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.
I hear ya… y’all just dyin’ to know if I survived Tracy Anderson’s workout last Saturday.
Like duh! So what’ya think? I am writing this article, ain’t I? I guess I survived to tell the tale!
The Weeklong Preparation
Sistah’s, I ain’t nobody’s fool. I would neva’ eva’ dare to step into Tracy’s Dojo, and NOT be physically and mentally prepared for one of her in-person training sessions.
As you know by now, even though Tracy is my BFF…I shan’t publicly humiliate myself in front of the smokin’ hot mamas who regularly work-out with Tracy. If I may, these ‘chicks’ are bad arses- they be hard core Tracy. They don’t miss a leg lift or a butt pump.
Even though it has been two years since I worked out with Tracy at her Water Mill, NY dojo, there is no way in hell I will lag ‘behind’. Get it?
I certainly would not want to be the ‘butt’ of their jokes… Alright, alright! Can’t a girl just have some pun, I mean fun?
The Online Studio
Let me put my cards on the table, or my arse on the mat. I work-out all the time. If I do say so myself, I am in pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty good shape.
However, Tracy’s work-out is a whole ’nother beast. I actually worked out with her online studio class two times to prepare for this momentous occasion! Fear is a great motivator.
Oy vey. Throughout the workout I was a-cussin’ and a-swearin’ at that fitness biatch!! My word! How does she come up with some of these exercises?
With all due deference to Tracy, we did chat about my online work-out experience. Her first inquiry, was “What level class did you take?” I responded, “Of course the advanced class”. Tracy said, “Of course you did”.
Smart people would warm-up with an intermediate level class. Not this headstrong biatchy sistah!
Back in prehistoric times, before there were online streaming classes, I worked out to Tracy’s DVD workout collection an obscene amount of time. So much so, that I memorized the workouts. Throughout the years, I have incorporated Tracy’s method into my own workout.
What does that all mean? I know Tracy’s workout, and I know what to expect.
Fast forward to today. When I will work out with Tracy, I am way older…like 57. My, my, my. I prayed to our heavenly GODdess to give me the strength to keep up with the other sistahs.
Girlfriends, all I can say is that I was a shiattin’ in my leggin’s! I knew what was a-comin’ in her class, and I was gettin’ noyvous!
Let’s set the scene. It was so freakin’ hot in the dojo. Tracy likes it that way… isn’t that special.
Oy vey. If I had balls, I would have sweat them off that morning. Oh, scratch that — no, I do not mean scratch the balls. I mean delete the ‘if I had balls’. According to my sons, I do have balls, so therefore, I did sweat them off in her class.
Yes mama, I was already chugging one big jug of water before the class even started to stay hydrated.
The sistahs in this ‘advanced’ class were ready for action. There was even a celebrity who came to work out! News alert, I met her years ago. I know, so cool, right? When I said ‘hi’ to her, she was so polite. She probably did not remember me. I know, what’s a girl to do?
And then the work-out began. So easy at first…lulls you into that false sense of security.
Then…wait for it… we hit the mats. Now the fun (not) starts.
And wouldn’t ya know it, after 2 leg lifts, I had a problem. Apparently my ‘mat’ was not positioned in the pre-marked spot on the floor. Like OMG. I was unaware of mat placement etiquette.
Unknowingly, I positioned my mat and ergo, myself in the direct line of fire of the chick in front of me. That is a very, very bad thing to do.
And honey, anyone who knows me, would expect me to create a fiasco.
Rather than focus on my own legs, I desperately tried to avoid getting hit with an ‘incoming missile — the chick’s sneaker’ that was heading for the bullseye marked on my nose. In truth, I’m not a fan of my nose. However, that was not the time for an impromptu nose job.
I kept on swacking, yes, literally swacking her leg to keep it from hitting me. Of course, that did not go over too well. So sorry to disturb your workout, but I felt my life was on the line sistah. Can we still be friends?
Girlfriends, I worked my arse off. I lifted my arms and stretched my legs in the most ungodly positions that could make a grown woman cry. Really.
You may recall in my previous article, I feared I would commit the heinous act of fart slippage during this workout.
