Organizing your writing life

HAPPY NEW YEAR: Defying my gut instinct, I somehow managed to go to two New Year's Eve parties last night. I was heavily medicated and not so much feeling bad, just blah. I went up to Karen and Caroline's house in north Atlanta for a dinner party. It was mostly faculty folks from Georgia Tech and Oglethorpe, but it was nice to be included and I had some lovely conversations about travel, etc. Everyone provided food by bringing their favorite take out. Of course, I forgot this part of the invitation so I lightly mooched off everyone else's food. Actually, I wasn't very hungry because of the cold, so it was mostly a liquid dinner for me.

After that, I went over to a party being thrown by a friend of BFF Tina. There was a lot of booze and drugs and folks going back and forth to the bathroom to...ahem...powder their noses. I had some kind of vodka and Sprite concoction, which I nursed all evening while everyone else drank. We finally gathered around the tv with glasses of champagne just in time to see Dick Clark mumble his way through the countdown for the ball drop in Times Square, while Atlanta held it's yawn-inducing "Peach Drop" (that's the photo). At about 11:59, I realized the whole partying thing is so 1990s. I did my fair share of boozing, drugs and stumbling in at 9 a.m. from a night of debauchery. It just ain't my speed anymore. I really wanted to be at home curled up under a blanky on the couch with some hot tea and watching videos on You Tube (Yeah, I know, I know...pathetic). My only New Year's resolution for 2008 is to not go to anymore New Year's Eve parties. The social pressure to be somewhere with someone is a load of old shit. I'm grown. I can sit on my couch in my underwear on New Year's Eve if I damn well please. 

Right after midnight, we heard lots of fireworks going off in the street. The house is in what real estate agents like to call a "transitional neighborhood," which means black people are being priced out so whitey can move back in. At some point, one of the party guests said the fireworks sounded more like gunfire. Sure enough, there was a group of homies out in the intersection with their arsenal firing into the air. You could see muzzle flashes in the darkness and the report sounded like cannon fire. My car was parked on the street, so I fully expected it to be riddled with bullet holes or dings from falling shells. Some of the party guests thought it was so cool and ran out to watch the gun play. While they were reloading, I ducked and ran to my car and got out of there. If that old myth about what you're doing at 12:01 will be a harbinger for the rest of the year, my 2008 will be filled with the sound of small arms fire. Huzzah!

2008 also marks the fifth anniversary of this blog and this is my 805th post. Wowsers. What I'm really excited about is the return of American Idol on Jan. 16. Oh, yes, kids...I'll be doing my weekly rant and rave over the show everyone loves to hate. Bring on the next Sanjaya!