Oh, We're Halfway There...or Maybe Just a Third...

We began our "New Face of Forty" spa tour sampling granola, totally buff beneath bathrobes (well, truthfully Lisa and I are far too demure to go commando...but those other hussies were all over it...)...Suse was laughing hysterically while surveying the many offerings of the bathroom bidet...warm, cool, front, back, soft, hard and, of course, blowing air... Oh yes, at Elements Spa at the Crystal Springs Resort, not one inch of your body is unattended to... And so our treatments commenced...

But let me rewind a little so I can set the scene... It was Suse's big birthday this past Monday, and as such a group of our friends converged upon Crystal Springs for a spa weekend/girlie sleepover party. There was Suse and Sistergirlfriend (aka SisterG), Lisa, leading the way...Sam and Mary riding alongside me in my Little Blue Jag replacement, the less flashy yet far more dependable, Black Equinox (wah, wah, waaaah...). Kerry and Lisa D. were only 30 minutes behind...Ellen making the scene for a manicure and some cocktails...Ann and Karen meeting us for dinner...but the award for most committed goes to Helen, who not only hit the Cub Scouts annual Blue & Gold dinner before driving up to meet us, but she didn't even take a moment to change...her brown Scout Leader shirt still in place...but looking cute as can be in it, as only Helen can. I warned her the concierge would think we hired a stripper if she walked in wearing that thing...but she still wore it...oh and we did dance, but there was no stripping...I will get to that....

Back to the beginning -- of course there were giggles and chit chat and major happenings to cover and analyze and deconstruct during the 45 minute ride into some other NJ county (where is Vernon anyway...is that Sussex?)... At any rate...we arrived at the spa, and first we lunched and then checked in at the spa, where Suse, SisterG and Sam settled in for their first appointments while Mary and I drove over to check in at the Grand Cascades Lodge, the other, newer hotel at the Resort... And wouldn't you know it? As we settled up and got our keys and tipped the bellman, four other Washington School moms, there for their own Spa Weekend, strolled by...and we all stared at one another in bewilderment, processing this odd out of context moment...eventually suggesting we catch up at dinnertime for a cocktail. So after we set up the rooms, unloaded the selection of champagne and wine and cheese and bread and chocolate and cupcakes that we brought along, Mary and I headed back to Elements, put on our flip flops and robes, and found our girls chilling out in the rosewater foot baths...

And so, my French pedicure, which includes a foot massage by tongue (just kidding...but some of you guys enjoyed the image...I know you did....) was soothing and beautifying...and my facial was rejuvenating, leaving me glossy and fresh...and the Spa granola was divine, as was the lunching and the chatting and the laughing and the being with my close friends in a serene atmosphere. But as I settled in the rosewater foot bath post facial, I checked my watch and looked around...only Mary and I remained...which could only mean that the rest of the Spa posse was already back at Grand Cascades, showering and cocktailing...they were getting a head start! Damned if I could sit still for that...I hopped out of that rosewater bath and sprinted into the changing area, where Mary was alone with the bidet (hmmmm...)...I hastily dressed, ran out to pay my bill and make an appointment for the next morning -- a Hot Stone Massage (mmm...yum...have the tingles just recalling...) -- and Mary a

nd me hopped in the car and sped back to meet our friends.

And we found Suse and SisterG hanging with our dinner guests, Ellen and Karen and Ann...and they had already cracked out the supreme brie and the sauvignon blanc and the Reese's Peanut Butter Hearts (tastes great with a dry white...)...and they were all clean and squeaky, newly washed hair...and the clock was ticking... I took a quick sip and ran to my room, where Sam was exiting the shower...I brushed my teeth and checked out my glossy skin in the mirror...and it was then that I asked myself what was more important: being on time for cocktails or sporting my steamy, scraggly, rumpled spa hair at dinner... I am a vain little b*tch at times, but there was no question...nobody minds a little spa hair now and then, as long as you are holding a champagne flute when your friends make the first toast of the night. So I jumped in the shower at lightening speed....within minutes I was all dressed in my black J. Crew ensemble and my gunmetal grey patent leather T-straps...I poufed my Spa Hair (not quite as sexy as beach hair, by the way, but tousled still...), applied the makeup and was on my merry way, 15 minutes from the time Mary and I walked in the door. It wasn't until we started taking pictures later in the night that in my haste to take part in some bubbly, I had not realized I had placed light-colored undergarments beneath an apparently see-through shirt...so enjoy the photos because I have no choice but to share and flash you all by default (my apologies...).

