My neighbor in the Hamptons wants to rent their house for the last two weeks of summer.
And oh, what a house! Before I start advertisin’ this property, I must issue a disclaimer: I am not a real estate broker.
Situated literally steps from the beach, recently flush with upgrades such as new toilets and a kitchen, this is the quintessential home to create new memories.
And… wait for it! Here is the kicker: the house comes with a Jewish Mama!
No other home in the Hamptons boasts this feature. Yes! You could rent a Hamptons summer home with your very own ‘Annette’! Amazon has ‘Alexa’, this home has ‘Annette’.
I Want Annette!
OMG! The new rage to span the globe, is to rent a vacation home that comes with your very own Annette!
Imagine the possibilities! COVID separated families. It was terrible. Well, maybe for some.
I am confident there are many sistahs and brothas who used COVID as a great excuse NOT to visit with their family! Oh, my word! What a blessin’! For 18 months, there was no naggin’, no guilt. Amen to that!
I for one, did not receive any unsolicited opinions from my mama during COVID. Actually, I am lyin’. If my mama tells me what to do, I just sing the ‘La La’ song in my head over, and over and over, and simply tune her out.
We all know, since the beginning of the Universe, all mamas, give unsolicited opinions. It is in our DNA. And yes, it is true, I tell my kids what to do. No surprise there my sistahs! OH, and by the by, they hate it. Girlfriends, let’s hold hands in solidarity and shed a tear for our sad, angry children. Remember our words that forever ring in our kids ears, the battle hymn of “I TOLD YOU SO!”.
Word on the street is the elite Hamptons real estate brokers are vying to get this rental listing.
What can I say? The lifestyles of the rich and famous always look for the ‘next big thing’.
Indeed! This rental beach house offers all the comforts of ‘home’. What an opportunity to be on a vacation with a Jewish Mama for two whole weeks.
Annette is THE Next Big Thing!
Annette is absolutely amazing. Defies aging. She is 96 years young. Walks up and down stairs; yes, incredible. One foot after the other. Does not even get winded. Even comes with and drives her own car!
You betcha! Annette has a zest for life that can’t be matched! She never met a cocktail she did not like and is a wonderful dinner companion at the finest, most expensive restaurants.
Incredibly intelligent; well read; very funny; a great conversationalist, and very loving. What more could you ask for in a mama? Oh yes. She is also very controlling, and she will tell you what to do! Remember it’s her house — her rules. Welcome to home sweet home!
How do I know everything about Annette? Because she adopted me! Lucky, right?!
Who needs Alexa, when you can shout out in the kitchen and say “Annette! What is the weather in Bridgehampton today?”
At the beginning of this summer, I hung up my shingle: Experienced Hot Mama at yo service! My motto: ‘Come to Mama’!
Wait a gosh darn second! I am not talkin’ about ‘those’ kinda services! Gross! How dare you think that way! I’m 57 years old — who even thinks about sex?
Baby Mama Again!
You betcha! My services were once again required for babysittin’ you fools!
I have one client, who apparently will be a repeat customer. Why not? The price is right. Free babysitting in the Hamptons during the summer! On second thought, I better keep this a secret.
Why do you ask? I will find babies dropped at my door step by workin’ mamas.
No thanks! Really. One baby is my limit.
My client, the baby, aka Miss Izzy, is really cute. This kid, at 8 months old, is just way too adorable.
Ah yes. Babies are farting, pooping, crying, teething, and inconsolable bundles of joy! And the best part is, they are totally incapable of taking care of themselves. Hmmm… just like men!
The nerve of a baby! So selfish! Too needy! They just want, want, want. Crafty little fuckers. It is amazing that they master the art of crying so early in life. Pavlov my arse. Babies instinctively know at birth, the louder they cry, the more attention they get. It is a fact.
Come to Mama Gay!
Miss Izzy came to my house yesterday to spend some quality time with me. You may recall, I was her babysitter in May. The baby Mama is my masseuse. And we have a barter arrangement.
I babysit Miss Izzy so baby mama can work. The barter? No, I do not get a free massage. I get to spend time with the princess. Yes, despite my intellectual brilliance, I ain’t no red hot businesswoman.