In fact, I am happy to report, there was no fart slippage. A reasonable thinking person would assume that when your legs are in a 90 degree angle and you are doing at least 30 reps of scissor kicks, there would occasion for a teeny-tiny fart. Not a one. I think my body burned through any food hiding in my intestines.
Hallelujah! I did not share an aromatic bouquet with my sistahs in the class. Still chance to make a new friend!
The Finish Line
Yes! I finished! Amazing. In truth, it was wonderful to work out with a gaggle of hot mamas in our hopeful post-COVID world. To Tracy’s credit, everyone had to show proof of vaccination, and the DOJO was spotless. (Yes, I did inspect the studio).
And just when we thought the class was over, Tracy surprised everyone with a bonus. A professional choreographer named ‘Ski’. To be clear, I have two left feet, and dance more like Elaine from Seinfeld. I never had a dance lesson before.
Newsflash: I loved it! However, this sistah ain’t got no rhythm. At least I was blessed with beauty and brains.
My Fitness Plan
I plan to continue to work out in Tracy’s class this summer. I hope you will come along for the ride! To be continued!
Memorial Day Weekend in the Hamptons! The official start of summer! The Sun! The Beaches! The Pool! The Barbeques! The predictable rain, wind and cold!
Mama Nature Laughed!
Mama nature snubbed all the Hamptons summer peeps! Honey, SHE rained on their parade! Mama nature laughed as she unleashed a torrential rainstorm of epic proportion. It was cold. It was ridiculously windy. And it was SOOO wet.
Fun in the sun? Ha! She proclaimed , ‘kiss my arse’!
A Total Wash-Out
The summer season in the Hamptons is from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Each day is a precious commodity. Hell, it is just so expensive to rent during the summer months in the Hamptons.
Each day lost to the rain (particularly those on the weekends) can amount to hundreds if not thousands of dollars of lost opportunity on the beach; tennis court; golf course; and canoodlin’ at someone’s ocean front home.
Correction. Better odds for canoodlin’ in inclement weather! Please, I hope I do not have to explain. Hamptons…cocktailin’…get the message?
My sistahs, I feel real emotion, from the bottom of my heart, for all the ‘poor people’ who’s Memorial Day was a wash-out.
Oy. My bad. Poor people? I was referring to the people who were ‘down on their luck’ as a result of the bad weather. Oh girlfriends, these renters are totally not impoverished. Hell no! They all toot ‘round town in their Rovers, G500’s, yadayadayada. .
However, my heart sincerely breaks for the people who rented a toney Hamptons estate for upwards of $1,000,000.00 dollars for the summer and did not have their expected and well- funded, fun in the sun. You heard me right dudes, count them zeros!
Tears to all the people who rented for the summer and their first weekend literally went down the cesspool drain… NOT!
The End of the Pandemic!
Word on Main Street in the Hamptons is that COVID is over! Woo Hoo! No masks! Huggin’, kissin’, canoodlin’, cocktailin’ is all permitted for the summer!
My word! What is a girl to do??!! Take my mask off and run wild in the Hamptons!
Ah, no. I don’t think so. Been there, done that a long time ago my brethren! Need my beauty sleep these days!
Vaccinated People Only!
Pardon moi… the above identified ‘fun’ is only for vaccinated people. You betcha baby! The Hamptons crowd ain’t stupid. We all jumped the line months ago to be fully vaccinated and are ready to P-A-R-T-Y!
Oh yeah baby! Bring on the new roarin’ twenties- only show proof of vaccination pa-leeze!
Hallelujah my Sistah’s and Brotha’s
And what, Pray Tell, was the best part of my weekend? No pun intended… Did you get the hint?
OMG! I am a devotee of the show POSE! You betcha baby! With a name like ‘Gay’, how could I simply not adore that show!
As I have been told, I am Gay, not gay. Get it?
The only saving grace of the soggy weekend was the POSE wedding of Papi and Angel. Even though it is just a ‘show’, like duh, it is based on real events in NYC, which by the way, happened to real people during another epidemic called AIDS. Remember that time?
Somehow, the 1980s and 1990s feel just like ‘yesterday’ to me. I was a twenty-something back then and coincidentally, started to rent a summer share in the Hamptons.
