I'm Bound to Thank You for It...

Thanksgiving is by far my very most favorite holiday in the history of the world...I am sorry, Christmas lovers...Jesus' birth is momentous and all...you know, I love getting lots of clothes and shoes and jewels and books all wrapped up in His honor, not to mention all the fun and festivity. And His death was even more momentous, for sure...you know, Jesus, was a central figure in my growth and education and the communities in which I have come of age...and I mean, who doesn't love celebrating His torture and execution and eventual resurrection with a few extra drinks at a scuzzy dive bar on Holy Thursday? Guilty! But let's not kid ourselves...Thanksgiving is heads and shoulders above all the rest...four full days dedicated to gluttony -- my favorite of the seven deadly sins as a matter of fact (anyone care to guess my second favorite....?). Thanksgiving gives us all those delicious seasonal foods and endless varieties of pies and appetizers, all greasy and fat-laden...and let's not forget the bottles and bottles and bottles of booze... And the celebration of slothfulness doesn't end at dinner...there are the hours on end of hanging on the couch, picking up your weary bod only to do some Christmas shopping online or to make one of those turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy sandwiches before you fall asleep again. Oh, ok...there may be some football watching and golf playing of coffee-breaking if you are feeling antsy...but that is IT. And that is why Thanksgiving is so unimaginably awesome.

Ok...ok, I admit that there is another part of this holiday that I look forward to every year...I can be sappy and emotional too, I think you all know that....so an annual reminder of how very blessed I am is an amazing and welcome gift. And to know that I should thank god everyday for giving me a beautiful family...healthy, spry parents and growing, active children...a lovely home and an endless selection of terrific neighbors in a warm, safe, happy community. And then, on top of all that, here I stand with friends in every corner of my life whom I love and adore so deeply, regardless of where we are, how much time passes, or what might occur between us...you know that I could not live

without you.

Of course I know that we are all thankful for family and friends and home and happiness this time of year....but as I was writing all this down and in thinking about the fun and excitement of this upcoming holiday season, my perfect middle child and my jealous and possessive youngest were both completing the obligatory lower elementary grade Thanksgiving assignment of collecting items they might be inclined to bring along should they be a passenger on The Mayflower....and while they stood gaping at me as I suggested they grab a bottle of water and some peanut butter and a good book and an extra blanket, I began wondering what else, aside from water and air and sustenance and shelter, I could absolutely not live without... You know, comforts, non-essentials...because aren't those things also worthy of being cherished this time of year? Aren't those the the things that make our lives with our families and friends and in our homes all the more beautiful and livable...damn straight, they are! So...this year I give a special thanks to and for the following essential non-essentials...hey, and don't judge just because they

all have to do with food, clothes or entertainment (shocker, right?)...I'll save the depth and feeling for the "essential essentials" post... Ok, here goes:

Personal grooming services -- It is no secret, even with my absolute love of food and eating and cooking, that I would rather starve than allow my hair and skin upkeep to languish....my fingernails to be unpolished...my teeny tootsies to become unbuffed and calloused. To me, weekly grooming is second only to showering and hair washing when it comes to looking and feeling refreshed and alive and ready to face the world, not to mention able to drop everything and hit a dinner party or cocktail hour. I have found that my desire for glossiness has become synonymous with cleanliness in my mind...and nothing bums me out more than looking down and seeing a dull, chipped manicure or pedicure. So I don't know if these little treatments are even a luxury to me anymore...in fact, I believe this beauty and grooming schedule is more likely an addiction...maybe even my own little secret adrenaline high...a little oxytocin via OPI polish. So ok, maybe I am a salon junkie...and it is quite likely that I would beg, borrow, steal...bring my family to ruination and damnation before I would forgo my quite large monthly salon bill...but at least I will be the smoothest and shiniest trick on the soup lines this winter....

Iced venti non-fat latte -- Starbucks, D&D's or the local Greek diner...it's what's forbreakfast.

CoverGirl Wet Slicks Lip Gloss -- a bona fide pick me up all packaged in a little tube with a wand, and available in a rainbow of colors. When it comes to lip gloss, there is nothing better than a well-priced, mass market goodie like WetSlicks...

Tivo -- by far the greatest invention of all time for those of us who are stubborn, self-important pop culture fanatics...yes, we want to indulge in as much mindless programming as possible, but dammit, we want to do it on our own time. Just this past Sunday morning I woke 90 minutes before my alarm...and what did I do? Not laundry...didn't go to church...hit the gym? please! Instead I caught up on this week's episodes of The Soup and Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives (Triple D!) and The Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Ruins...(what about boozy, big talking Brad trying to take on brick sh*thouse Darrell...what in holy hell was that utter f**kery??? Loved his juicy, bulbous black eye after the fact though...wait, I am the only one over 22 who watches this sh*t, aren't I?). And you know, even though Tivo and I spend more time together than I'd like to admit, a nice, unexpected side effect is that my social life has expanded exponentially now that I can skip out on Thursday nights without worrying about missing Project Runway or Survivor or, god forbid The First 48...I can't let a week pass without my fill of Tim Gunn, hidden immunity idols, or human suffering and gore via the Memphis PD. Thanks, Tivo!

The J. Crew "Jackie" cardigan -- fitted lightweight cotton, I have 7 of these little wardrobe essentials in a variety of colors...black and navy getting the biggest workout of the bunch though you have certainly seen the green as well... I top almost every outfit with one of these...a sartorial lifesaver of sorts...

The Farmer's Market -- I love to cook...and I love food...and I love fresh ingredients....and farm markets just do it for me. I don't know, those baskets overflowing with red tomatoes and green peppers and orange squash and purple eggplant and an endless selection of fresh herbs and...well, it's like live food porn...a foodie peep show, if you will. We are lucky to have one of the few working farms in the state right here in Wyckoff...and at any given moment (except Sundays, welcome to Bergen County...) we can just run right over to Abma's and check out the daily stock and create menus around their home-grown produce, farmed chickens and pigs. I am there almost every single day, planning our family dinners as I go...I could not live without that experience...so mark my words, if and when Abma's leaves town, so too will I...

Bravo's "Reality" and "Reality Competition" programming -- Bravo's entire

line-up completely sucks me in for many reasons, but mainly because it seems less smarmy and vomit-inducing as, say, E! does with their lock on the insipid celebutante (Keeping Up with the Kardashians...) and cracked out Vegas stripper (Rock of Love Bus...) market. Truly, I could go on forever about Flipping Out!, Real Housewives...you name it...but my first loves are Top Chef and past seasons of Project Runway, those addictive professional competitions filled with great works of culinary art and fashion design created under extraordinary circumstances week after week...and it's like I am being educated via "reality"...introduced to new terms and techniques and products and concepts as I loaf and snuggle with my snugglebunnies...and so, you know, I don't feel so loafy and lame. In fact, now after watching every season of both shows, I have convinced myself that I am fully qualified to be a professional fashion or food critic ("The components of that dish just weren't cohesive..." or "That garment was so poorly constructed..."). A degree by Bravo...if only they had offered that at Stonehill I would have graduated summa cum laude for sure...

My glass "fish" earrings from The Island Shop in Bermuda -- I am a Pisces...I am drawn to "fish" and coastal themed items, always have been...and on a visit to The Island Shop in Hamilton, Bermuda a few years back, I walked right over to the display counter with the multi-colored hand-made glass beaded jewelry, saw the fish earrings dangling there, calling to me...so, I made them mine....and we've been a happy couple ever since.

Cupcakes -- hand-held heaven, stacked high with buttercream... I cannot be the only one who is immediately transported to my 6th birthday party when I catch sight of a tray of cupcakes. I don't care if they are the classic Duncan Hines variety with the pre-fab icing or one of those pillowy concoctions from Magnolia Bakery with their pastel candy toppings...my mood is lightened with one bite...

Girls' Nights/Weekends -- Really, after over a year of covering in this very blog why I love time with my girlfriends so very much, do I need to elaborate?...I don't think so either...

The "Cheese Plate" -- If there was one food on which I had to agree to subsist for the remainder of my time on earth, I would have no problem choosing...not a moment's hesitation. It would be, of course, cheese. And you know me well enough to know that I don't mean any old Kraft singles or Laughing Cow cr*p...I am talking artisanal offerings and farmstead products made with the milk of grass-fed sheep and goats and cows. I never pass up the cheese course on a menu...I never pass the cheese counter or walk by the cheese shop...I linger all afternoon at tastings. I could not even begin to name my favorites, because each visit to the cheese shop brings me a new one to love (though I suggest La Tur and Germain Langres for your holiday table...). I could be bribed into just about anything with a great cheese. Add a crusty baguette and a great bottle of Cabernet and I am yours for good...as simple as that...

But you know, my friends, even as I look back and am thankful for these many comforts, it is clear to me that without all of you to experience these delights with, they would certainly lose their luster. You know, manicures are much more fun with chit chat on the side...and a latte is always more tasty when enjoyed socially...and what good is a new lip gloss without being able to share a juicy kiss on top of it...and all the Tivo-ing of BravoTV shows and fondling of farm

market food porn could never excite me more than the snuggling with the snugglebunnies...and who needs a cute sweater or pretty earrings without a room full of

besties to tell you how

great you look in them....and there is nothing on earth better than that cheese plate and crusty baguette and delicious wine when they are, in fact, shared by (at least) two...

So...it really is all of you that I cannot live without...and I am beyond thankful to have you...

With all my love this Thanksgiving...Suz

Photos:

1. My perfect middle child one Thanksgiving past making an attempt to drop his vegetarianism by snagging the last drumstick...it didn't stick...but notice his placemat says he is thankful for Mommy & Daddy...told you he was perfect...

2. My three perfect little darlings, snugglebunnies and greatest blessings of all, bar none...

3. Having my "smoky eyes" applied (professionally) under the watchful eye of Patrick's portrait...in his mother's dining room...

4. That iced latte looks so luscious and satisfying...I am dying to lick the screen...

5. (left to right) Colleen, Pina, Mary and me...looking bright and shiny and pulled together in my bright green "Jackie" cardigan...

6. My future colleagues at the Top Chef judges table...I belong right there between Tom and Padma, no?

7. This shot has it all....a tray of cupcakes in hand, glass fish earrings dangling, a little Wetslicks glistening on my lips and great lighting...I am making this my next passport shot too...

8. The cheese plate I happily scarfed a mere 36 hours before my tornado ride through Connecticut...thankfully not my last one (not by a long shot...)

9. & 10. An selection of my regular cronies, looking hot as always...all of you make the day-to-day and these essential non-essentials all the more enjoyable...so Thank You!!!

