2005-07-14 - 2:13 a.m.

It�s a sorry, sorry state when my last entry wasn�t event about ME�.and it�s been up there for, like, a month. �Scusi, scusi,� my faithful readers. I know how sad and disappointed you must be to find only the same old crazy sperm-seeking woman story.

Well, rejoice�a whole bunch of new shit is bursting forth from my noggin. Sometimes I have to shake and rattle it a bit to dislodge some recent events/memories. It gets kinda dusty up there. But, anyway, here we go�in no particular order of fabulosity or even vague interest:

4th of July Weekend � Oh such HIGH-larity with my darling daughter, who arrived in New York after spending two full days at Pearson Airport in Toronto because of delayed flights on one of only two planes Canjet owns. Don�t get me started on the incompetence, arrogance, laziness and general �Um, I don�t care/when�s my lunch break Canadian-ness� of the folks at this sorry-ass airline.

Anyway, all�s well that ends well, and Elizabeth arrived looking svelte (that word always sounds Yiddish to me��svelte, shmelte�) and gorgeous�via a combination of not eating when Mike�s not around (huh?), plus magic Apple Cider Vinegar pills. I just bought the large economy size to try and whittle off some of the lardage I�ve accumulated over the past nine months (NO, I wasn�t pregnant�seriously, there�s less than ZERO chance of that�not only because my eggs are in the Museum of Natural History�but because I haven�t had sex in over four months.) Where was I?

Oh, 4th of July weekend. Elizabeth and I jaunted off to our summer cottage in Quogue in the fabulous Hamptons. Fabulous, that is, for everyone who DOESN�T live in our cottage. This little place used to be the Village blacksmith�s shop 100 years ago�and, since that time, rooms have been added haphazardly, so that nothing really makes sense (architecturally and aesthetically-speaking). But it�s quirky and charming�and was once the summer home of the late great actress Tallulah Bankhead. There�s a hot water heater smack dab in the middle of the kitchen and it still has the $259 price sticker on it from P.C Richards. When you flush the toilet the water backs up into the bathroom sink. There are holes in most of the window and door screens, so it�s a carnival of moths, ants, spiders, beetles and bees. But we love it�its charming as hell, and we�ve been going out there for more than 23 years. (Elizabeth celebrated her second birthday in the backyard!!) Someday, when I�m more techno-savvy, my diary might actually include photos of �Awwwwww-inspiring� events like that.

So, the first day in Quogue, we immediately drove to the Tanger Outlet Mall in Riverhead�a ticky-tacky town that�s always 20 degrees hotter than anywhere else on Long Island�or Planet Earth, for that matter. But this mall has lots of great designer-discount stores, and we shopped, I am ashamed to tell you�for SIX HOURS!!!�on a beautiful sunny day when most NORMAL people were at the beach. Driving over we had a hip-hop station blasting on the radio of our �86 Subaru station wagon, and Liz was doing a highly-animated funkadelic dance routine while seated with her seat belt securely fastened. You had to see it to believe it. She totally kills me..!!! I was laughing so hard I could barely drive. I was literally HOWLING and begging her to stop b/c I thought (a) I would swerve off the road or (b) I would have an asthma attack or (c) pee my pants. Happily none of that happened, and we enjoyed our shopping marathon from Ralph Lauren to Barney�s to Saks to Brooks Brothers to J.Crew to Ann Taylor to Bath & Body Works�and, against our better judgement, we even had lunch at the food court, which was a horrifying experience undertaken purely out of utter starvation.

The next day, we actually made it to the beach. I broke my toe that morning, so was hobbling around cursing and complaining about the sand and everything, but Liz braved the ocean which was only 64 degrees and packed with seaweed. Our blanket was next to a group of gaybots discussing their Broadway auditions and their dance injuries and all sorts of other �fancy� (*wink, wink*) topics. It was ever so droll.

Back at the cottage, the Mann women scurried up a delicious dinner of pasta with many vegetables, olives, and fresh basil from our garden. Then we got into bed (together in my queen-size) for more mommy-baby bonding, reading magazines, gossiping, talking about girl-type hair removal and about our friend H., who is an eccentric but totally lovable guy�a truly unforgettable character. I�ve since forgotten the entire context of our conversation�but it involved H�s habit of dating women much, much, much younger than himself and the fact that� at 51�he still wants to have kids. (Hello?) Somehow�this led to a discussion on ways he could combine his date search with assurances of viable children-in-the-raw�which led to our coming up with variations of �Embryos here witcha� and �Zygotes comin� atcha� (forms of expression H. tends to use and that we�ve adopted in endless ways). Anyway, we got into a fit of laughter so hard and unstoppable that we BOTH had to use my asthma inhaler in order to breathe. You TOTALLY had to be there. But that�s the way it is with Liz�we always have the funnest time.

Back in the city, MORE shopping. I dragged a totally hung-over Elizabeth to help me find a dress to wear to a black-tie wedding�not an easy task now that I�ve turned into Fudgy the Whale. After trying on all sorts of frothy chiffons and strapless confections�we picked a retro-style, fitted floral satin number, which covered up most of the bulges and flab and kinda clings to my bodacious booty. Liz says it makes me look like �wiggle mom.� I totally need her to shop with me�because; left to my own devices, I always buy something that causes Liz to say, �What are you�12?��.or �Can you say welfare check?��or �Hooker-licious��or something else that renders an outfit a �fashion DON�T.�

So, last night I completed this wedding ensemble with the only pair of shoes I could find that didn�t KILL my broken toe. Liz would die. They are cheap-ass, low-heeled sandals that make my tree-stump legs look like Redwoods. It�s a sorry, sorry sight.

But, I�ve since adopted Elizabeth�s no eating/apple cider vinegar regimen and, hopefully, am on the road back to human form. The last straw was trying to buy a bra and staring at my billowing back-fat in the three-way mirror. Once you develop �back fat,� you might as well put on a muu-muu, a pair of fuzzy bedroom slippers and sit in the park talking to homeless strangers. That�s how bad it is. There�s NOTHING worse. So, baby�s got BACK(fat)�but not for long. Now I�m mad as hell at the disgraceful state I�ve been wallowing in lo these nine months, and it�s stopping here and NOW.

Stay tuned for more of the bitching and moaning you�ve grown to love.


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