(Please Don't) Watch What Happens!

Last week, just days after I shared my Facebook quiz results with all of you, I noticed that my Facebook “friend” and niece, the lovely, sweet 16 Andie, had completed a questionnaire entitled “Top Five People I Would Like To Punch In the Face.” And I was all over that sh*t…I clicked right on that link and got to choosing. It was kind of too bad the survey didn’t allow me to pick from “real” people (none of you, of course...), but after this past week and some jarring moments and crises to avert and evil to shield my dear ones from, I would have had a list of no less than 25 people and things, the first 10 spots taken by one loose cannon in particular…but I digress. I am mostly a joyful person and prefer to make love and not war, but be honest, who could resist getting their ya-yas out with a simple list of five annoying public persons or groups who need a wallop or two….not me! I am from New Jersey...we never pass up a chance to virtually slug some sanctimonious fool...it's actually required by our State Constitution.... So, that said, my selections were:

1) Tom Cruise; 2) Will Smith -- my distaste for marginally talented mega-star closet cases is well-documented (sorry, ADP…).
3) Jennifer Aniston -- I can’t take that desperate publicity hound vibe that she exudes, which jumps off the pages of People every week.

4) Gwen Stefani -- to me she is some cliché Orange County pseudo skater chick gone awry…gross.

and 5) Bono -- who only slightly edged out Sting for that final spot…

I know...wanting to punch Bono is somehwat controversial... And my "friends" let me have it....I was getting comments left and right: He’s a saint! He’s a genius! He’s endlessly talented! He does so much good! He’s a role model! … Ok…most of that is true…but I kind of feel like he believes his own hype and that's why he needs a little smacking around. You know…couldn't he benefit from being taken down a notch or two with his pretentious high-and-mighty international envoy thing? I mean...well...hey Bono, I like you better when you stick to singing…

But anyway…this isn’t about me and my axes that need grinding…Back to my niece and her survey choices: Brad Pitt, Guidos, Adam Lambert (who?), Oprah Winfrey and the entire cast of High School Musical…I mean, mostly she was spot-on…well, I don't know that I'd freely admit to wanting to punch Oprah as I would fully expect the CIA to show up at my door and arrest me for slandering our national treasure...I mean, hell, she did singlehandedly pick the President, didn't she? So I'd just steer clear of her...

But the one that left me curious was Andie's number 2 selection -- “Guidos”…they deserve the number 2 spot? Really? Honestly, as a lifelong resident of New Jersey, I thought she should have developed a tolerance to our well-known indigenous breed. Oh, don’t get me wrong…I am no great fan of the fake-tanned, IRoc-driving, Seaside Heights-dwelling, Gold’s Gym juice-head, slick-haired, gold rope chain-loving, dance club-going yutzes that have given the Garden State our infamous national reputation...though they do make excellent bouncers and personal trainers... (by the way…those of you from here know that the Jersey version pales in comparison to the Boroughs-y/Long Island/Westchester Guidos…you know what I am talking about…House of Butta-fu-oco??…that Hudson River is a nice little buffer…)…but I will admit it, Guidos are generally harmless to me and my kind…(oh, my g*d, that reminds me…a couple of weeks after college graduation, Casey, Murph and I went to Belmar to visit this guy Casey had been dating and his posse of high school buddies…they had all grown up in Old Bridge, Central Jersey...aka Guido ground zero (well, outside their native land of Staten Island, that is). And though Casey’s boyfriend was the jewel in the Old Bridge crown, all preppy and cute…his friends had a little bit of that Turnpike-adjancent vibe in them…But we spent the night and had a fun time and I even smooched one of them at Bar A that night…and on the ride home in the back seat of Murph’s car, Sherelle II, dull headaches and hangovers taking hold, I broke the silence with this bon mot: “Guidos, on the whole, are nice people….”…Murph slammed on the brakes and she and Casey busted out laughing… Murph even had to pull over on Route 35 until she could contain herself enough to continue driving…but I was dead serious…at least those Old Bridge Guidos were nice people. Needless to say, that line has popped up once in a while over the years when we are all together…and yes, that was the one and ONLY time I was close enoiugh to touch a Guido…promise!). So anyway, as I said, Guidos mostly leave we ethnically bland Prepster/Yuppies alone and vice versa…well, until of course, one of theirs thinks they want to join one of our Country Clubs….then the gloves come off. But hey, we don’t try to become members of their “Social Clubs,” do we?

So I guess since Andie is still young, she hasn’t yet developed an appreciation for our Jersey Guido brethren…and their simple existence annoys and embarrasses her, and she doesn’t want her home and family and friends associated with the image…because she knows that Guidos are actually a minority in this state…they are just our flashiest citizens and the most fun to profile (hello, Paulie Walnuts…). Every area has their stereotype to live with (scrappy, drunk Irish thugs…love ya, Boston!...shallow, insipid, plasticized fembots…welcome to LA!). I mean, really, the lot of us in NJ (well, I am speaking for Bergen County here, as the rest of the State might as well be below the Mason-Dixon line, you know what I am saying…?) are cultured and savvy and educated and well-spoken and wear stylish yet classic fashions…well, most of us…and we take the Jersey abuse, because we know the truth…at least that’s the way is always was…

But….just wait, Jersey-bashers, your day is upon us.... My beloved hometown, the beautiful and pristine Franklin Lakes, is about to be taken to task…and a "real" version of our tacky Jersey Guido persona is about to be highlighted and profiled for the entire world to see. Oh yes….Franklin Lakes is the setting for the newest installment of Bravo’s hit series: The Real Housewives of …(OC, New York, Atlanta…and now, New Jersey…) and premieres this week. Holy Mother of Sh*t. Time to move!

