Wednesday, March 25, 2009

March Maddness: The "Tip-Off"...

This month, this March '09, my friends, was the most wickedly odd month of the year thus far....and we are just exiting the first quarter...what kind of year lies in wait? Well...whatever...March is a great month, you know, finally a peek of sunshine through that winter cloud cover....asparagus and artichokes begin appearing on my Sunday dinner menu...which means that morels and ramps are mere weeks away...And aside from the fact that I pull out my flip flops and strappy shoes no later than March 14th for their 7-month-long stint as the center of my wardrobe, the weeks of March are chock full of fun and celebratory events...birthdays, drinking holidays and college sports tournaments rule the social scene...and I love the social scene...and usually, it likes me too....

So, as I mentioned last week...Suse and I are headed off to Longboat Key later this week for a girls' weekend...a little "welcome spring" gift to ourselves...we are good mommies and we work hard...and we deserve a few warm days away with nothing but 180 degree views of the Gulf of Mexico, the salt air, delicious cocktails, country club lunches, 1905 Salads and kickass shopping...but most importantly, we need to perfect our radiant, sunkissed bronze glow for the barelegged spring/summer fashions that lie ahead...And so, we have both been running around crazy-like, making sure all of our ducks are in a row...all of the loose ends tied up...and of course, to make our mark on the fun events that have kicked off the season. There was ADP's fun and fabulous surprise 40th birthday party....good friends in a sea of black dresses, yummy drinks and me in my 5-inch high heels, flying high on my YAZ buzz, dancing to "867-5309"....(For a good time, for a good time ca-aall....), and "December 1963 (Oh What a Night...)"...(Seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right...) with all the girls (Trish J., by the way, an absolute non-stop dancing machine...such a fun partner in crime....). So my toes hurt for three days post-event...totally worth it. Anyway, there have been other great moments over the weeks...the surprise dinner at Park Steakhouse for Nancy's 40th, with Tim's amazing 32 minute slide show/photo montage of Nance over the years...so many fun moments we laughed about that night (Winter's Dawn, anyone....? How about The Shocker???)....So at any rate, I have been having such fun...and I have been thinking that we are so lucky to be surrounded by such a great group of smart, cool, interesting, attractive and accomplished friends...my surprise (hint, hint...Dad? Rob? Cath?...anyone???) 40th birthday party (in 6 years...) is looking so good from here if all of you continue to stick around, you know? So save the date!

And you know, we can be a dramatic lot too....which brings me to the happenings of this last Friday afternoon...how quickly a seemingly low-key, diversionary chat around the kitchen table can take a turn, right? And how said turn can reveal your strengths and abilities....or in my case, lack thereof.... So....

Suse and I were in her kitchen catching up on the day's happenings, playground chatter and all that....rounding back on the week's events. Suse's little girl was asleep on the couch and her son was outside playing street hockey with the neighborhood kids. My brood was at home with their dad...after school playdates in full swing. And while we chatted and placed calls to some of the other "desperate housewives" on the phone, Suse was preparing her selection for that evening's gourmet girls' dinner -- a cheesey-creamy-herby potatoes gratin and some little tomato tarts, delicious, bite-sized mouthfuls of puff pastry, tomato, basil and gruyere that Scott had just delivered fresh from the grocery store....and she is prepping and grating cheese and measuring cream...and to cut the potatoes, she was using a state of the art mandolin, the classic French culinary tool that slices foods paper thin in a sliding motion and makes an appearance on almost every episode Top Chef and Tyler's Ultimate and The French Chef...so it is a familiar tool to those of us who love to cook...or are food porn addicts (mmm...Tyler Florence...delish...)....but that doesn't mean it should be used by amateurs....And I was there chattering and gossiping at record speed while Suse sliced...and my conversation was peppered with warnings: "that mandolin is sharp...be careful!"..."you are making me nervous..."....."use the hand-guard..."..."pay attention to what you are doing..." And Suse is nodding along..."I know"...."You're right...."....."My mom always says that too...." Ugh...ugh...I have chills running up my spine recalling...

Ok, so as I am yapping on the phone, covering the latest goings-on with Trish, I hear Suse gasp sharply and wince. I look over and she is grasping her middle finger in her hand....her eyes the size of saucers...and I say:

"Did you cut yourself?" and I am totally using that "I told you so" tone...
"Yes...." she says
"Badly?" I am getting nervous...
Realization sets in...
"I think I cut my finger off...."

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????

