Archive for April, 2008

28
Apr
08

Shake off the ghosts

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , ,

View from our corner suite at Miraloma on the CoveI’d chosen Miraloma on the Cove for two reasons. One is that, due to the nature of our assignation, I felt the girl would feel more comfortable being not too far from home. The other was that I wanted to shake off some ghosts. One ghost in particular.

I pulled up in the driveway just in time to see her perched on a red motorcyle on the ramp leading to the underground lot. She’d ridden up from nearby Victoria, and I’d driven from Vancouver and taken the ferry over from the mainland. The motorcyle was a surprise, but then I didn’t know much about her, or vice versa. I wasn’t even sure it was her until she took off her helmet and smiled. After all, we hadn’t seen each other since we’d met at a party in Vancouver a couple of months previous, and even then we hadn’t talked for more than a few minutes, half an hour, tops. We were virtual strangers who’d been in contact only through email since, and even our emails had been brief to the point of minimalism.

Nonetheless, we’d made this arrangement, to spend a night at this lovely resort (www.miraloma.ca) in the small Vancouver Island town of Sidney. No expectations, we’d agreed.

Our first physical contact, a hug, was awkward. We checked in and went up to the room. A spectacular view of the water greeted us: sailboats gliding past and the sun just starting to think about setting. We had a corner suite with a fireplace in the living room and bedroom, a kitchen, a large bathroom with a 2-person tub and separate bath and stone floor.

Our initial conversation, out on the wraparound balcony, was stiff, about work, a part of my mind going, “Why are you saying this nonsense?” Finally I excused myself to take a bath. A few minutes later I came out of the bathroom to find a bottle of wine waiting just inside the door.

She was reading her book on the balcony, her back to me. I came up behind her. “How thoughtful!” I said. I put my hands on her shoulders. She leaned her head back, and the top of her head grazed me. “But you really didn’t have to bring a bottle of wine.”

“I didn’t,” she said. I knew she hadn’t brought the wine–Guest Services had dropped it off. But with the smile that she returned, I saw the ice had been broken.

Sea CiderThe rest of the weekend went too well, really. We divided our first night between the hotel’s hot tub and the Blue Peter, a nearby pub where a Turkish bartender with long dreads shared his pizza with us. Saturday for lunch we drove out to a place called the Sea Cider (pics at left: www.seacider.ca). We had the high-ceilinged, almost medieval-like room to ourselves as we sampled various ciders made in-house along with a tasting plate. We stopped at a winery, Marley Farm (www.marleyfarm.ca), for tastes of its fruit wine, then sat out on a restaurant deck next to a marina in Brentwood Bay, on the other side of the peninsula. In the evening we returned to the Blue Peter for dinner and to play a music trivia game against the other patrons. We won two rounds. (Note to future players: the theme from Gilligan’s Island is called “The Ballad of Gilligan’s Island” and was recorded by the Eligibles.)

The next morning, as we prepared to come back to our normal lives–which for her meant a trip to South America and for me the daily grind of interview, write, interview, write–I was surprised at how sad I felt. In the period of time between our first meeting and this weekend we’d had plenty of time to form misconceptions about the other, a condition which can often lead to disaster. But we’d gotten to know each other over the weekend and any surprises, like her goofy sense of humour, had been sweet. 

And so…

The first time I had come to this resort was 14 months ago. Then, I was madly in love with the married woman. Our one night in Miraloma had been the first night of our last trip together, before things had fallen irrevocably apart, and memories of that trip have been stirring up confused emotions for a long time. But, as a friend has said, sometimes “You have to make new memories.”

So thanks, Kat, for helping me make new memories. And for getting at least one answer right in the music trivia game.

25
Apr
08

Hello, where are the hotties?

