Welcome to the millenium, motherfucker.*

This weekend has been a whole pile of goodness, although it started with some suckiness and a bit of real badness. Thursday was an unusually light day at work, meaning less dirt, paper cuts, sore muscles and aggravation for yours truly. As an extra added bonus, I was allowed to leave an hour early...which gave me enough time to run essentially useless errands. A trip to my weekend job site revealed that my supervisor had gone home for the holidays without signing my time card from Boxing Day. A trip to my temp agency revealed that they had mistakenly sent my check to my weekend job location (!!!), although I specifically asked them not to back in September. I opted out of a return to this place of employment, as once was more than enough for the day.

On the way down to the city, I gradually sunk into a depressed contemplation of my own mortality, initiated by emotional leave-takings with my parents. I've worried & wondered about y2k for a long time; but having it actually approach has made me feel frightened about my own complacency. Lately I worry about the Second Coming, partly because I'm not sure I'm ready and partly because I'm not sure that I even believe in that particular apocalyptic vision...although I say the words that supposedly affirm my belief in the fiery return of Christ on a regular basis. That night I was depressed because the glaringly obvious conclusion I had made was that visions of doom shouldn't matter. If you think about it, every one of us is doomed sooner or later. I shouldn't place so much importance on a silly counter rolling over when the larger fact is that I am tragically unprepared to part with my loved ones.

I should be thinking about this shit all the time. But I don't, because I've been lulled into complacence with the rest of the huddled masses. My parents shouldn't wonder how I feel about them for even a second. And I was depressed because this concept has an utterly simple shape, yet I'd never connected the dots in such a clear way before that night.

I suck. But I'm trying to be less suck-full.

As soon as I arrived in Froghopper Nook, things began to get better. I'd dyed my hair that night with my mother's help; although I'd been expecting a cinnamon shade like it said on the box, I ended up with a punky fluorescent flame-color, the kind of thing you never see in nature. On the way out, I slammed my tiara on my head, as I'd forgotten to pack it along with my New Year's Eve outfit: green crushed velvet evening dress, black boa, elbow-length black gloves, silver "millenium" purse, diva makeup, fishnets & improbable shoes. Obviously darling, the whole thing is worthless & dowdy without a tiara. So when I walked in the door, I felt special (although, of course tragically unprepared for the emotional toll of my own mortality).

Got my hair cut the next day (New Year's Eve), and rushed home to see how things were doing in Japan. I figured (just like everyone else) that if I needed to make last phone calls home, at least I'd get in ahead of the rush. But the lights steadfastly remained on, thanks to some unbelievable amount of money, time and attention that's been poured into solutions - something that scorners often overlook. Q came home & settled in with the Boy & I to watch the year creep across the globe. As Pakistan welcomed in the new year and the network began to run a story on a prize-winning essay, I knew it was time to start drinking. I no longer needed higher faculties to deal with the mobs; I needed lowered faculties to survive the human interest stories.

it's 10 a.m., the first countries are turning over and I'm desperate for news from Australia - so I can skip the hair cut & start sharpening sticks if need be

voiceover: the first millenium baby has been born in Australia, but the parents have decided to maintain their privacy...instead, we have pictures of the second millenium baby, a boy weighing [blah blah blah].

cut back to newsanchor.

newsanchor: I'm afraid we don't know the gender of that first baby, but we'll find out soon and keep you posted.

me: what?!! Tell me if the defense computers have gone down, for Christ's sake!!

I'd imagined the party at Scott & Stacy's as a medium-sized bash similar in spirit to last year's cocktail party, but it was a very intimate affair with only 6 guests. As Stacy herself pointed out, the best thing that "millenial madness" has done to the global psyche is reinforce a desire to spend time with the people who are really special. It wasn't as titillating as a huge house party filled with friends and acquaintances; it wasn't as hysterical as a public mob of well-wishers; but neither was it as boring as "sensible" parties. I had a wonderful time in fact, and I was very deeply touched by the gathering.

What did we do to make it so satisfying? Oh, the usual. Drank a lot. Talked about Game for an hour. Tried to play a hippie board game. Climbed to the roof to see the fireworks. And smiled a lot. The boys stood semi-circle and made toasts while the girls made a perfectly spaced diamond containing the table, the cat, the bottle and the men. Stacy put on her wings and looked absurdly perfect - one of the good fairies at Sleeping Beauty's cradle. Rossa fell asleep on the couch, as graceful and beautiful as a cat. Pixie put on my improbable shoes and looked as devastating and irresistible as a full-page comic book heroine.

It was enough and more than enough.

I'm ashamed to admit that the Boy & I did jack-all on the first day of the millenium.

Yesterday we traveled out to have Christmas dinner with the Boy's family (it's all about timing, and in this case lateness is goodness). I adore his family, I really do. Hanging out with them isn't the least bit uncomfortable or stressful, as it can be with my own family. There's always stuff to talk about and when there isn't, I can go play with Pixie & Scout (who indulge in loud laughing & wrestling/tickling contests whenever they're out together). This proved unnecessary, however, as I spent most of the afternoon talking about the wedding & just enjoying the flow of conversation. It turns out that the Boy's uncle's partner knows Agamemnon from the Anglican Book Store (!!) Strangeness...it's been so long since all lines converged that my head's not up for it any more.

The Boy's grandfather fell asleep for a few minutes while we were sharing a couch, a trait I've become used to in the Boy himself. I adore the Boy's grandfather; he's a chemist with a couple of patents on the wall, an inquisitive mind and a kind gruffness. When he enters a room, things usually start to unconsciously gravitate in his direction...that's the kind of guy he is. When he woke up, he poked me in the side: "sorry." I explained that I was used to his grandson falling asleep briefly in public places (usually with his head in my lap, although I left that part out). I turned away. Poke: "We think that what's happening with you guys is just great." I beamed. Shortly thereafter, Scout tackled me & we fell down laughing in front of the Christmas tree. We got stern warnings from my future mother-in-law and smirks from the assembled audience of uncles. Even a silly puss like myself can't ignore such a strong indication that I am welcome, permanently.

Glow.

Today I discovered the overwhelmingly good thing about my dad installing all kinds of gizmos on my baby: I have a really easy-to-use copy of Corel Photo House, and it kicks my previous graphics program squaw in the nuts.

Do you like my new graphics? I'm extremely pleased. As for the background colour, it's a tribute to Stacy's debutante dress (pink for the dress, white for the fairy wings) I mean, just in case you think I'm some sort of femme or something. Although I will state once again that I've totally reversed position on the colour pink ever since receiving the Pink Bag of Justice. Morgan may not believe it, but pink is where it's at.

Besides, it keeps the goths off balance.

* obligatory disclaimer: "mulder, the millenium doesn't start until next year." "nobody likes a math geek."