knock-off, and it probably is. I stole it from a drag queen a few years back and haven't had the guts to wear it in public. Until tonight.
I'm pouring you a glass of water. I'm looking you dead in the eye as my really tacky, hot pink, pointed nails squeeze a fresh as fuck lemon into the tumbler. You wonder how a lesbian has such long nails. You figure I'm not getting laid, but I am, I'm just a pillow princess.
"Drink the water, girl." I energetically tell you. I don't even have to open my mouth. You know. I know.
We cheers to a glass of water and ring in the new year as clear as a bell.
(If you're tempted to get blackout, message me. I'll get you through it).