The Hamptons was totally cool, even back then, but my 1/3 weekend share was $750 for the summer. Hey, that’s all I could afford. Which, by the by, my mommy paid for! So there!
However, hanging over all of our heads, whether gay, straight, yellow, purple, three-eyed or whatever, was AIDS. And trust me girlfriends, everyone was scared.
To all my peeps out there, whereva you may be: As we emerge from the COVID pandemic, we should be grateful for the Pfizer, Moderna, J&J vaccine. Like you even have to ask why? That vaccine gives us the ability to free ourselves from the virus that shut the entire world down.
Last time I checked, still no AIDS cure. Food for thought.
I wish everyone in the Hamptons an amazing summer, filled with an abundance of sunshine, happiness, love and appreciation towards all people!
Excuse me? Do you not know who I am referring to? Like you don’t have kids? Oy vey.
We might just be empty nesters for a hot second; I shan’t hold my breath.
Don’t you know it baby! Our kids always come back to the five star luxury hotel they fondly call home. Like duh… they have access to full concierge service; private chef; laundress; and a personal shopper. Need I say more?
Don’t Rain on My Parade!
Not to put a keina hura on this… Wait a minute. I know. You ask yourself, what in the hell is a keina hura?
If you read my articles, y’all know I like to throw out a yiddish word. Why do you ask? In my ‘Gay Speak’, I believe some Yiddish words best describe a situation. Keina hura means you don’t want to jinx something.
And honey…bless your heart… please don’t give me a keina hura on my empty nestin’! Really. This sistah needs some ME ME ME time!
I know you be laughin’ Rocio Guittierez. Just you wait…you got one mo’ year honey and then you too shall be liberated!
Time to celebrate! I went to my friend Linda’s house, who, by the by, is empty nestin’ for a minute.
Oh yeah baby. She popped open the champagne with her saber. Yes, as in sword. OMG… what a tough biatch! With a flick of her wrist, that champagne cork, along with half of the bottle was annihilated. Very impressive.
However, she claimed it was a ‘clean break’, and safe to drink! Well, if she say so. I am an attorney and ain’t nobody’s fool.
In addition, I made a mental note (hopefully I will remember), to keep Linda away from sharp knives!
Why is it so quiet in my house? Where is the parade of kids, their friends, and their appetites? Where is the loud music? Where is the constant emptying of the fridge, and the piling up of laundry?
Not to mention the faint smell of weed wafting through the house is no mas.
The reality of a post-COVID life is setting in. It is ok. Really. We all need a break to spread our wings. Time to free myself from the servitude of COVID. Basta!
Hell, time for me to finally to grow up and reclaim my inner-child. You betcha baby! I went to the liquor store for the first time in a hundred years and bought two bottles of Tito’s vodka! Cheers!
Screw all this adult shiat and responsibilities. These twenty-somethings want to be adults… then be one! Here is the grocery list; my laundry is in the basket; call the plumber to fix the broken pipe; and what is for dinner tonight? Oh, and by the way, do you have a credit card for me to use?
Word on the street is that I have a life independent of my children. Go figure!
As a matter of fact, I already have my first empty nestin’ playdate on the books for tomorrow! My friend Terry, bought a boat and is hosting a water-skiin’ girls’ day tomorrow! We all have to do nothin’! She hired a Captain to shepherd the boat on the rough seas of Peconic Bay. Shhhh… are Captain’s hunks? Just wonderin’. We hot mama’s need some eye candy!
You betcha girlfriends. Ms. Big Shot here. Yep! I’m da’ real deal. Although, I will be praying to my heavenly GODdess that I will be able to stand up on the skis. Would it be asking too much to not only be able to stand up on the water skis, but to actually ski on the water, as opposed to be dragged by the boat like a fish on a hook?
Come to think of it, I also need to wear a bikini top that will not fall off in the water. Although, this hot mama body was never known to attract crowds. Anywhere. Anytime. Ever. So sad.
Oh, and by the way: Before the ink was dry on this article, a kid just showed up for dinner!
OMG! I actually did it! Yes! For the first time… evah!
