“Today, I ATE New York!” My roommate says coming in from her day job.

“You mean you HATE New York, you don’t ATE it, you hate it.” I say pouring her a glass of Cote du Rhone wine.

I don’t mean to correct Virginie’s English, but she asked me earlier to help her when she is saying something wrong.

When I first met Virginie in June, she was fresh off the plane from Montpellier, France. Her first words in English to me were: “My name is Virginie, and I LOVE NEW YORK!” She said with a squeal while clapping her hands wildly.

Of course she loved New York, the weather was beautiful, the sun reflects off of the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings in spectacular fashion, roof top parties are endless, as are the nights of club hopping and the complimentary champagne and vodka bottles from our promoter friends and club owners. It’s not so easy to say “I love New York” when the weather changes, the sun comes out with less frequency, and all of  a sudden all of the things that were background noise- like roaring police sirens, the throngs of strangers that bump into you are finally get on your last nerves- this on top of the fact, that you still have your full time job to go to.

“New York, is not what I think. It’s much ARDER!”

“Harder, New York is Harder.” I say again to Virginie.

I tell Virginie “Well, New York is like a relationship; and a relationship is a relationship is a relationship.”

“Quoi?” She says, exhausted and slightly defeated.

What I mean is- everyone who comes to New York has certain exceptions of this city (usually because of the movies watched in childhood). New York is tough, but, like a good boyfriend or girlfriend, it is also beautiful and giving. While it can be a difficult city, it is a city to fall in love with. Just when you think you know this city, there is always something new to discover- new street, new restaurant, new nightclub, new museum (or literally ‘the new museum’).

It’s always easy to walk away when something is difficult, but New York rewards you over and over again for staying.

I tell Virginie “Summer will come again, and it will be a little easier.”

She tells me she knows, and with that we take our friends out to dinner, and night of dancing.

At Cielo, after a bottle of complimentary Champagne, and lots of male attention, Virginie yells, “I LOVE NEW YORK!”

Ah, yes, the heart is such a resilient little muscle.

My roommate, my cousin, and I get ready for a surprise birthday party for our sweet friend Laure at Pere Pinard. Just me, and 10 French people…a typical evening out lately. As we run around my apartment, glasses of Latour Chardonnay in our hands, trying to find the right thing to wear in each others’ closets, we all begin to moan about our work day. Virginie is a fashion assistant to a head of a rather large French Fashion house, Sophie is a booking agent in music management, and I am a producer in a similar field but for Classical music. All of us ambitious, and all of us over worked, (newly) single, and ready to go out and unwind from our stressful day jobs before going out for the rest of the evening.

Virginie runs around our place, almost pulling out her hair. In her utterly thick French accent, “I don’t understand…zees type of person, ziss boss of mine, why she not say, ‘Allo, how is your day?’ Why she only run in, yell, and say, “Get in my office!”

“She has a type A personality.” I say talking another sip off of my glass of wine.

“Quoi?” Virginie says with a look.

Sophie chimes in, “You don’t know what a type A personality is? Well honey, you obviously haven’t lived in New York that long.”

For those of you that don’t know what a type A personality is, check Wiki’s definition below:

Type A personality, also known as the Type A Behavior Pattern, is a set of characteristics that includes being impatient, excessively time-conscious, insecure about one's status, highly competitive, hostile and aggressive, and incapable of relaxation. Type A individuals are often high-achieving workaholics who multi-task, drive themselves with deadlines, and are unhappy about the smallest of delays. Although they may exhibit some or all of these characteristics, it does not mean that people with the type A personality are incapable of showing love, affection or other types of non-pessimistic behavior. Many are also capable of "coaching" some of these behavior attributes with proper treatment and medication. Those who do not seek treatment have been described as stress junkies, and often display some of the following characteristics:

1. An intrinsic insecurity or insufficient level of self-esteem, which is considered to be the root cause of the syndrome. This is believed to be covert and therefore less observable.
2. Time urgency and impatience, which causes irritation and exasperation.
3. Free floating hostility, which can be triggered even over little incidents.

Virginie looks concerned, and so I let her know the New York is the hub of the  type A personality. It’s where all of the type A personalities of small towns in the USA and abroad felt lonely and misunderstood finally felt at home upon entering our Gotham city, a place of millions of Type A personalities.

The worse thing is when a type A personality, doesn’t know they are a type A personality.

Sophie and I know that we are. Sophie not only book artists, she is an artist, she is a singer, a writer, a manager, a dancer, and a part time nightclub host on the weekends. Me, I’m a producer (currently producing a television show and a play) , a writer (finishing a play, and a book), a drummer (in one band), an actress (just finished a short movie that I wrote and produced, and did a small scene in an indie film last week) and what do I do in my spare time before meeting my friends for drinks, dinner, and dancing? Why the gym of course!

