6:51 p.m. - 2004-01-01
das is vat?!
Dear Diary,
Gee whiz! I sure was uncomfortably wasted the last time I wrote! But you love it when I write in you all wasted-like, donīt you? I know you do.
Last night was totally fucking MAD. Itīs hard to get at all the details today even, but luckily my berfday digicam was there for merciless documentation of what proved to be a pretty fucking great night.
Went to the Times Square of Berlin, where just shy of a million people poured into several streets around the town square. We (myself, friend Liana and friend Joaquin) elbowed our way through people by the thousands to close in on the hub of the celebration, where champage was brandished as the new year struck and fireworks exploded madly all around.
After the celebration had died down and we tired of dnacing to alternately decent and horrific music, we walked through a mass of people that could compose several well-sized towns and ate dooners, a marvelous Turkish yumyum with cabbage and sauces and lamb meat in this amazing crusty bread. We picked up Beckīs tallboys for the road and walked for another half hour or so, finally stopping at a chill little bar/club, where people tried nonstop to sell us hash cookies (space cakes). We drank to excess, took ridiculous pictures, smoked copious amounts of weed, took even more dumb pictures and then called it a night, leading my little trio to crawl into bed at about 6 this morning, sleeping through the entire period of daylight.
Tomorrow means shopping and ticket-buying and museum-going and clubbing. I have already been to the wall, which was beautiful and unreal. I thought that would be a strictly historic boring thing, but there are beautiful murals for kilometres, even a Keith Harring wallspace. I have been taking enough photos that as soon as I figure out how to get them onto a computer, a glorious multimedia extravaganza of an entry shall be upon us.
This just in: I got semi-pitiful grades, but passed everything. On the horrifying plane ride to Amsterdam, I was wracked by nightmares of the J-school dean coming at me like a wild dog and tearing the organs out of my flesh. Such a celebration calls for another net cafe cigarette.
People I wish were here: Ms. N, my beautiful fake-wifelet V-Star and my old fake ex-husband Nick.
