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Upscale Cuts

I hate when programs change that have been working just fine – but apparently WordPress has done something so that I can no longer upload pictures.  So after I went from computer to computer and nothing worked, I had a complete nervous breakdown and smashed every computer to bits  called wordpress headquarters with a bomb threat  told Mr. Gaga I wanted a divorce

realized the problem wouldn’t be resolved tonight – I am just hoping that you can click on the links for pictures or …….

Use your imagination????


Anyways – when you shirk your parental duties from the last day of school until the first day of school, things can really get dicey.

I really meant to go out and do things that I needed to do.

It was just that each time I was going to head out and run some errands to get school supplies or clothes, or bring the child to necessary doctor appointments, I never was able to make it because it was just so…..


On the day before school started I finally decided to make a to-do list and start getting organized.

On the top of the list was to get haircuts for both boys.  Their hair had grown out into bleached shaggy haircuts appropriate for beach bums but not really for school.

And you know how I feel about parents who don’t get their children’s hairs cut.

“No!” both boys moaned.  “We don’t want hair cuts! We are growing out our hair…”

“Not on my watch you aren’t.” I stood firm.

Sam would not be easily swayed – as he is obsessed with his hair and his tan.  He spends hours looking at himself in the mirror combing his hair into different styles and his tan is a top priority and he is possibly the tannest 7 year-old you will ever lay eyes on.

I thought that I should actually show you so you can understand how tan he is, so I went into his room before bed and had him just pull down his shorts a tiny bit to show the line between white and almost black skin.  Just when Sam was peeling down his shorts and I was about to click the camera – Mr. Gaga came into the room and accused me of being a child pornographer and it got very weird and uncomfortable so I found an old picture of him playing on the beach that kind of shows what I am talking about…

This is Sam playing on the beach.....

This is Sam playing on the beach…..

I recently had seen a very young cool acquaintance and he had longer hair on the top and shaved on the sides with stars and crazy designs.  I had asked him where he got his hair done and he gave me the address where his cousin worked, a barber that was very talented at hair design.

This is what his hair looks like…..


I knew that Sam had wanted to have lines in the side of his hair during the World Cup like many of the soccer players, so I lured him into agreeing to a haircut by telling him I would bring him to this hair salon where the barber knew how to create a line on the side of his head.

Normally we go to a kid’s haircutting place where the stylists in no uncertain terms could not be trusted to do anything but a buzz cut.

This is what that place looks like…….


He excitedly agreed to go first thing Tuesday morning and Michael indifferently said he would come too.

Come to find out the salon didn’t take appointments.

I planned on going first thing when the door opened at 9:30 in the morning and then proceeding with the 500 other places I needed to go after that.

The place was about twenty minutes away and my acquaintance had said when he told me the address that it was behind the “7-11.”  That didn’t make sense to me – but what do you know it was in a little building behind the “7-11″ and it was called “Upscale Cutz.”

That little “z” in “cuts” should have been a warning.  But I was determined to get these kids a cool haircut and I paid the grammatically incorrect sign no mind.

When we entered the door we had clearly traveled into a new uncharted territory.

The place was filled with men and teenage boys.  There was a movie playing on a tv screen on the wall and there were a bunch of kids playing video games.   I stood just inside the door with both boys next to me.  I kept my sunglasses on and stared at everyone from behind the safety of the dark lenses.  They stared back at me.

This was clearly not “Snip-Its.”

We had crossed over completely into the world of the “barber shop.”

This is what that looked like…


“Can I help you?” said the one barber while he was buzzing someone’s head.  He was an extremely large man with quite possibly the largest camoflague shorts on I have ever seen and his feet where in what I refer to in my household as “shower shoes.”

“Um…they need haircuts.” I said gesturing to the two boys.

“Ok – well all of these people are before you.” he said nodding his head towards the 15 men that were already waiting.  “It’s going to be awhile.”

I watched as he shaved the guy’s head and did some quick math and thought he would be able to be done quick enough and it would be worth it to have a cool back to school haircut.

It was 9:30 – even if we were out by like 10:30 or 11:00, I could still get everything done that I needed to.

We made ourselves as comfortable as we could while sitting on a folding chairs and waited and watched the show.

I soon realized that there were in fact even more people than I had originally calculated, and they apparently didn’t even want their hair cut.  They seemed to be just there for fun.   The men cracked jokes and talked about sports while we waited.

Angry mothers came in several times, speaking Spanish, but I think they were asking how long for a haircut for their kids, and stormed out cursing out the barber.

One woman spoke to the barber in Spanish and then on the way out screamed in plain English, “I’m done with this fucking bullshit.” before pushing through the door and PEELING OUT of the parking lot.

I caught a glimpse of Michael during this little interaction.  This is what he looked like:


I started to get antsy and looked at the clock, it was 10:30 and we were nowhere near being next.

I had already invested an hour, I would stay a bit longer, I decided.

Next thing we know, a man comes in who was either possessed by the devil or had done so much drugs that he had turned into a zombie.

