Ooooh, You Make Me Live...

This morning when I woke, for the first time in months my jealous and possessive almost 6 year old was not snuggled up against me, his sweet, perfect little face belying his fierce competitiveness for my constant love and attention...Well, at least I have that power over someone, right? I will take it where I can get it at this point... Anyway, he was where he is supposed to be, in his room with his brother, and I lay beneath a mammoth weight of fabric -- two Stonehill College-logoed blankets, my Ralph Lauren comforter, a cotton quilt and a top sheet. Also, I was wearing a full-on long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants (not pretty J. Crew lounge-wear, as is my habit... no, no -- these were baggy George Costanza-esque, elastic-waisted sweatpants...). Mmmmm, luscious and sexy, right? Yeah, maybe not. Hot though, that's for sure...and not in the good way.

Ok, so maybe I covered myself and hunkered down in bed last night by 8:45 and layered all these items atop of me in hopes of sweating out this swine flu or whatever it is that has gripped my bronchial tubes...and I think it worked a little...because here I sit, in my office, Purell bottle at my side, trying to pretend I am not the one who is coughing...though there are only four of us sitting here in very close quarters. I know, I know...I am that jerk who comes to the office even though I know I am under the weather...the one everyone b*tches about, touching the phones and the copier and the file cabinets. But it's the German in me...you know, because I hate appearing weak, and I promised I would be here, and I don't like to divert from plan or let anyone down...I hate when people are mad at me or have to take on extra work because I am being a big wimpy little baby with my 100 degree fever...Yet, I am fully aware that if they all end up with this bronchial scratchiness and headachey malaise, they will be sick and pissed...lethal combo. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Gwen is freaking out just reading this, breaking out her Clorox and pouring it all over her desk even though she is sitting safely in an office miles across the Hudson River from me...

Honestly though...I am almost 100% certain I am not contagious...and I am pretty sure it's not viral...no, this affliction is unique to me, I believe....I swear my body is having an adverse reaction to all these lawyers in the office... Yes, the constant twist-talking and delaying of the process and marathon safeguarding and cover your a** games of the esquire can be wearing, no? Makes me want to put my head down on my desk and tune the hell out.... Oh come on, my lawyerly friends and family members out there...You know I love you all and fully enjoy the time I spend with you...but let's be honest (and I can say this because I am perfect) even you lovely darlings can be a teensy weensy bit, ever so slightly argumentative on occasion. Just saying....(please don't sue me...).

So thankfully this little malady struck me this week...good timing because the family trip to Bermuda approaches and I have way too much fun to have down there to be sickly and cranky. Aside from that I might have missed out on some good times my girlfriends and I embarked on these past two weeks. First there was Greek Night on my deck with the gourmet posse...we scarfed all that Mediterranean deliciousness and I cracked out a pretty kicka** baklava...and if that doesn't make a group of women swoon, I don't know what does. Then, it was Gwen's birthday a few weeks back so the succession of celebrations were in order...dinner this past Saturday with Gwen and Sam...batting our eyes at the extra tall and flirty off-duty police officer/deliveryman as we awaited seating...Sam all shocked that Gwen was turning the (not old) age she has: "You're --?!" she repeated over and over again at the top of her lungs, everyone turning to look as Gwen blushed. I asked the hostess for a microphone so the folks in the dining room could hear too...she just gave me a puzzled look. Then after dinner we hit Pane e Vino, entertaining a pair of aging guidos who continued to chat with us even as we offered snarky replies to their genuinely nice questions (just an aside...I think that aging guidos have become de facto fans of mine due to this crazy nest of uncontrollable waves and curls that I have sprouted this past year...I think it is a throwback to the mallrat era of the '80's...they think I am one of them!!). So the three of us did not stop laughing all night...I love that. Also in celebration of Gwen the week prior, a bunch of us hung on Nancy's sofa, the monsoon season forcing us inside...we had mojitos and grilled pizza's by Tim...and we touched on all the girl subjects: kids, food, men, sex, work, clothes, makeup, lipgloss, hairdressers, shopping....I could go on. And it was there that Susan brought up a new scientific study that had been reported on...and the findings essentially proved what we have been saying all along: Girl talk is good for you.

Did I need a study to tell me this? Not really, but thanks, Science, for giving me even more reasons to hang with my besties. I am kind of dependent on interacting with my girls and in addition to daily phone calls with Suse and hours mulling details with Allison or Cath and monthly gourmet dinnering and Church Lady drinkfests, Amber and I have taken to scheduling Sunday coffee breaks weeks in advance just so we know we will get our fix (of each other...). And Rob is beyond questioning it...this has been a long-standing theme in our relationship...I went to all-girls school, so this sisterhood thing is just part of me at this point. But the study explained why women bond so tightly to one another...when partaking in an emotionally close task, such as sharing their secrets and intimate thoughts, women release progesterone, an indicator for Oxytocin (that delicious little brain chemical that is also released when one is experiencing new love...yum...). And as a result of all this hormonal stuff going on, it is shown that the release of progesterone due to social bonding enables women to put the well-being of their friends ahead of their own interests.

And that is exactly how I feel. In a second I would give up the last pair of shoes in my size if one of the girls was dying to own them (this proclamation is made easier by the fact that my feet are at least a size and a half smaller than the next smallest...)...and I would leave an important meeting to take an SOS call from any one of them, even if it was just an update on the current state of the Jolie-Pitts marriage...and I would even share my secret recipe for that cheesy onion-y slop that they all clamor for...(or they could just buy the Grace Nursery Cookbook and get it there...).

