The problem with getting together with college friends is, we're not in college anymore. How this group of 5(unfortunately, we were minus one this time) even managed to get a date on the calendar is pretty remarkable and yet at 6:30 p.m. we were all present and accounted for. First clue we are not in our 20's anymore: When your evening begins before sundown. We knew from the get-go that "SG" had to be on a train at 9 and "P" had to be back on the Long island Expressway by 10 and "SS" was heading back home to the West Side to walk the dog shortly thereafter. I was staying put, as was our hostess "L", good thing because I was sleeping on her couch. Let me flashback for a minute to earlier in the day when we were down to 4, potentially 3, BU girls. With the missing 6th piece,"SG" had lost her ride and the train in the rain is not much fun (especially when you are looking your BU best), I was sure that without the whole group, one by one they would find a reason not to make the trip. I came the longest distance and was committed regardless; it was L's birthday and I was celebrating with her either way. The individual travels all had their side stories; I had the rainy, slow 2 ½ hour schlep, the hunt for the cheapest overnight parking garage and the ultimate decision that I didn't care how much it cost, because I needed a potty, quickly. There was “P”'s missing cellphone panic; not on the street, just left in the car. “SS” had to deal with an Andrea Bocelli concert in the park, slowing travel from West to East and a cab fare that reflected that musical gridlock. “SG” missed her desired train (can’t leave the kid without a ride home) and had to suffer a less than delicate treatment of her Coccyx bone for the hour train ride into the city (same thing on the way back), must be because she got so skinny there is nothing to protect her tiny derriere. Three stars for making it happen, “SG” arrived, hair intact and ready to assume the Master Pose (she sets the standard for all our pictures). “L” kept me busy while we waited, taking full advantage of my expertise, I hung a giant mirror that had conveniently arrived knowing I would not leave without making sure it was resting safely on the entry wall. I was forewarned that this task would be completed before I rested my head on the couch for the evening and thought it best to tackle it before vodka came into the picture; I even stopped on my way to make sure we had the right hooks (I'm not that awesome, there is a framer on her corner - but I did think ahead). For a city girl, “L” had all the necessary tools and for a girl who is not a math genius, I measured and added and subtracted and hung that damn mirror perfectly centered and at the right height; two hooks, two holes, no mistakes. We did some 30-second redecorating immediately after, evaluated a potential new color palette (turquoise and orange, accenting black& white - stunning), and accessorized with my prize house gift; the Missoni candle, from the Target collection. For those of you who don't think that is a miracle, Google it. I must love “L” a lot; I could have sold that thing on EBay for 10 times its price. In this case, it was priceless, she was thrilled and I was I happy I went to 2 stores to find one ( OK, I also got a good haul for myself, 2 ties for Jeffrey and a birthday gift for my niece). If you see me in zigzags, you'll know why, Target, not Italy and not EBay.
Lo and behold, we pulled it together, we missed our other "J", but she was with family and that was more important. We arrived at "L"'s one by one (hurrah, hurrah), we hugged and kissed (real not air), and complimented. We dropped our big pocketbooks on the floor and took of our shoes before stepping on the white shag rug. We had predetermined that this would not be a restaurant night, we have learned not to make the public suffer through our reunions (especially when one of us has to continue living in the neighborhood). Our last dinner night was at “SS”’s place on the West Side and Chef that she is (no kidding, she is), we were treated to a Michelin star meal. Why is it that the 2 years we shared a kitchen her specialty was Stouffers Noodles Romanoff? Our apartment kitchen was also the place where I learned that sinks do not automatically come with a disposal ("what, flip the switch and the food goes away"). NYC born and raised had to teach country girl about apartment living. Getting back on track, that dinner confirmed that this group should stay away from dining where waiters and other patrons are involved. “L” didn't have a chance to throw together a 4-course night, and it was her birthday, so we did Szechuan Garden takeout (which was delicious) and unlike Connecticut, delivery arrives at your door as you hang up the phone. My place, which I would not attempt delivery in any timeframe, has a standard "10 minute" rule for pick up, and that really means 20. No idea how we