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , ,

I’m in Palm Desert right now, spent the day in Joshua Tree, am heading to Coachella tomorrow. Weather’s beautiful, and the golf’s great (or so I assume).
However. There. Are. No. Cute people.
WTF? Every time I’ve come to the resort where I’m staying now, it’s been full of burly tanned LA dudes clutching their Blackberries and drinking beer by the swimming pool. I mean, every time. Plus, Joshua Tree is where you’re supposed to be able to find ripped rock climbers looking straight out of Outside Magazine, and crazy artist types running around tripping on psychedelics, and…um…the guys from U2? Or similar.
But instead, all I hear is children, and all I see is SNOWBIRDS. AKA old people with white hair who sit at their tables and watch glaze-eyed as the birds steal bread straight out of the bread basket. I feel lost and alone.
Tomorrow I’m going to Coachella, and that’s when I’ll really know whether my world is okay or not. If the polo field (yes, Coachella is held inside a polo field, didn’t you know?) is packed with LA escapees and stoned, happy frat boys and hipsters in search of the Do-Lab tent, then I’ll know that everything’s back to normal. If it’s full of SNOWBIRDS (AKA old people with white hair who etc. etc.), then I’ll know I’ve suddenly slipped off the universal railings and wound up in a peculiar hell straight out of my own twisted subconscious.
Stay tuned.

22
Apr
08

Wingmen (don’t) (well, sometimes) prefer blondes

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , , , ,

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. First, there was the producer. We were having a great conversation when Wingy interrupted and started talking about my exes for some reason. Then he proceeded to pick up said producer right in front of my eyes. Then there was the dancer I had a little crush on, and whom he began flirting with heavily the moment he met her. There are probably others I’m forgetting.*

So really, I have no one to blame but myself. I should have known better. He’s just doing what comes naturally. And I gave him the perfect opening.

It all started a couple of weekends ago when I met a girl in the self-help section of Chapters. (Yes, I’m that shameless.) An Aussie we’ll call Kylie. Got her #, talked on the phone, arranged to get together to see an Australian folk trio. Because Wingy and I had extra tix to the show, I suggested she invite a friend, since Wingy was also going to come. My first mistake.

So we meet for drinks at a little faux Irish pub before the show. I have to admit I’d kind of forgotten what she looked like, and I realized on second look that she wasn’t exactly my type. Blonde, petite, something a little Tori Spelling-ish about her face. Although I like to say I don’t really have a type. No matter; whatever type she is, is not the point. Anyway, Wingy arrived shortly after I’d moved the conversation into the realm of a Lavalife story I’d been working on, about the way men and women categorize each other. Wingy immediately took the opportunity to begin enumerating all the things that were deal-breakers for him when it comes to women: she can’t have kids; she has to like beer (according to him, women who like beer are “more laidback”); yakkity yakkity, a whole lot of hot air. Then he dropped the little bomb I believe turned everything around. ”And I don’t like blondes,” he sniffed.

I’m not going to go into many more painful details about the rest of the night. Suffice it to say things went from okay to worse, culminating later in the evening with the four of us, including Kylie’s friend Olivia, at my favourite late-night eatery, where we sat at the bar: Kylie and I straight-backed and bored of each other’s company, Wingy and Olivia yucking it up beside us. Kylie ducked out early, saying she had to get up for work the next day, and I thought that would be the last I heard of her. In a manner of speaking, it was. Cut to: two nights later. Wingy and I are out somewhere, his cell goes off, he looks at the screen, and waves the thing in my face. It’s from Kylie: she’s messaged him through Facebook, suggesting that the two of them go out for a drink sometime. Wah-wah.

To wrap this rather unflattering episode up, the two of them did end up going out one night last week. And sure enough, at one point Kylie said, “I thought you didn’t like blondes?”

To which Mr. Smooth replied, “Well, there are always exceptions.”

*Of course, how could I forget… there was the cute gallerina a couple of weeks back! (see previous post “It’s okay, he’s from Winnipeg”) He threw a spanner in the works with that one, too.

 

21
Apr
08

The Jaded Lady Brigade

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve been collecting comments from my girlfriends for a book proposal, and damn, they make me laugh, but I must say Cali and NYC girls are jaded.  And Vancouver. And Montreal. And…my gosh, is there anyone in the world who believes in, like, fairy tale romance anymore? Read below and weep. Or, of course, you might laugh. I did both. Next, I’m going to go rent a whole stack of intellectual European porn (does such a thing exist? In my head, it makes sense)…because clearly I’m among the more naive single women on the planet, and have a lot of catching up to do…

MARY, 26 Y.O. MONTREAL GIRL, ON DRESSING TO GO OUT
Two tips : Great looking shoes, and amazing bra and underwear ;)  

LESLIE, 25 Y.O. NYC GIRL, ON BAR PICKUPS 
Just do it.  It’s no fun to sit by and waste valuable time.  Let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger.

