Illustration by Cecile MancionThe initial plan for New Year's Eve was to stay at my mom's house and host a small get together with whomever was local that didn't want to go out "out". Séb and I were planning on picking up a few bottles of champagne, some smoked salmon and capers, fresh shrimp, light the fireplace and watch Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper count down the new year in comfort. The plan was set until I received an e-mail from Ryan where we were invited to a small gathering at his apartment in Manhattan. Ryan, a dear friend of mine whom I used to wait tables with in Hollywood, has invited me to his holiday parties four years in a row where I was never able to make it due to snowstorms, or being in Paris, or getting stuck in Buffalo or having to go to my ten year high school reunion, so this year I thought I'd finally go and cancelled our impromptu "loafer" party.
Ryan moved to New York shortly after I left L.A to work in fashion where he wanted to pursue his acting career outside of Los Angeles. Since his big move, he was accepted to the renowned Juilliard School, landed tons of hilarious commercial work, met his boyfriend Michael and just finished writing and starring in his star-studded indie film, He's Way More Famous Than You due out later this year. I'm so proud of him and everything that he has accomplished over these past few years, he never ceases to inspire me. It wasn't terribly long ago that we were slinging hash in Hollywood, stacking plates of steamed veggie egg white omelettes, tofu eggs benedict and gluten-free pancakes up our arms to L.A folks who lunch. These shifts consisted of us torturing our manager by blasting the worst songs on the jukebox, walking at a snail's pace in the restaurant during the brunch rush or pretending that we were going to eat food off of customer's plates where he would charge after us threatening that he was going to write our "fucking asses up" in the manager's book. Good times...really.
Séb and I were the first arrivals at the party, armed with two bottles of Sofia Blanc de Blancs and were able to briefly catch up with Ryan and Michael before the other guests arrived. After several glasses of champagne, nibbling on finger food and the clock inching towards 11:30, Séb and I looked at each other wondering what we were going to do. We could've stayed at the party but would have gotten stuck on the West Side until 2 am (because the side streets would be blocked off after midnight) or leave and be back at my mom's by 1 am to finish the celebration in the comfort of home. While the party was lovely, we ate, drank and met Ryan and Micheal's vibrant friends (I miss exuberant personalities when I'm in Paris), we decided to head out to avoid being on the drunken train back to the Island at 2:30 am. We quietly snuck out, not wanting to make a scene that we were leaving before midnight and scurried across 57th street to 8th in order to get the hell out of the city.
We arrived at 8th avenue where the barricades were already up and were directed by a police officer that the entrance to the subway was around the block because they weren't letting anyone cross the avenue. If we went around the block, we'd miss the 12:14 train and the next one would be at 12:55 and would be jam packed with the first batch of obnoxious drunk partyers. I calmly explained to the officer that we were just trying to get back on the last somewhat sober train to the Island and that my feet hurt. He looked down at my Marc by Marc Jacobs black sequined booties and opened the gate to let us through. I thanked him, wished him a Happy New Year and we descended into the desolate A/C/E subway station. "Wow, bien joué!" Séb said, fully impressed with my negotiating skills, something that I would never try in France. One because it would never work (especially with my accent) and two, because I'm scared of the French police.
We made it to Penn Station before midnight leaving us enough time to get a champagne split at the Station market that was handed to us already popped open, in a brown paper bag with two straws bobbing out the top of the effervescent bottle. The station was a case of the calm before the storm where the only people around were police officers getting ready for a long night, commuters who didn't give a shit about the holiday and homeless people. The clock hit midnight and the cops walked through the station wishing everyone a Happy New Year, two girls who just happened to be there cheersed one another with their sandwiches, a homeless man in a wheel chair sipping on a can of coke chanted "Happy New Year! Make your dreams come true this year!", a saxophonist played "Aude Lang Syne" and we took a sip of champagne from our straws and had our New Year's kiss in the middle of Penn Station. At the risk of sounding cheesy, it was perfect.
This was the first New Year's Eve where I enjoyed the best of both worlds; going out and feeling the excitement of the city and being back at my mom's house for a limoncello nightcap before nestling into bed at 2 am. It was by far, the perfect ending to 2011. Let's hope 2012 echoes this perfection. No pressure...
