My New Year’s Eve midnight moment involved no kissing. The DJ counted backward from ten, the crowd raised their glasses, the ball descended, and when the clock hands met at twelve, I gleefully exclaimed, “Happy 2009!” And got a grunt in return. A grunt. Quick recap: Me: “Yay!” Him: “Bh.” (That’s my grunt sound for him.) And then I was all, um, are you kidding? So I demanded a hug because goddammit, it was midnight and I am not above asking for a pity hug. Fuck, it was a new year and I wanted a goddamn show of affection from goddamn boy and start the year off goddamn right.

I got a pity hug. A one-armed, weak-pressure, no body contact, two sympathy back-pats hug.

Still counts! Yay 2009!

My real New Year’s celebration came about two hours later when my shift at the restaurant ended I left my pathetic-excuse-for-a-hug (but cute) bartender to join my friends in their drunken stupor. The delayed New Year celebration included hugs that twirled with feet lifted off the ground and kisses that were sound and affectionate (platonic, but whatever). Thank God my friends at least know the proper way to welcome a new year.

If I’m going to claim this evening was indicative of the new year – working to pay bills, friends who genuinely love me, and no hangover the following morning – 2009 and I are going to be along famously – might even become BFFAEs, who knows, gonna have to see if it puts out first. I am feeling optimistic of this coming year.

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