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What I learned in 2013….


It’s time for my annual year in review.

I am lucky to have this blog so I can go back and see what happened in my life throughout the year and see what mattered to all of you. Here is the blow by blow recap:

JANUARY 2013 – In the beginning of 2013 we started preparing for Michael’s first holy communion and I was met with the ugly truth behind the Catholic church’s planning for date selection. I almost got killed during the “Sign-up for Communion date” meeting – but I got the date I wanted so it worked out….

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

2 – In February, just when I was starting to doubt Jesus and his almighty powers, I was saved and all was made right in the universe when Kim Kardashian was impregnated by Kanye West.

I still find it shocking that Kim wants to be wrapped up with this narcissistic asshole but I guess she will eventually figure this out the hard way…..

I wrote her a very special letter to warn her about what she could expect…

mySuperLamePic_bada7bdbc1c0a2cf6116ec3512fdbec7

3 – In February we were met with yet another Northeast weather disaster.  This particular catastrophe was a BLIZZARD!  Per usual people lost their fucking marbles while they attempted to prepare for 3 FEET of SNOW!!!

By the time I got to the local grocery store this was what the banana stand was like …just so you can see how insane people behave during inclement weather…..

banana

I know that bread and milk were sold out – but now you are all going to live off of bananas? And who’s the wise guy that just left behind a plantain and a box of firecrackers???

4 - In March, everyone was all abuzz about the book “Leaning In” which detailed how women of today could totally focus on their career and succeed!! I found that I was much better at “leaning out.”

This was the last time I "leaned in" for something. I was trying to listen to the weather report to be sure I heard correctly that my kids would have their 10th day off from school due to snow.

This was the last time I “leaned in” for something. I was trying to listen to the weather report to be sure I heard correctly that my kids would have their 10th day off from school due to snow.

5 – In April we went to Disney World.  Boy, was I in for a real education on American behaviors.  I relayed my astonishment regarding the HUGE BEVERAGES that were served in Disney World and the HUGE HUMAN BEINGS that were zipping around on carts.

Some of you got pissed about that…..

Sorry! I just report as I see it fat people!

mickeyfam

Look how this guy balances his massive soda with a broken hand!! These injured people are so determined!!!

6 – In May, we finally had Michael’s communion after much hard work. (see above)

It went well except for when I lost all of my photos to document my good holy works, thank Jesus I still had my pic of the holy cross made out of pepperoni…

What more could Jesus want from me?? I mean if this cured meat cross doesn't secure my place in heaven then I give up....

What more could Jesus want from me?? I mean if this cured meat cross doesn’t secure my place in heaven then I give up….

7 – As the summer approached I may or may not have bumped up my drinking and bumped down my parenting…

If the kids found me like this in the morning they just made their way to camp on their own...it's called building independance in children....They will thank me one day.

If the kids found me like this in the morning they just made their way to camp on their own…it’s called building independence in children….They will thank me one day.

8 – Toward the end of the summer, we started to get ready for back-to-school, which is when I once again noticed how offensive the Pottery Barn Kids catalogue was…..

In the classic Pottery Barn style which aims to make us feel badly about our homes, bedding, and lives….the PB Kids version, now aims to make us feel bad about our kids lunches and what we put them in……

This blog went VIRAL!! It was my hit of the year – and I know it’s because we all feel the same angst about lunch making in America.

Really?? It's not enough that this lunch consists of yuca chips and cherry tomatoes? If my mother ever put a note in my lunch that said I was a "kind person" I would kill her.

Really?? It’s not enough that this lunch consists of yuca chips and cherry tomatoes? If my mother ever put a note in my lunch that said I was a “kind person” I would kill her.

9 – In the fall one of my good friends had a baby.  I went to visit her and noticed that sometimes new mothers go a little crazy when it comes to first baby nursery decor.  Many of you were VERY ANGRY about my commentary…but many of you were VERY LAUGHING at how fucking stupid it all is….This is why I LOVE MY READERS!!!

Please note the newborn size tiara's on the shelf...I believe that tiara was placed on the baby's head as it was crowning to be sure that she knew immediately that she was a princess....

Please note the newborn size tiara’s on the shelf…I believe that tiara was placed on the baby’s head as it was crowning to be sure that she knew immediately that she was a princess….

10- Finally in December, while I juggled all that I had to do I realized that this ELF ON THE SHELF was really putting things over the edge for me.  I wrote an open letter to the clever Elf creators…..

You guys think you and your elves are just so damn cute....All I see here are three twats with double chins....

You guys think you and your elves are just so damn cute….All I see here are three twats with double chins….

Everyone loved this…This was my number 2 post of the year!!( only second to Pottery Barn lunch post.) What does that tell me??

That mothers in America are tired!!  We don’t have time for stupid bullshit like daisy sandwiches and Elf games!! We are smart, busy people that value our time and energy!!!

In closing, it has been a great year for Lady Goo Goo Gaga, and I hope to continue learning and growing and sharing my stories.

Thank you all for reading every week!! And for CLICKING ON THE BANNER BELOW!!!!

Happy New Year!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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BAD MOTHER


Time to get back into the swing of things.

And by “back,” I mean the kids went to school for two days and then we skipped Friday to take a long weekend at the beach.

I mean how much school can someone take in August?

Anyways – I was a bit concerned that all of the sun and laid back beach time was making the kids a bit lazy. When I asked them what activities they wanted to do they didn’t seem to be interested in anything.

Now that they are 6 and 7 I feel that they should kind of have some interests outside of video games and Spongebob. I convinced one to take soccer and the other to take tennis.

That’s enough. Then Michael announced he would like to take drums, so I agreed to that. Then they both decided they would like to play flag football. Now starting this week I am going to be one of those crazed mothers driving from practice to practice everyday.

I really wanted to enjoy this last weekend of freedom. I wanted to make it a point not to even think about the fall schedule until after the weekend.

Last night, (the last night of the summer) I fed the kids some mac and cheese from the box and plopped them in front of the television. I poured myself some wine and headed out onto the deck with a few family members, determined to have a nice night.

This should do it...I just black out in no time....

This should do it…I’ll black out in no time….