You know, Nancy, Amber and I have always joked that we could do anything together...plan events, run companies, raise families, develop products (Winter's Dawn!). And of course, we love our men with all of our hearts, but the concept of we ladies all living communally with our kids in some giant house somewhere is kind of appealing... You know, like a pride of lioness or Kate & Allie or The Red Tent or something...those Biblical broads knew what they were doing, right? We could share all the chores and roles and responsibilities -- Suse would be household manager, and Nancy is kind of handy around the house, and Amber is extra anal about the bills, and Gwen cleans and scrubs like no other, and I love to cook...and while Dana keeps us all on schedule, Sam can be in charge of cocktail hour, Chris can organize the exercise regimen and Susan can make sure we are up to date on all the Hollywood gossip...perfect! And you know, there would be the added benefit of increasing our wardrobe selections exponentially. We would fill our DVD collections with Terms of Endearment and The Joy Luck Club and Beaches and maybe some horror selections for Gwen...and we could stock the freezer with Haagen-Daz and Ben & Jerry's and Sara Lee for the inevitable cry-fest...And we would all multi-task all the time...every little project would be completed before it was even started....

It would be our very own progesterone crack-den....

But eventually we might run into trouble...I mean, we may become progesterone junkies, getting all itchy and scratchy and belligerent for our next Girl Talk fix...we'll start acting like a room full of lawyers, all defensive and one-upping and paranoid...which will just set off another allergic reaction masquerading as swine flu. Eventually we might get kind of lax...even lose interest in looking pretty...toss our makeup bags, let our roots show and our waxings go too long (ok, that I won't do...)...and maybe we'll start wearing nondescript, boxy, mannish fashions and George Costanza-esque, elastic-waisted sweats...and by then it'll be too late to call Candy Finnigan for an Intervention. Worst of all we may get tired of all the bonding so we won't want to go out and sample the social scene and meet new people and wink at deliverymen and giggle with aging guidos and yell each others' ages at the top of our lungs and listen to each others' stories and support one another through thick and thin... everything that makes being together with our girlfriends so much fun and fresh and new and exciting and, well...progesterone activating. Just like yummy delicious first love butterflies.

So boys...even though most women can kick your a** in a mulching competition (by the way, the guys moving my new neighbors into their house called out to me as I hauled those giant bags all over the yard: "Hey lady, you strong...want a job?!..."), and we can look cute and sassy while doing so, I will admit it...we ladies do like having you in our lives. And even though we can list no less than 75 habits you have and things you do that we would be thrilled to never see or hear of again in this lifetime, we would miss you if you weren't there all the time...

Well, maybe "all the time" is a stretch....

Hey girls, how soon can we plan a Cocktail Hour??? Girls only, ok...I am totally jonesing for a progesterone fix....Hey, maybe that's what's making me cough....

Lots of hugs and germy kisses...to you boys too...

xo Suz

Photo 1: Oh, well look...that woman is also dying from overexposure to lawyers....(please don't sue me...)

Photo 2: Sticky and flaky baklava...even better for breakfast, right Sam?

Photo 3: Gwen, Sam and I...harrassing aging guidos for sport...my hair kind of tame there.

Photo 4: Mmmmm...delicious combo, Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade and Gwen's 7-layer chocolate birthday cake...apparently no men around for miles...My hair reaching an epic level of wild curly mess...

Photo 5: Amber and Gwen...bonding over pie on Longboat Key...progesterone rising...

Photo 6: Me and Mary at the Cookies and Cocktails fest this winter...I can feel it...the progesterone is starting to boil...

Photo 7: Four days alone chatting and bonding with Suse on Longboat Key this March...we have hit progesterone frenzy...

Photo 8: Me and a selection of my Holy Angels posse...progesterone bubbling over....

Photo 9: Pina, Dana, Nancy and Amber and our all-girls birthday bash in March...ok, now the progesterone levels are getting dangerous....

Photo 10: And we are beyond repair as we live communally and become androgynous progesterone crackies...I think I am the one with the necktie...

Photo 11: Costanza...not far off from the typical American male and the darling men in our lives...

Photo 12: In recovery....but relapsing...we just can't stay away....

It's Not Really Work...It's Just the Power to Charm...

I skipped the Lilly Pulitzer party at the Union League Club last Thursday night. I know...it sounded like such a riot, and I would have loved to take in the scene, champagne in hand, while all those blond little sparrows in their pink and green or turquoise and yellow Palm Beach togs all looked to land the big prize -- some Wall Streeter in a pink tie pounding Dark 'n Stormies.... The show alone would have been so up my alley. Oh and I had a chic little silky beady bold floral-y number all picked out, not to mention an extra fun pair of shoes (the metallic gold/coral beaded toe-less t-straps). And some of my fave pals were on the guest list...RJP was hosting and Kerry (aka Miss K) was coming in with Rob and Fred in tow. And you know, it was a tough call, this skipping the fun...I virtually never back out of plans...usually have to be incapacitated or missing a limb or something equally dramatic to willingly let a friend down. But that's just me.

