'Tis Already the Party Season??

Hey, look....I am an intelligent woman, and I have opinions and concerns and three children whose future is what I live for, but frankly...I am continuing to stick my head in the sand on this "global financial crisis" issue, even though all the beloved men in my life (dads, husbands, brothers, friends, gay boyfriends and all) insist on yanking me out of my denial...why is that??? I say we just pretend we have nothing to worry about and all the time in the world to focus on important issues like celebrity sightings (Jen K.T. spotting Barry Gibb getting into a Bentley up on Madison Avenue is a killer....) and shoe shopping and new lipgloss and the yes, the upcoming party season...My favorite!!

Ok, so....even though I am hosting no less than 60 people as the first stop on the neighborhood's Snack-O-Lantern Trick-or-Treat fest this Friday, I am already partially over the Halloween fun and games (yes, I know we are still a day out...but I think a windy, rain-soaked trek through Sleepy Hollow looking for the Headless Horseman last Saturday night may have put the proverbial nail in my coffin...am just waiting it out now....).

So instead, I have moved right into Holiday Planning mode....and if you think I mean that I have started my shopping you are totally off-base....if you have learned one thing about me it is that I work best under pressure....I will be wrapping up a stack of Vineyard Vines ties and Shep Shirts and Chappy trunks for every guy on my list no sooner than Christmas Eve. My poor kids...my jealous and possessive five year old son calls out to me every five minutes with another Christmas gift request for some crappy, useless hunk of plastic he has just seen advertised during breaks from SpongeBob. Oh, and I know that in four weeks I will be frantically searching the internet, trying to recall what toys and games he has mentioned...in fact, as I write he just yelled something about some MegaSaur Power Ranger (WTF???)...please remind me in a few weeks. It's that part of the Christmas season always screws me....

But....Holiday Parties, well that's another thing altogether. I am a calculated planner when it comes to all things celebratory, so of course I have to be certain weeks in advance that my plans are in place so that I may fully enjoy the Thanksgiving to New Years weeks to the fullest extent. So far this year I have made arrangements to host two dinner parties in November (one for girls only so expect a revelatory post after that event...), started planning my Thanksgiving menu (onion walnut muffins...always a hit...), lining up weekend babysitters, picking out outfits (not kidding...) and am filling my Christmas Party calendar (all my standing annual engagements will be in order once Dirk Diggler settles on a date for the Wyckoff Swingers Holiday Swing-A-Thon....hope Scotty arrives in his new Datsun 280 ZX!). Yes....priorities....

This all reminded me of the first Christmas Cocktail Party that Rob and I threw as a married couple....December of 1996. I was already an experienced hostess, we had spent our engagement inviting friends to our tiny apartment on Morton Street for casual dinners and Oscar viewing parties and New Year's kickoff cocktails, but this party was major effort, the follow-up to our big wedding only eight weeks earlier. Instead of jamming everyone we knew into our sixth floor walk-up, we hosted at my parents' pied-a-terre on East End Avenue and 82nd, the absolute opposite end of the City from our scrappy West Village dwelling. The apartment was flawlessly decorated and featured two balconies overlooking the East River...and Mom and Dad never really used it....perfect place to party!

I must have been influenced by the uptown surroundings because I thought I was a mini Martha Stewart...all growed up with my fancy tray of hors d'oeuvres, pates and expensive imported cheeses, white wine and champagne (still love it...). Modeling myself after Martha's ice-blooded WASP aesthetic with crisp, tasteful holiday decorations and classic Christmas carols coming across the speakers. I even remember what I wore -- a Rachel-from-Friends-like tiny black velvet mini-skirt and black fitted sleeveless sweater from Armani Exchange, black tights and 3-inch stacked patent leather pumps. My hair was newly cut after returning from my honeymoon, a sleek, chin-length little bob...so Manhattan in the mid-90's.