Maybe that’s why when a bunch of old friends came over unexpectedly with vodka in hand, I was a little to quick to down the most delicious martinis I ever had.

We were all out on the deck, and people kept hearing the party and joining in. The more people who came the more shithoused Mr. Gaga and I became.

And then some lawyer or cop showed up with possibly the best party entertainment ever…a breathalyzer. It got passed around and it became almost a competition to see who could get the highest number.

Needless to say- Mr. Gaga was disappointed with his 2.5 score.

Needless to say, even though it was the highest one of the night, Mr. Gaga was disappointed with his 2.5 score.

It just seemed that whenever I thought I was getting a little tipsy I would blow a .12 and then everyone would boo me at the party and I would have no choice but to down another martini.

At some point well into my third or fourth martini, a girl I had met only once before asked me if I had children.

I stared at her drunkenly. “Yes…..Oh shit….I DO have children!! I totally forgot!”

I ran inside and found Michael watching tv as though it was any other night. Sam was missing. I looked at the clock.

Oh shit....

Oh shit….

I stumbled over to the microwave…

This would fall into the category of "bad parenting..."

This would fall into the category of “bad parenting…”

“That’s it!” I said with authority.”It is WAY past your bedtime young man!”

Michael looked at me and shrugged. He got up and went to bed, which is where I noticed that poor Sam was under his covers.  He had, under the duress of having no mother, taken it upon himself to go to bed.

With the kids officially out of my hair the party continued.

I served everyone shots in votive candle holders because I couldn’t find shot glasses and things got really crazy.

When we finally went to bed it was around 2.

Needless to say when the kids woke up in the morning things weren’t pretty.

 

drunk-girl

I could barely speak or function.

I looked at poor Sam and he was still in the clothes he had on the day before.

I desperately needed an egg and cheese sandwich so I drove myself to the nearest place I could find and squealed up on two wheels.

I came back with coffee for the kids and a breakfast sandwich for Mr. Gaga.

When we felt that we could mildly function after downing eight gallons of water and our greasy sandwiches, we went to the beach and were able to hold it together somewhat until the lunch picnic we were planning on going to got cancelled.

There was no way I could suddenly go from worst mother ever to great mother of the year and come up with a healthy lunch.

I gave the kids a few bucks and sent them to the ice cream truck for lunch.

After a while they came back and gave me change and said that they were full – and could they save their lunch for later and handed me what was left.

These are huge jawbreakers....apparently otherwise known as "lunch"

These are huge jawbreakers. They are large sugar balls that can break your jaw…and apparently are otherwise known as “lunch.”

I have made it through the day.  I am utterly exhausted but I eked out this blog post miraculously.

All I can say is as far as parenting goes….it’s gotta be all uphill from here.

Happy Labor Day!

Don’t judge me…..

IT’S NOT A MOST SOBER MOM CONTEST -IT’S FUNNIEST…..SO JUST CLICK ON THE DANG THING… XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Why my kids are lucky to have me….


The other day at the store Michael was pointing to something in the deli case.

“Mom kids in my class have this for lunch all the time…I want to get that.” he said.

lunchables

“Absolutely not.” I said as I  pushed the cart away, “When you see children that have that for lunch it means that their mother doesn’t love them…see how lucky you are to have me?”

He nodded and seemed to understand.

It reminded me in general as Mother’s Day approaches just how incredibly lucky Michael and Sam are to have me….

I am going to repost from last Mother’s Day my list of reasons why…..

TOP TEN REASONS WHY MY KIDS ARE LUCKY THAT I AM THEIR MOTHER:

1 – Of course – just stating the obvious here – but even though I am Italian and spent many years going tanning my kids are lucky enough that I don’t  roast them in a tanning bed.

2 – I let my children choose from refreshing beverages like milk or water and I give them Flintstones Vitamins with Extra C to build immunity! I don’t breastfeed them until they are old enough to have one hand on a Wii controller and the other on my boob.

3 – If I did do something that could potentially scar them for life or embarrass them in front of their friends, I wouldn’t let some magazine reporter and photographer document said activity and publish it for the world to see.  I would not do that even if it was for the cover of TIME Magazine, because although I have a blog which could be seen as a touch narcissistic, I am not a complete asshole.

4 – I actually spend time with my kids. I take them to the park, or read books to them, or take them to the library instead of spending my time  “bullet-ing” all day like  many mothers in America.

5 – I could possibly be considered a “milf.”  This is especially noticeable when compared to the “milgamo’s” around this town.    (“Milgamo” stands for – “moms I’d like to give a make-over.) This doesn’t necessarily mean much – but when the kids are older I am sure they will take comfort in knowing that when I pick them up from school I won’t be wearing ‘mom-jeans.”

6 – Even though other mothers in town seem to “forget” to comb their children’s hair or let their hair grow to the floor because  “Johnny doesn’t like getting his hair cut,” I get my boys frequent haircuts and comb their hair regularly.

I think it is important that they don’t look like drag queens on heroin at the bus stop - (like many young boys do these days.)

This is another little first grade boy that often sits next to my son on the bus....

This is another little first grade boy that often sits next to my son on the bus….

7 – I make sure that my children are not fat and lazy.  On nice days I often send them outside and lock all the doors, keeping them out for long stretches of time.

When they try to come inside and watch television or play video games, I yell and say “Do you want to be fat and lazy like all of your friends? Do you??” and shove them back out the door.

8 -I don’t really make them go to church.  My father made me go every living Sunday of my life. I think my kids are pretty lucky that I am too lazy and tired and not-god-fearing enough, to make them go.  When we do go on occasion, if they laugh and act crazy, I probably join in instead of yelling at them.  (Sorry Jesus.)

9 – I keep it real.  I don’t hide the nitty-gritty facts of life.  The threat that my children might some day really end up in “bad boy school,” keeps  everyone on their toes around here.  “Bad boy school” is a place that my mother-in-law taught me about.  It is a place where boys go when they are mean and rotten and can be conveniently seen from the highway!  I drive fast enough by it that they never really get a good look.

I always say “Oh look I see little sad faces peeking out the windows….See them??”

They always look out the window frantically with looks of horror – and say “Yes! I see them!!”

