What I’m about to blog about will no doubt depict me as controlling (at least at times), unappreciative (although I really make a conscious effort not to be) and – simply put – bitchy. I plead nolo contendere to all…but one must speak one’s mind (especially on one’s blog site). Here’s an executive summary: just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m desperate (or on the prowl) and just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I should be selling Tupperware, Avon (or my soul)… A few years back, my then-husband (now in the “ex” files) wanted to surprise me by throwing a party for my 50th birthday which was – of course - extremely thoughtful of him. However, what he had no way of knowing (other than based on his having grown up in the northeast) was that January is not a good time to throw parties; the weather is often “iffy” and – as a result – many of my birthdays were snowed out. In fact, I was born during a blizzard (although since it was in Mineola, New York and not on the Russian Plains – it was indoors). But he booked the venue two weeks in advance (never considering that there might be a reason it was vacant on a Saturday night), and planned to invite people that I knew without telling me – look for my address book or talk to friends to get the info - except that of course I don’t have friends’ names and numbers in one place – that would be too simple. They are abbreviated and written on random sheets of paper – in one of a number of address books – or simply in my mind. And the friends he contacted couldn’t plan what they were having for breakfast, let alone an event…so he had no choice but to tell me about it (thus the “surprise” was out of the equation). Of course – I want to tell you that I was overwhelmed with gratitude – but – as anyone who plans a party knows – two weeks is not enough notice – even in good weather. I tried my best to remain calm and do damage control. “How many people did you commit to?” I asked. “Well, a minimum of 35,” he said, “but that won’t be a problem - you know lots of people.” “Yes of course,” I agreed, “but not all of them are going to be able to make it with only two weeks’ notice!” (Oh, how shrewish!) “I thought of that,” he said, “but don’t worry – I can fill the room – I’ll invite my cousins.” This made no sense to me. “That’s INSANE,” I said, “this is my 50th birthday – and there are people I would like to celebrate with – who have been my friends for 40 years – but they won’t be able to make it – so I’ll be celebrating with your cousins who I never met and who you hate…wow – it sounds like a slice of heaven…it’s like hiring people to be seat fillers at the Grammy Awards!” Yes – ok - I was being bitchy, unreasonable and ungrateful (see paragraph 1, supra) – but even still – it’s not every decade that one turns 50 – and I was a tad disappointed. I’ve planned and participated in dozens of surprise parties – bridal and baby showers – the whole nine yards – since I was 14 – so it kind of would have been more special if this had been thought out with a little advance planning. First, we tried to get the deposit back. No good. But the owner of the restaurant agreed to a postponement (which was a good thing since – on the original date – there was indeed a blizzard and no one could possibly have made it there unless they were on a dog sledding team; it was déjà vu all over again). Ultimately – it turned out to be fine – more or less. The former drummer from the 1910 Fruit gum Company was the DJ – that alone was worth the price of admission. (Who knew there were so many unplugged versions of “1, 2, 3 Red Light?”) Anyway – the point is – just because I was turning 50 didn’t mean I wanted a party…especially if people I knew couldn’t be there to share the joy of reaching a new milestone and being eligible for an AARP card…and now…just because I’m single it doesn’t mean I want to meet anyone’s cousin with whom they think I have “so much in common” based on nothing more than that we both have a pulse. I didn’t want seat-fillers at an event so special – and it’s not like the “man” slot needs to be immediately filled. As my virtual daughter (who is also a drama queen) so articuately expressed yesterday: “You should never be depressed about being single even though you’re older (love that word) - you got three men to marry you…and I can’t even get a date…I’m a loser…I’m ugly…I’m going to be alone forever…do you think I should text the guy from Atlantic City or the Trini?”) Gotta love the kid for putting a positive spin on my mistakes of the past...but she made a point - albeit unwittingly: my clock isn't ticking - I'm older - and by default - wiser - I've been married - I've been unmarried - I am woman - hear me whine - but don't cry for me Argentina - I will survive). Now that I've gone through every feminist cliche imaginable - while I hereby express my deep-felt gratitude for all of the well-meaning friends and acquaintances who are concerned about my well being - that doesn't mean that I want anyone to do me any favors by giving my number to your husband’s ex-bowling partner whose wife left him when she ran away with her boss or your husband's best friend who has a tattoo of Sponge Bob on his shoulder blade. (Maybe I'm just not that into Cartoon Network)... Yes - I know – it’s contradictory – especially since the High Tech Hottie and I have a “strategic relationship” group on Facebook – and sometimes I'm on Match.com (where 20 thouand people join every day!) but it’s all a passive interest at the moment… for if I’m destined to be with anyone – the powers of the universe will drift us together without manipulation… after all…this is a pivotal time in my life – as I try to get my business up and running – and to get my book published…and make a living with allows me to take one or two vacations a year, order pineapple AND pepperoni on my pizza (at least once a month) – and not buy knock-offs. Oh – and by the way – speaking of making money… I appreciate all the ideas for money making ventures that friends have sent – but I have a plan…and it doesn’t involve selling Tupperware or Avon (not that there’s anything wrong with that).
