NYE.

Wow. NYE started out with a lovely dinner with good friends. Then as the evening progressed we witnessed a little dog wearing a hoodie, jeans and booties; a bedroom dance party; too many tiaras; Eric Chial's seemingly bottomless supply of booze; Balti insisting on ringing our cell phone to ascertain that we had indeed ripped his own composition into an MP3 to provide the ring-tone; being hooked into DJing; did we mention the bottomless supply of alcohol? Let's just say we're not sure exactly when or how it happened but we must have gotten home safely since we woke up on our couch, in a daze, surrounded by puppies, with Real Genius playing on the DVD player.

And we've been sick as a dog since then. Swollen glands, lots of phlegm, lots of coughing. We think NYE is certainly what finally tipped the scales against our body and now we are paying the price.

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The Eve of NYE.

DJing at innjoy was a blast and a half. I ended up shouldering the evening solo and turned the place into a bit o' a dance party. I also discovered that I must have a small gay man living inside of me since I found playing Madonna, Erasure and other tracks of that nature to be not only painless but in fact enjoyable.

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A final observation.

I am ready for Photogal's return. More than ready. While it was interesting to spend a week doing nothing but pleasing myself I have ultimitely found the exercise to be less than fulfilling. In the past when Photogal would leave on extended trips I could always sort of slip enjoyably back into the "single" mode of going out and such but this time was different. I felt like my forays outside of my house were fueled more out a desire to escape the desperate void left by Photogal's absense rather than any attempt at just having a good time for fun's sake. I got a glimpse of what life would be without her and have realized that scene is just not for me. I'm just not that guy anymore. I don't know when it happened, but it did, and I don't think there's any going back now.