New Year's Eve was a quiet affair for me... by choice. At 7:00 p. m. I met up with ratpackdude (aka Cliff), Dodger Dave and his date*, and a woman I didn't know (whose name, I'm ashamed to admit, I've forgotten--Kim, maybe?) at Mandarin Palace for a veritable orgy of Chinese food goodness, then Cliff and I, feeling it best to avoid the inherent drama of the Super-Secret Support Group Dance**, headed over to Alex's to welcome in the New Year.
I made a new friend at Alex's--Mocha the Hyperactive Weimaraner, who at first wasn't too sure about this big guy reeking of cat and cigarette smoke until he realized I was an indefatigable source of butt scratching, belly-scritching, and ear massaging, then it was all "love me, love me, LOVE ME MORE AND NEVER, EVER STOP!"
TV, Times Square, Dick Clark, dropped ball...
And outside, right on cue, the Richmond Volunteer Militia opened fire***, because, let's face it, what else says "Happy New Year" better than several hundred rounds of high-powered ammunition?
We ended the evening by watching The Proposition and thus continuing my five year tradition of viewing wildly inappropriate movies during the early hours of January 1st.
One more thing. I sent a text message to my friend Sarah jokingly asking what outrages she was committing for New Year's Eve. Her reply?
"Killing babies and turning tricks, you know, the usual."
Welcome to 2008!
Oh, and Sid-the-Cat (annoyed that I'm using the lolcat-i-cizer) wants to remind everyone...
* Who was young and attractive and vivacious as hell, but won my heart when she started rambling on about plate tectonics and physical chemistry. There's something about a woman with an in-depth knowledge of quantum mechanics that makes my pulse quicken!
** Every single time I've attended this abomination someone always manages to get his or her ass out of joint over something ridiculously trivial like who didn't hug whom or who was paying more attention to whom or who was being "inappropriate" or whatever. You'd think we were in middle school.
*** Thank tupelo for sharing the love.
2 comments:
Sid is very Shelly-esque, except for the bit of color on his head. AND I have no doubt that Shelly is wishing the very same New Year's wish: she will not touch wet food EXCEPT for Fancy Feast Tuna Feast. And that she wants every single day. Except she would get even MORE zaftig if we gave in to her begging.
I think our neighborhood has officially gentrified--at least, our section of it. This is the second year in a row we have not heard any gunshots at midnight, although through force of habit we still dive into the bunker (also known as the floorspace between the sofa and the coffee table) at the stroke of midnight.
Not that the sofa would stop a bullet, but...
Happy New Year... May it be filled with much wicked enjoyment.
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