He walked stiffly, seemingly in some sort of trance as he pushed the door open.

He came barging in staring straight ahead at his reflection in the mirror and was making the sign of the cross repeatedly.  He was holding a “Table Talk” pie and sometimes he would stop making the sign of the cross and he would look at his pie wide-eyed in horror.  He was dripping with sweat.

I clutched the kids.

Everyone was afraid.   Finally the barber asked him if he was alright.  The guy didn’t answer.  By the fifth time the barber asked – he announced he was waiting for a haircut.  He turned to look at the room for a seat and of course the only seat in the whole place was right next to Sam.

I was horrified as he looked at the chair and then looked at us.

This is what that looked like….


As he came lumbering over, I ripped Sam up from the chair and told him to flee to the other side of the room.  I was brave and stayed put, one seat safely between us.

The zombie took his blueberry Table Talk pie and began shoving it in his face ravenously, making strange noises and rubbing blueberries all over his mouth.

I had to get up and run to the other side of the room.  I felt sick to my stomach, it was hot and now I couldn’t even sit down.

Thankfully after about 20 minutes, he got up threw the box in the garbage and left.

The whole place breathed a sigh of relief.

I sat back in my chair.  “Now Sam,” I whispered.  “When you get your turn you need to tell him that you want it to just be trimmed on top and a line on the side.”

“I know.” he answered.

Every few minutes I would check in with him and see if he had changed his mind.  “What are you going to ask him to do?” I would ask in a hushed voice.

“Just one line or zigzag on the side.” he would whisper back.

At 12:30!!! it was Michael’s turn.  He was not interested in any design so he got his regular haircut and Sam was up.

“Don’t forget what to say,” I whispered in his ear as we approached the barber chair.
He nodded his head up and down seriously as he hopped into the chair.

He looked nervously up at the barber and didn’t speak.

I jumped in and described the haircut we had discussed.

“So we were thinking just like one line on the side…” I said sweetly.

The barber kind of listened to me but was focused on Sam.

“You want me to do a freestyle design for you brother?” the barber asked Sam- “man-to man.”

Sam stared back at him.


“Ok – I will just give you a freestyle.” the barber said as he cut his buzzer ready.

I stared at Sam’s eyeballs and tried to send him a message saying “THIS IS NOT WHAT WE PLANNED! WE NEVER DISCUSSED THE FREESTYLE!!” but he just shrugged.

Without sounding too wimpy I needed this freestyle business to be curbed a bit….

“Um…can we just do a small section of “freestyle?” I asked.

“Sure.” the barber shrugged.

I ran back to my chair, wondering what the fuck a “freestyle” haircut was.

Well here it is -a freestyle back to school haircut.


And there’s never been a happier customer.  And after three long hours of torture and zombies eating pies this masterpiece cost me $5.

We will be back.  For the price, the entertainment and for the sheer joy I will have telling the other Goopville moms that Sam got his haircut at “Upscale Cutz” when they surely will be wanting to know where their little angels can have such a fancy “freestyle” cut.





Ain’t nobody got time for that…

As the summer comes to a close I have to face the harsh reality that the children are going back to school.

I am not going to allow myself to spiral into a depression.

I am going to refuse to worry about the insignificant nonsense that I get caught up with during the school year.

Here’s some shit that I am not going  to have time for this year:

 #1 – Homework:

I will have my children do their homework, as much as I can, but guess what?

As I tell my children regularly when they ask me for help with their homework…

I already fucking passed the fourth grade.  I already passed the fucking second grade.

So that means that these children have to do their best and hope that they too can pass their grades.

It’s not my fucking problem.

This is not China.

I’m not going to micromanage all of this spelling and reading and math.

Figure it out kids.


#2- Organic Food

I mean – I can’t keep up with this.

First of all – I don’t have the time or energy or funds to purchase everything grass-fed from the farmer’s market or Whole Foods.

I mean are we really all going to die if we eat a little bit of high fructose corn syrup and red dye #40?

Yes? We are?

Well then…I guess we will die happy and fat.

I try – I really do.  In my effort to neglect the children in the morning while simultaneously giving them good food – I purchased organic pomegranate toaster pastries this summer while at my parent’s beach house.

When my father woke up and saw them in the cupboard he was very alarmed.

He picked the box up and stared at it blankly.  “Who the hell eats this shit?” he asked.

“It’s organic…and made from pomegranites.” I said knowingly.

The next day he arrived arms filled with boxes of chocolate and strawberry frosted Pop Tarts.

“I thought the kids should have proper Pop Tarts.” he announced.

Then he started comparing the labels.  “Look at this!” he said excitedly as he read from the Kellogg’s Pop Tart label, “It’s a good source of 4 B vitamins and a good source of 6 vitamins and minerals!”


Then we looked at the organic toaster pastry label.


Fuck it.

 #3 – Playdates and parties:

I am just not getting roped into any of this bullshit any more.  I am too old for this.  My kids are too old for this.  I purposely had a baby and then filled my uterus with another baby when the first baby was a mere 6 months old.  I was tortured with two babies for a solid three years.

