Rockin the Suburbs

I just read, or rather attempted to read, Restless Virgins, a story presumably about a sex scandal that rocked Milton Academy in 2005. The book is, more accurately, a one dimensional chronicle of teen hook-ups (I'm too old to care) and tracks a number of kids through their sexual exploits and/or teen heartaches. And the "scandal" -- which is nested in the center of the book and barely makes a dent in the reading -- seems like just another day in the life of these kids except that they got caught. Rather, the whole scene is scandalous and belongs in Penthouse Forum Junior (if there was such a thing).

I put down the book midway through and thought to myself, "I'm so glad that I never had to compete with my friends sexually." Things really were so much more innocent 25-30 years ago. Yes, I had some promiscuous friends but they were more the exception than the norm. I think.

Then I went out for a quick cocktail with my neighbors last night. Women who live in all of the homes surrounding mine but who, with the exception of a couple, I really don't know. Women who, I just came to find out, dine naked with their husbands IN THEIR BACKYARDS wearing nothing but red pumps. Women who apparently howl so loud with their husbands from their hot tubs that they caused a lot of laughter at the table last night. Women who boast about breaking their headboards.

I can't compete at that level. With the exception of my classically dressed next door neighbor and a couple of slightly more casual friends, I was also the only one not (as her husband later put it), "cougared up." My green t-shirt with bright pink belt on white cotton shorts was no match for all of the black-on-black ensembles I was seated with. Which also begs the question: Was this a casual night out for the girls or were they headed later to the Academy Awards? I somehow missed that portion of the invite.

Anyhoo, I'm thinking I should climb up into the tree house over the weekend to make some crazy noises. As Bonnie Rait once said, "Let's give 'em something to talk about."

Or maybe not.

There's a Monster in My Pants

Dear Eliot -

Why? Why did you have to become our two-faced, corruption-busting, whoring governor?

Yes, we all have our sins and failures. Yes, call girls need lovin' too. Yes, people are tempted into extra-marital affairs all the time. (What else could explain the phenomenal success of the Jerry Springer show? Or the scandal-induced sales of People magazine thanks to people like Brad Pitt?)

But, unlike the stars in Hollywood or the slack-jawed yokels found across America, we trusted you.

Why couldn't you keep it in your pants for just a few short years?

Sincerely, Confused in Rochester

P.S. $5,500 per hour? Tax-free? By working one hour per week, one can bring home close to $300K annually? Why doesn't anyone tell aspiring young MBAs this before they incur massive debt, mortgages, wrinkles and flab?

Sorry Honey, You Can't Get Rid of Me That Easily!

Last Sunday, when I arrived home from church, my good friend and neighbor across the street asked if she could have a few words with me in private. There was something happening in the neighborhood that she thought I should be aware of.

Specifically: Our newest neighbor told his wife that I had left my husband for a man with whom I am having a long-term affair. Whoa! His wife then told their next door neighbor who called her friend across the street (at her beach house in NJ) who sent an email to my next door neighbor who forwarded it to my friend across the street who then asked her next door neighbor . . .

And so on. And so on.

At first, I had an immediate flash of anger. And then, about a minute later, I started to laugh. This man and his wife just moved here and I don’t think they’re out to get me. Obviously they have me confused with someone else. So I told my girlfriend to find out if the lucky guy is a) rich and b) handsome. If so, keep the rumor going!

This whole episode made me ponder how to create an effective rumor that will defame someone forever. I decided it was best to make something up that is bizarre enough that people will talk about it yet embarrassing enough that no one will actually feel comfortable sharing it with the actual “defendant” so to speak. In other words, it can’t be so over-the-top that people will be willing and able to verify it.

For example, one of the aforementioned neighbors also told the entire neighborhood about the woman on the corner of our street (and one of her best friends oddly enough) who takes pride in shoplifting from Home Depot. (Given my loathing of that retail chain, I’m less appalled than I would be otherwise.) Now that’s an effective rumor! You can’t really say anything to the woman like "Hey, I heard you're a clepto" but her “five finger discount” imagery sticks in everyone’s minds.

To make matters worse, apparently the new neighbors gave this same woman the key to their house and, upon leaving for vacation, she allegedly called her so-called friend and asked, “Want to go check out their house?” Once again, the friend shared with people what may not even be true -- but it's definitely a highly effective way of continuing to perpetuate that poor woman's image! (With friends like that . . .)

In any event, I’m just glad that I’m now known for my “Scandelicious” exploits and not for my growing collection of power tools.