Girls On Film!

So on Friday night we had Sam's all-girls housewarming/cocktail party/quasi late night non-bridal shower -- oh yes...we had Sam as "non-bride" with her table full of gifts...Gwen as "maid of honor" presenting the gifts one at a time...Betsy was the "gift list"-making bridesmaid, Suse the "bow bra"-making bridesmaid and sistergirlfriend, Lisa was the "repacking and stacking" bridesmaid...I on the other hand was that jaded, wisecracking aunt on her third Tanqueray & Tonic, demanding Sam hold the gifts up so I could see better... And this all took place in her lovely new home on its narrow, winding street lined with the shady trees and pretty houses with white picket fences and window boxes filled with hydrangea in the spring and mini-pumpkins in the fall, all leading up to a cul-de-sac where the kids can play. So...it took me no less than 10 minutes inside during the pre-party "set up" (aka pre-party cocktailing) with our hostess and Gwen, to declare Sam's home of independence our new de facto clubhouse, crashpad and headquarters. Starting right about.....now. Hope that's cool by you, Sam!

So you have heard it all before...we ladies gathering, shutting the men out so that we can sip wine and pound various vodka drinks while we inhale baked brie with carmelized apples in puff pastry and little phyllo cups filled with creamy goodness and gooey hot artichoke dip and then late night mixing the contents of the M&M bowl with that of the salted mixed nuts bowl and going to town on the salty-sweet combo... Andthere is the gabbing and story sharing and joke making and the outfit complimenting (this party had an inordinate amount of like-dressers...Betsy and I in matching blouses, hers pink, mine ivory...Mary's sequined top almost exactly like Vicky's...and the Beard Sisters might as well have been the Beard Twins in their identical jeans and black tops....) and of course we touched on the mom issues...topic of the night: the right tactic to employ and how much info to share when telling your 4th grader what "It" is....You know...what is the purpose of "It"....how "It" works...what do you wear during "It"....why do people even want to do "It"....and my favorite, asked by ADP's little angel...does "It" work everytime....!!! Love that! To which the answer was a resounding: "NO!"

So even though my friends and I have enjoyed many a night like so, I always want you, by default, to enjoy them with us...and as such, I always make it my mission to mark these happenings by photographing the night from beginning to end...an invaluable illustration...I mean, how would you have enjoyed Wendy's party quite as much without the shots of Gwen and I at the porto-potty...and what about the Jughead posse toasting with those Coronas at the 12th Street Ale House...and there was the sheepish Gourmet/Wh*re-met gang and the adult toy party...and me and Ellie rocking out to the poppy craptastic tunes at her first JoBros concert this summer...and who would possibly have believed the havoc of the tornado drive through Connecticut without those post-apocolyptic shots? Yeah...the photos are a must.

That said...it has been well over a year now that I am writing this way...and well over a year now that I have been receiving complaints from my BFFs as to the photos I have chosen to display. And though most of you get a giggle out of being featured, no longer are my closest friends and neighbors quite so naive as to simply pose away and allow me to document every move they might make and the odd moments during which they are found chit chatting merrily with a sworn enemy...or surreptitiously whispering some juicy tale...or laying together on a giant queen-sized bed...or boozing so heftily that entire generations of their families are hungover in the days following. So...it is comical to see the reaction I get when I pull out that little aquamarine digital point and shoot...you know, they are making a big deal of hiding their faces and rolling their eyes and complaining that I only post pictures in which I look good....Hello??? I am writing this thing, am I not? I am no fool...but, make no mistake, I have also learned the hard way...I have had to teach myself the proper positioning of a good "self-portrait" (I am now a certified pro in that art form...) and how to navigate the "group pose" to have even a 50% shot and grabbing a good angle on film...and even with all that experience, I still end up looking like a sea hag or a tranny Madonna or a uni-bust or two ton tank at times. But those moments are not quite so often anymore....

So this past Friday at Sam's, I took a little time out from cocktailing and gabbing to advise a group of my girlfriends on the proper technique and execution of my signature "Turn, Twist, Tilt & Prop" pose made "famous" (infamous??) by this blog (apparently). And you know, this all started with some"good natured" ribbing (or shall we say relentless abuse...)...lots of giggling each time I took a photo and my friends making a big deal of trying to achieve that magic combination, but inevitably leaving out the "turn" or the "tilt"...and almost always the "prop." And every one of those girls, all abuse and ribbing on the outside, was taking mental notes on the process...so now we all have it down...now we will all look extra delish each week right here.

You know, I guess I never realized the look made much of an impact...though back a few months when one of my very besties told me that for a few seconds he thought it was, in fact, me who was the Craigslist Killer's girlfriend because the ubiquitous engagement photo splashed across the tabloids featured said girlfriend all twisted and tilted with a healthy dose of Suz style. I should have known right then that this was no longer my secret positioning strategy, but an identifiable stance. And then fast forward to the selection of mocking photos I found on my memory card after ROBtoberfest featuring Joe and Mike and Tim and Jimmy attempting to mimic. And though I would hardly categorize the "TTT&P" as one might the "Bend & Snap" guy-getting maneuver made popular by Reese Witherspoon as Elle Woods, I guess it is equally inane and vain and silly...but damn, b*tches...it works!

But then Rob pointed out that there are an entire year's worth of photos of me in which I look almost identical, which he felt, wasn't exactly normal...oh my g*d...maybe he had a point...Christmas: TTT&P; Holy Thursday: TTT&P; kid's birthdays: TTT&P; vacation in Bermuda: TTT&P; post-tornado drive through Connecticut: TTT&P.....(sounds a little like "D*** in a Box"...). There are little variations in the smile and wardrobe and and hairstyle, you know...but almost no photos exist in which I am not fully aware that the shot may one day, very likely, end up being displayed right here for everyone and their brother and sister and best friend from high school to read and forward...which is the part about writing that I love most...the sharing...so don't get me wrong. But the truth is that I have many faces...you know, not like a two-face or anything...more like many different sides. And I guess I show those other "girls" to all of you in this forum figuratively...and I expose my thoughts and beliefs and points of view and emotions with a raw truth and unabashed clarity...I would say that about myself. So maybe the photos don't always communicate what's deep inside.

But damn...I am not sure you'd visit this blog ever again if the photos captured the real flavor of what was running through my brain at any given time...no, no...much too risky... And this is supposed to be fun and light and breezy and easy, right? So...let it be as such...and let me tell you all about Sam's party and how much fun I had "self-portrait-ing" and "TTT&P-ing" and just enjoying the night with my best girls....

...or maybe I will just let the pictures speak for themselves...

Bring on the abuse....

xoxo....

Photos:

1. An exhausted "non-brode" surveys the spoils....

2. Me, Suse, Betsy and Ellen...Bets and I showing off our fancy ruffled matching J. Crew tops...oh, and get used to that look on me....holiday party season is upon us!

3. Vicky and Mary....a vision in sparkles...

4. ADP demos how "It" gets started...all over Suse's cheek...while I "self-portrait" the whole thing....

5. Here I catch Mary and Kath in a private moment (well, maybe not so much....) on Sam's cushy, comfy bed...

6. Another "self-portrait"...Amber with an excellent attempt at the "TTT&P"...she's getting there....

7. Kathy, Amber and Sam finding themselves quite hilarious in a "TTT&P" mocking session...no respect for my hard work...

8. Mary, sistergirlfriend, Lisa and me...notice my well-"propped" 'do in this shot, another "self-portrait"...truly professional...

9. Me and Trish enjoy the night...and my spontaneous "TTT&P/self-portraiting" abilities....

10 & 11. Me and my sweet little darlings this past year...me sporting the sweet little old Mommy-version of "TTT&P"....

12. (left to right) Latzy, Amber, Sam, Mary and sistergirlfriend, Lisa, aka The Jazz Hands Posse, trying to create their own signature pose...kinda lame...

13. Amber, me and Sam....a final "self-portrait" with some of my very besties...

If It Was Warm, She Wouldn't Wear Much More...

Yesterday afternoon I skipped out of the office for a stroll along the

Avenue of the Americas...you know, grab a little midday iced venti non-fat latte, catch up on some chit chat with Suse, kill time... So, I crossed the Avenue at 46th Street and this guy...a seemingly somewhat non-threatening guy, he didn't seem homeless or like a crackhead or anything... though, I mean, I wouldn't invite him out for drinks or to come meet my Mommy for lunch or anything... so, this guy is standing on the corner, leaning up against the subway entrance sign...and he looks me dead in the eyes as I approach and says:

"You look like a cold sl*t in that skirt."

GASP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well actually, inwardly I gasped, because I am a well-school Big City gal and I avert my eyes and ignore scuzzy men and gross come-ons and catcalls and even the more harmless-ish interactions attempted by panhandler and squeegee-wielding types... And as I walked past, looking at the ground and his gaze followed me, I realized that this seemingly somewhat non-threatening guy was actually the same guy who had his belongings hanging off the mailbox on the corner of 47th last week as I was mailing my subscription renewal for Bon Appetit...so maybe I looked at him a little crooked when he wouldn't move his crap so I could mail this all-important correspondence (it is, by the way...I cannot live without my food porn...). But there is no way this dude remembered me...nope...he just spoke his mind as I approached...he actually, truly thought I looked like a "cold sl*t"...and he felt that I needed to be made aware....Thanks crazy mailbox hoarding/subway dwelling freak...!

Let me just make it clear, so you get the full effect...I was wearing a simple black and white patterned dress with a fitted black cardigan and my 3 1/2 inch gunmetal grey patent leather T-straps. Not sure that is sl*t-wear, but whatever you say, crazy mailbox hoarding/subway dwelling freak... And I don't see myself as pushing the envelope in my fashion choices...in fact, I would guess that I am probably a little conservative...a short skirt here and there, some hot shoes maybe...but mostly, I am generally reserved and classically tailored. So I was somewhat offended and perplexed by the comment...it bugged me just a teeny tiny bit...because not only was I called a "sl*t" with bad fashion sense...but a cold sl*t at that...does that mean I am mean and nasty too? Or does cold have another definition on "the streets?" Well, whatever, I guess it's better than being a "rude, thoughtless little pig..."...either way, the truth is, I am pretty certain as to why crazy (etc.) freak made his statement...

Because I am still rocking the bare-leg look a full 2 1/2 months past summer's end.