The benefit of all of that was to have two children who could play together.

Then why the hell do I have to play all these playdate games with people?

That lady that stood me up for the playdate? I never rescheduled.

The first two birthday party invites we received for the fall…..they are in the garbage.


#4 Assholes

I regularly open my email and notice that people have commented on old blog posts.  My most popular posts that people continue to comment on include my Disney post and my Pottery barn post.  I have learned that there are a lot of angry people in this world and Americans will never stop being mad at me for talking shit about Disney World, fat people in motorized carts and people that consume huge vats of Diet Coke.

Still – even though I know that there are many troubled people in this world it still is sometimes troubling to open up my email and see a message from “FUCKYOUCUNT.”


I just don’t know why people who hate me so much take time out of their day to send me this type of message.  I will continue my efforts to make fun of shit that’s fucking funny like enormous humans that wear Mickey Mouse ears like its’ their job and people that make sandwiches into tic tac toe boards for their kids.

If you don’t enjoy my commentary – there’s a “back” button on the upper left hand corner of the computer screen.

Click it motherfuckers.

I enjoy people who laugh until they pee in their pants.

If you aren’t one of those people then we can’t be friends.

And speaking of peeing in your pants….

#5 – Bladder control 

Sometimes I worry about my poor bladder control.  I mean since I have given birth my bladder just isn’t what it used to be.  If I sneeze   cough   drive my car over a speedbump laugh really hard  – I have been know to have a little bit of a gallon dribble of pee come out.

Sometimes I worry about what will happen to me as I age.  Should I have bladder surgery? Apparently you can get your bladder put into a bladder hammock of some sort that holds it up so that it won’t let pee explode out of you for no reason.

So when I get older the plan is for this guy to hit the road and my bladder to hang in this hammock and relax...

So when I get older the plan is for this guy to hit the road and my bladder to hang in this hammock and relax…

I sometimes think about how sad my social life will be as my bladder control gets worse and worse.

Will I someday be house-bound?

Well – apparently not.

Depends has a new ad campaign which is making me feel much better about my situation.


Yes – that’s correct – the tagline reads “drop your pants for Underwareness”

Well if all of these twenty-five year olds can walk around wearing jean jackets and gigantic diapers – then I guess I can too.

Problem solved.

#6 – Fancy Lunches –

I dread pulling out those Pottery Barn kids lunchbags and making my children lunch for the next 10 months.  I would be one thing if I could shove Capri Suns, poptarts and nutella and fluff in there, but NOOOOO…..We are expected to provide the children with “healthy snacks” “healthy beverages” and “healthy lunches.”

This is an example from the latest Pottery Barn kids catalogue of the type of lunch that modern day parents are expected to provide.

So let me get this made your kid's sandwich into a cat? And the cat's eyeballs are almonds carefully placed on a the bread?

So let me get this straight…I am to make my kid’s sandwich into a cat? And the cat’s eyeballs are almonds carefully placed on a the bread? Who’s idea was this and can he or she please seek help.


Is this sandwich now supposed to be a boat? If I ever opened my lunch in grade school to find a boat sandwich with a gingham flag on it – I would burst into tears, throw the whole thing in the garbage and go to the guidance counselor. Do kids today have no pride???

And in the latest craze of parents that are very troubled and need to find better uses of their time, people are creating fancy pictures on the childrens’ sandwich bags.

So it’s not enough to simply make the lunch into the shape of animals, now you have to decorate the wrappers.


I’m sorry – am I the only person that doesn’t have two hours in the morning to create a full bread-shaped maze?

Why do children need decorated ziplocs?  And if you are that skilled at creating a maze couldn’t you go to work for like the Associated Press creating jumbles and mazes for people?  You could work for a farm creating a corn maze….

Surely your talents could be better spent elsewhere….

And thirdly – is your goal for the kids to be antisocial? Shouldn’t they speak to their friends in the cafeteria while they eat lunch?

Instead – they will just spend their twenty minute lunch period trying to solve your dickwad maze?

You’re an asshole.


In closing – I am going to work very hard to not worry about any of this…

If you hear me complaining about playdates, homework, sandwich art, organic foods or peeing in my pants this year – slap me.




The Sunday of Summer

The end of summer is coming.

I can smell it in the air.  As my favorite season threatens to come to a close, I find myself waking earlier than I should each morning in a panic.  I have begun to think about the start of school and I have started to worry about things that I haven’t worried about since June.


I have one more week of freedom so I am going to FORCE myself to continue to enjoy the summer and to ignore those worries that are starting to creep into my subconscious.  I will ignore the mental list I have begun to make regarding school supplies, after school activities and birthday parties that I need to RSVP for.

In order to preserve my mental health I am going to continue to enjoy all of the stuff that I have been loving and obsessing over this summer which include but are not limited to the following:

#1 The Ice Bucket Challenge: - This is just sheer genius.  The National ALS Foundation stated that it has raised ten million dollars in the past two weeks!!!  It’s fun and it’s for a good cause.

