Dear, Winter I am writing you this letter in hopes that you answer my question—where the fuck are you? I have lived in the great city of New York for 25 years and this has got to be the hottest season of winter that I have ever experienced. You and

I know that NYC hasn’t been disgustingly cold this season, but someone’s still got the wintertime blues (that “someone” is me). This time of year, I always turn into a humongous B– cackling at any poor soul who dares approach me as I perform my cold weather rituals of swaddling

As exciting as winter’s barren trees and dead grasses are, I’m ready for the pretty colors of spring. You can get your pretty flower fix with the daffodils and croucouses blooming around the city or you can go for sensory overload. For the later, go to Macy’s Annual Flower Show.

Winter would be easier if we were all bears, because then we could sleep away several months. Instead, we humans have to find ways to entertain ourselves to avoid winter madness, like watching the entire series of Arrested Development in a three-week span, reading the books we’ve been carrying around

Ok here is another installment of ‘˜Bitching About Winter’.  I didn’t use to have a problem with winter.  I would laugh at the grumps who complained all the time about the snow, the ice and chapped lips (hi Mom!) but now I stand corrected.  This winter weather sucks. It doesn’t

Since I’ve moved to New York in 2005, this winter has by far been the coldest, windiest, and most blizzard-y one.  Now more than ever I feel myself much less inclined to step outside, especially when the wind sounds like something in Misselthwaite Manor, a la The Secret Garden.  Though,