Otherwise known as the Colt Building in Hartford, it’s the “Bad Boy School” in the Gaga household. I always say as we drive by – “There it is kids! Keep it up and that’s where you will be living soon!”

10- I BLOG about my life and theirs – so they will have plenty of evidence of what a good mother I am and how much I love them!!!

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO ALL OF THE MOMS! AND AS A MOTHER’S DAY GIFT TO ME – PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW!!!XOXO, LADYGOOGOOGAGA

Kiss me…you’re Irish


My mother is 100% Irish and my father is 100% Italian.  Same goes for Mr. Gaga.

As luck would have it, I am 100% Italian and Mr. Gaga is 100% Irish.

Being married to an Irish person can be good and bad.

Here are some indicators that your husband and children are Irish:

They can drink you under the table: – Most stereotypes don’t come out of thin air.  These people can drink all day and night with little to no repercussions.

There’s no hangover…no throwing up.

The only people who suffer are the sober people who have to be in their company.  In my case, I learned long ago that I will never be able to keep up with the Irish in the drinking department.   While my Irish girlfriends were dancing on the bar in the Bronx, I was home vomiting.

Mr. Gaga is always the life of the party…and has yet to ever wake up one morning of his life and say “I’m never doing that again.”

Irish eyes are smiling:  It’s good to be with someone who has a smiley face, like Mr. Gaga.

I definitely have something that can certainly be described as a “frowny face.”

This has proven to be off-putting.   My neighbor told me that when she first moved to the neighborhood, some lady on my street (who I spoke two words to in my life) told her about the Gaga’s.  She said  “The husband is really nice, but stay away from the wife….she’s a total bitch.”  This is a common theme.

Thankfully, sometimes it seems that the friendliness that radiates from his Irish face, kind of cancels out my bitch face…and we become a little more approachable as a couple.

Somehow this face makes people feel better after they interact with

Somehow this face makes people feel better after they interact with…

this...

this face…

 

They can fight: Yet another stereotype that just happens to be true.  Mr. Gaga is non-confrontational to a fault, but if the shit hits the fan I know he can take everyone down.  He’s very happy and nice, but if pushed too far, he can get crazy.

Don’t be fooled by his smiling eyes or his intoxication….he will fuck you up.

Their taste buds don’t work properly: I believe it is because their ancestors spent centuries gnawing on rotten potatoes in the rain or something, but both my husband and mother have taste buds that don’t function.

As a result they douse everything they eat with inappropriate seasonings and sauces.

When we all eat together my mother spends the first ten minutes of the meal “peppering her food.” While we eat, she literally sits at her seat shaking salt and pepper shakers madly.

 

I finished my dinner tonight right around the time my mother had just finished "salt and peppering" hers...Who wants to eat this much pepper????

I finished my dinner tonight right around the time my mother had just finished “salt and peppering” hers…Who in their right mind wants to eat this much pepper????

 

Mr. Gaga takes it one step further and mixes every sauce he can find together and dips his meat into it.

Needless to say, my delicious Italian food does not need this kind of treatment.  I beg him to eat food as it is prepared.  It’s heartbreaking to see him dip my chicken cutlets into this shit.

Every night he mixes all of this into a ramekin and dips food into it....Does that seem normal???

Every night he mixes all of this into a ramekin and dips food into it….Does that seem normal???

“Why are you doing this? This chicken cutlet is delicious!”

“I like it this way,” he says as he dips it into the revolting concoction.

“It’s rude to the chicken cutlet! You can’t even taste it anymore!”

I plead…to no avail.

They have blatant disregard for food:   I guess it may be due to the dysfunctional taste buds, but food is merely a means of survival for the Irish.

I could truly give my husband homemade pasta with a lobster sauce or Lucky Charms for dinner and he would be equally content either way.

It’s offensive.  However, on nights when I’m working or have had a crazy day there’s some comfort in knowing that I can offer a tunafish sandwich for supper and Mr. Gaga will be thrilled.

They are witty: In college, I lived with 7 Irish girls.  I never laughed so hard in my life.

Mr. Gaga also has been known to crack me up.

Sometimes so much so that I pee my pants.  Since I had kids….I am especially prone to having accidents.

Our first date after I had Sam, we got a babysitter and went to the movies.  When we left the theater and we were walking to the car, Mr. Gaga said something very funny.  I stopped walking, twisted my legs together to try to keep the pee in.  It didn’t work.

50 gallons of pee came pouring out in the middle of the crowds of people who were coming out of the movies, which actually just made me laugh harder.

Mr. Gaga ran away and left me.  He got his car and came back to pick me up where I stood in a pee puddle.  He found an old garbage bag in his truck and he made me wrap up in it before I sat on the seat in his truck.

We laughed the whole way home and then I snuck upstairs with my wet pants and garbage bag while he paid the babysitter.

There’s absolutely nothing better than laughter.

Because they can make people laugh, they take it too far:

Laughter is great.  The problem lies in the fact that when people think Mr. Gaga is the funniest person in the world, he starts to believe them.

When he’s out with friends or at work, he is “Mr. Personality”, shooting off one-liners and cracking jokes, and everyone thinks he’s a riot.

This was the work crowd last time he had to speak....

This was the crowd the last time he had to speak at work….

When he gets home, I am not always in the same jovial mood as his work people or his friends.  Sometimes he tries to crack the same jokes to me that worked wonderfully at work….

carrie

 

They are very white:  When you look like Snooki, you don’t expect to have to get involved with people who don’t like the sun.  Mr. Gaga sits out for a couple of hours on the beach before he starts crying and goes back in the house, and Michael wants to stay out but ends up roasting.

Caring for pasty-white children and husbands is super-annoying.  While Sam and I are tanning, the last thing we want to do is go back to the house because the other 2 annoying lobsters have sun poisoning.

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

This is Sam playing on the beach…..

 

This is a picture of Mr. Gaga when we were in Miami...

This is a picture of Mr. Gaga when we were in Miami…

Loving the Irish can be a blessing or curse – but mostly its a blessing if you can disregard the hideous sunburns ……

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!!!

XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME FOR FUNNIEST MOM BLOGGER!

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May the force be with me….


