But You're Still Here Somehow...

I cannot begin to count how many of you emailed and texted and called and bee-lined over to me at Abma’s Farm Market and in the salon and at church and in the new mega Stop & Shop (ugly behemoth eyesore…but I do love the ginormous selection…) to process the sad loss this past weekend of the multi-talented, Bea Arthur. My sister, Cath, was first, of course, because we are in a long-running competition to scoop one another and all of our friends on major celeb news and developments and Hollywood scandals…so I expected that. The rest of you fell into line subsequently…Kathleen and I worrying that after Jerry Orbach and Harvey Korman and Bea Arthur, was the full on murder of our childhood also imminent? (no, that already took place when Pa Ingalls died…damn, I am welling up again…let’s move on…). Oh, and of course upon hearing of Bea’s death, Amber and I went to work devising a new marketing strategy and spokesperson profile for our team’s soon to be released product, Winter’s Dawn (we are thinking Florence Henderson, by the way, ladies…thoughts?). But when I was sought out by my next door neighbor, with whom I usually only exchange pleasantries and Christmas cards, I knew something was up.

So I wondered if it had to do with the fact that, just a few weeks back, in a fit of bored procrastination, I took the Facebook quiz: “Which Golden Girl Are You?” and I scored: Dorothy Zbornak. And though I kind of hoped for Blanche Deveraux (that saucy minx…), the whole Dorothy thing didn’t surprise me…Bea's Dorothy may have been the manly, unattractive loudmouth of the group, but she was also the wisest and most cultured and well-read and she loved to eat and, most appropriately, her barbs and putdowns blew all those other old bitties' a**es out of the water…you know it’s true…so, ok, I’ll be Dorothy…By the way…just an aside on the Facebook quizzes, which I despise and think are as stupid as hell, but which I take all the time…I am also: Carrie Bradshaw from “Which Sex & the City Character Are You?”…witty "It" girl, ok, I’m in… Violet in “Which Crayon Color Are You?”…definitely, nailed me completely…. Regina George, Queen Bee in "Which Mean Girl Are You?"...ok, I will accept some parallels.... Ross Geller from “Which Friends Character Are You?”… whiny, brainy Jewish guy…uhhh, really?….Carl the Janitor ("I am the eyes and ears of this institution...") from “Which Breakfast Club Character Are You?”…What. The. F&@% ??? I sh*t you not…that was my result and I almost died… and lastly, no surprise, I am also Courtney Love in “Which Crazy B*tch Are You?” (…actually, truth be told, I scored a Suz Ritt in that one, but I demanded a recount….).

But I know the real reason all of you were calling and writing and stopping me about Bea…because we needed to process, that's all…we needed to share a moment of remembrance and appreciation for yet another great, talented American icon. Ok, so Bea is a 5 on the scale of 1 to 10 when we are talking icons...but still, she rates...and she is a part of our history...a fixture. So, as you might expect, this all made me think of all those other times that I was the recipient of a "celebrity tragedy" phone call.... like the time I was sitting in my brand new desk on my very first day in my very first PR gal job when Rob called and told me about Jerry Garcia...and I was at my second PR job, the fabulous Kratz & Company, when RJ emailed me to check on that new CNN internet site and read all about it -- Phil Hartman had died – and I stood up and announced the shocking details across the office, over the cubicles and that creaky spiral staircase, to my Kratz BFF, Jim, and everyone gasped... oh, and that late summer night we were up in Greenwich enjoying a Labor Day Weekend steak night at HG’s club with Al and Kev, when Trish rang us up on our brandy-new 500-pound cell phone to tell us that Princess Diana had been in an accident...and we all know what a massive pop culture vs. political clusterf&%$ that whole thing turned out to be....the stuff juicy, delicious celeb scandals only dream to become. And we all felt the sting... But of course, I most recall that first time I was on the receiving end of "the call"...one's first time always has the greatest impact, no? Well, this one was a biggie....

It was August of 1977, in Courtney Walsh’s cellar, her mom doing the laundry while we played with the Easy Bake Oven…and the phone rang and Courtney’s mom says hello and it was apparent she was talking to my mom…and when she hung up she said to the two of us, then aged seven: “Your mom wanted me to tell you -- that famous rock and roll singer died…” and (let me remind you, I am seven) I say: “Do you mean Elvis Presley?” and she’s goes: “Yes, that’s the one!” and as my heart dropped and my bottom lip began to quiver, I thought: how could that happen? I just saw him in Viva Las Vegas on Channel 5 last weekend…he was singing and riding a Harley and punching guys out and getting the girl. He’s a star…how could he be dead? Even at age seven the denial just took over…. Mrs. Walsh seemed unfazed and went back to folding and Courtney just shrugged and then squeezed that nasty pouch of chocolate frosting onto our Easy Bake cake…but I was changed forever…I walked home so I could be with my mom…and process the moment with someone who got it…someone who also thought Elvis was the coolest guy ever. And I cried in her lap...because I didn't understand...

Ok…so I was a weird seven year old… but, you know, I am not alone in this thing...we all create these heroes in our minds…and we believe in the image. I was a kid…I thought Elvis Presley really was a handsome rebel from the wrong side of the tracks who always won barroom brawls and could sing like some kind of angel or deity (I was right on that account…), a guy who always did the honorable thing. And I totally bought the charming n'er-do-well act he had working with the ladies… In fact, I am quite certain his onscreen persona shaped my romantic tastes as I aged…you know, my pathetic yet incurable soft spot for bad boys and their secret, vulnerable little hearts of gold….all thanks to EP...