I can't help it...seriously...I despise pantyhose of any sort...I don't care how silky or sheer or sparkly or how far that sadistic control top flattens my stomach and all my internal organs along with it...I won't put them on. Ok, I will concede that a classic pair of opaque tights can finish a look quite well, but I have to be 100% honest...I only wear those if it is snowing outside. I don't know, I think maybe in a past life I was one of those Victorian courtesans with a full on corset and layers upon layers of muslin and bustles and hoop skirts and god knows what else, because when Sarah Jessica Parker and the Sex & the City posse made it ok to go without...I jumped onboard the naked leg train and never looked back.

I admit it...the late Fall and Winter do get a little difficult when you are talking dressier or even professional looks...and I wear the skirt/boots thing as an alternative...but, the thing is...I am wondering if my crazy friend was simply giving me a tip...like: "Hey, lady, bare-leggedness is so 2005...." Probably is (KR, recessionista/fashionista, please clear this up for me...)...I should probably have moved on to this whole "leggings beneath skirts" (and being that leggings seem to be Lindsay Lohan's uniform, I suspect they are actually the sl*t-wear....) craze or whatever, but I have loved this year-round bare-legged moment in fashion history...sl*t wear or not, I am still rolling with it...

So this whole "cold sl*t" moment reminded me of the conversation Sam and I had as we drove up to Schenectady this past Friday and how we metro-NYC, upscale suburbanites totally convince ourselves that we have it going on with our $200 haute couture jeans and quilted Burberry jackets and Tory Burch ballet flats in every color of the rainbow...and then, there we are not even 20 miles from home, walking down Avenue of the Americas surrounded by supermodels and hipsters and Park Avenue princesses...and then the nutbar on the corner puts you right the hell back into your place. G*ddamn bunch of ninnies we are...it's hilarious! But, all was not lost, we agreed...because we were by far the hottest b*tches in all of Schenectady that night (next to our dear Amber who was strong and as beautiful as ever...much love, sister...).

And you know, there have been some sad fashion trends in my lifetime...and I was right onboard with those too...just the other day Latzy and I were cracking up at the boys' football game about the stylish looks we pulled off as high school girls, looking to impress the boys with the goods....which not a one of them could see in our tapered, pegged Guess jeans and gigantically oversized Benetton sweaters over turtlenecks...I was a size 2 when I was in high school, but every weekend I sported a sweater so bloody huge that each of my best girlfriends could have fit inside it with me. And then Latzy brought up those oversized turtleneck necks that folded over, adding more girth to our boxed in upper bodies...like, we might as well have been wearing a burkha for godssakes. And of course, the look was incomplete without the straight hair -- either bobbed or tastefully just beyond shoulder length -- with the heaviest curtain of bangs possible, cut straight against the forehead. Was there any other way we could cover ourselves...I am certain we would have figured on one if so. Somehow, though, we still seemed to attract the opposite sex, who apparently had no idea we had bodies underneath those tents or they may have been even more frustrated than they already were...am I right, boys? I mean, what do they know of our fashion pain anyway?...The whole system is unfairly balanced...the guys can dress up a button-down and khakis with a simple blue blazer and they look sharp and elegant and pulled together...so they don't have to think...the rules that apply to men in almost all things in life rarely waiver anyway.

And even though I think some of the women's rules have relaxed slightly too much (bikini tops at the grocery store?...bare-midriff at the office (hello, Larry David!)?...Ladies, like Aunt Sassy would say -- we don't need to see that...), I was so impressed when the younger generation of women embraced tank tops and spaghetti straps and curve enhancing formal wear and open-toed shoes and, my favorite, the bare-leg...because it told me that it was ok to show a little skin....you weren't a "cold sl*t" just for letting your pedicure hit the breeze past August 31st.

So, thinking back on it, I guess crazy mailbox hoarding/subway dwelling guy has a perfect right to his fashion opinion (though attacks on character should be reserved for those you know very well, yes?...just saying....)...because, frankly, I feel that fashion is truly so very personal and individual, and we all develop a taste and a consciousness of what works for our bodies and position in life. So if you look good and you feel good and you aren't breaking any laws, then I say have fun...wear what you want, right? Throw caution to the wind....take risks and make it work for you....(right, Tim Gunn???)...and ignore the psych ward street urchins and naysayers...yes? right? you with me????

Um...if it sounds like I am desperately attempting to justify the year-round bare-legged look...well, it's because I totally am....

Love you, my loves....

Suz

Photos:

1: There he is...Sixth Ave fashion critic and character assassin...rude, thoughtless little pig!

2: That is exactly how I looked ignoring my assailant as I strolled on...exactly, like she is my twin for sure....

3: My fashion split personality...all professional in my J. Crew ensemble and Vineyard Vines Nantucket signs sash...holding my hot, delicious Kate Spade 4-inch heeled "guest" slingbacks...worn barelegged, I might add...

4: Barelegged trendsetting icons...

5: RJ, Jen, Charlie and me at St. Vincent Ferrer Church, NYC...in my role as godmother to my brother's first child...no place on earth is too sacred for short skirts and bare legs...apparently...

6: Lindsay in her ubiquitous black leggings...this elegant swan is 23 years old....she only looks 45....

7: Sam and I this spring....barelegged though you cannot tell...in our finest suburban fashions...

8: My indigo satin Tory Burch ballet flats...sublime...enough said...

9: (left to right) Teenaged Lyncher, Murph, me, Casey, Allison and Kerry (and I think a few more under our Champion sweatshirts...) in our most oversized, unsexiest possible outfits, August 1988...at least I had the good sense to go barelegged even then....

10: Bringing masculine style to the Pre-K set, my fearless fashion plate, Tim, in '06...

11: ADP and me fighting over the dirndl...now if I had been wearing that thing when my 6th Ave fashion critic hurled his insult, well, I could not have argued....

Running With The Devil...

So last week brought with it a little bit of heartbreak...which I think we can all agree is never fun. All is well with me and mine, thankfully, so no worries...but, when I sat down to write, I decided that I just needed to escape a little and focus on the fun and silliness that transpired the last few days instead...so I hope you are with me...

Ok, so, this past week was chock full of parties and gatherings and celebrations and social interaction...too much to recount in full really, but I will start with the overview and throw a few details in along the way...you know, a little tasty morsel...

Wednesday, October 28
Carnivorous Cavorting with The Heathers...

I know I talk all the time about the high school glory days...and as much as you all want to mock on me and make fun of the Queen Bee shenanigans my high school coterie and I found ourselves embroiled in as highly-privileged, self-important suburban princesses...we were and are still genuine and giving and a totally cool lot. Every last one of the Holy Angels girls holds a place in my heart, and is like a sister to me...but, let's face it, we are closer to some sisters than others, aren't we?

And so, for the past few months I have been trading sarcastic barbs and snarky commentary and opinions on various issues, as well as secret tidbits by group email (yes, I am aware that I am an adult and should have higher priorities...but alas...) with Stacey, Lyncher and Sally...possibly the three funniest and most dangerously influencing (an appealing quality, I might add...) set of AHA sisters there ever could be. And as such, I am proud to be one of them...our foursome couldn't stand another moment apart, so we embarked on a girlie steak night at The Stable, this Brazilian riodizio in Ridgewood. And the red wine was flowing...and we totally "dug on swine" (trademark: Jules, aka Bada** Motherf&^%$er!) and skewers upon skewers of roasted beef and chicken and sausage and...and ok, PeTA fascists, there were some vegetables mixed in there somewhere. And though, as good little bratty '80's princesses, one of us could very well have ended up downing a Drano cocktail and some corn nuts...we simply took our act live and entertained one another throughout dinner. And we had the best time...because we don't (or can't) hide anything from one another...we don't have to because we already have enough blackmail material on each other, and we will always love one another regardless. Truly, seriously...there is nothing like an old friend...nothing like connecting and remembering and, even with the quips and barbs, being surrounded by that familiar love and support...and relentless abuse...just like old times...!


Thursday, October 29 (Murph's birthday, by the way...Happy, happy!)
Back at The Table...

Ok, so then the next night I was knocked off my preening princess pedestal when I found myself at a book-launch party. You know, back in the chic and fabulous PR agency days of old, these types of events were a dime a dozen (who doesn't remember my deliciously wicked tale and secret quasi-love affair with Rocco DiSpirito...) and as fresh little PR minions, myself and the collection of sharp, fun, bright young things who worked the scene became jaded by the circles in which we ran, and the talent to which we were exposed. So eventually we all went on to different corners of the PR game...me getting my corporate on with the gig in-house at Weight Watchers and then the 'burbs and the kids...the others scattered...some to Europe or the West Coast...some starting their own firms...some becoming chefs or food stylists or internet millionaires...but most of the old gang became writers...Heidi and Jim, particularly, who both have made a career of writing cookbooks with chefs...former clients of our old chic and fabulous PR firm.

So this time around, I was on the circuit for Heidi's second book with the master chef/owner of Aquavit in New York City and others across the nation, Marcus Samuelsson (who we described as "The Black Swede" back when he first hit the scene because of his Ethiopian heritage and Swedish upbringing...a distinction one no longer needs to make in referring to him...). At any rate, now Marcus has become an industry superstar....and still gracious and appreciative of his success...and Heidi, my girl, is his long-time friend and co-writer. The book they wrote together is New American Table and it is beautifully shot and well-written and filled with new twists on deliciousness...and of course you all need to buy many copies and give them to everyone you know for Christmas...you know, because Heidi is my friend and thus she is your friend too...but aside from that...and aside from my swelling pride and admiration for Heidi and her talents and accomplishments and her beautiful enduring friendship to me...the truth is, this book party brought me all the way back...and reminded me so much of how beyond those years I have traveled.

You know, at first I found myself standing apart from the sea of the culturally elite publishing and restaurant and magazine folks...the gorgeous black models sipping Cabernet or Sauvignon Blanc or sparkling California (no domestic beers available here...or imported for that matter...sorry, folks!) and their sleek and sartorially perfect black male counterparts. Short suburban blond (ok, brownie-blond) all dressed up in corporate/country club chic...a complete anomaly in this room. But then I found my 1998 PR gal persona from deep within me and I chatted with Heidi and Eric and Marcus and the Bon Appetit writer and her French chef husband...and I marched across the room to talk to Bob Giraldi, the famous director (Michael Jackson's "Beat It," Pat Benatar's "Love Is a Battlefield," videos and countless award-winning commercials (including the infamous Michael Jackson/Pepsi fire/hair gel mess...) and films are in his catalog). Bob also happens to be a highly-regarded restaurateur and most importantly, my very best friend Allison's uncle....so of course he knows my parents and family... So I had a moment to chat him up and I told him how much I love his film, Dinner Rush...that it is one of my favorite foodie movies and I recommend it to everyone...and I do, please, you must run and rent this movie...a little New York-centric gem, a love note to this City and the scene...you will not regret it. So Bob was touched and pleased...and we said goodbye on that note.

