Age and Wisdom

On the first nice day of spring, when it was warm enough to have a drink outside, the tables at the Boathouse in Central Park were bustling.  New York had come out of its winter slumber. 

Ilyana had IM'd me by 2pm - "Drinks...outside".  Of course, I agreed. A fresh pedicure and new pair of strappy sandals weren't going to waste.  She had invited a few other people from her office downtown to join us for some outdoor cocktails. "My boss wants to come," she said sounding a bit surprised and a bit taken a back. "She heard me mention it to Sally and asked to come so there will be 4 of us. Do you mind."

I didn't know any of her work friends and I only new Ilyana from the bridal boot camp class which I am still taking despite no longer being a bride.  But, the sun was bright and it didn't take much to lure me from my home to enjoy the resplendent spring afternoon.  Ilyana was tall and thin, the kind of thin where everything she tries on looks like it was made for her. I wondered why she would endure the 60 minutes of sheer pain of this boot camp class even with her wedding only 6 weeks away.  "Are you trying to get down to a double zero," I asked her one time.

Ilyana arrived first to secure the table. "I left work early," she said as she motioned to me to come sit on her side of the round table.  By 5pm, the Boathouse was filling up and people were circling like birds of pray to try and scare up a table.  Proud of her table snagging accomplishment, Ilyana settled in with a white wine that she sipped from delicately.  She was young, I always forget how young until I hear her say something like: "When I was 5, I had a cell phone" or I make references to an 80s movie and she looks at me like I am talking about some foreign film. "Sixteen Candles? No?  Jake Ryan? That name means nothing to you."  Ilyana graduated from high school after 9-11. It is a different generation. 

Despite our age difference, we share enough in common that we became fast friends.  "Let me apologize up front for Patty. I cannot believe she wants to come out with us." Ilyana kept checking over her shoulder to make sure Patty wasn't around.  "She is nice, um, sometimes. I mean she is good boss and she is teaching me a lot, but she is really mean. She can be really mean."  I poo-poo'd her worries - until Patty arrived.

Patty came stumbling over to our table as the sun dipped behind the buildings on Central Park West. She had had a few - that was obvious.  She was short and wide with frizzy hair and lipstick smeared way passed the outer rim of her lips.  Her age was hard to place, I figured her for 50-something though it was possible years of hard living added on another 10 years.  Her shirt was untucked, one pant hem dragged on the ground as she lumbered towards a seat.  "Hurry up and order me another," she commanded Ilyana. "I am running to the bathroom. It was hell to get over."

Ilyana and I exchanged glances over her giant purse which she left as a centerpiece on the table.  When Patty returned from the washroom she had a fresh coat of hot pink lipgloss which covered nearly the whole lower portion of her face.  I bit my tongue. 

Patty took a long swig from her bourbon, exhaled and said, "So what are we talking about?"  Ilyana explained that we were talking about wedding flowers which sent Patty into a tizzy. Looking at my hand, Patty noticed my ring and snorted. "Ugh, another girl who was stupid enough to say yes."  

I almost spit my wine all over the table. Was she kidding?  It seems, she wasn't joking at all as she launched into a tirade on how marriage is the downfall of love and all of us "Dumb Young Girls" are idiots for getting married.  "I told Ilyana the other day at work that she should pawn that ring and kick that ass to the curb with her recyclables.  It wouldn't be a bad idea for you too, honey." She glared at me as if I had stolen her raspberry red lipgloss and painted her white walls with it.  

"I have been married....4 times," Patty continued.  "Oh and each time I thought I was in love.  And the guys were all great. And we did the big wedding. And we had cute pet names. And love was grand!" She rolled her eyes and the ice around her glass and continued. "It is all such bullshit. Men. Love. You know how you really stay in love? Huh huh?" 

No one answered.  I was tempted to say "Anyone, Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?" but I realized my audience wouldn't get the joke.  "I'll tell you how love lasts." Patty's voice got louder and her Brooklyn accent came out. "You make it last by never walking down that aisle." She turned her sights on Ilyana who looked terrified.  "I love being single, having no man I need to run home for and heat up food for, being able to sleep as late as I want, walking around in just a tiny old t-shirt Trust me honey, both of you girls, trust me, in a few years when you are my age, you are going to hate your husbands and wish you never got married. I've got the wisdom of age on my side."

