The last day of 2008

“Irasshai-mase!!!” is being shouted at me by four young Japanese waiters. I am guided to a seat at the bar which overlooks the food prep and cooking area. I can feel my skirt hiking up my thigh higher than I am used to and I struggle to pull it down towards my knees all while trying to look graceful sitting on the awkward bar stool. A group of young college age students sit at a large table behind me chattering about the world’s current events. And to my left is a young Asian guy with his buddy, neither one engaged in much conversation with each other as both are busily texting someone on their mobile phones. I am at Shin-Sen-Gumi Ramen, in the South Bay about to eat the last meal of 2008.

As I get acclimated to the smells, sounds and awkward bar stool, my mind is skimming over the last several years worth of New Years eve’s. When was the last time I actually went out for New Years Eve? I instantly recollect two times when I went all out. I am nine-teen and my parents are out on the town. I make a promise to not have too many friends over. Needless to say, I have triple the number of friends allowed at my house, there is alcohol scattered in every room of the house and I am am throwing up in my kitchen on the floor at the stroke of midnight. The second time I recall, I am in my mid-twenties. While dressing at the hotel, a photograph of me is being taken... I’m wearing a black and red china-girl style dress and my hair is tied up in an up-do with silver glitter adorning my eye-lids. I am posed on the hotel bed on my stomach while being conscious of my cleavage. Fast forward six hours or so. I’m in my hotel room, laying on my stomach and a photograph is being taken of me. However, compared to the earlier image captured of me, I now have red eyes, mascara has run down my cheeks from laughing and sweating at the night-club, the up-do has turned in to a birds nest, the “Happy New Year” tiara upon my head is bent to the point where it now reads, “ppy New ea”, and I am experiencing a major wardrobe malfunction in the bra department. Good times.

My new years flashbacks are interrupted as the waiter brings a steaming hot bowl of Hakata Ramen in front of me. My high heel flips off the bar stool foot rest as I try to get out of the way of the waiters reach and I accidentally thrust my chest in to the counter. I smile and casually pull down my skirt again.

I eat most of my noodles, gyoza and seaweed salad and I am now off to Santa Monica to dance the night away. “Doomo-Arigatoo-Gozaimashita!!!”, is shouted as I depart the noodle house. Finally, I am going out on the town New Years eve. It’s been so long. I’m anticipating party people dressed to the nine’s, martini’s all night long, a little hip-hop, some funky house music even a little rock and roll, and a handsome man to kiss at midnight.

Flash forward two hours.

It’s 11:50 p.m., December 31, 2008. I am unlocking the door to my apartment after having driven all the way back home to Santa Ana from Santa Monica in the most hellacious fog I have ever witnessed. No dancing, no martini’s and no hip hop and rock and roll. My boyfriend has a fever. My priority is to keep safe and to be healthy. With ten minutes left in 2008, I am sitting next to him on the couch in the dark with Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark on the television. My mind is flashing back on all that could have been that night and what I could be doing right now (dancing like no one is watching, drinking my dirty martini with extra olives, etc.) But I’m not doing any of those things. I’m sitting at home listening to intermittent gun fire and the sound of banging pots and pans.

Instead of resenting my boyfriend for being sick, regretting driving all the way to and from Orange County to Los Angeles twice and worrying about my skirt hiking up my thighs all night... I turn to Kevin and I think to myself, all that matters is that I am with him right here, right now... And I still have a handsome man to kiss at the stroke of midnight.