Later, when Marcus took the stage and thanked Heidi for her friendship and for sharing her talent, I welled up....and I remembered why it was that I loved being a part of the professional foodie crowd...because it is all about loving what you do...and, even more so, putting love into what you do.

So though it may have been hilariously comical to stand in the corner of that room with The Heathers or one of my ballbusting cohorts and giggle and roll our eyes at the chic fabulousness of it all, it was even better to drink it all in and enjoy the moment....

When I left the party and returned to the 'burbs that night, we took the kids out for ice cream sundaes....


Friday and Saturday, October 30 & 31
Mischief Making...

All Hallow's Eve, baby...the kickoff to the eating and drinking season...may fave! So, it was a whirlwind weekend...you know, on top of Friday being my one day off to take care of errands and salon visits and shopping trips...I also had to spend most of the day at the school readying for the big Halloween Parade...and of course it was adorable, the kids are so cute and into being on display...But best of all, no doubt, was after the parade when Will, my jealous and possessive 6 year old kindergartner who was all dressed up in this ill-fitting policeman costume that kind of looked like some Eastern European military suit with this odd mushroomy hat, sang Halloween songs with his class. And leave it to Will...the kid stood there in front of all the parents and completely mugged for the cameras the entire time, adding his own choreography like some miniature glory hog...which Rob and I found beyond hysterical...honestly, you need to see it for yourself to truly get the vibe on this child, so as soon as I figure out how to upload it to this blog, you will be the first to know...

Later that night was the Halloween hayride and bonfire at Abma's Farm, hosted annually by Amber and Steve. And I was running all over creation wrapping up loose ends so we could make it on time...getting the kids fed...dropping and then retrieving Tim from swim practice...searching the entire house for their misplaced fleeces...all while whipping up a deliciously seasonal last minute batch of Hot Buttered Rum...an all-important accessory for any hayride...or any outdoor Fall activity, come to think of it. So we rode the hay and sat around the bonfire while the angels toasted marshmallows...and after a few slugs of the HBR, I cracked into Mike's beers as well...And we let the kids run loose and tell stories and drop sticks into the extra smoky fire...

On the ride home, we encountered a number of stealth teenaged mischief-makers TP-ing and pumpkin smashing...and thankfully my house was untouched, but apparently they were attaching Christmas garland and "It's a Boy" and "It's a Girl" balloons on Pina and Paul's and Chris and Jimmy's and Dana and Freddy's front porch steps...and then Jimmy spent the next 24 hours accusing every member of our crew, trying to vet out the culprit. Sorry, JH...I was snuggled in bed with my three kids by 10:30 that night...as far as you know... Even so, I fully expect a "For Sale" sign to appear on my lawn or the little blue Jag to end up parked on a tree branch in the next few weeks for sure...

So my costume was a pair of sparkly red devil horns...and when I placed them on my head Will said: "Mom, your head is very horny!" Ha! You have no idea, kid.... This was my first costume in years...probably since college (oh wait...how could I forget the St. Pauli Girl dirndl just last week...!!)...and every year the kids

beg me to be more festive...so this year I obliged. And almost everyone I

encountered made some joke about my true devilish nature, you know, stuff like: "Why aren't you wearing a costume?" or "A devil? how appropriate!" Thank you, my beloved friends...

Anyway, somehow on this day, I, the mother of three young children, ended up trick-or-treating in the misty rain (hello frizz-bomb) with a bunch of adults...my kids scattered about The Knolls with different parents and friends, or taking a break back at the house, while I was sipping a little Sam Adams strolling the neighborhood and chilling with Gwen and Joe and Pina (as a kitty cat, fyi...) and Paul and Nancy and Susan and Mike...their children in tow. And we bumped into other clans of parents and children along the way...and we toasted and shared a cold one or two along the route....and we all planned to meet at Dana's for the Freddy's Birthday/Halloween Pizza & Baseball bash...

...and it was there that I finally caught up with my own family, and also, Suse and Scott and Helen and Wendy and Roger and Kathy and Mark and Sam and Brian. And we had a great night on Dana and Freddy's tented-in deck with the plasma TV all wired up earlier by Tim...we ate pizza and drank Coronas and were very merry (or spooky, I guess, since it was Halloween...). The kids were all high on sugar, running around like a pack of wild dogs...up and down the stairs and in and out the front door, playing "ding-dong ditch"... And we ladies laughed and talked and tended to the younger kids (little Janie letting me hold her for 20 minutes while she rested her head on my shoulder...hmmm...maybe having another baby wouldn't be all that bad...) while the men watched football, waiting for the World Series game to finally begin. Soon we began to tire, and the kids began to get punchy and teary and pouty and belligerent...Will ran to me and said: "That boy is shining a flashlight in my eyes...and that can make you blind!"

Time to exit. We grabbed the kids and off we went....with bags and bags of candy in our possession and my devil horns still in place on top of my head...(actually, they are permanent...).

Sunday, November 1
Running Into the Sun(day)...

We headed in early to the Big City so that we could meet the family over on the East Side at the designated spot we chose, between 92nd and 93rd on First, to cheer on my brother, RJ, who was running his third New York City Marathon. And knowing that the day would end over on the Westside, we parked on West End Avenue and then trudged across town on foot to Lexington Avenue and the 6 train. Now, those of you not from here might not know that this is a long walk...almost all the way from one side on the City to the other...and I, the Mean Mom, made my kids walk it...and the more they b*tched and complained, the more I insisted we walk...not for a second entertaining the notion of a cab...I refuse to raise gratuitous cab riding wusses. And even though we bumped into the Schuh's of Wyckoff on Central Park South and enjoyed some chatter while we walked, the kids all overly excited to have met up with pals from school...even then, Ellie was planning to call DYFS herself by the time we jumped onto the crowded subway car...Come and get me, I say...

At any rate...we caught up with the family -- my sister-in-law and parents and sister and nephews...and as we settled ourselves I received a text from Suse, who was with her children waiting to cheer on Scott, who was also running, over by the Central Park Boathouse...and she told me that Scott had just passed mile 18...three blocks north of where we stood...we missed him! We were so bummed...but when we did the math, we were blown away...at mile marker 18, Scott had been running for less than 2 hours...amazing!

RJ was about an hour behind Scott, also running at a nice pace...and we all cheered and waved as he approached...and he and his running posse stopped and he kissed his son and his wife and he thanked us and we took pictures and gave them some power bars and encouragement...and again, they were off.

And after that, we hit Kennedy's...

You know me...it is all about the fun and food and festivity...the whole reason I come to c

heer RJ on each year is so I can grab a beer with him afterwards...and Kennedy's was just my kind of spot. It's one of those New York City relics over on 57th between 8th and 9th...a scrappy Irish pub up front with a big long mahogany bar and subway tiled floors, scores of photos on the walls of their boozy celeb clientele...Rod Stewart and Julian Lennon and Carroll O'Connor and Ted Kennedy....and in the back, there is a dark dining room with another bar, white tablecloths and leather banquettes...so retro, so low key and basic and un-fabulous, that it's as cool as all get-out...and beyond perfect...my favorite little piece of New York style...

So my Dad leads us all to the back and we take our seats and order our drinks....Rob and I the sole afternoon boozers in the crowd, me with a Blue Moon and he with a Captain's and Ginger...We ordered burgers and pot pies and ate the Irish soda bread and readied for the rest of our gang to show. And then, I glanced directly across the room...and there he was, on the exact opposite wall from me, sitting in my twin banquette and looking back at me...TV icon (I overuse the term...but it applies here, no?) and the answer to many a trivia question...the one, the only...Larry Hagman!!! You know... Major Nelson....JR Ewing, for crissakes. And man, he got old... But who cares? I love old guys! So I try to act like I am shooting pictures of Tim and Tyler and my Dad...but really, I am thinking of all of you, trying to get a picture of Larry to show off right here...the guy totally caught me, by the way. So there he was enjoying a little Sunday lunch with his wife and some other dude, and we heard them gossiping about a very famous geriatric, but highly regarded actress of TV, movies and theater...and how the b*tch is losing her mind!!! I love a little Hollywood scoop when I least expect it...So, it was a bonus...

Soon our extended posse arrived...and we learned that Scott finished at 3:10:00 (like a g*ddamned panther, he is...)...and RJ came in at 4:18:08...and I texted Suse and Scott with our love and congratulations....and I kissed my brother goodbye and

congratulated him again on his accomplishments. Damn, we all know how hard it was for me and my Jughead sisters to walk those first 26 miles, so to run it, to me, was quite a feat. And though we would have loved to celebrate into the night, it was time to hit the road...time to wind down the crazy weekend follies...time to snuggle up in front of TiVo, readying for Mad Men with some of those Peanut Butter Cup cookies I made for Dana and Freddy's party in hand, my three little darlings surrounding me on the bed...

In a week of so many happenings, this was another moment to be savored...as every moment should be...am I right, my loves?

Photos:

1: The Heathers...(clockwise) me, Stacy, Sally and Maureen...a fleeting moment in which our mouths were not crammed with food or dripping with sarcasm...

2. Sally shows off her rack...oh, and a slab of swine too...

3. Me and Heidi back in the day at The Hunt in '98...our sunglasses making it quite clear just how utterly cool we (thought we) were...

4. Marcus and The New American Table...go, go...get it, get it....

5. Dinner Rush: Jersey's own Danny Aiello and mounds of Italian food...does it get any better?

6. My Tim scaring the absolute cr*p out of me at the Halloween parade...

7. Will as some Special Section officer or something else equally suspect...getting ready for his close up...

8. The crew and children, melting marshmallows over the bonfire...

9. Me and Ellie -- daughter and bride of Satan...black lipstick all fresh and dainty on my 9 year old...

10. Another gratuitous shot of Lisa H. with me in my St. Pauli Girl dirndl...I know you were all hoping I'd walk the streets this Halloween in that get-up...

11. Me, Pina and Gwen trick-or-treating in our Halloween finest...well, our best efforts in the rainy suburbs, at least...

12. Spending the last half of my night entertaining the babies at Dana and Freddy's house...

13 & 14. RJ in the NYC Marathon, running up First Avenue...and then a quick hug and kiss with Charlie...