I start yelling and freaking out and I hang up the phone...and Suse is dazed and she tells me we have to find the missing piece. Oh Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the Saints...please, please let this be a dream. But it isn't....because at that moment she pulls away the towel that is stopping the blood and shows me her wound....the middle finger on her right hand...only half of the tip remaining. It is that very moment in which my brain completely lost all sense...like I was losing air or something...I feel like I am underwater....and her eyes are still as big as saucers...and I say: "Keep the pressure on it..."

"Is it still on the mandolin?" she asks...the severed piece, she means....and we find it there, still attached to the blade...and I silently praise Jesus that it is a smaller piece than I expect...and we put it aside while I go get her some ice...and she is starting to cry and begins to panic as she is calling for Scott...so I help her and we are both yelling: "Scott! Scott!" and as he makes his way up she says: "I cut my finger off on the mandolin..." And he begins freaking too...and I cannot put thoughts together...I grab ice from the freezer and wrap it in a paper towel and I ask Scott if I should call the ambulance corps....and that is when Suse tells me to call her sister, Lisa H. of the Mallomar addiction, which I do while she runs out the front door yelling for her neighbor, Cindy N., who also happens to be an emergency room nurse at our local hospital. Well...at least Susan was thinking... Scott and I continue to gape at one another...our brows knit and faces drawn. I stand in the kitchen, feeling helpless....so it occurs to me that should I put the puff pastry she was planning to use for the tarts back in the fridge...as if that will make some sort of difference...like, oh good, Suz, so glad you thought to save the puff pastry...too bad Suse bled out while you focused on that...Bravo!

Thank God for Cindy....because she came in an took over....she calmed us all down with her no nonsense, nurse-y manner...she sat Susan down and sat with her, putting pressure on the wound. And she asks me to give her the extra piece...and I have no clue what the hell we did with it...and I am searching amongst the bloody paper towels and potato shreds...and I am hovering above myself wondering why I am so inept...why I cannot do a g*ddamn thing to help...Finally Cindy comes over and finds the piece, which she wraps in a wet towel....And that is when Suse's blood pressure takes a dip....she is as pale as a ghost and we have to lay her down on the kitchen floor. I ask Cindy if I should call 911...and she assures me that we don't need to...So I ask if I can make a cold compress, would that help? And she tells me to go ahead...and I know she was just trying to keep me occupied so I didn't further bungle the situation, like the nervous dad in the delivery room...So, of course, it just gets more ridiculous...

I ask Scott for a dish towl and he says that they don't have any....and I am confused but I ask if there is one in the bathroom instead...and he brings me a bath towel...not washcloth size or even a hand towel...oh no, instead he hands me a giant bath sheet...big enough to wrap around the both of us. And I stand there holding it, wondering how small I will need to fold this thing up so that I can make a useful cold compress out of it...And even Suse is aware how stupid Scott and I are both being...and from the floor she says..."the dish towels are in that drawer next to the sink..." And I find one there and I wet it and I bend down and hold the towel on her forehead...and I am trying not to cry while I cool her down...and I look at Scott and he looks at me and we say nothing...but I take note of his skin tone, which I can only describe as a tepid shade of chartreuse...

Oh God...I couldn't be a bigger screw-up if I tried...I would try to blame it on YAZ if I could, but I actually think this idiocy-in-urgent-circumstances thing is actually a Ritt family trait...Well, not previous generations -- God knows Gramps, the MacGyver of York and 84th, and my Grandpa and Grandma McKenna, the NYC firefighter and delivery room nurse, would have swooped in and started making things happen...the rest of us, not so much. It must have started with Uncle Freddy and Dad...I think that may be when this gene mutation took hold...I mean, we Ritts are dynamic and all...and we can make a damn good joke and string words together and captivate a room and captain teams and run companies and trading desks and write books and make friends and throw parties and create dead-on nicknames and spew some righteous putdowns and all that. And...well...we can be very loving...sometimes too loving and giving of ourselves, surprisingly...But even though Dad saved a guy with the Heimlich once, most of the rest of us are not who you'd want around if you need poison sucked out of a snake bite...

So once Suse's blood pressure comes back, a flurry of activity follows...Cindy calls the ER, we make arrangements for the kids, Scott starts the car and we throw the bloody mandolin in the sink....And as Suse is led to the car she says: "I am sorry there won't be any potatoes tonight...but I guess they wouldn't have been so great with pieces of my finger mixed in..." And I know she is attempting a joke...so I say: "Well, we couldn't have eaten it that way...it's Friday and it's Lent -- no meat allowed, Suse." And we kind of giggle a little and I give her a quick hug before I drive off with her son...As soon as I pull out, I am on the phone to Rob, instructing him to step in and act as prep chef so that my shrimp gratin will be ready to go for my group later on...Oh yes, of course I was still planning to partake in the gourmet girls' dinner....