Mr. Gaga is responsible for taking care of the kids most Saturdays.

I am not at the spa.

I am not getting a pedicure or lunching with friends.

I am working most Saturdays.

Mr. Gaga will have everyone thinking that he has it very rough.  He will tell random people that he runs into at games, birthday parties, and the store that he’s a “single dad.”

When interacting with other parents of children we barely know he will find a way to steer the conversation to some point where he can announce, “Well, I do everything  because I am a single dad.”

He finds this hilarious.

Last Saturday was the first basketball games of the season for both kids.

When we all got home I asked how it went.

“Good, Sam’s coach seems nice and I saw Todd’s mom and we were talking about the Star Wars party she’s having for him next weekend.”

(Todd is Sam’s friend – we have gone out socially with his parents one time.)

“She said that we were invited to stay during the party and hang out and eat…”

“Hmm, hmm,” I said distractedly as I read my email.

“So I told her that we would bring Star Wars cookies.” he threw in nonchalantly.

Imagine this making a huge screeching noise....

Imagine this making a huge screeching noise….

“And what did she say???” I asked, hoping that this mother responded with something like “Oh no – that’s not necessary!”

“She said “Great!,” he answered.

“What??!! Why??!!!” I asked in shock.

“Well we have those cookie cutters…” he answered nonchalantly…”What’s the big deal?”

When a kind aunt that always gives my kids really cool stuff was nice enough to give us these fancy Star Wars cookie cutters from Williams Sonoma, I did what any level-headed woman would do.  I hid the box in a closet.

Sorry Aunt Sue, but this box hasn't seen the light of day since you gave it to us....

Sorry Aunt Sue, but this box hasn’t seen the light of day since you gave it to us….

Apparently Williams Sonoma thinks it’s just every mother’s dream to sit around making baked goods into the shapes of Star Wars characters.

Also – if that’s not enough activity to kill all of your time and your will to live you can also make Star Wars pancakes.

Screw you Williams Sonoma......you are an asshole...and your pancakes are assholes too.

Screw you Williams Sonoma……

And if you have completely lost your marbles…for the bargain-price of $15 you can actually flip this Darth Vader-shaped breakfast with this:

spatula

Needless to say Thursday afternoon came, and I had to get to work on the cookies. First I went to the store to purchase the 47 types of frosting I would need to create these cinematic masterpieces.

 I made the sugar cookie dough.  I hosted a playdate for Sam’s friend and then two other kids came over for dinner, while their parents were at a wake.  I baked 5 dozen sugar cookies while the kids played.

When I cleaned up from dinner and had the kids had settled at around 8 PM, it was time to start frosting the cookies.

“OK, I’m going to head up and take a shower and go to bed.” Mr. Gaga said coolly as he started up the stairs.

“Oh no you aren’t.” I said threateningly.  “You better take this black frosting and start with some Darth Vaders.”

He huffed and puffed but attempted to help while I was working diligently on my Storm Troopers.

He looked over with disgust…”What the hell is that?? That’s not a Storm Trooper…it’s a sad dog with a headband on!!!”

He had a point....

He had a point….

“WELL I’M NOT GOOD AT THIS SHIT!! THAT’S WHY I HID THE BOX TWO YEARS AGO AND NEVER TOOK IT OUT!!!!!” I yelled.

I had green and black frosting everywhere, the kitchen was trashed and I was delirious.

“I hope you are happy…from now on when you go to games or birthday parties keep your mouth shut!” I said with disgust.

By 9 o’clock he had completely abandoned ship.

I spent the entire night cursing him and George Lucas.

I was seeing double and exhausted when I finally finished all of the cookies.

But then they looked absolutely horrible…nothing like the box.  Nothing like Williams Sonoma told me they would look like…

I made Mr. Gaga come look at the cookies.

“I can’t see straight…my back and eyeballs are killing me….but does this just look like an entire rack of Saddam Hussein cookies?? That’s all I see.”

photo

I ate the cookie on the bottom left because it looked like some sort of Arab dictator with sunglasses on….and I didn’t think that would be appropriate for a kids’ party.

“No they look fine!” he said wearily. “Just go to bed!”

“I can’t go to bed now!! I still have to do Boba Fett’s black trim and the red dots in the Yoda eyes!!”

In the end – they came out decent enough…..

4 cookies

This is not exactly what the ass-hats at Williams Sonoma had in mind…but it will have to do.

I think that the people who come up with these crafty little ideas at the Williams Sonoma corporation should be held accountable for the hours of torture they inflict on people…..

But in the meantime, in case you were wondering …I am the best mother ever.

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PLEASE CLICK THE LINK BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME IN A VERY IMPORTANT CONTEST THAT I NEED DESPERATELY TO WIN FOR MY POOR SELF-ESTEEM…THE CONTEST CLOSES IN A FEW WEEKS AND YOU CAN VOTE ONCE A DAY!!! THANK YOU !! THANK YOU!!!

XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Raising Justin Beiber


Sam has had an effect on people from a young age.  He has the ability to charm the pants off of whoever he meets.

Last year when he was in preschool we realized at the teacher conference that he had even snowed the teachers. The teacher went on and on about how much she loved Sam.  She even told us that she didn’t even bother to fill out the paperwork for the conference because he was beyond any of the little boxes and bubbles on the forms.

But this was the kicker.

“He is an amazing child.  He is literally my favorite student in my ten years of teaching.  I really think you should take him to the toy store and buy him whatever he wants.” (He was sitting nearby and heard this.)

I love Sam and I have been known to let things slide with him when he charms me, but I couldn’t believe he had such an effect on his teacher.

“Maybe we should get him into acting or modeling.” I told Mr. Gaga over dinner that night.

“No, he’s just a kid, let him enjoy his childhood.” Mr. Gaga said firmly.

“Well someone has to work around here, and I think it should be him.” I answered matter-of-factly. “He has star-quality!”

“No.”

I hung it up for the time being and concentrated on getting ready for kindergarten.  Sam doesn’t have much in the stamina department so I was anticipating him having a difficult time making it through the full-day without having a nervous breakdown.

Surprisingly, he has done quite well.  The first day, he hooked up with an old friend at recess and he said he made some new friends.

