emma b. says

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

and that hiccup, last night at 40,000, tonight at 80,000 souls washing up on beaches, rotting under the sun.

it's cold here, cold tonight. Nothing to do in the office, I watched the burgeoning storm form from the window.

T minus two long days at the office 'till the state sponsored drink a-thon that is NYE.

And here I am still partying like it was 1999.

It is New Year's Eve 1999, I have finished bartending, I am covered in silly string. My lover gives me a ride to the party where I am to join my friends and my husband. I only hope there is enough drugs, because I am wearing him on my clothes and I am certain that I reek of lust. And D and I smug in our lovers skirt each other like pick pockets, revel in the artifice of that much cocaine and the sky is beginning to lighten in the east. And in 1999 when rosy cheeked dawn broke over the bay D and I with our convenient friends tracked the coming sun under Sutro towers with a bottle of crappy drugstore champagne and insufficient cigarettes, and I have trouble grasping that that was six years ago.

NYE 2000, such an anticlimax, I think I spent he better part of it in tears.

And here we are five years later, the rain keeps blowing my pilot light out and I have zero expectation for the New Year, the best I can hope for is a connived bump from someone's zealously guarded stash and maybe a furtive kiss, which means that I am getting old, or dowdy, or, god help me, both.

Side bar to former spouse, D, I watched Collateral tonight. SOOOOO much better than Heat, don't shoot me, K? also, if you loved Heat, and I know that you do, lordy do I know that you do, see Infernal Affairs, it rawks.


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