15. Double fisting at Kennedy's...

16. My (not so) surreptitious "shot" of (or at!) JR....

17, 18 & 19. Taking the time to savor a little snuggle with each one of my babies in the booths at Kennedy's...memories of the mandatory crosstown walk, distant and fleeting...

Sippin' On a Forty...

So...at 10:30 p.m. this past Friday night I threw on a mini-skirted, bust-enhancing St. Pauli Girl outfit and walked through a party, which was stocked wall-to-wall with our very best friends and neighbors, all while toasting the occasion with a big beer stein filled with Buffalo Bill's Pumpkin Ale. And no, I wasn't three-sheets to the wind...and no, it was not a Halloween party...and no, none of the other party-goers were wearing a costume...just me. Oh, and did I mention that not only did I have my Heidi Klum meets Liesl Von Trapp crossed with Swiss Miss on crack moment and make a jack-hole of myself (my very favorite pastime next to being naughty, of course...and I guess in this case, I covered both of those, no?...) but I was also the party hostess....yeah, you heard me. Hmmmm...I can sense the wheels turning through the screen...you are thinking: "What the hell kind of shenanigans are they getting themselves into over yonder in little old Wyckoff, NJ...and how can I get my a** invited?!" I'm right, aren't I?

But you see, my friends...St. Pauli Girl just had to make an appearance...because we were all together celebrating Rob's surprise 40th birthday bash...better known as ROBtoberfest!!

Let's rewind, shall we?

A few months back I sat in Suse's kitchen late one July afternoon, our kids running around the yard whilst we noshed on some organic vanilla infused peach jam and Philadelphia cream cheese crackers...and we pondered ideas and thoughts and plans for marking the big 40th birthday milestones both Scott and Rob were hitting in '09....to party or not to party? And then what to do as far as food, theme, guest list, how many people, budget, where do you stop...? Do guys even get into that kind of thing? Can we just send them away on some kind of male-bonding weekend where they could fish or golf or sail or drink all day long...or all of the above? Of course...my own thoughts and desires and needs and personality absolutely come into play when planning a party or celebration for another person....so making the right calls can be challenging....especially for someone like me, who second only to attending parties, loves and adores planning parties...and jumping on any excuse at all to spend lots of money on food and booze and invitations and decorations and cakes and party favors. So, I thought, does it matter what Rob would want? I know better anyway...I mean, that's usually my motto...so I was off and running....

But before I could get focused on the event, there was Back to School and Indian Summer and the Flying Mueller Brothers and raising money for the Avon Walk and Timmy's birthday...and soon it was September 20th...a month out. I started frantically emailing sistergirlfriend, Lisa and the other Beard Sister, my bestie, Suse, with crazy last minute thoughts and plans and ideas. I considered a grown up tailgate party with kegs of Bud and nachos and wings and a big giant sub on the driveway (so white trashy...perfect!)....and I looked into the Big City bar party at thousands of dollars for two hours of cocktails....or maybe we would do a chic dinner in a private room in some great restaurant with a hot young up and coming chef...or should I forget this surprise sh*t and just tell him all about it and have a dinner party here at home...or should I still try to trick him and host it at Indian Trail Club or my Mom and Dad's house...and still, what could I do to make it different and special and fitting?? And then, out of nowhere it came to me...

Oktoberfest!!!!

I could see it all in my mind...pretzels and beer and the fiery Fall foliage...love it! And so it was....though I renamed the centuries old tradition to make it all about Rob. I got Allison and Kevin onboard to host this crazy fete at their beautiful home over in Norwood, across Bergen County from Wyckoff, but a perfect surprise location. And they were all over it, like the true, supportive long-term BFFs they are...and I whipped together a guest list, old and new friends and family...and I called Wendy and Roger and he agreed to cater...and I ordered the invitations and out they went...I told Rob that Allison invited us to a dinner party the night of his birthday, which he totally bought....and so, the plan was set. Later Suse suggested I call our friend in town, Carrie T., whose business it is to deal in gift merchandise and logoed promotional items...and she ordered big glass beer steins that said "ROBtoberfest - Celebrating 40 years - October 23, 2009" across the front in forest green. And then I decided to charter a bus to drive our friends across the county to the party...and I ordered up a keg of Spaten Oktoberfest and cases upon cases of micro-brews and ales and assorted wines...And this was all done from the laptop in our living room...the same one Rob works from everyday. Keeping the surprise was most certainly a challenge, my friends...

So last Friday I left the house at 9 a.m., concocting some reason that I needed to use the Volvo instead of my little blue Jag...and I dodged Rob the entire day...I went to the salon and then I went to school to serve the kids Special Lunch and hit the Book Fair with Will's class...all killing time until 2 p.m. and my planned pick up of RJP, who had been roped into hauling the keg and the cases upon cases of micro-brews and ales and assorted wines over to Allison and Kevin's house. And as I am on my way over to get him, Gwen calls and asks if, as a goof, it is ok if she wears to the party a St. Pauli Girl outfit (which TJ later clarified is called a Bavarian dirndl...not lederhosen, which are those shorts/suspender things that Friedrich von Trapp was so find of...who knew...well, apparently everyone but me...)....and I am cracking up...love the idea...give Rob a little thrill on his big night, why not?

So RJP and I scurried about making sure the set up is complete, RJP carrying that keg all by himself from the car to the tented deck area...thank god he was there, because that party would have had to take place on the Volvo's hatch had he not been...so it would have been a grown up tailgate after all... And after Allison and I reviewed the party layout, the little areas around her house that she had created gathering places for guests (to which I said: "you know the Wyckoff posse is just going to head right for the keg, right?...")...and I inspected the personalized beer steins and tubs of pretzels and the stuffed cupcakes and chocolate dipped pretzels...And after I confirmed directions and bus guest list with Suse, who was graciously stepping in as party bus liaison/de facto Julie McCoy...And after Rob texted me curiously inquiring as to my whereabouts and I texted back "I just left Stacey's hostess party..." which is a BS lie I pulled out of the sky at that very moment....and he texts: "did I know you were going there?" and I wrote back: "I forgot too!"....and he dropped it. After all that...we headed back home...it was 4:30...3 hours out.

So flash forward to 7 p.m., Rob is ready to go, the kids are off with my Dad and I am still sitting on the bed, freshly showered but lounging in front of TiVo and the "Restaurant Wars" episode of Top Chef, reading texts from Suse updating me on the bus location...they were on their way...So then, and only then, do I start tearing my closet apart for some kind of appropriate party outfit...and I frantically yell down to Rob to grab a bottle of wine to bring to the dinner party because "I was supposed to make an appetizer and I forgot..." Right there should have clued him into the ruse, because I would never ever show up empty handed to a party...and I would never ever forget to cook something for someone else...please. But he was distracted and went along with it all....At 7:35 I descend the stairs in a black cashmere short sleeved turtleneck, black wool mini skirt and black riding boots, my fuchsia pashmina knotted around my shoulders....After a little lip gloss application, we hop in the little blue Jag and take off.

So in the meantime, the little shuttle bus has dropped off our friends...the others arrive by car from all points of the tri-state (Rob's college roommate, Tom, and his wife, Jesse, whom I adore, get the award for furthest flung, having arrived from Kinderhook, NY -- way up in Columbia County...)...and Allison is handing out ROBtoberfest beer steins and taking coats and staging guests for the Big Surprise. And I am calling her, leaving a false voicemail giving some stupid fake excuse about not bringing an appetizer...and then I am texting Suse -- We are 10 minutes away...We are around the corner... And Rob is like: "Will you just drive? Who the hell are you texting?" Yike! And as we pull up he totally sees the tented deck...but he says nothing...but I do see him taking note of the cars parked on the street...whatever, at this point, I feel I have executed my surprise party duties formidably. And we ring the doorbell and they are all standing there with their beer steins cheering and clapping...and he is now the center of attention...and I slipped off to the side, out of the crowd and the waitress brought me a beer stein filled with Spaten Oktoberfest...the night had begun.

And of course it was a great night...the food was amazing and delicious (thank you, Roger....)...and the beer and the pretzels with mustard were a hit...and forget about the chocolate dipped pretzels and the mini-cupcakes, we were all over them...and the music, provided by ADP and her traveling iPod was, as always, a fine backdrop. It was like sensory overload, of course...with the conglomeration of these great hometown friends juxtaposed with faces from our history before we were married and had children...before we came even close to hitting 40 (I am still 3 years out, so, you know...we have time to plan that event...what? It's true...). We had Rob's sister and brother and his brother-in-law...and his best friend, Dave, Ellie's godfather...and Dave's sister and Rob's former love interest, Claudine, who was dressed in the world's most delicious F-me shoes...And my dear almost little sister, Alessa was there with Billy, and we got to enjoy some grown up time together. And you know, Casey and Marty made the scene...and they always kick the party up a few notches...they are both hilarious (Marty of course embarrassing Allison in front of the group with his favorite story about this dinner party he and Casey had one night where Allison ate a wheel of brie and I got so drunk I poured a bottle of red wine all over the tablecloth...this was after Marty said the most hilarious version of grace in history). Anyway...Marty ended up hanging with Jeff, husband of sistergirlfriend, Lisa...talking music most certainly...and oddly enough, I was told later that when Marty walked in, he yelled across the room to Pina's husband, Paul, with whom he dined on business only 10 days before..neither having any idea of the Anderson connection...we are like the plague...spread deep and wide. And wouldn't you know it...HG was there with Pugs of course, and she also knew Pina's Paul...

I barely saw Rob all night...he and the guys, of course, were out by the keg...and we ladies were congregating in the kitchen around the food, chit chatting and telling stories and just having the best time. I stood with Sam and Lisa H. and Gwen (who was wearing chic jeans and 5-inch heels...St. Pauli Girl outfit stored in a bag for later...) and we ate up a tray of those chocolate pretzels with our pumpkin ale...and we crowed and laughed at the latest gossipy happenings around town. Sam marveled at the always fabulous Tom and David and their effortless chicness...you know, we need them to raise the elegance factor at these things...and do they ever. So then Joe and Mike M. confiscated my camera for a while, bringing it back filled with photos of them and all the other guys mocking my signature blog photo pose -- turned to the side, chin down, neck twisted, hair propped...you all know it. And later Wendy told me that she was having so much fun...even though we missed Kathy and Mark...and Amber and Steve...and the Bonzy's were out enjoying a little Jersey Boys, so they were missed as well. But I said to Wendy: "We always have a great time together, no matter what we do...we have such a fun group of friends..." This is the same speech we say to one another after every social gathering...who knew after high school and college and working, that you would still have room to open yourself up to so many new friends...our neighbors...the parents of our kids' friends. And that we all enjoy one another and we celebrate that as much as we can is a bonus. We are so lucky.

