Come On And Save Me...

Ok, I'll give you the Cliffs Notes version of our Memorial Day weekend shenanigans...Friday drinks with some of the other moms at the Brick House, the three-person conga line headed up by TJ, as we closed the joint long after the valets had returned our keys to 

us and had gone home for the night...this all while Rob and our kids bonfired in Gwen and Joe's yard, Brian and the girls in the mix too... And on Saturday, a little friendly BBQ chez Suz with dear friends, a gaggle of kids running around all night in the cool air, each couple unexpectedly arriving with a stocked cooler to go with our full bar (Crown Royal, anyone...any takers? didn't think so...), Scott hauling out his beanbag game with the beer holders on the stakes and the guys loudly cheering each time they scored...Suse and I again entertaining the group with the severed finger story (which has grown back, believe it or not....just like a regenerated crab claw...eeek), this time sistergirlfriend, Lisa H., putting in her two cents on the

 phone call she received from me mid-catastrophe...so again, my ineptitude is the butt of the joke...but I can take it. And then we spent Sunday on Christine and Jimmy's beautiful back porch, celebrating birthdays and the beginning of what will most certainly be a great summer, Mike's extra delicious mojitos kicking the party up a few notches....not to mention Christine's burger bar. Then on Monday the whole town turned out for the official celebration (I almost forgot this was actually a holiday honoring the sacrafices of our troops, though I was reminded when I read the most hilarious selection from someecards.com, which said it best: "I hope we can fit in some memorializing between boozing, tanning and f&%!ing..." So nasty...yet true...LOVE that!). So my perfect middle child proudly walked in his first Memorial Day parade with his Dad...and then Sharon and Ed's all-day bash followed...a cast of characters from every corner of town (where, somehow, over Hard Lemonades, Dana, TJ and I were talked into co-chairing a major PTO function next year...), gorgeous, perfect weather and massive water fights...even TJ got into the act accidentally and I am not sure CDP has forgiven her quite yet....actually, I am still shaking in my flip flops recalling the incident. Such a great weekend...

And now I am exhausted, so maybe I will just go into hiding until Labor Day....

I know, bite my tongue...so unlike me to hibernate. You know, there are already tons of events on the calendar to look forward to, all the way into September (hello, Flying Mueller Brothers...)...Starting with this weekend's mega-event that I will keep secret until all is evidenced right here next week...and we have the Lilly Pulitzer party at the Union League Club with RJP next week...my trip to Bermuda coming up as soon as the kids are out of school...and there are more parties and Shore weekends and concerts and visits to The Cape and Friday night barbecues by the lake and Sunday dinners on the patio at Dad's club... Not to mention breaking out the summer fashions (am ordering my Vineyard Vines strapless Tokeneke dress as I write...in "Nautical" by the way...) and my collection of toe-less shoes that show off my bi-weekly pedicure. That is my favorite part of summer...always being able to look down and see pretty, shiny sparkly rose-colored toes...small pleasures, you know...

But, I have to admit...taking a post-Bermuda refuge on the lounge by Dad's pool seems tempting...you know, spend all of July and August totally incommunicado...working on the tan, catching up on my reading, letting the kids run wild (who needs camp?)...no schedule at all...is that so bad? Who is with me? Come on...let's all just quit the non-stop attempt to fill the leisurely summer days with activities and playdates and action and some manic itinerary.... I know, impossible...it's just one of my (many) yummy fantasies...but what would I do without order? And anyway...I think I might miss you all too much...

It's just that every year when we return from Bermuda, as early in the summer as it is, I am usually pretty spent...I have already reached my tanned peak (look just like a delicious caffe latte...), swam my heart out, rode waves, biked for miles, boated, snorkeled, shopped, dined out, Swizzled, and had a non-stop hug fest with my kids....all in front of the most beautiful backdrop in the universe...that turquoise water and the magenta sunsets and the twisty roads through lush hills. And every year we are home for no more than 36 hours when the Bermuda buzz dissolves and the onslaught begins...running three separate kids to three separate summer camps...getting the midday guilts as I allow them to watch iCarly marathons instead of taking them to the beach club to see their friends...and when I do, ending up trying to deflect their pleas for another one of those giant, nasty, red, white and blue "rocket" ice pops from the snack shack that will leave them covered in sticky Red Dye #5...and I am always giving in, buying ice pops and fries and gum and M&M's because I am tired of being the cranky mom...and because I just cannot fight anymore...someone, save me!

