Happy Noon Year!

Two thousand and five is the year I turn 30. I hadn't really thought about it until New Year's Day, when I woke up at 8 a.m. after 11 hours of undisturbed, sober sleep.

My last memory of 2004 is hearing Devo's "Whip it" on the television and thinking it certainly should rank higher than 35 on VH1's list of one-hit wonders.

Happy New Year! I shouted upon waking to my husband, who was already up. He's 35.

"I'd rather welcome 2005 alert than send 2004 out the way I might have 10 years ago," he said when I mentioned that I felt a little ... lame.

35 and wise. We agreed that a party we read about over coffee, where people too feeble to stay up until midnight instead popped balloons and threw streamers at 12 p.m. on New Year's Eve, may have been the party for us. Happy Noon Year!

Our New Year's party was the day before, anyway.

The Ralph Lauren shindig was a smash and I now know that apres-ski is Apsen for "you figure it out." Not one single person looked like the other, and everyone seemed to interpret Apres-ski in their own special way. The attire was wonderful and tragic, glamourous and budget, and we were right there in the midst of it all. Ralph Lauren has a better sense of humor than I ever thought possible.

Still looking for inspired ideas the afternoon of the party, we picked up a copy of Aspen magazine. Inside, there was a real estate ad that pictured a British looking dude standing in a field. He was dressed in knickers, a tartan hat, a tuxedo shirt, a sweater vest, a bow tie, knee socks, saddle shoes and was holding something that looked like a tap dancing cane. Underneath the copy read: "Loyal. Trustworthy. We sell Aspen's most distinguished homes."

Later that night, we had the privledge of meeting Knicker Man in the flesh.

I think I saw him first, standing alone with a glass of white wine. It was all I could do not to shout, "It's Knicker Man!"

We all snickered and giggled and tried not to make eye contact. My husband, possibly the bravest man I know, approached him.

"Only a gentleman could pull off such a get-up," he said. If Knicker Man was the fightin' kind, I'm sure he would have socked him.

To recover, my husband turned the corner. "You sell real estate right? I saw you in a magazine."

Knicker man scowled and said nothing. "How could a man wearing knickers take himself so seriously," I saw my husband wonder.

After several uncomfortable seconds, my husband stuck out his hand and formally introduced himself. Knicker Man responded (finally) and introduced himself not as a real estate agent from a magazine ad, but as "the gentleman who owns this building." That would be the Ralph Lauren building. The building we were in. Quite possible the most expensive piece of real estate in all of Colorado.

"I deal in tribal rugs," he said. Talk about a conversation ender.

Aspen is absurd.

And not it's a memory, too. But I can't leave it without imparting a little V. Housewife judgement. Here's my top five list of things not to do if hosting a benefit:

(1) If you're only going to offer drinks on party platers and no bar, don't offer ice drinks. Ice melts, the drink becomes watered down, and thus tastes like poo, no matter how la te da the vodka. What's worse, party-goers opt for champagne and get shit faced very quickly.

(2) Don't say the word "fabulous" more than twice during a 10-minute conversation. I spoke to one hostess for five minutes who said "Fabulous" 15 times, sometimes twice in one breath. Yes, I counted. If used at all, limit "fabulous" to your greeting and your farewell and tie it into a compliment towards the person with whom you're speaking. Note: "Hello, darling, don't you look fabulous," "So long Mrs. Lovely, you made our party fabulous." Avoid: "My pants are fabulous because Ralph Lauren, who is fabulous, made them from fabulous material, had them fabulously sewn and now they're sold in this fabulous store for a fabulously outrageus price. Fab!"

(3) Don't wear plaid anything. Especially plaid pants. Most especially plaid cargo pants. Repeat this mantra: Plaid is bad. Forgo the cargo.

(4) Don't invite more than 50 guests who've had plastic surgery. Any more than that and your party will seem like an alien festival on Mars.

(5) Avoid smoked elk on toast as an appetizer.