Shelter Island Isolation

Island Vision

CableVision claims to give all its customers excellent service, but it ignores the needs of the two thousand residents of Shelter Island. CableVision should assign one of its executives to live on the Island through a winter, then they’d understand.

We need CableVision to stop running commercials that unfairly torture us and run commercials that we can use.

We don’t have any chain or franchise stores here; no McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, KFC, nuthin’. Every time we see a commercial for a Whopper, we cry, because to get one means a $15 ferry ride and a 45 minute drive to Riverhead. A Whopper costs us nearly a hundred bucks, twenty for the ferry and gas, and another eighty for the food. Eighty for food? Hell yes. As soon as anyone finds out you’re making a fast food run to Riverhead, they put in orders, “If you’re going to Burger King, can you loop through McDonalds and get me......?”. You return with a car full of food. You have to have an extra bag of fries to eat on the way back so you don’t pull over and raid all the bags. Once you’re on the ferry, you have to remember to open the window only a crack to give the ferryman your ticket, you must not let the aroma of Big Macs, Whoppers and fries escape! If you do, they’ll call friends to intercept you on your way home and McSteal your McStash.

All the movie commercials need to stop. The closest theater is a ferry ride and a half hour drive after that. Movies cost us about $50; $20 for ferry and gas, $30 for tickets and treats. Unless it’s a four star movie, it’s not worth our time.

All the Viagra and similar commercials to be banned on Shelter Island in the winter. We don’t have any time for that. Winters are financially tough for everyone, there’s not many full time jobs, most are part time. Most Islanders work three part time jobs (I have four) to keep going. Nobody has any time for Viagra, we have to get to work.

We don’t have a Macy’s, Penny’s or any big store, so all those sales just make us sad. The Home Depot ads are especially hard on the men. They see rows of hardware in the commercials, rows and bins of stuff they can’t pick through. It’s just so sad to see a grown man pointing to the TV showing a sale on Table Saws and whimpering, “I want that. I could go there and get that today if I didn’t live here.”

We hate the e.harmony matchmaking commercials. We just know that one of the compatibility questions will be; Where do you like to live?
A] City with lots of excitement
B] Urban community with access to many activities
C] Country where it’s peaceful and quiet
D] On an isolated island off the east coast with absolutely no amenities.

We need Island oriented commercials. A glow in the dark ferry ticket holder that clips on your car visor. A set of special headlights that signal to the ferries in morse code: “I’m an Islander, I know I missed the last boat, but please come back and get me or promise to feed my cat in the morning.”

We need commercials for memory booster pills; “Live on Shelter Island? Can’t remember who’s related or married to whom? Take MemoJack and the next time someone asks,”Is he a Clark or an Olinkiewicz? YOU will know the answer!”

Or a mini-generater; “Electric out again because some moron in Sag Harbor or Greenport hit a pole? No problem with Black & Decker’s new Island Home Buzz Me Big Boy portable mini generator!”

We need magnetic car panels. On Shelter Island, you are identified by your car. If you get a new car you practically have to announce it in the paper. If you sell your car to another Islander, all hell breaks loose from the confusion. We need big 2 foot square magnetic car panels that we can put on the drivers door that announces our name, or any change in ownership, or any other intentions; “Used to be a Kaasik car, now owned by a McGayhey” or “Going in for repair, I will be in a loaner next week”.

A Venison Teleportation Device is desperately needed here. “Tired of the deer eating everything in your flower or veggie garden? Tired of seeing those commercials about children starving in the third world? Solve two problems at once with the New Ronco Doe Go! Space Age Teleporter. The next time you see a deer munching on your rosebuds, aim Doe Go at her, and in a flash, she’s dinner for a whole village!”

Coffee - Black or Light?

Black or Light?

I was never much of a coffee drinker growing up. I was a tea drinker until I had my first child. Getting up to feed her two and three times a night and still work full time for an unreasonable boss who demanded conscious employees, drove me to drinking coffee. As time went on, like most, I needed that morning kick to get started.

