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?