I looked at my watch....11 minutes had passed since Suse cut her finger on the mandolin...I was stunned, it had seemed longer...so, again we learn that in seconds, things change...

And I think that must have been the lesson this week...in seconds our lives can change. There were big things that brought that home -- the beautiful, talented mom and actress -- a theatrical goddess -- slips on the ski slopes and is dead hours later...and we all asked: "How could this have happened?"....And also this week, mere days past her fantastic 40th birthday, my dear ADP lost her dad, her hero, Handsome Harry...whom I never knew, but mourned along with her...and to whom it is thanks that I will never forget the capital of Cameroon...(Yaounde, you dummies...)...And then there was Suse's finger...So all of that made me rethink my reactions to the trivial happenings this week that seemed so important at the time, but really were not...like when my beloved pumpkin-colored phone fell off my lap and into the bubbling warm water of my pedicure...and when I argued with a friend over semantics (YAZ again, I swear!)... and then when I made Ellie cry because I loudly and ferociously protested the outfit she had chosen to wear on a visit to her cousins in Delaware...You know, and here I am, getting slapped upside the head over and over with example after example of bigger losses, greater tragedies...which put it all into perspective...

So...I guess this is one lesson that we should never lose sight of...the small things are exactly that...small...that we should go out and get what we want...do what will make us happy...surround ourselves with people who truly, madly, deeply love us...and whom we love back.

So, Suse showed up at the girls' dinner a few hours in...and she was all hopped up on Percosets and novocaine and her finger was all wrapped up and it kind of looked like a bloody Poppin' Fresh/Pillsbury Doughboy (an homage to the puff pastry I saved, maybe???)...And she brightened my night, I was so glad she was doing better and her color was back....and best of all, her fondue hand wasn't going to be permanently damaged...But I especially loved when she confirmed my wild recounting of the events and the validity of my ineptitude to the entire group...And you know, I was happy to own my flaws...because, really, what is the alternative? I am flawed but lovable, right...we all are, and it is so cool that we are all here to enjoy that in one another...because in seconds that could change...

And we don't want that...you know, for many reasons, of course...because I love you, for one....But also, if nothing else, we don't want to miss out on that kickass surprise 40th birthday party my Dad and sisters and husband better be planning for me in six years...you know, I am thinking the City in a loft with signature cocktails and dancing and flowers and dim lights and dark corners and food by Rocco F&*%ing DiSpirito (dude owes me one....) and I am telling you, I want every one of you there with me so we can celebrate, not the undeniable miracle of my 40 years, but the seconds we have together still...And even though it is six years away (I know, the joke is getting old...but please indulge me this one fantasy....), I am counting the seconds...

All my love...every second...Suz

PS  In memory of Lawrence...on what would have been his 39th birthday....miss you so much...every second...


Photo 1: My haul from this Sunday's Spring Farmers' Market....pork bellly and artichoke risotto on the menu...
Photo 2: Columbia Restaurant's 1905 Salad (sex on a plate...yes, this salad can make you hot...) and a chilled pitcher of Classic Mojitos awaiting Suse and I on Longboat Key...
Photo 3: Me, ADP and Suse (pre-maiming) hogging the dance floor....I think I hear "Jessie's Girl" playing...
Photo 4: Nancy celebrating 40 years with a little lemon meringue...In background Dana definitely texting Freddy and Tim: "What excatly is The Shocker?"
Photo 5: Bloodless, skinless, flesh-free potatoes gratin...needs salt...
Photo 6: The Weapon of Mass Destruction...but it does slice a nice scalloped carrot, that's for sure...
Photo 7: Well if nothing else the puff pastry came through the drama without incident...
Photo 8: Archangel Cindy...
Photo 9: Look how helpful I am with my crafty cold compress and how happy Suse is to be missing a digit...I definitely missed my calling...
Photo 10: Freddy Ritt and I, circa 1979....I am pretty certain there was a fire blazing in the kitchen that very moment...good thing Gramps was there to save us all...Love the vintage can of Bud next to Uncle's Thanksgiving plate...only the best for we Ritts!
Photo 11: Suse and me...thank god I left that pristine white blouse at home last Friday...
Photo 12: Beautiful Natasha: RIP...
Photo 13: Suse's two and my three...whom we truly, madly, deeply love....LBI, June '08
Photo 14: Suse...rightly so, giving me "the finger"...looking kind of giddy there...those Percosets are working hard, baby...
Photo 15 and 16: Only a small selection of the Hot Jersey B*tches who will no doubt be gracing my Surprise 40th Birthday Party...boys, you may want to leave the wives at home....