4 posts categorized "Love and Relationships"
April 21, 2009
March 02, 2009
April 18, 2007
Sausage Festival Reunion
When a case of Diet Coke exploded in our garage refrigerator, in a spring cleaning frenzy, I asked my husband to hose it down since it would soon be grilling season again (although for Kagee, it’s apparently all year round). During the purging of the exploded cans and a few bottles of presumably stale Coors Light -he stumbled upon a package of frozen blood sausage which was left over from our first annual sausage fest held last July.
"Should I throw this out?," he asked.
Even though it was about 9 months old old, and frozen (almost) beyond recognition, it wasn’t a rhetorical question; he knows well how upset I can become if something is inadvertently tossed. "You threw away my lucky sage?," I might say, "I was saving it for a smudging ceremony." (To him, it was dead foliage in the back of the vegetable drawer; to me it was an aborted purification ritual).
Our sausage festival was one of our more memorable parties - even more so than the "bring your own ball" tree-trimming bash or the martini "wakes" we host in celebration of Xmas and my birthday (in January - see above photo of some of the babes in black). The most notable martini party was held at the same time as a Pampered Chef demonstration. The hostess was somewhat dismayed when she realized no one was paying attention to her demonstration, but retrospectively thrilled when she realized how many sales she had made based on the number of martinis consumed. Of course a lot of the guests ended up sleeping on the floor, but I scored quite a lot of crockery for future celebrations…including a sausage casserole made with kielbasa, apples and cheddar cheese…
So to segue back to the Sausage Fest - since many of my gal pals were unattached at the time, when I extended the invite to the Sausage Festival they immediately thought I was using Freudian imagery and that I was actually inviting them to singles networking event of sorts and wanted no part of it. "I'm happy with Ben and Jerry," one said, "I don't want a sausage in my life." When I convinced them that the invite should be literally construed and that the sausage they would meet would be the likes of Jimmy Dean or Bob Evans - they flocked in droves. Kagee, who helped me formulate the concept, invited her sister-in-law with two young dogs (Monkey and Tula) to help eat the spoils of the event, as well as her dog Polly (name changed to protect the guilty) - who can stuff more into her small frame than a team of Alaskan Huskies. Kagee and I had determined some months before at a Pierogi Party (the details of which I’ll spare you) during which one of the guests was a hyperkinetic caterer, Kent, who had an "in your face" style of conversing (despite his protective girlfriend Para's "looks that would kill" to any woman who went near his rolled proscuitto appetizers - which were even worse that her usual disgruntled "I hate the world" stare) made everyone afraid to talk to him and incur her wrath (particularly since she, like most of the people there, were like Sumo Wrestlers) – we got into a rousing discussion about a safe subject - food - and collectively came to the conclusion through that every ethnic group makes some type of sausage; even our Jewish friends, who shunned pork, ate Kosher hot dogs from time to time…and the Vegans ate tofu…and so on and so on… The more we talked about it, the more types of sausage we thought of and then we realized that July was the birth month of Basha, the Kielbasa Queen – so we had no choice but to schedule in July.
Left - Basha and Slim Jim after the fateful meeting at Sausage Festival.
Everyone came to the table with something delicious (with the obvious exception of whoever brought the blood sausage, which never made it to the grill). Irina and Katrina, a/k/a The Mojito Mamas brought their own mint masher for the drinks which made them famous and got everyone smashed; Katrina also brought an abundance of chocolate covered strawberries from the infamous Carlo's (City Hall) Bakery in Hoboken; Mrs. D. made sausage and broccoli rabe; Slim Jim (who, coincidentally, has is slender and has the same name as a popular type of beef jerky treat) brought macaroni salad (I think he might have gotten the invite to the Pasta La Vista bash by mistake); Basha was crowned not only with Kielbasa, but ended up linking up with Slim Jim (probably because she brought tuna pasta salad and they sensed they could make beautiful macaroni together); Mrs. Meo - three hours late as usual - looked more like Liz Taylor than ever - and brought cupcakes. I tried to spike a melon but only once section ended up with any alchohol content whatsoever, so whoever had that chunk might still be somewhere in the garage...
All of the above being said – and despite unappetizing blood sausage frozen solid into an igloo-esque mass in the back of the garage freezer…I’m already trying to figure out the best time to hold this year’s bash and searching frantically for recipes involving weenier, bangers - and of course – seasoned tofu tubes. All recipes gratefully accepted.