So anyway...we made our way to the bar at the Crystal Tavern (where SisterG and I spotted Elin Nordegren and Forest Whitaker...or maybe it was Elin's twin and some other guy who looked like Forest...)...Either way we ordered up Kir Royale all around...except for Kerry who chose the extra WASPy vodka collins (she is a Mainliner, after all...). And there were salads and dinners (kurobuta pork!) and photos and many bottles of wine...and there was a little chocolate mousse cake for Suse and the Happy Birthday song. And as we exited the Crystal Tavern we took a detour and caught up with the other group of Washington moms that had made the scene... And then, just when Helen finally arrived in her Scout Leader outfit and we squealed with delight, we heard a rumor that there was a gay wedding taking place in the ballroom around the corner....

That was all I had to hear!

Unable to contain my need to revel amongst the gays, I grabbed Sam and Helen and we hightailed it to the adjacent ballroom...hoping for cheery guests, pulsating music, a jammed dance floor, well-dressed and fabulously groomed men telling hilarious stories.... But instead, we encountered the lamest party of all time kicked into high gear... There was not a gay in sight and this was obviously some New Jersey nether-regions office party gone wrong. There was a sparsely populated dance floor anchored by an over-excited DJ spinning some tune-age by JayZ...there was the obligatory unattractive office couple pawing at one another, and the secretarial pool was dancing in a circle. In the back corner of the room there were two very bored bartenders tending the emptiest bar in history. Sam went over to said bartenders and asked if this was the gay wedding and through their laughter they cleared up what we already knew...this party was for the employees of some Cablevision office nearby. So, thinking they were following me out, I turned on my heels and went back to get the other girls...and as I did so, a woman in a red floral dress invited Sam and Helen to stay and dance....and they did.

I returned minutes later with the rest of our group and as we entered the ballroom we took in the scene -- Sam and Helen dominating the room, a group of Sweet 16 partiers alongside them...and the entire Cablevision office staff watching in stunned confusion. We ran to the dance floor and danced as a group and snapped pictures and laughed out loud as quickly as possible...because we knew that behind our backs the Cablevision team was devising a plan to oust us so that their lame bash could begin again...And the next thing we knew some waitress came over and told us to get the hell out after the song was over...and Sam goes: "we were invited!" and points to the lady in the red floral dress who was heading in our direction mouthing the words: "I'm sorry." And we are all waving her off like: "no, don't worry...it's all good...don't be sorry..." and she goes: "I really wish you could stay because my daughter is 25 too, and I love seeing girls your age having a good time..."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Say what?????????????

I have to say, this woman was no more than 50...and had to have been either very drunk or severely vision impaired. Or perhaps it is possible that the Cablevision radio waves had rendered the lady in the red floral dress delusional...I mean, no question my group of friends...not just the Spa Girls either, the extended group, far and wide...are an amazingly beautiful, attractive, vivacious, compelling and well-kept group of lovelies...but I can admit it, we definitely look at least 32 on our best day. Still, we didn't correct her mistake...who are we to argue with 25? You know...like I said..."The New Face of Forty."

So we moved on, and after briefly considering hitting the pub, we decided to take our conga line upstairs, get dressed in pjs and meet for a girlie gab-session on Suse and SisterG and Mary's

beds... and there we cracked open the cupcakes and the raspberry brownies and all of that chocolate and washed it all down with chardonnay as we played a game of "Questions" 80's style... you know, things like: "Which Breakfast Club character best mirrors your high school persona?"...and "What is the best " '80's one hit wonder?"...and "Purple Rain: compelling showcase of Price's groundbreaking artistry or borderline porno?"... And so we now know the group's collective favorite Journey song is "Don't Stop Believin'..." though Suse and I made a solid argument for "Open Arms"...oh the genius of Steve Perry coupled with pre-teen angst! I mean, who doesn't love a great 80's power ballad to bawl your eyes out to? It's my favorite of all pastimes...next to being naughty. Anyway...so, we questioned and answered and we giggled and chit chatted and dissected and deconstructed and told stories...finishing the night exactly as it had begun on the drive up...bonding with our favorite girlfriends.