Also, as a side note those people whose pictures you stalk on Facebook have now come to life.  Now you can watch and hear someone who you haven’t seen in twenty-five years.  You can listen to their voice and watch them interact with their kids and most of all you can watch them get drenched with ice water.  What is not to love about this?

#2 – Paddle Board – I desperately wanted to get a paddleboard for myself so I could pretend I was Cameron Diaz for the kids.  My father surprised us for Christmas with one and it is the best beach activity ever.  It provides endless fun for the children and even though in my mind I look like a svelte celebrity straight out of the pages of US Weekly, in fact I look like this – most of the time:


I don’t really care.  I love it.

#3 – Summer reading: Is there anything better than getting off of your paddle board and plopping down into your beach chair and reading books about people in beach houses and summer homes filled with scandal??  No there’s not.

These two books brought me great joy this summer:


pool liars


#4 – Game of Crowns:    After a long day of ignoring my children, pretending I am a celebrity paddle boarding in Maui, and reading about imaginary people in their summer homes, I just really need something relaxing at night.  This is why I have been thoroughly enjoying the new show on Bravo, Game of Crowns.

This show features married women who compete in pageants.  One of the stars of the show is the former Mrs. Connecticut and Mrs. America.

I like to watch this show and imagine what I would do if I was Mrs. America or Mrs. Connecticut.

The real Mrs. America is very sweet and down-to-earth and is a mother to four children.

She doesn't let the sash or crown go to her head...But I am not so sure I would be able to stay grounded.

She doesn’t let the sash or crown go to her head…But I am not so sure I would be able to stay grounded.  I would totally wear this outfit to the PTO Meeting at my kids’ school.

I wouldn’t love doing those pageants.

I wouldn’t love not eating anything so I could fit into my swimsuit.

I wouldn’t love being friends with other lunatic pageant women.

What I would love is just announcing to people that I was Mrs. America.

If Mr. Gaga asked me if I washed his underwear, I could just say “No – sorry – I am Mrs. America and Mrs. America doesn’t do laundry.”

Moms who call for playdates would be told that “Because I am Mrs. America I really don’t have time for playdates.”

Birthday party invites could go directly in the garbage…”Sorry – since I am Mrs. America I have very important work to do on Saturdays and Sundays for America and my kids will be with me…”

Even when my own kids asked me for shit I could say “Do you know who I am?? I am MRS. AMERICA!” Go outside and don’t come back until dinner time.”

Those baseball games that I don’t watch.  Nobody could accuse me of being a bad mother because I would simply explain to them that as MRS. AMERICA I had very important America stuff to do that required me to miss the games completely.

Oh it would be glorious.

#5 – Baked Potato Salad and Grilled Cheese:

When I’m not reading, fantasizing about pageants, or floating out to sea on the paddleboard, I am generally drinking alcoholic beverages or eating food.  This summer we have made lots of delicious foods but a couple of dishes have stood out.

This potato salad is made with baked potatoes, chives, sour cream, cheddar cheese and bacon.

I mean I don’t know what else I can say about it except that it is basically heaven on a fork (and I don’t even like potatoes.)


And then there’s this tomato, basil and mozzarella grilled cheese that I have made like three times this summer….I mean I just can’t get enough.


And then there’s the s’mores brownies….


These recipes can otherwise be known as “Reasons why I am NOT Mrs. America” – but I am going to continue this life of bliss and peace for one more week……





Beach Rules

This week I am taking a staycation which will include lots of wine and lots of beach time.

Just as a precaution I am reposting the BEACH RULES that I devised last summer.

They are very important and everyone should know them.

People’s behaviors never cease to amaze me. On the beach, and in beach communities there are certain unspoken rules.

I thought I should review a few:

1 – Jellyfish are assholes:

They are a menace to society.  They ruin perfectly good swimming time.

They sting small children and send them screaming to their mothers.

Apparently everyone didn’t get the “jellyfish are motherfuckers” memo.

The other day the kids scooped a jellyfish out of the water, dug a hole and were about to dump it in and cover it with sand.  A woman stopped them and said “Why would you a murder an animal for no reason?”

After I got done rolling on the ground laughing, I took a huge scoop of dirt and threw it on the jellyfish.  Have all humans lost their minds?

I’m sorry did I miss something here? Aren’t jellyfish just lazy blobs of shit that float around waiting for one of their asshole tentacles to brush against someone and ruin his or her day?

Jellyfish are assholes, and so are you if you are trying to save them.

See, now this guy and I would not get along.  I think there is something wrong with a person that enjoys jellyfish.  If I could name this picture I would name this picture "Two Assholes."

See, now this guy and I would not get along. I think there is something wrong with a person that enjoys jellyfish. If I could name this picture I would call it “Two Assholes.”

2 – Urine belongs in the ocean:

I was watching my 3-year-old niece on the beach the other day and she announced just as I was settling into my beach chair that she needed to go back to the house to use the potty.

“No, no when you are with Auntie, the ocean is your potty,” I explained.