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Hurry Home...I Need To Yell At You Some More...

Among the lot of you, it was Lyncher who was most intrigued when I shared that I was hosting college students in my home for a week…Aside from the fact that she thought I might unintentionally scar them with all kinds of life altering experiences in The Big City, she found it unimaginable that I was allowing virtual strangers to be exposed to my home life and children and husband and dog…Letting them see how late I actually let my kids stay up at night and how often I let them watch clips of The Simpsons on hulu.com or play Wii Tennis or eat chocolate before bed. Not to mention what shampoos and body washes are in my shower and DVDs are in my collection…and how quickly my clean house goes to messy and my laundry piles up while I Facebook and surf Dlisted (just an aside -- please...step away from Perezhilton.com and run to Dlisted...you will not look back...).

Come now, my friends…why worry? Believe it or not (Lyncher), I was on my best behavior…uncharacteristically adult, I protected the little darlings as much as possible…we acted the perfect family and took them to dinner on my birthday and had cake (in fact, the two students brought me a gift – a lovely card, a Stonehill College tank top and a pretty candle -- undoubtedly picked out and paid for by the female half of the duo…). And I dropped them off at the train every morning, making sure they had their schedule for the day memorized…just like a good little stand-in mommy. And so what if I went out for beers before the big networking cocktail party and showed up ten minutes before it was over…they still made it home well-fed and in one piece…And so what if I arranged for them to see Jersey Boys with its F-bombs dropping and first-time-sex/pot-smoking scene…all in good fun, right? And so what if I begged them for gossip every night when I picked them up from the train…at least they were politically adept enough to sidestep my inquiries…so they passed the test. And they probably left my house thinking I was pleasant and normal and a good mom and wife…and I am telling you, it is a miracle, because the entire week they were here, an alternate Suz had emerged…and she was a g*ddamn lunatic…and I tried my best to hide her jittery tics and ultrasensitivity and the unprovoked snappiness...But I realized it was out of my control...this wasn’t just me…I swear. Oh no…blame it on YAZ!

No, no…not that YAZ…not the New Wave, British synthpop band of the early ‘80’s, pleading break-up classic “Only You”… “listen to the words that you say/it's getting harder to stay/when I see you...” ...Not that YAZ….no this YAZ was entirely more synthetic…and depressing…this YAZ was courtesy of my boyfriend, Dr. Levine…

So let me back up…and for you guys, just an FYI that this may strike you as TMI…forewarned is forearmed, but I think you will appreciate the insights...and, honestly, you may find some comfort here too.... Ok…like I said, backing up….last week in my homage to Barbie, I mentioned that a group of girlfriends joined Nancy and I in toasting our birthdays…and of course, as is always the case when women congregate, we discuss food, kids, husbands, men, sex and our ever-fluctuating hormonal states…and how said state directly impacts our relationships with those prior subject matters. So at any rate…somehow Suse, Kathy, Wendy, Lisa H. and myself began discussing the evil, nasty sea witch that lives inside each of us, and how at the drop of a hat we injure our vocal chords due to hysterical, murderous screaming at our children and husbands…We recall and recount with crystal clear detail every single wrongdoing our husbands have committed since college…We contemplate and threaten blackmail, ruin, retribution and divorce over minor infractions….Lisa told us that every time her inner sea witch makes an appearance, all of a sudden her husband arrives home from every outing carrying a brand new box of Mallomars...and as she tears into each box she yells at him some more. But the best was Kathy and the monthly threat she hurls at her husband (a mild mannered, friendly, stand-up guy, by the way…) that she is calling their lawyer (we'll call him "Bob") first thing in the morning to review her legal options within the State of New Jersey’s divorce laws…and her husband merely responds: “Kathy, Bob's a real estate lawyer…” and Kath is like: "Yeah, well...good thing...." Hilarious!! And we agreed -- the whole time we rage, we are hovering above our bodies thinking “You crazy b*tch, it’s not that big a deal…you are just hormonal!” And we laughed at one another and at how we are all the same…how we use the same threats each month…and our husbands NEVER figure out that it is cyclical and it really only lasts for about a day or five...and that they should just get the hell out of the way.