Lucky us to have these moments together as often as we do...and lucky Suse to be celebrated and surrounded by such love and friendship for a full 24 hours...who could ask for more for a fortieth birthday, really?

Well....other than being mistaken for a 25 year old.....

xo, S

** This post written with thoughts of D.E., who needed someone...but did not think she had any girlfriends she could lean on...R.I.P.

Photos:

1. Jen Aniston, with the most powerful reps in the business selling her to us as Queen of the "New Forty..." Ok, I'll buy that...

2. SisterG, Me and Suse...devising a strategy to eek out one more day at the Spa...

3. Spa Girls: SisterG, Suse, Mary and me...all wrapped up in our Spa robes, feet in the rosewater baths, spa hair apparent...some of us in the buff underneath...

4. SisterG, Ellen, Suse, Karen and Lisa...all dressed up and draining those champagne bottles while I was still covered in rosewater...

5. Sam and Lisa patiently waiting for a refill on their Kir Royale...

6. Suse wth Scout Master Helen who is just joining the party...tell me she's not rocking out that hot brown shirt...
7. Tragic fashions and dance moves by the Sussex County Cablevision posse...you just know that's the mailroom guy and the accounts payable assistants...

8. (left to right) Kerry, Helen, Suse, Lisa, Me and my blush colored bra, SisterG, Sam and Mary...Hot b**tches on parade...Of course we could pass for 25! In Sussex County at least...

9. The girls surrounding Suse with love on her big day...

I Just Want To Fly...

I spent all day Wednesday closed inside, behind a broken garage door opener...car stuck = Suz paralyzed. Oh, and don't think I am quite so pathetic that I didn't attempt the manual release option that is provided on electronic door openers...the problem was far more complex that a little pulley/release string could cure. And of course I was handling all of this inconvenience with my signature grace and calm serenity...just about ready to b**ch-slap the next person who crossed my path...you know, totally rational as always. And I had a million things I wanted to do and a few that I needed to do...you know, get the kids to school (thanks Pina!), hit Abma's, grab an iced latte (big sis Trish to the rescue...), meet up with Kassie for a long planned and much delayed chit-chat... Instead, I took to Facebook where my friends were sympathetic and helpful, but also pointed to fate...maybe, they suggested, Jesus or God or my guides and higher spirits had put this in place, to force me to chill for a while...nowhere to go, nothing to rush to. But always I am looking to rush...to head out and escape...to meet for drinks or coffee or dinner or lunch...to be out and about. Which only reminded me....

Just last week I had to say goodbye for good to an old friend...and you know, it was difficult for me because I hate goodbyes...I always want things to end on a good note. But honestly, my relationship with said friend had broken down in recent months, though we had once been very close, particularly the past few years. You know how it is...all the bells and whistles were going off, warning lights flashing for months on end. And so, it was clear, though I tried my very best to find a way to make it work, that it would never go back to the way it once had been. So that was it....and I have replaced this old friend with someone new (you must not know 'bout me...), someone younger and in better shape...and though I miss the old days, I am better off....

But still, my darling, dearest Little Blue Jag...I wish it didn't have to end...

Yup...my Little Blue love affair is over. The poor old gal had been sputtering for months...like it was p*ssed at me for something (who isn't?). Almost overnight this Fall, the brakes became all skittish and the engine sounded like an asthmatic ninety-two year old smoker and the heat all of a sudden just quit burning...and this was after the damn thing dropped its transmission on me this summer in the middle of Long Beach Boulevard, cars whizzing by me and swerving, a group of Italian guys in wife beaters stopping traffic and pushing me onto one of those state-named streets in Peahala Park (see, folks, as I have always said: Guidos, on the whole, are nice people...) and I had her towed 92 miles back to Wyckoff Auto, spending $3,000 fixing her up...and still, she was never the same.