Truth is, I was having a day...kind of grouchy and snappy (thanks YAZ!) and still recovering from Happy Hour the night prior with my Class of '81 besties, Big and TL. I ingested four glasses of California sparkling and not so much as an oyster cracker...always wise. The guys, by the way, tried to mask their massive jealousy (come on, you can admit it, boys...) over last week's post and the kicka** party at Helen's that they missed out on (and just because Helen's photo didn't appear last week does not mean I was inventing a "Helen" character...like Vera on Cheers...proof right here that she exists and was having a blast with her Island-themed bash...). Anyway, when Big and TL pulled that bombastic, bossy, big brotherly ballbusting (awesome alliteration!...and there I go again...) with sarcastic little jabs like: "You must have a lot of time on your hands..." and "Before and after parties? A pre-party shuttle bus? You guys don't mess around...." (like I think I am Keith Richards or someting...see, they are kind of old...Keith Richards is their go-to "hard-core partier" reference...), I answered: "Hello, my friends, I am a fulltime earner here...mother of three...a little reward for my efforts is acceptable, no?" (as you can see, I am well-schooled in guilt tripping...). And anyway, I told them, I can't help it if my friends and I enjoy our time together...we are a fun lot, am I right? So I threw the guys a bone... maybe they can crash the Flying Mueller Brothers bash...a little imported sand and barefooted dancing, some boozy suburbanites and a constant festive buzz...total blast, just like Keith Richards would do. But, you know, neither one of them crosses bridges or travels without a chaperone, so that's not going to happen...oh well, too bad (for them)...Maybe Keith is available...

So anyway, by the time Thursday rolled around I had been out every night... You know how I am...such a weakling, so easily distracted. I am working in the Big City and I cannot resist all the dining and cocktailing and social options...I am texting all my buddies, making the most of every second...spending my full paycheck on Magnolia Bakery cupcakes for Rob and the kids and lunches with RW and my big sis, Cath, and drinks with Tappers (who escaped the clutches of The Oafish Client back in March, praise Jesus...) and inhaling wine and cheese plates with Sam. So even though the Lilly Party had been on the calendar for weeks and months...something had to give. My chic little silky bold beady floral-y number hangs forlornly in the closet and awaits next year's fete...a sartorial wallflower, if you will.

So I guess despite my great efforts to prove otherwise, I am not a kid anymore....which frankly is kind of surprising to me because working everyday with my Dad has provided flashback after flashback...And let me tell you, I am not quite so sure I haven't unwittingly stepped onto the set of one of those craptastic teen/adult body-switching Hollywood masterpieces like Freaky Friday or 13 Going On 30 or Big or Vice Versa (who didn't love that Judge Reinhold/Fred Savage classic??? well, me, for one...)...or actually, even more appropriately, 17 Again. My Dad picks me up every morning and we listen to some Mets-centric radio show with Boomer Esiason on The Fan (some of the call-ins are endlessly idiotic, by the way...) while he wildly weaves in and out of traffic (maybe he's the one who is 17 Again...) and takes short cuts to the bridge through Leonia and circuitous routes down Broadway in Washington Heights so that we can make it to the office on 46th Street 30 seconds earlier than we would have otherwise. And each morning he hands me a $20 as we exit the parking garage...a little cash to cover my iced venti non-fat latte at Starbucks or whatever my daily pleasure happens to be...like he did when I was in high school (back then I stockpiled the cash and on Saturday nights I'd end up covering Chappy and Slawdogs at Matthew's Diner post-kegger...). So at any rate, every morning I am transported by what is essentially a carbon copy of my 17th summer. The year was 1987...and it was the last time I "worked" for my Dad.

So Dad was the President and CEO of EF Hutton & Co....and my BFF, Allison, and I needed summer jobs. And of course, there was no stint at the bagel shop or Kilroy's Wonder Market or the Indian Trail Club patio or Tice's Farm or anything for us...g*d no! That would have been too much fun and way too normal. Instead my Dad thought it would be a good experience for us to take part in the Summer Intern program at Hutton. That's right....an elite group of college kids from top-notch universities and young professionals in graduate school...and Allison and me. Being naive fools, it sounded like the sweet life to us...we would travel in with him and his driver, Carmine (more to come on him...right out of Central Casting for The Sopranos, by the way...), and we would be placed together in the company's Research Library, where I still am not sure what they stored and catalogued and kept on microfiche or whatever...proxies, possibly? I have no clue...didn't know then either. Anyway, being that we were B- high school students at best, we weren't given a plum assignment or anything. Instead, we spent the summer as low rent secretaries to the two Research Librarians (Sheila and Joan...such tragic dorks...) and their team of administrative slaves, each one coming from some Borough or neighborhood we had and would never set foot in. There was Geneva (the dumb one), Sherelle (the ghetto fab-a-lous BFF), Nichelle (the brown-noser), Cynthia (also 17...her dad was the Director of Maintenance), Teresa (the religious zealot...she told me that AIDS was a Biblical plague, wiping out sinners and that Armageddon was looming...even at 17 I knew she was f&%ked), Wanda (the no-BS one), Cathy (the withering drunk...totally ran to the bathroom and chugged from a flask every 90 minutes or so), and then there was the one we think was called Jen, or maybe it was Michelle, (aged 19, a little LI princess from Garden City...her dad was some Sales Manager or Trader or Marketing Exec...). What a motley f&%$ing crew. And why, tell me, did they need quite so many of them? That may explain a few things about the '80s and Wall Street right there.

