Let’s do this the short way. People I do not wish a Happy New Year:

• My old boss from earlier this year. You are offensive, juvenile, and I stole that can of soup from your personal stash in the kitchen.
• Tracy, the girl who works in my building now that seems to still hate me after a decade for no good reason. That pink clip-on hair extension you used to wear in college? It was ugly. Yeah. I went there.
• The singing hobo down the street. I think he knows why.
• The people currently responsible for the Priest class in Warcraft. Stop making me wish I was a paladin, dammit.
• Nicolas Cage. I know I’m a little late on this, but I watched Ghost Rider a few weeks ago and it grieves me deeply that I will never get those three hours of my life back.

People I wish a very special New Years to:

• My family. Sorry I’m so incommunicado. Being better about that is my resolution for 2009, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be there for the shindig this summer.

The rest of you bastards are all right in my book. I’ll see many of you tonight.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

IGN outlines the Top 10 Hangover songs.

Life in the Fastlane reviews hangover science and debunks some myths about cures.

Slate has a cute little article on the history of the hangover.

Not that I have any reason for this link theme. Nope. None at all.

A number of years ago today I was born.

In the past year I:

• Saw Louis XIV and Bruce Campbell live
• Sold the first and only place I ever owned
• Moved to the big city
• Changed careers and employers
• Started saying ‘rad’ a lot despite my best intentions
• Had a mango delivered internationally
• Bleached, dyed, streaked, highlighted, lowlighted, straightened, and curled my hair
• Organized a weekend party for people I’d never met
• Had my first Jaegerbomb. Had my first dim sum.
• Did things and went places that would make my mother blush
• Started my blog again
• Laughed and laughed and laughed and cried and danced just a little
• Had just under 2000 gtalk conversations
• Took the train, and even got to my final destination once
• Got drunk and brandished inflatable swords at strangers
• Ate a $50 steak, and a chicken foot. Not at the same time
• Met lots of new people and made some splendiferous new friends
• Declared war on hobo street musicians

It has been a good year.

So I woke up late again this morning. To be honest, after the last couple of weeks it’s no longer “late” per se, because that implies that I could and do wake up any earlier. Instead it’s more the last possible minute I can stay in bed.

Anyway, I was scrambling around in the dark for clothes, which my workplace recommends, when I caught sight of some nice business-y pants in the back of one of my drawers. I hadn’t seen them in years, and I wasn’t entirely sure of their origin, but time was limited and they were clean.

Three things have become evident about these pants as the day progresses:

a) They are men’s pants. The zipper is on the wrong side, and there are other indications as well. I feel quite confident that no man in my life has ever worn these pants, so at some point I must have been shopping in the guys’ section of a store and not noticed. Smooth.

b) They have a hole in the front. I assume, upon reflection, that this is why they were stuck in the back of a very deep drawer. The hole is present, albeit a little subtle, and after much practice in the full length mirror in the office bathroom I feel confident that I can cover it up by slouching to the right a bit and holding a notebook or my hand at a casual yet concealing position.

c) They are made of weird plastic-y fake linen material, and make a noise much like several hundred brooms sweeping together every time I take a step. I am a little twitchy at the best of times, but now in an attempt to cover up the weird fake plastic linen noise I have started lightly clapping my hands, or whistling, or making clicky noises with my tongue, or just doing SOMETHING while I walk.

So let’s summarize. Today, every time I walk somewhere in the office, I am leaning slightly to the right, clutching a notebook at a odd rigid angle, and making constant little fidgety noises with whatever extremities I have available.

Some days I should not be allowed to leave the house, for the safety of myself and others.

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Ari Gold Quotes. If someone told Ari that he was wearing holey noise pants, he’d probably have them fired. Or at least make them cry.