When I woke up this New Year's morning, I was happy. There were warm feet on my back and love in my heart. I allowed my mind to wander backwards, as it often does and the first thought that came to mind was that last year when I woke up I had the distinct feeling that a cat had taken a poop in my mouth and I don't even have a cat.
My tongue was dry and swollen to twice its normal size. My head was throbbing, my stomach churning and remnants of the evening's festivities were threatening to repeat themselves. Add to that the fact that when I turned to crawl to the bathroom to take a Brillo pad to the remainder of my once fabulous make-up job in an attempt to unstick whatever was prohibiting my left eye from opening, I bumped right smack into Hot Tub Tim. Ah yes, Hot Tub Tim, a man who would never think more of me than a holiday hump buddy. I was truly disgusted with myself, but I had sex with him again anyway. All the while resolving that after just one more meaningless romp, I'd only have sex with men I truly loved.
New Year's resolutions are a funny thing; they usually only last a couple of weeks if we're lucky and then it's back to our evil ways. Like most resolutions, that one went along the wayside with wanting to join a women's-only workout facility so that I could finally take my fitness goals seriously in a safe, pro-woman environment. Whatever.
By the time he left and I finally did make it to the bathroom, where I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I did throw up. Violently. The dark liner I had used with such care to create a smoky, sensual look had melted and smudged around both eyes; instead of being sexy, it looked more as if someone had used my eye sockets as ashtrays to extinguish their cigars. My hair was knotted and matted; I looked like Whorey the Clown, a stripper I'd made fun of in Mexico. I had dried spittle on my cheek and a mysterious film across my teeth. I can't believe Hot Tub kissed me ... men are crap. It was a beautiful way to start the New Year. Classic, really. Welcome to 2005.
Unfortunately, the year didn't exactly pick up speed from there. But as I look back I can't help but feel a tiny bit proud of myself. Not for the things that I accomplished, because there really weren't all that many, but for the things I am able to let go of and move past. When you think about it, that's what it's really all about, isn't it? I mean, what happened in 2005 or any year before that doesn't matter anymore, it is in the past, it's gone and there's no getting it back. The only thing to do is learn from it, laugh at it and let it go. Why waste precious time living with regrets?
Funny, I seem to ask that very same question every year at about this exact same time. Maybe this time it will stick with me. Yeah, and maybe I'll join that all-women's fitness joint too, right? Ah well, with a little luck, I still have a few good years to put all that newly stated Zen knowledge to work for me.
Needless to say, '05 isn't the only year I kept hold of a dead dream, kept saying I was driving forward, all the while looking in my rearview mirror; wishing, hoping, and praying that the past that I took for granted would somehow catch up with me, overtake me, and be mine again. Geez, it's a wonder with all the backwards driving I was doing that I didn't wrap myself around a light pole or careen into a ditch, rendering myself handicapped for the rest of my life. I speak metaphorically, of course. Yeah, there were some good times, some great people, the incredible, hot, sweaty, meaningless odd dalliance from time to time (yeah, like you, Hot Tub) and some incredible hot, sweaty, meaningful relationships, however long or short. Nevertheless, it's all behind me now and the only place to go from here is forward. Again.
So, when the love of my life suggested San Francisco at 1 p.m. on New Year's Eve, I didn't hesitate, I jumped into action. Anything to get me out of the City of Sin where the squeaky, high-pitched, baby voice of Paris Hilton kept surreptitiously whispering to me from the pages of Las Vegas Weekly, "Join me and all of my closest friends at Tao, it's phenomenal!" I needed to get out of the city I love, needed to get away from the Strip, the fun, excitement, nonstop action and trouble to be had in my 24-hour town.
Eight hours later, I was eating a gourmet meal at Zingari in Union Square in one of the most romantic cities in the country. At midnight, I slow-danced to live jazz music, my arms wrapped around my true loves and we shared a champagne toast where I silently made the first of many resolutions.
When I woke up this New Year's morning, I was happy. My tongue was the normal size, the spit was in my mouth, not on my face, my head was clear, not throbbing, my gourmet meal was not threatening to repeat itself, and I knew exactly who the warm feet on my back belonged to. I also knew that the elbow in my windpipe, the knee in my midsection and the extremely bad breath being blown in my face were the property of my children. I was in my favorite city, in my favorite five-star hotel with my two favorite people in the entire world. I was safe, content, loved and looking forward to the misadventures of the coming year. New Year's resolution Number 1—complete.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?