I know, I know...the Little Blue Jag was an inanimate object...but there were so many good times together...you know, belting the Backstreet Boys ("But we...are two worlds apart/can't reach to your heart...") on the Westside Highway...playing fake burnt-out trophy wife on the GWB...driving through harrowing summer storms along the Merritt Parkway, the Jag's ratty windshield wipers somehow holding up, precariously though, as the tornado swirled me. And then it was my Dad's pre-set stations on the Jag's radio that introduced me to Friday Night '80's on WFAS (Westchester's Best Music Variety!)...which always seemed to cheer me. But best of all were the drives to Boston, to the Cape and down The Shore (not Seaside, Snooki...), all over the tri-state and then uptown, downtown, across town, East Side, West Side...picking up, dropping off, going out, having fun...I am going to miss those days. I loved that car.

I know missing a car is kind of a pointless pursuit...but our cars house many of our moments...and symbolize something to, and about us, I think. I mean, you know who's coming at you when you see a pickup with a Confederate flag draped in the back window...or a white mini-van with the fake smashed baseball in the window and the "My child is on the Honor Roll at..." bumper sticker....or the red Ferrari, tinted windows, gold rims...you can make a judgement on every one of those drivers just by looking at his or her car...so a car can be a harbinger...letting us know what to expect from its passengers. I don't know what the Little Blue Jag said about me, but I am fine with whatever that was.

The last time I felt quite so connected to a car was back at Stonehill, my little teal 1989 Honda Accord that Annie Murphy named Marge...she was the first car that was all mine...and we spent those most impactful years of my life together...I experienced all those silly College shenanigans and early adulthood strife in Marge's driver's seat. We Orleans Girls made road trips to University of Maine and Merrimack and Loyola in Baltimore and Harvard and URI and Fordham with Marge, blasting Carly Simon's "Anticipation" ("stay right here, cause there are the good old days...") from her speakers and crying together, as we began to anticipate graduation day. And everyone knew Marge belonged to me...my sparkly teal Honda Accord parked behind Duffy. So many memories. When I moved to the Big City in the winter of 1994, I had to send Marge away for good....and I cried because I knew my next car would be an "adult" car...probably a "suburban car"...and most definitely would not know the great times we had as kids with our first taste of freedom. I could only hope that the Honda dealership resold Marge to a bright, shiny college co-ed, adding to the fun times Marge brought me. And I bet that car is still running today, over 20 years later....

But my Little Blue Jag is not being refurbished or resold to a fake burnt-out trophy wife/car singer/tornado-chasing distracted mom...No, no...that old friend truly is gone for good...

So I guess in my car-less paralysis and extra free "pondering" time on Wednesday, I found that it is the freedom a car brings to us that attaches to it a personality, a soul and a heart....because if nothing else, you can get in and go away and, even for a little while, get lost in your own thoughts...and your car is your companion, and can pretty much take you anywhere...with a soundtrack of your choosing. And there is something comforting in knowing that no matter what point you are at in life...how important your job is...how many children you have that need you...how many demands are upon you...how many people love you, want to be with you, expect your help or loyalty or devotion...there is always the freedom to hop in and be on your own...to go wherever you want to go, even for a little while...

But...even I think that the best thing about freedom -- the freedom to sing along to Friday Night '80's ("Say after me/It's no better to be safe than sorry...") at the top of your lungs while cruising the streets with nowhere to go -- is that it is so much more fantastic and fun when someone you love rides shotgun alongside you....

So....wait for me out front, I am on my way...

Photos:

1. Not my garage door, but almost an exact replica of the state of affairs when I woke this morning...

2. Me - Little Blue Jag = The Sads...

3. My dear old friend...well, one that looks like her...probably pushed into place by a gaggle of friendly Guidos...

4. My trusty Garmin perched on the Jag's window, post tornado...

5. Marge -- 1989 - 1994...RIP...is that the parking lot behind Duffy..???

6. Annie Murph, me and Heidi, on the Cape, Senior Week, 1992...delivered to the booze-fest by Marge...

7. Jeanne and I riding double in Marge's shotgun seat, toasting with keg beer the first night of sophomore year, September, 1990...

8. Driving across the sandy dunes after a day at Great Point on Nantucket, where the Nantucket Sound crosses the Atlantic Ocean...a most beautiful and remote spot, and my car got me there...