We’re all on the same page
I don’t know if it’s the warm weather or what, but I am like, so happy I feel like I’m about to pop.I realize these little mood swings could be a sign of a serious psychological problem, but that’s beside the point. I’m just having one of those weeks where all my little planets are coming into alignment and the drama barometer has dropped considerably. Good times.When I left you guys last week I was having my little birthday pity party, which of course turned out to be totally amazing. My friends took me to L’Hostaria for dinner and made a big fuss over me and gave me cards and presents and condoms and made me wear a little crown that I loved and kept. Gibbo brought us a round of shots served in pretty little blue shot glasses and even though we had no clue what it was, we all drank it anyway.It also happened to be Comedy Fest, which never disappoints and is hands-down my favorite event of the year. I am always blown away by the level of talent and consider the performing arts to be the penultimate in creativity. I was particularly moved by the outspoken women’s troupes that proved I’m not the only obnoxious chick running around talking smack and publicizing my sex life. The Tasty Skanks took the whole men-shaving-their-genitals thing (they called it “manscaping”) and turned it into a full on musical. (Although they are clearly for it and I am not. I still think it’s weird and have a hard time picturing a real man sitting there on the toilet or in the shower or wherever and taking a razor to his groin. It’s just way too vain and unnatural.) Then there was “Moist” a group of women who divulged Chick Truths within the context of a feminist rally, owning up to the oh-so-un-PC realities like how much they love to give their husband a good blowjob when he gets home from work.Obviously, we’re all on the same page.And I just love hanging out at the St. Regis bar (the only time for sure I’ll do it all year) and catching glimpses of various celebrities, my most favorite thing ever.”I just asked Cheryl Hines for a piece of gum,” Maureen said, opening her mouth wide to show it to me.Susan went so far as to wear a shirt that said, “I’M NOT FAMOUS” and had already obtained an impressive collection of photos. “Here’s one of me with Billy Baldwin. And here’s me with Jeremy Piven and me with Cheryl Hines.” She had the exact same smile in each photo, like someone had cut out her face and pasted it in. “Wow,” I said.”Yeah, I just talk to them for a bit, and, you know, get them to feel real comfortable before I take their photo.””Sounds like a good strategy,” I replied, thinking if I had the chance to make Jeremy Piven comfortable, it certainly wouldn’t be so I could take his photo.Susan had the place wired and helped John and I sneak into the after party in some suite we accessed through secret passageways I’m not going to divulge here, but it was definitely another one of those, “How old are we?” moments. I had a few of those over the course of the Festival, like when John and I started drinking beer at his office and four o’clock in the afternoon and found the need to purchase not one, but two beers a piece during the shows.Then the sun came out and the mountain virtually turned into a beach and my face was tan again without the assistance of the tanning beds at The Aspen Athletic Club. (The funny thing about that is I tend to get extremely tan in those things because my Hebrew skin turns to chocolate in 20 minutes or less and then everyone’s freaking out, going, “Why are you so tan?” to which I have no answer.)I’ve also been skiing again. Oh, relax. It’s only because I got an assignment from SKI magazine to write a personal essay about going back to skiing after being a snowboarder for 16 years so I figured I’d give it a shot. The craziest thing happened – I loved it. Of course I still plan to swing both ways. You just stop it with that. Stop it right now!The best part was I got to take a two-day private lesson with Weems Wesfeldt, who is like the little Ski Buddha and probably one of the best ski instructors in the world. I always thought of ski instructors as these sort of goody-goody clean cut types (Oh, god. Don’t get mad at me for saying that, it’s just a thing from my past. Y’all are real men, big men, who may or may not shave your genitals.) But Weems is so cool. He’s sort of like a cross between Huck Finn and Santa Claus, a spirited, ageless wise man with a wide grin and rosy cheeks, a fairy tale creature who floats down the mountain with such grace and ease that’s simply not common among mere mortals.Within two days he had me skiing the bumps in Deep Temerity, showing me how to ski with such fluidity that the jaws of the zip line magically transformed themselves into gentle waves that I could bob over slowly and carefully without getting my ass kicked every time. (No, I was not on acid, but maybe I would like to try that sometime.)”You know what’s so great about you?” he said. “You’re so comfortable with chaos. That’s a good thing.”I looked at him, his teeth gleaming through his white bearded grin like some little snow god and realized how lucky I am that there are people in this town who actually understand me.The Princess thinks two sticks are twice as good as one. E-mail your sunny thoughts to email@example.com.