Little Virginie refuses to think she is the same. She says this as she gets dress, checks her Facebook profile, blackberry instant messages her boss who is currently in China, because it is the window of when her boss is awake, while asking us if we could all be ready in 15 min, because she already called the car service.

“Yeah, definitely not Type A at all.” I say to Virginie.

“Oui, I know.” She says pouring us another glass.

New York would not exist without this personality. It is the person that runs the fashion magazine, the nightclub, produces the album, and runs the fashion house. I’m not saying it’s the best way to be, but you got to admit, they (I?) get a lot of work done.

Cold, Rainy, and Gray. This is your typical New York winter day.

On my walk to work I grab a café au lait after my exit from the Q train. I walk up Broadway past the David Letterman studio and take a right on the street where I work, 54^th Street. It’s then that I stop and look over at The Roundabout Theatre, formally the infamous: Studio 54.

The rain begins to pour down and so I stand there under its marquee for a moment sipping my coffee and thinking about the time when this was the club at the center of the universe. I look through its glass doors which are embedded with the Studio 54 logo.  I try to imagine the crowds spilling out into the streets, hundreds at a time at one point, more than any club has seen in New York City currently.  

Doorman Marc Benecke, alongside Host/Co-Owner Steve Rubell, handpicked Studio 5 4’s guests.  Its stories are legendary and its ghost has affected every night club to break ground in NYC and beyond every since.  

It was before the red rope, bottle service, celebrity DJ’s (who, I mean, come on, just push play on their iPods through the clubs sound system), and overzealous security guards. Instead it wove its own epic never to be duplicated, but much imitated (somewhat cautionary) tale.  

It’s easy to nostalgic about when things where fresh, creative, and buzz worthy in the New York club and art scenes of the 1970’s and 1980’s, and to ask the question, “Why did that club work so well?” when so many other clubs close here open and close with so little to no fan fair on a regular basis.

T o me it was a series of happy accidents that Studio 54 worked. I don’t think every night club can study it and think it formulaic to replicate it. There was a Sorbonne-educated, former PR agent for Valentino (she was also multi-lingual)Carmen D’Alessio who was really the brain child for this operation and I don’t think she gets enough credit. She brought her International A-list clients to the table, and was responsible for sending out personalized invitations with special “party gifts” to her invited guests.  Carmen made sure gossip columnists’ Cindy Adams and Liz Smith had their invites in hand giving pre-buzz for the opening.   Steve Rubell and Ian Schrager were brought in because initial investor Frank Lloyd lost millions of dollar in a lawsuit. But Schrager and Rubell really handed D’Alessio the promotion and design aspect of the club (I.e. the bulk of the work).

 Those are the elements that I think every night club in NYC does try to copy: a mixture of A-listers, the beautiful “nobodies” (although NO ONE in NYC wants be considered a nobody, that was Studio 54 Rubell’s terminology) fashion folks and publicity. That doesn’t guarantee success, just ask Noel Ashman, whose clubs have risen, fallen, (renamed) and risen again here in New York.

Hopefully in the club scene soon there will be more “happy accidents” I look forward to something fresh, creative, and inspired…again.

 (i looooovvvvvveee cupcakes)

I admit it.

I have watched and loved every episode of 'Sex and the City.' Yes, I will see the movie and yes, I will drag my boyfriend  to see it with me. I too live on the magical island called Manhattan, I wear stilettos to work, and cocktails with my girlfriends and gay boyfriends after work is almost a daily reality for me.

However, that doesn't mean that I am not slightly irritated by some of the things that have resulted in New York because of that landmark show.

I am sure most of you know there is a 'Sex and the City' tour where women (and their begrudging husbands and boyfriends) ride in a tour bus and cruise the set locations of the show. As I walk through the West Village on the weekends I will undoubtedly hear the battle cry of tour bus driver yelling, "And that is where Charlotte and Carrie had a cup of coffee."

"Seriously" I think to myself. "People want to know that?"

As I passed Sarah "Carrie Bradshaw" Parker and her husband Matthew Brodrick walking with their child (and Bodyguard) down Bleeker street one humid as hell balmy summer afternoon, tourists couldn't reach for their cameras fast enough. There was a clear division between New Yorkers protective of their privacy that passed them without some much of a glance, and out of towners who gawked, yelled and shouted at them- These three people, this small family, trying to enjoy their Sunday afternoon.

Incidental I was on the way to get a cupcake. I have strong sugar cravings and I do love Magnolia. The line around Magnolia bakery on Bleeker Street is always around the block on most nights, and much of this is due to the fact that Miranda and Carrie had their pink cupcakes on a bench there. I am a cupcake junky, and because I am allergic to lines (club lines, bakery lines, movie lines) I found a new alternative to Magnolia, Sunshine Cupcakes on Rivington. No lines, and there a cute buff (gay) man that work in the bakery there and it is a delicious alternative to the tourist trap of Magnolia.

