All right, so it's not exactly the extravaganza I hinted at earlier today, kidz, but c'mon ... what'd you expect? I mean, I've really got to get going soon to start Round 1 of tonight's huge New Year's Eve blowout/gala/fete! I've got more than enough painfully chi-chi parties to attend, scads of VIP invitations to all of the hippest, trendiest private clubs this side of the Hudson River (and some to so-called clubs across it, but we all know that if they're not in Manhattan they really don't count, don't we!), and then, of course, I've got to slum it and drag myself to Times Square to ring in 2002 alongside Rudy and Judi ... So forgive me if I don't seem like I'm quite "all there" here. But y'know ... just between you and me, sometimes it's really such a damned chore being a -- no, make that THE -- Girl About Town. People expect too much. They demand too much. And I've gotta admit, I'm really getting a bit sick of it all.

So that's why I've resolved -- yes, just now I've decided! -- that in 2002, I'm not going to spread myself so thin. That's right. I'm going to knock it off with all the parties, clubs, and new restaurant and gallery openings. Quit keeping such impossible, inhuman late (early) hours. Stop trying to be all things to all people. And start learning how to step down, step back, and stay in, away from all the hoopla and hooha. I'm sick of running around with wannabes, has beens, and never weres!

And to that end, I've just unzipped myself out of this custom-made, one-of-a-kind Valentino gown. Divested myself of the Harry Winston tiara, the Manolo Blahniks, the La Perla bra and panty set (oooh, it's so lacy and creamy and to die for ... maybe I'll just keep it as a souvenir?). I don't care what Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha (especially Samantha, that trollop!) think of me. There's more to this city than bright lights and night life, hobnobbing and bedhopping. There's home! There's comfort! There's the internet!

So you see ... it's almost 9:00, and three hours hover between me and the new year. I could be out among the hoi-polloi, running to and fro, pell mell, topsy-turvy, head over heels (quite possibly, literally). I could be out frolicking and prancing, preening and careening. But I'm not. And the little "time stamp" at the bottom of this entry will serve as proof.

Happy New Year, damn it. (And here I'm putting my index finger in my mouth, against the inside of my cheek, pulling it out with a "pop", and twirling it beside my head, a la third grade and 1971. Amazing, isn't it, how 30 years have really changed me.)