Sometimes, we experienced, wise hot mamas, need to lend a helpin’ hand to our younger, new baby mamas. In truth, makin’ someone else’s day a little bit easier makes me happy. Although cash would be nice too.
I can assure you that I had no separation anxiety when the baby mama left me alone with Miss Izzy. Oh wait, separation anxiety occurs between a baby and their mama. And by the by, I finally separated from my mama last year. Better late than never!
Baby mama left me with a very happy, smilin’ baby. No separation anxiety in this hood!
Babysitting Time Period 1.5 Hours
Piece of cake to watch a baby for 1.5 hours. Such a short period of time. Right?
According to the baby mama, Miss Izzy can play by herself with her toys on the floor. Oh, and she crawls and stand up. Sounds like this little gal is just on auto-pilot!
So sorry baby mama, but Miss Izzy did not want to play by herself. No. She would have none of that.
I am the Entertainer
Babysitter my arse! Kids, babies only want to be entertained. My meter was runnin’, and I knew there would be no tips!
As soon as baby mama left, Miss Izzy turned to me, and in fact said, ‘Dance Biatch! Make me laugh’!
I said, ‘yes ma’m’! And I was a dancin’ and a singin’. I looked at the clock, and thought I burned through a half hour. Mutha fucka! Only 12 minutes of this nonsense.
I got down and dirty… I’m rollin’ on the floor, squeakin’ toys, singin’ 20 verses of ‘wheels on the bus go round n round’, and read a book about ‘7 monkeys jumpin’ off a bed’. And no, I did not bother looking at my watch…what was the point?
Then I see Miss Izzy is droolin’ and shoving her fist in her mouth. Can you believe this? Baby mama neglected to tell me that this kid was ‘cuttin’ a new front tooth. Oy vey!
This baby was clingin’ onto me for dear life. Oh, the teethin’ pain.
Where is the Baby Orajel (extra strength)? Where is the Baby Motrin? Oh… this new generation of baby mama does not like to use this tried and true medicine. They prefer the ‘organic’ and ‘natural’ way of doing things.
It was like I was livin’ on the prairie. No medicine, no nothin’. I gave the baby a spoon, a few teethin’ crackers (that my dog Latte loved!), and some water. That lasted about 7 minutes.
I even threw in a complimentary diaper change. Miss Izzy did not give a shiat, literally.
And then pure genius struck me like a lightnin’ bolt! I grabbed a sugar-free natural ice pop. Miss Izzy had no idea what I was givin’ her, but she ain’t nobody’s fool — she’ll eat anything. And just like that, I corrupted this poor child with an orange ice. She took one lick, then a second, and then said to me, ‘bless yo heart mama Gay’. Peace at last…
At the end of our 1.5 hour play date, Miss Izzy had a new tooth, and I had a new friend.
The Hamptons. As the sun sets to a perfect summer day, there is nothing better than taking a walk at the beach along the shoreline.
In truth, I believe the Hamptons beaches are truly magical. Indeed. Perhaps that is why people flock to the Hamptons like ants at a picnic. Sure! Peeps who flee the summer sweltering heat of NYC, the smell of roastin’ garbage, and boilin’ asphalt, crave the natural habitat of the hamptons.
Yes ma’m. The Hamptons are explodin’ with NYC peeps who want to be ‘one with nature’. They love to stop and smell the roses that are a bloomin’; watch the annual return of the monarch butterflies; observe the Ospreys who are nurting their babies in their nests on the dedicated nesting poles that hover above the Hamptons; or simply tend to their vegetable gardens that thrive in the naturally nutrient rich soil.
Really? Do ya think all the city peeps come for the nature? Hell No!
They come to party! But… we are talkin’ about beaches. Save city folk stories for another day!
The Evening Beach Walk
I raised my kids in the Hamptons. In the summer, we love to walk along the beach at night. When very few people are there. It is quiet. In fact, peaceful.
A few nights ago, after dinner, I took that beach walk with my hubby, my neighbor Linda and her dog, Bella (a 12 pound ‘Pomsky’). And yes, my dog Latte, aka ‘The Queen’, a small, white Havanese. Dogs are allowed on the beach after 5pm.
