The World According to EDW

I had lunch today with possibly the most self involved woman I know. This is not a slight. I really like her. I enjoy her company and value her friendship. She's simply the sort of woman who is a tad more interested in herself than others. This, however, can be a benefit and a boon to her friends. If it has ever concerned her in the slightest, she knows all there is to know about it.

We started the car ride by discussing her lines. She's just turned 30, and looks 26. She's got great high boobs (fake, but she was a ballet dancer and they were sagging, what else could she do?) wears a size 0 loosely, and is toned and athletic. Apparently, she has lines around her eyes and by 30, she tells me, you need to use a night cream. It's all about prevention. I was suddenly struck by my very lax lack of prevention. What had I been doing for the last two years? Not using a night cream, that's for sure.

Over bagel sandwiches we moved onto Chinese Astrology (my topic) and vein removal (hers) and my recent weight loss (she started it, but I was happy to oblige). She's always been a thin girl, but as a licensed personal trainer is familiar with weight loss and safe dieting and refreshingly normal about weight for a size 0. I've always had good body image, so I'm happy to gab about how much I lost, what I'm doing. Plus, who doesn't want to hear how good she's doing, how I'm doing everything right, how I'm not ridiculous or extreme, just smart. Tell me more.

On the drive back to the office I found myself examining my face in her car mirror. Aha! I have a laugh line! Right next to my nicely made up lips! It must be all the damn waxing. I never used to wax my lip and I never had laugh lines. She was pointing out her eye wrinkles, and contemplating what could have been, had she not started to use the proper skin care. I found myself confessing my appalling lack of a night cream, and my general lack of knowledge about the latest anti-aging ingredients. All I could claim was to be good with sunscreen. I had gone wrong, so wrong.

Thankfully, I was confessing to the right woman. 5 minutes later we were back at the office, and I had an affordable suggestion for a night cream, instructions on how to use it, and advice on the store with the best price. Oh, and a computer printout to take with me while shopping. As she breezed off to see a client, she air kissed me. Have a good weekend, she trilled, happy to have helped.

I'll probably wake up in a few days and wonder what I'm doing. But right now, clutching the small tube of Intensive Anti Wrinkle Cream, I feel hopeful. It's all about prevention. And you know, I am over 30.

Sometimes shitty stuff happens. Sometimes I get down over what's going on in the world, or with my friends, or just in general. Usually I love sunny days, but sometimes I feel like crawling under the covers and hiding on those days.

I like to listen to pop songs my husband makes fun of, the ones that cheer me up on bad days. The straight-to-soccer-mom radio every music loving person ridicules, but I still like. Daniel Powter's silly pop anthem does make me feel better.

And a few chocolate chip cookies and glasses of red wine work wonders sometimes. So does a walk or two, shake off the shit that's being flung, don't let it mess with you, don't let it stick.

Sometimes it's just seeing the pictures from Easter, the first holiday since my daughter was born that I am pleased with every shot of me, even the goofy looking ones. I look good. I'm not ashamed of my weight or embarrassed or feeling the need to delete or hide them or reangle my body.

Every where I go lately, people are telling me how good I look. Just tonight a childhood friend told me I looked great, and she added, you're sitting down and I can tell.

Just for tonight I'll savor that compliment, and not worry about how bad I must have looked before. Just for tonight I'll be proud of those pictures. I'll let the rest fall away. I'll hum the bars of a silly pop song that my cousin and I sang as we walked through the Vegas casinos, hot mamas out on the town. I'll remember the freedom, the great feeling of security with her, the happiness I can hold onto.

You can sling all the shit you want, but you can't stop me. Not tonight.

"No one else can feel it for you."

Tonight I spoke to my high school friend, who is getting a divorce. Makes you kind of sad to hear it, right? When I first heard about it, I was sad, too. I felt like it was the end of something happy for her, or worse, a sign of her unhappiness. Finally I saw that it was a brave new step for her. She's choosing what she wants, she's going for love, she's picking happiness and not settling. She's got a whole new life to create, and only she can do it.


"Live your life with arms wide open."

My girlfriend who has a toddler and a brand new baby is struggling to finish her first book on deadline, prepare a keynote speech, and launch a new business. Not to mention raise said children, have a fantastic relationship with her husband, co-lead a mother's group, did I mention family or friends? Sometimes she feels overwhelmed, but always exhilarated. She's ready to follow the dreams that come her way, ready to see where they will lead her.


"So close you can almost taste it."

I'm in the midst of reading a book by another remarkable woman who has her own story to tell. She has a voice that's unique and funny and she's in the process of creating her world. I see her at the beginning of something really great. She's got her doubts, but she also has words that must be written, and I think they carry her along. She's going to realize her dream.


"Today is where your book begins."

I'm not a woman who likes change, but new beginnings are constantly around me. One of my friends has a theory that you stop growing as a person the year you get married. Obviously, I don't agree. I've grown more from getting married and having a child than I could ever have imagined. This period of my life has brought me back to myself, and made me feel like a college student again, full of change and hope and with so many possibilities in front of me. I may look very settled, but I know there's still things unwritten.

I'm a Jersey Girl. I revere Bruce. I live in the same town as Bon Jovi. I eat subs, not grinders or hoagies, and I have easy access to pork roll, egg, and cheese. If you think the state is one big oil refinery, I just don't have time for you. If you attempt to mock accents or hair, you can go back over the bridge or through the tunnel and stay on your smelly island teeming with rats. More power to you.