It was with tremendous trepidation that I exposed myself in public. So, daring! So Brave!
I took my mask off when I was at Costco this week!
Sorry to Disappoint!
Hold up cowgirl! Did you actually think for one moment that I, Gay, would evah take my bra off in the olive oil aisle at Costco and go commando? Shame on you! I would never do such a thing! Not this prude!
Well, what can I say? Time’s a changin’ these days. My spiritual advisor Dr. Fauci says fully vaccinated people can take off their masks. FYI, masks only; not underwear. I’m vaccinated, so I shall take that mask off!
Senior Wanna Be…
I go to Costco weekly. Even stop off at home depot after that wild shopping excursion. I know. So exciting for a sexy mama like me who lives in the Hamptons. Wow, what a lifestyle.
To be clear, I go to Costco first thing in the morning. Yes, as soon as they open. I hate shopping with crowds of people.
Costco Senior Hours
As a result of COVID-19, some Costco stores created early shopping hours for seniors only. So sweet, right? This way all the alte kakers (Yiddish phrase for old people), can shop amongst themselves and be ‘safe’.
During the pandemic, it is a fact that I attempted to shop at Costco when it was open only for seniors. If you know me honey, that is not a surprise!
Of course, you know what happened next… A Costco guard threw my skinny, underage ass off the line because I was NOT an alte kaker. And NO! I did not lie my age and say I was 72!
Oh, the shame of it all! Nah… I sucked it up and just waited another hour to get into the lousy store.
You betcha baby. I needed a fake ID to get into Costco! The good news is that as more people get vaccinated, Costco keeps lowering the age to shop during Senior hours; from age 70 to now age 60. Whoopee!
Fast forward to this week. Sure. I go back to Costco, during Senior hours. If y’all know me, I just can’t help myself trying to buck the system!
This time was different. I had a plan to breach security. I prepared a checklist of “to do’s” before I even approached the pearly gates to Costco.
1. Wear mask and cover entire face.
2. Wear sunglasses.
3. Wear baseball hat.
4. Be prepared to lie my age.
Entry to Costco
I am suited up and ready for action to breach the security blockade. I am sincerely trying to look old. Ain’t that a joke my sistah’s! I am the last person who wants to get old. But for purposes of getting into Costco during Senior hours, I will try my best to ‘give the appearance’ of an ‘older person; (whatever that is).
I am hiding behind my shopping cart and present my Costco card to get into the store. Now mind you, I don’t have an ounce of fat on me; I do not have crepe skin; and I color my hair.
Like really? It is as if I am trying to get passed border patrol. Yada yada yada, The sentry guard at Costco gives me the spiel on senior hours, and finally said ‘you have to be 60 and over to get in’.
Great news! I am 57. Close enough! Although, for moment, I almost fainted just thinking I was only three years away from that ‘old lady age’. Oy vey. Mama Mia. Help!
Just to be clear. That momentary lapse did not, in any way, deter me from wanting to get into that store at that very moment.
The Stalinesque guard finally stopped reading the Costco Senior Hour Riot Act . I responded to her, and quickly said ‘no problem!’. I looked at her in the eyes (with my polarized Prada Sunglasses), and proudly stated I was 60! I started to push my cart into the store.
Ha! I rendered that guard speechless…she looked at me jaw-dropped. True. No kiddin’! I ran into that store in my tight work-out clothes! Ta Ta! Adios!
The Act of Un-Masking
To be clear, I wore my mask when I was shopping. However, I did notice some people did not wear a mask. How odd! My first thought? Who were these people? Who was their leader? Do we share the same belief system? Are we from the same planet?
I got nervous for a second. Then I realized we all must follow the same spiritual leader, who said it was ok to not wear a mask if you are fully vaccinated.
Whew! I am cool with this.
And then, just like that, it happened. In the rice and beans section, I dropped my mask. I was waiting for something, anything to happen.
Nope, nada happened. Now keep in mind, I was shopping with seniors at a Costco. What? Do you think an 80 something year old is going to swack me on the back of my head with cane and yell at me? Maybe for taking the last jar of pitted olives on sale.
As a matter of fact, some of my fellow ‘Senior’ Costco members were maskless. Can you imagine? Now I was jaw-dropped.
