New Year

On New Year's Eve, we planned a balloon drop. For an hour and a half I pumped air into cheap balloons; then M. and Liam (our artist flatmate, whose wife Renee lives with us too) stuffed them in opaque paper tablecloths taped to the ceiling. When it was all set up, it looked as though our ceiling sagged.

The first party guest was a quiet, austerely dressed Italian girl named Arianna whom none of us had ever seen before. She stood awkwardly in the kitchen with us, refusing drink. She told Renee about her (Arianna's) novel, and Renee told Arianna about her (Renee's) paintings. Then Arianna saw the balloon drop and pointed at it.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Have you ever seen the movie Coccoon?" said Liam, deadpan.

"Water damage," said M., equally deadpan.

Unsurprisingly, Arianna didn't stick around for very long. But we were happy with that; everyone we knew and dozens we didn't know came to our apartment that night and danced 'til three in the morning. M. played the best DJ set of his amateur career and our common space was filled to capacity. I ran around in what was perhaps the most absurd outfit I've ever worn (and I have worn many absurd outfits)--it made me look like, if you can imagine this, a whorish cab-driver candy-cane. Picture hat, boots, dress pattern and dress length accordingly. An ordinary-looking but apparently rather kinky guy with glasses approached me early in the party and insinuated that he wanted me to hook up with him and his girlfriend. "What kind of guy do you like?" he asked.

We were standing in front of the DJ booth, so I pointed at M. "That's my boyfriend," I said.

"Oh. Do you have any hot girlfriends you can direct me to?"

"I don't have friends," I told him, and meant it. Why else would I be dancing in front of the DJ booth alone?

A fifty-some year old woman bopped happily a few feet away from me. I have no idea how she got there, or how she heard of our party, but she danced all night in a pink tutu and glittery blue tights. I think she garnered even more stares than I did.

At midnight, M. was too nervous to give a countdown, so he stopped the music and shouted, "IT'S MIDNIGHT! NOW, EVERYONE JUMP UP AND TEAR DOWN THE CEILING!" Everyone did, ripping madly at the white paper, and soon dozens of balloons of all colors fell to the floor. Enter the irrepressible human urge to stomp on fallen balloons: a general ruckus ensued. Amid the ruckus I slipped behind the DJ booth and M. and I shared our first new year's kiss. A good end to a relatively good year.

Now for new year's resolutions:

1. Drink less
2. Eat less
3. Exercise more
4. Get to work on time (relatedly, get to bed before 2am on weeknights)
5. Get into graduate school: largely out of my hands now, but 'twould be great.
6. Replace current set of contact lenses, which I've worn for countless months and which are probably deteriorating in my eyes as I write
7. Find a way to prevent estranged brother from killing himself
8. Spend less money: indeed, consider saving some (closely related to items 1 and 2)
9. Learn calculus
10. Plan things (vacations etc) rather than perpetually stumbling into them
11. Do something about social anxiety disorder
12. Start talking to people outside my apartment
13. Get in touch with old friends
14. Stop being a friendless steel wall of a person living vicariously through the successes of my boyfriend--I mean, be a better person

This is where I go to bed, as I'm working hard at violating (1) and (4) at this very moment.

Happy 2007, invisible Internet comrades.