So of course I tell the girls that there is hope on the horizon...in the form of a little pill-pack...Earlier that week my love, Dr. Levine, suggested that I needed to, after 11 full years of using "abstinence" as my preferred method (haha...Rob hates that joke...and I love busting his chops...sorry, dear!), that I should consider taking YAZ. You know....now that I am 34 and approaching advanced maternal age, I figured he was right...and he promised that YAZ was a wonder drug...that all those "things" relating to food, kids, husbands, men and sex would be vastly improved and then some...not to mention, my skin would be perfect, my waistline tinier, my hair luxurious and I would be beating suitors off with a stick. And as a contracted employee of a pharmaceutical firm, I already know how long and hard the process is to pass FDA regulations...how difficult it is to make claims on the effectiveness of the drugs that are developed and produced. So of course all of YAZ's claims were true, right? I was going to be sweet and calm and happy and gorgeous...and protected on top of that, right? And so all of my friends were jotting the name of the brand, all planning to call Dr. Rezvani (the other oddly beloved Bergen County doctor...) to discuss hopping on the YAZ train too....

And so I began popping a daily YAZ that weekend....and it took me all of 24 hours to experience the jitters and ultrasensitivity and snappiness. I found myself up all night staring at the ceiling, listing all the people I was pissed at and how I would be sure to communicate that to each of them first thing in the morning...and when my alarm rang, waking me for work, I started crying immediately. So I suppose I should have naturally connected these behaviors to YAZ, but again, I was sort of hovering over myself, lost in denial..."There's nothing wrong with me...there's something wrong with YOU!" Eventually, I knew something was off when Jenny Q. emailed me a story from a local newspaper in Massachusetts, which covered a recent development on the campus of my beloved alma mater. So after I read it, I fired off an email to TL...and in my best PR professional/expert opinion voice, I was like a dog with a bone sharing with him a litany of reasons I found the story to be a Corporate Communications failure...and I swear I could hear his eyes rolling through the screen and he began baiting me with pithy retorts like: "I think it's time for a drink!"...and looking back now it is actually beyond hilarious...but at the time I was all heated and indignant... And so it went for the next week...and I continued to be a complete joy to behold. And then....

One morning midweek I happened to hear a YAZ commercial playing in the next room as I readied for work...and as I watched, I found it to be a follow-up commercial to the original one with the three chicks in a night club drinking cosmopolitans and chatting about low-dose hormones with their friend the "doctor" that played round-the-clock on the Food Network (see...hormonal women love food...wise media buying strategy, YAZ...). And this YAZ ad started with that same night club doctor chick saying that the FDA had demanded the drug company re-work their ad to correct misleading inferences made in the original....and the miscommunication was this:

While YAZ has been approved for use as a contraceptive and a treatment for PMDD
 (premenstrual dysphoric disorder) and in some cases, acne, the TV ads could be viewed as suggesting the drug also remedied PMS and broader conditions....WHICH IT IS NOT PROVEN TO DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Excuse me, YAZ? Is this some kind of joke???? No everyday "psycho b*tch" cure contained in that little pack??????? Dammitall!!

As soon as I got to work I began researching on the internet...and I realized that all those crazy-a** side effects...the jitters...the sleeplessness...the ultrasensitivity...the snappiness...and all right, I will say it...the incredible b*tchiness...all side effects of this damn YAZ pill pack. So much for Dr. Levine and his wonder pill...I rang him up immediately and though I do love him and he is my boyfriend and all, I gave him a talking to via voice mail...and this was my opening line:

"Dr. Levine, this YAZ that you prescribed for me is the most effective birth control method I have ever used...you know why? Because these giant dark circles under my eyes and the nasty comments that pop out every time I open my mouth have rendered me so incredibly unattractive, that no one wants to have sex with me anyway....."

And as I went on, I realized that there was this guy sitting in the cubicle next to me, walking my officemate through some online training....and he was clearly listening to me list all my outlandish behaviors and complaints for Dr. L....but it was this gem that did him in:

"...and Dr. Levine, in addition to being up all night and writing snotty emails to all my friends, my breasts have doubled in size in 48 hours...and quite frankly, I just bought a whole drawer-full of fancy and expensive new bras from Nordstrom and I am not about to return them all so that I can stay on this stupid pill..."