What I remember most about that party was that everyone who came was so impressed...they thought it was such a great time and loved my food and appreciated my grasciousness and reveled in the festive Christmasy vibe I had created. Not me though...I was stressing out the entire night...I think I felt all this pressure to be fabulous, but honestly, I kind of felt like a little girl playing dress-up in a fancy apartment while her parents were out of town. It was like it had all just struck me -- I was a married woman, but still a baby at age 26, hosting other adults in a genteel setting and yet no one is calling me out as some pretender...how did I get here??? Suddenly in these grown up surroundings, I was a little out of sorts, and longed to peel off my chic little get-up and curl up on the couch...I know, can you believe it? There was a party happening around me and I wasn't having a good time?? Truly shocking. I think that may have been the last time that phenomena occurred...but it really happened. You know me though....I plowed through, smiling the whole time and kissed the last guest good night well past 1 a.m.

Yeah...we stuck to entertaining in our own home after that night...The only other time I ever hosted an event on East End Avenue it was some kind of clebratory dinner with people from work for my Kratz BFF, Jim (was it a birthday? or was he leaving the firm...now that was cause for celebration back then....). And I had a blast because Jim cracked me up endlessly...but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

So, I have thrown and attended countless gatherings since that first foray in to Christmas Cocktailing and I have found that people just appreciate a place to meet and see one another and toast the season...whatever season it may be...so I don't put so much pressure on myself anymore. I have relaxed ever so slightly...you know, maybe not all the napkins are fanned out perfectly and an occasional shrimp will be out of place on the platter and I will happily look the other way if someone wants to play DJ... because I want to have fun too...I am kind of selfish that way...

Oh, by the way....you can mark my words -- by no later than December 15th, I will become completely bored and overwhelmed with shopping and planning and partying and will be looking beyond Holiday Season towards my Week-long Birthday Extravaganza -- March 8, 2009....so save the date now!!

Photo 1: Sexy 70's falsetto icon and Bentley owner, Barry Gibb...

Photo 2: Some neighborhood kiddies in front of my house posing for Snack-O-Lantern '07....there I am way in the back serving gallons of wine to the spent moms...

Photo 3: Ellie and I kicking off the '07 Party Season rocking some face painting and puff pastry hors d'oeuvres at the Arcola Country Club annual family bash -- our third party that day...

Photo 4: Yes, it's the Wyckoff Swingers....my man Scotty all the way to the right devising a plan to get Dirk into the Datsun...

Photos 5 and 6: Delicious party acoutrements...you can always depend on me to bring it...

Photo 7: Suz as young bride with Dad...my career as hostess extraordinaire a mere glimmer in his proud, adoring eyes. I know...it is a great shot...

Photo 8: Some real swingers...partying on my deck...raspberry mojitos in hand...mmm, raspberry mojitos...

Photo 9: The real Holiday celebration I look forward to...my birthday, chocolate cake and my boos...

Wicked Good Fun...Or Not...

Yes....I did get arrested in Boston.

Well, not quite, but almost...they threatened me with incarceration and fines and all that stuff too. And I only got away because I played the ditzy broad act up to the hilt and batted my lashes at the two totally pissed off officials who approached me on the steps of the Massachusetts Expo & Convention Center as I handed out sticky sweet fruit smoothie crap to anyone who didn't sneer in my direction. You know though...after spending a week entertaining our client who is (no lie) a cross between Jabba the Hutt and Homer Simpson's more enormous, unsightlier, less intelligent brother, being quasi-arrested was a highlight on my trip to Boston. In fact, if it meant escaping the grips of said oafish client, I may have willingly offered my wrists for cuffing...but then I would have had to ditch TL, my Boston BFF and star member of Stonehill Class of '81...and there was no way I was going to miss taking him out for his birthday...Thankfully, I didn't have to sacrafice any further....

