Winter Olympics now in full swing here. Dear New York, we adore you but our relationship feels like it’s about to reach its breaking point and we are hoping that we will make it all the way to spring. This week we have three snowstorms, the nth this year. The city is really postcard-perfect gorgeous but for humans out there slugging it—it’s not very romantic. The amount of jumping, sliding and falling made us into unwilling and unfit athletes. Also sucks to be: forever smelling like a duck with all the feathers stuffed inside the coat; forever trudging with fellow commuters who equally smell like ducks with sheep thrown in with their damp wools; forever bad hair day with the variety of hats and caps that mess the hair that no gallon of hair spray and gel can fix; forever looking like a gardener with rubber boots and umbrella that look like a rake; forever annoying my FB friends for seeing endless posts on winter; forever New Yorkers acting like PMS-ing polar bears lumbering around ready to snap at the nearest victim; forever seeing bundled up miserable babies and only seeing their eyes. But we can’t give up on you yet gorgeous city, you still make us feel warm and fuzzy even if you b-slap us with your icy hand every now and then. [Photos/J. Ricasio, J. D. Handschuch, R. Bennet]












