Monday, May 30, 2016

Dirt Magnet

Unfasten your bedazzled belts.  It's Memorial Day.  It is now safe to move about the world in white.  Non-conformist that I am, I broke out the white two days ago.  You heard me.  I'm a rule-breaker, a fashion renegade.  The Short JG put on my crisp virginal shorts, newly purchased at a nice discount, and paraded through the neighborhood, waving my white flag, surrendering all common sense.  High school history books and secret government files will verify that the SJG is simply incapable of wearing white without attracting instantaneous schmutz.  I'm a dirt magnet.  How it lands on me, I can't tell you, but there it is, a black smudge of unknown origin, a stubborn spot that will never come out.  Oh sure, I can Shout it out, drown it in bleach to no avail.  Trust me, this mockery is eternal.  An endless reminder: Don't do it, do it, do it, don't you break out the white.  Post-walkies, my crisp virgins had been corrupted.  Deflowered by a demon speck.  Tragic, I know.  And yet, for a brief moment in time, my whiter-than-white shorts were perfect in every way, and so was the SJG.  It was fun while it lasted.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

The Passive-Aggressive Talking Car

Hubby's car likes to scold me. The second we pull into the driveway, the lady voice comes on to shame me. My car never says a thing. The only lady voice in my car is mine. I use my lady voice to sing along with "Hamilton," or yell at idiot drivers who shouldn't be on the road. But I yell quietly. I make sure the idiot drivers can't hear me.

The lady voice in hubby's car is passive-aggressive. The lady voice wants to keep baby in the car. As soon as I unfasten my seat belt, she takes offense. She orders me around in a sneaky and illogical, yet overly polite way.

She says this, and only this:
"Please fasten your seat belt."

Whereupon my lady voice offers up a lengthy and passionate response:
"Listen, you, I just unfastened my seat belt and now you want me to re-fasten it?"

Whereupon hubby stares straight ahead. He has heard this one-sided tiff more times than he cares to remember. Hubby keeps his man voice in check. Nice hubby. He knows this is a no-win situation.

"Not to mention," I continue, "I can't get out of the car if I remain fully fastened. What part of this equation isn't adding up for you? I can't vacate hubby's auto if I'm tied down by your nonsensical rules. I'm happy to fasten my seat belt when I'm en route to somewhere wonderful, like Gelson's, or better yet, an exotic vacation to Freedonia. But the fact that you insist I stay fastened and constricted when I'm already home is unacceptable. You are trying to hold me back, and to that, I say no, no, no. I have come too far in my life, I have logged way too many hours in therapy, to let you bully me. I'm evolved and self-realized, more or less. So, what have you got to say for yourself?"

Here's what she has to say. Nothing. She prefers to secretly laugh at me in silence. Like I said. Passive-aggressive.

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Filter Yourself

Ever wonder why your coworkers walk away while you're talking, refuse to sit with you in the lunch room, act like you have a contagious disease and/or spontaneously combust in your presence? Chances are it's time to change that iffy internal filter. But how? Are we talking surgery? Partial lobotomy? Personality transplant? Don't be silly. The nice people at SJG Enterprises have come up with Sheket Bevakashah!, a user-friendly device that's strictly ornamental, not to mention, electrically-charged to zap some sense into you. So, how does it work? Well, if you'd kindly sheket bevakashah long enough for me to get a word in, I'll tell you. Just slip on Sheket Bevakashah!, which comes in every color except puce, and each time you open your mouth, you'll get a harmless, low-voltage zetz that reminds you to filter your comments and shut up, please before you say another stupid, hurtful thing you'll regret. Comes in three sizes and frequencies: Occasional Tongue Slipper (one mild zetz'll do ya), Daily Offender (two medium zetzes) and Off-The-Chart Oversharer (three jolting zetzes) Retails for only $899.99. Hurry. These won't last forever. But your ability to alienate others will last a lifetime.
Such a lovely accessory. Fits most wrists.
Perfect for all occasions that involve talking. 