But what I didn’t know at age seven, of course, was that it was all a fantasy…that Elvis was flawed…a tortured artist. He was in pain and unfulfilled and insecure and over-medicating…and he was real. And back then no one wanted to know the truth...nobody wanted to know that this larger than life supernova megastar was actually human. You know, even now in this age of "all news, all the time" and constant information from the internet and gossip blogs about the latest panty-less starlet having a meth rage in front of the paparazzi while CNN runs the tape on a loop for 24 hours straight...even now we want to believe celebs are somehow immune from problems of any sort. And when something happens, when a "celebrity scandal" erupts...we know about it in real time anyway. So what a hidden blessing for Elvis that he made his final exit prior to this wild information age...you know, because it took a while for the true story of his wasteful death to come out...to be known by the masses. But because we had time to get used to the idea, we learned from the truth, right? We learned that our icons and superstars and celebs live private lives just like we do...and that their losses and screw ups and embarrassing deaths on bathroom floors (I still refuse to accept the toilet story, so hold your comments…) can teach us something about who we are and what we value in life...about those whom we make our heroes.

And though Bea was no Elvis, she was still a role model and tastemaker in some sense...feminist symbol and great thinker as Maude...and loving yet sharp-tongued geriatric BFF as Dorothy Zbornak...she represented a whole new kind of woman to we little girls born in the '70's...and she may very well have been the first high-profile woman we knew who taught us to have opinions and individual thoughts and to be true to ourselves regardless of the ramifications and to always be there for our best girlfriends (well, other than Mary Richards and Rhoda Morgenstern, of course...)...and that solving your romantic/money/family/professional/philosophical problems while shedding a few tears over a cheesecake is never a bad thing... So I can see why so many of you wanted to mourn her with me...makes total sense...

So these days I use the Elvis "death by polypharmacy" story as a cautionary tale and life lesson for Ellie, Tim and Will...and I am pretty certain I have disgusted and frightened them enough to assume they will never seek fame, never allow others to own more than 10% of their image and likeness and will never, ever take anything stronger than Advil for more than 3 days. See...I told you that we learn a lot from the choices and outcomes of our fallen idols...

So last night I took the Facebook quiz "Which Tragic American Icon Are You?"...and I tried my best to fix my answers and manipulate the results…I was hoping for Elvis…but I would have taken Marilyn Monroe or Mama Cass or Natalie Wood or Janice Joplin or Kurt Cobain….hell, I would have even accepted that little Buffy from Family Affair. But no…no such luck... Care to guess who I am?........

Carl the Janitor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Photos:

1. Idols: The Golden Girls...

2. Legend: Pa Ingalls

3. Superstar: Carrie Bradshaw...

4. Basketcase: Courtney Love

5. Genius: Phil Hartman

6. Goddess: Diana...

7 - 9. Mega Icon: All hail, The King...

10. Madwoman: Bald Britney
11. Trailblazer: Bea...

12. Free Spirit: Mama Cass

13. Flawless Beauty: Natalie Wood

14. Lord of All: Carl the Janitor....can't get enough of him....

I'm Twenty-two For a Moment...

I know, I know....we haven't spoken since before the annual Holy Thursday/Last Supper dive bar extravaganza....and as is the case every year, my favorites turned out at Nancy Whiskey...and some extra special surprises greeted me...and that always makes the night all the more celebratory. The electrician's union and Internal Affairs Division chatted us up and told us we were beautiful...and we received a few marriage proposals before the night was over, of course...so it was a good time all around. And on top of that, thanks to RJP, we have added an addendum to the tradition -- closing the night at 

RD Benders...a NJ dive that may actually rival Nancy in its divey-ness...So, all of you who have lamented missing out this year, you can put this date on your calendar now: Thursday, April 1, 2010....I am talking to you Bridget Breen....

So, this weekend I did something I have not done in 17 years...secretly...in an upstairs dorm room on the campus of the great Stonehill College, my beloved alma mater. And even though I was a little out of practice, the technique comes back pretty quickly....and, in fact, I even enjoyed it once the initial nervous guilt dissipated. Oh, wait...wait...no...not that.... Come on, boys, I wouldn't go that route two weeks in a row...especially when my writing must have been so shrouded in mystery last week that TL and Big both thought I actually did buy a cookbook from the d***o saleswoman...no, I can't go another week speaking in code...And anyway, this was much better than that....

I hit the campus for Spring Weekend and I drank a Busch Light in Quincy House...

Can't be beat....

Ok, let me rewind a tad and explain how I found myself literally in the exact same spot I was on

this very date in 1992...and on what was arguably the biggest party weekend of the entire school year at Stonehill. How lucky was I? You know...I would bet that each one of us has thought about this over the years since college graduation, right? No matter what college or university we attended, we have all wondered what it might be like to once again be able to, without a care, crack open a beer with your roommates and best friends on a warm sunny weekend, playing hacky sack in the courtyard, music blasting out the windows. And I had no idea that I would have even a small chance of reliving it....in fact, it was all sort of a random course of events that put it into place....

A few weeks ago my friend and fellow Stonehill alum, guitarist and kickass DJ, Red Matt, had posted an invitation to his gig this past Friday, which was taking place at this little neighborhood spot, The Village Manor (kind of divey, though not compared to my fave, Nancy, of course...), up 

in Dedham, MA. And I was thinking, you know, Matt has always been so nice about reading and commenting on my blogs, and I just couldn't resist the chance to go and see him in action...and play the groupie/fan/supportive college buddy...So I rounded up Rob as my travel companion, Megan and Mike as our sitters (and on opening weekend at Winged Foot, no less...) and made plans to meet Jeanne and Bob at The Village Manor. And then, I realized that TL and his wife, JL, live in Dedham with their two kids...and once TL and I hatched a pre-gig cocktails on his living room couch plan, that sealed it...I was heading north for a 24 hour road trip.