So at any rate, it was just like I said...Carmine (who kind of looked like a kinder, gentler Paulie Walnuts) would retrieve Dad and I sometime around 6:15 a.m. and it was this wordless exchange...we'd get in the back seat and Carmine would hand back the newspapers and a cup of coffee he had snagged from the late great Forum Diner en route from his place on Crosby Street in Little Italy to our house in Franklin Lakes. And then we'd go pick up Allison, and as she slid into her seat, Carmine would hand her a cup of hot tea and a toasted corn muffin, also from the Forum. What is hilarious about that is that I am quite certain Allison has not looked at a corn muffin since 1987, but back then, she scarfed one every morning. And then she'd snooze for the rest of the ride. Somehow, in an odd show of restraint for me, I abstained from the daily diner order and read my dirty and naughty Jackie Collins novels instead. We would sail in at that hour and we girls were always the first ones to punch-in at the Research Library...usually by 7 a.m.

So we'd sit at our communal desk and gossip and catch up and review the happenings of the night prior until the rest of the crew arrived and we could giggle and make jokes and harass the analysts that sat in cubes outside the Library walls (oh that cranky b*tch Deb was so jealous that all the guys thought we were adorable and funny, though seven and eight years their junior...she thought we were such brats...us? is that possible?). And there was this guy we always chatted with who looked like a cross between Tom Hanks and John Travolta and who had been officially reprimanded by my father for sending a questionably sexist joke out to his field reps (Top 25 Reasons Why Beer Is Better Than Women, as I recall...). And he was so proud of the reprimand that he hung it on his office wall and happily showed it to me like it was a solid gold bong signed by Keith Richards (I am going with the "Keith" theme here...). And everyday Allison and I would call Murph at her law firm job with the great Mike Murphy (or was that the summer she worked at Super GAP???). And Murph became phone buds with our resident ghetto fab BFF, Sherelle, who eventually became the namesake of Murph's happening Hyundai, a gift upon her 17th birthday that October. Either way, Allison and I did a little filing here and there in the giant electronic mobile file walls that shifted on these levers and rails... and we did some data entry and we took calls... We also attended "Intern" functions and lunches and there would always be a whispered buzz among the other Interns when we walked onto the shuttle bus to our event destination..."That's his daughter..."...and Allison and I would bust a gut laughing. So mature...just as we are today.

So...on top of all of this...there was not one night that entire summer on which we didn't go out with our extended high school posse...even if it was just to burn gas or hit the movies. In fact, I fully remember that by the end of the summer we counted the nights we girls had spent hanging with Chappy and Slawdogs and Nick, and it amounted to virtual around the clock contact. And every night we would be in bed way too late and we'd be yawning and punchy all day long at the Research Library. But...the best moment of all...the jewel in our professional crown that summer of '87, was the morning after we went to the David Bowie concert at Giants Stadium. Get ready...especially those of you who have teenage children or are business owners or manage staff or...hell, even those of you who are just normal, professional, upstanding individuals. This one is a classic....

Ok, so...like I said, it was the David Bowie concert...and we were out all night, until almost 3 a.m. And as always, Carmine showed up at 6:15 the next morning to pick up Dad and I...and five minutes later we were at Allison's house. As she slid into her seat she gave me a pained look...and she denied Carmine's hot tea/muffin offer so that she could curl up, her head on my shoulder, and sleep. I didn't want Dad to know how late we had been out and at what time I had snuck into the house, so I forced myself to stay alert. When we arrived at the Research Library we promptly moaned and groaned and b*tched and complained as we rested our heads on the communal desk. And we started to zone out....but minutes in I came to and noticed Allison was missing, no longer beside me....and I turned to look over my shoulder and there she was, looking back up at me from the floor in between two of the largest electronic mobile files and she goes: "I am laying down right here."

And you would think I might snap to attention and bring her to her senses...like, Hey get up! We can't sleep here! But I didn't...no way. I thought it was an awesome idea. Wordlessly I rose from my chair and laid down next to her....I was asleep before my head hit the industrial commercial carpeting....

That's right, you read it correctly....the daughter of the President and CEO was passed out, curled in the fetal position and likely chattering in her sleep, on the floor of the company's international headquarters....even Cathy the drunk never stooped quite so low. And she actually had a quasi excuse.

Who knows how long we laid there between the giant mobile files...I woke to Allison tapping me as she knelt beside me. The lights in the office were blazing and we could hear Sheila or Joan or whoever clicking away at a keyboard. We silently communicated with our deer in headlight eyes...and agreed to never speak of it again. We scrambled to the communal desk and tried to look busy. Soon the rest of the admin slaves arrived and we went about our day...every once in a while glancing at one another with the secret wink and reminder: just keep your mouth shut!

So about 1 o'clock we were sitting at the desk when Wanda (the no-BS one) passed by all earnest and businesslike...and without breaking her stride she simply said:

"A little tired this morning, ladies?"

Our jaws dropped open and she just kept walking...we were shaking in our sheer cream-colored nylons (ick...g*d...cannot believe I ever had to wear those things...) and avoided making eye contact with anyone else the rest of the day for fear that we'd be called in and given a tongue lashing by Joan or Sheila or maybe even my Dad (oh yes, am quite sure this would have risen to the list of his priorities....what could be more pressing?).

