christmas was spent with my sister and mm at home in SF. It was both incredibly sad (as I was expecting) and at the same time, surprisingly happy (as I was not expecting). We all made a huge Christmas dinner that was impossible to finish in one sitting. After a bottle of wine and several cups of spiced apple cider, we opened gifts, passed out, woke up and watched tv and just generally hung out together. It sorta felt like Christmas–just a different sort of one. ————
New Year’e Eve involved last-minute preparations to go to one of the zillions of 007 James Bond-themed parties in the city. We chose the one w/a reasonable cover, as we have all more or less experienced shelling out hundreds of bucks a night only to be extremely disappointed.
We met some dude in front of the club (shady) and purchased tickets for the event. I asked if they were expecting a lot of people and he said that he had sold 4 to some people in oakland, 9 to some people in sausalito, and 3 to some people in the city. So, um, including us, what, like 20 people tops? On a normal night, in a normal year, I would have cared, but I didn’t. The potential absurdity and pathetic-ness of the night made it somewhat amusing.
At 9pm our time, my sis turned on CNN and we watched the ball drop in NYC. I didn’t really expect to feel much of anything, but all of a sudden I found myself completely choked up. Then I went back to my room to cry.
I guess the thing about new years is that its such an obvious end to something, and that made me sad. It made me sad to think of my dad forever trapped in 2006. And a part of me that saw and felt and touched him was also there too. I didn’t want to leave that behind, even though obviously it’s an inevitable fact of life. I thought that maybe if I still had the old year, that I’d still have a piece of my dad. No matter how crazy that seems, when you lose such a huge piece of your life and yourself, you will hold on to just about anything.
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Finally, out on the town. C drove. We passed the club slowly and cautiously and saw the most…um…scary group of people outside. Fuck. We drove around nervously, found parking, took a deep breath, and went in.
It actually was not as bad as it seemed, in fact, the crowd was more young and more diverse than most clubs Ive visited in the city in general. That is not to say that the crowd was hot. We are in SF still, remember.
As the night progressed, and I became drunker, I did all of the following: kiss about a million dudes (quantity over obvious quality), danced on the stripping pole w/C only to get gang raped by a zillion boys, took a picture (and ok, kissed) this total Malibu’s Most Wanted dude who we called “money jacket” bc he had on this leather jacket w/$100 dollar bills all over it, made 2 dudes kiss total American Pie style, drunk dialed like every single person i knew and told them happy new year fucker. I actually had fun, and when the clock struck 12 this time around, in my time zone, I didn’t feel so sad.
We all stumbled home completely wasted. I had the most to drink bc by the end of the night I was literally grabbing shots out of random peoples hands and drinking them as if they had bought it for me. I don’t know how the fuck we got back, but Im surprised we didnt get pulled over. The entire time, I had my head out the window, yelling at people, and taking their blurred pictures.
At home, C and I ate tomatoes (???) and white castle hamburgers. In Vegas, C was obsessed w/eating white castle burgers, and we tried to get Spike to get them for us. He kept saying there weren’t any white castles in Cali. So, after we had the burgers cooked, I took a picture of them w/my camera phone. Then, under C’s insistence, I wrote, “This is what a fucking white castle burger looks like you fucker.” He texted me the next day. He thought it was funny.
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By some grace of God, I did not puke. And I didn’t have much of a hangover. How is that even possible?
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The first day of the new year, I had this dream:
I was back in architecture school, reluctantly, surrounded by kiss-asses that I hated. I was also involved in some real-world/road-rules challenge type thing with these people where an xtreme-sports type is hosting the show. Our first challenge involved swimming in a body of dark, murky water that contained live sharks, snapping turtles, and alligators. I was fucking freaked out.
I watched as the other contestants swam and I thought, there is no way in hell I could do this. I rarely ever feel that way because usually I will try most anything. This, however, paralyzed me.
The more people that went, and the closer it became to being my turn, the more I freaked out. Finally, I was standing at the edge of the water, and I realized that the water was, in fact, clear. Not a great thing though bc it allowed me to see all the various sea creatures swimming around.
I stood at the edge for a long time and then something inside of me said to let it go. Then I slipped into the water as if I had done it my entire life, and swam the entire way. A snapping turtle did bite my leg, but I actually felt really really free.
The Xtreme sports host picked me up in a van at the end of the swim. In the car, he interviewed me. “Is architecture what you want to do with the rest of your life?” I didn’t want to admit this to the cameras, or to myself, but I responded, “no, its not.” Admitting it was strange to hear. “What do you want to do then.” Another thing I didn’t want to admit bc in my head it is both ridiculous and impossible, “I want to be a writer.”
Xtreme sports host looked at me and said, “Why don’t you write then?” I responded, “Because I don’t have a degree in writing and I dont have any experience, and I’m good at architecture, I’ve done it my whole life. I don’t know anything else.”
To which he said, “Sure you do. You know how to write. Everything else is just an excuse.”
