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!

SPILLAGE AISLE 10!

Louisiana Red Hot Sauce

Dear Ms. Manners,

Last weekend, I shopped for groceries at the King Kullen Supermarket in Bridgehampton, NY.

If you did not know, Bridgehampton is located in the Hamptons. You know, the place where the beautiful, rich and famous peeps frolic.

Well, I go grocery shopping every single goddamn day. Sadly, I do not have a Chef, a Butler, a Personal Assistant, a Personal Trainer, etc. . I know Ms. Manners. Can you imagine? And I live in the Hamptons in the summer. Totally embarrassing.

My shopping experience was different this time. I came upon a major spillage in Aisle 10.

It was a total ‘hit and run.’ A real crime scene. ‘Someone’ knocked over several  Louisiana Red Hot Sauce Bottles. If y’all don’t know, this is one of the ingredients used to make spicy hot chicken wings.

And this really looked like a crime scene. The employees had the aisle roped off with yellow tape, the kind that the Police use. And this was a problem for me, I needed to go down that aisle. I had to get the Grey Poupon Mustard, which was stocked next to the Hot Sauce.

When I arrived at the crime scene, there was not one, not two, not three, not even four broken bottles on the floor… For the untrained eye, it was hard to tell how many bottles were broken. The floor was ‘a sea’ in Red Hot Sauce; broken and unbroken bottles were literally floating in the aisle. This was a job well done!

Ms. Manners, I know you are  wonderin,’ whether the person who crashed into the Red Hot Sauce bottles, which were neatly displayed on a shelf, reported this incident to a grocery store employee?”

I know, such a funny question to ponder.

Oh my oh my Ms. Manners! Girlfriend, this here is the Hamptons. Paleeze!

Hell no! Clearly the perpetrator (“perp”) of this incident scurried away…

Perhaps we should give the perp the benefit of the doubt? Maybe, just maybe, the perp did not know they ‘bumped into the Red Hot Sauce Bottles’ that were so neatly organized on a shelf by a grocery store employee? I just don’t know.

Personally, I try to believe in the ‘goodness of people,’ perhaps, just perhaps, the person did not hear the bottles (note ‘plural’ bottles), crash to the ground.

Ms. Manners, I use the word ‘crashed,’ because there was more than one bottle, and these were large bottles. Not the small table size bottles you would use at a restaurant. Again, you ask yourself “Didn’t the perp hear the bottles crash?

Well, Ms. Manners, all I can say, is that if the perp were profoundly deaf, daft, or did not have their hearing aids in, maybe, just maybe they did not hear the crash of all those bottles. Not to mention the splatter of the sauce, which was everywhere.

But really, we all know the perp who knocked all those bottles down, knew what they did. The perp probably checked the aisle to see if there were any witnesses, and then fled the scene of the crime. Like no one would see this mess? Really? Like the store has no video cameras?

Oh, but then things took a turn for the worse. Then there was the smell. Ms. Manners, Louisiana Red Hot Sauce is hot. The label says, ‘Red Hot Sauce’ for a reason. This hot sauce ain’t for the faint at heart.

Have you ever used Louisiana Red Hot Sauce Ms. Manners? Well, I love it. ‘Specially on my chicken wings.’ Oooooh that smell!

Ms. Manners, I could smell that sauce when I was about mile away near  Aisle 1. That smell was permeating the store. Even though it was 9:30am, I started to have a hankerin’ for some wings!

A Laughing Matter

In truth, employees and customers were laughing. Customers were taking photos; with the hope these pictures would go ‘viral.’ Nah, I don’t think so.

I could see the store employees were in absolutely no rush to clean this mess up. Who in their right mind would be? If you get Red Hot Sauce in an open wound on your fingers or hands, you will cry for your mama! And do not rub your fingers that are covered in hot sauce into your eyes, it can damn near burn them out of your head!

As for me, I told the employees we should all follow the trail of red footprints throughout the store, created by the person who had knocked over the bottles of Louisiana Red Hot Sauce. Just look for the perp whose shoes and legs were decorated with red splatter stains and would smell like a chicken wing.

Oh, and if you were wonderin,’ I prefer wings in extra hot sauce.