So on the way up, we were making great time on 95 in the little blue Jag...barely even arguing over my CD selection (and yes, I did force him to listen to a little 

Backstreet Boys....)...and my mission was to get to that Stonehill Bookstore before it closed so that I could bring my babies back some branded merchandise as a little road trip souvenir. I am a complete dork in that sense, by the way...I have been dressing them in Stonehill-wear since they were little babies...and if you ask any one of my kids where they are going to college they don't even hesitate...in fact, they are almost like "duh...Stonehill, of course..." And you know, this kind of bugs their dad who already has Ellie on a plane to Pepperdine School of Law, Tim running the Ivy Club's Spring Bicker at Princeton and Will the pledge master of the DKE chapter at Vanderbilt...Ok, maybe someday I will wrap my head around that possibility...but for now, it's Stonehill all the way. So at any rate, I am driving down Route 138, passing my Freshman/Sophomore dorm, The Sem...Rob rolling his eyes as I recount with delight the stories of the Woods and Dorm Feud and the Sem Brunch...and as we make the right into the campus entrance and head towards the 

bookstore, I cannot help but notice the activity on this gorgeous day...girls in running clothes by the old caf...kids practicing lacrosse and football and wrestling (yes, dead serious...) on the quad outside Duffy...the picnic tables outside Otis overflowing with cute young boys (hopefully none harboring of those nasty crabs that seemed to always plague Otis House guys...)...and the lawn in front of Boland covered with sunbathers...I turned to Rob and said: "the guys certainly didn't look this good when I was here..."

So we park behind Boland and hop out...noticing a gaggle of students standing outside Quincy House, blasting their music and tossing a football and chatting and having fun. And as I stood there waiting for Rob and checking email on my handheld before heading down the steps of the bookstore, this is what I hear:

"Hey, Suzanne! Suzanne!"

And though I know that I am 17 years out from graduation day...and though I am actually kind of a little bit old enough to mother some of these kids...I couldn't help but believe the fantasy -- damn, everyone still knows me here! And as I focus on the figure who is waving at me in her collegiate one-length hair, Ray-Ban Aviators and Lilly Pulitzer mini skirt...I see that it is my girl Kaitlyn...one of the students we met in March...the girl from Garden City who sat next to me at Jersey Boys and chatted it up at dinner with Tappers...the one who was born one week after my 18th birthday...Kaitlyn Rose, my girl. We ran to one another and hugged and squealed as though we were separated at birth. And we giggled and chatted and caught up...and Kaitlyn's roommate, Kathleen of Fairfield, CT, came over and I introduced them both to Rob...and they tell us that it is, in fact, Spring Weekend...the legendary social hallmark of a Stonehill education...lots of events and outdoor drinking and usually a big concert...Back in the '90's we had Meatloaf and Ziggy Marley and thermoses filled 

with pineapple rum concoctions and Woods parties and poison ivy....This year at Stonehill they were having restricted parties and canceled condom giveaways (what? sex at a Catholic college? God forbid!) and dry townhouses and no open containers and gangster rap group/Oscar winners, Three 6 Mafia, whose lyrics include "put my **** in your m***h" and "whack that b*tch"...catchy, right? The girls told us there was a

rumor the band would walk off if the audience wasn't "diverse" enough....these guys knew they were playing Stonehill, right?????????????? Anyway...as we wrapped up our chit chat and started to head down the bookstore stairs, Kaitlyn says: "Come back to Quincy afterwards and have a drink with us..." Like music (not Three 6 Mafia music though...) to my ears.

So I rush Rob through the shopping process...slim pickins by the way, the kids each got a Stonehill blanket due to the derth in T-shirt choices...and I only spent $115...such a committed alumnus...And so, we head back up so we can take Kaitlyn up on her gracious beverage offer...and I walk smack-dab into fellow '92 grad and legendary rockthrower, Dennis C....and we are both totally dumbfounded, in some 1992 Twilight Zone or time warp...And we are all befuddled as we say hello and ask one another what we are doing there...and Denn-O turns and to his companion, who, it turns out, was Paul S....another '92 grad. Neither of them had been on campus in years and just randomly decided to do a drop-by...and here we all were, at once...and on Spring Weekend, no less. I wondered if they considered sticking around, getting piss drunk and beating the living daylights out of some smaller, weaker opponent as was their Spring Weekend tradition back in the day...or maybe one of their buddies would return and defecate publicly in Commonwealth Court...hope so! This was some kind of g**damn bizarro world anyway, so why not...

So we meet back up with Kaitlyn (after a quick hello with my little Stonehill boyfriend, Justin, newly shaven head, on his way to some music class....) and we enter the front door of Quincy House...and the memories just flooded back. Bryan, Brian, Red Matt and Preston lived over in Quincy/Phipps...and we Orleans girls drank and partied to varying degrees in their rooms every single weekend, singing loudly along with Carly Simon and "Anticipation" (And stay right here, cause these are the good old days...)...Quincy/Phipps was home to the hallucinogenic beer tap and many, MANY sick nights. I think Heidi and I each got ourselves punched in the eye one Spring Weekend when we tried to get between Bryan and Red Matt who were seriously duking it out over the CD selection...but I know for certain that they hosted a "Come As You Are" party Saturday morning, Spring Weekend 1992...8 a.m., drinking rotted out keg beer in our pajamas and bedhead.

And as Kaitlyn and Kathleen walked us upstairs, I took notice of how much had not changed...the mangey rug, for one, which I am quite certain has not been replaced since TL was a student...and that stale beer stench mixed with sweaty collegiate boy smell...and there were girls running around the halls wrapped in towels, not a care in the world...and the pictures in collages on the walls -- they could have had our faces on them because the poses were the same...the moments unchanged all these years later. I was wondering if maybe Bryan and Brian's hallucinogenic tap was stuck in a closet somewhere...now that is a relic I would love to retrieve...

