Happy New Year! Part 2

In the years since 1999, that long-anticipated apex of balls-to-the-wall party ecstasy, my own New Year's tendencies have - on the whole - shifted away from glitter and alcoholic excess. My problem is that I can no longer be both drunk and awake for longer than three hours, and a proper big night out on New Year's is all about endurance. 

One year ago at the Grand Canyon, where it was cold.

I tend to start out with a lot of vim and then fizzle out. Last year is not a bad example. Alex and I were at the Grand Canyon. I was pregnant and therefore not drinking, which was too bad, since we went to a so-called New Year's "party" that just begged for six or seven colourful and umbrella'd beverages in quick succession. We'd been lured in by a pretty girl in red lipstick and six-inch glitter heels who promised live music and steak, and by the fact that there was literally nothing else to do of this 0°F evening up at old Grand Canyon Village. 

I was lucky enough to visit Israel and Palestine
at work. I travelled with some amazing people, and I met
some amazing people while we were there.
A highlight of my year. This photo taken in Gaza city, Feb. 2013.

Inside the restaurant was a motley crew of couples and families stranded in the snow for the new year, along with one big table of super-drunk French people whom everyone secretly envied because they were actually having fun. A middle-aged woman at the table beside us got so hammered that her utterly disgusted husband had to take her home by about 10pm. I did, in fact, nurse one blue cocktail all night long in an unsuccessful effort to feel festive. It was served in a small glass boot for some punny reason I can't remember. The friendly couple we shared a table with seemed to be having fun, but of course excessive vodka consumption will do that to you. 

Our  room at the Grand Canyon featured - true story - this complimentary
paper towel and a "fresh remote." I'm just putting this photo up to make you jealous. 

Alex and I ended up laughing all night, but mostly at the epic mediocrity, from the obscene cost to the skimpy and poorly-timed meal (bland, but at least there wasn't much of it), to the scrappy but charming band that failed to rouse anyone to dance. The best part was the sweetly crappy cardboard diversions heaped glittering on each table: squawkers and confetti and silly hats. 

Got to marry this guy at the most spectacular
unwedding ever, which ain't bad at all.

Anyway, we managed to sit through this interminable party until midnight, at which point we kissed, toasted our soon-to-be firstborn, announced our undying affection for each other, and left. Back at our only slightly shabby hotel, we watched Storage Wars for a little bit before turning in. 

In principle, though, I fully support the near-universal and deeply religious ritual of boozing in the New Year, and so THIS year I was a little bit sad that I wouldn't even be able to pretend to participate in it. There was so much to celebrate: getting hitched, moving apartments, Alex's new business, and most importantly, the arrival of our utterly perfect daughter and, with her, that richly apple-fresh feeling of being part of the life all around us and even adding to it. 

Puffy McNoodle, one day old. 

So I'd told my friend Nora, who was having a New Year's party and who was heading back to New York the next day, that I'd try to come by and say hello and see everyone I never get a chance to see but would leave to go home before midnight so that I could actually ring in the new year with my man and (hopefully) slumbering baby.  

Got to spend 5 weeks hanging with my
brilliant dad...

...and my wonderful mom.

Let me tell you how I felt about that plan at about 7pm, when we'd finally dragged our sluggish selves home from the airport and put (tossed?) our totally over-exhausted babe in bed. Yes. That is correct. I was not enthusiastic. 

Thus I was literally overjoyed - my heart burst into confetti, I promise - when, just five minutes after we got home, I peered out of our window and saw on the street below glorious Nora, effervescent Monica and marvellous Thomas, loud and happy and apparently drinking a bottle of champagne. They'd brought the party to US! 

"We thought you might be mad," said Nora, "because of the baby." What hooey. It was effing awesome.  

The only picture I could find that includes all three
New Year's heroes: Monica (far left), Nora (middle) and
Thomas (far right). I LOVE YOU. 

With merry hearts we emptied that bottle of champagne, gold flakes and all, had a whispered (because baby) but nonetheless vigorous catch-up, and finally sent the three merry-makers on their merry way so Nora could make it to her own party. Guys, I love you and you make my life better.  

Some time after they'd gone I heard the baby snuffle in our bedroom where she was sleeping, so I went in with a bottle and slowly drifted off myself. Alex joined us in bed. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was the clock: 11:45pm. 

Deep in the night Alex poked me awake. "Happy New Year," he said, and gave me and the baby snoring between us a kiss. 

Young McNoodle, five months later. 

"Happy New Year," I said. 

And I swear, guys, it was the best one yet.