2009! Cool. 2008 started off in the toilet and eventually crawled out, filled the tub, added bubbles and poured some champagne. Life is an entirely different animal at this moment than it was a year ago and I am profoundly thankful. Though you know I try not to toss around words like “thankful” when something far more offensive like “gratitude” will do.

I woke up yesterday with a cold. I had a feeling it was coming on the night before and stayed home making a huge pot of soup instead of diving into the live music and tequila wreck with my associates at the Hemlock. I made a turkey-kale-cannellini bean-carrot soup and it’s heaven. Boy am I glad I skipped going out for fun in the name of a big pot of soup. These are the decisions that will define my life as I look back from the annoying age of 98. I just know I’m going to live way too long. And drive until someone tears me out of my Lincoln, which will be scrunch-nosed against a stack of grocery carts and empty beer bottles in a parking lot I forgot I drove to. I’ll take up smoking right there in the driver’s seat, pushed up into the steering wheel, calliope music spinning in my head, chatting with the ghost of my long-dead sweetheart.

My plan had been to babysit last night. I’ve never been a huge warrior of New Year’s Eve, or any holiday really, except maybe Easter. I did go to Portland last year though I was in such a sad-and-lied-to haze I barely knew I was there and certainly lamed out in a teenage way on the night itself and capped it off with a billowing mound of tater tots. I woke up with one of those hangovers that take two days to recover from. Brother. But last night when I arrived at my babysitting gig, ready for deep cable television and tortilla chips, it turned out the sister-in-law had come over and they didn’t need me to do much more than put the boys to bed. Well friends I don’t need to tell you, after a medium Peet’s coffee and my white jeans swishing about my legs, I wasn’t about to turn in for the evening. I made haste to my friend’s annual NYE party in Berkeley and hung out with the over-seven set. As I walked in the door my gal greeted me with the warmth and excitement of a truly awesome friend. She had a dress waiting for me. A shimmery turquoise blue sort of tank dress number, woven in an intricate way (though I’m not sure I can recognize patterns besides knots). The texture was kind of rough, like there were twist ties mixed in with another bendy material fabricated by man and oil. I had not proper shoes, and my friend’s feet are a few sizes bigger than mine (everyone’s are, I’m a size 6 shoe, which is the same as having hooves, or legs that just end with no discernible foot), so I kept on my footie socks and Vans. Someone else offered me her shoes but I demurred, figuring at least my slip-ons made me feel more or less like the hazy notion I have of “me.”

The husband of the friend made an incredible fish stew and had bought a new deep fryer with which to make fresh french fries all night. A lady brought homemade grappa. Jan wore a glowing cerulean blue sweater that looked stunning with her black hair, pale skin and pink lips. I talked forever with a friend who had been on tour for four months. The talent show was a showcase of double jointedness, original dance moves, musical plays and termite tales. Really magical. As the night evolved into a dance party and I was contemplating whether I had the energy to cut a rug or two (which tells you how bad my cold is, because normally nothing stands between me and some hot dance moves) when a gentleman walked up with the intention of conversation. When he reached over and pulled my arms apart so I couldn’t cross them I began mounting my (incredibly slow) escape. I was alive in the 70’s too: I remember that crossing your arms is supposed to be a defensive move. I don’t know that armchair body language analysis is any better than armchair psychology. Maybe like saying “Let us now view the Bible through the lens of Leviticus.” Not exactly, but in a way of working loosely with metaphor. Anyway I told him my arms were just comfortable crossed, certainly moreso than keeping them on my hips like a gym teacher. I assured him I was available for conversation. Which became a lie as I said it because there is no way I can spend much time with someone I don’t know who is pulling my arms apart and telling me not to stand like that.

I am done riveting you with that tale! Good heavens. I’m going to slowly accelerate my Prius up the road for an oxygen facial. Just kidding. I woke up this morning, still have a cold, happy for the new year. Really looking forward to it.