Ringing in the new year.

Does it count as “ringing in” the new year if the only ringing was of my cell phone registering text messages as I tried to sleep? I’ve never been much of a “stay up till midnight” kinda gal. For the last several years, my idea of celebrating the changeover from one year to the next has involved getting into my pajamas and sleeping those crucial minutes away.

Midtown East was all but deserted last night, with some people crowded into bars here and there. Most folks had likely adjourned to somewhere in the vicinity of the crush of Times Square. I grabbed a burger with a co-worker, Joe, at Rare,303 Lexington @ 37th, for dinner. He tried their bison burger, while I went with their classic with smoked chedder and entirely too many carmelized onions. My bun kept slipping off and my bites were sloppy. I kept having to shove the onions back on with my fork, like someone valiantly trying to hold in their intestines after they’ve been gutted. (Mmm, tasty visual…) Rare’s sides of fries are hefty and impossible to finish, but I love the maple sauce that comes with the sweet potato ones. I think it might be up there with the Chelsea Grill of Hell Kitchen’s sweet barbecue sauce, which I have often offered to lick off of the Grill’s various bartenders. (Only the ones I know…anything else wouldn’t be very polite.) Yes, I judge good condiments by lickability. What can I say…? It’s much more interesting than whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

I was home by 8:30, ready to suit up in pajamas and hit the sack. Full of food and resolutions I know I won’t keep.

And now it’s 2008. In two months and four days, I turn 30. Perhaps I’ll sleep those crucial minutes away as well.

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