Baby, It's Cold Outside

I am in New York City this week. And I am SO FREAKING COLD. Frozen, actually. My bones are hurting. Yesterday my bald head froze over and kids were ice skating on my dome, mistaking it for the rink at Rockefeller Center. A homeless man tried to ice fish on my back. A street artist carved a swan ice sculpture out of my stomach. Ok, so I have an active imagination. But it was really cold. Mother was right. Put on a jacket. And then another jacket. And then another. Oh! And son! Don't forget your JACKET!!

How do people do this everyday?? Sure, I live with earthquakes and Californians, but come on! It's miserable outside! I had planned to walk off a few pounds while I am here. My walking so far consists of getting up, going outside, screaming my head off, coming back inside, de-icing, and reconsidering the whole walking-around-when-it's-10 degrees-outside-routine.

Then I crank the heater up and wonder about all the scary global warming headlines. Was it global warming that froze my lips together? Was it global warming that made looking for a pair of earmuffs feel like trekking the Sierras with the Donner Party? Was it global warming when my brain and tongue and face froze when I was trying to buy street food from a vendor? "I wanna, wanna, wanna, one of those, those, those, those THINGS!" is all I could say.

I know it wasn't just me. You know it's cold when East Coasters are complaining. It's like hearing flight attendants praying or cursing after turbulance. Maybe the flight was rocky!! Nonetheless, I am getting ready for's supposed to be 10 or 20 below with the windchill factor. Thank GOD I packed my Ultraman Underroos.

Yes, I am a thin skinned Californian. But I also know one thing. I am never going to complain again when it dips below 50 degrees. I am going to suck it up and remember the day little kids ice skated on the top of my frozen head in Times Square. If I can survive THAT, I can survive just about anything. And if I'm smart, I'll start charging them for tickets.