Should old acquaintance be forgot…

December 31st. It is one of the most terrifying days of the entire year. We are a society of clamberers, feeling the intense and passionate, almost vital need to be attached to someone’s ass on this day, especially at the very stroke of midnight. I remember in high school the girls and I always made a point to kiss the cutest boy we could find, that is if we were single, to kiss at this momentous moment.

This, in retrospect, seems silly now. I opted to spend New Year’s Eve, for the most part, alone. Drew and I did curry and drank some Indian beers in the afternoon but I didn’t even bother hinting that I wanted to spend ‘the big moment’ with him. Besides, I knew he was working graveyard that evening (who does that?) and Vincent was with Camille, of course. Who, I might add, I have started warming up to.

Vincent and I finally got her drunk a few weeks ago. I got so inebriated that I actually admitted it was weird that she was always wearing pearls, something I immediately regretted, but she was really cool about it. She took them off and threw them, then started on a rant about the White Album, and how it changed her life, which was cool if not somewhat random. She just kept singing “Sexy Sadie” and smoothing her dress down. Who knew? She’s kind of a character when she’s not being uptight.

But I digress. It’s January 1, 2008. Another fucking year. It’s suddenly everybody’s birthday. Some people rejoice, reciting clichéd resolutions, diet plans and self-help psychobabble, some people see it coming and detest it vehemently, usually swearing a lot and complaining about how old they are, or how the year in particular sounds preposterous (“I just got used to writing 07 on my checks!” blah blah). I fall somewhere in between. More of a ‘who cares’ attitude. So I did what any normal, ambivalent, unattached person would do. I ate well, drank the world dry and got into a fight.

Don’t you think it’s rude to cut someone off on New Year’s Eve? I wasn’t even that messed up, and I was by myself, minding my own goddamned business. I was eating unagi hand rolls at Blowfish, getting blitzed, celebrating the big occasion in my own small way. And the waitress straight up refused to serve me another drink. I could barely understand what she was saying so that didn’t help either. I threw a bit of a fit and a mouthy heavyset chick got involved. One thing led to another, and we ended up having a bit of a scene in front of the restaurant.

Although I suppose it’s true, I was in a bad mood. I had noticed Johnny and the pink girl in his car from the bus on the way to Santana Row. She was wearing a matching pink peacoat and grinning like an idiot. I thought less of Johnny almost instantaneously… doesn’t he know that only stupid people smile that much? And what abut this pink business? He was a black, white, navy, gray kind of guy back in my day. I imagined her underclothes, probably all frilly and lacy. She was a bush girl for sure. A dumb, pink, bush girl. What the hell was he thinking?

Looks like Mouthy was just looking for a fight. She ripped my new shirt I just got in the mail from Victoria’s Secret. I could only assume that my drinking or arguing with the waitress was curbing her appetite; she was missing out on the fistfuls of raw fish or something. So Mouthy and I brawled. I was relieved I was wearing a fuller coverage bra so my tits weren’t flapping around like some Jerry Springer episode. But hers popped out a bit, as she was wearing a shirt that’s a bit too small (to flaunt the ‘assets’ I’m sure). I ended up with a bloody lip, and she got a nose a little different shaped than before. We were both pretty bruised on our arms (oh how girls fight) and out of breath. Her date was turned on and the waitress was in shock. Then she looked at me, you know the kind of look you give someone before they say checkmate, and sneered “Buy you a drink?” I brushed myself off a bit. “Fucking A.” The waitress didn’t say shit.

That was an interesting bus ride home. You know you don’t have to pay past 7 on New Year’s Eve? I took the bus all over goddamn town, leaning on the pole, talking to the driver, an attractive older Latino man with a nice smile. Bus drivers have some good stories, and most of the time people don’t ask. He had a good sense of humor and had a lot to say. We chatted and laughed till around ten, when the route was done and everyone was gone. He dropped me off at my house because it was cold and I had neglected my jacket at the restaurant. We shook hands, said Happy New Year and went on our separate ways. I imagined him coming home to a house that smelled like cinnamon, a fire crackling in the fireplace, his kids excited to see him because they know he’s got illegal fireworks to celebrate the New Year, his wife smiling knowingly, adjusting her bra strap, new, emerald, silk, for later.

I played a Miles Davis record, drank a bottle of wine and fell asleep in Vincent’s chair. I didn’t even make it for Ryan Seacrest’s butchering of the ball dropping.

Today was different. Sitting in the bathtub, letting my aching body soak, letting the bubbles fizz away and pop on my back, I started to hum an old song from the Screams from the Balcony days. Remembering how we wrote it, at my parent’s house in the garage, high as shit on Cisco and my dad’s weed. Johnny was watching, smoking cigars, drawing. I felt inspired.

In my towel, I called Sage. I was suddenly energized, excited, hopeful. The words came out so organically, so fluidly, that it felt like I said them all the time. “Do you want to jam?” We arranged a time and day and didn’t stay on the phone all that much longer.

Fucking A, this was the New Year and it felt like my birthday.


2 Responses to “Should old acquaintance be forgot…”

  1. January 2, 2008 at 1:23 pm

    An interesting night, and surely trumps mine, though I must admit I’m glad I didn’t get into a fight. I just got completely wasted with the help of my bar tending buddy before passing out at his place after helping his girlfriend drag his much too (but less than me) Inebriated ass home. The next day was all puking and naps.

    I’m glad you came away with less injury than you could have sustained and the ‘girls’ were able to stay in hiding, though I imagine onlookers were disappointed.

    As far as too small shirts, it seems the people that wear them most are showing off assets nobody really wants to see.

    Happy New Year, Jolie Porter.

  2. 2 B-Town
    May 7, 2008 at 9:48 pm

    ‘I was relieved I was wearing a fuller coverage bra so my tits weren’t flapping around like some Jerry Springer episode.’

    ‘You know you don’t have to pay past 7 on New Year’s Eve? I took the bus all over goddamn town, leaning on the pole, talking to the driver…’

    Screams from the Balcony? Rock on!!

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