And I sh*t you not, the guy training the girl next to me popped his head around the cubicle wall, apparently no longer able to contain his burning desire to check out the crazy, big busted hormonal sea witch on the other side of the wall...so I winked at him...and he blushed...and I laughed....first laugh in a week. So maybe this YAZ does bring the suitors a-calling, because everyday since then this training guy returns to "check up" on my officemate, who by now is quite comfortable with the program he trained her on...but I know he is there to see me...the crazy big-breasted sea witch he saw transform in front of him...with a wink...

You know...that wink was the sign...the real Suz was in there somewhere, like little Reagan McNeil from The Exorcist...ready to make a comeback...

So I think a celebration is in order...a little coming out party...You know, Suse and I are headed to Longboat Key next week...and all that sun and shopping and the 180 degree views of the Gulf of Mexico and mojitos on the beach should cheer me exponentially...and the trip will certainly be a perfect primer to a full-on Last Supper/Great Friday booze fest at Nancy Whiskey when I return....You heard me right... I decided to carry on my annual tradition of honoring the final days of Lent as I always do...in my favorite scuzzy little dive bar on Lispenard Street. Ok, I have to come clean...it was actually my friend Big who asked if I'd be rounding up my friends again this year...and as much as I'd love to take credit for an inspired concept, a Great Friday '09 celebration hadn't even occurred to me until he brought it up...because well, you guys know...things have changed a lot since last year. But....my dear Sam has agreed to step up and take the place of my former Last Supper co-hostess...The caravan leaves NJ at 3:30 on Thursday, April 9th...and I can name at least 10 of you who I am certain are already dying to make the trip with us (I am talking to you, Kathy Rail Welch and Mary Lynch Latz...)...so, call your sitters and make up your lies to your bosses/husbands/wives/kids/side-slices or whatever you have to do....and get your a** to Nancy with us...I promise, you will not regret it. Oh and hey, as an added bonus, it is Sam's birthday that weekend too...so it will be a double celebration...many beers...countless bills into that big complicated CD jukebox thing...lots of toothless guys...nasty greasy fried foods...my big sis, Cath, the official photog...you know, just me and my good friends...and maybe if we luck out the electrical workers union and some undercover cops will show up, flirt a little...buy us some drinks...

Now if that doesn't knock that YAZ right the hell out of my system...

xoxo....S


Photo 1: This group of dorks does not feature my little Stonehill College friends...Stonehill kicks Appalachia State's a** anyway...

Photo 2: Another amazing iconic cultural contribution from the great state of New Jersey...everything we touch turns to gold...don't even attempt to argue the opposite...

Photo 3: The original YAZ with Upstairs At Eric's...Latzy is totally rocking it out to "Don't Go" on the treadmill as we speak...

Photo 4: That is an actual sketch of my inner sea witch...she actually was looking hot that day...

Photo 5: "What a drag it is getting old...."...Mrs. Hagy's Little Helper...

Photo 6: Mary Lynch Latz., Kathy Rail-Welch., Lisa Beard Hagy and the third Ferguson Girl...totally mainlining YAZ...

Photo 7: What I expected to see looking back at me in the mirror each morning with YAZ...gorgeous, talented, cool, funny and smart...get me some of whatever pill Kate Winslet is popping, stat!

Photo 8: Did he actually have the b*lls to say: "I think it's time for a drink!" ????????????????

Photo 9: Yo, FDA, outlaw that crap, please....

Photo 10: That's him...that's the guy who peeked over the cubicle at me...they say he's new on the job...kind of cute...

Photo 11: There she is! I see her in there somewhere....

Photo 12: Enjoying the sunset from our deck on Longboat Key...that's not Suse there with me...but soon enough!!

Photo 13: Nancy Whiskey...pay homage...

Photo 14: Last Supper co-host Sam with me and Amber Christy Benaquista (sp??) McCauley...of course we are going to celebrate...why didn't I think of that?

Monday, March 9, 2009

She's Evil...But She's Fabulous...


So of course my 34th birthday weekend was a blast…another year sharing the kickoff celebration with my girl, Nancy…the
 two of us among our dearest friends, clad in pjs, lots of wine, a grand selection of cheeses, more than a few dirty Grey Goose martinis and gooey red velvet cake…no men allowed. Perfect, right? The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of celebratory dinners and brunches and cakes and toasts…and lovely gifts (personal fave was the cozy blue Snuggie from Susan M…the Chia Pet of the millennium...). Anyway, it makes the years so much easier to face when you are surrounded by those you truly love…right?

