It’s Time To Stop Being A Frigid Bitch

I know I could be jinxing myself by saying this but I feel like the intense cold of this New York Winter, which stifled me harder than  Wendy William’s industrial Spanx is coming to an end.

So what does this mean?

1. I can stop wearing an entire thermal underwear set under my skinny jeans and xxs t shirts–sometimes when I was drunk and sitting down I found it very challenging to stand up in all those layers. NO MORE SWEATY BALLS!

Just kidding. I will always have sweaty balls.

2. I can have sex in public again. This is probably the worst thing about winter–sure its fun to go skiing and all but wouldn’t it be more fun to sneak into the woods and do sexuals? Not so much when both of your dicks look like gerkins.

3. I can drunkenly traipse around town with my friends. Winter isn’t really a season for traipsing–which involves a large amount of procrastination, distraction, impropriety and public vomiting.

4. The gay cruisers will come out of hiding and haunt the rambles in central park. Bing it, its a thing. And trust me it is worth experiencing if only for the sheer weirdness of being in what is essentially a metropolitan public sex camp.

5. 9 hour brunches that extend into rooftop parties where everyone lays out has their own bottle of champagne.

6. Outdoor dates–which are invariably my favorite kind of dates. It is kind of ironic to be an outdoorsy person and live in Manhattan but nobody ever said life was easy. I will just be glad to be able to pee out my window when im too drunk to walk all the way to the bathroom.

7. People will actually have an excuse to wear sunglasses. More on this later.

Maybe I am jumping the gun, but if winter doesn’t end soon I am going to take that gun, shove it right up my peehole and blow away my only chance at ever finding happiness. You hear that mother nature, you sadistic bitch? This winter you have been worse than Parkinsons  disease so I suggest you bring on the cherry blossoms before I find out what avenue you live on, bamboozle your doorman into letting me into your apartment when you aren’t home, and smear orangutan feces all over your kitchen.