Ok, so things have changed a little in Franklin Lakes since the childhood I lovingly recounted a few months back…. Of course over the years the idyllic little town that revolved around Kilroy’s Wonder Market and the Indian Trail Club and 11:15 Mass at Most Blessed Sacrament has benefited in some ways from its reputation and all of those high-profile residents…but it has also had some growing pains. Some of our leafy lots and wide streets have been bulldozed to fit new neighborhoods and cul-de-sacs and Double McMansions and $2 million knock-downs so that we can accommodate all the "new rich” populating the area. And there is that fleet of Escalades (white or black) with Moms sporting giant Prada sunglasses behind the wheel that have replaced the blond-bobbed, golf skirt wearing ladies in their Wagoneer "woodies" and old Mercedes sedans with college stickers filling the rear window. The Mobster vs. Prepster cold war has long been afoot and the long gone McBride brothers are spinning in their graves.... Things change…the old cliché…

But...I admit it, I am curious about this new show and the five housewifey stars...I have to see how the rest of the world will now imagine what life is like in New Jersey...and in my hometown. So, I am lucky enough to have a dear friend, Sister K, who ranks quite high at Bravo corporate...and as a treat to her special girlfriends, she scored advance copies of the first two episodes of the new series...and this past Friday night we met at her place for a private screening, each of us carrying our favorite treat...(by the way, like a pack of starving children we scarfed those cucumber sandwiches and that cheese we simply called "Crack"...yes, that addictive...). Anyway, we gathered around the flat screen, cocktails in hand and squealed at the opening sequence which seems to be an homage to the Tony Soprano drive through the Lincoln Tunnel...though this time it is one of the Jersey Housewives in a black Mercedes crossing the GWB and driving down Route 4 and Route 208...all of our local signs visible...and the piece de resistance, the "Welcome to Franklin Lakes" sign getting a full 5 second solo close-up. And of course these women are all lovable caricatures (well, except for one whom I am quite certain is certifiable...but she's from Wayne, so that says it all....) with their upscale, spruced-up Guido husbands, giant diamond rings, guilded banisters and Tuscan-themed kitchens. And my friends and I sat there, those of us with genuine Franklin Lakes history feeling a little protective and sensitive...knowing what it used to be like... But

I'll confess...I couldn't help but develop and affinity for some of these broads. They had me cracking up at their ballbusting and pointed comments...very Jersey, for sure. And that, my friends, is a sincere compliment.

So, I won't ruin any of the fun for the rest of you, but as is the show’s formula, you can all expect to see the declasse behavior, egregious wealth (one of the ladies pays for $120, 000 worth of furniture in cash...so Jersey...) and conspicuous consumption, catfights and plastic surgery, lots of tears and big hair and bad accents. Only this time the characters are a tight Jersey clan with mob ties and the backdrop will be swimming pools and tennis courts and the Market Basket. Guidos Gone Wild!

And those of us from here will just have to live with our new reality...and our new (or renewed) national image…even though we know the truth. Once the word was out about the town’s role in the show, so many of you have commiserated with me…calling and writing and lending me your ear…but also getting your digs in and saying “I am so glad I never lived in Franklin Lakes…” Now that is a laugh…we should all enjoy the blessings of living in a place like Franklin Lakes… And as I said…just like Andie and the Guidos…it is a little embarrassing to be associated with a stereotype and an aesthetic that is exaggerated and ridiculous…and I think my friends and I are more interesting in one day than these ladies will be in a whole season -- hello...who can beat a drama-filled finger-severing? anyone??? Still these folks are a part of the mosaic that makes the state of New Jersey one of the most colorful, hilarious, intriguing, rocking places on the planet. I am secure in myself…I can live with it…because these ladies may be laughable, but at least they are genuine and know exactly who they are. I think these Real Housewives will secretly warm all of our hearts with their Jersey vibe…you know it’s true…deep down, who doesn’t love a Jersey Girl?

And if you don't?....well, you know, I am more than happy to make room for you on my "list" right behind Bono....

Photo 1: The beautiful and brilliant Andie...looking for a pack of Guidos to crucify...

Photo 2: Tom Cruise and his lovah, Will Smith....kind of hard to keep my fist from planting itself right in the middle of that pic...

Photo 3: You know this is just a shot of him staring at himself in the mirror, right?

Photo 4: Some serious Guidos making the scene somewhere outside of Lodi and to the left of Clifton...

Photo 5: Bar A, Belmar, NJ...the Jersey Guido's natural habitat....you get contact 'roid rage just driving past...

Photo 6: Me and Ellie last summer...proof that real Jersey girls effortlessly rock the Vineyard Vines....

Photo 7: The Franklin Lakes clocktower....another bizarre new addition to town...

Photo 8: Actual Franklin Lakes home...just minutes before the wrecking ball takes it out to make room for a bigger one...

Photo 9: This guy lives in Franklin Lakes...Rob claims he's some national treasure or something...

Photo 10: The real Real Housewives of New Jersey....I so wouldn't want to piss off these broads...

Photo 11: Our summer backdrop: Dad's pool...

Photo 12: Gwen, Sam and me...if there were camera crews following the three of us around, forgetaboutit...Must See TV for sure!

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!