But that never happened...Wanda never narc-ed on us.... She really was no-BS after all.

The next day though, Allison and I were separated...and I worked directly for Joan, sitting at a computer in her office while Allison started some filing project for Sheila. And eventually we wrapped up our summer gig a few weeks later...said goodbye to the admin slaves and took the final weeks of the summer to hang round the clock with Chappy and Slawdogs and Nick....getting ready for our Senior year at The Academy of the Holy Angels...certain to be model students with all this incredible professional experience under our belts. Right....

It wasn't until February break sitting on the Islandside patio of the Longboat Key Club, that Allison and I finally cracked and came clean to my Mom and Dad about that morning on the floor of the Research Library. And after a brief moment of complete disbelief...the two of them almost choked on their Gulf Coast chili...they were laughing their a**es off. A proud moment for them, I am sure... but let me tell you, it is one of the stories my Dad still tells, in hysterics, to this day...

But you know...I amounted to something eventually...I figured out the ins-and-outs of being a professional. And Dad trusted me again...he even let me come back to work for him...so this time it's a smaller operation, but crazy busy...and we sit mere feet from one another. And even though it is a limited project, I really wish it were long term because I love it so much...because each morning as we drive in together, even as he weaves and bobs and avoids death on the Westside highway...and even as he drinks hot coffee and fiddles with his brandy-new Blackberry as I shudder and shake in fear...even then I get to talk to him like a grown up...and I get to share my opinions and points of view on the team's projects and plans and needs and next steps. And I get to hear all these stories that make my head spin...all about the high stakes mind-games and bloated personalities and big time negotiations that he was dealing with back in '87, keeping that place afloat while Allison and I called Murph and harassed analysts and stayed out all night and fell asleep on the floor of the the Research Library. And he is still such a cool guy for accepting me regardless, seeing me as someone who has something to offer...someone who would never in her life consider taking privileges for granted...And you know, I think maybe even if he reprimanded me in writing for emailing my friends or slacking off or making some offensive comment to the team...maybe I might even tack it up on my cubicle wall and show it off like it was some solid gold bong signed by Keith Richards...you know, because just like every other little girl on the planet...I'll always think that my Dad is a rock star.

xoxo, Suz

Photo 1: Never too early to begin the husband search at the Lilly Pulitzer Party...

Photo 2: That chic little silky bold floral-y number...may make an appearance at The Fourways...

Photo 3: The "Vera" of this blog...proof that there is a "Helen"...

Photo 4: World class hardcore partier...I am so bringing him as my guest to the Flying Mueller Brothers...

Photo 5: My jealous and possessive 5 1/2 year old, tearing himself away from me for only a minute to ogle the cupcakes...

Photo 6: Me and Allison "working" extra hard at the Research Library...1987 fashions and beauty techniques all over that shot...Love that Zinc Pink!

Photo 7: At the Research Library...Allison, Sherelle (on phone with Murph), me and Jen/Michelle...again, a busy day apparently...but at least we are awake.

Photo 8: Will the real Carmine please stand up...and bring me one of those sausage breads you used to give Dad while you're at it...

Photo 9: Hero-worshipper, sexist and bonehead...Tom Hanks' twin...

Photo 10: Me, Allison and Murph...at an "Intern Function" at Jeremy's downtown...

Photo 11: I'd stay out all night for him any day...well, unless I had anywhere to be in the morning...

Photo 12: My kids all passed out on Will's bedroom floor...must run in the family...at least they were done working for the day..

Photo 13: Daddy and Me....

Baby, That's Where It's At....

So my Saturday evening culminated at 2 o'clock Sunday morning in Pina's kitchen, scarfing sweet crunchy doughy homemade zeppoles...need I say more???

Damn straight I need to say more! Though warm greasy zeppoles are a perfect ending to any story, the lead in is even better...the mega event I "hinted" at last week did not disappoint...so let's rewind a tad, set the scene and get the full effect, shall we?

Last Friday night kicked off my weekend in perfect fashion...Rob was out with some buddies in the City, a mysterious crew with whom I have had no direct contact...I think it might be Larry, Jack, Chrissy and Janet and the other regulars at the Regal Beagle, but not sure. Either way, he was well on his way before I even arrived home from work...my mom hanging with our kids until I arrived, but chomping at the bit to head out on her own evening plans. So I snagged my kids and we hit The Village Grill for a little dinner, sitting at one of those tall rickety bar tables next to the Friday night barflies...and as we were seated I got a call from BFF Allison and we discussed the virtues of sleek hair versus wavy and which look boys find more enticing...this an integral point in my wardrobing and beautifying plans for the mega event I was attending on Saturday. So as we sat and ate and the kids kept jumping off the tall chairs to my protests, I glanced around and noticed an inordinate amount of "single" parents dining with kids...and I realized I had hit the divorcee circuit totally unwittingly. Point was driven home when the dude next to me, 56 years of age at least with his white hair and plaid button down and 12 year old daughter, started chatting with me, commiserating on my attempts to control my angels in this setting, telling me that he "remembers those days" making little jokes about being too old to have a 12 year old and I am just giggling along...and then I realize he is trying to pick me up...I mean, who wouldn't find a harried mother of three still in her work clothes, makeup smudged, cell phone attached to the ear, downing an Amstel on a Friday night a good catch? Hotness, right? I politely turned my back on him and pretended my phone was ringing...he eventually went away after a brief lurking period. So after dinner, the kids and I went home, shared the Magnolia Bakery cupcakes I brought home from the City, sat on the couch, on-demanded "Hotel For Dogs"....each one of them snuggled up to me, Ellie on my left, Tim on my right and Will laying across my lap, in his typical possessive fashion, trying in vain to elbow thet other two out of the way....how cozy and delicious...for me, this is bliss.

