Friday, September 4, 2015

A Little Twisted

Dear SJG,
I'm feeling like a twisted challah of nerves. My 108-year-old Not-So-Great Auntie Gert is threatening to come to Rosh Hashanah dinner. I'm terrified she'll plotz before the brisket's sliced. Plus, I've already set the table and there's no room for her minyan of caregivers. Is there a diplomatic way to handle this delicate situation?
Yeast Likely to Rise to the Occasion

Dear Yeast Likely,
Cancel the dinner. Who needs the aggravation?
You're welcome,

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Never Wake A Sleeping Woman

When is the last time I overslept? Hmm. Traditionally, I tend to undersleep. So this is a tough one. Let me think about it. Don't pressure me. You're so impatient, you. The last time I overslept was... wait... it's coming to me. Oh, right. This morning. This morning I overslept, selfishly neglecting the rules embedded in my keppy, whether or not they still apply.
Rule #1:
Get tush out of bed by 6:20. Adoring sons need shlepping to public shul.
Revised Rule #1:
Oh, right. Sons no longer need shlepping. They can shlep themselves wherever they need to go. Or take Uber.
Rule # 2;
Let hubby get his tush out of bed by 6:20. The Elderly Eccentric Pup needs shlepping at a snail's pace around the neighborhood.
Revised Rule #2:
Oh right, this still applies. Have I got hubby well-trained, or what?
Rule #3:
Get tush out of bed by 7.
Revised Rule #3:
Or stay in bed. Milk it as long as possible. Here's what I've learned the hard way. Until I get out of bed, the universe revolves around me. Once I step foot on the luxurious yet affordable bamboo, all bets are off. So now and then, I oversleep. In this way, I accidentally grab an extra moment of "me" time.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Wolfgang Meets The SJG

"Excuse me.... but... is it... is it really you? The Short Jewish Gal?"
"Yes, Wolfgang. It's me. Who else would it be?"
"Someone I don't idolize from afar."
"Oh, Wolfie. Don't stop there. Tell me more."
"I've always wanted to meet you."
"What? Me? Why?"
"Because of the kugel."
"You know from kugel?"
"I know from your kugel."
"Dear God in heaven, you're making me kvell all over the tablecloth."
"And you, SJG, are making me happy as a fresh butter clam."
"So, tell me, what's with your kugel obsession?"
"May I sit down and tell you?"
"It's your place. You can do whatever you want."
"Thank you. Just yesterday, I Googled kugel, and up came your recipe."
"Get out of town!"
"I can't leave just yet."
"Fair enough. Continue."
"I'm thinking of adding kugel to the menu for the Jewish holidays. Using your recipe."
"Smart man."
"I'm thinking it's a perfect pizza topping."
"Kugel Pizza? God forbid. Sorry, Wolfie, but that would never fly with my people. Kugel deserves its own universe. You throw it on dough, you're looking at tsuris."
"What if I call it the SJG Kugel Pizza?"
"On second thought, the SJG Kugel Pizza is exactly what the world needs right now."
"I thought you'd like it."
"Like it? Try love it. Especially if my pizza winds up in the frozen section at Gelson's. It'll be a mob scene. They'll be lining up around the block. This could be the international sensation you've been waiting for."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, SJG."
"Wolfie, you want to use my recipe or not?"

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Society of Delusional Thinkers