As I live and breathe, we came upon a local Celeb. You betcha baby! Of course, my hubby and Linda were totally oblivious. What NOT a surprise!
I recognize this person like ‘a mile away’ — our kids went to school together in the Hamptons. I know, totally cool! Right?
Let’s set the scene:
As we get closer, our two entourages meet. You know my non-famous nobody group. Who has she got along for the walk? OMG, like her pseudo-famous daughter and her fiancé, and their cute little dog.
If you know me, and you should by now, I swoop in for the ‘hello’!
You betcha! I stop walkin’. No, I do not jump in front of the celeb, so she stops walkin’. Don’t be silly. I am not that desperate!
I said ‘hi’. Then I say, ‘I know, you don’t remember me, but our kids went to school together’. And by the by, my older son said, “Mom, you do this every time you see her”.
But really, she never remembers me. Her response, ever so polite, is, “Oh yes! Hi!”. Wouldn’t that be nice, if it weren’t BULLSHIAT! Whatever. And by the by, her kids are great.
Anyways, I ask her how her kids are doing, blah, blah, blah, she asks about mine, blah, blah, blah, and we parted ways.
To be clear, my nobody entourage are all walkin’ in tee shirts and shorts. No make-up, hair a mess. I may even have a stain or two on my clothes from eatin’ and cookin’.
The Celeb and her daughter, however, were a totally different vision. Like OMG! They wore sun dresses, make-up, even lipstick. Picture perfect.
I shan’t identify the celeb, however, my friend Linda thought she did not look like anything in her photos or tv appearances. I actually thought she looked great. Really. And she is O-L-D. Let me clarify, she is in her 60’s, while I am clinging onto my 50’s for dear life.
She publicly professes her aging is natural, and never had cosmetic surgery. Sistah, if that be true, then I’ll have what you be drinkin’.
I have the best dermatologists on both coasts. I even have a wellness doctor who loads me up on a daily ritual of concoctions of vitamins, minerals, collagen powder, and hormones in an attempt to beat back aging.
Despite my valiant efforts, and I am younger than that sistah Celeb, she is really a hot mama. Kudos to her.
Catch Ya’ on Return Trip!
As luck would have it for me, I got to see this hot mama goddess again on the return walk home.
And this time, she stopped, asked whether my older son was home now. Why, I have no idea.
You betcha baby! This event was liberating. No masks. Peeps vaccinated. What a wonderful opportunity to ‘mingle’ again. It was akin to a ‘Get Out of COVID Jail Free Card’.
Kudos to Tracy
Sistahs, y’all gotta give credit when credit is deserved. Tracy hosted this intimate soirée to join with Grazia Magazine USA to celebrate their recent publication “The Grazia Gazette: The Hamptons Volume II.
And I got invited!
I know! You are just dyin’ to know what the event was like!
Well, let’s set the scene.
East Hampton Point
If I must say so myself, Tracy and her team, were brilliant in picking this location.
The ‘Point’ has always been a spectacular location for a restaurant. It is situated on the harbor in East Hampton, where you can literally soak in the sun, boats and be part of that swanky, upscale bar scene.
Bring it on girlfriends! Welcome back to the good ole’ new days!
See and Be Seen!
Gay is bustin’ loose sistahs! Break out out the booze, pop the champagne, and let’s party!
In Gay’s fantasy world, I envisioned myself sashayin’ through the restaurant to schmooze with any famous peeps that could be at this event.
And y’all know me, I was on a mission to find at least one celeb! Amen to that!
If I do say so myself, I think I just might have pulled off my master plan to look absolutely stunnin’! I’d love to look breath-takin’, but let’s not push it.
Fear Not sistahood! Despite the obstacles thrown in my path, notably aging, a bad back, bad feet, gross hands and nails, bags under my eyes, and perilous belly bloat, I was determined to create a vision of a newGay that would last the duration of the luncheon.
Indeed. Think of an older version of the fairy tale Cinderella, but no fairy godmama, and an old(er) Cindy.
The only fairy dust I had was a tube of some miracle under eye cream that purportedly magically erases wrinkles and flattens those dark, puffy circles.