So the big day was upon us... Saturday night: Helen's Island-themed Reggae Splash 40th Birthday Bash!!!! The hottest ticket in town...and the flawless weather was on our side. So I hit the salon early anyway for my weekly touch ups and Dogan decided that I needed to go sleek for the party and executed a killer blow-out as Michelle made my fingers and toes sparkle. After the salon visit I took a detour to the St. Joseph's Home for the Aged, where Ellie had to perform community service... setting up and helping out with Bingo...that experience is another post in itself...geriatric social politics are an endless source of intrigue to me...those b*tches are worse than the "Heathers." Anyway, the suggested party dress code was Island-wear, and my friends and I had been back and forth all week long bouncing ideas off one another (island-wear? Could I go as Long Island, then? Acid wash, Aquanet and Lee Press-Ons???...heehee...oh, you know I love you, LI...). So we were all swapping outfits and ordering new looks from J.Crew and Vineyard Vines (hey, check out page 44 of the new catalog...some Ritt/Andersons enjoying a sail in Bermuda with their "Chappy" trunks...) and the standout: Dress Barn (right, Wend???)...So with a few selections each, Rob and I decided we'd stick with the Bermuda aesthetic...me in a light blue and green flared VV skirt covered with pinaeapple cocktails, a light pink tee and bright green cardigan...my Bermudian glass "Pisces" earrings in place and my famously coveted jeweled t-strap sandals adorning my tootsies. Suse had Scott veto her final selections, and though a tropical sundress on loan from Mary was looking like the front runner, she went in another direction ultimately with the classic white pant and floral tank...Yes, for sure, we personified "Island."

So earlier in the week, Mary and Sandy had decided to host a small group for cocktails and a little pre-party fun. And since none of us planned on driving to the event, in a stroke of genius, Mary decided that Sandy would come pick the pre-party guests up, like a little prom bus chauffeuring service, so that we could all walk down Wyckoff Avenue together, from their house to the party scene. So at 6:15 p.m., Rob and I in our "Bermuda" finest, Veuve Clicquot in one hand, Helen's gift (a lovely turquoise and silver beaded necklace that we group gifted with Suse, Scott and the Giffords....) in the other, we stepped into Sandy's ginormous black Yukon Denali, rounded over to grab Suse and Scott...and the night began.... Mary and Sandy's yard looking lush and gorgeous, peppered with bursts of spring florals...all thanks to her green thumb. We toasted with the Veuve and noshed on some cheese and crackers and gucamole and the sesame-crusted ahi...lining the stomach for the alcoholic onslaught. Soon Kathy arrived (solo, lucky Mark playing 36 holes up in New England...) alongside Wendy and Roger (of the annual beach bashes and kicka** Christmas parties...)...then Richie Ray (Kathleen stuck shuttling the kids...) made his way across the street and the party was complete. We girls posing for pics (some of the ladies taking the chance to mock my signature pose that they see each week right here on this blog...the twisted body and side-flipped head...I am a pro at this point...), taking in each others' fine "Island" fashions, coveting one anothers' frocks and jewels and new lip glosses and just having the best time laughing...and we all need a laugh or two, for sure. It was there too that we discussed the team Christine and Suse are forming in honor of our dear Kathy...a big group of friends walking the Avon Two Day Walk for Breast Cancer in October....with Kathy as our team captain. And though the conversation pretty much split down gender lines, I am sure the guys covered the Yankees and Mets and the hockey championships and busted each others' b*lls relentlessly about one thing or another while pounding Coronas and Heinekins and I think I even saw Sandy pouring some Cabernet out of a carafe...mmmm...suburban fun, we definitely know how to have it....

When the time finally came to walk down to Helen and Bill's house for the real party (a fashionable 45 minutes post start time...), Roger convinced us ladies to hop into his Jeep for a ride instead, which we did, and in less than two minutes we pulled into Helen's circular drive, six tuxedoed valets awaiting us.... We hopped out and immediately felt the energy in the air...the festive reggae music floating from the giant tented yard, candles and stringed lights illuminating the path...we bumped into Teri and Charlie on the driveway as Roger swung around to retrieve our husbands -- who were still hanging with Sandy on his driveway -- and we all walked towards the party together. And everywhere we turned we were face to face with another great fun friend or neighbor...Nancy, Tim and Christine chatting with our host, Bill...next it was Susan and Mike, Annie and Danny...everyone sporting the biggest smiles. The celebratory vibe was infectious...and we hadn't even entered the tent yet.

Soon we made our way through the lantern-lit tent out towards the poolside bar, set up in Helen's poolhouse...there were precious, beautiful photos of Helen at different stages of life blown up, adorning the pathway and hanging behind the bar. And you could see in them her little girl face...this little funky cool spirit in there, awaiting this moment... On the way to the bar we said hello to the birthday girl, laid back and lovely...embracing the Nantucket look, I'd say, in a gorgeous white tunic and jeans...hair all flowy and wild and curly. And I couldn't help but think how perfectly the party atmosphere captured Helen's spirit...totally vivacious, happy and fun...not to mention ultra-cool.