So then...I think I was just strolling towards the ladies room when Suse poked her head around the corner, her little twisted and evil grin apparent...and I saw that she was standing with Gwen, who was holding her St. Pauli Girl outfit (ok, the dirndl...) and they say: "You should really be the one to wear this thing...." And usually I would put up a fight...I am extra Catholically uncomfortable with sporting any form of slut-wear...even as a lark...but somehow this seemed comical to me, something I needed photos of -- me in a sexy little form-fitting dirndl. So somehow, these two best friends of mine (or maybe not...???) convinced me to squeeze my a** into this thing and then walk around the back of the house and up through the tented deck, where 90% of the men at the party had congregated...and twist my arm...anything for a laugh.

So there I go, with this skirt so small, I literally felt the cold air swirling around my bum, wondering if said bum is peeking out from under the hem....and I am breaking through the tent opening, mugs of beer in hand...and the place went wild!!! And I am laughing and thinking this is hilarious and all... and about a minute in, the flashbulbs popping in my face, the guys whooping and cheering...I look over at Rob and he is just giving me that bemused smile...like, What the hell? Who are you and what have you done with Suz?? And I started to get my wits about myself...WTF? How could I let Gwen and Suse talk me into this? So I make my escape, skipping on through the sliding door, only to catch the eye of the rest of the party-goers, male and female, inside the house....And it is another wild reaction...and I am laughing at my own idiocy...and I am taking pictures and fielding requests for the wives to borrow the outfit one night...and I laughed with ADP and CDP suggesting they could take on a little Captain von Trapp/Fraulein Maria role-play...you know, the whistle, the pinecone...throw in Christopher Plummer circa '64 and I am along for the ride myself...why not? Ok...so maybe it was silly and ridiculous...but I received a few compliments, so maybe this Germanic fraulein trollop does live deep inside my psyche somewhere. Still...I ran upstairs and tore that thing off shortly thereafter...

And so...the party began to break up around 11:45...the shuttle bus having arrived for the return trip to Wyckoff...and of course, that is when Sandy and Mary and Sandy's high school buddy showed up, having come from a Bergen Catholic fundraiser that Sandy was MC'ing....Ok, no problem whatsoever...we hung for another hour with that posse...me showing them the pics of my turn as dirndl wearing beer wench...and a couple of the stragglers hanging on until the keg o' Spaten was kicked. We kissed the rest of the gang goodbye just as I fielded a text from Suse saying that the men on the shuttle bus had embarked on an epic fued over the greatest rock bands of all time...and somehow The Hooters were among the suggested candidates...and somehow every man on the bus chimed in on their own group rendition of "And We Danced." But...I heard later from Lisa H. that Scott stood up at one point and put the great bands argument to rest with this loud declaration: "AND I WILL SAY IT TO MY DYING DAY...Rush is better than The Rolling Stones!" This all taking place as my big sis, Cathleen, dozed on one of the bus seats... I knew that shuttle bus was a great idea...

And so...now the next 40 start for Rob...great things ahead...and what better way to welcome in another decade than to be showered with attention...plied with beer...filled with yummy food...and surrounded by people you love.

So take notes, my friends....like I said I have another 3 years until I hit the big 4-0...but someone can get to work on pulling off a little surprise holiday/seasonal themed party, right? You know, tag onto one of those March holidays...um...how about SuzAshWednesday...or maybe SuzLent...yeah...those both kind of suck...no meat, no vices, no drinking, too much church and not nearly enough fun....that's more like AntiSuz. Hmmm...Oh wait...I've got it....SuzPatricksDay!! Beers and parades and lots of fist fights and vomiting in the streets...delish! And the party won't be complete without one of you guys marching through the joint all dressed in a some naughty little kilt, carrying bagpipes just for me...you know, bring it all full circle...keep the milestone birthday tradition alive...

xoxoxo

Suz

To Amber at this difficult moment in time...sending you all my love this week, this month, this year and always...xoxo

Photos

1: Showing off the assets...and the a**...in my brand new dirndl...

2: Matthew and Tim innocently play while Suse and I plot milestone celebrations...

3: My dream 40th Birthday tailgate party...look, those guys took Scott's cornhole game!
4: Pretzels and beer...the cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast...well, in my house at least...

5: Killer ROBtoberfest beer stein...as displayed with grace and style by moi...

6: A selection of the Wyckoff posse, stopping briefly upon beelining for the keg...(left to right) Charlie, Teri, Ann, Joe, Tim and Susan M.

7: Brian, Joe, Freddy and Scott, staking out their spot up front for the Big Surprise...

8: Barry and his harem (left to right) Joanne, Kerry, ADP, Robyn and Kim...and they are drinking Cabernet out of beer mugs, by the way...tres chic here in New Jersey...

9: Casey and Allison, my dear beloved friends for 25 and 30 years, respectively...xo

10: Now it's Freddy with a harem...(left to right) Teri, Wendy, Dana, Lisa, Nancy, Chris...and Pina is kneeling or squatting or falling down or something....

11: Family contingent...big sis Cath, Rob's brother Michael, sister Megan and brother-in-law Mike...

12: New BFFs, Jeff and Marty...solving all the world's problems...

13: Pugs, David, Tom and HG...NYC in the hizzouse!

14: Me, Gwen and the Beard Sisters...pre-dirndl conspiracy...

15: Mike, Joe and Tim attempting my trademarked signature pose...needs a little work, boys....

16: Dear friends and neighbors...Annie, Pina, Suse, me, Wendy, Dana and Teri...can't get enough of each other...

17: The Beard Sisters loving every minute of my St. Pauli Girl parade through the party...who wouldn't??

18: Me as St. Pauli Girl...I think my bum really was exposed because Mike and Kev's eyes are so totally downswept...sorry boys!

19: ADP and her red wine-filled beer stein...trying her best to snag that hot dirndl from my clutches...

20: Scott, Sandy and RJP drain the keg...and then begin an epic battle over the musical stylings and artistic contributions of The Monkees and The Partridge Family...

21: The Birthday Boy finally poses and closes the night with Sandy, Mary, Sandy's buddy and Joe....

See you all at SuzPatricksDay!

And I Would Walk 500 More...

I was seriously afraid to sit down and take part in the foot massaging station, even though my feet were screaming at me…totally pissed and rebelling with all their might. But if I sat in one of those comfy chairs with the electronic back massager contraption…would I ever get up? I decided to take my chances…and I ended up being one of the lucky ones, because I got to sit next to my bestie, Lisa, of the Beard Sisters…some of our teammates were scattered about, next to people they didn’t know…in fact, Wendy ended up seated right next to my sister-in-law, Megan…remember her? I hadn’t seen her once since those first two miles and then there she was, right next to Wendy in the foot massage station. But Wendy was lucky…PJ had asked the girl who ended up next to Lisa if she could have that seat so she would be with her teammates, and the girl practically bit her head off…guess all that “We did it!” goodwill had skipped over that b*tch…PJ was a little stunned, but moved on…

And so it was…Lisa and I chit chatted a little and Megan came over to say goodbye…and I will say, Megan and Mary and Kerri and Sam, who are all marathoners and/or triathletes, each said that they could not believe how hard it was to walk 26 miles, and how banged up they felt…so I felt a little less guilty and slothful than I might have when Lisa and I finally rose from those chairs after 15 minutes of massage and electronic heat and could barely move my legs to carry me out of the tent…I looked like a 90 year old woman with a prosthetic leg. Had a feeling the sit-down would come back to haunt me…how the hell was I supposed to lay in bed all night and still be able to get up and walk the next morning?

Somehow it was Suse who was able to move about most readily, Lisa and I depending fully on her relative dexterity…she took on big sis role to me in addition to her actual sister and had already talked to Mary and Sam and Helen who were headed to The Shoreham in advance of us, and she found the rest of our team so we could all say goodbye, and then she went to the Info booth and got the Walk route for the next morning and then found out where the buses taking us back to Manhattan were parked. So as Lisa and I limped along behind her on way to the shuttle buses, Lisa told me she felt nauseous…and I looked at her and she was truly ashen…with white lips…in fact, her brown eyeliner, probably applied 12 hours earlier, stood out…almost cartoonish…jumping off her face at me. So I called out to Suse with a lame: “Your sister is going to get sick…” And thankfully, as she reached us…the moment had passed…but Lisa still looked like a pale white ghost as we took our seats on the shuttle bus, in the way back, right next to the bathroom…you know, just in case....

On the way back to Manhattan we talked of cheeseburgers and beer and room service…long hot baths and massages…soft downy pillows and warm cozy blankets. We hoped Mary would have all of the above waiting for us upon return…only a few minutes now….

And then the bus stopped on Lex, near some side entrance to Grand Central Station…and it took us more than a few minutes to rise from our seats and limp down that narrow bus aisle and down those steps onto the sidewalk, where they dumped us for good. So then we stood there, for 20 minutes, trying to hail a cab….no dice…just so not happening…and we are getting so discouraged…thoughts of warm baths and cheeseburgers slipping away. We start inching back up Lex thinking we might catch one on the cross streets…but there were all these people hailing cabs too…and they could move and run so they had the upper hand on us…we three weak little ladies, Suse the only one strong and useful enough to even attempt the process…again, we became fully dependent upon her.