The second day when he came home I asked him about who he played with at recess.   He threw his bag down and put his hands up in protest.

“Well, I had to make a decision about who to play with.  I opened the door to go outside and everywhere I looked people were saying “Sam! Sam!!!” They all wanted me to play with them, so I had to make a decision.”

I am absolutely sure that when Sam walked outside to the playground this is what he saw.

Apparently his magical charms work on small children too.

Life is much easier when everyone likes you.  This is something I am not familiar with.  Since I was a small child, if I even looked at someone they would say “What are you looking at? You bitch!” And I would be like “But I’m 5!” and they would be like “I don’t care, you gave me a dirty look.” And I would be like “That’s just what my face looks like!!!” Nobody ever believed me.

I could never understand why people didn’t like me.

Since people actually hate me on sight(which is fine, because I usually hate them back) this magnetism that Sam has must be from Mr. Gaga.

Last week we had to have pictures taken for Christmas cards.  Last year, and basically all years since they were born, this involves a sweaty torturous hour, that leaves me at the end of my rope and penniless.

This year, I started warning them 24 hours ahead of time that they had a pending photo shoot the next day and that they needed to be on their best behavior.  That night as I tucked Sam in, he said “Mom, by the way, I can’t wait for tomorrow do you know why?”

“No why?”

“Because I love photo-shoots.”

Wait…what?

“Good night love bug!! So glad to hear that you LOVE being the star of a photo shoot!!!”

It wouldn’t be bad or exploitative if he “loves photo shoots” would it???

I decided to do a little research.  What made Justin Beiber’s parents decide to put him on YouTube and make him a star? How did they know they were doing the right thing? What makes a nice couple from Canada create the next great teen heart-throb of our time?

Oh. …..not what I was expecting.

“Um apparently we missed the boat on having the next Beiber.” he explained to Mr. Gaga.

“Why?”

“I should have had you knock me up when I was 18 and then we should have skipped college and just saved up for a video camera…..We could already be rich by now…”

“Shoot.” Mr Gaga said with disinterest.

I put the whole idea out of my mind for a while, only thinking of it when he asked recently how old he would have to be to get a tattoo and his ears pierced.

“Well your 5, so at least another 13 year.” I explained.

He was devastated.

Back to concentrating on kindergarten.

Sam’s kindergarten teacher is the same one that Michael had, she is older and not the warm and fuzzy teacher you expect from kindergarten.  She runs a tight ship, which is actually good for young boys. I thought it would be healthy to have an older, more serious teacher, so that Sam wouldn’t always be fawned over.

This week we had our conferences, and while I was sure that she would tell me she loved Sam, I was also sure that she might mention that he doesn’t always like to complete his work, and I knew she wouldn’t make a big deal over him like the preschool teachers.

We started out fairly normal.  The anticipated “we love Sam,” even the “everyone who works here loves Sam.”

Ok.

And then….

“I just don’t know why you wouldn’t have more children if you know that you can produce this kind of child…..” she said earnestly.

“Ummm…..I’m done having kids.” I said as I peered over the charts showing his progress.  His progress seemed great, although some of the stuff looked a little different from the one she had for Michael.  For example, she had changed the behavior chart.

“Ok, so how about his work, does he finish his work?” it was like I was baiting her to say something bad about him.

She waved her hands in disgust.  “Oh sometimes he doesn’t finish all of his work…but that’s fine.”

“Well why? Why doesn’t he finish his work?”

“Well, I don’t bother him, because everything he does is sooo perfect and sooo beautiful.  I don’t even want to say anything about him not finishing, because it doesn’t matter.  He doesn’t finish because he is working so hard to make sure everything is so perfect.” she went on as she opened up his work packet to show us.

Out of 8 pages, maybe 2 were completed.  On the blank pages, instead of doing work, there were little drawings of ninjas and weird symbols.

“What are these?” I asked Mr. Gaga pointing to the drawings.

He peered over at the papers, “Oh, those are chinese stars and nunchucks.”

It appeared he didn’t exactly run out of time.

As Mr. Gaga and I walked out to our car, I said, “Well…….she has the fever.”

Mr. Gaga shrugged as we got into the car.

As we buckled in, I looked at him.

“I want a new video camera for Christmas.”

I’M NOT SAYING I’M GOING TO BE A KRIS JENNER….BUT IT’S WORTH A TRY!!!  CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME FOR THE BEST STAGE MOM  FUNNIEST MOM BLOG!!!!

Unwanted Hair and House guests


The other day I picked up Michael from his after-school “Mad Science” program.  A little girl named Mary from Sam’s kindergarten class was left behind as all the parents were picking up their kids except for her.

She looked longingly at us as we all moved away from the doorway down the hall.  “Oh  – I feel bad for Mary,” I said to Sam as we walked to the car.

“Yeah, well – she has lice.” he said matter-of-factly as he hopped into the back seat.

“Wait, what?” I asked in a panic. I shouldn’t have been surprised since the child looks like her mother hadn’t combed her hair since she was born.

This was Mary at the open house for kindergarten. It’s no surprise that the lice took one look at her and saw a happy home.

Of course when a kid in the class has lice it’s not long before it starts hopping around to everyone, and I hadn’t received a note from the nurse.

“How do you know?” I demanded.

“She told us on the bus.” Michael answered.

“She just announced on the bus, “I have lice?” She doesn’t even care?” I asked incredulously.

They both shrugged and looked out the window.

Is this the world we live in now?  Where children are so immune to their peers being filthy with tangled hair filled with bugs?

My BF that lives in Rhode Island knew what to do. “Oh God – I spend hours in the morning putting gel and hairspray in the kids’ hair, lice don’t like hair products.”

This is where being guidos comes in handy.  We have been waking up a little early to be sure that everyone has their hair “did,” but now they help each other to be sure they have enough product in.

While everyone else’s kid in this town looks like they came straight off the set of the Brady Bunch, mine look like they are on their way to go clubbing at Karma.

Even though it’s excessive, I actually prefer it to the way other parents have their boys walking around looking like a Brady child.  It wasn’t cute in the 1970′s and it’s definitely not cute now.