I live ten minutes from the beach. I start getting tan in March, or maybe April, because I'm outside enjoying the parks and even the sand. Summer is my best time of year. Right about now I put the beach chairs in the trunk and keep them there until October's crisp air convinces me it's time for Rutgers football and not Sandy Hook.

When I want to hear good music, I can go to Asbury Park and hang at the Stone Pony, with its tributes to Bruce everywhere. Or maybe another, tinier club, The Saint or the late lamented Jason's in Belmar for jazz, or just a local shore bar. Music is everywhere in NJ, and always close by.

I can see my state in the movies of Kevin Smith, who captured my very town and the places, I, too, went to as a teen. I can wander into his store in Red Bank and marvel at the tourists who come to take pictures and the fanboys looking for the latest comic release. I can also see the northern part of NJ in The Sopranos, and almost every other mob themed story. Yeah, we can do drive bys if you want. And I can tell you my own NJ mafia stories, but it's not what my home is about.

When I worked in Manhattan, and loved it, I still savored the step off the train at night. I could breathe this fresh tree filled air. I could head out to the local school for a summer night concert under the stars. I could get the best hangover food in the world (see pork roll, above). I could relax and sleep on the beach the next day.

I wasn't always a Jersey Girl. I wasn't FROM here, I didn't think of this as my real home. I didn't care if I stayed or left. I was thinking the cold winters of Massachusetts would be more suited to me.

I fell in love with Jersey over the course of a summer or two. I traveled the back roads and went to the beach at night. I hung out at the boardwalk with my friends, and discovered the Inkwell, Dutch coffee, and well done fries. One summer in particular I bar loafed, waiting for my friend to get off her shift at the Dublin House so we could go upstairs and meet our friends at the Upstairs Coffee House.

Maybe I didn't fall in love with my state so much as a I fell in love with belonging. For the first time, I felt like I belonged here, with all its quirky charm and my quirky friends, loyal and loving and fun, and always there for me.

There are better states, I'm sure. There are prettier, and less polluted, and less crowded, and more glamorous places. There are sure less expensive places to live. But for some reason I came back here, me and all my famous neighbors. Maybe we all came back because it feels like home here. We can dream here, and breathe here, and love here.

Please excuse this is my love letter to my home. It's so rare to get a letter these days, and Jersey sure deserves one.

I like to make mixes. More on this later. But rest assured, most every event in my life will be marked by a mix.

My trip to Vegas last weekend was no exception. I started working on the mix as soon as we booked the tickets. I downloaded songs from iTunes and tried them out. I alpha and beta tested on my 12 year old godson and his 8 year old sister. I wanted a really good, fun mix that would remind all 11 of us of the good times we had in Vegas.

Yes, 11 of us. Well, first it was 9, then Jodi's sister Kerry came along. Then my friend Moira got a last minute ticket and flew out from LA for 18 hours of fun. Still, traveling with only 9 women sounds slightly daunting, no? People thought I was insane and told me so. I was warned of poopy heads ruining the fun, of the dreaded woman turning on woman fights, of just too many people to navigate a simple meal.

I admit I got scared. I called my cousin and asked, what did I do? I had a little breakdown over the blog we used to organize the trip. I tried to construct the perfect rooming arrangements, in a group where I was generally the common friend.

In the very beginning, my cousin, who is the Nicest Person in the World, told me to ask anyone and everyone. If they're you're friend, ask them, she said. I'm sure I'll like all of them. I like your friends. She sounds nice, she'd say, whenever I mentioned another name. I listened to my cousin. I've found it's a mistake not to. I ignored all the naysayers in my head and my life, and I asked my girlfriends, and they asked their girlfriend, and their sister.

My cousin was right. My girlfriends may be the only 8 women who can travel with a group of 11 and not start shit. The sister and friend's friend? Well, they flat out rock. (MJ, I'm talking to you.) They were great. They were fun. I love this number, this crazy, large group number.

When we first arrived, I was so excited to see everyone. I commented that it felt like a last request trip, the one you take before you perish slowly from some strange TV disease, that last hurrah with your best friends around you. Without the dying part. I was so happy to have these worlds merge. I was so glad I'd listened to my cousin.

While I was away, Nancy's husband died. I'd link you to the previous post, but I don't know how to do that yet. I was sad for her, and I really wanted to be at his funeral for her. It was a stark piece of reality in a city that is very unreal. It was so unreal there, that I started to feel real again. I started to feel like me. Not a mom, or a wife, or an employee, or any of the other identities I have. I was still those things, of course, but I was also me.

Sunday night we lost my Sainted Best Friend and Uber Traveler Girl went to look for her. (She claims to have been right there, drunk texting.) My cousin and I walked towards the next hot spot we were going to tear up, and talked about the freedom we felt. Not that we feel weighed down in "real life", but let's face it, we are. We have Responsibilities, and we are responsible girls. No, at home we are women. Here, in Disney World for adults, we got hit on. We wore very high heels and glitter body dust and fake tattoos and sparkly tops. We never waited in line to get into clubs, because men gave us free VIP passes. We giggled. We walked home drunk and ate French fries. We called home, sure, but we partied in the present. We didn't talk about glory days, we lived them. We did not get drunk and puke, because we knew better. We got drunk and danced. On bars. Well, one bar. And we didn't care who saw us. We had perfected Girlhood.

So this post is for the girls. Who danced on the bar with me, sang along to Barry, faked an orgasm on stage, stayed up until 5am, shopped till we literally dropped, watched men strip (and caught a shirt), scoped out the spas for next time, never ever slept in, and whose why the hell not attitudes reminded me why we are friends. Every woman should get to be a girl with all of you.