So then one of those car service Lincoln Town Cars in between jobs drives up and asks us if we need a ride…and we know you are not supposed to get into those cars…we know that it is illegal…but we didn’t f&%$ing care…getting into that backseat was the fastest I had moved all day. We are at 46th and Lex and we tell him that we are going to 55th between Fifth and Sixth…and he says: “$20 plus tip…” And though on a normal day with no injuries, we could walk this route for free in 12 minutes tops, we jump on the deal and off we go. So our driver Hector or Miguel or Jose is a nice fellow and introduces himself and as we scoot up 45th Street, heading West, he tells us that Sixth Avenue was closed for a street festival. So I think to myself, so what? You will make a right onto Madison and a left onto 55th and we will be home free…But, stupidly, in a misguided bulls**t attempt at politeness, I do not verbalize this notion…I know, not like me but you see, a few weeks ago there was this mean cabbie who snapped at me, so I was a little gun shy…and wouldn’t you know it…the dude screams through the light at 45th and Madison to my utter amazement…sonofab*tch!!! And there we are, stuck in the vortex of hell…can’t turn up Sixth because of that fair, right? So instead, we have to go all the way to Eighth, through Times Square on a Saturday night….I am seeing red, but so exhausted too…and pissed at myself…

“Wait, wait, wait…” was all I could manage…

And Hector/Miguel/Jose goes -- now remember, all we want is a bed and some room service and some cushy blankets -- and he goes: “Oh, whoops…I should have taken Madison…sorry…don’t hate me…”

Hate you? I am going to f&%$ing kill you! I swear…this rivaled Manhattan Bridge for the most frustrating moment of the day. So we sat there in angry silence as it took this guy 30 minutes to get us from 45th Street to 55th Street…all the while he chit chatted in Spanish on his cell phone as tourists and daytrippers darted in and out of traffic…if my feet were working, I would have jumped out at a light…but alas…I was an invalid…and the Beard Sisters were now both ashen and nauseous. F&%$ing great! When we finally were dropped off sort of in front of The Shoreham, we threw a $20 bill and two singles at him (nice tip, right??)…and limped inside…directly to the elevator and up to room 305…where Mary awaited us…

And as we dropped our belongings and made deals on shower schedule and ordered up some room service, peppy Mary said she had bathed and was enjoying a glass of wine...and as we listed our complaints and showed our war wounds and swollen joints and ragged tootsies to the group, it became clear that there would be no girlie slumber partying, no fantasy pillow fights starring me, Mary and the Beard Sisters in our little nighties...sorry boys, I know you were hoping...No, maybe next time...instead, as Lisa, Suse and myself each emerged from the shower, exhaustion gripping our bodies, some odd little rash on Lisa's ankle and doubt shaking my confidence for my chances to continue on this journey tomorrow...I swear, in that shower I wept and told myself that I had to face facts, I was never going to make it another 13 miles in less than 10 hours out...I came out of the shower concerned and a little quiet...but Mary read me and she knew right away that she had to put the wine glass down and become nursemaid...And this is when room 305 thusly transformed into the Infir-Mary....

Suse -- whom I had teased when she told me she packed her electronic foot bath -- plugged that sucker in and poured about 3 pounds of the 10 pound bag of Epsom salt that she also brought along. How could I have ever giggled at her preparedness? Lisa and I laid down and Mary went to work performing surgery on our feet...I will leave the gory details out so you foot fetishists out there don't explode, but let's just say that the Beard Sisters were beyond genius in packing that needle and thread...who knew? And then, as the sliders we ordered from room service arrived (I took one bite before I gave up...one...), Mary examined my knee and ankle, the Aleve having worn off long ago, and determined that they were most likely sprained. And in my mind I am thinking of my Dad and Rob who have both endured knee replacements...and I am silently screaming at myself for walking 18 miles further after knowing I was injured...but I just could never have stopped...how could I? So Mary calls room service for more ice, which the guy brought up with the extra Heinz ketchup (we had the Beards of Pittsburgh with us, you see...)...and she elevated my knee and ankle and packed ziploc bags with ice cubes and covered my joints in them while I popped another Aleve. And I fell asleep that way. It was 10:15 p.m.

At 3 a.m. I woke and saw Lisa standing outside the bathroom...and I was wide awake in a millisecond and I needed to know right away: "How do your feet feel?" I asked. And she said: "They are actually fine...I feel ok." And I realized that my leg felt ok too... Neither one of us spoke again...and we fell asleep until the alarm rang at 7 a.m. I sat up in bed and swung my feet around to stand....

And dammit if my sprained leg and blistered feet and creaky joints weren't almost perfectly pain-free and unswollen and sort of flexible and ready to rock...and so...we dressed and readied and stretched and began day two.... I was secretly shocked...night before at 10 p.m., my prediction would have been all day Sunday in the ER...and here I was. And again, I just kept thinking of Kathy...I wasn't missing this for anything...so thrilled I didn't have to. And I remembered my grandmother...and I remembered how it was her spirit for sure that pushed me those last 2 miles...and I was sure it was her energy that made me ready and able to do it again. And off we went...back to East 84th and York Avenue, my family's street, and the start point for Day 2.

So the Jugheads were scattered about the route at different points...I started with the Shoreham posse -- the Beard Sisters, Mary, Helen and Sam...Suse on the phone determining the location of our teammates...and as we walked I realized that if I stopped at all...even for a minute or two, I was never going to make it to the end. And I do not know, maybe it was my grandmother again but at about 109th Street I clicked into high gear, put my head down and busted into a pace that took me to the head of the Jughead pack, Mary and Sam and Kim and Helen alongside me. And I wasn't in anyway trying to be anti-social...I could never be...but I just knew if I lollygagged or strolled my feet would never take me. And so...I barely spoke from Morningside Park all the way to Columbus Avenue and 77th when we all finally caught up for lunch...and I didn't want to stay there at this stop, but we waited for the whole group to catch up again before moving forward...and soon we were en route again...and soon I was silent and determined again, behind a couple from Bermuda who were blowing a kazoo all the way down Central Park West and into Midtown...and Sam and I were side by side, joined by Betsy and Ellen and Jen and Jessica, Mary up ahead a little as we passed 1185 Avenue of the Americas, my office...(back at work with Dad, another story...) and past Bryant Park where I was engaged and where I watched movies with Ellie this summer...and past Macy's and Herald Square where this woman wearing one of those "Save Second Base" buttons nearly stepped in front of a bus, and the Avon volunteer, this dude in leather chaps and muttonchops, said: "Hey lady, watch yourself...forget saving second base, you're going to lose homeplate too...and nobody wants that..." Sam and Betsy and I thought that was hysterical, the little double entrendre...yeah, we don't want to lose either of those. And as we hit Madison Square Park and got stuck behind this group of Euros shopping at the street fair, I grabbed Sam's wrist and was pushed passed them...because I knew that Union Square -- our final rest stop before the finish -- was not far beyond us. And I realized that I had not stopped at one rest stop or snack station or anything other than lunch since Harlem.

At Union Square some of the girls hit the potties and I stood waiting...and Chris and Susan and Nancy showed up and said the gang wasn't far behind...but as soon as Sam emerged, I grabbed her and said that I could not wait...I had to keep going...I waved to Chris and said: "I have to keep moving..." And we realized as we caught up with Mary and the YMCA posse and headed across 17th Street that we only had two miles to go from there.... At Tenth Avenue we found Dana who had busted ahead of Chris and Susan and Nance because her knee had become a major handicap....we only talked with her for a few minutes before we moved forward again. But as we rounded the bend passing Chelsea Piers, Sam and Mary just pulled out ahead and out of my reach....and somehow the YMCA posse lagged behind me...and I knew I had to get to 45th Street...and there I was at 23rd...and I was alone. I realized I had not seen the Beard Sisters or Kathy or Wendy or Teri or PJ or Kerri, my 12th Street Ale House sisters, since lunchtime...since mile 6. And I missed them at that moment...so I put my head down and said "only 20 more blocks to go" over and over again....and somehow that mantra carried me the rest of the way....

And about two blocks before the Finish Line I heard a familiar voice calling me: "Suz! Suz!...wait here with us!" And it was Mary and Sam...and they stood there with Mr. and Mrs. Rail, Kathy and Kerri's mom and dad...and they were there to cheer us on as we crossed the Finish Line. And Mary told me that we would wait here for the rest of the Jugheads so that we could cross together, as a team. Exactly as it should be...as we had all always meant for it to be...

And soon the YMCA posse was upon us, and ADP and Jodi and Kim came back over to find us...and I texted Suse who told me the rest of the group was only 4 blocks away, on 39th Street. And soon we could see them and we all cheered and clapped and hugged and Kathy kissed her mom and dad...and we all regrouped and some of us held hands and there were a few tears....and as we crossed the Finish Line together, Margaret and Jill were there cheering us on with their signs and happy support...again...giving us all high fives as we passed. Also waiting for us were some of the families, and friends from home...Kerry and Kelli and Jean from our church group were there handing out roses and taking pictures of us as we celebrated.

We did it.

Thirty-nine miles on broken knees, busted feet, stiff joints, nourished by crackers and Goldfish and SunChips and water...and one of us, only 3 days out from her treatment, the strongest of all... Twenty-three women, moms and wives and daughters and sisters...mostly we were sisters...we raised over $61,000 for breast cancer research and all we had to do was walk 39 miles with one another....

I wouldn't trade one second of it...I would walk over that Manhattan Bridge 10 times over risking my life against crazy bikers and determined Hasidic men and hallucination...I would quasi-jog/power walk up York Avenue against time and red lights and that sweep van...I would cry and hurt and lay in bed with my friends all wrapped in ice packs...damn, I would even take 30 minutes to go 10 blocks in a cab through Times Square all over again. This was an amazing experience...

And, believe it or not, we are already planning the return.... Jugheads 2010.

xoxoxoxo

Photos

1. Lisa and me applying a little electronic heat at the end of Day 1...somehow we picked our a**es up out of those seats only minutes later...

2. Kerri and Suse and a bunch of women we have never met taking in the foot massage station...

3. Lisa and I hanging onto one another as Suse leads us to the bus...seriously, how many shades of white separate us...I'd say she's Linen and I am Clotted Cream...

4. Our actual Shoreham Hotel beds...awaiting our arrival with their cushy pillows and soft sheets...

5. Illegal car service/Lincoln Town Car from hell...Hector/Miguel/Jose is lucky he didn't end up in the trunk...

6. Vortex of traffic/tourist/daytripping hell....

7. Me and my Shoreham roommates, Lisa, Suse and Mary, pre-Walk...much prettier and pulled together that Friday night, just before our fantasy pillow fight....

8. My tootsies in happier times...lavishing the sands of Longboat Key this past August...

9. The Beard Sisters and I...my walking partners, besties and 12th Street Ale House sisters...

10. Mary, Helen and Sam...the rest of The Shoreham posse, my Day 2 buddies....

11. Walking along, not stopping...

12. The Rail Sisters with Mom and Dad just before finishing....

13. The Jugheads cross the Finish Line...

14. Kathy and I celebrate the Finish...

15. The Jughead sisterhood...only 356 days until next year!!! Yes, yes...I am aware that we are insane...what else is new??

PS Thirteen years ago today Rob and I were married in the middle of a Nor'easter that shut down the entire Northeast...we always have to make a splash...A memorable and happy day...xo

So, Up On Your Feet...