Friday, May 27, 2016

My Doctor's Feeble, Tacky Excuse

To Whom It May (or May Not) Concern,

Please excuse the Short Jewish Gal from posting her intergalatically-acclaimed blog today. I apologize on her behalf for the inconvenience and heartache that the absence of her blog may (or may not) cause today. But she cannot blog today. Don't ask her. Why? I'll tell you why. I went to medical school. I just examined her petite personage and found she is suffering from an alarming condition that gets little attention: Broadway Theater Withdrawal. She hasn't seen a big splashy musical in over a week and the pain is unbearable. Throw in the nasal difficulties that continue to taunt her, the lingering jet lag and the nonstop questioning of her existence, and she's a medical mess. There is no known cure, I'm afraid, but God willing, with a little rest and some more time spent listening to "Hamilton," she'll be well enough to blog tomorrow.

Thank you for understanding (or not).

Be well,
Dr. Mordecai Mezuzah
Private Concierge Physician to the SJG

Thursday, May 26, 2016

The Ultimate Cliffhanger

The search for the ultimate cliffhanger is serious business in TV. 
Without a good cliffhanger, the audience might not come 
back next season to find out...
I'm pretty sure it was...
Bing Crosby's daughter. 
But what happens when the nail-biter... 
Never gets resolved? Because they cancelled "Nashville"?
And now you'll never know if Juliette won an Academy Award! 
Or God forbid plotzed in a plane crash!
What the Harold Hecuba do you do then?
What she said. 

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

The Great Escape

It occurred to me early this morning that life is a series of escapes. When we're kids, we can't wait to escape into adulthood. We think grown ups have it going on. Then we get to be grown ups, and we wonder what the hurry was; this grown up thing isn't all it's cracked up to be. For starters, you have to pay for stuff. Where's the fun in that? So we long to escape back into childhood, when it was simple and easy and all we had to do to get money was make the bed and do a few chores and our parents handed us an allowance every Sunday. But we're grown ups now, and without a workable time machine, we can't escape into the past. We can try, but the thing is, we're grown ups with responsibilities. Then we take it up a notch. We have kids of our own. They're so adorable and lovable and we can't wait for them to go the eff to sleep so we can escape for a while. Then we take it to the next level. We go on quests to find the perfect babysitter so we can escape for a few hours.  Getting out of the house becomes a mental health requirement. We beg our parents to "watch the kids" so we can sneak away for a few nights and remember why we got married in the first place. "Oh, yeah. Hi. You're nice. It's all coming back to me now."

And then our kids become teenagers and can't wait to escape from us. They stay out all night and worry us sick. They enroll in colleges that are far, far away. They don't get in, necessarily, but it's healthy to dream. Maybe they only escape a few hours away, but they're out there in the universe, aren't they, pretending to be grown ups for a while. It's a dress rehearsal. They're not adults yet. They're emerging into something else. And then they graduate college and all that escaping leads them right back to the beginning. They move back in with us and plan their next big escape into the real world of employment and paying the rent and all that fun stuff we've been handling for them since birth.

These days, I'm trying to escape from reality, a few moments here, a few moments there. Every day, I'm collecting my frequent flyer miles, planning my next big escape, even if I don't leave the house.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Professor SJG

She's an occasionally-employed TV writer, an adorably neurotic dog owner, an internationally-worshipped blogger, and soon the Short Jewish Gal will have another role to add to that list — professor.  The SJG will join the London School of Kvetchonomics in the fall as a visiting professor, teaching a new master course called "Mothering Millennials: How To Text With Intention." She's expected to give lectures and take part in workshops related to: "Enabling Via Emojis," "Abbreviated Nagging" and "Parenting Young Adults In 140 Characters Or Less." "I am looking forward to teaching and to learning from the students as well as to sharing my own experiences as an overprotective mother of not one, but two very handsome millennials who sometimes listen to me, which is better than nothing," the SJG said in a statement. But are students looking forward to the SJG's stint as a professor, too? "I think it's gonna be a weird class, sitting there with the Short Jewish Gal," one student told NBC News with a laugh. "I mean, she's the Guilt Expert of the Western World. If it were me, I'd come in armed with her favorite Pepperidge Farm cookies and a gallon or two of Peet's Coffee, with room for cream." Another student remained optimistic, saying, "If she makes us kugel, it's all good."