So, get this…as it turns out, this March marks another momentous occasion in history…the 50th birthday of someone extra special to me…someone so fabulous and dynamic and accomplished and still looking so incredibly hot….And I can’t help but look back on the moments we have shared... so I sit, toasting this beloved friend and all our friendship has meant….


So here’s to you, Barbie!

That’s right….let’s jump in the white ‘Vette and meet at the Dream House, my friends, because we are partying Malibu-style…and by the way, leave that closet-case, Ken, at home….

Who knew that Barbie even had a birthday? Turns out she made her debut on March 9, 1959….only 10 years and 364 days before my miraculous birth...or wait, I am 34...so that's 15 years and 364 days.... And who knew that sun-kissed blond princess was a 
Pisces soul sister on top of that? Should have known...all the hottest b*tches are born in March...Anyway, had I been aware, I would have been way nicer to her as a child…I never would have pulled her head off or stripped her bare, throwing her under the bed like some plastic, giant-breasted , crackhead crime victim. You know, our elder citizens deserve respect, right? And who would have guessed weeks ago when I saw Geriatric Barbie at Nassau Coliseum, that she was right on with her burnt out look...she was channeling the real geriatric Barbie! Well, let me tell you…I am not one of those doll collector freaks with a n 8,000 square foot warehouse dedicated to Barbie’s wardrobe and accessories and all that….Still, she was one of my favorite toys as a kid, but not until I was actually a little older…back in the fourth grade when I met my real soul sister and BFF, Allison, who happened to have in her possession the most extensive and pristine collection of Barbies and fashion figure dolls…and around them we built countless hours of drama. But back to that in a few….


Being the fourth of five children and the third and youngest girl, I didn’t really have very many of my “own” toys when I was little…you know, I was three and four and five and I was playing with my sisters’ things, not really age-appropriate, but who really knew from that stuff back then anyway? (Ok…a little aside, I can hear my sister Cathleen groaning at her monitor and my brother Dan playing his tiny violin…so I will say it, I may not have had my own toys in the early years, but I did get a car on my 17th birthday…which they did not…Ok, done…back to the story….). I went to town on their Clackers (remember those? Hello, safety risk…how many kids ended up in the hospital after whipping those little weapons back and forth at lightening speed?) and I always got the strings irreversibly twisted and knotted. I played with their board games –Life and Clue and Sorry ….and I totally lost every piece and ripped and bent every playing card. Mostly I remember sharing the little crappy portable record player with Trish upon which she spun David Cassidy (another hot Pisces born in March...) albums endlessly… Still, to this minute, I can sing from memory every word to “I Think I Love You”…I’m afraid that I’m not sure of a love there is no cure for ….Anyway, so in my house the thought of having a collection of any well-kept toy all to myself was a fantasy. So I spent my time reading Cath’s hand-me-down books, writing original stories on lined loose-leaf pages and watching Elvis movies on Channel 5…

But in 1979 I met Allison…and she was an only daughter, younger sister of two brothers. She had all the coolest toys and clothes and her mom even let us eat Fluffer-Nutter and Twinkies and Krimpets and Charles potato chips for after-school snacks (Pat Ritt was totally in her no soda/no chips/no refined sugar stage in 1979…more like: No Fun...). I remember our first play date (don’t think they called them that then, but whatever…), Allison had on Jordache jeans over a black Danskin body suit with the most awesomely cheesy set of rainbow suspenders, a la Mork from Ork. And we went right into her room and she pulled out the collection of dolls…there was Ballerina Barbie, Malibu Barbie, Bridal Barbie, Brunette Barbie (aka Slutty Barbie), Francine (Barbie’s BFF), Growing-Up Skipper (with the twist of her arm this poor doll grew taller and sprouted a set of B-cups…), Malibu Ken (looking like a 70’s gay porn star), Bearded Ken (HA!…that is even gayer!!). On top of that, she also had the Donny and Marie dolls and the Cher doll. It was like a Vegas drag show fantasy all tucked away in her closet.