You wouldn’t think that coffee could become an issue of contention in a marriage. But those who have lived long enough know that ANYTHING can become an “issue” in a marriage. I know a couple who fought over which end of the tub you should step into with the shower running. He stepped into the showerhead side and she would step into the other end and walk into the shower spray, which drove him crazy. Why? No reason, that was just one of his pecadilloes. For me, it’s reading over my shoulder. I can’t explain or justify it, but nothing will incite me to homicidal thoughts faster than someone reading over my shoulder. My ex thought that was unreasonable, so he read over my shoulder whenever he could to help “break” me from my issue with it. I made a case to respect each other’s idiosyncratic behaviors, but what a fool am I, men don’t have any idiosyncratic behaviors, everything they do is logical for those with eyes to see.

I like any kind of fresh coffee, light and sweet. I don’t care about the brand, or how it was prepared. I just need it to be in a cup with sweetener and creamer.

My ex was a pain in the ass coffee cononseur. He used the Chemex coffee system. We purchased whole fresh beans which were kept in the freezer. When you wanted coffee, you put a kettle of water on to boil, then you got the beans from the freezer, ground them in the tiny grinder, stopping twice to lift the lid and stir the beans so you got a perfectly even grind. Once the water reached boiling, you take it off the burner and let it cool for exactly two minutes so that it is at the optimal brewing temperature. While the water is cooling, fold the filter correctly and put it in the top of the Chemex all glass “V” shaped pot. Put in the coffee and a small amount of water, just enough to wet the grinds. Now pour in the hot water s-l-o-w-l-y to facilitate a slow drip. Do all this while you have a toddler wrapped around one leg and you are holding a baby in one arm. If you had some caffeine in your system, you could make an argument for a normal coffeepot and even ignore his threats to throw out any Mr. Coffee you bring home. He was a purist, it was perfect coffee or no coffee.

My ex drank his coffee black, because he said, that’s the only way coffee should be drunk. My mother drinks hers with a half teaspoon of milk and a quarter packet of any artificial sweetener. When either of them fixed me a coffee, it was as nearly black as it could be without actually being black. Just a teaspoon of milk and half packet of sweetener, because I couldn’t possibly want it any lighter or sweeter, could I? Somehow that would defy all the laws of coffee drinking, it wouldn’t taste like burnt acid with all that creamer and sweetner in it, it might taste very nice with some outside help from Coffeemate, well, we can’t have that. The people who take coffee black or close to it, willl just never understand those of us who prefer it light and sweet I guess.

Recently, a friend offered to get me a coffee to go from a deli. “How do you like it?” she asked.
“Light and sweet. Put in 2 packets of sweetner and 25% of whatever they have for creamer. It should look like chocolate milk when you’re through with it,” I responded. I thought my instructions were fairly clear.
She brought me my coffee and I thanked her. Popping off the plastic top, I saw nearly black coffee.
“Is it too dark?” she asked. “I take mine black. I didn’t think you’d want all that creamer in there.”
“No. This is fine,” I said, once more reisgned to my fate that only another Lite & Sweet person knows what light and sweet means.

Valentine's Day Revenge

I wrote this column for Valentine's Day 2000. My friend Patty, who is a very bad influence on me, insisted that I put this column up with the newer one behind it. Hope you all laugh as hard as she did.

Valentine's Day 2000

It's interesting how tragedies and misfortunes in our lives sometimes become laughable events in retrospect. I am clearly the stupidest women I know when it comes to men. In the Parade of Fools, my face is on the first three floats.

I hate Valentine's Day. On Valentine's Day in 1981, on our second Valentine's Day as a married couple, my ex-mistake gave me a dozen beautiful long stem roses. I love roses and as I recall, this was an exceptionally beautiful bouquet. I set the vase on the table and sat down to look at my roses. As I filled with feelings of love for my spouse, he chose that exact moment to confess a ten month affair with a co-worker.

In the Guide to Being a Lousey Husband Handbook, Chapter 7, is called "If She Don't Ask, Don't Tell". This chapter explains the many benefits of not confessing affairs that your wife has no clue about. I don't think my spouse read that chapter. I stayed with him of course because he swore he'd never do it again and he meant it because he gave me expensive jewelry.

Fast forward four years, Valentine's Day again. I am putting the finishing touches on an 18 month project for my degree in Hospital Administration. I am exhausted to the bone. I must completely focus on this project. My spouse had been hammering at me all day to go to a fertility clinic because he wanted to start a family and he was angry that I wasn't pregnant. I suggested it might be HIM. He chose that exact moment to tell me about another affair with another co-worker oh, and by the way, the woman he told me about four years earlier had gotten pregnant and aborted. I thought I was in a Woody Allen movie. Anyway, he was sorry again and I got more expensive jewelry to prove it.