And so we popped open a frosty can of Busch Light together around some table at which they played some beer dice game...and I regaled them with stories of Stonehill Days-Gone-By...like the time Ziggy Marley and his ratty dreadlocks played Spring Weekend and one of the Otis House girls (questionable morals over there...) hopped onto his tour bus and proudly serviced him over at the Holiday Inn in Brockton (such an elegant young lady...)...and then, thinly veiled, said girl reported the experience on WSHL that following week, thanks to Jeanne and Michelle who hosted a reggae show on Tuesday mornings...And Kaitlyn and Kathleen and their posse hooked me up with some campus gossip and inside scoop on the girl with whom they are friendly who had just been "transported" from the caf for being falling-down drunk and how she missed her final report presentation in some Marketing class and how screwed she was...for many reasons apparently. And all the while I am savoring my delicious Busch Light...And their friends came in and out, and Rob and I pretended to one girl that we were the parents of the other and she was all impressed that we were so young, but not at all fazed that we were drinking cheap beer with our "daughter"...

And it just totally took me back...and even though I am always incredibly envious of 21 year old, fresh-faced college girls, I was even more so of these girls...this whole group who just replaced

the generations of us prior...those of us who all feel like we have a claim on our old campuses and Spring Weekends and the Bookstores and Quincy Houses...I wanted to tell them to cherish every second (these are the good old days...)...but somehow I think they knew how lucky they were because I was sitting there with them...a ghost of Stonehill past...here getting my kids branded souvenirs...up to see an old Stonehill buddy perform an acoustic set...having pre-gig cocktails with the TLs...and maybe someday kind of soon I might be dropping Ellie or Tim or Will off at Quincy House (probably Ellie...hey, that damn rug better be changed by then...TL, get on that, by the way...). But there I was...with all of that history and water under the bridge...and dammit, I still couldn't deny the allure of swilling a cheap crap Busch Light in a dark rickety townhouse. Heaven on earth...You know...and someday Kaitlyn and Kathleen and the Quincy '09 gang might just be me...and I don't think that frightened them to the core...which is good, no?

So the rest of the 24 hour road trip went by in a whirlwind...best of all of course was visiting the TLs in their beautiful home...yummy champagne, festive Dark & Stormies and a big tray of sushi (yeah, I know...I expected them to serve us Froot Loops and Gatorade too....). And of course JL and I played "who do you know" and later they entertained me with delicious tales of their wedding at The Popponesset Inn back in '94...(thanks for the ammo, by the way...), as their industrious young son played mixologist...I am all for training the kids early a la Joan Crawford. And we laughed and socialized further and further into the evening...topping off a few too many times...so of course we ended up as late arrivals at Red Matt's show at The Village Manor....better late than never, right? So we caught up with Jeanne and Bob and a whole 90's-era Sem contingent -- Rachel (Mrs. Red Matt) and Amy and Theresa and MaryKate -- 

while Matt got his Gordon Lightfoot on (if you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts would tell...). And we had a great time catching up and sharing toasts and pictures and giggles about the old days...but it was my story of the Bookstore and Spring Weekend and Denn-O and the Busch Light at Quincy House that brought out those most longing looks and unabashed envy. So the gang peppered me with questions and we recounted those Spring Weekend memories...And of course, no surprise here, each one of us agreed that we would give just about anything -- within reason, of course -- to transport back to those days...hang on the lawn in front of Quincy and fill a thermos with hangover-inducing pineapple rum and have a crack at that hallucinogenic tap and a "Come As You Are" party and a kiss-and-tell WSHL interview with a trampy Otis House chick...even if it meant we had to listen to Three 6 Mafia....

Well...maybe that's going a little far....

xo, Suz

Photos 1 and 2:  In various celebratory stages with my disciples, big sis, Cath, and RJP, at The Last Supper...

Photo 3:  Upstairs at Quincy....a little Busch Light, collages on the walls...feels like '92 all over again...Rob doing his part to fit in with the collegiate baseball cap...

Photo 4:  Spring Weekend 1992...starting the party in a She-She/J9 sandwich...

Photo 5:  Red Matt and me in '07, fifteen years out and still longing for that hallucinogenic tap and Quincy House shenanigans...

Photo 6:  My jealous and possessive 5 and a half year old, Will, buttering up his best gal with his "Stonehill" branded wardrobe...

Photo 7:  I told you the Stonehill boys keep getting hotter...and I am guessing none of those guys have a case of the Otis crabs...

Photo 8:  Kaitlyn (right) and friend showering us with welcomes and greetings this Spring Weekend...

Photo 9:  Spring Weekend 1992, Commonwealth Court...endless debauchery..

Photo 10:  The lovely gentlemen of Three 6 Mafia...Ok, free condoms banned at Stonehill, but live gangster rap?  Not an issue whatsoever!
Photo 11: Some Orleans girls with the Quincy boys, Bryan, Brian, Preston and Red Matt...Michelle and I perched in the center, sitting on top of the keg...

Photo 12:  Spring Weekend 1992 with the Nantucket House guys....rugs, paint, furniture, probably even the sheets...all still there today...

Photo 13:  A very happy Ziggy Marley...after a return visit to Otis House, no doubt...

Photo 14:  Kathleen and Kaitlyn, our Quincy hostesses...these are the good old days...

Photo 15:  Round upon round of Dark 'N Stormies...TL threw those three back in one sitting...

Photo 16:  Gordon Lightfoot, the Red Matt of the '70's...

