Tuesday, January 03, 2006

After the Ambulances Go

Happy New Year all and let us breathe a collective sigh that it'll be a full fucking year before we are again auditorily assaulted by cloying Christmas music. I mean, y'all know I love the Baby Jesus as much as the next degenerate atheist, but how many times must a person be expected to hear "Silver Bells" without wanting to jam a poinsettia up someone's ass?

So here we are- a whole fresh year. We all know I'm not the sentimental type, but I'll admit it. I like New Years. I really, really do. I could wax poetic about how, as a devout secularist, it's the closest I get to having a holy time- but that would most likely make me sound like an asshole. So, I'll just say that I like the pomp and circumstance of the holiday. Anytime you can attach meaning to the need to be blackout drunk and behave like a trashwhore with a German triathelete who has pieced nipples is good by me. And I mean that in the most hypothetical of ways.

But, as much as I love New Year's I tend to get a little maudlin on the day after the first day of the year. Maybe it's that I'm overstuffed by my traditional Last Supper before I attempt to get unfat in the coming year or the fact that I have to go back to work tomorrow for the first time in two weeks or even that my estrogen levels are spiking and behaving like a goddamn WMD. More likely it's a reaction to the fun being over.

See, I have a terribly juvenile affinity towards fun. Even as a small child I was always loathe to go to bed just because I was afraid that someone, somewhere, might be having some fun that I'd miss out on. This has not changed.

Back when I was still carrying on the facade that I could marry the Republican, I always found my favorite parts of the re-laaaaaationship* were the nights when the weekend, holiday, or party was over and we would hunker down and watch a movie or something dumb like that. I can't really explain why besides to say that those times always remind me of this Dylan tune (I warned you) called "Desolation Row". Click here to listen.


There's a line somewhere in the song (ok, at 2:01)** which talks about how, "the only sound that's left, after the ambulances go, is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row". All I can picture is an empty street littered with the slick combination of freezing rain and muddy remnants from last night's party. And out there amid the wet trash is this woman, alone, sweeping up and readying herself and her street for the next day's return to business as usual.

It's sad and it's sweet (sorry Billy Joel) and it sounds just like how I feel right now. I guess having someone around on nights like this helps to either stave off the feeling or at least my identification with it.

Ugh. I just read all this back and am now thinking these feeeeeeel-ings*** might be much more the product of weapons grade estrogen than I originally thought. Whatever. I'm going to take a shower and valium and start the year anew. Let's all hope I don't get fired tomorrow because my boss found my blog this weekend. Yup. You read that right. We'll talk about it later.

Happy New Year to all and to all a good night.

* This word should heretofore always be read in the most annoyingly needy voice that you, dear reader, can muster.
** Yeah, I know. I have issues. Deal with it.
*** To be read in the same annoying tone as "re-laaaaaaaaaationship".
Posted by LMM14_1 :: 1:15 AM :: 0 Comments:

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