I am sorry but this is just unacceptable. And seeing as its 2012, there’s really no need to send a boy to kindergarten looking like this….Why don’t you just put a big sign on his head saying “ATTENTION LICE! I HAVE DIRTY GIRL HAIR, COME LIVE IN IT!”

I had a crazy week that involved driving home at 2 am in a nor’easter, going to New York twice for work, and hiring babysitters and my husband for the morning “get-ready-for-school duty”, so it was nice to get to the weekend and not have to stress about gelling people’s hair.

Except one problem.  Michael came home with a stuffed animal frog.

His homework was to babysit this disgusting bedbugs collector  stuffed animal for the weekend, taking pictures and reporting on his fun times.

I find stuffed animals to be vile creatures filled with dust and dead skin cells.  I throw out as many as I can from the kids’ closets when they aren’t paying attention.  At fairs, they are not allowed to play any games that might win them a huge stuffed animal filled with styrofoam pellets.   The absolute bane of my existence is when people line the back of their car windows with little stuffed animals.

Is this person just trying to spark a fit of road rage for anyone driving behind him?                 What kind of sick maniac does this?

So imagine my alarm when I found out we were babysitting “Francisco” the stuffed frog.

I wanted to vomit when I came home and found it on the kitchen table. His frog fur was matted and thick, and he looked like he had been around for a very long time.

“What the fuck is this?” I yelled at Mr. Gaga as I drop-kicked the frog across the room, (which is my immediate reaction to dirty stuffed animals.)

“No Mom!!” Michael yelled as he retrieved the injured frog from the corner of the room. “This is my class frog!” he explained.  He was thrilled to tell me the news that he was in charge of entertaining the frog for the weekend and that he would have to take pictures and share with his class on Monday all of their adventures.

Friday night after a long week of working crazy hours, I promised the kids we could have movie night.  I actually vomited in my mouth when I turned to look at Michael and saw this.

All the hair gel in the world can’t save us now.

When Michael went to sleep, I had to steal the filthy animal and take care of business.   By the end of the weekend we had a couple of pictures and Michael wrote a nice story about what he did with the frog.  I had to “help him remember” though.  A few times he said “Wait, was Francisco with me on the swings?” or “Was Francisco with me at Grandma’s party?”

I assured him Francisco was by his side all weekend….

In fact, he spent a great deal of time doing what I wanted him to do.

First I soaked him with Lysol…..

One time Michael and Sam were looking frantically for the frog to play with.

I had to quickly and discreetly release him…..

He spent a good deal of time sealed in a plastic bag outside, in an effort to kill all the bed bugs and lice….(Your welcome Francisco and the rest of the class.)

Thank goodness the frog leaves tomorrow.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t leave any “friends” behind.

SO I HATE STUFFED ANIMALS….DOESN’T EVERYBODY???

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Unsafe Safety Latches


I’ve been frazzled.

Last week I literally had no obligations.

I had no work and by some religious miracle there seemed to be no Jewish holidays last week – so the kids actually went to school everyday!

I have been waiting for a day when I had nothing to do since the 80′s.  I have had a very clear plan in place for some time.

In 1985, at the very young age of 7, I decided what I would do if a day free of obligations ever came my way.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would spend the day in a lounge chair in a black lace bra and shorts, calling friends on my huge cordless phone.

I would drink wine and champagne and Cheetos and listen to cassette tapes…..

 

 

Now that the day is finally here….I think I am too old and fat for my plan……

So I at least took time every day to work out and shower and shop, which was all very luxurious.

I cooked. I cleaned.

I wandered around the house looking out the windows.  Things were pretty orderly, but yet…..I felt disorganized.

I kind of flip-flopped around the house feeling under-utilized and confused.  Didn’t anyone need anything from me??

Apparently all of this not being needed makes me very tired, because on Tuesday, Michael woke me up to ask me for help with his pants.  I rolled over and saw that the clock said 8:19.

Just so we are all on the same page, the bus actually comes at 8:09.

That was a bad morning.

Later in the week I was supposed to go to my mother’s for her birthday and I said I would make a cake when I got to her house.  I went to the store to get specific ingredients to go along with the cake – and I realized at 7 PM that night as we were making dinner, that I forgot the cake mix.  It was a stupid thing that I would have never done if I had 2 screaming babies with me all week and a full plate at work.

It seems now, the less I have to do – the more of a disorganized hot mess I become.

On Thursday, I had to drive the kids to school because Sam had to make a boat for a school project and we didn’t think it would make the trip to school safely on the bus.

I woke up early – so that I could have coffee and get ready for the gym.  My plan was to drop off the kids and be at the gym by 8:35.   We were doing great, as we loaded into the car I thought about “drop-off.”

At school there are very strict guidelines about how you can actually “DROP OFF” your child.

Whereas “dropping off” used to be a term used casually for leaving something or someone somewhere….it is now a full, very serious ACTION that requires strict attention to rules and regulations, or risk ruining the well-oiled machine that is “DROP-OFF.”

One of said rules is that parents must DROP OFF from the right-hand side of the vehicle onto the sidewalk.  Children cannot get out on the left-hand side and mothers cannot under any circumstance help their children get out of the car.

Children need to get out swiftly and efficiently or they will cause a back-up of angry Land Rovers and Escalades.  Lord forbid there’s any problem with seatbelt unfastening or backpack forgetting – you have to just drop-kick your kid to the curb or risk starting a riot.

In the world of child-safety locks this often means that children are locked in the back seat until the DROP OFF NAZI ON DUTY notices and opens the door for them.

This particular morning I said “Kids – I am just going to undo the child safety latch on the door – so when we get to school – you can just hop out on your own.”

While the kids got settled, Sam gingerly holding his boat on his lap – I went over to the door and flipped a switch.

I slammed the door shut and it bounced right back at me. I had turned something so that the door was unable to shut at all.  I fiddled with it and started to freak out after repeated attempts of fixing the problem didn’t work.

I was sweating and swearing as I stared at the little label next to the latch, trying to figure it out.

I stared at this for a good ten minutes thinking…ok, a kid popping out of a space suit and a kid with his space helmet on…..what does this have to do with the door????

Finally in a moment of strong and confident mothering I said, “Kids – I am going to get you to school….Sam hold the door while I drive.”