The VERY Happy Homemaker...

There are so many things I cannot tell you about last Friday night's Passion Party (or, well, as it turns out it was actually called, Slumber Party)....not because I am embarrassed or shy or too prudish (me?) or because there weren't countless naughty and riotous little tidbits to share...No, no...it's mostly because I know that the large majority of you click the link to this blog while you are enjoying a morning latte and a little Vanilla Almond Special K (or Froot Loops and Gatorade in TL's case....) from your office or the teacher's lounge or the trading desk or the board meeting...and I am guessing some of you guys even enjoy a little light blog reading while logged onto your wife's computer. And I am not in the business of getting anyone fired or placed permanently in the doghouse...or worse yet, none of us wants the compliance guys to be monitoring how many times you click on the selection of questionable photos that might illustrate such tidbits....Hell, some of you ARE compliance guys...

So instead, I will speak in code...fair deal, guys? Because I know you want to know all the details...
Let me rewind a little though and first discuss Friday afternoon...my girl Stacey (charter member of TL's Harem) was hosting a little shopping day at her home with some friends from the fashion biz....and she invited me to attend, not because I needed gobs of fancy and impractical and expensive clothes for girls ages birth to 7 years from lilswanky.com (Ellie is 9...but Gabby scored...)...No, Stacey invited me because she knew I'd kick back with a couple of glasses of champers and entertain her friends with my stories of being brain-dead and distracted and all over the place. My stories of severed fingers and birth control methods and hot tub couples and sweat shop manicure/massages (remember that???). And so that is what I did...and while her friends cut their Veuve Clicquot with Tropicana, Stacey, Bridget (our other Holy Angels sister) and I pounded it straight...and everyone was enjoying the chit chat and our stories from back in the day at all-girls' school.... our bratty, fickle teenage girl ways that we still can't seem to shake (...anyone care to join the Heathers in Minnesota for an epic seduction???)...And as we covered one wicked subject after another, all I could think was -- these two b*tches really need to come to this Passion/Slumber Party tonight...these two will have me on the floor laughing before the first v*****or makes it off the presentation table. And the other party friends eventually became quiet as we played out our little three-way routine...and then one of them remarked on our chemistry and level of comfort with one another and how, after all these years since graduating, we still cracked up at each others' jokes and finished each others' sentences...and I said: "It's because we are soul sisters...there is no other being as loyal and no other bond as strong as this..." Am I right, Angels? So Friday started out really well….

Ok… speaking of female bonding....

The Passion/Slumber Party hostess was named Suzanne. What are the odds, for crissakes? There aren't quite so many of us, you know....but of course this quasi-madame/d***do saleswoman shared my "Christian" name...and as you can imagine, that made for quite a lot of confusion...on my part mostly. While Suzanne did her presentation, demo-ing gels and lotions and edible oils (K was all about the edibles, all night long...we are not “gourmets,” Miss K, we are “wh*re-mets”…) and rubs and games and, oh right, some raspberry flavored thing called Bosom Buddy...bet you can figure that one out...yeah, these products leave little to the imagination. But, the thing was, every time my friends had a question for Suzanne -- "Suzanne, what is the best seller?"...."Suzanne, how many speeds does that one have?"...."Suzanne, is this gel supposed to make my tongue tingle?"...."Suzanne, why do these come in purple and pink and not flesh color?" (one of the girls really asked that...my ribs still hurt from the endless laughter that gem inspired...) -- I was all taken aback and startled and I'd be like: "I have no idea! Why are you asking me?" Every time...every damn time. And that was after we had all differentiated ourselves at Suzanne's suggestion and picked "stripper" names or whatever they were supposed to be...actually, they were more like those Freshman Orientation ice breaker names (Manic Mary, Crazy Chris, Fun Frank...)...For the Passion/Slumber Party I was "Slap Me Suz"....and frankly, my alias was the most suggestive of all...Suse went the safe route with "Sexy Susan"...But "Gyrating Jen" was inspired, I must say....

So, since I was sitting at the far left-hand end of the circle, the "products" would make their way around to me so that I could place them in Suzanne's carrying case once everyone had a chance to manhandle the samples....manhandle is definitely the right word, by the way. Anyway, as they made their way around I would mark down comments that my friends would make so that I wouldn't forget...so that I could out them all to you. You know...things like: "I have stuff all over me."..."Wow! it's ticklish!"..."This does nothing for me."...But it was T's reaction to the Couples Poker Game with its evocative little messages imprinted on poker chips that had me wetting myself. She sort of gets lost in thought as she looks at the game cards and chips and rule book and out of nowhere she says, without a hint of sarcasm: "Well, Jim (her husband) really likes poker..." I thought I might die gasping for air after that one...effing hilarious...That was even better when L said: "It must be the new model...the old one doesn't have flashing lights. This one’s like a pyrotechnic show for the bedroom."

So I sat on the end there, kind of zoning out with my champagne and my pen and pad...and I wasn't really taking in all that Suzanne had to say...you know, maybe because I was still confused every time anyone addressed her. So, I kept making pithy cracks every time she demo-ed some newfangled electronic product that made me blush and giggle...I mean, hell, you cannot shake the images that are playing in your head while she describes...well, I couldn't. And I am thinking...you know, I may write all about my antics week after week...but truth be told, I am extra secretive...and, well, it takes a lot for me to reveal what I am thinking…especially private thoughts. You know, I have to be uber-committed and totally secure before I open up…and like anyone else, it is hard and painful (no pun!) for me to pour my heart out...though, I think we can all agree -- silence is worse.... So yeah, it seemed I would need a few more glasses of champagne to start shooting serious questions at Suzanne.

