So, it's the New Year. Or a New Year. 2005. With much depression, I must confess that I will be thirty years old this year. Thirty. That magic number signifying the beginning of that decade when I will have grown too old for playing around and should probably have settled into a career or something like that.
But it hasn't happened. And it probably won't happen this year. And that doesn't bother me.
Everyone (by which I mean my mother) keeps asking me "Rifleman, when are you going to settle down and get married?" To which I always reply, "Dammit, mom, how many times have I told you that it's weird when you call me 'Rifleman'?" And the truth is, I always kind of thought that I'd be married by now, but, alas, I'm am still single.
Thankfully, there is one thing that I've learned these last few years; you can be thirty-something and happy, thank you Sex and the City
. I just want to be sure that I don't fall for someone named Mr. Big. Because, for the last time, I'm not gay. Despite my man-crushes.
So how did I welcome 2005? I went to Austin. Land of freaks and slackers. And I had a good time.
I had to work, along with the rest of my company's IT department, on New Year's Eve. While the rest of my non-IT co-workers were out doing whatever it is that people do on New Year's Eve, I was stuck at the office rolling out the newest version of Microsoft's Great Plains
at our office. I finally wormed my way away from my evil overlord...er, boss...and made my way to the capital of the great state of Texas.
Linz and I were staying at her ex-boyfriend's
apartment. After a dinner of DoubleDave's and a viewing of disc 3 of the fifth season of The Simpson's
, we made our way to a party.
A movie people party.
All these people at this party were in the film business. Production Assistants. Set Decorators. Stand-ins. Extras. People with their foot in the door of the movie business. People with IMDB credits. People much less-glamourous than they think they are.
All night long, people kept coming up to me, thinking I was one of their ilk, and asking me "What project are you working on now?" To which I honestly replied, "I have a real, steady-paying job that I can gladly go to everyday, nine-to-six." Not mentioning that I am a writer who really, really wants to film my latest project, Moaner
, while hanging out in Toronto for a couple of months.
That's the problem with being a novelist--people don't take you serious until you are published, even if you think that the last novel you wrote is the finest piece of literature to be created in God-knows how long. Of course, there's a certain amount of hubris involved there, because in reality--where most of us live--Moaner
might be crap.
During the course of the night at said party, I called Holly--one of the two women who inspired Moaner
--to wish her a happy New Year and to wish her a wonderful trip to NYC. I got to talk to her brother's girlfriend and the lovely Cara during the course of the conversation and--hopefully--I'll get to hook up with them this weekend.
Holly's one of those people that I'm always in awe of. She's one of those people that seem to always look great. Gorgeous, really. And she's always meeting the right people and, to paraphrase Radiohead, for her everything seem's to be in its right place. She's got her shit together, in other words. But I would expect nothing less from Jane
So what have I done with myself since then? Nothing, really. Drink. Sleep. Work. All that crap. All those things that I suspect are slowly killing me. But everyday is a new day and I suppose I should face it with a sense of humor. Or at least some Jane-like confidence.