Gimme Gimme Gimme!
Problem: the cream only works for a few hours, and then everything goes back to shiat.
Yes, my tale could end up worse than Cindy’s. Could you imagine I’m a schmoozin’ with a celeb, and all of a sudden, one eye, then another eye, starts to sag and puff out? Oh, the shame of it all. Timin’ is everything, and I cannot overstay my welcome!
I tried my bestest. I shopped at the finest of stores, TJ Maxx in Bridgehampton. And girl, did I ever luck out! I almost had to run over another chick to grab that dress.
As I live and breathe, the day that I scored a Theory dress and cute Wedges was a very good day. Go figure! Better than sex!
Why better than sex? The dress and shoes last way longer than one orgasm! Think girls, think!
But a dress don’t glam you up. No, no, no. Bring on the jewels and the fancy schmancy handbag! Even if they be faux, no matter ladies! You have to package yourself and give the image that you are the real deal baby!
Remember my mantra: It is not how you feel, but it is how you look! And dahlin’, you look mahvelous!
Fellow hot mamas, I did it. Yes! Despite my deep rooted insecurities, I pulled off the impossible and, if I do say so myself, actually looked damn good! Or, as good as I can look at this point in my life.
The Wine, The Peeps!
Life. A beautiful thing. Particularly when you are schmoozin’ in East Hampton and the Rosé was just a-flowin’.
And yes, Garçon, s’il vous plaît, I shall have another glass!
After cocktails, we were escorted to a secluded porch and were seated at a very long table, which was adorned with fresh flowers and beautiful linen. My seat was purr-fect. Really. I had a direct view of the harbor, and even spotted a stunning yacht or two. Not too bad for moi, a nobody.
However, who knew I would be seated alongside the nicest, funniest people. Really. Go figure! I met a professional photographer, a Branding Expert, a Marketing Expert, and a person who sells Caviar. Wow. What fun!
I could go on and on about this soirée, however, time was a tickin’! After a few hours, I realized I needed to make a dash for it, before I turned back into a 57 year old woman who was cooped up in a house for 18 months.
I also had another engagement I needed to attend, so it was time for me to skedaddle! I know, such a busy person! So many places to go, people to see!
I bid a fond adieu to my new friends and drove off to the next event! The good news was that as I looked into the car’s rearview mirror, I noticed my eyes were still intact and the eye cream was in fact magical.
It happened. I finally received my first invite to a luncheon this summer! In the Hamptons, no less!
An Emotional Moment
Girlfriends, can we talk?
My head is spinning. Now I am gettin’ a hot flash. Do I detect a little underarm perspiration?
I mean, really. This is big news! At least in my teeny tiny world. Someone actually wanted little ole’ me to attend their event. Can you believe it?
And between you and me, this is not your regular iced tea and salad lunch date.
You betcha baby! This is a Hamptons Luncheon, where attendees include a magazine and a celebrity.
Oy vey. I am totally verklmept. Work with me kids. Basic Yiddish 101 for being ‘overcome with emotion’.
You can be sure that when I received the invite, I responded ‘yes’ within 5 seconds. Well, maybe I waited a minute, so as not to reveal my irrational exuberance!
To be clear, I am a refined, highly educated, sophisticated Woman, who knows how to exercise restraint.
Yeah right girlfriends! And believe me when I tell you that this Hot Mama is as subtle as a bull in a China shop!
It has been like forever… since I attended a luncheon.
What do you wear to a ‘luncheon event’ in the Hamptons? I have no idea. Of course, I emailed the person who invited me, and asked “ What is the Attire?”.
I know. I am a total schmuck to even inquire as to what to wear to a Hamptons Luncheon. Like Duh. the answer was: “A dress”.
Sistahs, I knew I would have to wear a dress.
I am sorry. I just feel that I do not look good in a dress. Keep in mind, this is just in my head. On the rare occasion that I ‘don’ a dress, ‘the people’, A.K.A. ‘onlookers’ or ‘gawkers’ always compliment me.
People lie. Sad but true.
So many factors create this poor self-image. On the day that I have to wear a dress, I could have bad belly bloat akin to that of a woman who is 6 months pregnant.