In the Guide to Being a Lousey Husband Handbook, page 87 clearly states, "When attempting to induce your wife to become pregnant, resist the urge to cite the number of other women you have gotten pregnant since your marriage began."

Since I came back to Shelter Island two years ago, I've been asked out three times, by married men. Well, I'm fat does but not desparate. I can't imagine putting another woman through what I went through.

I thought I'd share some more tips from the Guide to Being a Lousey Husband Handbook.
Don't charge flowers for your girlfriend on your wife's credit card.
Don't charge your girlfriend abortion on your wife's credit card! (How fucking stupid can he be?)
Don't ask women out in the grocery aisles, your wife could could be in the next aisle - dummy.
A strange hairbrush in the bathroom with short blond hair will be noticed by a wife with long auburn hair.
We both know you don't shower before you come home from a poker game.
Don't call out the wrong name in bed.
Since when did you start buying new clothes for yourself? Especially new underwear...
All of a sudden you're eating healthy?
Just when did you realize you should've seen the dentist years ago?
You bought yourself a gold neck chain? Right....
You saw it on Oprah? When did you start watching Oprah?
Why should we get a new unlisted number? Who are we evading?
Why can't she call a plumber? How come you have to go look at her sink?
When caught "en flagrante" don't even bother trying to talk your way out of it. Do not say,
"Hey, who ya gonna believe? Me or your lyin' eyes?"


My ex begged me not to file for divorce. He said he believed marriage was forever. I admit to being a bitch. I wanted to go for counsuling and I kept demanding he give up the girlfriend...

On December 25, 1996, he gave me a faux mink coat from Neiman Marcus to die for. Most real looking fake I have ever seen.

On December 26, 1996, I filed for divorce .... and I wore the coat when I filed....

Hey Honey, I gotcha Valentine right heah....

Valentine's Day - Oy Vey!!!

Valentine’s Day: ICU means I Love You

Valentine’s Day. The day when all men must answer the question, “how much do you love me and why isn’t it more?”

I feel sorry for men on Valentine’s Day. They know they have to get it right, but they are so lost on how to do it. When men are courting, they truly want to get it right because they want to build the relationship. But after the foundation of the relationship, and you, have been laid, Valentines Day becomes a nuisance to them. A maintenance task like mowing the lawn or changing the oil.

Men struggle to find the cheapest and easiest gift they can get you that will still fulfill the female need for yet another protestation of love. Courting men try to choose the cheapest gift they can get that will still make her feel obligated to show her appreciation. Married men no longer hope for any intimate access for their efforts, they just don’t want to get in any trouble. THey don’t want their woman slamming kitchen cabinets the next day and finding the single fake rose they bought stuck to the cabinet with a steak knife through it. Please don’t feel bad if that happened to you, all men in a long term relationship make the mistake of buying the last minute fake rose with a crappy card once, but just once. If they make that mistake twice, we move them into the divorced, or soon to be divorced, man category.

All of the flower and candy companies have a range of gifts for men to select from. I recall a male friend looking at a FTD type newspaper insert that showed all the different flower & gift combo’s he could choice from. His eyes scanned back and forth in desperation, finally he slapped the table and said, “Well hell, I don’t know what to pick.”
“How much gratitude do you want?” I asked. “This tiny rose plant in a coffee cup you’re looking at will get you a hug and a kiss on the cheek.”
“You mean, there’s a system?” the fool asked incredulously.
“Yes,” I said nonchalantly.
“How would you know?” he asked, mistakenly thinking that a middle aged woman who looks like a PTA mom, has no past (let me tell all you guys right now, we all have a past).
I gave him that well practiced icy stare that all women have. The one that shrinks them to the size of a bug. “Ask the crew of the Nimitz,” I said very quietly.
“Ouch! I’m convinced. Will you tell me how this works, please?”
“Absolutely. There’s a direct correlation between the amount of thought and money spent on a gift and the amount of appreciation we feel obligated to show you to insure that we’ll get another great gift next year as well.”
”Okay. How much appreciation could I get for a dozen red roses?”
“You could get a decent make out session.”
Well, what if I, if I, ah, would like a little more appreciation?”
“Depends on the vase. Send the roses in a plain glass vase wouldn’t get you any extra points. But send them in the murano glass vase, you could get a lot of appreciation for that,” I answered.
“Is there anything in this flyer that could get me anything ah, exotic appreciation?”
“Sorry, there’s no kinky sex bouquet. You have to add jewelry to roses and candy to get anything like that.”
“Did your husband know about this system?”
“Yes, he did. I got a pair of emerald and diamond earrings totaling 4 carats one Valentine’s Day.”
”Wow, what did you have to, I mean, I guess you had to show a lot of appreciation for that.”
“Oh yes, he was well appreciated that night. He didn’t complain once the whole next week when he was in the Intensive Care Unit.”