It was about halfway through when the girls passed over a little paperback book with a pickle on the cover...yes, again, not very subtle...and this was it...the product that finally captivated me. I have always loved books….loved visually taking in information and narratives and details and revelations. When I was a kid I would spend late summer afternoons hiding upstairs under the covers while Trish and RJ would be riding bikes and swimming and playing Wiffle ball and Manhunt and all that. And I would be ignoring my mom’s pleas for me to get out of the house because I was so taken with The Great Brain books and The All-Of-A-Kind Family series…and as I grew it was Judy Blume (hey, come to think of it, her books were kind of like little Passion/Slumber Parties for ‘tweens, you know what I’m saying???…so it all comes full-circle…)…And then in college my friends would be pouring over text books and papers and some crazy-ass financial matrix…and I would be reading…anything and everything…and oftentimes not the poetry and modern lit and indecipherable Middle English passages (In th' olde dayes of the kyng arthour, Of which that britons speken greet honour, Al was this land fulfild of fayerye…."Wife of Bath’s Tale.") assigned by Professors Estrin and Shelley and Chapman-Peek (but I always read the ones assigned by Professor Conboy, I swear!!). And the Orleans girls would be so envious of me…so jealous that in my major I got to do the two things I loved the most: read and write. I told you English majors were the smartest. And now that I am here…years out from “having” to read…every night I get into bed with my two best guys…my babies…and every night we read (sometimes it’s just the credits on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives…) and now they love to read too…So, it’s clear -- I think books are great…

So I latched onto this “pickle” book as soon as I had it in my hot little hands….ugh, so unintentionally suggestive…sorry. Anyway, I couldn't put it down. And no, there were no photos or centerfolds or anything...it was an instructional manual of sorts...and I found it incredibly informative...eye-opening even. I didn't look up from it until Suzanne's demo had come to a close.

Yes...I am telling the truth...I went to an adult products party and the one item I couldn't do without was a book....How hot am I?

Well, you can laugh at my conservative choice all you want and make your little comments...but let me assure you, with the purchase of said book, there is no question that I will be by far the most well-schooled of all my girlfriends in the (blank) and (blanking) and how to (blank) and which (blank blank) techniques are most effective and when it is best to (blank the blank) and which angles make the (blank blank blank) and what happens when you (blank blank blank blank blank blank). Right? I mean, in the long run....isn't education and schooling, hand in hand with application and skill, what truly makes one an expert? And doesn't knowledge and appreciation really make every experience the best it can be? Yeah....I thought you might agree...

Oh wait…wait a second…you guys don’t think it was a “sex ed” book or anything, do you? Oh god, no…please…it was a cookbook….I mean, I’ve told you how much I love food porn, haven’t I? It must have gotten mixed up with Suzanne’s Pampered Chef party materials (she is an industrious lady, that Suzanne…). The book was all about pickling…pickling spices and equipment and how to serve pickles and how people prefer to have their pickles stored and handled and ingested…I mean, I needed some guidance on that…who doesn’t? One can always use a refresher, no? Right…a refresher…a pickle refresher…

So…do you think your compliance guys bought my disclaimer??

Triple xxx's and many oooooo's,

Slap Me Suz

PS  I’ll tell you the rest of the story when Sam and I see you at Nancy Whiskey this Thursday the 9th…

Photo 1: My actual breakfast this Sunday at Bar Breton with Cath and my bevy of boys...big a**ed iced coffee the essential component...

Photo 2: Angel soul sister, party hostess and harem concubine, Stacey and me...can't you tell what incredibly appropriate influences we are on one another...I'll carry you home from Nancy, Stace, I promise!!

Photo 3: Miss K with party acoutrements all blurred out...were they edible though, K? By the way...K and I are in a church group together too...it's always the quiet ones....

Photo 4: Don't ask me what is taking place here...my head was buried in a book...maybe that pyrotechnic show was extra blinding????  Right...that's what it was...

Photo 5: Me and my name tag...proof of my stint as "Slap Me Suz"...notice the flute chock full of champers to loosen me up...

Photo 6: Actual Couples Poker Game pieces...the cleanest one I could find in the stack...enjoy those, Jim!

Photo 7: Another pyrotechnic show...but you get the idea...no?

Photo 8: Still have those books...still read them...won't even let my kids touch them...

Photo 9: Reading...writing...Brother Mike's...hanging with Jeanne...best years of my life...long before "Slumber Party" took on a new meaning...

Photo 10: Me and my best guys...mostly read the menu together that day...again with the giant iced coffee...

Photo 11: Pouring over that pickle book and related texts...I prefer to be well-studied on all topics associated with pickles...you know, and all that...

Photo 12: They may be evil...but, damn, they are delicious!

They Are, Like, Totally Diverted...

Back from the sand and sun and let me launch right in and assure you that Suse and I planned on wasting no time getting our winterized a**es Gulf of Mexico-side upon arrival on beautiful, warm, sunny, soothing Longboat Key...but not until after we bumped into my dad's friend who had been visiting my parents' home at Sunset Beach in the days prior to our arrival. And for some reason, this lovely man, who happens to be a Harvard University professor and is, quite frankly, a certified genius, gave us a review of his week, complete with a legal pad sized, single spaced, handwritten note full of recommendations and suggestions, a stack of maps and restaurant menus...and a review of the items he so kindly left for us in the fridge. And it was such a sweet gesture...but the clock was a-ticking....only 3 days and 12 hours left....So I was playing my best gracious young lady act and being profuse and thankful...and Suse is stifling a laugh because, while we appreciate his kindness, after 26 years, I have my LBK routine down pat. And thanks, but no thanks on the hand-me-down milk and deli meats...Suse tossed that crap as soon as we heard the elevator door close...Oh, but the new toaster he gifted Dad's kitchen was a nice bonus...Ok, so, the first hurdle in our path to restful relaxation had been cleared...

