Oops, I did it again
Guess what. I got to hang out with Luke and Owen Wilson last Friday night at Cooper Street.You can imagine my Princess panties were in a bunch when my friend John dragged me kicking and screaming into the biggest dive bar on the planet and there they were, drinking pitchers of Coors Light and dominating the shuffleboard table like nobody’s business. So now all of a sudden I’m totally loving Cooper Street.I did my best to follow Aspen Celebrity Protocol, which meant tearing my shirt off and jumping into their lap would not be considered cool. But still. I could hardly contain myself. I was flushed with excitement. My heart raced, beating in my chest so hard I thought it might pop out right there on the spot and land on the shuffleboard table in a bloody, gooey mess.Decked out in my favorite pair of check-me-out-I’m-Britney-Spears jeans, I marched right up to Owen and said, “Hey, can I buy you boys some shots?”He shook his head so his blond hair swayed across his forehead just so (though it did look like it had been professionally colored, the blond streaks a little too pronounced) and said, “No thanks. We’re trying to pace ourselves with the altitude and all,” and walked away. Drats! I spent the next hour making sure I gave him a wide berth so he wouldn’t think I was one of those psycho stalker chicks who wanted him to autograph my boob with a permanent marker. Meanwhile, Luke, who I always imagined would be the mellower, sweeter one, hung out on one of the bar stools shooting the breeze with anyone who happened to walk by. I gradually inched my way over in his direction and decided I would let him initiate the conversation. I didn’t want to suffer from any more regret after the let’s-get-drunk-and-screw faux pas.”Hey,” Luke said, putting his arm around me out of nowhere. The jeans must be working, I thought. I tightened my belly and arched my back just so, making sure my thighs would look as skinny as possible. He stared deep into my eyes and said, “Your eyes are so bloodshot.” “Oh that’s just great,” I said, enjoying the fact that his arm was still resting around my shoulders. I slipped my arm around his waist. “Not ‘your eyes are so blue’ or ‘your eyes are so beautiful,’ but ‘your eyes are so red.'”That got a laugh out of him, and his hand drifted to my hip. I started thinking of a come-on more subtle than, “Can I drag you back to my condo in the ABC so we can spend the night together, just you, me, and my psychotic dog?”And he said, “Bummer. I was thinking maybe you had some weed.” And walked away.I used this for leverage with Owen later when I ended up in a game of shuffleboard against him (yes!). Let it be known I have a lazy eye, and the last place I want to be is staring down some long table under bright lights trying to focus on a target where my right eye is sure to drift into a semiretarded (oops, I mean “disabled”) cross-eyed position. So I just shut my eyes and hoped for the best.Owen was really competitive and passionate about shuffleboard. He played like 20 games in a row, though no one cared if he won or not. He pulled his Blackberry out whenever he wasn’t shooting, feverishly pushing buttons and sending messages to god knows where. How Hollywood can you get? Of course I tried to see, but the screen was so small and I already explained my vision sucks at night.He kept yelling at me to change the score and write this or that on the board. “OK, OK,” I protested. “Calm down. I’m on it.””God, I feel like a kindergarten teacher,” he said in that syrupy, nasal voice that could only be his. “You’re up, blue eyes. Go for it.”Now I know it’s childish to get all giddy and excited and hang on his every word, but come on. There he was in the flesh, blue eyes blazing, blond hair glowing under the neon Budweiser sign, his nose all flat and cute, just begging me to lean over and kiss it.The boys eventually moved on to Eric’s, and I convinced the cadre of girls I was with (the super-cool chicks who work at ACES) not to follow them. “We got the best of them,” I said. “Let’s not spoil it.”I fell asleep with this huge smile on my face and thought I must be the luckiest biatch in all of Aspen.I told my story to everyone. I would interrupt any conversation no matter what the subject and say things like, “Oh that sucks your cat got run over a by a bus. Guess what? I hung out with Owen and Luke Wilson on Friday night at Cooper Street!”Then the other day, I was visiting my friend Sascha at work and before I had the chance to say anything she goes, “I skied with Owen Wilson all day on Saturday.” And I’m thinking, “Whatever! Did he put his arm around you? Huh? Did he call you blue eyes? Huh? Did he?” And she goes, “Yeah, he was really nice. He was so cool to everyone. He posed for photos and signed autographs and all that.” I’m rolling my eyes going, tell me something I don’t know. And she goes, “I asked him if all the attention bugged him. He said the only thing that really pissed him off was when people he didn’t even know would come up to him and offer to buy him shots.”Shots? Shoots. Shoot. Oops, I did it again.The Princess is feeling more and more like Britney Spears every day. E-mail your “I met Luke and Owen Wilson” story to email@example.com.