So, for all you guys shopping for the Valentine’s gift this week, get real flowers or real (sterling or 14kt) jewelry. Buy a nice card, I don’t care if it costs you $5, you don’t want to see your card with a steak knife through it, do you? And if you get a really spectacular gift, you too, could wind up in ICU.

Rich Bitch & Boy Toys

Bait and Switch

“For the mature woman who has everything: a boy toy.
By Robert Campbell (AP Jan 30, 10:49 AM ET)
Wanted: rich older women interested in hot younger guys. Applicants must be over 35, earn at least $500,000 a year or have a minimum of $4 million in liquid assets, entrusted assets or divorce settlement.
That's the basis of a speed-dating event organized by a New York entrepreneur bringing together 20 "sugar mamas" and 20 "boy toys" vetted by an elite New York matchmaker. "Symbiosis has allowed ugly rich men to attract young, gorgeous, money-hungry women for centuries; it's now the women's turn," proclaims pocketchangenyc.com.”

“Sally, you’ve cooked up some crazy ideas before, but this one is crazy enough to actually work.”
“I think it has a shot. All the single women on the Island complain all the time that there’s no one new to date. Dating on Shelter Island is like playing musical chairs. Everybody is somebody else’s ex. All the men have been recycled.”
“That’s true, I’ve cycled through the available Island guys twice. So, the plan is, we send some real rich Island women to this event as bait to lure some of these hot guys back.”
“I know two gals, stinkin’ rich. They’ll go to the event if I tell them that the guys are shoe designers who select the women whom they think are attractive enough to wear their shoes. You know rich people can’t handle rejection. These women will bribe the guys to come to the Island with their goods to see if the shoe fits....”
”How do we get rid of the rich women after they get the guys here?”
“Simple, we tell them the truth. The men don’t have any designer shoes and worse, they have no money. They’ll drop them like a ferral cat at the dumps.”
“How do we keep the guys on the Island, Sally?”
“Ah, that’s where my true genius comes in. We are on an Island after all. We bribe, threaten, or blackmail the ferrymen to ban these new guys from the ferries. Next, we find married men with boats to patrol the Island and stifle any escape attempts.”
“Married men with boats?”
“Of course, they are constantly looking for any excuse to get out of the house before She Who Must Be Obeyed can assign any chores. And any excuse that gets them on their boat is welcome. By patroling the waters around the Island and preventing any escapes, they get out of the house and in their boats. If we add beer, it will be perfect.”
“What about if the captives call for help on their cell phones?”
“We’ll frisk them for cell phones, or any communication devices, but if one of them manages to make any off-island contact, we’ll just stonewall whomever comes. We don’t know anyone by that name or description.”
“I love it.”
“I’m telling you, it can work. I figure we can keep them here for at least a year. We’ll put them on a rotation list so everybody gets an equal shot at each new guy. If we don’t like them, we just let them go.”
“Just like that? What if they report us to the authorities?”
“Who’s going to believe them that they were held captive on a tiny Island by wild single women? The cops will think they just swallowed too much sea water, or they might get committed, either way, they’ll never sell the story.”
“Gosh, a new man on Shelter Island, wow, it doesn’t happen very often, Sally.”
“Yep. I almost feel sorry for the poor slobs. One rotation with the Island gals, won’t be nothin’ left of these boys but their shoelaces.”
“Serves them right for trying to marry women just for their money.”
“Remember the old saying, when you marry for money, you earn every penny of it.”