So since most of you read this while you are enjoying your morning coffee and corn flakes (or Fruit Brute a la Gwen, Joe and Lance from Pulp Fiction...prank caller! prank caller!), I will spare you any further physical description of Oafish Client...but I have to tell you what he did and how he acted all week long...I mean, if nothing else, so you start the day feeling kind of good about your job. So at the request of OC, Tappers and I made arrangements to have a casual group dinner at The Boston Sail Loft, a little waterside dive well-known to Bostonians for chowder, fried seafood and beers...can't go wrong, right? And Oafish Client loved it...he was all over the casual vibe and as dinner began he was chatty and friendly and we were looking past his stained and faded golf shirt, making nice and enjoying ourselves as much as possible. He wasn't all that bad-- was he? And then, about two beers in, Oafish Client started to tease the waitress for her pronunciation of the word "chowder" ("Say chowd-ah, Frenchy!"). And I am sitting there thinking: Dude, even the chicks in Boston will crack your skull if you start messing with them...and I was kind of wishing she would just tell him to take his Ohioan condescension (seriously, the nerve!) and shove it up is ample a**. But she put up with him...I smiled meekly at her, communicating non-verbally that her tip would warrant dealing with this fool.

And that's when Oafish Client ordered a round of tequila shots and began pressuring all of us to join him in his misguided attempt at channeling the high school junior that was apparently hidden under his girth. Now you guys all know I am not at all above a low-brow good time -- my affinity for dive bars is well-documented -- but when the waitress delivered the order I pushed my shot back across the table at OC and said "no thanks"...After two rounds the rest of the group bailed as well.... except for Tappers who consistently played the role of Go-er and went shot for shot with Oafish Client...for eight rounds!!!!!!!!!!!! The rest of us sat there in amazement as OC began slurring his words, becoming way louder and just plain grosser by the second. Tappers on the other hand was unfazed...completely clear and in control (she credits her pure WASP gene-pool and a long history of iron-stomached investment banking predecessors...). So soon OC was loudly describing the last intimate experience he and his eight months pregnant wife shared (I sh*t you not...) and then without much of a segue he began declaring to the entire restaurant that John Mellancamp is a better songwriter than Bruce Springsteen. Don't worry, friends, though I am a huge Mellancamp fan I felt it was my duty to get all Jersey on his a** and rep the tri-state area on behalf of Bruce...and you know me -- of course I was the victor in our debate. At that point OC started singing and I began pleading with our patient waitress for the bill...and thankfully, Tappers and I glared at Mackalicious (our boss) until he agreed to give her a 30% tip.

So you would think Oafish Client might be too wasted to continue his mission....hells no! Instead, as his co-workers scattered in different directions like frightened mice, OC insisted we agency folks hop in a cab with him to have a final round of drinks in the cocktail lounge at his fancy downtown hotel, The Langham. And through gritted teeth we agreed -- BIG mistake. After he harrassed the cabbie the whole ride over and then hassled the hotel valet upon arrival, Tappers, Mackalicious and I followed him with our tails between our legs, mortified as we entered the beautiful, posh hotel cocktail lounge and took our spots between the bar and the baby grand on couches under a portrait of President Lincoln. Though OC sat next to me, I practically planted myself on Mackalicious' lap so that no one would make the assumption that OC was my date.

Almost immediately OC got up and stuffed a single dollar bill (big spender, eh?) into the tuxedo-clad pianist's tip jar and went to-to-toe with the dude for 10 minutes telling him he wanted to hear "Chopsticks." Somehow the pianist put up a good enough fight because OC eventually gave up. But he wasn't quite done being a lout because he came back over to our seats and broke the low hum in the lounge (the patrons were focused on the Presidential debate so chatter was minimal at this point) and calls over to our regal cocktail hostess with an order for two shots of tequila. She looks down her nose at him as the rest of us blush, and in a few seconds appears with two highballs filled about a quarter full with gold tequila and very politely and apologetically she says to him:

"Sir, traditionally we do not serve shots at Julien's, so please enjoy these but I cannot bring you any more shots this evening."

