Ashley the Amazon Athlete and I were quickly getting to know one another...

My roommate, "Darren Tymes" came from a wealthy family who owned several businesses throughout Manhattan. They had a beautiful home on the bay in Long Island and an equally impressive brownstone in the Lower East Side of New York City.

Prior to leaving for the winter break, Darren suggested that a few of us from our football team visit him in the city to celebrate New Year's Eve in Times Square. He told us that his father could get us a host of complimentary passes to several of the posh parties/clubs throughout the city while we stay at their brownstone in the Village. Sounded like a good time. Until then I had never celebrated New Year's at Times Square. Though I grew up in New Jersey, I was always told that unless you were old enough to drink, or rich enough to afford the party scene it was almost not worth it. But now I was 21 with comps to some of the best places in town. I was on board. Five of my fellow teammates also decided to make the trip from Buffalo. We met up a few days before New Year's Eve and thoroughly enjoyed Darren's family's hospitality. We were all pretty much from blue-collar families, so it was nice to see how the other half lived.

Darren's mother lined us up, prior to us venturing out for the evening, suggesting that we leave all valuables with the exception of our cash, ID's and tickets to avoid pick pockets and muggers. I remember thinking how funny that was considering I was the smallest of the group at 5'10", 190 pounds. "You never know," she said, "what to expect in the city. It either loves you or hates you."

The train to Times Square was packed. When we emerged from the subway, the scene was absolutely crazy. Literally hundreds of thousands of people crowed the streets. I had never seen anything like it. We made our way to a ritzy club practically right next to the One Times Square building. We could tell that we were out of our element so we decided to make our way to TGIF's which had a nice view of the ball, buffalo wings, beer and a load of ladies! We were set for the evening.

In a matter of minutes I spotted my prey. A group of five girls seated around a table. One in particular had a terrific smile, long blonde hair and blue eyes. Soon we found out that they went to Fairleigh Dickinson. They were female student athletes, so at least we had something in common. I introduced myself to Ashley cheesily complementing her eyes and her smile. After some small talk … "What's you major? Where are you from? What sport/position do you play?" I asked Ashley if she would like a drink. "Sure," she said, as she stood up to come with me to the bar – all 6'1 of her! (Remember, I'm 5'10" – in shoes!). My friends, as well as hers I'm sure, struggled to control their laughter as Ashley towered over me in her three-inch heels. She was a basketball player!

As the night progressed I played the "chick" as I sat on a bar stool with Ashley, who appeared smitten with my drunken wit and charm, stood between my legs. The "Amazon" and I were making quick progress in our relationship sharing sultry looks and an occasional lip lock as the Crown and Cokes continued to flow!

Now, when I drink WAY too much I do, what I like to call, a Quantum Leap. It's kind of like a dream sequence where you find yourself in the middle of something then, suddenly, SNAP! You're somewhere else. My evening's Quantum Leap went something like this:

I'm talking to a girl six inches taller than me occasionally sharing a kiss and slurring uncontrollably.
SNAP!
My buddy comes up to me and says they are going outside for the ball dropping.
SNAP!
I am in the men's room peeing in the sink.
SNAP!
Ashley is not where I left her. Fridays is almost empty. I ask the bartended what gives. "The balls dropping, dude," He says.
SNAP!
I'm out on Broadway yelling for Dick Clark holding a plastic cup of Champagne.
SNAP!
I make my way back into Fridays – as least I think it's Fridays.
SNAP!
My friends and Ashley are nowhere to be found!
SNAP!
I am back on Broadway – it is practically empty with the exception of 100 street sweepers cleaning up 2000 tons of confetti.
SNAP!
I'm on a couch, covered in plastic, my face is stuck to the arm of the couch and my head is pounding. It is dark with the exception of a street lamp shining through the front bay window and the blinking of 12:00AM coming from an unset VCR on top of a television set. Next to me is a plastic trashcan.

"Where the hell am I?" I ask myself. I check my pockets. I have my license and $8.00 (I started the evening with $200.00). I attempt to fill in the blanks between my Quantum Leaps with no success. I figured that I must have met back up with Ashley and she must have taken me back to her parents’, maybe.

At this point I am a little freaked out. Too freaked out to fall back asleep, without a watch and an unwillingness to get up and investigate.

I have no idea what time it is.

I lay there motionless in the dark waiting for sunlight or a familiar face.

After what seems to be an eternity, I finally hear some rustling from upstairs. A toilet flushes and a creaking comes from the stairs. I decide that I'll keep my head down and my eyes closed enough to appear asleep to assess the situation. An elderly woman, easily in her 70's, walks slowly past the couch into the kitchen in the back of the house. Some 10-15 minutes later a man I assume to be her husband walks by. Ashley's grandparents, perhaps?

I wait a few more minutes before I sit up, swallow my pride, rise and head towards the kitchen.

“I am SO sorry, ma'am, sir. I had a little too much to drink last night. I appreciate you letting me sleep on your couch. My name is Pete. Is Ashley here?"

"I'm sorry, hon, but you were by yourself when you knocked on our door this morning." (imagine this in your best old lady – smokes two packs a day – Fran Dresher voice).

I sat there speechless and asked myself again "Where am I?"

"Uhhh…" I said.

"You knocked on the door around 3AM asking for the Tymes's. They live 6 houses down the street. You were a little drunk and it was late so we had you lay down on the couch."

NO WAY, I thought. What an ASS I was – a lucky ass, yes, but an ass none the less.

"Oh my God," I proclaimed, "again, I am so very sorry. You are so kind. I really appreciate it."

I was invited to sit and eat New Year's breakfast with "Sal and Sandra Feinberg." Eggs and bagels! I told them about my evening – at least what I remembered of it. They proclaimed how lucky I was that I wasn't left out in the cold or mugged. Together, we deduced that I must have taken a cab from Times Square and, luckily, found the proper street. A miracle considering that I was completely unfamiliar with New York City. Better yet, I still had money in my pocket.

I, again, thanked the Feinbergs for their generosity and headed to Darren's house – literally six doors up the street.

When I knocked on the door, Darren's mother answered.

"Where were you young man?" she said jokingly.

Seated around the table were my friends figuring that I scored with Amazon Ashley.

"I just had breakfast with the Feinbergs down the street."

As I told my story I could tell that Darren's mother was a tad embarrassed since I imposed on her wealthy neighbors.

I simply thought back to her sage words from earlier that evening: New York City either loves you or hates you.

That night, I felt the love. I heard that Mrs. Feinberg just passed away a few months ago. Her husband passed in 1997. God bless the both of you.