Oy vey, I turn around, I dance the hora, and it's practically Rosh Hashanah. How did that happened? Wait, I know. The Jewish Holidays are weather-related. If it's hot and muggy, it must be time to dip those apples in honey and wish people you know, and some you don't, a sweet New Year. And yet, there's nothing new about this High Holiday Heat Factor. Every year, those of us who are still allowed in temple dress nicely and off we go again, fighting for a good seat, hoping that fellow congregants don't cough and sneeze and spread germs and kibbitz throughout the service. Between leaving the house and parking, however, we realize we should never have worn this skirt, those shoes, that dress, but we did, didn't we, and now we must suffer till the shofar blows. Then we can go home, strip naked and jump into the pool, whether it's our pool or somebody else's. Not to worry, though. The SJG has special powers. At least I like to think so, otherwise, I'd be shunned by the S.S.J.D.T. (Society of Short Jewish Delusional Thinkers) and we can't have that, can we?
"Actually, these aren't bad times to be delusional."
Much like my much-missed father, I've decided I can control the weather. Whether or not this is true, is beside the point. If I say I can, I can. It worked for him during WWII, when he made it rain so they wouldn't have to fly dangerous missions over Germany. Why shouldn't it work for me? Why shouldn't I be able to turn down the big temperature gauge in the sky and make it cooler, so that my Spanx don't stick to the reupholstered chair my temple dues helped pay for?
So, I'm planning to take charge of this situation. I'm planning to turn the temp down to a respectable 87 degrees. We can live with that, can't we? What? Not good enough. Oh, fine. You ask so much of me. I'll make it 86, maybe 85, in time for Rosh Hashanah. After that, you're on your own. I can't do everything for you. You need to take responsibility, too, you know. I can't enable you for life. Or maybe I can. On second thought, just tell me what you want. I'll make it happen. In this way, I'm somewhat delusional.

Monday, August 31, 2015

Minute Shrink Clinic

"Come in. Sit down. So, what's bothering you today?"
"Could you be more specific?"
"I'm feeling disappointed."
"Aw, well, that narrows it down."
"What should I do?"
"Lower your expectations."
"Expect less."
"Less of what?"
"So if I expect less, I'll feel better?"
"You can't feel any worse."
"But what if --"
"Sorry. Time's up."
"But it's only been 50 seconds!"
"What'd you expect?"
"A full minute."
"What did I just say about expectations?"
"I should lower them."
"Starting now."

Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Tall and The Short of It

"I heard she's shrinking." "Who isn't?"

At the health club before class:
"I had a bone density test on Friday."
"How'd it go?"
"I'm shrinking."
"If you're shrinking, I'm in big trouble."
"I'm no longer 5'9.  I'm 5'8."
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"
"I'm sorry for your loss of height."
"You don't seem sorry."
"When you hit 5'2, I'll send heartfelt condolences."

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Just One More Thing

"Here's your license and your insurance card back."
"Thanks. Just one more thing. Why am I hearing 'Happy Birthday' over and over again? Is it someone's birthday today?"
"Oh. Then I'm really losing my mind."
"You're not the only one."
"You're hearing it, too?"
"Actually, I'm hearing 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.' "
"So I haven't lost it, completely. I feel so much better now."
"Good. Have a seat. We'll call your name soon."
"Just one more thing. Why am I hearing 'Happy Birthday' and you're hearing 'Twinkle, Twinkle'?"
"It's not 'Happy Birthday.' It's Twinkle, Twinkle.' "
"Oh my God, you're absolutely right. I have lost it. How could I not know the difference between the melody for 'Happy Birthday' and 'Twinkle Twinkle'?"
"If you'd been hearing it for the past 20 minutes, I promise you, you'd know it's 'Twinkle, Twinkle.' "
"Twenty minutes? You poor gal. You're keeping it together, nicely."
"Thank you. Have a seat. We'll call your name soon."
"Just one more thing. Is there a reason 'Twinkle, Twinkle' is playing on a continuous loop? Is it office policy? A nice way to calm down the ladies before we get our boobies flattened like pancakes?"
"There's a little boy over there, waiting for his mommy. He's got a toy that plays 'Twinkle, Twinkle.' "
"Oh, well, that explains it."
"Yes, it does."
"Just one more thing. Do you think he'd mind if I 'borrowed' his toy and forgot to give it back?"
"I think he'd probably mind."
"Then I won't."
"Smart decision. Have a seat. We'll call your name soon."