and a merry chrismukkah to you too

It's Friday night. It's midnight. I'm sat on my bed, in me PJs, working. There's something wrong with this scenario.

It's Saturday. It's bloody freezing. For some reason I think it's a good idea to go to Canal Street, forgetting about the horrendous crowds. On the walk up from the WTC PATH station, I stop by the Dance Party Deli - only there's no music, they're playing the news from the radio [three women killed when minibus overturns] and it's more Downer Deli than Dance Party. I hit up Pearl Arts - the main reason for going - and am so overwhelmed and kid-in-a-candy-store-like, I leave without a single purchase. the JMZ takes me to Marcy and I walk round to Bedford, stopping by American Apparel to say hello to a croaky Lauren who sounds like she's been smoking 40 a day, then on up to Graham, when my crappy pay-as-you-go phone runs out of credit and I'm hanging around in the blistering cold trying to make Miss C notice I'm knocking at her front door.

Later, back in JC, and it's time for Chrismukkah dinner at ours: all five of us plus the Uptown [although originally from Jersey] girls and two boyfriends. There's enough food and booze to feed a small army, and with an even six Gentiles to six Jews it's pretty fair to call it Chrismukkah.

It's been decided that we have to 'dress up' - hence Jasmin looking fabulous taking roast potatoes out the oven and the boys in suits in the background. I prance around in my ebay-bought Marc Jacobs dress all evening, not being bothered to take it off when we go out and suffering from the severe cold as a result.

Whilst some whip out the Trivial Pursuit in the living room, a private Kylie Dance Party goes on in one of the bedrooms, before the dancing is moved to Misshapes, where I finally meet and hang out with the very lovely Ellen and her friends Anya and Faran. At one point I'm in Hercules' deli across the road, buying OJ [to top up with vodka from hipflask, although pretend I'm classier than that and didn't just admit to it] and start chatting with a woman in there who turns out to be good mates with Billy Idol [!]

As I step outside Luke & Leroy's, after hearing many mutterings about it being the last one there [odds on Don Hill's, anyone?], it's started to snow, and I'm in awe.

Back in JC and the 'hood is looking very white and festive:

and even the garish and somewhat tacky Christmas lights they have everywhere look kinda pretty in the muted snow-light.