Sunday is off to a slow (not in the wonderful, leisurely sense of the word but rather the “dragging my feet and struggling with the weight of my eyelids” sense) start.

Blame it on that slinky little devil Saturday night…she gets me every time.

Last night Bess and I happily accepted an invitation to a rooftop cocktail party on the lower east side.

We donned our party duds, threw bottles of chilled wine in our purses, and set off to enjoy live music, spectacular views and a bit of a rambunctious crowd.

What’s a party without a rap battle setting the mood?

And just when I was sure we were overrun with fun and couldn’t possibly stomach anymore…glo-bands were passed around.

Call me childish, but I dare anyone, anyone to tell me glowing in the dark doesn’t make everything better. Everyone, shrouded in the night sky, suddenly twinkling like their very own star.

We danced and drank and then drank and danced some more.

And ended the night with renditions of our favorites, sung into the New York skyline.