So we drop our bags and hop back into the little silver Volvo S80 (which, by the way, it took me about 10 minutes to figure out how to turn on, and I am usually really extra skilled at turning things on...but you know, there was a button and brake pumping and a slide in key contraption...whatever...). Anyway...we drove right over to The Old Salty Dog, an outdoor bar/restaurant/hangout that sits right on the seawall and has 360 water views...boaters pull right up and dock at the adjacent marina...so, needless to say, it's a festive scene round-the-clock. And we order up our first vacation cocktails -- some Mango Maddness slushy thing for Suse and for me some rum drink that looked like my favorite Bermudian specialty, the Rum Swizzle, but tasted sickeningly like a cherry Lifesaver...And though we secretly miss our kids, we begin to relax...especially after I return that nasty Lifesaver drink for a frosty Margarita....After the drinks and a Grouper sandwich we parked ourselves back at Sunset Beach, sea-air swirling around us as we chit-chatted and napped on the sand for three hours straight...and in a beautiful omen of what was to come, we saw a porpoise swimming a few yards out in the Gulf and he jumped straight up in the air and back into the surf three times in a row...and it was an amazing and stunning sight...a fitting kickoff to the weekend....

And thus began a non-stop vacation cycle...leisurely morning walk on the beach, breakfast, Starbucks run, some shopping at St. Armand's (where the salesgirl at Island Pursuit asked if we girls were “on Spring Break…”…made our week…), a little afternoon nosh, tanning and blonding by the second as the sea air whipped my hair into salty, Medusa-like curls, chatting and napping Gulfside until dinner....Dinner...yum...hey, we all know I could go on for eons about the food, well, you have no idea of the fine dining rampage Suse and I went on this weekend...more on that in a few. Now, every night we fully planned on hitting The Colony for a little Happy Hour with the Sugar Daddy/Geriatric Boyfriend posse. We have always been a hit with the distinguished types, you know...they think we are young and cute and peppy and since we are more than a decade out from the hot flash years, to these guys, we might as well be a pair of sorority sisters. There was this one gentleman who was a bit like a Floridian Indiana Jones, scrubbing his boogie board on the beachwalk, crinkly crows feet and all...and he was dropping hints left and right that we meet him over at The Colony...and we were all coy and wink-y, promising we'd stroll over along the beach before sunset...but we never did....such heartbreakers....Ok, back to the food...

So of course we hit Euphemia Haye and the kickass dessert bar upstairs at The Haye Loft (homemade Key Lime, Southern Pecan, Red Velvet Cake, Tres Leches Cake, giant Fudgey Brownies, three different cheesecakes...I could go on...) and we scarfed the Peanut Butter Mousse pie and took home leftovers...and though she may kill me for telling you, Suse and I licked a few bites off the fork for breakfast the next morning. We even made a return trip so Suse could bring a piece back home for sistergirlfriend, Lisa H. And of course we hit Columbia Restaurant with it's open-air patios for the signature 1905 Salad and truly, without question, the most perfect Mojitos (next to Scoey's, of course...)...a Longboat Key tradition...festive beyond your wildest dreams...pure bliss.

But it was Saturday night at The Beach Bistro, the widely acclaimed restaurant hidden right on the Gulf in Holmes Beach...this little beachy town sort of like a tiny Floridian LBI. It was our dinner there that ended up the jewel in the foodie vacation crown. Before our table was ready, we sat at the little mahogany bar and chatted up the barkeep who gave Suse a bonus blackberry at the bottom of her champagne glass. And as Suse quizzed him on his favorite menu selections (his choice was the bouillabaisse, chock full of individually poached per order shellfish...for $56...)... I whipped out the camera and snapped a shot of the Dow Jones Martini sign….and this all seemed normal enough to us…until we were seated and our server, Adam, started bringing over extra appetizers and samples and bottles of champagne and after dinner drinks...all the while I am snapping pics of Suse and our Bourbon Maple Glazed Shrimp and Lobstercargots and Rack of Lamb and Crispy Roasted Duck and Grown-Up (spiked) Milkshakes…

So we suppose this may be how the restaurant staff came under the impression that Suse and I were restaurant critics. And we did little to dispel that misinterpretation....in fact, maybe we encouraged it a little…And though we loved our dinner and were reveling in the extra attention, really, the misconception of our status wasn't even clear to us until we received our check and found all of our drinks and the bonus menu selections all paid for...well, this was certainly a fine dining nirvana and our little girls’ weekend had shaken out perfectly….How lucky were we?

….Well, not so fast…..

Come on, friends, we are talking about Suse and me here...we of the mandolin/finger-severing incident and the burning fondues and frozen Vermont pipes and cocktail party troublemaking...together we are little mini hurricanes and you can always count on the plan diverting from course early and often....

I will jump over all the details that waylaid our activities…the overnight thunderstorm, our spontaneous brunch detour for 1905 Salads, a last minute walk on the beach in the drizzle, the leisurely packing and the calls to the airline, which originally had our flight delayed 3 hours and 44 minutes due to air traffic control shut downs at Newark….so it’s their fault we were dawdling. Suffice it to say we made it to the gate with only about 30 minutes until departure, and that was after each of us separately had been called out at security for a bag check...and what did they confiscate? Our souvenir 1905 Salad dressing from Columbia....damn!! And though we were delayed, we boarded anyway…and though originally we were seated separately, we were able to sweet talk an accommodating fellow so we could be together…all it would cost us was a single beer when the beverage cart made its way towards us. And though we should have known what we were in for when the pilot stopped short and gave us all whiplash while taxiing to the runway, we set about our trip through bumpy turbulence while we mindlessly watched Four Christmases with the mismatched duo, Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn, and our neighbor in the aisle seat taking in a few episodes of Everybody Hates Chris…

But about an hour in the captain broke through, interrupting the insipid film with an announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, all approaches into Newark have been indefinitely suspended and we are being put into a holding pattern until further notice…” So we groan and look out the window and Suse looks back at me and says: “I can see another plane just below us…” and I begin envisioning a mid-air collision so I am panicking silently. And then she says: “There’s another one right above us…” And so it was apparent that there was an issue…(a Russian rocket perhaps???)