decided on dish selection (lots of restrictions in place- kosher, sodium, no fried, no meat), pretty sure “L” picked what was good and it all got eaten, even the fried stuff (at least by me). A few bottles of wine were consumed, I stuck with vodka and cranberry juice (wine makes me sleepy and I have to be very attentive for this crew, a lot to take in). My girls can really empty a bottle of Pinot Grigio (think Ramona, Real Housewives NYC). I wish I could tell you what we talked about, but I did not finish a conversation or thought, all night. I feel like maybe we should have raised our hands or passed a talking stick, because it was complete chaos. I do know that we shared many "where are they now" episodes, with Facebook pauses to look up the accompanying photos for the people who didn't remember who that guy was or who the hell his girlfriend was. We discussed some more serious personal issues (which makes me feel bad that we didn't offer more support if needed), we covered home decorating, shopping, and “P” extolled the virtue of roasted beets (she is a healthy blogger). Our other assorted topics are not for blog publication, more like a Today Show segment of "Things women don't want to ask their doctor" and the new phenomenon of "vajazzling" (again, if you don't know, Google it, and no, there were no takers at the table). We spent a good long while discussing potential locations for a combined 50th bday trip. We can barely find 3 hours for dinner and somehow we are contemplating finding 3 days to go away and select, not only an agreed upon destination, but also a guest list of acceptable attendees. I will not start packing my suitcase just yet.
I think the birthday girl cleared the table, and did the dishes, it was done before I realized we were finished eating. Dessert was chocolate deliciousness of NYC infamy from William Greenberg Bakery (Madison Avenue birthday cake, fancy); just occurred to me that we did not light candles or sing, sorry “L”. If you are reading this, and you better be, light a candle (not the Missoni one, that's for show), blow it out and make a wish. As you can imagine, there was plenty of cake leftover, this is not a second slice crowd (and a la mode is out of the question).
Seems like minutes later there was talk of "getting going" and we hadn’t snapped a single pose. Second Clue we are not in college: our night ended before my children even shower for a night out. We attempted to gather our inner goddesses, but it just wasn't happening. My self-timer skills are a bit rusty (since the last get together) and one good shot has about 10 out takes (thighs too big, boobs too big, weird face, eyes closed). Can't say we got one good shot and gave up after a few attempts. There is not a Photoshop product on the market that could give us a cover look that would be universally approved. In the end, the few FB comments on our meager selection were regarding the giraffe artwork in the back ground, not the well-preserved 49-year old beauties on the couch. Maybe we shouldn't have worried so much about "shoulders back, chin down, eyes up."
Kisses all around again, we said goodbye and promised to text when everyone arrived safely at home. “L” made my bed and we were too tired to even do a post mortem, not that we would have had anything bad to say. We brushed our teeth, washed our faces and put our glasses on and assumed our usual positions; me with my iPad and L with Nancy Grace (she's a little obsessed with Casey Anthony). My couch was comfy but I never get used to the city noise; kept thinking one of those giant NY buses with the accordion extension was making a stop right in her living room and every time I heard a chain unhook, I was sure an unwelcome visitor was at the door. Sleep was not going to happen for me anytime soon. Third Clue I'm not in college anymore: my big "party" night did not end with passing out of any kind and the only trips to the bathroom did not involve anyone holding back my hair. Daylight came with very little sleep and “L” made me coffee before she left for work and I got to wish her Happy Birthday first (today was the actual day). I had planned on spending the day in the city, lunch with Mom and “SS”, but alas this plan fell victim to the Fourth clue that I am not in college anymore: party like 20, still recovers like 49. Kind of like the alcohol equivalent of jet lag, at this age we need one day per alcoholic beverage more than you consume on a regular basis (which for me is usually 0) plus one day per lost hour of sleep (usually 7 hours for me); so if I have this right, I should feel terrific by October.
And I wouldn't change a thing; well, maybe a few things. Next time, I vote we have an agenda or at least one conversation at a time and that we all sleep over, so that if I'm up all night I'll have company. Until then, my BU girls, I Love You.
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