He looked at me with horror, with eyes and mouth open wide.

He handed his boat to Michael and held on tight to the door handle as I peeled out of the driveway.

We were 15 minutes late at this point.  As I rounded the corner out of our street the velocity pulled on the door and it threatened to open but Sam held strong.

“I can’t do it Mom!!! I am going to let go!!” he screamed.

“You can do it Sam!! Don’t let go – no matter what!!” I screamed back.  All the while Michael was laughing and calling my name over our hysterics.

“What Michael?” I finally answered.

“Well what will you do when we get to school? Who will hold the door for you when you drive home?”

I peered back at him in the rearview mirror.

I hadn’t thought this through, had I?

“I will call Daddy,” I announced with dread.

When we got to school – I left the door wide open while I signed the kids in at the front office.  I called Mr. Gaga a couple of times and he didn’t answer.  Finally on the 4th call he answered he had been in a meeting.  When I explained the pickle I was in, he was not happy.

“Well, you are going to have to wait…I’m in the middle of something,” he said in a very angry tone and pretty much hung up on me.

In his defense I have called him 3 times since school started requesting him to come home for various reasons involving loss of keys for homes and vehicles.

I knew I was dead, and it would be in my best interest to figure this thing out.

If I could figure it out – Mr. Gaga wouldn’t have to leave work and our marriage could be saved!

I figured I could tie the door shut somehow using something I had lying around in the car.  Apparently when I told the kids a while back to keep the car clean – they took me seriously because I didn’t have much in the way of materials to work with.

When I thought I found something that I could use, I called Mr. Gaga and told him I was going to jimmy something together and that he didn’t need to come.

“Too late,” he grumbled.  “I am on my way.”

I stood outside of the car waiting for him.  When he arrived he marched over to the car and I forgot I had left my materials tied to the door.

“Really? Are you serious????? What were you going to do with that?” he asked with disgust, pointing at the door.

This seemed like as good a plan as any…..

“I was going to tie it shut!!” I answered back defiantly.

He pulled the door handle up from the outside, a little click noise happened and he shut the door gently.

I looked down at the shut door. “How the heck did you?…..”

Then I looked up at him as he turned around.

He started to go back towards his car but stopped to let a car go.  The woman waved him to go across.

He said “Go ahead! I’m going to slap her around a little bit!!!” and made a motion of slapping me in the face.

The minivan pulled up and a chinese woman rolled down the window, she called out in broken english.

“You Sam mother?”

“Yes!” I said fake-smiling.  (*Since Sam has been in school all of 3 weeks, his charms, good looks and guido-like tendencies have made him famous and relegated me to simply “Sam’s mom.”)

“You OK?” she asked me , gesturing towards Mr. Gaga with disgust.  Her eyes bored deep into mine so that she could accurately be able to read my cry for help.

“Oh no I’m fine ! He’s just kidding!” I said in a text-book response of an abuse victim.

As she drove slowly away, I said “Oh great…now everyone is going to think you beat me!”

We had a little chuckle which lightened the mood a bit.  He got in his car and peeled out.

It was 9:00 am.

All that and I still had 6 1/2 more hours of confusion and disorganization ahead of me.

I HAVE TO GET MY SHIT TOGETHER OR MR GAGA IS GOING TO LEAVE ME…..IN THE MEAN TIME PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW SO AT LEAST I KNOW THAT SOMEBODY LOVES ME AND NEEDS ME AROUND HERE!!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Dear Mothers Expecting Baby #2,


I saw a friend this week strolling her 8-month-old baby in the mall.  She looked on the verge of tears. She had left her older child with her mother for an hour so she could have a break.  She said the previous day had been very bad.

“Oh the kids were driving you crazy?” I asked nonchalantly.

“No, I had a bad day as a mother…..and as a person,” she answered gravely, tears threatening to spill over.  She went on to tell me how she was feeling – but I didn’t need to hear the details.  I could just look at her eye sockets and the despair on her face and it all came flooding back to me.  I remember all-too vividly how I felt everyday for 3 years when I was home with two babies.

But this is the kicker….nobody warns you how difficult it will be with two children.  Nobody mentions how your whole world will get turned upside down and you will end up on the verge of a nervous breakdown.   As a result of getting blindsided you end up walking through Nordstrom with your baby in a haze of tears, guilt and despair.

That’s what I am here for….TO WARN YOU!!!

To keep it real for you people.

When you are pregnant with your first child, people shower you with gifts, compliments, foot rubs, unsolicited advice, old wives’ tales, hand-me-downs…..

When you are pregnant anytime after that – the general attitude you will get from people (including your husband) is – “You got this, right?”

Nobody cares anymore.

When you have one kid – you have to adjust and it is difficult at first.  You have to get used to running on empty.  You have to get used to putting someone else’s needs before your own.  You have to be a little less narcissistic, but yet, once you get used to all of this – it’s totally manageable.

When the second child comes, you are completely caught off-guard.  You have done this before, so you should be a pro.  It should be easier this time around….right?

WRONG.

Remember how tired you were with one baby?

Remember how guilty and confused you were with one baby?

Remember how much you wanted to smother your husband with your boppy with one baby?

Remember how fat you were with one baby?

Multiply all of that by 1 million percent.

I know what your thinking…..how can one extra little person make the percentage jump one million percent?

Trust me.

It just does.

Oh yeah – and remember that little bit of “me time” you had carved out when you had one child?

Oh, that’s actually completely gone now.  That little snippet of time is now alloted for the baby.

Oh yeah, and if there is an act of God and both children are sleeping or otherwise occupied – you still don’t get a minute to yourself – because that’s when the old needy, neglected husband will come a’ knockin.

You will have to find another avenue for your narcissism too, (thank you blog and Facebook.)

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you……

When Michael was 9 months old, with what little faculties I had at that point, I realized that if I were to ever come out of the state of shock and sleeplessness that I was in, then I would probably tell Mr. Gaga that I was done and put that shit* on lockdown.

(*”That shit” can be loosely defined as baby swings, diapers, and my uterus.)

If you saw me or spoke to me from 2005 to roughly mid-2009 – this is all I remember from the conversation….Sorry.

