I'm with him

I have made no progress. And last time I checked (one second ago), the clock was still ticking.

My favorite idea so far came from my cousin Anne, who said, "Wear one of those t-shirts that has a big arrow on it and says 'I'm with him.'" It could work, especially if I'm standing next to Leo DiCaprio.

I've been obsessing about what to wear to an apres-ski party for 17 days, yet have produced no tangible results. I've been utterly unproductive. Therefore, I'm not thinking about it anymore.

This frightened me at first, but then I remembered that the best things happen when you don't think about them happening. Keenan Brown never gave me his chocolate pudding at lunch when I wished he would. I can never draw a perfect heart when I concentrate. Not once have I ever lost weight on a diet.

Likewise, I can't possibly expect to find something fancy schmancy to wear to a fancy schmancy party if I'm actually looking for it.

Things happen when you let them go.

So I'm not looking. I'm not waiting. I just am. Exhale apres-ski wear stress.

Kitty Bouldin, zen housewife Virginia Yodi master, I am. Proud of me, you are. Humble bow.

Anyway, InStyle suggests that the perfect thing already lives in my closet. That could very well be true, and I could very well find it if only I could open my closet without an avalanche happening on my head.

I knew there was a problem I could solve in there somewhere. Tonight (or maybe tomorrow night, but most certainly before Thursday night) I'm going to clean out my closet. Instead of buying a new pair of pants or a sexy, snazy top, I'm going to buy a hanging holder for my shoes and some place to neatly store my sweaters. And then, something wonderful will happen.

If it doesn't, at least I'll come home to a clean closet.

Wear where?

I have really great news!

Kate Hudson (Almost Famous) has invited us to a party to celebrate her donation the foundation my husband works for, mingle with some stars and brush shoulders with the likes of Ralph Lauren, who's brand-new store we'll be cocktailing in.

I have some really scary news!

I'm going to a party in Aspen hosted by Kate Hudson, who has like a zillion dollars, is four years younger than me and I think is married to a rock star.

Do you know this kind of news? You're so excited you want to pee your pants and you're so scared you want to pee your pants?

Must quell the fear. Must quell the fear.

First, I studied the invitation.

Never, ever go to a party without seeing the invitation. The first thing a woman wonders when she hears "invited to a party" is "what will I wear?" (just before "how soon is too soon to get a manicure?" and "Where's the closest Neiman and Marcus").

The invitation has the answers, it sets the mood. You can always tell when people have been invited somewhere by word of mouth -- they're usually in blue jeans.

More importantly, never ever believe your husband when he says, "we're going to a cocktail party" because to men, every party is a cocktail party.

I realized this only yesterday when for a few hours I thought I was going to a cocktail party in Aspen. Then I saw the invitation, which read in fancy silver letters:

Kate Hudson cordially invites you to après ski cocktails
to celebrate the opening of
R A L P H L A U R E N

Apres-ski. Apres. That's French and it means after. After skiing cocktails, which is different entirely from apres-dinner cocktails.

Understandably, none of this really matters to my husband who will wear pretty much the same thing to a wedding that he will to a funeral or a Lakers game or a squash match. Had I not seen this invitation, I would have probably purchased, packed and worn a cocktail dress with his encouragement.

When I then had to put on my best "yes, I ski in a cocktail dress" attitude and then blamed him for my resulting discomfort, he would have replied, "Who cares. They're serving top shelf bourbon."

Next, I'd normally go shopping.

I love fashion and I love to shop, but I'm tormented with questions and can't focus. Trust me, I've tried.

Fur, fleece or wool? Dolce and Gabbana or Patagonia? Uggs or Stetsons?

Chiefly, what the hell is an apres-ski party? All I can picture is a wood-laden chalet and big, wool snowflake sweaters. That can't be right.

Plus, I haven't skiied in, like, 8 years, but I know it never left me feeling like doing anything apres. And oh, the hat head.

Do I actually have to ski in order to attend an apres-ski party? Am I supposed to wear my apres ski party outfit under my ski clothes or are my ski clothes supposed to be so fabulous they can dub as party clothes?

Cause, let's get real. Ski slopes, even in Apsen, are overflowing with fashion disasters. How am I to stay on the hip highway when the byways are clogged?

I'm stuck. And the clock is ticking...

Four letter words

Hot damn, a four-letter word tops Webster's list of words of the year and it's one I can pronounce, use in a sentence and say around children.

Blog. B-L-O-G. As in, I would write a novel, but I'm too busy updating this darned blog each week.

Country of orgin: USA.
Prefix: Web.
Suffix: Log
Makes: Blog.
Get it: Web Log. Weblog. We, blog!

This is confusing if you're my mom, who the other night actually said, "I read your blob today."

Wait! There's more!

It's a cracker jack day, people. Also in the news, a porcelain urinal was named the most infulential piece of modern art. No, I'm not kidding.

"Fountain" - an ordinary white, porcelain urinal - was more influential than anything else created by artist's hands in modern times.

Than ANY ART MADE in modern times. We're not talking invention or functionality here. We're talking art, like paints and clay and stuff.

Warhol, Jackson Pollock, Pablo Picasso. Prints of the gorgeous Ms. Monroe, stary nights, the devistation of war. Eh, eh.

"Fountain" made something of a critical splash (oh, i'm busting at the seams with puns) when Marcel Duchamp introduced it in 1917. Had I been alive then, I'm pretty sure I would have thought he'd lost his mind.

Even for a moment today I thought maybe the person who chose this piece got swirlied too many times in middle school.

I had to think for a minute when I read about this story. (And by think I of course mean I had to do a Google search). What in the world is special about a tub a man pee's in?

Nothing! (sorry, fellas). And that's just it. Duchamp planted the seeds of what would become a grand avant-garde movement. In English, that means he started thinking in ways that no one had before.

An everyday object as art? Now that you mention it, that's not a bad idea.

Before that, art was kinda pretentious. Full-figured ladies lying on couches and lots of big, beautiful nature. The urinal (do I have to say it?) pisses on aesthetic beauty. So, yeah, there's nothing exceptional really about a urinal or a sink or a comb for that matter (Duchamp made both of those things in a similar fashion) but that's the point.

And so it is with the blog. Once upon a time, Web posting was tough. It was complicated, like math.

Then a few smart people got together and figured out a way to make it easy for everyone. And poof -- We blog!

It's nothing really. A few pages and a few thoughts among millions and millions. But anyone can do it. And anyone can read it. And anyone can get it.

Like Duchamp's urinal, it's the commonality in something once so complicated that makes it beautiful.