On the East Coast, Memorial Day is the ‘kick-off’ to the summer!
The fabled Hamptons, the playground of the legendary rich and famous are arriving on their private jets, helicopters, and limos.
The wanna be somethin’ folks are relegated to drivin’ in traffic in their Escalades. Izzy and Emma will be takin’ the Hampton Jitney. Tears for them; they will sit in 4 hours of traffic.
The Bikini Bod
My fellow mamas: Are you ready for the beach?
The real question: Can you even fit into a bikini? Better yet, can you fit into a bathing suit? Scary thoughts, right?
This is the summer of lovin’ my fellow mamas. Have you heard? According to my spiritual advisor, Dr. Fauci, folks who are fully vaccinated against COVID can get rid of that mask outside.
What a concept — this summer, you do not have to buy a mask that will coordinate with your bathing suit!
It was like just yesterday; I would be going to the beach and was required to wear a mask. And heavens to Betsy if you forgot your mask! In the Hamptons, the fashion statement was to wrap a towel around your face to be politically correct and compliant.
Last but not least, there was the search for the perfect spot to soak up the sun. Where to sit? Back in the heyday of the summer of COVID, bless those toney Hamptons folk who already staked out their ‘spot’ on the beach. Honey, it was as if they owned that shoreline.
My word! Those folks gave you the stare; you know that discerning, disapprovin’ look of ‘now don’t you be sittin’ within 20 feet of my chair, ‘or else’ look’. I mean this is the Hamptons, these folk mean businesses. They could serve you with a restraining order right there on the beach to move! Good thing I am an attorney! Oh, the struggles last summer.
No mo’ Hidin’!
Screw all that bullshiat!
We are back in the NY groove! However, I am confident that most mamas’ bods are not in a groove; perhaps a zig-zag!
Gay’s Gym is Opened!
In addition to everything that I do; I also am a workout mama Queen.
You betcha baby! I have decades of experience of pumpin’ iron (also pushing the iron, I like crisp clothing).
Oh yeah baby! I am bikini ready! Come to think of it, it will be scary to see a 57 year old mama in a bikini on a public beach. Eeeeck!! Run away! Scream shark so no one sees!
My First Client
Like clockwork, my first client has called me to work out with me. Under the guise of ‘let’s hang out and catch up’, she really wants to get hot mama bikini ready.
How do I know she wants to work out? She told me she already lost ten pounds! BINGO!
Mind you, this friend, has a real hot body. Oy vey, like do not sit next to me on the beach.
She has tits, hips, the real deal. In the best of times, I look like a kosher pickle. Just one curve (I am lopsided), no tits, no ass.
Kristen arrived at my beloved DOJO, aka the gym at 8:15am. She was LATE by 15 minutes! Word! She has dissed the workout goddess!
The State of the Body
Where do we even begin? Just look at her! Gorgeous as ever…the problem is that my baby friend is turning 50 years old. So sad. It happens to the best of us. We simply wake up one morning (thank you Lord) and find a stomach bloat ball.
A thank you for giving birth to our precious children.
You betcha baby! I ordered my bestie to jump on the spin bike for 10 minutes. Then onto the mats for major core/abs strengthening. Finished with some free weights, then off you go!
Lose 10 pounds in 2 months, and don that bikini on the Fourth of July!
Go Kristin! Go Kristin! Can she do this? Will she buckle under the spotlight?
Oh, my word! I do declare my baby ship set sail a long time ago.
The one saving grace about menopause…natural birth control. Nature’s way of saying ‘mama, you be too old to take care of a baby 24/7’!
Amen to that my sistahs! Praise be menopause!
Babysitters for Hire!
Our masseuse is the most amazing massage therapist of all time. Yes ma’am. In the summer months, she is scheduled around the clock for massages.
I suspect this summer may be just a wee bit different. Actually, a wee wee and poopy different. She has a baby now! Mazel tov!
But wait! If she goes back to work, who will take care of the baby, a.k.a. Miss Izzy?
Math question: If the baby mama and the baby daddy both work on the same day, at the same time, who will care for the baby? Other than family, mama don’t trust nobody to watch the Princess.