So we begin chatting with our seat-mate, Mikey G. from Monroe via Bay Ridge, Brooklyn…and we played 20 Questions and learned all about his family and profession and his dotcomming past and the ages of his three kids…and that he and his buddies, two to the left of us, had been in Sarasota for a golf weekend. And we told him all about Suse’s injured finger and our gourmet dinner posse and our stint as fake restaurant reviewers the night before and all about this blog…and so, of course, we became buddies. And I knew that we had bonded with Mikey G. such that if I wanted to grab his hand during the bumpy ride, he would have accommodated without question. By the time the captain broke back in to tell us that we were being diverted and grounded in Norfolk, VA, we had fully planned to go out cocktailing with Mikey G. and his band of merrymakers as soon as we hit the Airport Hilton.

But there would be no Airport Hilton or any festivity on the Norfolk cocktail circuit…instead we sat on the tarmac for 3 hours, all powered down, playing Six Degrees of Separation with our airplane neighbors. When Mike jumped up to stretch his legs, his buddy Dr. David Saint made a beeline for his seat (uh-oh....now whose hand was I going to grab?) …and it was then that we learned of our many connections…how he was QB for Don Bosco football team in the late ‘80’s, knowing a selection of my Holy Angels posse and the guys from Bergen Catholic too…and when I said I was from Franklin Lakes he started rattling off names from the past…and a few from right now – Pina and Mary C. -- Wyckoff moms who happen to also be two of mine and Suse’s most favorite and very dear friends…

So even though it was hot and cramped and the guy in front of us yelled at us for being too aggressive while playing electronic Solitaire…and even though a mom in the rows behind us started loudly and ferociously snapping at her poor frustrated little boy…and even though the pilot was stopped just prior to takeoff for an additional 45 minute delay...we were making the best of it. And eventually the captain announced we would takeoff a few minutes before midnight (mind you, we had been en route from LBK since 3 p.m....), and we landed an hour later in Newark and once we (finally) grabbed our bags and got to our car it was already 2:30 a.m.

So as we got on the road, Suse turned to me and said: "Well, at least this will make for some good blog material..." and we giggle and laugh and then she adds: "After all the drama with my fingertip and now this epic flight delay, what could be next? I am thinking we should cancel any plans we have together next week...."

I guess she must have forgotten that we had a long-standing invitation to our first Passion Party this upcoming Friday night (Passion Party virgins...an oxymoron? One of the many I inhabit...)...And with the guest list contrasting between wild suburban cougars (ok, pumas), sweet moms and desperate housewives...we have no choice but to attend....I owe it to you, my friends and readers, don't I? Me and Suse and a whole room full of adult products? I mean, what if I have a hard time turning one of them on? Or maybe Suse's other finger will get stuck in one of them. And we might need to grab a souvenir for sistergirlfriend, Lisa (as long as it doesn't get confiscated at airport security...now that would be classic...). Or maybe, just maybe, we will be mistaken for adult product critics, and the hostess will start handing out all kinds of lotions and oils and god only knows what else....eeek!! the Catholic schoolgirl in me is just cringeing and blushing uncontrollably...No, no...we can't miss out on that...I mean, talk about blog material...

Hugs,
Suz

Oh, and don't forget that TL's Harem is congregating at Nancy Whiskey late afternoon on (Holy) Thursday the 9th for Lenten Wrap-Up/Sam's Birthday bash...and even though the actual TL is proving an elusive get for the guest list, you certainly won't want to miss out on the fun, will you...??

Photo 1: Kicking off the trip with a foamy can of skunky Bud...leftover from the Harvard professor...apparently geniuses drink Bud...

Photo 2: Toasting my vacation with that nasty cherry Lifesaver drink at Salty Dog...cannot wipe the grin off my face...well until the sticky sweet grossness crosses my palate...

Photo 3: A little shell collecting on Longboat Key...

Photo 4: Me and my salty/beachy Medusa-do...only one day in...

Photo 5: Our man, still waiting, wishing and hoping at The Colony Monkey Patio...

Photo 6: Suse and me on the other hand are face-first into the Peanut Butter Mousse pie...

Photo 7: Scarfing the 1905 Salad and kickass Mojitos at Columbia...

Photo 8: Suse and I still high from the Beach Bistro food and booze onslaught...we definitely award it 4 Stars...

Photos 9 and 10: Mmmmmm...some of our freebie samples arrive tableside...who needs adult "products" when you have Lobstercargots and Grown-Up Milkshakes...

Photo 11: Pre-flight dawdling...who doesn't spend the morning shooting cell phone self-portraits?

Photo 12: Our illegal salad dressing...praise Jesus and all the David Saints that it wasn't a "Magic Wand"...

Photo 13: Mikey G. leaning forward...longing to reclaim his stolen spot next to me and Suse...

Photo 14: Ahhh yes, the Airport Hilton of Norfolk...we so would have spiced up that bar scene....

Photo 15: Suse and I, celebrating a great weekend...totally worth the near misses and lame airplane movies...

Photo 16: I am waaaay too shy to even guess what that might be or where you might apply it...