I have very long, skinny legs, which were constantly mocked by other kids during my childhood. Not only was I brutalized for having the name ‘Gay’, but kids managed to refer to me as ‘Olive Oil’ or ‘Chicken Legs’. I know. Nice.
There is some baggage that never gets lost.
However, the funny thing with dresses is that I never need them fitted. I literally waltz into TJ Maxx, pick a dress off the rack, and go home. No, I rarely try on a dress prior to purchasing it, because I can literally ‘eyeball’ the dress style and measurements and know it will fit.
I know, I know. And I am biatchin’ and moanin’ that I don’t like to wear a dress. What can I say?
Pick a Damn Dress
Clearly, I will wear a dress to this event.
Problem: So many dresses to choose! Rumor has it, I have a few summer frocks in my closet. Many of these dresses are pre-pandemic.
Query: Are they still in style? I don’t know. I don’t wear dresses!
The attire for the luncheon calls for a ‘summer dress’. So, it can’t be a fancy schmancy evening cocktail or party dress. Well, scratch those black dresses off the list.
As I peruse through my closet, I find a cute pink dress, another white dress with flowers, you get the picture. This is when I get nervous. Do I try them on? Would they be too loud? Let’s face it, I am loud enough, that I do not need to wear a fuchsia dress to an intimate luncheon. Or can I? I just don’t know!
Emergency Run to TJ Maxx
You betcha baby. I went runnin’ to TJ Maxx to find a new dress. Keep in mind, the dresses in my closet were only worn once (if that).
Of course, I found these beautiful silky, flowy Theory dresses. You betcha baby! I saw another mama oglin’ the dresses.
I ask my sistahs: What is a crazed hot mama to do? You know me to well! I jumped to the rack with those long chicken legs of mine and grabbed the dresses from the rack and ran to the cashier with my AMEX card in hand!
Aw, no hard feelings. Hell no! Sorry biatch… you know the rules in TJ Maxx. If the prized dress is not in your hand, then too bad, so sad for you girlfriend. You snooze, you lose. So sad. Not!
I have a problem. I know, I am fraught with issues.
My hairstylist is Amy, and she is amazing. She books out for appointments months in advance.
2 weeks ago, I show up for my scheduled appointment for my color and haircut. And by the by, this appointment is like clockwork.
However, this appointment is different than all other appointments (and no, this is not a lead-in to Passover). I walk in the door, and Amy does not say ‘hi’, rather, she says in jaw-dropped surprise, “what are you doing here”.
Well, what kind of greeting is that? I’m thinkin’ to myself, which I actually blurted out, “are you kidding me?”. Like OMG. I thought I was going to faint.
Girlfriends, to me, hair is sacred. Excuse Moi, but really.
I have known Amy for 19 years… this never happened. Amy can’t find my appointment in her calendar. Well, wouldn’t ya know that OCD Gay kept the email appointment confirmation from Amy.
Yes ma’m. Exhibit ‘A’: Amy sent me an email that she drafted 2 months ago confirming the appointment she scheduled for me.
Amy could only color my hair, not cut it. Biatch! But what was I to do? I am at her mercy.
Sistahs, the hairstylist is the ruler of my universe. I don’t ask for much in life, just good consistent color and a nice haircut.
And you know what I got that day? Bupkus! Which means not much. The color came out too light, and I needed a haircut, which I did NOT get. I tried to be subtle, and hide my disappoint and tears, but again, that would not be me.
My girlfriends, don’t ya know it that as soon as I dumped (oops! ‘dropped off’),the last kid at the Hampton Jitney bus stop, I partied like it was 1999! You betcha baby!
Did I hear a Pin Drop?
Our home was quiet. I heard the chorus of birds chirping the song ‘hallelujah empty house’, and the soothing sounds of the ocean waves breaking at the shore.
I achieved Nirvana.
Girlfriends, I celebrated with a Baccarat Crystal cocktail glass filled with perfectly chilled Tito’s vodka. I tossed in an olive for good measure.
Wouldn’t ya know my freedom lasted for a nano-second. I took one sip of my celebratory cocktail, and the party was over. I prophesized this would happen!!! Shiat!
