Sunday Roast: New Year's expectations

Sunday Roast: New Year’s expectations

Jan 1, 2012 |  by  |  Art
About the author
Sabrina (who is old as fuck) has more energy than a Duracell bunny, and uses it to dance in the newest clubs, eat too much junk food, play all the videogames, examine apps and shop - even though she has more than enough clothes. Sorry Earth.

It’s Sunday and you’re hungover, angry at the world, at bartenders and most of all: yourself. No worries, we feel the same. That’s why we’ve invented Sunday Roast. A bi-weekly conversational ‘column’. A written one. Online. Every other Sunday, Mark and Sabrina vent about the horrible burdens and ungodly mishaps of their 21st century life. Usually reserved only for bars, we bring our problems right into your home. Sharing is sexy, and a problem shared is a problem halved.. You are cordially invited to our pity party.

Last week’s Sunday Roast here.

Dear Mark,

So sorry, but today I can not enlighten you about girls and their photos. This is a Sunday Roast exclusive: I’m writing this to you with an actual hangover. A bit from the booze, but even more from the expectations that 2012 is bringing. Everything has to be better than in the last year; you have to be funnier, smarter, more organized, thinner, and more happy. You want to travel, you want to find love, you want to work out more often, you want that new iPhone. It’s failed before it’s even started.

Before twelve ‘o clock I’m almost always happy that the year is over! A fresh start awaits where I will be a better person. The person I secretly want to be. (Like this year: I spent 150 euros at IKEA on boxes, so that this year I will be organized.) At midnight I’m extremely happy, excited and then comes the booze. And more booze, and dancing, and more booze, and a random dude at a house party. When I wake up for the first time in the new year, I’ll be hungover, unhappy and unaware of what happened those first hours of my ‘fresh start’. I’ve probably spent a fair amount of time with my good friend, the toilet, and still those damn pants don’t fit.

When I wake up for the first time in the new year, I’ll be hungover, unhappy and unaware of what happened those first hours of my ‘fresh start’

So you drag yourself out of bed to realize nothing has changed. It’s just a date. The change of a day, which happens every 24 hours. So I really don’t get how people all over the world have to party at the same time. The pressure is too high. That’s why I’m starting a new tradition. I’m not spending an ungodly amount of money on a ticket for a lame party (that normally would have been 15 bucks) with people I don’t know dressed in sequins from head to toe. I’m hosting a ‘Lame Year’s Eve’. Wearing my sweats, watching bad television, stuffing my face with Bugles filled with cream cheese and sleeping. It will be like any other night only tomorrow I may actually still enjoy my resolutions, my fresh start. I’ll be singing in the shower, and have no black –designer– bags under my eyes.

Yes, you heard correctly, I’m staying inside. I’m not doing anything, a good night’s rest is what I need! …. I just got a text message. For a house party. I might go, people are expecting me…. Ah, yes, I’ll go.

Fuck New Year’s Eve, some things never change.



P.S. Happy New Year, I hope we can do a meet and greet with Candice Swanepoel in 2012. She’ll never be out of my mind! Challenge accepted!

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