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"It was New Year’s Eve, just a couple years ago actually. I looked out the window of my 34th floor hotel suite overlooking Times Square. There was a massive crowd below and it was only 9 PM. And above it all … that ball. You know. THE ball. The one that’s been dropping for decades above Times Square with the crowd in the streets screaming, “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” and then in big neon lights the words HAPPY NEW YEAR lighting up below it.
I watched it for years on TV as a kid, then for the first time as part of the crowd when I went to New York with my college girlfriends. It was SO cold that night and we got SO drunk, the memory of the ball that year was a blur. I honestly don’t even remember it dropping.
But this year was going to be different, VERY different. I’d rarely come to New York on New Year for “Dolly Dates” but I had a special friend in New York who begged me to spend New Year’s Eve with him. He was actually flying in that evening from overseas and wanted a “really special” celebration to kick off the New Year. I was more than happy to give it to him.
So let’s talk about “special”. To me that meant finding a terrific hotel suite with a view of the “dropping ball”, flying in early that day to do some shopping at my favorite NYC lingerie store, buying just the right bottle of champagne, and getting ready to blow his fucking socks off at midnight. At the stroke of twelve I had plans to have not one but two balls drop in a way that would make the Times Square experience totally minor league."
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