New Year, Nu Shooz

So, apparently today is an official holiday. You know, subway holiday schedule (i.e. like two trains an hour), no mail, schools and banks closed, the Burger Heaven and Pret a Manger on my office's block are closed, even the corner coffee cart and produce stand guys stayed home today. And yet I’m at work. I think this is a horrible mistake and that the powers that be screwed up the schedule. I realize we got last week off, but there’s still something cruel about making us work this morning. I was at least looking forward to my Monday bagel, the only thing that motivates me at the beginning of the week, but the bagel guy must’ve stayed in bed. No free breakfasts in the new year. I could deal, really, but it’s particularly painful since it’s my last day at this job. (I am having minute mean spirited fun screening applicants for my position. There are three interviewees coming in today, and I’m pettily relishing one candidate because at least two years ago, before I even started library school, I joined the Pratt mailing list and there was a post about a really great sounding apt., strangely enough in the neighborhood I now dwell and get irritated by, so I inquired directly via email and the poster never responded. I have always remembered this email address because I’m elephantine and never forget a diss or wrong-doing, no matter how miniscule the infraction. This person ended up being in one of my classes, which I deduced from a sign up sheet using said email address, and she always ate fast food french fries in class and this grossed me out even though I love french fries. It’s true what they say about lasting impressions, first impressions, etc. because now I will be nixing this woman [not wholly because of her poor email and classroom dining etiquette—we’ve already identified a more qualified candidate], not that I have any power or final say, but my opinion does still count) All the big popular blogs have yet to update since Dec. 30 so I don’t even have anything mindless to read. I really wish there was some way I could’ve cut loose nice and tidy at the end of 2005 because this one final day in 2006 crap is messing up my desire for a fresh start. And Dec. 31 wasn’t so fresh. I don’t know what went wrong, but barely an hour past midnight I managed to throw up fuchsia chunks in someone’s stairwell. Not nice at all, for them or for me. I haven’t puked in public due to drunkenness (I did heave into my hat about two years ago, but that was food poisoning) since probably ’99 when my sister visited and I wasn’t even dating James yet and I went overboard at 7B and hurled all over the sidewalk somewhere in the east village and was surprised that he hugged me (as well as my sister) goodbye since I’m sure I was a mess. I didn’t even think that I’d drank that much, it was that I’ve never been smart about mixing, like I partook in white wine, red wine, whisky, cheap champagne and then, I think the clincher was Frangelico. Seriously, I had a few stupid sips at this random, claustrophobic fire hazard S. Williamsburg loft party where they were playing reprehensible, funky top 40 tunes from the ‘80s (last year Nu Shooz bent me out of shape—this year it was “Rock Steady” by The Whispers) and that’s when it all went bad. I think they advertised their bash on My Space, which is totally dangerous, people were being turned away because the apt. was to capacity, friends of ours who’d told me about the party in the first place couldn’t get in. It was a total Williamsburg freak show when we squeezed out onto S. 2nd St. Maybe my perception was skewed from drinking, but it felt like a zombie movie (not fast 28 Days Later style, but classic mindless, plodding, groaning types), the street was seething with hipsters, people were sprawled on the sidewalks, the middle of the road thick with youngsters. I think the sight did me in. I tried to capture the frightening scene digitally, but my camera never seems to convey proper depth of field. All my resulting snapshots just look like small clusters of people standing around when it felt like I was being swept up in a filthy mob (I might post some photos later, as I’m not in a position to upload at the moment). Like I said, my brain might have been off. It was the next party where I had out of the blue troubles. We didn’t stay that long, I didn’t even feel sick, but the second we opened the door to leave my stomach went crazy. I couldn’t believe my lack of control or the resulting colorful pool (the next morning I was shocked at the crud all over my boots that looked like hot pink cupcake frosting. I was also disturbed by something I can’t explain. You always hear horror stories about alcoholics blacking out, behaving horribly, doing dangerous things and forgetting it. I’m sure I was acting poorly, but that’s not my point. What I can’t figure out is that yesterday I woke up and one of the little plastic drawers where I keep my necklaces [the top drawer is for earrings, the middle for bracelets] was on the floor next to my bed [I hadn’t even worn a necklace that night so there was no reason for it to be out at all] and filled to the top with clear liquid. All my jewelry was submerged in a pool of who knows what. My first thought was cat [or god forbid, human] pee, but it didn’t smell of urine. It wasn’t alcohol. It was scentless like water, but why and how would water have gotten into my drawer? I don’t keep a water glass near my bed either. The whole thing is very illogical, though really only mildly worrisome in the scheme of things). But out with the old, in with the new, literally and metaphorically. 2005 has totally been purged from my system and now I’m ready to fill up on 2006.

 
Self-photography is not as easy as it looks