Blow my whistle, baby
or
2007 is the new 1999



I had an awesome week on St. George Island near Apalachicola in the Florida panhandle, and maybe I'll post pictures and tales of sand in the tent tomorrow. (I'm not making promises, people; remember that the Goonies' house photos from Astoria in November have yet to make their internet debut.)



But for now, let us examine how I kicked 2006 to the curb and embraced 2007 as my new, much younger lover.



I spent most of the day of December 31, 2006 riding in the Blue Bomber from St. George to Atlanta. Around Columbus, Georgia I turned my phone on and checked my voicemail for the first time since leaving for the beach. The messages were copious and promising: whereas I had not a single New Year's Eve party to attend when I left Atlanta, by yesterday afternoon I had at least five offers, all of them valid. I was pleased, but a little concerned about the sheer physics of hopping from place to place. Thankfully, I would not be doing my party hopping alone, for my Dear Old Friend Patrick (DOFP) was in town for the weekend and, as all good gay boyfriends should, promised to be my date for the night.



The night started out a little slowly and clunkily, with dinner at La Fonda and then a quick backtrack home to fetch my forgotten cell phone. DOFP and I then made our first stop of the evening at Rachael's slightly hush-hush apartment party. There was some awful energy drink/beer called SPARKS that had me crying for a PBR, dear god, please! There was also a kid I went to high school with and hadn't seen in a good five years, but who I knew hung out with various Rachaelites. It was great talking to him and hearing about who was finally out of the closet (and who should probably go back into the closet and never show their face again), reminiscing about hanging out at each other's houses, and trying to remember just how many people were on that bed (yeah, I've been bad from the start...) He even asked if my dad "still had that old blue van" (aka the aforementioned Blue Bomber). Good times, good times.



Since Rachael didn't have a tv on at her house, we all sort of guessed when midnight occurred by the times on our various cell phones. I didn't kiss anyone or spill champagne down my dress (or scream, "I can name everyone in this motherfucker!"), which officially made NYE 2006/2007 the tamest one yet. DOFP and I then headed for MJQ to partake of the 12:01AM pouring of alcohol (Georgia still has blue laws that don't let "bars"--establishments that don't serve food-- pour on Sunday, so legal pouring couldn't begin until after the first stroke of midnight). We danced, we got hit in the head with blow-up beach toys, I ran into another long-lost classmate in line for the ladies' room, and I had an amusing moment with a very short man and my whistle, which if you ever want to hear about I'll be happy to tell you in person. (It's a story that doesn't work well without the visual element.) Clubbed out, we headed for the After After Party at the house in VA-Highlands that will forever be "Marilyn's House" to me.



The After After Party was the best party of the night, and within seconds of ascending the front steps I saw several faces I hadn't seen since NYE 2005/2006. DOFP even ran into a girl he went to elementary school with, thus cementing our night as "casetheplace & DOFP's Awesome Timewarp Adventure." We partied until about 5AM, when just about everyone I knew hit the wall of tiredness and we all made our yawny ways home.



Stopping my consumption of alcohol early in the evening at 1:45 and drinking nothing but water after that was the secret to my headache-free day today. I was tired, yes, but functioning. DOFP and I did some shopping, had dinner, and chilled.


Tomorrow I go to work and DOFP drives back to Statesboro. And Gerald R. Ford gets buried, and so 2007 begins.

###

Ho ho ho




My plans to one day dress up as Angel for Christmas will not be thwarted. Next year, people! Next year! And I will spend Christmas day alone in a bar, too, just as I've always threatened...



At least this year I didn't have a nervous breakdown in the Home Depot parking lot in Macon, Georgia.



Tomorrow I head for the beach.

And what the hell is up for New Year's Eve? Is anyone throwing a total throw-down party or what?? ###

In love again




It's true. I'm in love again. With my city. With Atlanta.




I could chalk it up to the gorgeous weather the past week (high of 70 almost everyday with blue, blue skies) or the fact that the semester just ended, or that I'm at a good "moving on" point from the divorce, or that I'm back on the dating market, or a million other things. In actuality, I think my reborn love begins where all those millions of reasons meet.



It feels great to love Atlanta again. I mean, where but this city could I have sat next to a former WWE Women's Champion at 1 in the morning while watching ridiculous puppet antics and having bras tossed at me? I mean, really. Can you think of another city where all of that is possible? I can't. And then later, at a house party at 3 am, watching drunk dipshits nearly blow their hands off with roman candles brought in from North Carolina, I had fabulous conversation about the history of this city, about the local NPR news announcer, about writing and promise and hope for the future. Where but here is that possible? I tell you, it feels good to be happy in the geography of where I am right now, right this instant. It feels good.

###

Japanese alcoholic beverage made from fermented rice



After a running thought that I couldn't let go on the proper way to spell 'saki', I looked it up and discovered that both 'sake' and 'saki' are correct. And, 'saki' is also a small arboreal monkey of tropical South America with long hair and bushy nonprehensile tail.

Now go forth with your newfound knowledge and wow your friends at trivia.

###

The latest in 'Is this really my life?' news




Yes! Finals are over! Relief and joy is all around. Mostly. But not all is rosy and wonderful in my life. Yes, it's true, the friend who talked me into plunking down money and joining her in the dark, polluted waters of internet dating has, a mere 2 weeks into this bullshit, found a man. So that whole, "It'll be way more fun if we're doing this together and can compare battle stories" rah-rahing has turned into me trying to call her to hang out and being told she's going to the strip club with her new boyfriend, proving once again that you can't trust straight women; they'll sell you out at the first sign of interest from a boy with a dog and Christmas lights in his front yard.



Ok, all bitterness aside, I'm really happy for her. Sorta.



Then there's my friend who I went bath fixture and paint sample shopping with earlier in the week. She and her man are slated to close on their fixer-upper on the 20th, and my eyes are so green with envy I can hardly see straight. Real estate, people. Real estate! She's managed, in the words of another friend, to "con" some man into buying real estate with her. So. Jealous.



The worst is that every middle-aged woman who hears I'm internet dating says, "Don't do that! I have just the son/nephew/grandson for you." I start asking questions, and inevitably what comes out is that he's a) unemployed or b) a waiter and c) he still lives at home. What does this say about me as a person, that everyone is trying to set me up with their loser sons, not the ones who are 2nd-year-law students or work in high finance? The middle-aged women's explanation? "He's creative, like you..."



Oh, I get it. 'Creative' means 'undateable'. Thanks.



My personal life aside, I think I did really well in my classes this fall, despite experiencing XTREME burnout, and work is wonderful, as always. Have I mentioned I LOVE my job? I am a valued, appreciated team mate, and I now even have my own business cards. Maybe I'll just become one of those stereotypical balls-busting career women, feeding off the weakness of others to further her own ambition. Then, while no man would want to date me, at least I'd be making enough money to buy all the real estate my little bitter heart could ever desire.



(Considers this...)

###

Almost done with Finals Week






Things I will not miss about college when I finally finish this stupid undergrad degree I was supposed to have finished three-and-a-half years ago:





--18-year-olds.


--Professors who became professors because they never wanted to grow up, and desperately want the 18-year-olds to think they're still cool, but really, the 18-year-olds only added them as a facebook friend because they were hoping it would help them get an A, and it totally did.


--Overpriced vending machines that eat your dimes.


--The humiliation of discovering the book you paid $95 + tax for in August is only worth $9.95 at book buyback in December.


--Finals Week.

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