So I encountered even more friends as we made our way through...Ben and Ellen, who looked hippie chic/beach goddess in her red tunic and retro headband. Then Sam appeared, grabbed my wrist and we hit the bar (she was hoping a gimlet or six would be in her future...sorry, no vodka on the islands!!), where the two bartenders were mixing up rum drinks -- classic mojitos (we each ordered two) and this orangey-reddish rum punch that looked like a Swizzle but tasted like high octane 80 proof moonshine...Sam and I found Dana at the bar, loving the rum punch of course and wearing a giant sweater over her cute tropical dress...and again, everywhere we turned was another friend...Pina and Danielle and their posse on the late side...everyone all dressed up and happy and having a blast...

You know, so we just all socialized and caught up...and it went on like that all night...Honestly I can barely remember the bulk of my conversations, mostly they were drowned out by the reggae beat. At one point Gwen and I hit the bar and the industrious bartender made me a "mojito" with Rose's lime juice and Sprite...my teeth almost fell out on the first sip...which Gwen found simultaneously hilarious and disgusting. We switched to white wine after that, which eventually ended up spilling down my skirt as I leapt towards Nancy and snapped a photo all at once. Oh and then Scott told Mary that she had dropped to number three on his "list" behind Suse and the new entry -- one of the party guests, a total knock-out whom I have taken to calling "Wyckoff Barbie" with her glossy blond curls and giant gardenia behind one ear. So it became Mary's mission to win Scott back, claiming that it was the first she learned she was even on "the list," let alone number two...Meanwhile Suse and I were off with Sandy and Ellen and Kathleen, causing trouble, I think...I know we were sort of dancing...I clearly remember being grabbed from behind by one of the guests as he said "now who is this hot little thing..." Seriously, dude? I think he may have thought I was a hired dancer in my preppy outfit, a country club sl*t like that girl from Caddyshack, I suppose...Sandy, who was claiming Mary had banished him to the doghouse for his choice of shirt, shooed my extra friendly suitor away and the guy came to his senses, politely retreating. You naughty boys...After that I found myself with Christine and Nancy and Susan and Pina and Mary and Wendy all talking plans for our team Avon Walk (so excited Susan is coming along because she is endlessly entertaining to me...great stories...please snuggle in next to me at Randall's Island, Susie!) and I made sure John was looped in on the plan so that he could tell Kim, as she was under the weather forcing him to come to the party stag, which is the kind of commitment to socializing that I can get behind...Later in the night a bunch of the guys were in Helen and Bill's barn, playing some ping pong tournament, Freddy and Tim and Scott and Brian and Mike and Joe...all competitive and cheering loudly....Rob was off with his "number two," Danielle (tied with TJ), sharing rum punches, and I knew the ramifications of his hangover were in my future.

So it was at this particular moment when I noticed that every one of my BFFs was MIA...not a one was left under that tent. So I started to search, heading towards the barn where there were these two guys hanging outside the doorway...and I caught their eyes...and immediately I recognized him...I was face to face with one of my greatest guy friends from high school, Chris St. P. (aka Butter...though Allison and I always called him Saintser)...and as the connection became clear, I began to squeal. It had been years since I had seen him...I knew sort of where he was over the years, where the guys all ended up...but we had gone to separate, single-sexed schools, so there were only word-of-mouth updates to be had as the years went on, usually through Casey via Slawdogs. But honestly...after the whole thing with Lawrence back in '91, it became more difficult for us to get together as a group...painful...so we had lost touch somewhat. But here Saintser was...and I couldn't contain my excitement. Saintser knew Helen since childhood, hence his presence at the bash...So we reminisced and caught up and I met his wife and he and Rob became quick friends...We told our selection of friends that began to surround us all of the ridiculous stories. About the time, upon Saintser's return home from summering in 'Sconset, I whispered an entire summer's worth of gossip and drama in his ear while we sat on Mike Lynch's back porch, and only after I was done did he tell me that he couldn't hear out of the ear I was speaking into, and turned his head so I could retell the saga again....And that time Lawrence and I were smooching in a little nook upstairs at Saintser's house, getting cozy on some cushiony bed/couch thing...when all of a sudden, Saintser whips the door open and bellows: "Larry, dude, that's my dog's bed!"....we freaked, jumping up dusting off clumps of hair and fuzz and dog grossness left over by that giant golden retriever blond lab or whatever the damn thing was....I still have nightmares about that...(ugh, that was also the night that my Dad picked me up from the party and Larry kissed me goodbye on the mouth right in front of him...another nightmarish memory...). I remember doing shots of Wild Turkey in Saintser's living room with the guys one night...and later Allison having to drive my car home and put me to bed...after we inhaled some fries and gravy at Matthew's Diner...ick, gross...yet somehow, I was a size 2.... And even with the painful/stupid/embarrassing parts, we laughed so much remembering...