So, without words or plans, we just sat down and launched into this full-on Barbie-centric soap opera…the Barbies were all sisters and they were all fighting over Malibu (Gay) Ken. Malibu Barbie tossed him out for sleeping with Brunette Barbie…and that’s when Ballerina Barbie came into the picture with her permanently in-place crown and Bearded Ken by her side (maybe he was a ballet dancer too…explains a lot…). So Ballerina Barbie tried to make peace….until Brunette Barbie made a play for Bearded Ken too. All the other sisters were in a tizzy…Skipper ran away to Oregon with that Rajneesh cult…Francine moved back in with her alcoholic parents…and Bridal Barbie was pissed that her wedding kept getting postponed…it was a sh*t show. Meanwhile, next door lived Donny and Marie, who we decided were not siblings, but husband and wife…gross, I know…and Cher was messing around with Donny, so Marie lost her sh*t and chopped all her hair off (egged on by me and Allison, by the way…) and then ended up in a sanitarium. Cher became bored with Donny and dumped him, leaving him homeless, and moved on to Gay Ken…even in our fourth grade fantasy game, Cher was a gay icon…And don’t even get me started on what happened when that call girl/starlet Tiffany Taylor with her sinister blond/brunette switcheroo hairdo moved to town…

Now you may wonder how a set of 9 year old girls could derive such stories from our innocent brains…well, as I said I was the fourth of five and also had started reading Judy Blume by the time I was 8, getting all the skinny on naughty things teens 
and preteens think and do…hey, at least I was reading. And Allison, as it turned out, spent her impressionable pre-school years with her grandmother, Margie Fillipelli, taking in day after day of Margie’s “stories” her fave, the craptastic Days of Our Lives (Marlena and Roman!!)…this experience gave birth to our adulterous/wife swapping storylines. And to top that off, every Friday night Al would sit on the couch and watch Dallas with her mom…which in turn introduced us to the terms alcoholic and sanitarium (Thanks, Sue Ellen!). 


Oh, wait…one little aside…who knew how on-point Allison and I would be in our characterization of Marie Osmond...in real life back then she all virginal and an American sweetheart with her toothy grin and “Little Bit Country…” dreck.…It was decades before anyone realized she was off her friggin’ Mormon rocker with her 8 kids and porcelain doll line and drag queen makeup and wigs, popping pharmaceuticals left and right. Ok, ok…she has bounced back a little with her 40-pound weight loss and Vegas sibling act with Donny. But you have to admit, Allison and I called it back in ’79….back when Barbie was a young, fresh-faced 20 year old college student/supermodel/beauty queen/beach bum/rock star…. and so was Marie...

But you know, despite our efforts to smear Barbie’s rep, take down her family, out the Kens and create our own little episode of Intervention (hey, with Ken Seeley!!) on Allison’s yellowy-orangey-fuchsia-y 70’s shag rug…we loved Barbie…and we looked up to her. Ok, so she is a little vapid and kind of looked like some Hollywood trophy wife with a silicone addiction…And maybe her Dream House was decorated like some disco-themed bachelor pad, and her boyfriend was more interested in sharing her shoes than her bed....And even though the stories we built around the dolls were so twisted and outlandish and silly and really not at all how most adults actually live (well, maybe in LA…but that’s it…)….you know what, clearly Barbie inspired our 9 year old creativity and imagination like no other had at that point…and I guess that makes her kind of cool, doesn't it? Maybe Barbie actually is an empowering feminist icon…maybe she’s not such a ditz after all….and now Barbie -- and hell, Marie too, while we are at it -- are onto the next half of their lives…and 50 is looking pretty hot from my vantage point.

So I have been thinking (hoping?)…maybe this getting older thing really is about getting better...I think I can be talked into that....And well, if nothing else, there’s always going crazy, chopping my hair off and ending up in the sanitarium to look forward to...that and Botox, right, Marie?


Photo 1: Red velvet deliciousness for me and my girls...washed down with Prosecco...even better...
Photo 2: Barbie circa 1959...pre-Ken, pre-Skipper, pre-Malibu...pre-rehab...
Photo 3: Nunchuks for the elementary school set...damn things could crack your skull...
Photo 4: Teen Idol...cute and smirky with awesome hair...still works 35 years later....
Photo 5: Ritt contraband circa '79...must have had 8 of those upon every visit to Allison's...
Photo 6: Style icon and trendsetter...Mork sporting his signature rainbow flag suspenders...surprised Bearded Ken didn't have a pair of those...
Photo 7: Malibu Barbie and Gay Ken...just kidding...Ken's not gay...gay guys are waaay too tasteful to wear neon mesh and pookah shell necklaces...
Photo 8: That homewrecker, Cher...wreaking havoc on the '70's variety show world...
Photo 9: "Like sands through the hourglass...." How many Days did we waste sitting in front of that crap?
Photo 10: Tranny Marie and her evil porcelain doll doppelganger...creepy, man...
Photo 11: Me at age 9...that rocking tan clearly the reason why Botox is beginning to seem appealing....