COREY, 26 Y.O. NYC GIRL, ON THE GIRLFRIEND JURY
Sometimes you don’t want to chat right off the bat about the guy you’re seeing because you need to figure things out in your head first. But your girlfriends know you better than anyone and can sometimes read between the lines of your descriptions/stories. You might not always want to hear what they have to say, but unfortunately, they’re usually right.

DARA, 31 Y.O. SAN DIEGO GIRL, ON THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION
Likation/Replusion.  You meet a guy.  He seems nice and you have a thing or two in common.  However, you are uncertain of the chemistry and level of attraction, hedge on accepting a second date or even remain unsure if you should have accepted the first.  At some point, despite earlier misgivings or in some cases because of them, you do decide that you like this guy.  At that very moment, a soundless, odorless, invisible signal is sent out across the cosmos.  You may not have laid eyes on or spoken to the guy in days.  No matter.  He just somehow knows that likation has descended.  Instantly, the tables have turned and this person is completely repulsed by you.  You never hear from him again.

16
Apr
08

Just one of those things

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn

“If we thought a bit/about the end of it/when we started painting the town/we’d have been aware/that our love affair was too hot/not to cool down.”-Cole Porter, Just One of Those Things

I said goodbye to the sex educator this afternoon.* Well, rather, she said goodbye to me.

It began with what i thought would be an innocent enough bike trip to Commercial Drive for a cup of coffee. Commercial Drive is sort of the Haight-Ashbury of Vancouver, except maybe it’s even more Haight-Ashbury than Haight-Ashbury is these days. The sun was out and it was one of the first real days of spring following a long grey wet winter, and I knew the sidewalks, cafes and organic food stores would be abuzz with hippies, crackheads and, more importantly, single moms. On the way however I decided to do something practical. Since the book I’d brought with me to look hip and occupied kept falling out of the pouch of my black hoodie as I rode, I figured this would be as good a time as any to purchase a rack and bag for my bike. But my plan hit a snag at Drive Bikes, where I was told it would be a couple of hours before they could attach the rack. Worse, the new employee I was dealing with demurred when I asked if I could leave my helmet in the store while I went for a stroll and waited for my bike. To keep a long story long, and perhaps more poignant if I get the details right, I left in a huff, rolling my bike by the handlebars in one hand and carrying my newly purchased rack and bag in the other, with no idea of what I would do next.

Murphy’s Law of Dating decrees that, whenever you stroll down the street with a bike rack in one hand and a bike in the other, and a confused look on your face, you’re going to run into someone you know. Sure enough, I was barely 10 feet out of the store when I came face to face with a young lady of my acquaintance. Yes, she’s someone I’m attracted to and hence, among the last people I wanted to run into with my hands full and my mind befuddled.

After navigating this social interaction with a maximum of embarassment and a minimum of grace, I came to the realization that I would either have to ride home one-handed, weighted down with the bag and rack in the other, or attach the rack myself. Well, I’d put together IKEA furniture before, I reasoned.

Cut to: 30 minutes later, in a lot behind a coffee shop, nuts, bolts and assorted metal pieces spread out on the concrete between me and the bike. I’m puzzling over which way the rack should face when my cell rings. The sex educator.

Now, a little background is in order. I met the sex educator oh, about two months ago now. Things were pretty hot from the get-go, but we quickly came to the realization that we’re at different places in our lives–she’s ready for a relationship and I, well, I still think I’ve got some work to do (cf., the bike rack). Still, we’d kept in touch, amused by and attracted to each other, though our relationship had devolved into coffee once a week and veiled allusions to other people we were dating.

Anyway, after I’d solved the problem with the rack–that is, after I’d ridden back to the store and left my bike there with instructions to put the rack on after all–I met her at a homely little corner cafe to catch up on each other’s lives. When we’d just about run out of things to say she came out with, ”I think I’m going to be off the chopping block pretty soon.”

“Is this my five-minute warning?”

She smiled. “I guess.”

She’s interested in someone, she said. She’s been on a few dates with him and he’s ready, he wants to be in a relationship. “You’re scared to love,” she told me. “And I don’t want to wait.”

The words echoed in my skull. Was it true? Possibly. Was what had happened in so many of my previous relationships happening again? Was I repeating a pattern? I mentally checked by datebook for my next therapy appointment–Thursday, thank God.

