Hamptons Summer, Farewell

end of Hamptons summer

The Hamptons summer is over. Another chapter scribbled into to the comic book of life and Dan’s Papers.

The official conclusion of a Hamptons summer is marked by the Tuesday after Labor Day, known as ‘Tumbleweed Tuesday’.

end of hamptons summer tumbleweeds

Do I have to explain everything? The rest of the stragglers, hanger ‘onners roll outa’ here as if they were tumbleweeds! Hence the phrase ‘Tumbleweed Tuesday’. Oy vey!

We local folk are like, thank you, and leave now! We had enough of the traffic, the attitude (‘tude’), crowds, yada yada yada.

And Just Like That…

And just like that, summer is over. So sad. Not really.

When the summer peeps roll out of the Hamptons, it is like loosing your bloat after a menstrual cycle.

Girlfriends, ya know what I am talkin’ ‘bout! It’s like hallelujah, I can finally fit in those pants again!

Now that summer peeps are ensconced in NYC, I can finally score a dinner reservation at the posh restaurant Bistro Ete and make a left hand turn onto Montauk Highway.

Thank you summer peeps for not being here!

Hamptons Summer Memories

As I reflect on my summer of 2022, here are just a few quintessential Hamptons moments I will share with y’all.

COVID, Hamptons Summer Style

Well, we all thought COVID was over, but I got COVID in June. Despite getting four vaccines, having a great immune system, still got it.

That she-devil COVID decided to hang out with me in the Hamptons for the better part of the summer. You know what I am talking about. I am cool with any guest staying a few days, but for several weeks with no end in sight? COVID knows no boundaries.

COVID is a horrible house guest. That girl is a user and a taker. She sapped all the energy from me… I was exhausted from hosting her. She just barged into my life, unannounced. What a Biatch! She used me to stay in the glamorous Hamptons for a summer experience. Her plan was to invade the Hamptons and party every night. Boy, that girl has big balls!

Not on my watch Sistah! I caught her right away, and never let her out of the house.

And I ask you…Why me? I did everything for her. Let her sleep as long as she needed; did not ask her to help around the house; and I fed her great meals. And you ask, what did she do for me? That biatch gave me post-COVID migraine headaches that promptly started every day, for several weeks at 5pm. NO cocktails for Gay. I was drowning my pain and agony in Excedrin for Migraine Headaches with Advil chasers.

That Biatch finally lost her hold on me…and she packed up and left. I was just shy of getting an exorcism.

Share the Hamptons Summer Roads

Nobody, no one shares the road during a Hamptons Summer. Cyclists, bicycle riders, runners, joggers, walkers and cars do not share the road. It is all about ‘me me me’, losing weight, and fittin’ into that speedo.

Who knew the Hamptons attracted so many weekend warriors who take to the streets! The sheer number of fitness enthusiasts are staggering! So many Hamptons peeps are passionate about breaking a sweat. Go figure…

There are the fitness peeps – the runners (not joggers) and the cyclists (not bike riders). The runners and cyclists are athletes – they are on a mission. They are determined to get their mileage logged in for the day. They are on the road early, so as to avoid getting hit by a car. Smart.

The bike riders, who I fondly call ‘idiots on bikes’, and the walkers, are herded together side by side as if they were in a parade. They pretend to be blissfully ignorant of the line-up of Range Rovers, Ferraris and Bentleys trailing behind them.

Just a battle of egos… these are the same peeps who did not share their toys in Kindergarten. I did not like them then, and I don’t like them now.

Bid Adieu

On Tumbleweed Tuesday, we bid a fond adieu to our neighbors. The Hamptons roads are less congested, which is such a relief. However, the skies are filled with helicopters akin to taxis, taking all the summer folks back to the city. And of course the flight pattern is over my house.

Excuse me? Drive back to NYC in all that traffic with the peasants?

See y’all next summer!


Go Away! NOW!

I do declare that COVID has gone viral!

Like duh! Yes, indeed, that genius pun came to me last night as I was
sippin’ a fine libation.

The things I think of. Oy. I know, pure genius. So, blessed. Not easy

Love Thy Neighbor

Yes…no. Love thy whaaaat?

Word on the street, is that the COVID family has moved to my neighborhood.

Sistahs, as it says in the good book, ‘love thy neighbor’. Amen.

Well, sometimes you can. Not all the time. I don’t love thy neighbors who
are loud at night, don’t spray for ticks, cut their lawns on Saturday mornings
and use their goddamn blowers for hours. At this point, it does not matter if
they don’t even say hello to me. Or, for that matter, acknowledge my existence.

Oy… But those COVIDS. That’s a whole ‘notha story. And no… I do not love,
nor do I want, them as my neighbor.

Why do you ask? I have heard rumors about them. Like OMG!

In truth, I have no idea if they bought a home or are just renting. You
know, peeps here in the Hamptons are so damn ‘private’.

As of this writing, the COVIDS are ensconced in their McMansion that is akin
to a fortress. 40 foot hedges and a driveway gate afford them privacy, not to
mention anonymity.

Who knows if the COVIDS plan to stay here permanently?

The Yentas (Yiddish for chatty peeps) in the neighborhood, have heard the
COVIDS are part of a cult, and may just be in our neighborhood for a few weeks.
They just don’t know.

Apparently, the COVIDS want to spread the gospel. You know, the
good word that hails from the good book they preach every day, all day,
anywhere, everywhere up close and in yo’ face!

Who are the COVIDS?

