Welcome to my recipe for disaster. On Thanksgiving Day this year my daughter will be 21. I am trying to combine a milestone birthday, a holiday, the umpteenth anniversary of my father's death and a tentacled divorce. I can't even tell you the half of it because doing so here would compromise the privacy of people close to me. I'm leaning toward Jet Blue. I will focus instead on stuffing.

My favorite stuffing story was the year I decided to make the bird at my house and transport it to my late brother Stephen's home. People were not relaxed. I was never known as the turkey girl and I that year I was going to show them! 

Everyone at the table watched in awe as my mother pulled a plastic bag of innards out of the stuffing cavity. I can still hear my brother's hysteria. This year I'm at it again...shoot me.

For decades it was my mother's Italian egg stuffing recipe. A combination of, roughly, a dozen large eggs, a handful of grated Locatelli cheese, a handful of chopped fresh Italian parsley, enough plain bread crumbs to thicken the mix till it drips off a spoon and a little salt and pepper. This then blows up inside the turkey and is absolutely delicious.

My sister-in-law Susie started going with her sausage & chestnut stuffing and my stuffing allegiance is now challenged. Actually, I am open to stuffing suggestions. Got any?

Who? Who? You are wondering. Good headline eh?

First the backstory. On Sunday my late brother Stephen's beautiful wife remarried.

His 11 year old daughter was a flower girl and his two boys ages 11 and 10 walked their mom down the aisle and gave her away.

Waiting at the altar was her lovely new husband. His 16 year old daughter and his 14 year old son from a previous marriage were also in the ceremony.

Suffice to say it was a bittersweet day for my family.

Tears of sadness flowed as freely as the notes from the saxophone playing in church, as we watched his family move on without him.

Tears of joy flowed too, for this wonderful new opportunity and for this blended family that found each other to move forward with.

The party was classy and full of love and my sister-in-law and her new hubby left for a two-day mini honeymoon in NYC.

I volunteered to sleep over and handle things on day two.

The kids live in my old house. My brother had bought it from my mom.

It's decorated different but its the same house.

I took the kids out to dinner, struggled through homework and finally needed to lay down.

It didn't matter where, but the kids wanted me to sleep in my sister-in-law's room.

I cannot tell you how it felt laying there. It had been years.

It was my parents room at one time and visions of my late father laying on the bed watching football came rushing back. Gone.

Then I imagined my brother lying where he used to in this very same room. Gone.

Now his kids jump in bed with me and want  to talk about their dad because I am one of the closest things left to him and they need to talk about him.

We do.

We also talk about this new wonderful man who loves my sister-in-law and them, and his kids who are now officially their step-brother and sister.

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On Sunday, I apparently bribed the 11-year-old daughter of my long-lost, now divorced, male friend from college. You may remember that I recently ran into him in Grand Central Station in New York.

The bribe: Presents to make the kid like me!

It didn't start out seeming like a bribe to like me ... it just turned out that way. This was a great friend I’d lost touch with for 17 years. We were at each other’s weddings; he held my daughter when she was born, but I had never met his two daughters.

Last week he and I went out for an eight-hour, belly-laughing, catch-up dinner. This weekend was his weekend with his girls, and we had very loose tentative plans so that I might meet his daughter. On Sunday, around 5, I was on the endless check-out line at HomeGoods when he called.

He and his younger daughter were nearby. Did I want to join them for a bite?

Absolutely!

If you've ever been to a HomeGoods, you know they ambush you with impulse items while they have you held captive on the checkout line. I decided to buy the little girl a gift. A cute little, hard-cover notepad tied with ribbon.

Perfect!

But wait — maybe she would enjoy some origami to keep her busy at her Dad's house.

Perfect!

But wait — they just played tennis for 15 hours, and the colorful little ped socks with the different designs will probably come in handy, because no divorced Dad has a pair of cute matching ped socks for their little girls handy when they need them.

Perfect!

I couldn't decide so I bought all three. And how cute – I'll buy these manly, cool peds for my friend, so he doesn't feel left out.