Ok...ok guys, I can hear a thunderstorm of breadwinner eye-rolling through the screen...I know sitting at a desk in front of a computer while the summer sun beats on your window is no fun either, because I have been there...I know that the daily grind for you guys never ends, no matter the season...and I know you would give just about anything to spend entire weeks running around with your kids, eating a little ice cream at the beach and having some free time to hit the links and chill at the Men's Grill, a refreshing little Grey Goose and tonic in hand (two limes)...so I am sorry to, even for a second, act as though filling the long days at home is some form of waterboarding or something. I am fully aware that the summer malaise is the best of all malaises to have...I just have to remind myself every once in a while... It is hard to remember to take pleasure in the daily routine...to be thankful for these life moments...

And then something happened this past weekend that snapped me back to reality...two seemingly unrelated events that had my head spinning when all was said and done...stunned by the irony...

Last Thursday my very best friend, Allison (you know...Barbie collection, rainbow suspenders, Day of Our Lives aficionado by age 5...), called me to let me know that her Auntie Marylou had died. Allison and I have been closest friends, like sisters, since we were nine years old...and Auntie Marylou was a fixture in my life as in hers, because she was the maiden aunt who had never married and had no children, always there on holidays and events. Mary

lou didn't add much to the conversation ever, but she remembered to ask after my parents and siblings and children...always. So upon hearing the news, Allison and I shed a few quiet tears, whispering to one another that it was just so sad, because Marylou was lonely and she didn't have any friends really and so she just faded a little into the background. We had secretly called her Eleanor Rigby (god, we were always such brats...funny though, right???), back in the day...and now that she had died, it seemed even more so...

But...the next day Allison called again...this time to tell me that her dad, Auntie Marylou's brother and sole survivor, had made the decision to have Marylou's organs donated...and the family had learned that Marylou's liver had been in perfect shape...and had been shipped to a hospital in Pittsburgh to save a dying person's life. And we cried again, this time with happiness in our tears because finally, in death, Marylou had given someone life. She wasn't just hanging in the corner anymore, Eleanor Rigby and all...her life had made an impact. And we were so happy...and thankful...What a lovely ending...

And then...

This Saturday night we got a message from my sister, Tricia...my friends were still out on the deck, Rob having just lit his chiminea, flames shooting 8 feet in the air, a little Eric Clapton on the Bose...the message went something like this:

"Please, please pray for Ashley...she is in Intensive Care at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital with debilitating stomach pains and extreme jaundice...we will keep you posted."

Ashley is my niece, Andie's, very best friend...since pre-kindergarten, constantly together, even when parted by school districts and diametrically opposing interests and extra-curriculars...Ashley is the effortless braniac, lover of Harry Potter movies and roller-coasters...Andie the theatrically gifted one, prone to massive button-pushing and sarcastic quips (hmmmm...who does she take after??)... Andie and Ashley even jokingly list their status on Facebook as "married" to one another. So, you know...Ashley is to Andie what Allison is to me...her other half and soul sister...unlikely matches, made in heaven. Upon hearing the news, my heart began to bleed...she was healthy and perfect days before, this came out of nowhere...

I was sitting on Christine and Jimmy's back porch Sunday night watching all of our friends' kids run wild, making each other laugh, when I learned via text that the Ashley's condition was dire. She needed a liver transplant within 24 to 48 hours... Of course we were dumbfounded. We went home that night and I crawled into bed and sobbed with my pillow over my head so the kids wouldn't hear me...trying to shake the sympathy pains I was feeling for Ashley's parents...and my niece...I couldn't imagine...

But it was the irony that just blew my mind and still does...here we were, only days prior, elated at the thought that Auntie Marylou had given another person life through her death. And here now,we are helpless watching a bright, sweet sixteen year old girl, her whole life ahead

 of her, facing the unthinkable... The fact

that I was so closely and rapidly experiencing both sides of this issue was incredible to me...what kind of lesson is this? So we just prayed...

