is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.


January 2.

Look, it's me and my sister, Natalie.

And also, Adam and Evany, at Adam&Julia's lovely NYE party.

Another year. Iím told this will by ďmy year,Ē and the people who say this to me, that this will be my year, when they say this to me, they mean that this is the year Iíll get a good job that lasts longer than a year or two, and then Iíll have some financial relief and be able to think about the future with at least a false sense of certainty instead of the certain uncertainty Iíve had to inhabit for too many years now. Some of them go so far as to say Iíll be offered a job that wonít rip me, yet again, away from the bosom of my lifeblood (um, by which I mean, Iíll get a job somewhere near New York City, or Iíll be in California). No one has any way of knowing that these assertions they make are true.

In addition all my horoscopes are telling me that January will be a great career month for me, with people lining up to spend time within my orbit, and then offering me things. Weíll see. The horoscopes are also saying Iíll have money rolling in, and, while that would be nice, and a huge relief, I doubt it will come true as foretold. (However, my excellent excellent family, all of them, contributed some cash money to my expensive trip to the job interview conference, which has made my feeling for January a bit less dire than it might otherwise have been. What this means is that instead of stressing out about how I most definitely canNOT pay my bills, this month Iíll be thinking I might just scrape by if I take a payroll advance.) (Ah, the payroll advance. It saves you now, but then it just keeps the problem rolling in over and over again. And yet what would I do without it? We take what we can get, and hope it gets better later, no?)

But that is entirely too dismal a thought for January 2. Because if you know anything about me it is that I am A FOOL with money, and I hardly even CARE, and thus the worries about money are worth far less to me than other worries I might have. And what worries might I have? I am in San Francisco, where it is easiest to be Jill. I am surrounded by friends. And I am lucky enough to be missing someone who isnít here right now, because I have been on some good dates. That all sounds pretty damn good to me. January 2.

New Yearís Eve I went to a lovely party at the House of Savage. Because Julia told me I could bring 20 drunk friends if I wanted, I did! Evany, Marco, and I (who carpooled with Stephen and Jessica) invited Sunny, Leisa, Cash, Caroleen, Jeff, Natalie, Heidi, Scott, Liz, and Ivan. We settled on in and ate fine foods, drank too much bubbly wine (including some Dom Perignon, past midnight), and Cash got to meet Adam and sit in his office and be photographedÖ which is, Iím guessing, pretty damn cool for a 13-year-old forced to go out with his parental units on New Yearís Eve.

Somehow, magically, as the evening moved forward into the night the lights kept getting dimmer, and then dancing happened. At midnight I think I kissed Heidi. Sunny had sworn she was coming for me at midnight (to which I said, ďallllll riiiiiightĒ), but she and Leisa had already left to take Cash to his Dadís and then hit another party. Last year at midnight I think I kissed Marilyn. The year before that, at midnight, Marco and I were talking to Evany on the telephone. The year before that, I kissed Emma, Neon, and Liz simultaneously. In fact, try as I might, I cannot remember a New Yearís Eve when I had a romantic kiss happen at midnight. It is always nice to get a romantic kiss, or just a lusty one, certainly, but luckily I am not at all attached to superstitions about what happens when you do or donít get kissed at the onset of a new year.

I do remember one year when Richard and I decided to avoid it all and then ended up falling asleep at 11:15. That wasnít so bad, either. Though it was better when we had parties. We were good at that.

What I really like is New Yearís Day. Because even when I donít drink very much, I usually end up with some kind of hangover, because bubbly wine gives me hangover-head. And a hangover day is a lovely thing. I love a day spent laying on the couch, watching things, like animals, television, time passing, or friends talking. And no thoughts of work at all. Evany, Marco, and I woke up around 10. Marco was perky because he hadnít had anything to drink. Evany and I were groggy and slow. He went surfing. We began thinking about breakfast. I went to Safeway in my pajamas and bought some provisions. Evany made the most yummy pancakes ever, as she always does, and half of them she made with fresh blueberries. That took a very long time because of our slowness, and then while we were eating she said, ďI feel Mumfordy.Ē I looked up and said, ďPerfect.Ē So we moved to the couch and watched the shit out of Mumford for like the billionth time. I love that little movie.

Then we went over to Brian and Sandraís for some luscious soup and cornbread, and while we were there we talked and caught up on stuff and watched The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Itís still funny. Then we went to Shelllllmoooouuund and watched Rocky Balboa. I know! It wasnít my choice. But do you know what? It was GOOD. It was surprisingly moody and meditative, about aging and loss, more than it was about boxing and victory over odds (though of course itís also about that; itís a Rocky movie!). I recommend it. I just do. (Um, but don't go unless you actually like some of the other Rocky movies, OK? It's not that good!)

Today Iíve been working. Grading papers, filing grades. Figuring out finances. Catching up with some of the Diva work. (Again, always funny.) Took a lunch break to walk up the hill to watch a soap opera with my sister. The soap that she and I have been watching on and off for over twenty years currently has a plot with a man who identifies as a woman, and we are simultaneously immensely interested in this, while also full of dread that it wonít be handled well.

Since then Iíve been answering email that Iíve been avoiding. And I had to buy a flight to Canada for a job interview. Then I downloaded the Cracker song ďBig DipperĒ so I could hear it. (Iím sure Iíve got the CD but itís not on my ipod.) I remembered what I already know, that it is much better in concert the way they play it now than it is in this recording. Somehow in concert it gets transformed into a huge sound still weighed down with a strange melancholy, but in the recording it is thinner, though it still has its hauntings. (So if you decide to download itóand` maybe you should!ópick the version from Hello Cleveland instead of the one from The Golden Age.) Anyway. Now Iíve got to compose a letter to nag some late contributors to a book Iím editing. None of this is interesting, but that is the nature of the kind of a day I like to call ďJanuary 2.Ē Later on Evany and I are meeting Heidi, Liz, and Leah at Andalu for a flight of champagne and deep fried macaroni and cheese! Believe me, that will be interesting.

4:57 p.m. - January 02, 2007


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