As soon as son #1 arrived at his apartment, we got a phone call. There was an invasion of cockroaches.
Query: When would the apartment building ever conclude the year long construction project? Keep in mind, this is the never ending project that literally never ends. And paleeze…don’t give me that line of shiat, “Oh, so sorry, but COVID delayed the project excuse”.
I do not know what the construction workers did, but they must have awoken every roach that lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Really.
And then, the cock-a-roaches piled into their roach mobile and decided to take a road trip to my son’s apartment. All jokin’ aside, I am confident the entire building was invaded by roaches…
NO!!! DO NOT COME HOME!
Oy vey. Really? Bug, schmug. Whateva! Don’t Come Home!
I would do anything to retain my newly minted title ‘Empty Nester’.
Gay to the Rescue
I schlepped to NYC to investigate. I entered the apartment in body armor; well, not quite. I brought boric acid, a tried and true remedy to snuff out those pesky critters.
As the big Macha, (in Yiddish that means the ‘Head Honcho’), I surveyed the situation. We be talkin’ determined cock-a-roaches. They must have been a trainin’ for this invasion. Straight outta’ a horror flick.
It was a war zone in that apartment. I found carcasses of cockroaches; it was clear they were putting up a hell of a battle but were losing the war.
I stayed for the night. I woke up early, to make the trek back to the Hamptons.
Let’s set the scene: Good news, the coast was clear! Not a roach in sight!
I hopped into the shower. Thinking the roach problem was under control, I was totally relaxed.
I go for the shampoo… and just as I picked up that bottle…the world ended. Visualize this: A sly and cunning cock-a-roach was hiding behind the shampoo, just waiting to terrorize me.
Kudos to that crafty bastard, what a great war time tactic.
It was at that moment I entered the twilight zone and had an out of body experience. That mutha fucka stared at me with those eyes. And this was not cock-a-roach, this was a water bug, which can be huge. We be talking almost 6 inches long or bigger? Could have been a foot long. But who knows, I was traumatized.
I was shrieking like a lunatic in a straight jacket who was locked away in an insane asylum.
It’s amazing I did not pull the shower door off the hinges while fleeing. I attribute my super-human core strength to Tracy Anderson.
I know what you are thinking…what happened to the bug?
You betcha baby! No match for Gay! I snuffed that bug out with the bottle of shampoo, and then ran out of the shower. Sistahs, I can assure you there was no need for the police.
My message to the all the bugs that entered the apartment: this will be your fate. And then I flushed that mutha dead roach down the toilet and gave the middle finger farewell salute.
Totally grossed out, my son and I retreated to the Hamptons.
Cockroaches and Family
You betcha… family, friends, they be just like those cockroaches.
I know. I am such a biatch! Perhaps ‘bunnies’ be a softer word? Cockroaches sounds too nasty.
You know it my fellow mamas! One person comes to the house and then they start to multiply.
Exactly. Now I have a marching band!
The Snow Hotel is Accepting No Mo’ Reservations!
My step-kids and grandkids planned to visit for a few ‘fun days in the Hamptons’, along with my sistah Lori, my 15 year-old niece, and two of her girlfriends.
What’s a mama to do? I went food shopping and cancelled all scheduled dinner reservations.
Oh yes… I also pumped up the rainbow unicorn and pink swan floats, set up the ping-pong table, badminton, fluffed up the pillows, and put the Advil on the kitchen counter.
But wait, my old mama and step-dad Bob had to visit too. Of course, they did. Do ya think my mama would miss out on the ‘fun’ we were having in the Hamptons?
Not only did she want to come for dinner, but she also wanted to sleepover and gab with the teenagers. I said, “mama, there are too many people here, so you can’t sleep over”.
My mama replied: “Gay, I am not anyone, I am yo’ mama”. I curtly replied, “Whatever biatch! You can only come for the day”. Well, with all due respect to my mama, I certainly did not call her a biatch to her face. Definitely behind her back. Just kiddin’ girlfriends.
And yes, sistah Lori thanked me that mama did not sleepover. We just would not go down that path of mama gossipin’ up a storm with the teenagers.
What About Bob?
