HAPPY GNU YEAR

So last night was New Year's Eve. I decided to stay in, because trying to figure out how to get home after the trains stop running is really too much effort for anyone. There were massive fireworks everywhere, and I have decided that next year I definitely need to go to Edinburgh for the whole thing, because evidently they have the most fabulous fireworks, like, ever. They feel this extreme rivalry with Sydney (as in Australia), and feel obligated to point out just how many more fireworks they have this year than those Aussie blokes.

Incidentally, I don't remember whether or not I mentioned this, and I'm too lazy to go look, but within five minutes of returning home again, Peter started complaining about the noise the neighbors make again. Different time--he said that they always made lots of noise on New Year's Eve, and that the people next door had the nerve to be fighting for two solid hours last weekend--from 2 until 4 in the afternoon. Could I just state for the record that you'd have to do something pretty loudly and pretty consistently for me to care that you were making noise on a Saturday afternoon from 2 to 4?

At any rate, today, people were still stumbling around, drunken, at 2:00 in the afternoon, obviously on their ways home. And the tube floor was covered in vomit. I had to find the car that smelled the least bad, thinking that by the time I arrived at my destination, I, too, would smell like puke. I was considering telling people it was a new fragrance from Chanel. Eau d'hurl, or perhaps Eau de speu.

I briefly considered making a New Year's resolution last night. It seems like a convenient time to reevaluate your life and try to figure out what you want to change. Then, I thought, what would I resolve? To look for a new job? I've been doing that since March. Every single bloody day. To lose weight? I tried that over the summer, and ended up in the hospital. And now I'm just trying to find a way to not eat very much and yet, you know, remain conscious. Quit drinking alcohol? Check. I don't smoke. I've never taken an illegal drug.

New Year's resolutions seem to be about saying, this is the action I am going to take to change my life. If this last year has taught me anything, it is that regardless of my actions, sometimes I just can't control or even significantly affect my own life. I spend literally hours every day trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong and what I could possibly do to try harder and accomplish something--anything. I cry over it.

Perhaps I should do an anti-resolution. Like say, this year, I'm going to do bugger all. I'm going to start smoking, drink like a fish, sit around on my butt and eat like a horse. I'm going to stop applying for jobs, stop trying to mend relationships, and care more about what kind of a car you drive than about how you treat your mother.

By this time next year, I'd probably have every dream I ever had come true.

Anyway, it appears that Peter got a George Foreman Grill for Christmas. I find it hilarious that this product has made it over here. I have this theory that the rotisserie chicken thing is going to show up in another six months. Mark my words--it will be here in June. I shall make my fortune as a prognosticator.

I wonder why it is that The Dead sometimes tell people where they've lost their mother's wedding rings, but never which stocks to buy?

In other random thoughts, I love this new chrome nail polish that Charity sent me. I think she is polishing her nails vicariously. I think I'm the only woman in my family who has successfully quit biting her nails, (I almost said "biting my nails," but realized that Natalie has never, technically, bitten my nails, although she once begged me to let her because they were long and she thought that it would be strangely satisfying) and Charity thought, well, if *I* had fingernails, this is what I would paint them with.

The only strange thing about this nail polish is that it is really really shiny, as in, really does look like chrome, and when I turn the lights off at night, I occasionally see things reflected in them, and it freaks me out. If there is a tiny amount of light coming from the window, it reflects off of the nails and they look like they're glowing. This is disturbing when it happens at, say, three in the morning.

With all of Peter's wakefulness, I have lost the ability to fall asleep before 2 am. It is often later, and sometimes I only sleep for an hour or so before he gets up at 6:45. I usually manage a few hours after that, but I don't think this is going to be healthy. You know, like if I ever start working again.

I really want a job.

Er, scratch that, I really want a paycheck.

I am trying hard not to think about things like shopping. If my shoes rip, I try not to think about it. It would only be frustrating. But honestly, I'd really like to go shopping.

Well, I guess this is a good time to go look for work again. Nobody will actually be around to look at the resumes I send off, since they're still sleeping off hangovers, but at least I'll have the illusion of having accomplished something.