Suzy Says

Ready to go!

It was definitely time for girl night!

Unfortunately for Megan, she had to teach a CPR class that day, so I ventured to the Village to pick up a pizza from Café Beaujolais, where they create amazing pizzas in their wood-fired brick oven. Keeping in mind the line that defeated me a few weeks ago, I got there right as they opened, ordering a pizza with salami, capers, and red onions. I sat in the sun in the beautiful garden as I waited, and noted that there was an alarming line by about noon. So the secret seems to be out and the pizza place is apparently going to be the new Swan Oyster Depot, a place of legendary lines.

When Megan’s class was over, she came by and picked me up. We stopped in at the Gro to get caramel ice cream and ginger cookies, and then headed to Megan’s place, where I was enthusiastically greeted by Star, who I am convinced remembers that I was there the day she was rescued, and Stella, who I am convinced is just copying Star’s enthusiasm because it is clearly the thing to do.

As you can see in the photo, Megan had equipped us with a bottle of strawberry infused vodka for Girl Night™. Fortunately for us, there was also a freezer full of strawberries from the garden. Megan blitzed frozen strawberries with some lemonade, then poured it into a pitcher with the vodka and more lemonade:

It was magically delicious, and I think we now have the official cocktail of Girl Night™. It needs a good name, though. The Elle Woods? It is her signature color, after all.

We thoroughly enjoyed our girl-o-rama double feature of Sweet Home Alabama and 13 Going on 30, probably more than Rob did, though he is remarkably tolerant of the silly movies, giggling, and driving his sister-in-law home after a few Elle Woods, especially now this is 12 miles one way instead of a few hundred feet or a quarter of a mile, the way it was in the old days.

I’m already planning the next double feature: a somewhat more Rob friendly combo of One for the Money and My Cousin Vinny.

A YEAR AGO: What do you know? A fun evening with my sister!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A wonderful Thanksgiving.

TEN YEARS AGO: Baby Jessica! Even then, we shared a deep love of glamor.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Thanksgiving with Mom. In the hospital. It would be her last Thanksgiving. Miss you, Mom.

You know you’ve reached the heights (or depths) of slothfulness when the cleaners actually call you and ask you to pick up your stuff. They were nice about it, but I still felt like I was getting sent to the principal’s office. If I ever had any lingering concerns about being a responsible adult, I think I can stop worrying (after all, it causes those pesky wrinkles).

So I finally picked up the cleaning. It reminded me of a conversation I once had with a guy whose family owned a dry cleaning business. He said that he’d gotten lots of great clothes from it. I asked him how, and he said, “People just forget to come and get their stuff.” Pause. “And then, you know, some of them die.”

Updates:

– My rodent roommate and I are peacefully coexisting. We have accomplished this by my not killing him or even trying to* and his not eating my food or showing his furry little face. This pretty much makes him anyone’s ideal roommate. He never brings chicks home, has loud parties, or objects to my taste in music. If he just paid rent, he’d be perfect.

– I have decided on my fur coat. It’s going to be pink and made of the rare and beautiful faux, which ranges freely in the forests of Orlon, in Nylon County. I also want a pair of mittens on a string, so I don’t lose them, either in the forest or the city. Also I think I would look cute and girlish. Would the pink pageboy wig be too much with this ensemble?

– I spent last night hanging out with two 20 year old boys. This does not happen often enough now that I’m old and possibly grey (or pink). The fact that one of them was my nephew and the other his best friend is in no way relevant. This is funny, though: I saw my nephew walking down the street before I even knew he was here. But I was in a taxi so I didn’t have time to yell out the window until I had swept past him.

– My friend A visited last week from Amsterdam. She introduced me to a whole new pleasure (and when’s the last time you’ve been able to say that?): getting a shampoo at a traditional Chinese hair salon. She navigated the language and the shampoo girls massaged our scalps, temples, and necks. My hair has never been so shiny. I guess they understand the straight hair thing. I can’t resist saying this: ancient Chinese secret! Mmmm.

I’m thinking of cutting my hair &agrave la Chloe on Smallville. What do you think?

– I still haven’t picked up my dry cleaning.

*Sloth or kindness? You decide. I can’t be bothered.