You guessed it! Enter Auntie Gay and Auntie Linda. To be clear, we are absolutely not in any way related to Aunt Lydia from the Handmaids Tale! But we are the next best thing to family.
Welcome to Gay’s Babysitting Service! We have over 31 years of experience taking care of children! We feed ’em; burp ’em; change their diapers (yes, even the poopy ones); entertain ’em; walk ’em; and host nap time.
Yes my friends, this is how my BFF Linda, and I arranged a weekly massage for this summer. You gotta give to get!
Day 1 of Babysitting
The baby mama handed off the young princess, all of six months of age, at approximately 12:30pm. Princess Izzy was happy, fed, and had a fresh diaper. A seamless transition!
Auntie Linda trotted off first for her massage. Ta ta for now to Linda and the baby mama, who is now wearing her ‘masseuse’ hat!
Don’t worry! All will be fine. I got this!
Oh…pardon me. I neglected to say that Linda recently adopted a puppy. Yes, an absolutely adorable ten week old ‘pomsky’. A cross breed between a Pomeranian and a husky. By the by…my son cannot fathom how these two breeds mated (scary!). Regardless, he was the babysitter for the puppy while Linda was getting her massage.
We Got This!
Once a baby mama, always a baby mama. You betcha! Even at age 57! No problem! What could go wrong?
Puppy and Poop
The fun started when I saw my son on his hands and knees, crawling under a low lying Japanese maple tree. He was firmly requesting the puppy to “drop it”.
What was all the commotion? The puppy was eating poop under the tree. Hmmm. To experienced mamas who have had babies, puppies and husbands, seeing a dog eat poop is not earth shattering.
Too bad for my son; the puppy did not ‘drop the poop’. He finally made it under the tree, grabbed the puppy, and surgically removed the poop with his hands.
You can be sure he handed over the puppy to me and took a shower with Clorox. To be clear, he did not drink the Clorox.
Babies are so cute to look at. Aren’t they? And then, after you are done looking at them, what next?
Oh…my…god. How soon we forget. The problem with babies, is that they just do not do anything for themselves. Kinda like husbands.
My fellow mama brethren, I put my mama hat on. I danced, made funny faces, played 100 rounds of peek-a-boo, and bounced the baby on my lap at least 1,000 times. No kidding. I even changed a diaper.
Now what to do? I checked my watch. Alas, only 40 minutes elapsed. Time flies when you are having fun. Hmmm. Almost 1:30pm. If recollection served me correct, that is nap time!
Perfect idea! Tuck the baby in the stroller, and let’s go for a walk. Just as planned, baby immediately falls asleep. Bingo!
What kind of baby is this? She slept for 20 minutes! I did not even have time to take a pee. Oh, my goodness! Now I have to figure out a new show to put on for the baby!
It is now 2:30pm, and the baby is getting a bit fidgety. I am confident she is overstimulated, overtired, and getting hungry. I prepare a bottle, but don’t deploy just yet.
Thank god. The other babysitter, Linda, showed up after her massage. I am so happy for her! So rested and relaxed!
However, the baby is now at Defcon 7, meaning she is a bit fussier.
Auntie Linda is now on baby duty. At 3pm, I finally got my massage; the baby got a bottle.
Lordy! Did I need a massage! According to the baby mama, a.k.a. ‘the masseuse’, my neck and shoulders were so stiff. What could have caused that? Perhaps from bouncing the baby on my lap and holding her over my head at least 1,000 times in an hour? Could be.
And the point of getting that massage was? It is now 4:00pm, Linda goes on her break. I am back on baby duty, and I have to prepare dinner.
You know, I do have another day job.
End of Day
It is now 5:30pm. The baby is cockeyed with exhaustion. Teething did not help either. Holding and rocking her did not soothe her. Next best thing. I put her in her stroller, gave her a pacifier, and pushed that stroller round and round on the patio until she fell asleep.
My wonderful BFF, a true southern belle, threw me under the bus and said the baby never cried with her. Does she have no shame? That Biatch!
I was so glad her poop eating puppy was kissing her face!
The Good Word!