When I got to the restaurant, I spotted them sitting together and weaved my way through the tables toward them. I felt a rush of compassion for this lovely, divorced father intently doing his best by his daughter on his weekend with her.

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I will always know when it's Ivana Trump's new wedding anniversary, because I got married on the same day — April 12th. Difference is, I'm no longer married — thus the date no longer applies to me.

But the date does still exist, and every year all the faded, happy wedding day memories rush back and linger for 24hrs, along with a feeling that makes me a little queasy. It's kind of like the feeling you get on the birthday of someone you once loved who is dead. The wedding anniversary that no longer exists. A surreal event that you and your ex remember silently, privately, in separate new worlds on that day every year... Gone... Poof!... except for the wedding photo album which you have stashed away — somewhere.

So, while Ivana was getting married to her scandalously young fourth husband in Palm Beach (gotta love her), I celebrated Her/Our anniversary with my brother's kids at a Japanese restaurant, followed by a big sleepover at my house. My daughter (who was out with her boyfriend) came home late and woke me up off the floor where I fell asleep, discussing the meaning of life with a 9 year-old.

Tina, my college roommate, and her husband, Greg will be married 25 years this month. Our kids are now in college and are the same age as when we met, which is totally ridiculous since we still think we're 18. Needless to say, our lives have taken very different paths since we left the dorm.

We were outside at the Norwalk Conn. Oyster Festival on Saturday night listening to The Village People who were performing "YMCA". It's still the only song people can spell with their bodies. Instead of a hot date, I brought along my cool, new iPhone.

For kicks, every time someone stepped up to the Margarita line behind us, I asked if they wouldn't mind taking a picture of us. Every single person was wowed by my phone and thought it was so cool that they wanted to try it out. This was the best shot (and that's me on the left).

Since my daughter was sleeping over at a friend's house, I decided to sleep over at Tina's. Everything with us is pretty much the same as it was in the old days — except the sleeping arrangements. She went to sleep with her husband and I went to sleep in her son's bed — alone. Come to think of it, I should probably start working a little harder on better Saturday night sleepover plans.

What woman doesn't remember every man she ever dated?

Last night after work, I had the good fortune to be invited by friends to take a boat ride across the Long Island Sound to have clams and cocktails at a place called Louie's in Port Washington, N.Y. I never like to miss a chance to be out on the water. I never get tired of a great sunset either (see photo).

So it's dark and we're sitting at a table outside and a guy approaches and he looks familiar and says his "other" friend recognized me and used to date me and was "over there." Really? Let's go say hello.

So there's this lovely, handsome man who comes from my hometown who knows me, who knows my family, and who says we dated for like two weeks when I was young, who I have no recollection of ever dating. Truthfully, I must be getting old because I've never forgotten one guy I ever dated and was a little embarrassed.

In a brief conversation, I found out he is a recently divorced dad, who'd been married for 20 years. The divorce was mutual but he is painfully concerned about the impact on his two grown daughters. I gave him my card and told him to stop by First Wives World, in the hope that something here would give him hope that things will turn out okay. In the meantime, I'm still wracking my brain trying to "remember."

Hyphenated names after a divorce can come in handy.

Here's how it works for me: On my driver's license, my first name and my maiden name appear, then there's that HYPHEN and my ex-married name.

When I want to match my daughter, I keep the HYPHEN in between my maiden name and my ex-husband's last name. This also works for when a guy I'm not interested in asks me out and I pretend I'm still married.

When I want to match my mother, take credit for something business-wise or make sure someone from a past life knows it's me, I slip off the HYPHEN and let the married name temporarily dangle.

When I want to be anonymous, I hide my maiden name and slide that HYPHEN in the other direction and use just my first name and the married last name. This comes in handy for things like late bill-paying, road rage, radical relatives, knocking over a stack of cans in a supermarket and checking into scandalous places.

Nigro, by the way, is my maiden name...

First let me set this up right. It's Friday night around 8 p.m. I'm tired, bloated and feel like crap but push myself to go out for an hour to have a bite to eat. I don't even think I checked the mirror because I figured I wouldn't run into anybody. I arrive at the local Mexican restaurant to meet my fabulous interior designer friend Greg to get a quick bite and as I am walking over to kiss him hello, I spot the handsome tanned "Young Guy" I used to see, who nobody knows I used to see and who I don't see anymore, sitting on the other side of the bar.