Well....you would have thought she spit on him...he was incredulous: "Can you believe her? Is she kidding me? What kind of place doesn't serve shots? She's lying!" Tappers and Mackalicious are staying the hell out of it, playing with their iPhones and cheering on Barack Obama (that's another story....), so I am trying to reason with OC and I say: "Look, there is a time and a place for everything, so maybe we should respect the wishes of the staff." And he's like: "Well screw her, who does she think she's talking to? She's not getting a tip." And when she brings over the bill a few minutes later, Oafish Client snatches it up before Mackalicious can get to it and he signs it to his room. Proudly he snaps the leather folder closed and announces: "I gave her a 6% tip!" I gasp inwardly and glare at Tappers and Mackalicious, silently willing them to get him out of the way so I can add some cash on top of the bill...but OC is just standing there and they can't maneuver him accordingly. So finally I just pick up the bill, whip out $30 and walk over to the waitress and hand her the whole lot, right in front of everyone. And she looks confused at first until she opens the billfold and sees her measly percentage and the extra $30 makes sense...she mouthed the words "Thank you so much" to me. I waved and we were off....

Friends...I am dead serious, not exaggerating an iota...this is who I left my children for 5 days to spend the week with...this big oaf. And I didn't even tell you about the part where he followed us down to the lobby -- audibly passing gas the entire time...no joke! -- and making the bellman call his co-worker's room six times in a row...wisely the co-worker was blowing him off...which is what we should have done. Now is it clear to you why I was so conflicted about keeping this job????

So needless to say, two days later when I was almost arrested I took it in stride...how much worse could the week have gotten, really? At least it ended on a high note with TL's birthday lunch...big spicy Bloody Marys (only one each...we didn't want to have to call on Dennis for a ride home or anything....), many, many laughs, a chocolatey fudgey dessert concoction and a post-lunch shopping spree at J. Crew...well, TL wisely bailed by then. Rob met me a few hours later and we spent 36 kidless hours in Boston, eating, drinking and being merry, marking our 12th anniversary (wait...how did I get here???) and midday cocktailing with Jeanne and Bob in Marblehead. We even returned to the lounge at The Langham and though the pianist looked at me suspiciously, we did receive a secret drink on the house from my friend the cocktail hostess...So it's good to see that $30 buys you back your reputation in Boston...Thank God, because I would have paid 100 times that much!!!

Love to all....Suz

Photo 1: I think my mug shot might have been slightly less pathetic than Lohan's (Long Island's finest!)...only slightly though...

Photo 2: Lance, the cornerstone of one of film history's greatest scenes...Eric Stoltz -- shamefully robbed by The Academy that year....
Photo 3: I'd rather cuddle up to Homer than have to sit through dinner with Oafish Client again...

Photo 4: Tappers would out-shoot those two lightweights with her hands tied behind her back...

Photo 5: Bruce (Go Jersey!)...I'd say his talents and abilities are indisputable...and don't even start trying to make a case for Billy Joel...

Photo 6: There I am on the couch at Julien's in my gold bikini, if only Harrison Ford could have saved me from OC...

Photo 7: Please tell me there is more than 6% added in...

Photo 8: Me and TL...after far more than one Bloody Mary each...

Trippin'

Ok so I am on my very last glamorous business trip for the fruit smoothie sampling program, and this time I completely lucked out -- instead of fending off gym rats in Cleveland, Parma, Cinci or whatever the hell Midwestern flyover city I happened to stop in, today I landed in Boston...a genuine East Coast metropolis...and, you know, compared to Cinci we feel like we are in Paris....

So, I am again here with Tappers/Annie T., my 5' 11" raven-haired, porcelain-skinned Account Exec who in only a few short weeks will be solely responsible for smiling and winking and passing out Dixie cups filled with Acai Raspberry slop while I skip back into the sunset...You know, I will miss Tappers, frankly, but other than that I am pretty psyched to move on from here.... But you know, I admit it....yesterday was kind of fun because we had to stop at the loading dock at the Boston Expo Center to pick up 600 mini bottles of our fruit smoothie product so that we might attempt guerrilla sampling opportunities all over Boston this week. Yes...guerrilla...in other words, we will be walking the streets of this lovely town handing out bottles and info to unsuspecting citizens wearing our stupid branded golf shirts (mine needs a belt as it is a men's size large and hangs to my ankles...) and praying that we can avoid being arrested for illegally sampling products without a permit...Should be kickass week! But I digress...the fun part was being at the loading dock -- of course, we were the hit if the day in our impractical shoes and big sunglasses....men came out of every corner to see the two NYC princesses skipping through the joint, demurely asking the big-muscled union workers to help us transport cases and cases of product to the back hatch of my Volvo SUV....