At her car, as we embraced and kissed, and what had been a tenuous, ill-defined link seemed to be coming to an end. Maybe for good. Sure, we’d see each other around–we both live near to Commercial Drive, go to the same gym, attend the same Xstatic Dance classes to heal our chakras (kidding about the last one)–but we wouldn’t be each other’s back-up plan any longer. We wouldn’t be getting together ostensibly for coffee but really to bask in the sexual tension and wonder if we should act on it.

We embraced, and told each other those things you say at times like this, and I was surprised at how much I’d come to care about, and maybe even love, her. But not enough to stop her. She has a life, after all. And me, well, I’ve got a blog to write.

*The first draft was written Monday afternoon, directly after the events described, and edited later for clarity, more if not better self-deprecating jokes, and speling.

 

 

 

14
Apr
08

Recycling — My Earth Month Amendment

By lenatic 1 Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , ,

Okay, so I’m lazy. I have zero desire to go out and meet new guys (well, that is not strictly true…I have 5% desire to meet new people, 95% to drink cheap white wine and cackle with my lady friends)… and I’ve compensated for it in two ways:

1.  I put out universal thought waves that impel me to bump into men on the street, or more likely in my apartment complex, which around this time of year fills up with 20-something boys just begging you to ‘party…please come party.’

2. I recycle. (Perhaps ‘reuse’ would also be an accurate term but it’s a bit mercenary for my tastes.)

Per the latter, I have only one question: Why not? Recycling–i.e. picking up where you left off with someone who never left angry, or vice-versa–seems like the most efficient and stress-free way of having a personal life sometimes. In fact, I’m beginning to think I’d like to make a habit of it. Who needs a husband when you could have:

1. A part-time sugar-baby houseboy who lives in a foreign land and speaks with a sexy accent

2. A part-time mad genius artist who lives in three cities and speaks in tongues

3. A part-time ’serious, sensible’ upwardly mobile man whom your parents would surely love if you ever let them meet him.

I think I could totally live my life this way for a while. The only thing is, unfortunately, it’s not sanctioned by modern monotheistic religion or governmental policy (hypocrites!!!). So I thought I would write my own constitutional amendment, on behalf of Earth Day, energy-saving practices, and fickle women everywhere:

When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for two people to hook up and have a fabulous time, and then not see each other again for a brief while–or a long while, perhaps even a year or two–due to work, relocation, personal issues or a combination thereof, then when the twain bump into each other again, it shall be deemed right and appropriate by the power of the Dating Columnist invested in This Humble Blogger (and my various worldwide Counterparts) that those Two shall fromp again as they see fit… provided they are both still single, free and (ahem) easy. (This, note ye, is not only fair and just, but entirely sensible given the particular social flexibility the universe has granted us, what with discount airfares and Facebook and cell phones and prostitute-mongering political role models, fa la la etcetera etcetera.)

Witnessed by no one except you, The Reader, but I suspect everyone from Kinsey to Skinemax would co-sign if they had the chance.

This Day of April Whatever, 2008.

-Lena

08
Apr
08

It’s okay, he’s from Winnipeg

By shawnster 1 Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , ,

Twelve years of marriage have turned Eugene into a maniac. Well, maybe that’s not fair. He’s always been outgoing, but with the dissolution of his primary relationship three months ago (he tossed his cheating spouse out Christmas Day) he’s been seizing nearly every opportunity that comes his way to meet women. Impressively, he’d already been chatting up a passenger on his flight to Vancouver from Winnipeg, his hometown (for those American readers unfamiliar with the terrain, Winnipeg is a frozen outpost, known for its ballet company, perogies, and Guy Maddin films, in the middle of Canada). He was still talking to his new friend, Michelle, by the baggage carousel at the Vancouver International Airport when I arrived to pick him up.

This interaction would pretty much set the tone for Eugene’s week-long stay, as we made it our mission to meet as many women as possible, or to let as few opportunities slide by as possible. This might sound weird, or questionable, but it’s not. After decades of not acting on such impulses, we’re both at a time of our lives when we figure, what the hell. And, after going through what he’s been through, he needs to be getting out there. (Uhm, I’m not sure what my excuse is.)