I know… I can’t stand “To Be Continued” either… I totally remember being like 10 or whatever and watching a very special episode of One Day at a Time on some weekend night, my parents out, RJ and I all alone in that big old house on Mohawk Road in Franklin Lakes…and Julie/Mackenzie Phillips ran away or got caught drinking or smoking the herb or having sex (I could make a Papa John joke here, but even I have standards...)…and I remember she slapped Bonnie Franklin across the face or Bonnie/Ms. Romano slapped Mackenzie and Barbara/Valerie Bertinelli began to bawl and that stalker/peeping Tom, Schneider was pretending to fix something and they all stared at one another dramatically as the big white chironed letters appeared below: To Be Continued…And RJ and I were so pissed! We had to wait a whole week to find out what Ms. Romano would do next…that blows! Well, at least you know that I was not holding back so that I could milk some extra ratings and advertising dollars during sweeps month…no…I just needed an intermission…and thus it continues…

Saturday, October 10th
Day 2, Part 2

The Manhattan Bridge…jeezuzgod…I don’t know what it was, truly…I mean, we were already hurting, you know…this was 15 miles in… though we were beginning to question the validity of the mileage…this felt a lot closer to 18 than 15…could these peppy Avon b*tches be lying to us? Messing with our minds? And even though we stopped after crossing into Brooklyn and re-hydrated and grabbed another pb&j on graham crackers and Lisa had passed out the Aleve, a little low-blood sugar malaise must have crept its way into our brains…because we all became quiet…and kind of confused. You know, most of our teammates were far enough ahead of us that we were unsure as to what point on the course they were...were they even ahead of us? Maybe they were actually behind us now…not a clue.

So it was still me and the Beard Sisters, Kathy, PJ, Kerri, Wendy and Teri at this point…and Mark’s sister, Kristen too…who I had only just learned at that point in the Walk, was 8 weeks pregnant!!!! I would have been lying down on the road at mile marker 1 at 8 weeks in, I must say…what a champ. So, as we stepped onto the bridge, there was an Avon Walk volunteer on a bicycle and all he said was: “Stay single file and to right, there are a lot of bikers on the bridge…” …and as the words left his lips, a guy on a bike zipped passed us, coming off the ramp at no less than 50 miles an hour.

And so began the urban angst/mind-f%$!/hallucinatory segment of our journey…

I remember the subway car on the overpass all loud and crashing, at 5 minute intervals…rattling down the tracks above our heads and rattling our nerves along the way. Each time it passed, I felt like it frayed my will and fortitude… On top of that there was a succession of sadistic bikers speeding by us and yelling, gruff and angry “Move aside! Move aside!” And we would jump out of the way, our hearts racing…each time it shook us even deeper. Then there were scores of Hasidic men behind us, walking the bridge…and they just pushed us aside to get by, we would almost be pressed up against the protective grating on the bridge to stay out of their reach. So if that doesn’t set the tone…

You know, we didn’t even bother trying to talk much…Lisa and I were side-by-side, Suse just ahead of us and PJ ahead of her, cell phone to her ear, though she did tell Suse, who tried asking her a question: “I’m in a bad way up here…” Kathy and Wendy and Teri had disappeared from sight, though for a while we could see Kath’s pink bandanna bouncing along…but they wanted to get off this bridge as much as we did…. Lisa tried to make me laugh as this big bearded Euro approached us by saying, “well at least Javier Bardem showed up…” And I so wanted to join in on the “spot the celeb twin” game…but my response was this: “I don’t know where I am…do you know where we are?...I don’t think we are ever going to get there…” And she told me afterwards that I also said: “I think Rob is coming to get me when we got off this bridge…”

But we descended…and soon we were back in Manhattan…on the Lower East Side at a rest stop next to some caged-in soccer field where a bunch of Brazilian guys were playing a game. And we sat for a minute and regained our wits…and the volunteers handed us each one of those little Dum Dum lollipops as we refilled our water bottles. And as I stood there, it seemed my knee wasn’t quite so tender (the Aleve, maybe??) and Teri and Lisa replaced their bandages and Kathy said: “Come on girls, let’s finish strong…” How could we not go on…and so we did…

And wouldn’t you know it…we were only half a mile from the Manhattan Bridge end-point when up in the distance, on the corner of Second Avenue and 1st Street at the Exxon station, we saw them….Margaret and Jill, cheering us on… "Go Jugheads! Go Jugheads!”…and they posted their traveling Team Jughead sign and we were blown away…I cried again, of course…because they were always there to keep us going…how amazing, I mean, these ladies weren’t even Kath’s own sisters…yet there they were every time we needed them most...

And then Suse said something to me that summed it all up…that this whole experience is about being a sister to the women in your life. On our team alone there were four sets of sisters, and seven of the women were sisters-in-law… we were sistergirlfriends, too, Team Jughead, loving and supporting one of our own…and then there were Margaret and Jill…like big sisters to all of us…truly, the big sister that would lay down in front of a bus for you…or drive around New York City stopping along your Walk route just so she could cheer you on.

Ok, I told myself…I can make it another 10 miles now. And I headed up Second Avenue with the Beard Sisters by my side.

“Hey Jugheads!” we heard from behind…and it was Kathy and the rest of our straggling posse and they had the most evil little grins on their faces…And Kathy says…

“What do you say at the next bar we see, we go in and slam a beer before we keep going…”

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Music to my rattled eardrums…this is the kind of festivity I can get behind… the one thing that could bring us back to top form.

So apparently our legs felt better all of a sudden, because we practically skipped the next few blocks until we came upon the 12th Street Ale House...and it was exactly what you might picture, given the name. The room was kind of dark and there was only one guy sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender…and they seemed kind of surprised to see us. Kerri asked the guy how much nine Coronas would cost and he told her $27…Happy Hour! This was perfect timing on so many levels…she ordered them up, limes and all…and we cheered and chugged and refreshed and rejuvenated. And the guy at the barstool shot photos of us as we toasted…Manhattan Bridge, a distant memory. Right before we headed out, only 15 minutes after entering, Kath said we should have a beer every three miles until we get to Randall’s Island…and I turned to Teri and Wendy and said: “I think we should have 10 beers here and then take a cab to Randall’s Island…”…which made us all crack up as though it was by far the funniest thing ever spoken…so maybe we were still a little punchy…

Let me tell you, my friends…I am no proponent of using booze to

solve your problems, but 12th Street Ale House and that communal Corona consumption will be forever in my Top 5 happiest beer moments in history (will tell you about the others another time…after a few beers…). So we headed back up Second Avenue with a spring in our step and an extra twinkle in our eyes…spirits so lifted. As we trudged forward I checked my watch…it was 4:30 p.m….we had less than two hours to get to Randall’s Island…

So let me fast forward past the next 60 blocks or so, beyond the moment that we met up with Margaret and Jill again, this time in front of a Greek Diner, our Jugheads sign hanging in the window…and beyond the 30 second debate we took up in the East 60’s over whether or not we should pound another beer at some place called O’Flaherty’s…and I won’t tell you about how we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts/Baskin Robbins where the Beard Sisters and I partook of some Jamoca Almond Fudge and Pralines ‘n Cream and Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream. What happened after that is the most important part of the day…the moment where this Jugheads posse showed what we were made of…

With ice cream dripping down my wrist I ran to catch up with the others who were collected on the corner of 71st and First…a bevy of Avon volunteers surrounding them. And when I arrive I hear them telling Kathy to get into their little shuttle van so they could drive us to Randall’s Island before darkness set in….What???? WTF? No way…we made it this far with the only Walker among the entire 5,000 who was still sporting signs of treatment…there was no way these b*tches were going to sweep us into their crappy little van.

“We aren’t getting in…” Kathy told them. Swiper, no swiping!

And against their will, the Avon volunteers in the sweep van had to let us go. It was 5:20 p.m….we had 55 minutes to be on the Randall’s Island Bridge or they would close us out. So…the quasi-jog/power walk foot race against time and traffic lights began up York Avenue. And we did it, our hearts racing, knees hurting, blisters bursting all the way to our turn off on East 84th Street.
East 84th Street and York Avenue…this is the street upon which my father grew up…this is where my grandmother lived…and she had succumbed to breast cancer before I was born. And as I pointed out #504 to the girls, there was a gust of wind – we all felt it – and I knew her spirit was there, cheering Team Jughead to the finish…All choked up, we sailed across the street to the East River Esplanade. It was 5:55…two more miles before the Randall’s Island bridge…we had to book it…so we did. Ok…well, we did lollygag for a minute as we discussed the Esplanade and how much it looked like the setting at which they shot the Justin Timberlake comedy classic: “D*** in a Box”…so we had to fall over laughing about that for a few minutes (Hanukkah? a d*** in a box…Kwanzaa? a d*** in a box…. ) Sorry, as I write I am just cracking up…as Will would say: “That just never gets unfunny…”

So…we book it…and we come around the bend and we are starting to sprint…and we reach the bridge at 6:14 and 59 seconds…no lie. And guess what? We still had another ¾ of a mile to walk before we hit the finish line for this leg…this 26 mile leg…and our feet were screaming and our legs were buckling…but we went for it…

And as we rounded the bend towards the finish, who do you think was there cheering? Margaret and Jill, our honorary big sisters…with signs in hand, giving out roses…Mary and Sam and Helen and Kim and ADP and Susan and Dana and Jodi all there too…and our teammates surrounded Kathy…all of us hugging and crying…We made it. The Jugheads all made it.

After our mini-celebration, we headed to the foot massage tent, exhaustion overtaking euphoria…and the only thing on my mind was....

Thirteen more miles tomorrow…Holy Mother of Jesus….

Coming soon…another very special episode...
Love you, Suz

PS Happy Birthday, TL....much love to you this weekend as you arrive at the "new 30"...xo

Photos

1. The traveling Team Jughead sign...the first sighting that morning at 5:45...

2. Peppy Helen, all chipper and fresh at mile 19 as we stragglers contemplate our options on the Manhattan Bridge....

3. Ok, it looks pretty in that shot...but notice the dumpster beneath...that's more like it....

4. My actual sightlines and vision as I cross the Manhattan Bridge...need beer...fast!

5. Kath with Margaret...Jughead cheering section and de facto Big Sis...

6. Kerri and Kathy...real sisters and BFF...

7. The Beard Sisters flank soul sister Helen and sisters-in-law Betsy and Ellen as we start out...

8. Susan, Wendy, Teri and Kath wrestle for the first beer two seconds in at 12th Street Ale House...

9. Jughead stragglers and 12 Street Ale House posse...viva Corona!

10. Me...looking beastly after 16 miles...but couldn't be happier....

11. Avon swiper/sweep bus...we gave them our bras, but not our bods...

12. Team Jughead greets us as we hit the finish line at Randall's Island, just under the gun...

13. Team Jughead after 26...rumpled, spent, euphoric...only 13 miles left...ouch....