If yours is one of the emails moldering in my inbox, or a long-unanswered phone message, you aren’t the only one wondering where the hell Suzy is. I recently received the following email from my niece:

A Hopeful Inquiry

Hey! I just remembered! I have an Aunt! If I can recall correctly (it has been a while) she wasn’t feeling very well. She had some kind of wicked infection. Now, I know her name starts with an ‘S’, and since you are the only S in my address book, I figured you must be her. Tell me if this sounds familiar:

– blonde hair (but not on its own)

– short (or shall we say petite?)

– extravagant

– carbon-addict

– speaks French

– Giants fan

– allergic to dust

– loves champagne

– generally fabulous

If this sounds like you please reply to this address. I quite liked having an Aunt.

Yours sincerely,

Cat x x x x x x x x x

Naturally, I directed this to the proper authorities, who hastened to respond to my niece’s concerns:

Missing Persons Inquiry

Dear Ms. ——,

Thank you for your inquiry regarding your missing Aunt Suzy. You may be surprised to hear that yours was only one of dozens – possibly hundreds – we have received. We are working diligently on the case. We have already checked the hospitals and the most exclusive night clubs and restaurants, to no avail.

Don’t give up hope. We have a team of professional shoppers roaming delightful shopping locales, along with all downtown liquor stores which stock champagne.

Missing posters have been placed in strategic locales, such as jewelry and lingerie stores, and on the tops of taxis. We all know there is no point in placing these posters on bus stops – your Aunt’s views on public transportation are well-known.

You may be pleased to hear that we are planning to enroll her at the nearest location of Sloths Anonymous as soon as she is found. She clearly has a problem.

Our last resort is going to be a trail of diamonds leading to her iBook, in the hopes it will lead her to actually write to her friends and family. Harry Winston and Tiffany have already volunteered to assist in this endeavor.

We will keep you informed. Please let us know if you have any other ideas which may help us to find this fabulous creature. She is using up a great deal of our resources and man hours, as you can imagine.

Thank you again for your inquiry.

Best regards,

Missing Persons Bureau (Suzy Department)

The sinus infection has receded, after repeated applications of A’n’A (antibiotics & alcohol). I am now enjoying my convalescence (and I do mean enjoying), lying on the chaise longue like an interesting Victorian invalid, with a becoming pallor and the occasional, delicate sniffle and most lady-like of dainty coughs to remind any observers that I was, in fact, quite ill.

I was attempting to take my mind off the horror of my Giants losing the wildcard spot in the playoffs to Houston* (As if Texas hadn’t inflicted enough damage already, what with spawning the Bush dynasty and the unfortunate idea that cowboy boots are acceptable footwear with a business suit) by reading the latest in the fluffacious Shopaholic** series, when a mouse shot across the room as if fired from a cannon.

Maybe the Victorian thing goes deeper in this moderne girl than previously thought, because I leaped up and screamed with my hand on my heart in the most approved endangered heroine style before I even realized I did it. If the chaise (and I) weren’t so squashy I would have jumped up on it and probably shrieked, “Eeek! A mouse!” to complete the clich&eacute ridden scenario.

It’s amazing how instinctively horrified I was by a creature that’s so tiny. I’m probably like a Tyrannosaurus Rex to it, and possibly too big for it even to perceive me, and it’s far more likely that I could kill the mouse than it could kill me (other than rodent-induced heart attack), but I was probably more scared than it was.

It hasn’t made a return engagement, but everyone I have told about it informs me that there’s Never Just One, in ominous tones. My sis suggested a Have a Heart trap, forgetting that not all of us live in a little house in the big woods, where you can release a mouse and never see it again, until I started laughing. Also there is no point in putting bugs and other home invaders outside. All they want is to get back in. Even insects and rodents can tell that Nature is best to be avoided if at all possible, which is why they broke in in the first place. I can’t bear the idea of a trap and having to dispose of the sad little body (or bodies, since there’s Never Just One). What to do, what to do?

*Sporty Suzy has officially gone into hibernation. I have no interest in any of the teams now in the playoffs, other than hoping very earnestly from the depths of what passes for my heart that neither the Dodgers nor the Yankees win. Also if Houston plays NY I doubt if there is a stadium big enough to contain the egos of both Mr. Jeter and Mr. Clemens at the same time.