Not that our attempts were without pratfualls. For instance, on his first night in town, we ended up at Chill Winston (www.chillwinston.ca) for a nightcap (in the case of Euge, a non-drinker, a tea). At one point Laura, our pixie-ish hostess, began dancing to a song by an ’80s band, General Public. Eugene’s not insignificant eyebrows arched up. He was smiling. Uh-oh, I thought. Sure enough, he began trying to get Laura’s attention: “I saw them! I saw this band!” he said from his seat. When this didn’t work he stood up and waved his arms. “I saw this band!” he said again. I turned to Wingy, who was also there. “Quick, talk to me,” I said. “I don’t want to be part of this.” Perhaps if the band had been, oh, Fallout Boy, Euge’s exclamations would have created some interest. But General Public? Not gonna intrigue a girl who was a zygote when the band had its last hit. 

But hey, it’s not like I didn’t make a fool out of myself a couple of times. Or get made a fool of. Or made to look foolish. There was that night at a local commercial gallery, for instance.

The occasion was an art opening, and I’d told Eugene about a certain young lady who works at the gallery. Let’s call her “Asia Argento” because, even though she’s Eastern European, she’s pretty close to being just as exotically brunette as the Italian actress. Anyway, I’d met Asia a couple of times at other gallery events, and we’d even exchanged a few emails. I wasn’t about to ask her out–she’s got a boyfriend, as I learned through a previous embarassing phone call, but no need to get into that here–but I did want to make a good impression. So there I was with Euge and Wingy, admiring the intense colours of the paintings on display, when Euge says, “So where’s Asia?”

“Who?” asks Wingy.

“This girl Shawn’s been talking about.”

“Why haven’t I heard about her?” asked a panic-stricken Wingy. 

Uhm, because every time I tell you I’m interested in someone you ruin it for me?

Actually, I should’ve kept this thought in mind because when I went off to get a drink and, finally, talk to Asia–she was tending bar, but I’d studiously avoided her up until I’d had a sufficient quantity of alcohol, and warmed up my conversational skills by talking to various publicists–I might have had the sense to offer to bring him one back as well. Instead, he followed me to the makeshift bar counter at the back of the gallery. And, while I stood at the counter trying to be as nonchalant as my knocking knees and sweat-drenched forehead would allow as Asia poured our drinks, Wingy said (and I’m not making this up) to her, “I bet I can guess your name.”

“Okay, what is it?” asks Asia. Did I mention she has a Cindy Crawford-like mole?

“Asia.”

“How did you know?” she asks, eyes wide with surprise, then narrowing with suspicion at yours truly. Then, “Shawn told you!”

“No no no,” I said, suddenly realizing what was going on. “It’s this weird talent he has–it’s like ESP.” You have no idea how it pained me to say this, by the way.

“Hmm,” said Wingy with detachment. “This is embarassing.”

Uh, yeah.

Wingy claimed that he hadn’t known this was THE Asia Euge had just been talking about, but whatever–the upshot of it was, now the lithesome gallerina totally thinks I was talking about her to my friends. Which I was, but that’s definitely not something I want her to think. Thanks, Wingy!

That same night, I started chatting up a couple of art lovers, Trish and Caroline. It wasn’t long before Euge joined in. Somehow, talk turned to style, and Trish began giving Eugene–dressed more for a hike in the mountains than a gallery opening–a hard time. I later used his lack of fashion sense at the 9th anniversary party of The Block (www.theblock.ca), a Gastown clothing store, as an opening to talk to a group of girls about what jeans he should buy. The irony is, I was the one who bought a pair of jeans. (A further irony: this led to the only rea disagreement Euge and I had during his trip, a weird fashion vs. anti-fashion argument I may have to come back to in a future blog installment.)

Anyway, I don’t have space to get into all the other episodes, some not even embarassing or ironic, that transpired last week. The main thing is, my good friend had a great time during his visit and got his mind off his marital woes, if only briefly. If this post comes across as a little glib in the face of personal tragedy, it’s only my way of trying to keep things light. As we all know, all the emails and phone numbers in the world don’t mean a thing when you can’t have the one you want.  

 

06
Apr
08

What, me speak?

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , ,

A sometime colleague just asked me to read dirty works at some crazy gathering called “In the Flesh.” My dirty works, no less. I told her this might be difficult, as I don’t really write smut and I haven’t gotten any action in months.*

In my head, this gathering is full of militant lesbians and poetesses, and then I’m going to go up there and what? Talk about strip clubs and Cabo bars? I don’t really see the lesbians loving that.

What else…?

