Speaking of skiing…

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The one move I managed to master with gusto on our New Year’s ski trip was après. Definition? The day is over—time for drinks and swapping war stories from the slopes.

Breckenridge Brewery was a blast with our crew but I have to say that placing a Mexican joint at the base of Vail Mountain was a stroke of genius. Margs and queso, chips and salsa…it was a match made in après ski heaven.


43 Degrees? Thanks, I’ll Pass.

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When I walked out of Trader Joe’s today, I could actually see my breath.  And since it was only 43 degrees, I guess that makes sense.  This confirms my decision to get the heck outta here come Sunday.

Actually, this confirms my decision: by the time I walked from work to home today, I had four missed calls from my grandmother.  I figured something was wrong; she must have fallen or is in the hospital or something (I’m a proven worrywart).  I immediately called her back, only to hear her say she was just calling because she realized that in a few days, we’d be on the beach having a cocktail (don’t threaten Hazel with a good cocktail!) and she was very, very excited.


So for the next few days, I’ll bundle up and tolerate the cold because soon I will be on the beach, cocktail in hand, chatting it up with my 94 year old BFF.