Ano Nuevo

Because I'm too lazy to find the tilda over the first "n" and I think blogspot would probably do horrible formatting things to it if I did, so whatever.

New Year! And a Happy one to you all!

So it's 2007, officially the year I start medical school. Another useless milestone crossed thus another 10 points up on the blood pressure scale until my head explodes and you win a teddy bear.

For New Year's, I decided to haul all my shipped boxes from my dad's place to my mom's. Fun! But it did allow me to have the immediate family together for both Xmas and New Year's so hooray. It also allowed me to experience the unadulterated joy that is managing a moving truck... specifically a 16 footer. "But WHY, Ishtar?" you might ask "would you rent a 16' moving van for your accumulated crap when you're moving to Grenada in nine days?" Because apparently, many savvy people have decided that moving over the holidays is absolutely awesome, took all the pickups, vans, small trucks, trailers, horse drawn carts and such, and left me with a truck so overequipped that I had my pitiful boxes shoved forward stacked single-height with only my hopes and tentative working of the brakes keeping them in place. AND this was a truck I had to fight for. The only other one available was a 26 footer from Uhaul. Imagine the fun.

What did I re-discover about moving vans? No likey. Likey small Korean cars with D- safety ratings that hug the road and fold up like a tin can full of cherry jello in an accident. But I have airbags! A pillow top tin can full of cherry jello.

So what'll I do? Talk about food again. I swear I'm not fixated.

Since my parents have been in the South for a while, I decided, why not a treat for Mexican food even if my mom's not wild about it? Good New Year's dinner when you're shipping off to an island that, to the lament of all Californians on it, has nothing resembling decent Mexican cuisine, right?

On the advice of someone from the local hospital who sported a suspiciously light skin tone and a suspiciously southern accent (and I know better; I do!), I dragged unsuspecting parents to a *very* authentic Mexican restaurant which was very, again, suspiciously, underpopulated for such a night. The Outback next door had televisions outside to entertain the people spilling into the streets, yet this place... crickets and banjos, I swear.

Warning one.

My question to all of you... how does a Mexican restaurant, one in which approximately half the menu items contain some sort of guacamole based or amended item, run out of avacados on a deserted night? I was going to say screw it and run to the McDonalds, but I figured they'd run out of ketchup. Naturally, said "Mexican" restaurant neglected to *tell* any of us this, and proceded to serve us food that apparently also indicated they'd run out of every spice except salt and cheese (which has been upgraded to spice). Mmm mmm. So now I have to make parental amends for dragging them to a place that made them long for the authenticity of Taco Bell. Grits rancheros anyone?

Afterward, my mother decided that New Year's Eve was the NIGHT she needed to get a new computer desk from SatanMart, which was not, in any way, coincidentally related to the fact that I'm in town and have a master's degree in assembling particle-board furniture using nothing other than a Phillip's head screwdriver and most of the blood from my palms (enabling me to sell almost all my old apartment's furniture because no one wants to try putting a computer armoire together similarly equipped and apparently I was the only one ever stupid enough to undergo such an endeavor).

We embark to one of the SatanMart SuperCenters complete with grocery aisle, and the FIRST thing we see upon entry, shining like a beacon in the east with an eerie green glow of the variety that attracts either wisemen or ET, a case FULL of avacados in various stages of ripeness, advertised at a price LOWER than California's. This caused fits of laughter among the three of us that had others in the store wondering at our sanity, though as someone who frequently talks to herself and vocalizes both sides of the conversation, I'm used to that.

After that, it would have been an easy ride back to my mom's place (sans parents reminding me every five feet that it's New Year's Eve, hence every cop in NC is out, forgetting, apparently, that I was sober and am leaving the country which makes me somewhat indifferent to minor traffic violations, and that I've been safely driving thirty miles over the speed limit in California for seven years while managing to avoid the fuzz), except Zippo the Cab Driver forgot to call a cab of his own before attempting to drunkenly shove the side of his much larger car into the unsuspecting side of my small, vulnerable one. Fortunately, due to expert evasive manuevers not possible in moving vans (see above), I avoided his murderous attempts. Actually, I lie. The only reason I avoided certain death was that in a moment of brilliant strategy, my mother grabbed the side of the car while screaming, no doubt YANKING the door, from the inside, away from the offensive vehicle. Thanks mom.

Of course, then there was the matter of getting the SatanMart acquired desk up the flight of stairs into the apartment. This would have been an easy task had I not caught an absolute infection of hilarity, busted up, and tried to carry one half of a VERY heavy object while my stomach cramped from the laughter. My father, at the other end, was less than pleased.

Then it was the old family tradition of watching the ball drop via the live flashplayer feed on my laptop. Just like my grandparents used to.

Good news though! Only two more years of obnoxious 200- glasses that "cleverly" have the eyeholes in the o's! In 2010, you bastards have to come up with some other overplayed marketing gimmick to annoy me for the next DECADE.

Speaking of annoying gimmicks, I now MUST BUY A CHEVY! Why? Because in the throngs of Times Squareites waving suspiciously pink, to the best of my reception, giant inflatable dildos around (watch the video feed and tell me I'm wrong), a good half of them were clad in Mad Hatteresque orangey pink hats with "CHEVY" emblazened on them, which, if prooffered to me, I would have put a piece of duct tape across the logo and written "Hyundai" or "Yugo" accoss it.

But I know Chevys are cool because... when you affiliate yourself with Chevy, drunk chicks also clad in dumb Chevy hats and novelty plastic glasses will make out with you at midnight. EVERY NIGHT baby. That's the magic of Chevy. Beat that with your damn HEMI, Dodge. That's right, bitches.