Bob was incredulously thoughtful. He brought a ‘toy’ for the girls. So sweet. Oh yes, a jewelry design kit for girls ages 6+. Sistahs, I kid you not. He thought it was a wonderful way for the girls to play, make earrings and hair pins. Can you imagine? Sexist pig!
My Foreseeable Future
My fellow mamas… I must accept my fate. When your home is akin to a 5-star hotel, and everyone’s needs are addressed, who I be kiddin’?
In fact, when we get back to LA, we will be living with son #2 and adopted son #3. You know it honey! They gave me the line, “We will be home just for a few months.. we just be college grads lookin’ for an apartment”.
Bless yo’ heart. Mama ain’t no fool! I know, I will bring the jewelry design kit to LA so the boys can make necklaces when they are not looking for an apartment.
Y’all may recall yesterday’s article concluded with a cliffhanger. I was going to call my friend Tracy, AKA ‘The GODdess’, to politely beg her to find a spot for me in her class this weekend.
Of course, I scored a spot in her Saturday class! Now what do I do?
Praise the GODdess for pityin’ this poor, agin’ fool! Hallelujah sistahs! Tracy will save me from Mama Nature and Daddy Time!
To be clear, that is not a photo of me. That stunning photograph is of my friend, Tracy Anderson. Tracy posted this goddess-like photograph of herself on her Instagram page a few weeks ago.
What? You actually thought that is moi??? My word! Bless your heart… y’all be too kind! Come on now, I am way taller than Tracy.
But Paleeze, don’t make me laugh…because this will set off an uncontrollable chain reaction of bodily functions (I’ll pee in my pants, blah blah blah)! You know the drill sistahs. Never leave home without a Poise Pad!
The truth is, I gasped when I saw that pic.
Oy! My girlfriends… I ask y’all…how is it humanly possible for a sistah to look like that? On my best day, I never looked like that. So sad, shed a tear for Gay.
I called her, and said “Tracy, like OMG! I need this photo! I want to make it into a poster and put it on my wall”. NOT! Just kidding!
But really, like Oh my GODdess! Tracy earned that rockin’ hot mama bod. She is the real deal.
I Want A Six-Pack This Summer!
You betcha baby! Gay’s goin’ for gold this summer! I want a six-pack and a tight arse! And I don’t mean no Budweiser (which I never drank, by the by).
What? Did you just say?? Do ya think I am too old to have a hot rockin’ mama body?
How dare you biatch! Shame, shame, shame on you!
In Gay’s World, we can do ANYTHING! I think I can, I know I can!
I have a plan. Get outta my way biatches!
The chicks who fly in from Miami, LA, and NYC to attend her classes, are total devotees of her workout. They all have incredible bods. It is one thing when I body shame myself in writing. It’s another thing when I am actually in Tracy’s studio standin’ alongside the other hot mamas. And trust me, they be smokin’ hot.
OMG! I just realized I will work out in a room full of people. To be real, I have not worked out with other people in almost two years.
Like what was I thinking? I am going to be in a studio with other hot mamas who are a huffin’ and a puffin’ and a sweatin’! Eeeeew! Eeeeck! Totally COVID gross! Oh wait! Post-COVID baby! Vaccinated People only!
I shan’t shame myself in public! I will probably be the oldest hot mama in the studio!
I simply cannot ‘show up’ unprepared and not in shape!
Believe me my sistahs when I say that it can be quite the challenge to keep up with the GODdess and her followers in an advanced class.
You betcha baby that tight arse is earned! It is not a ‘gimme’ to have a hot bod after age 30. Don’t we all know about that cruel reality that sistah!
Last but not least, what shall I wear? Word! I have to play the role of the smokin’ hot mama! Not only will have to wear color-coordinated workout clothes, but they best be tight as hell to hold in my bloated stomach! Appearance is everything baby!
Practice! Practice! Practice!
Like really? I have three days to prepare for my first live in-person class. Today was day one of Tracy’s online studio program, where I took the hardest, most challenging advanced class. Of course, I did.
What was I thinkin’ girlfriends? All I can say, is oy vey.