Well… I personally never met the COVIDS, although my neighbor, Linda, says
they are terrible people. Linda reads a lot of news, including but not limited
to People, Star and US Magazine, and she told me the COVID family are not nice.

Linda just knows ‘things’.

Linda knows a lot about psychology, and she said ‘all the COVIDS, including
their kids, are psychopaths and narcissists’. Oy vey, talk about a one-two punch!
With the COVIDS, it’s always about ‘me, me, me’. They want all the attention.
The COVIDS literally suck all the air out of a room.

Origins of COVIDS

Many Hampton peeps are captivated by the COVIDS. Why, I have no idea. The
COVIDS are in fact a mystery to most. Perhaps this is why the rich and famous
find the COVIDS so alluring. Where are the COVIDS from? What was the origins of
their wealth? Why is their gospel so contagious? Why do rumors about the COVIDS
go viral?

COVID Gatherings

Apparently, the COVIDS love get-togethers. They host large parties inside
their home — they are known to ‘pack people in’. The COVIDS claim the ‘more the
merrier’, although I question their real motive.

Guests have complained it is very difficult to breath inside the COVID’S
McMansion; apparently it is so ‘stuffy’ inside. The COVIDS refuse to open a
window to let fresh air in the house. Apparently, ‘they like it that way’!

Now, my neighbor Linda, also told me that when the COVIDS have large gatherings,
for some strange reason, someone always faints or gets really sick. I have
gatherings, and no one faints or gets really sick.

Linda said she ‘peered through the hedges, and saw an ambulance show up at
their house during one of these so-called ‘gatherings’. So odd. Right? I don’t
recall ever having an ambulance show up at my house.

What is even more concerning, is that Linda says within days after these
events at their home, the COVID family gets larger. Yes, they multiply. At an
amazing rate.

Everywhere you turn there is another COVID.

How can that be? They obviously do not practice ‘safe sex’. Wear a mask
buddy… oh wait… I meant condom.

Never Met a COVID!

I for one, never met a COVID. But rumor has it, they are dirty people. They
are not clean. Can you imagine? I hear they do not wash their hands, at least
not to the tune of Happy Birthday for 18 seconds.

In fact, when they move into a neighborhood, they bring their garbage with
. Did you ever hear of such a thing? I for one, have not.

The nerve of them. I mean I have to pay to have my garbage picked up. They
apparently leave it all over their house.

Clearly, they do not care that they spread germs. My neighbor Linda heard
that the COVIDS do not even have Clorox Wipes, Lysol Spray and Purell in their
house. Not even tushy baby wipes!

OMG! I ask you… Who does not have Clorox Wipes, Lysol Spray and Tushy wipes
in their house in this day and age? Really?

The COVIDS are shameless people. I have real concerns. They might just show
up at my front door one day, unannounced of course, to simply ‘introduce
themselves’. Ugh. And on top of it, I am sure they will want to invade my
personal space, and stand less than 6 feet apart from me, want to shake my hand
and greet me with a hug and a kiss. Totally gross.

I assume the COVIDS will then push their way into my house, so they can
spread their gospel. They are insidious! They just want everyone to be a member
of their cult.

Like don’t they know this is the Hamptons? On second thought… everyone here
is a follower. Never mind.


Not In My Back Yard! I am doing everything in my power to make the COVIDS
move away. Like to another planet.

I must confess. I too am a member of a cult. I am a DAF. That is the
abbreviation for the Dr. Anthony Fauci cult. He is my spiritual leader. In our
daily prayer group zoom meetings, Dr. Fauci has told us about the COVIDS.

Fauci says, ‘Beware of the COVIDS; they do not have altruistic motives. They
proselytize to exponentially grow their cult’.

Our leader has advised us to stay away from the COVIDS. The DAF spiritual
teachings make us adhere to a daily protocol to keep the COVIDS out of our home
and neighborhood.

1. Wear a Mask.

2. Get Vaccinated.

3. Get a Booster Shot.

4. Wash your Hands.

5. Do not attend larger indoor parties with strangers.

This protocol is not too difficult to follow. However, for some it can be.

Since we live in the land of the free, some folks don’t want to wear a mask,
or get a vaccine. Okay, I get it. Some folks choose instead to drink Clorox or
get a prescription for a horse de-worming drug. Seems a bit drastic to me, but
I guess it works for some people. Whateva’ floats your boat, or de-worms your

On second thought, could be a good remedy for chronic constipation. I wonder
why my Doctor never prescribed this treatment?

End of Summer

The good news for the Hamptons, is that it is the end of the summer, and the
parties are over. People are closing up their summer homes, going back to work,
and kids are returning to school. I suppose the COVIDS will just pack up and
find another place to spread their charm and gospel. At least the Hamptons can
breathe a sigh of relief.

I just wonder…where will the COVIDS turn up next? Or are they already living
right next door to you?


Rental Perk

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.

The House

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!”.

The Rave!

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?”


teething baby

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.

The Client

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.

Separation Anxiety

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!

Clingin’ Baby

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.

Goin’ Rogue

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.

Luncheon Scoop Page 6


Gay and Tracy Anderson courtesy: Melanie Dunea

Greetings from East Hampton, NY!

Like Wow! My first luncheon in over 20 months!

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!

Glammed up!

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 new Gay 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!

The Dress

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!

Main Event

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.

Maybe I do have a fairy godmama?

Hamptons Luncheon!

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’.

The Invitation

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!

The Attire

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.

Blonde Gay

Can you blame me? I flipped out.

To be continued…