Oh, I know. I’ll tell them all about that cute young neighbor who I didn’t sleep with, and then he disappeared forever.  Yawn.

Maybe I should just go the extra distance and write an original kinky porno swashbuckler, specifically for my harp-playing, hairy-armpit lady friends. (These two things seem to go with being a poetess, for reasons I know not.) The thing is… I don’t know if I could read it out loud. Or listen to it.

I know. I’ll download dirty limericks off the Internet and recite them. Brilliant! I love limericks! Problem solved.

At any rate, jeez. I think where I’m going with this is, I don’t mind blogging or writing columns about quasi-personal stuff sometimes. Even though it gets me in trouble, and very probably has had something to do with my diminishing number of dates. It’s still fun. But I don’t think I can write a whole essay–particularly not of the deep, emotional, embarrassing or sweaty variety–and then deliver it out loud. I would feel a fool.

And I’m not 100% sure, but it seems almost definite that the only people who would be interested in participating in these readings, or listening to them, or–gahhh!–discussing them would be wiomen. Right? Men would rather just watch a porno. Sooo….my question is, where’s the fun in reading sexy stuff and getting all dirty-librarian if there are no men around to to share it with? I’m sorry, but flirting is wasted on other women.

Anyway, I’m not really seeing the point of this event, unless you’re just one of those people who really likes the sound of your own voice–or one of those who thinks it promotes “personal growth.”  I’ll still do it, to help a friend–I’ll print those limericks out now–but I’m mentally prepping already for the agony of being TMId in literary ways by a bunch of total strangers.

*Okay. Maybe a tiny bit, of the FWB variety, but that was once, and weeks ago.

01
Apr
08

Apres Aspen

By lenatic 1 Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , ,

I went to Aspen and did not get to experience apres ski. Not only that, but I have never experienced apres ski. If you think this is pathetic, you’re not the only one…I can’t believe that there is a pre-Happy Hour tradition involving melted cheese and shellfish platters and sparkling wine and hot chocolate, and that no one has alerted me before. It’s true I don’t ski and almost never even see the snow, but who cares? I’m sure I could do apres ski like a pro.

 Anyway this is not the point. The point is, you want to know about my personal life, which truth to tell has been fairly uneventful in the past few weeks. I went to Miami mid-month and had a regrettable evening out with a South American jai alai player who spoke no English and had the mental capacity of a bluebottle fly. Earlier that evening I’d been hanging with some absolutely lovely young Miami ladies, and all I can say is, their debauched take-no-prisoners attitude toward the male gender really rubbed off on me.

We stopped by the new Table 8 in order to say hello to Fred the dating columnist from the Miami Herald. He  probably thought I was going to stay longer than 5 minutes–as did I, as did I–but you know, sometimes you just have to follow the mojito trail where it leads you. Which happened to be right out of the club.

 Anyway back to this weekend. Aspen. So lovely! Mountains, snow, those little Snowmass lifts they call Skittles b/c of their shiny colors… It was so picturesque, words fail me…

Aspen really is an excellent place to be unmarried, what with its mix of locals (“they’ll be super nice to you, they’ll lay you, never call you again, but you know where to find ‘em next year,”as one girl summed up), wealthy and debauched playboys of all ages (mainly too old to be ‘boys’ but don’t tell them that), burned-out Hollywood producers and yummy European and American students working the ski season. The bars seem to be a mixture of all the above–the bar at the Little Nell is that and then some. Dogs are allowed in the main room and even have their own menu. So, too, are entire groups of 60-something women in bikinis…in 40-degree weather, in March.

A lot of Aspen life–like the retiree bikins and the proliferation of married men who’ve temporarily ‘misplaced’ their wedding bands–is fun to visit, but def wouldn’t want to live in the middle of it. If you’re a skiier, a mountain person, or you like a super-concentrated social scene that’s basically “The Coal Miners’ Daughter” meets “Dynasty” meets “Fast Company”…well I mean you probably already hit this place every year so why am I even telling you?

Probably ’cause it was my first time and I still have much to process, although none of it involving a boy b/c I was good and responsible, and therefore ended up 2 nights alone in a gorgeous mountain-facing condo that could easily fit 5 people. If I’d have been on my Aspen game I would have picked up a seasonal worker…but the Miami fiasco has sorta ruined me for seasonals.

 

April 2008
M T W T F S S
« Mar   May »
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
282930  

Category Cloud

Archives

a