Word! Do I have a lot of work to do before Saturday! I will be training in my DOJO alone, where, moaning, groaning and accidental fart slippage is permissible. At my age, what can you do?
Let’s see if I will be ready for the live in-person Saturday class. I pray the other sistahs will ‘look away’!
Hallelujah! I saw the eclipse! I did I did I did!!
Now I can’t see! Oy! My eyes! They be on fire!
A View From the Roof
The best view for this once of a lifetime moment would be on the roof! Where else, like duh!
Just imagine what it would be like to be so daring, so rugged, so adventurous at 5:00 o’clock in the morning in the Hamptons!
But wait? Would the weather permit a viewing of the eclipse?
The Hunky Meteorologist
Why should I look out the window when I can tune into CBS2 NY News to listen to my meteorologist GOD, Lonnie Quinn and see what he says.
Like really. Lonnie knows his stuff.
If I may, Lonnie, is a real, live, Ken Barbie Doll. The perfect blonde hair, chiseled chin, piercing blue eyes, the sculpted physique and those pecs! Need I say more? Really? A huge amen to my girlfriends out there!
Absolutely stunning. It is even fair to say he is breathtaking. I think he was an actor in a soap opera.
Lonnie never misses a weather event. And why should he? What would a weather event be without that face?
Shiat! What else is new? I am deviating from writing about the eclipse! What is amazing, is that Lonnie lives in Westport Connecticut. So close, yet so far… just yonder across the Long Island Sound. Oh my… the thought just gives me goosebumps!
Lonnie and I apparently had the same view of the eclipse. Same cloud cover, same sunrise. How romantic. Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone!
I made the ascent to my roof. Yes, this is akin to climbing Mt. Everest. I was prepared for the climb. I was armed and dangerous with a cup of cawfee in my Duke University Parent thermal mug; I had my laptop, so I can write about the viewing in real-time; my phone to take photos; and the NY Times Crossword Puzzle to pass the time while I wait for the show.
This was such an ‘event’, that my husband also climbed up to the roof.
If you know my husband, that in and of itself, is an event. Too bad for him, he did not bring cawfee.
We were perched on the roof at 5:24 am, the exact time the eclipse was to begin. Again, if you know my husband, he (not “we”) is punctual!
My husband doubted whether we could see the eclipse; he thought the cloud cover blocked our view.
Patience….patience! If you know my husband, he is just so impatient!
Then it happened! He saw the eclipse! So exciting! If you know my husband, that was it. He came. He saw. He conquered. Fuhgeddaboudit! My husband left.
Of course, I stayed to continue to enjoy this once in a lifetime event.
Don’t Look Into The Sun!
I am such a total arsehole! Of course, I looked straight into the eclipse. Not once. Not twice. But countless times. Eclipse glasses? What you talkin’ ‘bout?
I have very fancy schmancy sunglasses: Ray-Ban, Dior, Prada… I don’t have eclipse glasses. I do not think they would suit my Hamptons and Beverly Hills fashion. Remember… appearance is everythin’ sistah!
Again, whateva! I am armed with my morning cup of cawfee! And by the by, I am on my fourth cup now!
The Most Beautiful Sunrise
Unbelievable! Amazin’! Like OMG! Breathtaking! I took a bunch of photos to memorialize the event.
Of course, my iPhone only captures blobs of sunlight. Totally did not capture the eclipse. My phone sucks.
By now, you know Linda, who is my neighbor. Remember? Linda has ‘Bella’ the puppy. A miniature “Pomsky” — a cross between a Pomeranian and husky. My son calls the baby a cartoon character. Too cute. Bella wants to be a big husky, but unfortunately is trapped in the body of a very small Pomeranian. Ooooh… poor Bella, she will need a therapist to help her overcome her Napoleonic Complex.
Anyway, the puppy wakes Linda up early. Too early for Linda. We are talkin’ 4:00 am sometimes. Oy vey! Good news for Linda today, the puppy slept in almost till 6:00 am.
Linda texts me at that time with the usual “hi”. I assumed, Linda, who is always in the ‘know’, was also watching the eclipse.
No. Linda did not know there was an eclipse. Bless her heart. Interesting. I suppose she does not watch Lonnie Quinn. Sad.