And we got a liver! On Tuesday afternoon Ashley went in for her transplant...the same day we attended Marylou's wake where her brother and nephews, Allison's dad and brothers, sported lapel pins that said Donate Life and little green wrist bands with the same slogan were available for the taking...my kids are wearing them now. And this morning my Dad called out of his office as I walked by (yes, am working with him for a few weeks...that's a whole different story...) to tell me that he had received word that after 12 hours, at 2 a.m. this morning, Ashley came out of surgery and she is strong...vital signs good. A long road ahead...but what a blessing. I am choked up still.

Ok...so I am not perfect...I have lots of flaws and fears and ineptitude and can be a total screw up a lot of the time...and you definitely don't want me around in a crisis, we have established that. I take things for granted and I forget to be caring and giving and patient to those that I love... So for me to be preachy to you, my friends, is ridiculous...not like me at all (although I do enjoy being controlling and bossy at times...). But I think there has to be a reason that these two linked, yet separate, events happened to people in my life...to soul sisters and very best friends...it must mean that I had to tell all of you...so that you would see from both sides, as I have now, to Donate Life is one of the most precious gifts we can ever give. Tough to think about, but should the decision ever be mine, I know I will not hesitate...

Ok...so off the soapbox and no more serious talk of Eleanor Rigbys and tragedies averted...just uplifting fun and good times ahead this summer. So, forget that summer malaise, I am going to do whatever I want and have the best damn time I can every minute, starting with that mega-event I am hitting this weekend. No hints, so don't bother asking....just let your imaginations run wild...and no, it is not the St. E's parish picnic...though you will see me there too, for sure... I don't want to miss the chance to buy my kids one of those giant, nasty, red, white and blue "rocket" ice pops...I will even welcome the Red Dye #5 dripping off their chins...the deliciously sticky taste of summer fun...

Love you...mean it...

xoxo

Suz

PS Sending you all of our love, Ashley....

Photo 1: Long Weekend? Housewives on the loose...which one is the bad influence? Not me!

Photo 2: A gaggle of our children, friends and neighbors celebrating good times...what it's all about, right?

Photo 3: Mike concentrates while concocting his special secret mojito brew...it's all in the wrist...

Photo 4: The Tokeneke dress by Vineyard Vines...in Nautical...as worn by my twin...(stop laughing...).

Photo 5: Me, my kids and nephew soaking in the Bermuda mystique...do we have to go back to the grind? Can't we just stay???

Photo 6: The Rocket...my hands are getting sticky just looking at it...

Photo 7: Grey Goose and tonic...who can resist such sparkly summer deliciousness?

Photo 8: My mirror soul and very best friend., Allison...30 years and counting.

Photo 9: Mirror souls and very best friends, Ashley and Andie, December '99...

Photo 10: Now 16...still soul sisters...Ashley and Andie...

Photo 11: Donate Life...

Photo 12: My jealous and possessive 5 1/2 year old. Ok, so he's covered in Mint Chip and not Red Dye #5...still the sweetest, most kissable face in town, stickiness and all...

A Double Pleasure Is Waiting For You...!

I actually see the sun today...like real sun, not just a few rays poking through the clouds...and it's not Wizard of Oz windy and penetratingly chilly....it's finally, actually, really May. Just in time for June....or well, actually, it's Memorial Day Weekend....yay! Parades and BBQs and cocktails and parties all weekend long....my signature perfect margaritas definitely making an appearance (which they did at Suse's house on Mother's Day weekend as well, causing quite a few moms in town to wake that morning with massive hangovers...sorry girls, but damn they taste good!).

So a few weeks ago I received an email from the web editor for stonehill.edu...and to make a long story much longer, she was apparently desperate for alums to agree to be profiled in the alumni section of the site, so she turned to TL who sent her a list of names that eventually pointed her in my direction. So, it is not like I am all accomplished or anything, or that I am desperate for a venue to promote my resume (hello, friends....I have this blog for that, right???). But, she was nice and friendly and sounded like she needed help....but the key was that she dropped TL's name...and the lesson is this -- if you need something from me, just tell me that TL sent you.