Before the night was out, I told Saintser the story of the time I visited the spiritualist...and how she told me she was talking to Lawrence...how she described him to a T -- the height, the blue, blue eyes -- and said he was blowing cigarette smoke in her face. And how he told her that he had met my baby -- the one I was carrying at the time, my jealous and possessive 5 1/2 year old -- on the other side. And I told her to ask Lawrence to please not teach my baby any of his tricks...which made Saintser laugh. And then I told him about how the spiritualist gave me the message she said Lawrence had for me, which I relayed to Saintser....and like me, he was blown away...and he knew that the experience was genuine, because we knew Larry, and the message was exactly what he would have said.

Seeing Saintser made this already amazingly good time near perfect...lucky me to be surrounded by great neighbors and friends...to have such a fun place to live, that all these folks just want to enjoy one another and share good times...and lucky me to find a dear old friend waiting there in the mix too...

So eventually the crowd started thinning and some of my besties, Suse and Nancy and Gwen and their husbands and mine, sat in the little cube chairs surrounding a low candlelit coffee table, right by the band (we called it the I Dream of Jeannie lounge...totally looked like that only updated from it's swinging 60's blue and pink palette...). Rob noted the time and decided to hightail it back home so one of us could relieve the sitter...it was 12:45....he left his sunglasses behind in his haste and Tim had fun mocking their Brooks Brothers aesthetic, putting them on, popping his collar and effecting a Locust Valley lockjaw with ridiculous lines like: "My nanny had the nerve to ask for a vacation day..." Silly drunk stuff...but we thought it was g*ddamned hysterical.

Helen and Bill were thanking and bidding farewell to their guests and I wanted to tell her how much I thought the party just screamed "Helen"...bubbly, fun and non-stop joy. How would I ever top this for my 40th? I don't think I will try...because to do so, I'd have to personally rent out the Island of Bermuda for a week and host each of you there for a week (Daddy, get on that!)...Yes, Helen's party was that great and I truly appreciated being a part of it.

So the rest of us dirty stay-outs (I swear, our group is always the last ones to go...) knew the time had come to make our exit. Suse and Scott agreed to walk me home as my escort was long gone, him being the responsible grown-up of our duo, as always... So the three of us recounted the night on the way home, and just as we hit the corner of Sunset and Pathway Manor, Teri and Charlie and Kathy pulled up and offered us a ride...and we hopped in. Charlie turned on to Martom and as I was directing him to my house, he pulled into Pina and Paul's driveway and we all hopped out...

After Party!!

We poured into Pina's front room...now, so you don't think we are rude, thoughtless little pigs (copyright: Alec Baldwin...), Pina did mention a little late night noshing would be afoot in her kitchen.... And was it ever...she had already whipped up a batch of Healthy Choice or Fiber One or some other gross healthy brand pancakes...covered with organic syrup. We chipped and dipped and a bunch of the crew were mixing up Grey Goose and tonics, but thankfully I was wise enough to abstain. However, I did finish Danielle's leftover Healthy Choice or Fiber One pancakes....and that's when Pina wondered if she should fry up some zeppoles. Well, damn, girl... this is New Jersey....of course you should fry up some zeppoles...I don't care what time it is! So Suse and Danielle and I helped fashion little dough balls while Pina heated a full pot of oil. And we stood over the bubbly pot like a bunch of Pavlov's dogs. And I promise you this...they were delicious and crispy and doughy and sweet...the yummiest zeppoles ever...and we scarfed them at 2 a.m., right there in Pina's kitchen.

I was in bed, face scrubbed, teeth brushed, next to my jealous and possessive 5 1/2 year old 20 minutes later. Could there be a better ending?

Many kisses, my loves....

xoxo

Suz

Photo 1: Zeppoles: the cornerstone of a nutritious breakfast...

Photo 2: Rob and his undercover posse, the Regal Beagle regulars...

Photo 3: My real breakfast that morning...Magnolia buttercream...

Photo 4: Suse, Mary and me...just popped the Veuve...all Islanded-up and ready to rock...

Photo 5: Mary, Suse and Wendy...those b*tches are trying to cop my signature pose...

Photo 6: Suse, Kathy, me, Mary and Wendy...I am such a midget...

Photo 7: Kathy and me...showing gums and double chins and crows feet...but laughing our a**es off, and we needed it...

Photo 8: Nancy, Kathy and Tim...as we arrive onsite...

Photo 9: A gaggle of hot Wyckoff moms...I mean, how can you men keep yourselves from this place now that you know what beauty awaits you...?

Photo 10: Little girl Helen...watching over the bar scene...my kind of kid...

Photo 11: Suse and hippie chick, Ellen...definitely plotting some shenanigans...

Photo 12: Sam and me...who can get us a gimlet...anyone??

Photo 13: Pina and me -- not on "the list"...but those other two....could that beauty be Mary's rival...?

Photo 14: Suse, Sandy and me...I think that shirt is totally hot...as long as my husband knows enough not to wear it....

Photo 15: Tim, Brian, Mike and Rob...sharing their "lists" with one another...

Photo 16: Two of my besties, Nancy and Gwen...looking like teenagers at a kegger...

Photo 17: Real teens at a kegger...circa 1988...a selection of my high school posse...Saintser top row, fourth from left...toasting...

Photo 18: Saintser and me today...still gorgeous...

Photo 19 and 20: The dirty stay-outs...the usual suspects...but we are a damn fun lot...

Photo 21: Pina, zeppole aficionado and late night short order cook...all in her adorable maxi dress...just another night on Wyckoff...