I love a rainy night.

Last night, it was sweaty libations at the Burgundy Room followed by sweaty, dancing libations at Beauty Bar followed by secret street meat followed by 101 Coffee Shop. Tonight, it was laughing long into the wee hours and drinking the booze I carry in my trunk and telling sordid stories and getting dirty raindrops on my white turtleneck.

I drove home long after closing time, through bouts of angry rain, with music playing on my stereo that reminded me of other wintry passages. And I got home to my doggy and took her for a walk with the rain still coming down and the sidewalks puddled and dark. There's a crazy huge raccoon cruising the neighborhood. When I was walking my dog at four a.m. yesterday morning, I saw this monstrosity walking right up the side of a tree. And we walked past it. And I wondered if it was wise to wander so close to something feral and icky that was already high above my head. Tonight, I saw the scary critter in the headlights of my automobile, as I turned the corner onto my street at an hour approaching five. And when I took my doggy out for a walk, I kept a wary eye out for rustling in the bushes and scary, glinting eyeballs. No encounters were had.

It was cool and grey today. Enough so that I wore a sweater with long sleeves and my favorite knee boots. I look forward to this weather. I look forward to my fireplace. I sit in anticipation of the lives I will have led when looking back from the precipice of other winters. I bought some gloves from Italy. Someday soon I will wear them.

It is imperative that I see Team America before the weekend is out. Imperative does not have a slew of alternate meanings. Take me at my word.