There's No Place Like Home

That’s me, ringing it in with my better half.

In Miami Beach, on New Year’s Eve, the locals know better than to park their midnight kiss at a club. That scene is for all the New Yorkers who sucked up every last beach chair at SoHo House Friday afternoon. Instead, the permanent fixtures opt for a good, raging house party hosted by someone bold enough to subject their dwelling to the carnage of merriment. FYI, that’s not me. I have off-white carpets, thank you very much. But I was lucky enough to get invited to two posh house soirees hosted by two of Miami’s most lovely ladies.

The first of which is my gal pal Marcella. And here’s what I learned at her fete: If you have art that looks like food, label it so it doesn’t get eaten by some drunkard with a hankering for cake. Kind of like this:

Mmmm, cake.

Or not.

Over at Casa Tettamanti, my bestie Maria tapped into her inner Martha Stewart. She lists the secrets to her own success here on her The Wordy Girl blog. But she left a few things out. Like, if you have a Greek mama, and she makes cheese pies, have her make an army of them, especially if you’ve invited me. Oh, gluttony.

This is the worst pic of the most delicious pastry — yes, with a bite taken out. Note, I will be squeezing in extra yoga classes all week to work off the exorbitant number of these little treats I took in last night. Totally worth it.

Also clutch: Sparklers. Yes. It really is as simple as sparklers. As soon as they hit the tables, they lit up the night and pics were snapped left and right. Kind of like this one:

Lights, camera, action.

So while all of New York was holding court at Liv and LeBron was busy getting engaged at The Shelborne, we locals were acting a fool and playing with sparklers in Miami’s backyards. Sure, at some point we wound up at Soho House, because, let’s face it, all roads lead to Soho. But it was the house parties that are forever imprinted in our memories for the last night of 2011. And for those who were bold enough to host, your first day of 2012 was most likely loaded with a monstrous mess detailing the fun you had the hours prior. We’re sorry we crushed gum into your carpet, Maria. (PS that was not me or anyone in my car, by the way.) And now we know that’s not a real cake, Marcella. But thanks for letting us trash your pads and party like rockstars one last time before we bid farewell to 2011.

Say, is that Alexis you’re wearing? I thought so.