I went to NYC with four lovely ladies to ring in the New Year right: with a masquerade ball.
There were crowds (and crowds and crowds) of people. We dragged our suitcases from the Port Authority all the way to Grand Central Station, fighting throngs the whole way. Last time I found myself surrounded by that many people in one place was 2010, in Rome, waiting to get into St. Peter’s for the Easter Vigil Mass.
There was coffee.
There was Mass at St. Patrick’s cathedral.
There were two hours spent dressing up for the ball, helping one another with hair and makeup as needed.
There was music. Lots of it. And champagne. (Some of which ended up being spilled–by an unknown, unseen entity–on my dress. Thank goodness for BLACK.) There were random meetings of strangers, some pleasant (like the friendly fellow who took a fancy to my roommate and enjoyed dancing–even twirling–to anything that had a beat), some quite unpleasant (like the drunk guy later in the evening who made some pretty ugly passes at another girl I was with. I’m afraid I saw red. Fortunately, we left at that point, or I probably would have said some things I would later have come to regret. “This is New York, sweety. I don’t know who the f*** you are…” is NOT an okay response to a girl’s gently but firmly removing your arm from her shoulder. Especially when said girl doesn’t even know your name).
There was sleep. And sightseeing. And shopping. A lovely dinner. A visit to the Met. And a pleasant trip home.