a girl's first hogmanay

sat in my bedroom watching crack tv and eating chocolate until 2200. checked the internet which said that hogmanay celebrations had been canceled due to bad weather. at 2230 decided to get dressed, brave the weather, and walk to a party. couldn't be worse than spending new year's alone. put on a party dress and some thermal pants and a hooded coat and walked across town. rang the wrong doorbell and asked at the intercom, "is there a party?" the man's voice on the other end answered, "there's always a party, baby." then I noticed the number on the door was 45 and not 59. walked around the corner and found the right number, went up to the flat and realized i knew nobody, it's only 2300, i have an hour before the new year. got right to the task of getting as drunk as possible as fast as possible, made some small talk, crafted a unicorn out of the wire basket from a bottle of champagne. drank more, drank faster. watched fireworks out the window. the witching hour came and went as i held an unlit sparkler in my hand, no countdown, no realization that the time had come (and gone), until someone came by and squeezed my arms, wishing me a happy new year. "it's not," i mumbled, pulling out my phone. 23:59. it is. went to the bathroom, got another drink, drank that. decided to blow the party since i only knew two people -- the host and a married man who was busy trying to call his wife in cuba. walked up the royal mile where a crowd of people gathered screaming and singing and dog-piling. walked up to the castle terrace. two girls sat on top of a mounted statue, on either side of the general. one girl stroked the general's face, saying, "i love this horse, i love this horse, i love this horse, i love this horse." walked a bit further and looked down at prince's street, desolate and empty as the street party had indeed been canceled. stopped to make a note in a journal and two drunk french boys tried to carry me away. diverted their attention and walked around and back toward the royal mile, where the two french boys again caught up with me and tried to carry me away. diverted them again and headed down the hill. a ginger-bearded scottish man told me he would ask me to marry him in 2008. he grabbed me by the hips and said, "I'm going to marry you in 2008." "I'll be looking for you," I responded, and he trotted back to his friend, exclaiming, "she doesn't believe me. i'm going to find her in 2008." walked along the grassmarket where random men hugged me and slapped me high-five. a man with a roman nose stood in the doorway of a georgian flat on his cell phone, saying, "oh, yeah, i'm a big fan of drugs." men hugged in the streets and women screamed, "happy new year!" and the sidewalk was covered with piss and vomit. chatted with a young art student studying in newcastle, who was looking for a party. composed this letter in my head, and finally came home. i enter 2007 with virgin lips and endless possibilities, and a mind that is desperately trying to wrench it's way open, wide open.

happy new year, fools.