The diner is full of its usual patrons. There is an older lady with an over sized mink coat and too much rouge in the corner booth, and two construction workers in orange vests exchanging jokes with harsh, long island consonants.
The place is my favorite of its kind. The grandmotherly pink interior and lack of tourists make it an authentic, hidden gem in the city. I am happy to share it with my friends, who are visiting from out of town. To me, the place embodies New York City.
Were are retelling stories about our adventures together in Ireland, and laughing until our cheeks hurt.
Suddenly there is a pause, and the conversation takes a turn for the serious,
"Jess, what do you want to be when you grow up," Sara asks.
I sigh a little at the question which has been pressed far too often in the last few weeks.
"Well, the answer is: I don't know. Luckily, I'm nowhere near being a grown up."
I explain to my friends Sara, Erica, and Jenna how this was the main topic of discussion during my trip home for Christmas break, which came to no conclusion. After 9 days of dad's prodding, and me insisting that I was content with life's mysteries (I didn't convince him) I'd never been more ready to get back to the city.
Everybody keeps silent, and continues eating their breakfast.
I know that no one at the table is judging my response, but with all the recent interrogation I feel self conscious anyway. Maybe everyone's right. Maybe living in the moment is to be reckless with your future?
The N train puts us at central park where we walk through snowy gardens and pass people getting their portraits drawn by sidewalk artists. I don't remember the city being this frigid when I left. My boots have been defeated by the slushy sidewalks and my feet are wet and icy.
"This is nothing compared to Montreal right now," my friends tell me.
I begin to make a mental note to never visit Montreal between December through March.
We arrive at Wolman rink and rent ice skates from the vendor. My girlfriends are all Canadian and I am certain that they'll be whizzing past me like Tara Lapinski, doing double salchows and triple axels.
We step cautiously onto the ice and enter into what looks like a danger zone. The rink is packed with out-of-towners, and the scene resembles the bumper cars you find at any county fair.
Were doing our best to stick together while weaving in and out of traffic, but the amount of people is making it difficult.
I tell Erika that this is what it must feel like living in India.
"Look out!" Jenna yells as an Asian man wobbles around in front of us, his arms flailing, trying to grasp the air for balance unsuccessfully. He hits the ice and skids two feet.
We move fast and veer around him in order to avoid a 5 car pileup.
"Man down!" I shout in passing.
Were hysterical from the incident for the next two laps.
After skating we walk down 5th avenue. Erika is taking pictures of the lights and window displays. Gucci, Fendi, Tiffany's, Cartier, Chanel, Louis V, and Armani are all within eye sight.
"Alright", says Erika, (a fashion major from Toronto), "This is my favorite street in New York,"
While I'm not much of a shopper, an offense to my gender, I admit that window shopping down 5th during Christmas isn't so bad. The view is a bit commercial, but the sparkle makes it whimsical and maybe even a little breathtaking.
There are hundreds of twinkle lights and decorations. Ribbons and wreaths line the streets, and a Giant swarvoski snowflake is hanging from a highwire above 47th street.
We walk to the Rockefeller center where the large evergreen stands in the plaza, looking stirdy and festive, then wait in the que for Magnolia bakery.
"Hey guys, check this out: According to a Zagat survey, magnolia bakery has the best cupcakes in the city.", Sara reads from a plaque they have displayed on a pastel colored wall.
"I'm ready to put that to the test." I chime, my sweet tooth triggering the excited feeling I get from looking at things with frosting and sprinkles.
One vanilla cupcake and a stomache ache later and I've made my decision:
Magnolia Bakery cupcakes are not cupcakes, they're heaven in dessert form.
Since it is new years eve we have dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant in the West Village. We walk back to the house where we hurriedly get ready and call a cab. The streets are cobblestone and the winter snow from the latest blizzard still exists, making it difficult to walk in our heels.
Danielle and Ashley have joined us for dinner, and I am feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me. It's pleasant having so many people I love at the same table.
I order a glass of pinot girigio and butternut squash ravioli. It tastes divine, but I am coveting Sara's fried calamari appetizer. I know that "thou shall not covet" is one of the ten commandments, but since I'm quite agnostic, I decide this doesn't apply and ask her for a bite.
We settle the bill and taxi to Brother Jimmy's, a bar in Murray Hill. Ashley orders everyone a fishbowl, which is literally a giant glass bowl filled with some deadly booze infested concoction, 30 neon straws, and a plastic alligator. Danielle is right behind her with a round of tequila shots.
More tequila shots closely follow.
Soon Ashley and I are attempting 'the robot' on the dance floor, which probably looked more like: 'The robot with a short circuit.'
I look at the mounted TV screen where they're broadcasting the ball drop live. We talk about how strange it is that just two blocks away thousands of people stand huddled to see what should have remained in the 70's fall from the sky.
It's 11:59, one minute til midnight.
A tall boy with blue eyes and a handsome 5'oclock shadow asks if I'd like a drink. I think he's cute.
I tell him no, but that he can help me bring in the new year.
"How about both?" He replies
I agree, and I wait with him at the bar while the seconds slip from the evening,
"FIVE....FOUR...THREE...TWO....ONE:"
I kiss my stranger, which is actually kind of nice for having only met twenty seconds prior, then smile excusing myself to celebrate with my friends.
Sara asks for our attention, and raises her champagne glass in a toast,
"Here's to one person bringing so many amazing people together tonight, and to having 365 days ahead of us to make this the best year ever,"
We lift our glasses in unison and take a deep drink of chandon, laughing at the silliness in her words, but inside we know the sentiments are true. Our hearts are grateful and full of contentment from the moment, and hope for the future.
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