So in my baby-induced stupor I suggested that we have our children close in age.  Mr. Gaga basically just rolled over in bed and I was pregnant….Michael was 9-months-old.

This arrangement is not for the faint-of-heart.  Two boys came into my life  in an 18-months time span and I thought I would actually die.

If not from just sheer mental and physical exhaustion – but from the loss of self, the sucking up and vanishing of my soul…my actual being.

It was all gone.  My hopes, my dreams, my desires…they were all gone buried under a cloud of nipple pads, burp cloths and “Good Night Moon.”

One time I got a sitter and I went to the nail salon, and acted really crazy. I was hoping to get put away for “exhaustion” – but nobody cared……

I remember sitting on the couch attempting to breastfeed Sam while Michael cried and pulled on me.  Sam would cry because he couldn’t latch on to my boob, Michael would cry because he wanted me and I would cry because I was starting to realize that my life would never be mine again.

FYI – Nursing a baby while an 18 month old jumps all-over you is not recommended for the preservation of your sanity or your nipples.

At Sam’s 3 month check-up, the doctor asked how the breastfeeding was going.

I stared back at him and without emotion stated, “Well, this kid will have a super-duper immune system and no ear infections, but sadly he will also have no mother….because I will be in the institution…”

I thought for sure he was writing down that he advised a quick hospitalization for “exhaustion,” but when he left the room I looked at the notes – and it just said “Mother still fat and complaining about breastfeeding.”

Thankfully, my doctor did suggest switching to formula, time marched on and I survived.

When all was said and done – I always say it was an extremely tough 3 years and then things started to get easier.

The great pay-off now is that they are the best of friends.  They love each other so much and are inseparable.  I am grateful to think that they have each other and will always be close.

Of course as is to be expected they fight incessantly – but I know that they care about each other very much.  When I hear them in their rooms laughing together or watch them playing, I absolutely know that all of my hard work and loss of my soul is worth it in the end because they have each other.

Especially this morning when I went into Sam’s room and saw a little note folded next to his bed from his brother.  I love how they secretly communicate with each other with notes or pictures.  Sam idolizes his older brother, so much that he will keep every little scrap of paper that Michael gives him.

I sighed and thought how sweet my two little angels are as I opened it up to read it and saw this…..

WELL WHAT CAN I SAY? AT LEAST HE SAID SORRY…PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME FOR THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA……COME ON I DESERVE IT AFTER WHAT THESE KIDS HAVE PUT ME THROUGH……

Young Love


I brought Sam last week for his pre-K check-up.  A nurse came in and asked a few questions and then took him down the hall to weigh and measure him.  For some reason I remained in my chair staring blankly ahead, thinking it was just yesterday that I neurotically carried my baby down the hall to be weighed and measured, hovering over the nurses with my record book, jotting down every ounce and inch.  I would peer at the growth chart, thrilled to find that both of my children were both “off the charts” for height. 

But were they gaining enough weight?  Was their head too big? For a while there, Sam was 80 percent for height, 80 percent for weight and teetering dangerously…. and then completely fell “off the charts” for head size. 

It was bad enough he was in the 250th percentile for head size, but we were mostly sad that no hats would fit him….

Fast forward 5 years, Sam’s head is back in the “normal” range, I don’t even know where that little record book is, and the only way I know that my kids grow at all is if I have to go buy them new clothes.

I sat calmly waiting for their return.

“He’s 55 pounds!” the nurse said excitedly as Sam climbed onto the crinkly exam paper on the table.

“And he’s in the 90th percentile for height!”

Sam sat up tall, beaming with pride, wearing only underwear, with his tan little legs stretched out in front of him on the table.

The nurse promised the doctor would be in soon and left the room.

We sat in silence for a minute and Sam looked down at his legs.

He looked up at me stone-faced and sighed. “Well….I guess I am turning into a man.”

I laughed, “Why? Because you are growing?”

“Nope,” he said pointing to his legs, “it’s because of all this hair.”

I got up and peered at his legs and doubled over in laughter.  Although it was all bleached from the summer sun, the hair on his legs could potentially rival Mr. Gaga’s.

As kindergarten approaches, even the mere thought of Sam leaving on the bus gives me a lump in my throat.  At this announcement of manhood, my first instinct was throw myself on top of him and start weeping, but just then the doctor walked in.  I composed myself.

Even though in this particular instance, Sam’s just a hairy Italian boy, the fact remains that my boys are growing up before my eyes.

As the summer comes to an end, they seem so much older than they were just a few short months ago.  They have this habit of acting like teenagers now, often choosing to “hang out on the boardwalk” at our beach instead of staying with me.  Also, with this new maturity comes an interest in girls, (THEY ARE 5 and 6!)

The other day after they had been up on the boardwalk for a long time, I walked up to check on them.

“What are you guys doing?” I asked them and their friend, Adrian.

“We can’t tell you.” Michael answered quickly for the boys that were staring at me like deer in headlights.

“Why not?” I asked with my hands on my hips.

“It’s inna-poopiate,” Sam said in a hushed voice with his eyes wide open.

I turned my focus back to Michael, “Ok, then now you better tell me.”

“Mom, it’s just super-heroes,” Michael said with exasperation.

“And….?”

“And Sam and Adrian are Batman and Iron Man and they are pretending they are going to marry Storm and Poison Ivy,” he looked at me expectantly.

“Ok.” I answered waiting for more.

“But I am Green Lantern, and I am going to swoop in and save them from the weddings.” he said knowingly.

“Oh, because they don’t really want to get married?” I asked.

“Yes, the girls are making them.” he answered nodding his head.

“Ok, carry on then.” I said turning back to the beach.  It’s a bit early for a game about how to avoid a committed relationship, but at least they weren’t getting into any trouble.

I shrugged it off.

Then later in the week I left my notebook out on the table and Michael was doodling in it.

I found this:

Ok – maybe these boys might be a little girl crazy.

No worries though – I destroyed it just in case Mr. Gaga got any ideas……

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK WHEN SAM GOES TO KINDERGARTEN AND I HAVE A FULL NERVOUS BREAKDOWN!  IN THE MEANTIME PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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