Wintah in New Yawk

It is hilariously cold outside. Hilariously. I was walking to work this morning and the wind was stabbing me in the face and the vitreous humor in my eyeballs was icing up and I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. I love winter--specifically New York City in winter--but it should never be this cold, anywhere, ever.

And of course I wore my pointy witch-hooker boots today that are made of the thinnest imaginable leather skin (probably calf fetus), so I could hardly put each foot down on the sidewalk without yelping as if I were walking barefoot over icy-hot coals.

Ah, but now I am at my desk, comforting Starbucks warming my hand, Heather's pumpkin-flax muffin filling my empty belly (I'm so glad I said yes to those nourishing morsels of delicousness, thanks Hevs), and all is well.

Regardless of my love of complaining (something I am working on--I cannot remove all my defects at once), I am a total winter girl. Not because I am a snowboarder or cross-country skiier, but because I am lazy and I love any excuse to hunker down and relax. I love to pile on fluffy socks and a cableknit sweater and curl up on the couch with a hot green tea, a blanket and Season 3 of The Office. I love to listen to the hiss of the radiator and say a little prayer of thanks that I have a cozy apartment to curl up and fall asleep in and that am not homeless. The cold outside makes me feel alive and grateful that I can find warmth and comfort inside my own walls. There is nothing like the feeling of walking into a toasty, crowded party or restaurant and being enveloped in warmth and people after walking around outside in the cold of the city. And conversely it's wonderful to throw on your jacket and run outside to breathe in a few refreshing gulps of winter air after being inside an overheated New York apartment.

I am not a fan of air conditioning. I do not give a shit about the Astoria Pool. I don't like having to wear sunscreen. I hate sweating. I don't look good in shorts.
So, I am a winter girl.

And oh, how I love my wintry city. I spent seven years of my life in upstate New York, where the gray, suffocating blanket of winter settles itself down upon the land sometime around Thanksgiving and doesn't lift until late April. In New Paltz, life slows to a sleepy crawl after the first snow falls. People don't go outside but to grumpily climb into freezing cold cars and commute to work. Chimneys unceasingly pump woodsmoke into the white, cold sky, and the sun falls behind the mountains impossibly early, making the world feel really, really quiet.

But in the city it's different. Life never slows here, no matter what the season. There's always something to do, something to see--people bundle themselves against the cold and forge out onto the street in search of movies, museums, shows, get-togethers, classes. Winter can be isolating but in New York I'm never, ever alone. I can take myself to a movie or go shopping at H&M for something lame like a new pair of purple sparkly gloves. I can go to a restaurant and bring a book and eat a delicious meal I've never even considered before (vegan comfort food--mac and cheese? who knew?), and I'm always surrounded by people. Sounds. Life.
Awww. I do love you, New Yawk.