Reminder I am bloated. So I kiss Greg hello, explain I have to go say hello to someone and then walk over to give a warm hug and a kiss to "Young Guy." "Young Guy" had recently met someone young, as he should since he doesn't have kids and we remain friends. While I am re-bonding with "Young Guy," I spot another male friend who I adore, a couple more seats down the bar, sitting alone. He gives me a smiley wink.

We'll call him "Divorced Dad" and we're friends because he's the father of one of my daughter's friends. "Divorced Dad," who raised his kids alone, just ended another three-year live-in relationship and is trying to re-socialize back into the single life again. It's a little awkward for him but tonight, I can provide him a lifeline.

So I leave "Young Guy" and go over to hug and kiss "Divorced Dad." Reminder I am bloated. I go back to my seat and to Greg, who wasn't sure I was coming back. Now, other friends, Maureen (divorced and remarried ) and Larry arrive to join us. They're in vacation mode and leaving the next morning for Montana and Vegas. I am meeting them in Vegas next week and we're getting our hookup plans straight.

I am working very hard at building First Wives World but I'm also trying to include more fun and adventure in my workaholic life. read more »

Today I'm recovering from an emotional meltdown having narrowly escaped a major family tragedy last night on the highway. Imagine looking in your rearview mirror and watching your kid driving behind you have a two-tire blowout with tractor-trailers flying by at warp speed?

And...being ahead of her unable to slow down and go right back and save her. I had just hung up from my umpteenth call to make sure she was okay behind me on our three-hour ride back from Easthampton where we had a fun couple days celebrating my birthday together.

We were on the final five-minute leg of the trip. I had just hung up and said "see you at home" when I heard a loud metal thumping noise. A large something was right in the middle of the road and flew up behind me and her car ran over it. I looked back and saw her car stopped dead in the middle of all kinds of cars and trucks coming hard and fast. Her boyfriend was in the car with her, thank goodness she wasn't alone, but I was out of my mind with worry.

I couldn't dial 911 fast enough while maneuvering off the next exit to try and figure out in the dark how to get back to where she was. I called her and she was panicking and I was yelling for her to try and make it to the side of the road from the middle lane. I also panicked and called my ex-perpetual fiancé who is great at these types of emergencies and he happened to be on the way back from New York.

Somehow my daughter managed to get off an exit. My ex showed up in record time, 911 never arrived since we were off the exit, and I somehow flagged local police who called a tow truck. And still, we were on the side of the road forever.
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Instead of sitting in traffic last Friday night on the way out of New York, I decided to head over to the Time Warner Center. Finally, I would see what was inside. I'm a New Yorker who never seems to make the time to see the things everyone comes to New York to see!

Enough of that nonsense. I am a woman on a mission. The mission? To stop procrastinating pleasure and to figure out in between the madness of being busy,
how to soak up all things fabulous!

So off I went to the 35th floor to see the Mandarin Hotel Bar. Incredible! Then I decided to stop for a glass of wine and some sushi at the Stone Rose restaurant. I sat at the bar by myself. All the girls who work there are young and drop-dead gorgeous and I'm at the perfect age where I can admire them and not be jealous of them. Okay, well maybe I could go for a 22-inch waist.

Anyway, a fresh-faced, handsome young man took the seat next to me and ordered a drink. He looked sooo young. I really didn't want to bother him, but I had to. I was sitting for a long time behaving myself quietly and well, that was boring. So I leaned over and asked what was on his agenda for Friday night. Turns out he was waiting for his friends to arrive from San Francisco to head out on the town. He was a doll, adorable and charming, and a Pro Soccer Player for the New York Red Bulls: Jon Conway Goalkeeper No. #18.

I told him I've always thought that soccer players were the best athletes in the world. I still wonder why soccer isn't better attended here in the U.S. especially given the fact that so many kids grow up playing it. Well, maybe David Beckham's arrival in Los Angeles will change all that!
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