The Princess slept through the night! Baby mama so happy!
And we get to do this all over again next Monday! Can’t wait to get my massage. Really?
In Gay’s World, I have many, many Doctors, which addresses many, many ailments.
Oh… the woes.
Indeed. I am truly grateful I wake up in the morning after a good night’s sleep!
But wait! Did I utter the word sleep? I don’t know about you my girlfriends, but sleep is a tough commodity to come by these days.
I do NOT remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep. Fortunately, my memory has been failing me for years, so I forget every day why I am so tired.
Now I remember… I am freakin’ knocked down exhausted because I did NOT get a good night sleep! That must be why I have those inexplicable dark, puffy, god knows what under my eyes all day long.
My intention is not to deviate… but… I am reminded all day long that I am exhausted by the dark puff balls under my eyes. And girlfriends, no fancy, schmancy make-up conceals that shiat under my eyes.
The worst part is when I see my mama. She always asks me, “Gay, what is under your eyes?” I suppose at 83 years of age, she forgets. I tell her every time she asks, I am exhausted! Oh Shiat! Stop askin’ me.
I have a better idea… throw me some cash so I can go to another Doctor, my dermatologist to fix that mess!
The Wellness Doctor
My Sistahood of friends, of course I have a Wellness Doctor. She is an OB-GYN Physician.
Caroline Fiero is one of my many Doctor saviors. As they say in the Handmaids Tale, ‘Praise Be’.
If you did not know, Wellness Doctors send you to a lab to get about 20 vials of blood drawn. Oh yes! I hope you have a good vein! These Doctors test for every type of vitamin, mineral, and hormone deficiency known to modern day medicine.
Some Doctors roll their eyes at the amount of ‘things’ Wellness Doctors test for. I say, “Bring it on Baby!”.
Where do our hormones go when we age? Are they with all the lost socks from the laundry?
Well girlfriends, I am very concerned as we get older, we are simply ‘drying’ up. Yes, this is happening to the boy’s club called the ‘Brothahood’. They too are drying up but are just in denial. Keep watchin’ that online porn honey.
When I reviewed my lab results with my Doctor, the first question she asks: “How are you feeling”. Girlfriends, you know my response. I am confident we all have the same response. “EXHAUSTED”!
Apparently, in addition to Estrogen running low, now testosterone is running low. Once again, oh woe is me.
The plan: increase estrogen and testosterone.
Sistah’s, I know what ya thinkin’: If I increase my testosterone, can I become a body builder? Will I be stronger and leap over buildings? I am a fairly fierce, brazen gal. Will my balls get bigger?
Hello my girlfriends! A shout out to all of us on this blessed Mother’s Day!
And so, what! Is Mother’s Day any different than a Tuesday?
Is Mother really celebrated?
Is Mother truly appreciated?
For the child who was potty trained at 2.5 years: Did you know that yo’ mama changed your shiatty/peepee diapers approximately 7,304 times? What about the stubborn child who refused to potty train until they were 4 years old, and had approximately 11,680 diapers changed?
Where is the love? Who makes me my coffee on Mother’s Day? Nespresso!
Who does the laundry on Mother’s Day? The Village Idiot, a.k.a. Mama!
For the love of yo’ mama, do y’all remember COVID lockdown? Does Gay’s Diner, opened 24/7, served over 5,323 meals ring a bell?
Whew! I am glad I got that off my chest!
To be clear, I love being mom. Not just to my kids, but to all the kids I have pseudo-adopted throughout the years. The more the merrier.
In earnest, I have tried to create a home environment where all my kids can thrive and simply be loved.
On this day, holiest of all mama days, I think of my friend Vicki who left us and her kids way too soon almost seven years ago. A wise mama, who had a beautiful smile and huge heart.
We had a mama understanding: I could yell at her kids; she could yell at mine. Very fair, right? No hard feelings.
To this day, I still tell her kids what to do. But it is ok. Because we love each other and keep the memory of their mama alive in our hearts, minds and souls.
So today, I get to share the day with all my kids, my sister, my niece, a daughter in-law, grandkids, husband, and stepfather. Oh, and yes, I still have my mama — that old broad that still drives us all crazy.