“No.” she said staring at me blankly. After much talking and going back and forth to the water, Mr. Gaga got her to do it. Thank God.

Unless there is diarrhea threatening I am not leaving the beach.

3 – Groom:

I have mentioned my moustache before, so I know what it’s like to keep up with a never-ending growth of hair in unwanted areas.  It is simply imperative that one waxes or trims areas where hair is growing in an out-of-control way that could make a person appear like a bear or gorilla on the beach.

Sam accidentally bumped into this guy and when he came out of the water I had to roll a huge lint roller to get all of the pubes off his bathing suit....

Sam accidentally bumped into this guy and when he came out of the water I had to roll a huge lint roller over him to get all of the pubes off his bathing suit….

Even if you are fine with wearing a pube sweater to the beach, you should consider how you might affect others.

4 – Sandcastles are valuable real estate owned by others:

This is pretty serious business.  When your child works diligently for an hour creating a sand masterpiece and some toddler comes over and eats it or sits on it, that’s considered very rude.

You need to watch your kids and teach them at an early age that they are not allowed to touch other people’s sand structures…It’s basic beach etiquette.

5 – Sand toys are for sharing:

Please don’t come stare me down while I am trying to read US Weekly and ask me if my kids are using your shovel. Um, yeah probably…and who fucking cares?

They probably took it because we have the same shovel as you, and so do the other 500 people on this beach.

Just so you know these are 45 for $1 at any store...please stop talking about where your shovel is....

Just so you know these are 15 for $1 at any store…please stop talking about where your shovel is….

If you care this much about your shovel, please don’t sit near me. We will definitely take it and could very possibly break it or send it out to sea.  I don’t need this kind of pressure.

6 – Watch your kids, no matter their age:

Believe me I get the whole thing about ignoring your kids once they can swim, it’s like my favorite thing to do.  However, when your kids are a little older you have to start watching them a little more.

Although you don’t have to worry that they will drown, you do have to worry that they are huge douche-bags.

The other day, my boys were playing with their blow up jet ski raft and their boogie boards with a friend.  Shortly, 2 ten-year-olds came and hijacked the float, tossing the boys into the water and hopping on.  The kids struggled to pull the older kids off.  I was watching this from my beach chair, when suddenly one of the older kids smashed Sam in the face with the boogie board.

These were the kids, happy and content before they were bullied on the seas....

These were the kids, happy and content before they were bullied on the high seas….

I ran into the water, “Are you insane?” I yelled at the devil child as I ripped the boogie board from his hand.

“Why would you hit a 5 year-old in the face? What’s wrong with you?” I hissed.

“He was tackling me…” he said meekly. “He was tackling you because you took his stuff.” I said between gritted teeth.

“What’s going on here?” I heard then.

I looked up and realized that the devil child’s mother was in the water like a foot away and had allowed this whole thing to go down.

“The problem is that your son smashed my son in the face with a boogie board.” I said.

“Oh.” she responded.

I stormed away.

“Oh?”  That’s what you say when your child is complete dick?

How about “Sorry about that, my kid is a total asshole and I am going to speak to him about it.” or how about “I am sorry that I stood just inches away and watched my son smash your son’s face in, I am on some heavy-duty tranquilizers and I cannot respond appropriately.” Either of those would do.

7 – Don’t bring the Ferrari :

Basically the kids deposit large amounts of sand and seaweed and wet shit in and on every inch of my car for the two months when we spend time at the beach.

They lean up on the outside of the car creating areas where their SPF 50 smears onto the paint never to be removed again.  Salt and dust eat away at the undercarriage and rots the paint.

When the cars aren’t at the beach parking lot, they are parked in tiny driveways of beach houses that are basically on the street. Imagine my surprise when a day after the douchebag jet ski pirate hit Sam, his (biggest nerd in America) father marched up our driveway.

I braced myself for what this idiot was going to say.

He said that “someone” saw my kids playing in the street and their wagon hit his minivan and left a mark.

He was clearly trying to get me back for calling his kid out on his bad behavior. I was speechless. What should we do about this nerd boy? I apologized like a civilized human but on the inside I was ready to explode.

As he showed me the miniscule mark on his Windstar, I contemplated just kicking him in the balls and walking away, but I thought the kids might get upset....

As he showed me the miniscule mark on his Windstar, I contemplated just kicking him in the balls and walking away, but I thought the kids might get upset….

If you care this much about your Lamborghini  mini-van perhaps the beach isn’t a great place for it, you fucking loser, and please never speak to me again unless someone is on fire.

8 – Umbrella Etiquette:

I can’t figure out if it’s global warming or my skin is just old and literally weathered, but I cannot just sit out and bake like I used to.

I recently have sat under an umbrella for the first time in my decades of beach bathing. As a result, apparently I don’t know how to install a beach umbrella.

I just kind of stuck it in the sand while preparing for my BF to come meet me the other day.

Right when she arrived the umbrella flew with a gust of wind and impaled 50 people.  Thankfully, she is an expert at getting people to do things for her, and happens to have strong resemblance to Kim Kardashian.

