Turning nothing to something

Or at the very least, trying.

Allow me to be the latest person in your life wishing you a Happy New Year.

I write to you from under my Lola Blanket, with a heating pad on my shoulder, on my couch in the Lower East Side, watching the Rose Bowl for some reason. I didn’t know Lola Blankets were so expensive when I got one (my mom sent me an extra she had, she stocked up on Black Friday), and I hate to inform you all that they are truly as magnificent as you would assume them to be for $399. I have the pink one, and they do have a welcome offer for 35% off. I only let it out of my bedroom for special occasions, which today—hungover on my couch—seemed to be.

For the first time, I hosted people for New Year’s Eve. My friends and I usually do a dinner, but we couldn’t nail down the number of people in time, and selfishly I love watching Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen. My pregame was a ploy to get everything I wanted—watch AC2 and still party.

I love to host as you should all know by now, and this time placed emphasis on the drinks rather than the food because I knew why everyone was coming over for New Years Eve. I served all the fixings for options of dirty and dry martinis, a pomegranate cosmo, and bought a jumbo bottle of champagne that was only $30. I felt it this morning, but that’s the sacrifice we must all make.