In a few years, Ilyana will be my age and please help me G-d, if I only have few years left before I am her age, stab me now and throw me into the pond in Central Park.  I tuned Patty out and was hoping Ilyana could too. I hoped Ilyana could see age isn't always wisdom, that sometimes age and bad experiences are the enemy.

On our walk home, after Patty crawled off into the night, I turned to Ilyana and said, "I am so happy to have a husband to go home to.  Trust me, I am older and wiser. You are going to love marriage." I gave her walking hug cause I know she needed it. 

And when I got home I gave M a giant hug and a big kiss.  

Real Housewives of New York

Eavesdropping a few weeks ago I listened to two girls, perhaps a little older than me, each with a Bugaboo, a baby and a Prada diaper bag dissing some women. “Ramona is the biggest sociopath ever!” one said to other brunette girl in the Uggs.

“Ugh, but you know who is worse? That misery See-You-Next-Tuesday chick, Alex. She is such a joke. She doesn’t even live in New York!” I was trying to decide between Ballet Slippers and Mademoiselle at a nail salon on 3rd Avenue as I listened in. Who were these horrible women that were being spoken of in such horrendous terms? “Did you Tivo last week?” the shorter girl with the ringlet curls and Uggs asked. “No,” the other one answered as she fished a pacifier from her bag. “But I went on Bravo’s site to see when it was airing again.”

I found a new show for my repertoire of BDTV (Brain Dead TV) – Bravo’s new series, The Real Housewives of New York City. First we had Desperate Housewives, and if the fictional version was not enough, enter – The Real Housewives of Orange County which served the needs of the post-pubescent OC followers. It was only a matter of time until producers tapped the New York City world of glamour and excess to create a series set in the Big Apple.

The Real Housewives of New York City follows five New York City women through the concrete jungle of juggling career, family, children and the jungle gym of social-ladder climbing on the playground of the rich and famous. This reality series is as comical as any other, encroaching on the overblown exaggeration of stereotypes and extremes found on Flavor of Love.

Described on Bravo’s website: Bravo is heading to “The Big Apple” with The Real Housewives of New York City. The new series features an elite and powerful set of New York socialites as they juggle their careers and home lives with busy calendars packed with charity fund-raising galas, the social whirl of the Hamptons, and interviews for elite private schools. These driven and ambitious women show everyone what it takes to make it in the upper echelon of society, where money and status are an essential way of life.

The series takes an up-close and personal look at a lifestyle where private chefs, Au Pairs, front row seats at Fashion Week and Hamptons estates are part of everyday life. The Real Housewives of New York City follows five glamorous Manhattan women - Alex, Bethenny, Jill, LuAnn, and Ramona - as they balance motherhood, demanding careers, and a fast-paced social calendar, and shows what life is like in the most exclusive areas of New York.

I could say I watch it solely to see familiar hotspots – a few gathered at T-Bar on the Upper East Side for drinks and flirting with men other than their husbands, but that would be false. I could say I watch the show, or actually DVR the series because everyone enjoys good train-wreck reality TV, but that would only be part of the truth. I watch the show, in fact I enjoy the show, because it truly gives you the fly-on-the-wall view of your Upper East Side neighbors. As a new “New York City Housewife” myself, I am compelled to watch the show…and grow ever more grateful for my semi-charmed kind of life.

Of course the show is choked full of all the stereotypical characters which call 10021 home. The same way 90210 kept me riveted to my Laura Ashley bedspread in high school as I watched the Thursday night series on my 12 inch TV, The Real Housewives of NYC keeps me glued to my Mies Van de Rohe daybed and my plasma screen TV. It is part of the evolution of watching life’s little peepshow.

I am sure the show offends many people since it blatantly focuses on the superficiality and banal expenditures of this sect’s lifestyle. I am sure people are trashing these women in private gyms, nail salons and general stores from Madison Avenue to Main Street, North Dakota. “Oh how horrible they are with their fancy Hampton houses and their nannies and their private planes. What shallow bitches!” I can hear it echoed from coast to coast. In the same vein that people criticized 90210 and all the other shows before and after for their portrayal of the highlife. But secretly, these people who mock and maim watch the show, they are the audience, the target market. They watch for whatever reason, be it curiosity or intrigue or jealousy or needing a reason and a person to hate. That is why Reality TV came to be, that is why Omarosa still makes appearances long after her 15 minutes of fame ended, that is why Reality TV shows and its villains are more ubiquitous than the once familiar tune of the good ole sitcom.

People love to hate, and they will always tune in to find a reason to hate someone more.