She retrieved the umbrella from two men that were sitting with their kids.  They handed her the umbrella, and she took it gingerly and just stared blankly at them.

“What should I do now?” she asked.  “I don’t know how to do this…”

In two seconds flat, both men were digging a huge hole and expertly securing the umbrella. Unfortunately this can’t happen everyday.  It’s imperative to know how to work the umbrella as to not murder innocent victims.

9 – Use an umbrella not a small shelter :

So if you want shade, then the umbrella is the obvious choice.  If you decide to install a nylon shelter that can house 35 people, then maybe the beach is not for you.

Now my view is blocked completely and I can’t even see my kids if they are drowning because you have decided to put up an event tent at the beach for you and the two other people in your family.

Ok so basically the rule is, if you can host a small graduation party under the tent, it's too big for the beach....

Ok so basically the rule is, if you can host a small graduation party under the tent, it’s too big for the beach….

10 – If you see Lady Goo Goo Gaga on the beach, keep it moving:

In closing, I just want to relax.  The winters are long here in Connecticut.

I have very few precious days that I can spend luxuriously on the beach.

Don’t torture my kids, don’t tell my kids not to kill animals, don’t ask me about sand toys or tell me you have to pee.

Let’s keep all this talking to a minimum. I am TRYING to get through one issue of US WEEKLY!! HAPPY SUMMER !  PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA 150-tmb

The best playdate ever….

Mr. Gaga is a birthday party lover.

He feels that our children should attend every party that they are invited to for fear that the birthday child in question will not have a nice birthday due to low party attendance.

Therefore, as I have mentioned before, while I repeatedly attempt to destroy birthday party invitations by lighting them on fire or flushing them down the toilet – he will always catch me and insist that we RSVP “Yes” to every party.

Sometimes if I am feeling charitable I stick the invites in my old wine bottles and send them out to sea so some other poor soul can enjoy them...

Sometimes if I am feeling charitable I stick the invites in my old wine bottles and send them out to sea so some other poor soul can enjoy them…

When Sam received an invite for the day after the last day of school I just didn’t think that we could commit to that.   The child was not really a good friend of Sam’s so I didn’t feel obligated.  We didn’t know the parents so I had no problem throwing the invite in the garbage. The day after the last day of school we are usually running around going to social engagements or going to the beach for the weekend, anyways.

Mr. Gaga wouldn’t hear of it.   I had to work during the day, and I asked Mr. Gaga if he really was going to feel like bringing Sam to a party on a Friday evening at 5 PM.  He confirmed that he would definitely be available for that.

That day I came home around 7 PM.   Just the time that the party was set to be over.

Mr. Gaga, Michael and Sam were lounging around watching television and the gift was sitting in front of the door where I had left it in the morning.

“Um, what happened with the party?”  I asked.

They all looked at me with a shocked look.  Mr. Gaga jumped up in despair.

“Oh my God! I totally forgot! We were relaxing and we totally forgot!” he said hysterically.

Because I am tortured by Mr. Gaga I had visions of the child alone surrounded by balloons and cake with no friends at his party.  What if nobody could attend and he was counting on Sam to be there? Sam is beloved by the children in his class and many mothers have exclaimed to me that Sam is their child’s “best friend!” when we don’t even know who they are.

What if this was one of those kids that loves Sam and wanted him to be there?

We were horrible people!!

We destroyed his birthday!

We possibly destroyed his life!!


I launched into action and ran into the basement to explore my shelf filled with toys and gifts that we never opened.  I keep this shelf readily available for this type of occasion when an emergency gift is needed.

I cleared off the shelf and frantically started wrapping gifts.

I ran upstairs with all of the gifts and grabbed the original gift and urged Sam to get his shoes on.  I googled the boy’s name and address.

“Come on, we will bring his gift to his house and apologize.” I told Sam.

We loaded the gifts into the car and peeled out of the driveway.

When we pulled up to the address it looked as though nobody was home.

“Oh good – we will just leave a note with the gifts,” I told Sam as we got out of the car and he rang the doorbell.

Lo and behold the family was home.

“No worries!” the mother exclaimed when I apologized profusely as I shoved gifts into her foyer.

“No – we are so sorry! We feel horrible!!” I said emphatically as I placed the gifts at the little boys feet.

“Don’t be silly!” she said nicely as she looked at the pile of gifts, “and we don’t need all of these gifts.”

Gift boxes-110


“Oh no – these were his gifts anyways.” I said casually.

“No really – we can’t take all of these gifts.” she pleaded.

“No – don’t be crazy!  These were totally his gifts!!” I said as I turned to leave.

And just when I was just about in the clear…

“So maybe we can do a playdate this summer!” she called after me.

Normally I find myself maneuvering ways out of these torture hours playdates – but this time I had an excuse.

“Oh sorry – we will be at the Connecticut shore for the summer,” I said softly pretending to be disappointed.

“So will we!” she exclaimed.  “We will be there for two weeks! We can get together down there!”