So after we were all packed with product, we drove to the Jurys Hotel on Stuart Street and, well, with a stunning lack of conscience, we kind of fibbed to the valet who asked if he could help us...You see, weeks ago the hotel's Food & Beverege Director told us that he might be willing to accept free samples of our fruit smoothie to offer to hotel guests throughout the week. Well, through subsequent follow up, we never reconnected with him, but our client was on our butts about it...and we needed to make it happen. So when the dear valet approached, we told him we had a drop off for said F&B Director, as if it was all set in stone. And the poor naive soul just wheeled one of those hotel transport carts over and took a bunch of cases from us...no questions asked. Yes, my friends, this is what I have been reduced to....When Tappers jumped back in the car, I sped away through the streets of Boston and we cackled like the wicked little witches we are....ugh, you know that is going to bite us in the a**....we are definitely getting arrested now...

So at any rate, Tappers has never been to Boston and we all know that I have spent some time drinking in the local culture. But the thing is, I was a kid then...and to be honest, I wasn't quite sure where to take her other than for burgers at The Black Rose (where we were morbidly intrigued by a group of burnt out suits plying the local barfly with Jameson, her lipstick snudged across her face...ugh...kind of gross). Then we hit those barf bars along Union Street: Purple Shamrock, Daddy O's, Bell & Hand, The Tap...(each bouncer carding me religiously...whatevs)...to drown in the jam band music while standing by as the Red Sox (Go Sawks!!) completely imploded at Fenway (Tappers by the way was pissing off the locals with her snide NYC glee as the score crept up and up and up...and that was the first inning...).

And we had so much fun talking to each other in our fake Boston accents, dropping our "R's" and calling each other by our Boston nicknames (Maaahty and Sully...), befriending the guy who was wearing a jacket embroidered with the words "Everything Is Bigger in Texas" (whatever does that mean? bigger hair? bigger guns? bigger trucks? bigger thighs?...) and soaking up all that boozy, student-centric Boston good time. By the time we were sitting in the cab listening to our toothless cabbie wax poetic about Boston College football as we were heading back to our hotel (where by the way, there is quite an active bar/hook up scene for the 50-plus business traveler...) we were fully planning on a return trip for tomorrow night....well after we hit the North End and stuff our faces with some cannolis over on hanover Street...

More soon....assuming of course I am not in the slammer by noon....(TL -- expect a call if so...)
Miss you all...

xoxo, Suz

Photos: Am late for a meeting with client....these speak for themselves, no???

'Cause I Want It That Way...???

You are most definitely going to lose a small modicum of respect for me today...and I am prepared really...I mean, apparently I am embracing the possibility...Ok, so...here goes....

I rock out every single morning to the Backstreet Boys.

There. I said it....and now, as is my way, I will backtrack and explain what has possessed me to put the words "rock out" and "Backstreet Boys" in the same sentence when I am not quite sure they even belong on the same page.

I am a Rittereiser to the core, short attention span and all (for those of you without intimate knowledge of what that means, my patience is nil and being kept waiting only diverts my attention to the next best thing...on the plus side, we Ritts are a dynamic lot...), and long-ago I became bored with commuting on the train each morning to and from Lafayette Street. Instead, I have been driving myself to the office and parking in a little outdoor lot where the Salvadoran attendants take special care to lord over my vehicle while I am toiling away across the street. At any rate, my dear Dad has kindly lent me his extra car -- a little blue Jaguar -- while Rob and I are between leases. Though the car is a Westside Highway guy-magnet (a nice boost to the ego though most of my suitors tend to be of the 50-plus/ginormous SUV-driving/outer-boroughs variety who no doubt have pegged me as some jaded Jersey trophy wife), the CD collection is sorely lacking. So, when I get tired of listening to Opie and Anthony and their band of misogynistic (but undeniably hilarious) merrymakers, I pop-in a mixed CD I found in the glove compartment and bathe in the sounds of the guiltiest of guilty pleasures...crappy boy band music. I cannot resist the sappily sincere opening guitar chords...gets me every time...and I start the dancing behind the steering wheel...right there on the GWB.

