Like the Hamptons, for hipsters

The thermostat tells me that my apartment is currently hovering around 85 degrees, the air is thick and heavy and still, and I couldn't be more comfortable. I know that these temperatures and my lack of an air conditioner will annoy me in a month or so, but for now, after months of chillier temperatures (what? 60 is cold here), I'm welcoming this heavenly heat bath with wide open, sun-kissed arms.

This, of course, is nothing compared to the near 100 degree temperatures I enjoyed in Palm Springs this weekend, but that house was air conditioned, and should I schvitz anyway, it conveniently had a pool. Should the pool be too chilly for my delicate disposition, there was also a hot tub whose water was only slightly cooler than the delightful desert air.

I should clarify something from my last post. While I had said that I was going to Palm Springs for Coachella, I never actually made it to the music festival. The people we were staying with had tickets, and I had assumed we'd get some once we were there, but the draw of the house and the ease of the Palm Springs lifestyle overruled any desire to fight thousands of serious music fans for overpriced beer and portapotties. Don't get me wrong - I really would love to have gone. I think it's an experience worth having, if only for the bragging rights. But truthfully, my music tastes are much less sophisticated than that of the festival's many followers, and I was much happier dancing to Britney and Lady Gaga on repeat on the iPod back at home.

I'm sorry - did I call that house "home"?

To give you some background, I went with my friend Miya, this guy she has been seeing, and one of this guy's friends who was visiting from out of town. This was extremely convenient for me, as the guy I had been dating ended things a week earlier, so the only thing I was looking forward to more than a weekend away in the sun was a little male attention from someone who lived 2000 miles away. It was the perfect built-in date with no responsibilities or expectations.

Except that the guy turned out to be the definition of "dud". I don't know if his Wisconsin roots were too intimidated by the LA crowd partying up in Palm Springs, but he's the first person I ever met who actually got MORE awkward the more time went on. I only mention it here because he was the sole damper on my otherwise perfect weekend, and not just because he didn't humor my ego - he was a bit of a buzzkill all around. He didn't have any desire to get to know the group, and kept to himself for much of the trip. Literally. We went out for a few hours and he stared down at his lap the entire time. I don't know how anyone could have a bad time in such a beautiful setting, but I guess some people are more resourceful than others.

Fortunately for me, I packed my personality along with enough clothes and shoes to last me a week (still I get excited about being able to pack up my trunk and not being confined to what I can lug through Penn Station), so I made other friends and just soaked up the sun. My favorite pool float had a pillow and a cup holder, so I spent two hours Sunday morning/afternoon reclining in the water with a magazine and a bloody Mary, and when that ran out, a margarita.


My personality needed a break, by that point.