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Monday January 01, 2001, 11:59

It would be particularly appropriate for me to write something now, at the actual beginning of the new millennium. But I do not feel particularly compelled to. Each year I write about a party that I had recently attended. I write about cynicism and reflection. I look back on the year that I've had, or look forward to the year that I am going to have, writing about how things might be different. Maybe there will be something about the wonder of the world, or about how lucky I am to have lived my life the way I have. Or maybe there is none of that, but that I should have written something of the sort.

This year, I will do no such thing. I attended a party last night. I was not with my friends from home. I was not with my friends from school (which was, for all intents, a home for several years). I was not even really with friends from after school. Instead, I attended a party with a group of strangers. And it was fun. It was not earth-shattering fun, and I do not know if I will attend a similar party in years to come. I am glad that I did attend, however, as I met some new people. I will not speculate on what will come of these coming relationships.

I will say that I had a nice conversation with a girl who is an artist. She works a day job to make money. She moved to New York from San Francisco and she mostly does paintings. She works with existing pop art in the form of advertising these days, and hopes to do more guerilla art in the form of modifications of advertising. Presumably she hopes to make a statement. I also know that she lives with her boyfriend, and while I was not having a conversation with her in order that I might get into her pants at some point, it was disappointing to know that there was not even a remote possibility of that happening. That sounds rather shallow, but this girl was wearing a stunning sparkly dress and velvet gloves. In recent days, I have found myself more aware and attracted to exhibitions of hyper-femininity. Or at least accented femininity. Lips. Lipstick. Long black gloves hiding long slender fingers. Tight dresses and moderate amounts of cleavage.1

Truth be told, I feel rather boring. And a bit cheap. To have such attractions to beauty and to feel little remorse for it. At the very least I could feign disgust. Slap myself on the proverbial hand (non-gloved, for the record) and admonish myself for such behavior. But I have no desire to do so. I shamelessly stared directly into her eyes last night, lashes curled, lids painted. She said that it was a costume. That she never dresses like that. I did not particularly care and continued to stare. However, at the state of inebriation enjoyed by most of the attendees of the event, it was difficult whether conversations that were being had were actually taking place on a conversation level, or whether they were mere alcohol induced mutterings.

In an earlier conversation, someone had noted to me that there were many attractive women at the party, and that they all appeared to be "taken" which was a disappointment because there would be nobody to kiss at midnight. I may have made some passing comment indicating that this was an expected situation in my case, and that I was content with this scenario. While I can not say that I feel any particular distress over the events that transpired last night, there is some part of me that was hoping for a bit more of an event (as opposed to the non-event that actually was) when the clock (as indicated by an attendee's cellular telephone) struck midnight.

Sad but true.2

I believe that at this point I write something to the effect of "maybe next year," but even that seems a bit absurd, for some reason. I would like to blame it on something, but that is not going to happen either. And now I feel that I left all of us on such a sour note that I am tempted to not even subject us all to this. But that would mean that I should not continue to write as nobody should ever see any of these words, and yet I continue, which means that I have no intention of not making this available for everyone to see.

Perhaps wishes for a fabulous New Year! That might do the trick (exclamation point intentional and sincere) as long as it was taken at face value and not merely as an attempt to dig us out of the hole that I have dug. If it does interest, earlier in the day I sounded cheerful enough that one of my friends believed that I had recently engaged in some sexual activity which would have resulted in my uncommonly good-natured demeanor. This was not the case, but it was encouraging to know that I did in fact seem, for lack of a more appropriate word, happy.

Also please note that this particular entry has been back-dated a bit simply so that I could have an entry written on the date of 01/01/01. Gloriously binary.



1. Note that these features are a conglomeration of many of the women that I encountered at the party. A brief run-down of features that I remember, grouped by person. Sparkling dress, sleeveless, cut above the knee with a high neck, antique velvet gloves studded with jewels, high black leather boots, dark lipstick and eyeliner. Red dress trimmed with white fluffy material (reminiscent of Santa Claus), black bra peeking out from beneath dress, red lipstick. Tight black dress with (and ocassionally without) pink boa. Body glitter was abundant.

2. On the other hand, further down the Sad But True scale (and possibly the Too Much Information one as well), the apartment I am currently staying in has cable. And Cinemax. And the movie that is currently airing (though "airing" is inappropriate terminology for cable) is "Creating the Perfect Man" in which three college students accidentally create a clone of their professor that has an insatiable sexual appetite (their words, not mine). Yes, it is currently on. Yes, it is ridiculously bad soft-core porn. No, I have no intention of turning it off. Also, the current music accompanying the sexual escapades includes, if I heard it properly, the words "email" (to rhyme with "female"), "download," and "modem." It comforts me to know that this, and not the tits or ass that feature so prominently in this film, is what currently stands out the most for me.

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