In previous years, it was as though things happened through sheer will. 2025 was embittering: I got scammed and my meager finances were obliterated. A handful of opportunities fell through. Money was a constant source of concern and worry. JOVM went on a forced but thankfully short hiatus.
A couple of days before New Year’s Eve, I caught a cold or something that kicked my ass. For the better part of two days, I felt like I was moving through mud. So by New Year’s Eve, I was thrilled to see 2025 die —even if I was also equally excited and fearful of what 2026 would bring.
What better way to stomp the shit out of a bad year and ring in a new one than with some beautiful folks at Ace Hotel, Brooklyn?
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