It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was my New Year's in the Bay Area.
I have a history of having really bad New Year's Eve moments. Last year was definitely the worst. But I had high hopes for this year. I flew out to San Francisco to spend the weekend with Gary. We went to his friends Heather and Muffin's house for New Year's Eve. They are such a delightful couple. Heather fixed some really fantastic food and we had a game of guessing each other's secrets and lies. Considering that I really didn't know anyone there, I feel good that I got six right. My secret was that "I'd like to chuck it all and go into musical theatre." My lie was that "in my impetuous youth, I was a debutante." Most people pegged me for the debutante but they thought that was my secret! Others guessed that I was a tap dancer. So, I guess all Gary's friends see me as a tap-dancing debutante.
All of that was quite fun. Then, about a half hour after midnight, the bad part began.
I still don't know if it was the alcohol. I didn't have THAT much to drink. Maybe it was the combination. But I started puking and could not stop. There is nothing worse than being sick in someone else's house. Gary was very sweet and all of his friends looked out for me. But I felt as bad as I've felt in a long time. We stayed at H&M's house to avoid drunken traffic and the rain. At 8am, I woke Gary up crying and begging him to take me home. I just couldn't stay draped over H&M's toilet anymore. I spent all day on New Year's Day either in Gary's bathroom or in bed. Poor Gary was fighting off bronchitis so we were a pretty sad pair. But still, a pair in love.
Now we know what it is like to be sick together. And, in spite of our illnesses, I had a good time just being with him.