Day one of me writing for 15 minutes everyday

I am 43 years old, have been a parent since I was 19 and for the first time in the history of my life, I went out on NYE to a party. At a club. And it was Taylor Swift themed.

I’ll Write Your Name, that Romeo and Juliet one, and Shake It Off are great songs that I mostly know but I wouldn’t say I’m a Swiftie. We walked into that venue, got in line at the bar and I proceeded to order one of the specially crafted cocktails for the night — a Tropical Red Bull with Tequila. As far as dance club “cocktails” go, it was “not good” but I had to When-in-Rome it up.

Here’s the thing with balloons in the club. A dance floor. covered with red balloons are fun. They have “fuck the patriarchy” written on them? Even MORE fun. You drink, you dance, you start smacking the balloons up in the air and after about 30 min, it becomes a chore that everyone actively pretends not to be avoiding. “How long do we have to play with these?!” Before the end of the night, balloons are getting stomped on rather than risk being seen bending over to pick up and play with a balloon.

Balloon popping sounds in a highly attended event is slightly reminiscent to recent bullets-leaving-guns events in the news. So maybe balloons have had their day in the sun.

An hour to midnight, I found myself dancing with my wife around a circle with friends we made on the dance floor without even speaking. Just through the power of dance. Suddenly, something amazing happens. The circle dance friends point at me. It’s my turn to step into then light footed Swifty Circle thunder dome. I gave it a few twists without making eye contact with anyone as to avoid seeing the look of immediate regret.

As far as completely last minute NYE plans go, it was phenomenal despite my attempts to hype everyone up on the benefits of going to bed by 10pm.