Bar Mitzvah-A-Thon

Eric ponders the mysterious ways of the SJG

Early Friday, we left rainy Burbank and hours later, landed in NYC, where it was chilly and sunny.  Normally, the SJG heads East to dance, sing and recite Shakespearean soliloquys on the Broadway stage, till Security hauls me away.  But this quick trip was different.  This was all about the Bar Mitzvah-A-Thon in Westchester, where they take celebration to new heights.  (Who knew?)  We traveled with our dear friends the Schotzes, great people we've known since high school.  My history with Eric involves him giving me sh*t, and me giving it back.  On this trip, it started on the plane, when I slipped half a trankky beneath my tongue.  "It's my pre-game anti-anxiety strategy," I told him. He didn't understand.  My other pre-game strategies puzzled him, too.  The nasal misting, the antibiotic on the Q-tip.  "What the @#$% are you doing?"  "I'm avoiding a double ear infection, like the one I got flying into Seattle about 20 years ago."  He didn't understand that part, either.  At JFK, the hubbies walked four miles ahead of us, in a rush for what, I don't know.  Linda told me her father Stan never minded following Eric. He'd always say, "Wherever he's going is good."  I prefer to be escorted by a Victorian gentleman taking care of my every need. To this day, my brother John insists on walking curbside, in case, God forbid, a horse and buggy should go by and splash me with mud.

This is how I like to stroll

 Friday night, we went to a nice Reform temple in Scarsdale to watch Michael, the Bar Mitzvah boy, say a few nice things in Hebrew. I did my best to behave myself, but I can't speak for, or defend, the other members of my party, which included Paul, another dear friend we've known since junior high.  Let's just say the rabbi made them stay after services and write, "I will not sleep in temple," 100 times on the blackboard. 

Linda keeps the SJG warm

In the morning, hubby and I were so desperate for coffee, we bowed our heads in gratitude every time the waiter poured us a cup and said, "Thank you, sir, may I have another."  Later, we went on a walking tour of White Plains with Eric, Linda and their son Zach, born one week before Scotty, and therefore, my substitute son for the weekend.  I hugged him often, without warning, and he tolerated it so well.

Linda, Zach and Eric

We also visited a huge, sprawling mall, where my only goal was to find product to salvage my hair, impaired by long hours of headset wear on the plane. "Is this White Plains or Sherman Oaks?" I asked Linda, as we shopped in Sephora.  She wasn't sure, but showed me a great new mascara to buy.  On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at CVS, so that Eric, who made fun of my nasal misting on the plane, could buy Afrin.  The rest of us stayed outside.  While hubby and Linda, the maven behind Vintage Jules (see how I worked that in?) got busy with their phones, Zach and I witnessed the emotional and heart wrenching breakup of Tanisha and her boyfriend Ray-Jay.  According to Zach, who has younger ears and heard more, Tanisha cheated on Ray-Jay.  Ray-Jay didn't like that.  He said they were done and wanted the money back that he'd loaned her. Tanisha didn't have the money (what?!) and stormed off.  "And they made such a nice couple," I said, trying to comfort Zach, who was pretty upset by the whole thing. 

And on to the Bar Mitzvah, a joyous occasion.  Michael did a sensational job and we kvelled like crazy.  At the after-party, we drank and schmoozed and charmed our way through the room, and, as happens often, I did a little on-the-spot therapy with someone in need, offering my usual brilliant insights into the human condition.  It was easy to zone in on his personal mishegas and set him straight. "It comes down to this," I said, hoping I had nothing stuck in my teeth, "Just stop doing that thing you keep doing and you'll feel better."  "That is genius," he said.  "I'm here to help," I said, humbly.  The schmooze fest shifted to the main room, where the music blasted, forcing us to dance, dance, dance.  I brought out  my special Bar Mitzvah booty-shaking moves, currently outlawed in several states,  until my feet cried out for relief and I sat down to watch the Bar Mitzvah video.  I promise you, this video put all other Bar Mitzvah videos to shame.  This video featured famous people like Brian Williams and Henry Kissinger and Shaq because the father of the Bar Mitzvah boy is a big eppis.  He asks and they say yes.  Post-video, we danced some more and marveled at the sparkly high-heeled extravaganzas worn by Kiki, the gorgeous mother of the Bar Mitzvah Boy.  She certainly knows how to throw a party.  "How you holding up in those shoes?" I asked her.  "I'm in agony," she said. 

At the party with hubby

Gloomy Eeyore

On Sunday, we arrived at JFK far too early, and made our way through security.  A man in line ahead of us had a giant stuffed Eeyore perched on his shoulder. I patted Eeyore and asked him if he'd had a good time in New York.  Eeyore looked at me, gloomily, and said, "Everybody crowds round so in this airport.  There's no space. I never saw a more spreading lot of people in my life, and in all the wrong places." "I couldn't agree more," I said.  I was so busy talking to Eeyore, I forgot to take off my belt.  The man with the badge proceeded to shame and ridicule me for my egregious boo-boo.  Nothing I am not accustomed to already.