You are my fire
The one desire

Believe when I say
I want it that way

But we are two worlds apart
Can't reach to your heart

When you say that I want it that way

Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a heartache

Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a mistake

Tell me why
I never wanna hear you say

I want it that way

But it gets better, because I am a full-on car singer...even when I am with other people, which I know is so completely dorky that I expect a few of you will never speak to me again. When I was driving our Volvo SUV I could go full-on Mariah, virtually unnoticed by fellow drivers due to the shaded windows and the height of the car. Thing is, I keep forgetting that in the Jaguar everything I do can be viewed in full by other drivers. Needless to say, almost every morning one of my Westside Highway admirers waves to me while I am getting my boy band on. Yeah, so it's kind of embarrassing...but, come on...those big lung belt-outs are deeply satisfying as well.

I know some (most?) of you are with me in this...I just got back from a Girls Weekend and openly made fun of my darling ADP who stacked her iPod shuffle with so many American Idol contestants and show tunes I was starting to wonder if I had gone away with the Golden Girls by mistake (I think I might be the Blanche Devereaux, by the way....). But secretly I was loving it. And the other day Suse and I were driving home from our big Apple Fest at ADP's and Erasure's "A Little Respect" came on, and believe it or not, the two of us who together could talk a dog off a meat truck finally shut up long enough to sing:

I'm so in love with you
I'll be forever blue

That you give me no reason
Why you're making me work so hard

What is it though about those badly written, saccharine, goppy, totally unthreatening pop tunes that make us feel so damn good? Even the ones masquerading as "rock" songs do it for me...you know the type: Journey's "Separate Ways"...Styx with "Lady"...we all know those dudes are one step away from Lance Bass and are basically just boy bands with hangovers, bad fashion sense and signature white trash mullets. So make fun of me all you want...because I know I am not alone....Who hasn't cranked up "Sister Christian" with a little air-guitar thrown in...or sang the ba-ba-ba-ba's along with David Cassidy in "I Think I Love You"...and I personally think you are kind of a traitor to the female gender if you haven't tried to reach the 5 octave spread that alien-freak-goddess Celine Dion cranks in "Power of Love"....even Gwen, by far my coolest friend of all, will have to admit she is guilty of that indiscretion. It feels good to come clean, no?

Speaking of Gwen....she knows me so damn well...she had no clue whatsoever what I was writing about this week, but she called me at 9:00 a.m. on the button this past Sunday morning to make sure I knew that the greatest guilty pleasure movie in history (no guys, not Roadhouse with Patrick Swayze) was being shown on TNT as we spoke -- Selena starring the marginally talented Miracle Mile diva, Jennifer Lopez. Frankly...I need a whole week to document the sheepish joy and dependable sob-fest that film provides, not to mention how Selena's Tejano tunes bring a little bit of sunshine to a rainy day. Speaking of which, I am so burning a CD of the soundtrack as we speak so I can rock out to a little "Bidi-Bidi-Bom-Bom" tomorrow on the Westside Highway....look for me!

xoxo, Suz


Photo 1: Oh good lord...they are just too cheesy to even make fun of....but boy they sing some catchy tunes...
Photo 2: A selection of Rittereisers totally ready to throw because we have been asked pose for more than 30 seconds...
Photo 3: My ride...sleek, peppy...a suburban dude magnet...
Photo 4: The O&A virus....
Photo 5: There I am...getting down to some craptastic '80's pop classic while an admirer looks on...just another morning on the Westside highway...
Photo 6: Blanche Devereaux: slutty and 60-plus...still bringing it...
Photo 7: Ooooh...tough guy rockers...
Photo 8: J.Lo as Selena: Yummy delicious guilty pleasure...love that ghetto red lipstick!