and a happy new year, I hope it's a good one, without any (something that rhymes with year and yet makes sense)

Okay, and this is your on the spot blog reporter reporting on New Years. Like 10000 of my peers are doing and better, although I bet they don't have to deal with a space bar that takes a mighty whack to make it work. Well, New Years. Amateur Night, as my dad used to call it, and yell at me not to go out, not to acknowledge this stupid shit. My dad, being a fairly professional drunk at the best of times, was understandably irate at holidays that saw the hoi polloi attempting to live his everyday lifestyle. That's mean, and unfair. . .

Tonight I was swayed by my best friend J into going to what was billed as a New Years Masquerade Ball at the Wedge Gallery. I was dubious immediately, because I have been to several parties at the Wedge, and they have all sucked beyond redemption. Which is a pity, because the Wedge is, like, the coolest place in Asheville if you go by location alone. It's down by the river, the coal trains go through the parking lot (bohemia is not bohemia without a train running through it, witness the incredible, no the ultimate, coolness of the Maryland Institute's Station Building, where I went to many quite truly amazing parties) and the Wedge, thus, especially John, the semi owner, who is so cool that he never quite seems to know who or where he is, is super cool. Except the parties suck. They attract these mid twenties people in ersatz 19th century Orientalism dress. These people are annoying, and tonight was no exception.

But I met my best friend J there and her horrible yet attractive boyfriend and his son. So we smoked a lot of cigarettes and did a champagne toast. Everybody had to make a toast, mine was: Dear God, let 2005 be at least a little better than 2004. Because, let's face it, 2004 pretty much unequivocally sucked for me. I mean it bit. Bigtime bit. Then they told D's son to make a toast, and, poor kid, he froze. So I made it for him: Let D make it through high school with his sanity and sense of humor intact. And he looked so grateful, and I said, look, being 16 sucks no matter how you cut it, just remember that in 5 years this will all be a memory and noone, but noone, will give a flying fuck.

So then I bailed on that party. I refuse to pay $10 to go in and slaver over a guy doing belly dancing - okay, I don't know much about belly dancing, which is totally my fault, since I have a friend in Vermont who is pretty much a major world authority on belly dancing - but I don't think, classically, that guys are supposed to do it. Even if they have gilded their nipples. Maybe especially then. Of course, if I hadn't of snuck in for free, after spending a bit of time drinking and whining on the porch, I wouldn't of known what was going on inside, except for the depressing middle eastern music which kept escaping out the door. Anyway, I went to Jack of the Wood.

At Jack, which is, btw, my pub of choice, especially in the months where smoking outside is feasible, there were like 3,000 people and it got to be too much. I ran immediately into friends who spirited me inside for free (it also helps that I know the doorman) and I was promptly given a Happy New Year tiara and one of those mysterious New Years metal things that you spin around and it makes a wonderful obnoxious noise. Why do you never see those things again until the next New Years?

I was/am all dressed up. I put on my bridesmaid dress for Lulu's wedding, which is, thank the gods, way too big, (that was in my fat years - I had 3 fat years) and I belted it, and put a black sweater over it, and biker cowboy boots, and major makeup, and my great grandmother's lead crystal "looks like you stole the chandelier" earrings and honey, I look GOOD. But there was nobody at Jack that I wanted to kiss. Except Donny, I might kiss Donny, but he was busy playing fiddle. Actually I did kiss Donny, but just in passing. (p.s. Donny's link doesn't work and I cannot figure out why. SO google: sons of ralph, click on the first link, that's the band, then click on bios. . . Donny is the 2nd on the left in the first picture.The band is Sons of Ralph and they really are very very good.)

So I came on home, at like 11:50, and gathered up M. and his friend S. who is spending the night, and all the various noisemakers from the very disappointing Xmas crackers, and a bottle of champagne, and we went up to the top of Riverview Drive and discovered, lo and behold, that this is a time honored place to see the fireworks. And it was actually, quite awesome. There were these horrible white yoboys, who I would never have spoken to in any other circumstances, but they were smoking a joint, and I handed them some champagne, and they were happy. And then the champagne that I brought made it's way down the line of people, and they were all appreciative, and funny, and sweet, and somehow, oddly, we all sort of drew together. Yoboys, Yuppies, Babyboomer landlords, adrift slackers, and me. All watching the fireworks through a frieze of branches, and my kid and his friend S dancing up and down the street wearing paper crowns and shooting off firecrackers, and that was okay. In fact it was great.

Every year for a good many now I make the same resolutions which were totally stolen from my friend Lu, who's bridesmaid dress I am wearing right now. Yay Lu who is married with kids now and living in FLA. Nevertheless, these were the resolutions:

Wear More Lipstick.

Watch More TV

Do More Drugs.

And actually I have done quite well on the lipstick front while failing miserable at the other two. But this year I think actually I want to get serious, and the main thing is, of course, the drinking: so this year is. . .

Have Less Hangovers.

Make More Art.

Get Laid.

Let's all hope they come true!