Oh Lord – why is that when I do a good deed of showering a small child with millions of presents am I punished????

“Ok – definitely contact me when you are there!” I said cheerfully, ushering Sam out the door.

I thought nothing of it – because clearly what kind of sadomasochistic maniac would really remember on their family vacation to schedule a playdate with a perfect stranger who forgot your child’s birthday?

Then I received an email with the subject line “BEACH PLAYDATE.”

She was asking if we could schedule a playdate on the beach.  I quickly shot that down because I don’t like a playdate on the grass or on the floors of my home – so I sure as hell don’t like one on the fucking sandy beach where I can be relaxing and enjoying life.

“How about we meet at the carousel and ice cream shop tomorrow night?” I wrote back kindly.

I had plans to go to an early dinner with some family and I could head to the carousel for ice cream after that.  She agreed to the plan.

The next day was a perfect ten.

I was supposed to leave for dinner at 5 and I was regretting my decision.  I wanted to stay on the beach until the last possible minute.  Thankfully we were just going to a lobster roll shack, so at 4:40 I headed home to grab my wallet and threw a sundress on over my bathing suit.

After dinner I rushed back home.  I got home at 6:40 and was supposed to meet these people at the carousel at 7.  I quickly showered, got dressed and pulled into the carousel at 6:58!

I was very proud of myself.  I had gotten ready very quickly and also I was a very good person for agreeing to this.  I knew that this little boy would be happy to see Sam and the mother would forgive me for missing her child’s birthday so it was all worth it.  My good works and efforts would make everybody happy.

I was the best mother and person in the land.

We stood in front of the carousel watching the horses go around, waiting for the family.

After a few minutes the kids started to whine.  “Where are they Mom?” Sam asked excitedly.

“I’m sure they will be here in a minute,” I answered distractedly looking at the street watching cars pull in.

After a few more minutes I asked the kids if they wanted to get ice cream while we waited.  They said they wanted to wait for Sam’s friend.

I glanced up at the clock outside the ice cream shop.



I stared at it and said to the kids, “Maybe they forgot….” and as the words came out of my mouth I realized those were the very words that this mother must have told her son when Sam didn’t show up for his party.

I looked at the kids slack-jawed. “Oh…….God.”

“What mom? Do you think they’re coming?” Sam asked excitedly.

“Nope, they definitely are NOT coming, Sam.” I answered definitively.

And I was right.  They never showed up.

I let the kids get their ice cream and go on the carousel a few times and then we headed home.

I checked my email and what do you know – I had a cheerful email saying that “We totally forgot! Hope we can reschedule!”

Oh we will reschedule all right.

We have set up a new date for next week, but two can play at this game.

I may or may not show up.

Now this could be my new favorite type of playdate…..the one that never happens!









Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

This week my grandmother passed away.  She was the mother of seven children.  She stayed home and raised those seven children in a four bedroom home on a very tight budget.    She had no spending money for anything frivolous and struggled to have enough food, clothing, heat and hot water for everyone.

While most of the parents I know – would find this situation highly disturbing and would spend their afternoon chugging Pinot Grigio – she really didn’t seem to mind.

She spent most of her life in her home, (as she didn’t have a driver’s license) cleaning, caring for the children and doing laundry, including cloth diapers – which she called doing the “warsh. “

When I think of her life I really can’t imagine anything more horrific.  When I had just a mere TWO babies, I remember packing them into the car to run mindless errands just to kill time and when Mr. Gaga would come home from work, I would literally sometimes already be in my car waiting for him and pull my car out as he pulled in.  I would go anywhere for an escape, the gym, Starbucks….I would’ve gone to a hanging.  The thought of being trapped in a house with seven children with no vehicle is just ludicrous.

But my grandmother really never complained.  I don’t ever remember her even seeming unhappy.  I believe this was possible because she had something that my generation of parents lacks.

She had pills, a boyfriend, whiskey  an innate ability to not sweat the small stuff.

What parents stress about today and lose sleep over would never have bothered my grandmother.

The way we obsess about the food our children eat – was downright laughable to my grandmother.  She used to walk to the local farm every day to buy “cracks” which were eggs that had cracked.  She bought those because they were “on sale.” She was buying organic from “local farms” before it was cool.  The fact that food poisoning could occur at any moment was of no matter.

She didn’t care about the latest styles and fashions for her children.  She didn’t order designer clothing from Zulily and Crew Cuts like we do.  My aunts and uncles always talk about how mortified they were when they were in school.  Their clothes were rarely up to par and she used to make her kids wear Wonder Bread wrappers inside their rainboots to protect their feet – because the boots would usually have a hole in them. Nowadays we would be up all night worrying about the damage being done to our kids’ self esteem.

She slept soundly.

While we rush around spending millions on water slides and party favors for our little spoiled brats, my grandmother practically ignored her kid’s birthdays.  One time she famously had a left over square of cake and a half of a circle cake and smooshed them together for to create a birthday cake for both my aunt and my brother.  She saw nothing wrong with that until my aunt cried, at which point she said something comforting like, “Stop your crying.”