At any rate, I answered the web gal's questions and told my stories and she sent me a proof that I then sent over to my soul brother (soul patrol!), RJP (whose blog you must bookmark, by the way...), who suggested some edits, yada yada yada. So...along with approval of the final proof, she asked that I send a photo to accompany the piece online. And I panicked...completely freaked...a PICTURE??? You mean, people were going to read this and know about me and see my face on top of it?? Well, of course they wanted to illustrate the piece....and you know I have no problem exposing myself metaphorically and photographically in this forum right here...because this blog is kind of not always very serious, and you are all my friends...and frankly, aside from being naughty, my favorite pastime of all is making a jacka** out of myself (hey, when you do something well...). But in a serious forum? Did I even have a serious picture to submit?

Ok, so...I bounce a few selections off of Rob, and he suggests that I send two and let the web gal choose. Which is what I did...and what brings me to my point in a roundabout way...I sent along the shots and only afterwards looked at the two of them side by side and, if you didn't know for certain, you might assume they were of two completely different people...sisters maybe, twins even, but not the same girl. The first is of blond tousle-haired (or JFH...you know, I am dying to decode that acronym for you as it is my preferred euphemism for messy hair, but it is a little NC-17-rated and my Daddy reads this blog....), fresh-faced, rosy skin and cheery smile Suz. The second was a darker Suz...all tan and sleek-haired, a playful wink just barely decipherable behind the smile. This web gal was going to think I was a g*ddamned lunatic (thanks YAZ!) sending shots of two separate people and I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before I had done so. So as I sat there taking them in after the fact, all I could think was:

"Samantha Stephens and Cousin Serena"

Remember them????? Samantha, the bouncy blond heroine of that classic '60's sitcom, Bewitched, and her raven-haired cousin/sister/double/clone witch, Serena... I loved Samantha -- who didn't? I mean, aside from the fact that she was the hottest housewife in all of Salem, MA...and aside from the fact that she could clean her house and make a pie and get ready for a romantic dinner with Darren/Durwood (love that Endora!) with a twinkle of her pert little mouth, what I most envied about Samantha was the lucky fact that she had Serena, her mischievious twin cousin in her sassy hair-do, mod mini-skirts, go-go boots and little peace sign beauty mark on her left cheek. Serena was some sexy, worldly outgrowth of Samantha's id or psyche, breaking the hell out of that little suburban existence with her controlling (and patently unattractive...let's be honest) husband, her intrusive old crow of a mom and a gaggle of nosy neighbors (wait, did she live in Wyckoff...oh snap!...heehee...). Serena was free and happy and, though she may have been a bit of a brat, she was ultra cool too, right? And every time I watched Bewitched, I twinkled my nose and wished that this episode would feature the rebel clone, Serena. I so wish I had a Serena...or maybe, I am Serena...I am still mulling that one....

So, by the time Bewitched was on my radar it was 1975 and I was a little teeny tiny kindergartner (making you feel old yet??) watching '60's reruns everyday during lunch while RJ napped and my mom yapped on the phone to Millie or Aunt Annette or Mrs. Hegarty... And it wasn't just Bewitched of course, there was The Monkees too, a show that inspired my very first ever crush on the quirky Micky Dolenz (and yes, I know he lost his cuteness well before the 70's had come to a close...) and there were also the standards -- Brady Bunch, Get Smart, My Three Sons. So, as soon as I looked at my twin cousin pictures and remembered Samantha and Serena, I thought back to all of those old shows...and one after the other I remembered that on at least one episode of each series, there was a storyline featuring one of the main characters embroiled in a dilemma with a "double" of themselves.

Think about it...there was Peter Brady and that time he met the guy, who was really just him with a pair of black Woody Allen glasses on (way to commit, Brady Bunch producers!)...and I don't even fully recall the storyline...wasn't there a tag-team double date to a drive-in movie with smarmy Greg or something...I mean, this is the sh*t stupid Peter Brady could come up when stumbling upon his exact double??? No world domination? What a bad show.

