mon cœur brisé

mon cœur brisé
Originally uploaded by cgfrangos.

Well, I had an almost bad Christmas (but was rescued by a last-minute invite to my friend's family's house for dinner) so why shouldn't I have an equally as almost-bad New Year's Eve? Considering I had no plans for tonight, it's almost nine o'clock p.m., and I'm still reeling from some bad news I received last night, I can't see this picking up and turning into some happy Pee Wee's Playhouse-type environment anytime soon. In fact, I've never had a good New Year's Eve. Not a one. Another night, another needle. Another year, another chagrin.

Playing poker with my parents and sister while eating Spanikopita with a foil-wrapped quarter embedded in the middle of the pie (for good luck in case you're wondering) while I was still in elementary school was fun, but I didn't know any better then. I wish that still satisfied me. It simply does not. It can't. I'm not meant to live my childhood for the entirety of my adult life. I'm not saying I need to go out, smoke, and drink but it's nice to exercise the options from time to time. And when thee biggest night to just let loose and enjoy your life up until that point comes and goes every single fucking year without so much as a modicum of fanfare, it essentially makes every day, every night, every year, every life blend into every other. Listening to Pink Floyd in my bedroom when I was a teenager growing up in Pennsauken, New Jersey was somehow an act subversive and full of hope yet listening to "See Saw" on iTunes on New Year's Eve (without the obvious Pink Floyd listening aides) makes me wonder what went to so horribly wrong. Not wrong so much as dull, and tedious, and without spirit.

I do remember being invited to hang out with a friend and his girlfriend to watch the ball drop on television (good ol' Dick Clark and his Rockin' New Year's Eve (is he dead yet?)), but the other friend that I had to pick up on the way had me waiting in my car until a hair after 11:58pm. So I drove back home because the fun of shouting "Happy New Year's" in a different habitat was robbed from me at that point. Sure, I could have waited for him to finally ready himself and, as we drove, shouted it on the 5 minute trip to said destination instead, but I wasn't in the mood at that point. It was as if I were Ultraman and had been on Earth for more than 3 minutes with my Color Timer blinking the entire range of colors one might find in a box of 64 Crayola Crayons (and I'm talking the the lame colors that no one uses like Chartreuese. When Ultraman flashes Cerulean, time is up and all hope for saving mankind is lost).

Then I lived with someone who was frightened to leave the house on New Year's Eve during the Y2K scare (didn't missiles get accidentally deployed or all money loose value or something? I'll bet you a can of tuna and a roll of duct tape that they didn't) and the following year, post 9-11 . . . forget about it. I was homebound on New Year's once again thanks to Bush-Laden.

Sure I could always go out by myself but where's the fun in that on New Year's Eve? Isn't it supposed to be a fun night out to spend some time with other muppets and contemplate all that you want to accomplish in the oncoming year? I'd probably be in a better mood tonight, but I am constantly being reminded of my "you're a nice guy . . . let's keep this friendly" status. Just like last night. That's the bad news from paragraph numéro un.

Sigh. Sigh, Sigh, my darling.