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Winter W(h)ine

I had to work late tonight, which caused me to postpone my whine wine date with Jodilicious. I guess tonight we would have pressed to drink ice wine.

So I'm walking across 45th street towards Times Square and it's bitter ... bitter like Ms. LuPone after not getting cast in Gypsy ... bitter cold. No Naked Cowboy tonight, to be sure. It actually made my face hurt (I know, it's killing you too) so badly I had to pop into the Marriot Marquis just to warm up. Apparently one of the women in the lobby had been outside a little too long and her eardrums were frozen shut.

"Inside voices," I gently reminded her, wating for the feeling in my cheeks to come back.

Mildy recovered, I headed back out ... resisting the urge to go up to The View, sip a cognac and watch the masses freeze to death below. Of course, there were no cabs because I had the pleaure of working until the theaters let out. Yeah, I worked that late.

The audiences on 45th looked none too happy as I shivered past. Wouldn't it suck watch Anna in the Tropics, get all steamy over Jimmy Smits and then come out into Arctic weather?

Made it home without much frostbite (I never did like my nose) to a quiet (it's past some people's bedtime), but freshly stocked apartment. Seems Larry thought my date with the high-heeled snow shoer was here, becasue he'd had a case of grape juice delivered, including several bottles of this, which is quickly becoming this season's house red. And [insert deity here] love him, he even opened his own account at the wine store instead of using mine.

I used to live by the axiom that it's easier to warm up in the cold than cool off in the heat. Maybe it wasn't so bad out after all and I'm just being dramatic, I thought, and and turned on the TV to check Channel 72 ... 17 below with the wind chill. And it's getting colder.

Um, brrrrr. Pass the Zinfandel.