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Eat. Drink. Shop. Sleep. Repeat.

As of last week, I was supposed to be on a plane somewhere past Greenland about now. I’m much more content to be sitting in my office, listening to The Reindeer Room and thinking back on what a nice, snowy weekend I had.

Friday night was the work Holiday Hoedown, and it trended towards the lame side. It seems to grow smaller every year, and the weather scared away a lot of the commuters. This year’s venue was a switch, the Marriott Marquis, and we had our own private atrium vista, overlooking a snowy Times Square, which was an amazing view.

Larry and I booked out relatively early, and then hung out at Barrymore’s for a nightcap waiting for Laura and the kids to get out of Avenue Q. We caught up with them for a bit after the show, and, since cabs were scarce, the two of us, ever resourceful, popped over to Barrage for a post-nightcap nightcap.

Saturday was perfect brunch with friends from L.A., a little shopping and walking in the snow and then home for a nap. Rather than schlep around in the slop, we hosted a little pizza party at home, which got the out-of-towners out of their hotel. Sent the kids off to play in Chelsea while the would-be grown ups sat around and swapped stories.

Sunday was K&C’s annual holiday brunch, which was every bit as fun as expected. It’s the Groundhog Day of parties, always entertaining and fairly predictable. It's always good to see the usual collection of good friends and also sit and talk about meet the newest members of our hosts' social circle.

Cliques are bad, right?

Seemed to be more kids this year (or maybe they're just getting bigger) … the jury is still out on the gay dads who seem to create a new breed (pardon the pun) of drama by making everything about their children. Isn't Briana Ashley nameless munchin lovely in her red velvet dress with mirabou trim? And did daddy really need to wear the red leather pants?

Being the holidays, we won't talk about the occasional bad hair, nip/tucks gone sadly awry and the oh-so-tired co-op board/real estate coversations. You'd think with all that money, people would buy some personality. One forgets that just because it's not summer doesn't mean you can't have idle Hamptonesque chatter.

I enjoyed the red wine, especially when the hairdresser bartender kept it off ice.

Connie, Larry and I bid our adieus and took an an early evening bar hop down Christopher Street, which included smart drinks at The Monster, Stonewall, The Hangar and Ty’s. Yup, we sure know how to make ourselves feel pretty.

Best line of the night … a portly big bellied gourmandish gentleman was chatting me and Larry up. He asked if we were together and when we nodded yes, he says, “Well we can a three-way. We’ll have it catered.” I politely declined, but told him to send me a menu.

Headed home to sober up watch HBO … sorry Crash, we missed you at Marie's.

Angels lived up to the hype. Mary Louise is, if possible, even more my hero than ever. If, for some odd reason you didn’t love Patrick Wilson before, well, I’m just sayin’.

And Will came back. Life is good.