Bye-Bye Summertime!!

It's been a long, lovely summer. The kids and I have swum in the ocean (from beaches in two states), the Long Island Sound and the largest lake in Connecticut. We've visited family and friends, and have attended about three hundred separate parties and events.

But now it's over, and it's time for fresh sneakers, sharpened pencils and that "new backpack" smell. 'Cause I've had it with all of the fun and insanity, and if these kids don't go back to school soon, I may just "happy" myself right into a psychotic break.

Mistress Heidi

I'm part Polish, and those of my maternal grandmother's relatives who didn't leave Poland at the start of World War II were killed by the Nazis during that long, bloody war. So I've always been a bit wary of things German, and of German nationalism in particular. I'm not proud of those feelings, especially since I frequently find myself lecturing the people around me about tolerance and love. But then somebody suggests we head out for Bratwurst, and it all goes to hell.

Then I met Heidi. Well, not met her exactly, just caught her act a few times on "Project Runway." Week after week I watched Mistress Heidi taunting the would-be designers, berating their choice of fabric or their lack of fashion sense. And - I swear to God - when she dismisses each week's loser with a crisp "Auf wiedersen!" I can actually hear a horsewhip cracking in the background.

These days I have to limit my exposure to Heidi and her dominatrix-like thrashing of the designers. Just the other I day I heard myself urging her to bitch-slap some poor idiot who'd put a beautiful girl in the most horrendous outfit ever created. "Yes, Heidi," I yelled at the television, "punish him again!"

And as I turn off the TV, breathless and glowing from another session with Mistress Heidi, I am acutely aware that this woman - this beautiful woman - has relieved me of my last and most firmly-held bias. Danke.

Lewis F***ing Black

... is the funniest son of a bitch to ever rock Westbury Music Fair (or any other venue, for that matter). I just got back from the show, and my insides hurt from laughing.

If you haven't caught his act on "The Daily Show" or seen his stand-up, you are missing one of the great comic talents of our time. Seriously. I would leave my husband for this guy. Funny trumps just about anything in my book.

He's cynical, wired and insanely bitter about the state of the world and its inhabitants. And I find this to be an irresistable combination. (Plus, I've always had a Catholic girl's fascination with Jewish men, and I've never been disappointed.)

Kudos, Lewis. And if you're ever in the market for a gently used shiksa, give me a buzz ...

St. Lucius the Flatulent

My sister lives in Connecticut, in a gated community that makes Wisteria Lane look like Dogpatch. The stories she tells about the very rich, very drunk ladies whose husbands abandon them (and their ADD children) in sprawling summer residences make me glad that I'm a year-round resident of Smalltown, USA.

The most recent such tale involved a drunken 40th birthday party, and an adult game of Truth or Dare that mostly centered around the ability and/or willingness of the Community wives to engage in fellatio with their sex-obsessed husbands. At the end of the evening, the menfolk were busily congratulating my brother-in-law and expressing their jealousy. You can guess why.

When sis related the tale in her usual isn't-that-just-so-funny? way, my jaw hit the floor. "Cheese Whiz," I told my sister, as our five kids ran around at our feet, "you're about two seconds from a key party." It took her a minute, but my 35 year-old sib finally took my meaning. "Is that a swinger thing?"

Where, for the love of all that is good and holy, did I go wrong with this kid?

And then it hit me. Even though my kid sister has recently converted to Judaism, and worships at a lovely Temple in another town, the rest of the Community spends Sunday mornings on bended knee at the town's biggest Catholic hot spot: St. Edward the Confessor. And what they don't tell good old St. Edward, they apparently reveal to each other over Merlot and shrimp cocktail.

So I'm thinking of making a petition to re-name the sanctuary to something that is more reflective of the zeitgeist in this little sex-charged suburb. Maybe you all could help? So far I just have a few:

St. Gene the Wart-Ridden
St. Angus the Lecherous
St. Maynard the Intoxicated
St. Cleve the Wife-Swapper

Irreverent much? You bet your sweet rosary ...

The Bitch is Back

Had a great time on vacation, despite the usual insanity and temper tantrums (not all of it was me; the kids had their moments too!). But more about that later. I'm busy touching base with all of my girls and making sure that the world didn't collapse whilst I was away.

Vacation!

August is the month when I haul my little honeys up to Connecticut to hang with their paternal grandparents, cousins and assorted family members. This year, we'll also spend a day at a Rhode Island beach, and finish off with a couple of days with my sister and her three little beauties. On the very last day, I'll be sitting for five kids, ages two through eight, while sis and her husband attend a bris three hours away. (I'm willing to have portions of my own anatomy sliced away in exchange for some help with the babysitting.)

I'll see you all when I get back. Keep our big friend warm for me until I return, okay girls?