She had a zest for life.  Music always played in her home.  Any hairbrush or wooden spoon that was lying around nearby would be instantly transformed into a pretend microphone.  I remember distinctly going to her house after school sometimes if my mother had an appointment and she would be ironing clothes out of a huge basket.  She would take breaks to sing into her hairbrush and dance with my aunts.

She loved the arts and what little extra money my grandparents did have, was spent at the museums, ballets, and the symphony.  She was an artist herself, and any spare time she had she spent sketching or painting.

This painting of my Grandmother's hangs in my room.  I can relate to it because the mom is at the beach with two children and apparently her ass is so enormous that it is threatening to bust through the chair.

This painting of my Grandmother’s hangs in my room. I can relate to it because the mom is at the beach with two children and apparently her ass is so enormous that it is threatening to bust through the chair.

She made some mean pancakes on a griddle (that I don’t think she actually ever cleaned over the course of about twenty years) and a chocolate cake to die for that she called a “Brown Betty.”

She made being a mother, even of seven, look easy.

Throughout the funeral and wake, people were sharing stories and mentioning things that she used to say.  I got to thinking – what kind of impact would I leave for my children?  What would they remember about me?

“Sam – if you had to tell someone about your mother what would you say?” I asked casually while I was tucking him into bed.

“Oh – I would say you were pretty and smart, and that you told me I should say excuse me when you fart or burp.” he answered earnestly.

“What about something that I always say?” I asked.

“Oh – I would say whenever we complain – you tell us that there are people with no arms or legs!” he answered excitedly hoping to have the answer I was looking for.

I was happy with that.  Long ago I started to mention limbless people. in an effort to stop my children from complaining about insignificant nonsense and was glad that Sam remembered that.

The next morning I asked Michael the same questions.

“Um, you’re nice.” he answered mindlessly while he ate his cereal.

“Okay, well then what would you say if someone asked you what is something that your mother always said to you?”

He thought for a moment.

“Oh I know what you always say to me….”he said –  excited that he thought of something, “What the “F”?”

I stared at him in horror.

If I want my legacy to be something to write home about – apparently I have to get a little better at speaking to my children.

I need to calm down and take a page out of Grandma’s book.

I need to enjoy life and enjoy my children.

I need to skip the trip to the mall for new rain boots and sing into my hairbrush a little more.









All Hats Are Off…

I am famous for slacking off in the summer as a parent.

I am present  diligent  focused doting   a good parent for the most part from September through June.  Come July all bets are off.

We follow the rules for food, school, sports, bed time, reading lists, appropriate screen times, etc. during the year and in the summer it’s time to let things slide.

So when Mr. Gaga came home from a NASCAR race (for real) with hats for the kids and they wore them to summer camp I didn’t think twice.

They were so proud and excited to wear the hats because they thought they looked like really cool teenagers, off they went on their bikes and I went to the beach to read my book.  Everyone was happy.

They came home completely devastated.

“First we were playing a game and they counselors said “Anyone wearing an inappropriate hat come on this team’ and they were talking about me and Michael!” Sam said with astonishment.

“Yeah then later they actually pulled us aside and said that we had to take our hats off and that they would give them to us after camp!” Michael said with despair.

“Why?” I asked incredulously.

“They said that our hats were “beer hats!” Sam said with horror.

So you are all envisioning this horrible hat from a NASCAR race that would be deemed “inappropriate.”   Something like this….


Or maybe at least this….



Or I could see how this hat could potentially be offensive….



I stared at their hats doubtfully…..”But who even knows what the heck this is?”


Who the fuck drinks apple ale?? And who the fuck cares?

“One of the older kids said ‘That’s a beer hat!” Michael said matter-of-factly.

“Well who cares?” I asked getting annoyed. “It’s not like a Newport Light hat or a porn hat!”

The kids stared at me and shrugged.

I started making their lunch fuming mad.  First of all it’s summer camp at the beach, it’s not some sort of educational institution run by Communists.  Second of all, are we not allowed to discuss beer or admit that we drink it daily?   By creating a big fuss about this stupid hat it makes my children feel as though drinking beer is very bad….in which case they will start to wonder about their father and all of the hats he wears…..

When I was growing up my parents and aunts and uncles would drink all the time. We thought nothing of it.  In the old days, fathers would come home and just walk in the door at 5 PM and start chugging straight scotch or whiskey out of a rocks glass.

Dads would down straight liquor and puff on cigars and cigarettes in the house after a long day of work while the children quietly did their homework or played.

Nobody would even bat an eyelash while grown adults utilized grown adult substances.

What would Don Draper do if someone complained about his kid’s “Apple Juice Hat?” He would throw back his drink and blow smoke in the person’s face and laugh….

We didn’t really feel comfortable doing that but I just made a special hat and necklace for Mr. Gaga the next day when he brought the kids to camp.


Nobody seemed to notice so the next day – I brought the kids myself and really tried to make a statement….





I think it’s safe to say that nobody will be bothering us about our choice of fashion accessories anymore….




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