And on The Monkees there was the one when cute little midget Davy Jones (who, by the way is the original uncredited genius behind the Axl Rose "Snake" dance...need proof? click away...) bumped into his doppelganger, the Prince of Peruvia...and the Prince happened to be a boring dorky introvert...and Davy came to the rescue, saving all of Peruvia, by posing as the Prince and wooing him some hot future princess bride. Oh great...woo me with Davy Jones and leave me with the dorky boring introvert...that poor pre-Diana princess of misery probably wanted to drink herself to death once she figured on the switch. But, she was the first lady of Peruvia, so maybe that was consolation enough for being duped...

And I am pretty sure Maxwell Smart doubled up at some point...but I am not so sure about the brothers on My Three Sons...but I do know that in real life two of them (Chip and Ernie) were actual brothers, so that kind of qualifies, no? Yes...that is a stretch.

So I guess meeting the "Surprise Double" was the '60's equivalent to the '80's "Very Special Episode"..."Tonight on a very special episode of Gimme A Break, the trampy older sister is hospitalized with a defective IUD..."... you know what I mean. Even my true love Pa Ingalls pulled that "very special" crap with the Sylvia r*pe episode...and we all cried with Albert when she fell off that ladder...am I right or what? So anyway, that twin thing was a ratings grabber back in the day...and it showcased that fancy newfangled camera/editing trickery that Hollywood was producing circa '62...all starting with that Patty Duke cousin/twin show, which never even made it to my early '70's rerun rotation like the others. The "twins" standing a good 5 feet apart facing one another in a room with a bland, easy to edit background...go back and look....that is the scene in every one of these aforementioned TV moments.

So anyway, back to my original point (points?)... Samantha and Serena... do we all have a little bit of both inside? You know, especially the moms and wives and professionals that we girls of the '70's have become...is that cousin/sister/double/clone just a fantasy or does she live within our souls...does she pop out randomly and show herself on camera every once in a while... I know for certain that I have that do-gooder little blond inside me who is working 9 to 5 and making dinner and tending to the garden and checking homework and scrubbing my kids' faces, dressing them perfectly in coordinating colors for the visit to Gram's house....my Samantha. And then there is my Serena...I think most of you know her even better...the snarky, flirty social butterfly...making a jacka** out of myself while dive-barring and gourmet cooking and adult toy partying and shoe-buying and fun-seeking. And both are totally real to me...both feel exactly right....which I guess is good, yes? Because I have to live with both of them and all the choices they make.

So, like I said....I decided to leave it up to the web gal to pick which shot she preferred...and I know a lot of you have already read the profile and know the real answer...but some of you don't. Am I Samantha or Serena on stonehill.edu?

Well, truth be told, the profile is all about my Samantha....but web gal got it right...the picture is my Serena...which is about spot on, I'd say...

Love you all...both sides of you... xo, Suz

Photo 1: That pitcher of my perfect margaritas is all for me...a full bottle Rob's Gosling's making an appearance too, I see...won't be full for long....

Photo 2: Serena and Samantha Rittereiser Anderson....oddly and truthfully, my Serena looks exactly like my Dad and my Samantha is my Mom's blond twin...spooky as hell...

Photos 3 & 4: 1960's fashion and beauty/homemaking icons Samantha Stephens and Cousin Serena...an inspiration to our bipolar generation...what, can't we be perfect suburban moms and wild fun-loving sexpots all at once???

Photo 5: The Monkees, that hot b*tch, Micky Dolenz, stealing Davy Jones' thunder as always...

Photo 6: Boring...snooze-fest middle son Peter Brady...even with the clone episode he's still the most forgettable of the six, more so than Jan even, no? Oh my g*d! I forgot about her double/twin episode with Imogene Coca!!! Now that was a classic!

Photo 7: Axl Rose doing "The Snake"...taking credit for Davy Jones' kickass contribution to the world of dance...could Davy have been the true master behind "November Rain" too?

Photo 8: My Three (very unattractive) Sons...that was the original title actually...

Photo 9: The perfect product of my hardworking, deeply loving inner Samantha...Ellie, Tim and Will...

Photo 10: Lyncher, Darts, Al and Welbis...out for the night with my inner and outer Serena...you know, she can be a pretty fun chick...

(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...