What do you mean you don’t want to watch the 2 a.m. showing of “Busty Cops 3”?

My friend “Hillary” crashed over chez jbk last night (that’s not her real name, of course, but dubbed thusly because she’s so liberal she makes me looks like a member of the Republican National Committee. I rant and rave about Bush – she actually attends impeachment marches and Keep Abortion Legal rallies. I would too, but, you know, I’m sort of…what’s the word? Oh yeah, lazy).

(She’s also not being named in case her mom, who still believes she is the last remaining virgin in NYC, is a reader – and you just know this blog has a heavy circulation among suburban Long Island housewives.)

I had made some steaks and salad, we were on a 2nd bottle of wine, the TV was fired up, and I even let her pick the movie (some horrible chick flick called “P.S.” about an admissions officer at Columbia, Laura Linney, who thinks Topher Grace, who is applying to the school, is somehow the returned spirit of the dead boyfriend she had dated as a teenager. Um, yeah.)

Even though she lives just 13 blocks from my apartment, (less than a mile for those unfamiliar with the NYC block measuring device: 20 city blocks = 1 mile) she couldn’t bear the trek home.

Hey, the wind was howling outside, the wine was flowing inside, and she got to cuddle on the couch with me – how could she not want to stay over? My god, she’s only human.

It’s funny, though, it always changes the dynamic when someone stays in your house, even just for a night. No matter how well you know the person, and maybe this is just set-in-my-ways me kvetching, you suddenly realize that you miss being able to play some music at 1 a.m. or, more importantly, watch a little Cinemax After Dark, without hearing, “Eww, how could you watch this stuff, it’s so cheesy!” Cheesy, yes, but Shannon Tweed is one of the great B-movie actresses in history. Well ok, D-movie actresses. Double D in fact – hey, you’ve been a great audience.

But, what are you going to do? I couldn’t toss the lass out in the Great Blizzard of ’06. And as a bonus, I wasn’t the one who had to do the double walk-of-shame, scurrying past my doorman this morning, and then slinking in past her own doorman to change for work. Good times.