Then there is Pastis Restaurant in the Meat Packing District off of little 14th Street, where Carrie and 'The Russian' had brunch one winter day. I went with my roommate little Virginie and her family. All of them are from Montpelier, France. Virginie father owns a vineyard, so let it be know, that he knows a thing or two about wine. We already had reservations for 10:30pm on a Saturday night. As we approached the restaurant, there was a line out of the door. I assumed that the food and service must be something quite spectacular.
Suffice it to say...I was wrong on both fronts.

The hosts were gracious, but once we sat down, we ordered a round of 'Pastis.' Pastis is an anise flavored liqueur and aperitif from the South of France. Specifically from where Virginie and her family is from.

Our waiter didn't know what a Pastis was...even thought he worked at Pastis...yeah...it was a little embarrassing. He try to pass off a beer drink that you add water to as Pastis'. To add insult to injury he began to make up what each wine tasted like and butchered the pronunciation of each wine (yes, he did say MER LOT).

I took him aside and said very genitally "Honey, the man at the head of the table owns a vineyard, if you don't know what your talking about, it's OK...but, please ask someone..." He blushed, and thanked me for giving me the heads up. As I sat back down next to Virginie little sister Alice, she said, "I thought this would be a better restaurant." "Why would you think that?" I said.

"Because it was on 'Sex on the City."

While New York is the perfect backdrop for a photo shoot, a film, and a television show, all is not what it seems. It is Never-Never land here. You never have to grow up...but you should, and this is the perfect city to be a dreamer and a doer. But don't always believe what
is on TV.

For us New Yorkers, we know the reality of this city far outshines the small and the large screen. I can't blame 'Sex and the City' for glamorizing a few local spots, it's just so much more magical to find the best places on your own, without the help of televisions best girl show.

Shaking My Money Maker

New Years Eve. New York. So many many choices for one big evening. Over a million people flood Time Square each year to watch the ball drop, others throw gorgeous and eccentric parties at the Soho House, or Cipriani's, on and on.

Between working 60 hours a week at the office and with my crew being spread out all over the world this New Years Eve- from Amanda in South Africa, to my man visiting his home in Australia. I had made no concrete plans.

Dangerous? No. Boring. Perhaps.

But I was going to see where the 20 degree wind would take me. That's when my cousin called me.

"We need a bartender tomorrow night at S.O.B's for New Years Eve, can you do it?" She said over her cell phone.

Hmmm. I haven't bartended since the late 90's (I had to pay for college school some how). And the idea of making drinks for hundreds of people at one time on the busiest drinking night of the year seemed daunting and terrifying.

"I'll do it!" I said, surprisingly enthusiastic.

Dangerous? Yes. Stupid. Perhaps.

What I could remember of bartending were these two tips: wait until midnight before doing shots yourself and wear a slightly slutty top to increase tipage.

So I was off to shop for something slightly scandalous to increase my chances of tips (and if I sucked at least I would look good).

When I arrived at S.O.B's I was greeted by the manager Peter.

"You've done this before...right?" He said, I could feel his nervous energy from across the room.

"Yes, no worries. I've done this quite a few times." I said to him reassuringly...leaving out the fact that I hadn't done it years.

I stood behind the bar studying the location of the liquor, finding all the tools I would need that night: My shaker, my sifter, my muddler, my bottle opener.

Now I was nervous. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?! Just then I was greeted by my other bartenders. They walked me through the computer program for ringing up drinks, the location off all the wines and beers, and Nell (the only male bartender of the evening) gave me a smug "Good luck, you're going to need it" look.

One thing to know about it me is this- I rock under pressure (not necessarily with grace, but dang it- it will get done). Whether it's having to deal with one of my artists being stranded in a tour bus on the side of the road at 3am, auditioning, or drumming, I will suck it and say, "Awww...f*ck it...I'll give it a go."

And with that, S.O.B's filled up to the gills, by 8pm.

I felt possessed in a good way. I lined up my glasses, pint and martini, shook my drinks and filled my glasses. Within an hour I was back to pouring a "perfect pour" martini (you know what I mean bartenders) and I was thrilled.

It's funny, it was so great to take on such a challenge on a night like New Years Eve. It was hard work, I was well rewarded (oh man I forgot how much money you can make as a bartender!).

A midnight I poured Nell and I a shot of chilled patron with roses lime and greeted the New Year.  

So I wish everyone a rewarding New Year, don't back down from a challenge, it might just be the most rewarding thing you have done in a while.