Short Jewish Gal

Sunday, August 4, 2013

The Cone of Shame

Alpha: Now, you must wear the cone of shame.
Dug: I do not like the cone of shame. -- "Up"

It would be hard to find any dog that likes, let alone tolerates, the cone of shame. Here an 11-year-old pup named Dusty shows his displeasure after the SJG and her long-time junior high beau performed a complicated procedure on his hot spot. Calm down. A hot spot may sound like something fun but it's the opposite. Just watch one of the many YouTube videos featuring mellow New Age veterinarians speaking very slowly about the care and maintenance of Le Hot Spot. Yesterday's operation required advanced barber skills, the application of various unpleasant ointments, and the ability to cover the designated area in gauze. Let's just say the pup named Dusty wasn't the most cooperative patient. On his end, he gave the amateur vets two paws down on Yelp, and is threatening to sue.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Jewish American Private Benjamin

The news this week that Eileen Brennan passed away made me long to see "Private Benjamin" again, a movie I've watched 182 times at least. And, as if by magic, without an assist from Netflix or Vudu or Hulu, there it was on cable last night, "Private Benjamin," waiting for the SJG. No matter how many times I've seen it, I always remember my initial love/hate relationship with the movie. Behind the humor and the fun of seeing Goldie Hawn go up against Eileen Brennan, there was always the question in the back of the SJG brain: "Good for the Jews? Bad for the Jews?" The decision: Mixed. When "Private Benjamin" came out in the early 80s, the whole Jewish American Princess stereotype was big. JAP jokes started in the 70s and spilled into the 80s. "What does a Jewish American Princess make for dinner? Reservations." Ha ha. Fresh out of college, the Short Jewish Feminist (back then, we called each other women, not girls or gals), didn't know whether to laugh or shake my fists at the plight of Judy Benjamin, who epitomized every cliche of selfish, overprivileged, spoiled-rotten young ladies whose ancestors came from Russia.

"I want to go to lunch."

Was it okay to giggle when Judy refuses to sleep with the cute French doctor she's only known for two hours, until she finds out he's Jewish? Yes, I decided. Judy works hard throughout the movie to break the stereotype the only way she knows how. She kvetches. She whines. She threatens to quit. She hangs in there. She almost marries the selfish, overprivileged, spoiled-rotten French doctor, and then, thank God, she retreats. She's going to make it on her own, with or without the mansion. "Private Benjamin" still makes me laugh, and still makes me a little comfortable, which makes sense. That's what comedy is supposed to do, anyway.

Friday, August 2, 2013

The Mystery of the Missing Tweezers

If there's one thing the SJG doesn't like, it's when things go missing in the vast wasteland of my elegant estate. So many rooms. So many servants. So many people to blame when I can't find something. The other day, my tweezers vanished. My tweezers are an important tool in the SJG Beauty Routine (patent pending). Without my tweezers, I cease to exist. I must have my tweezers. There's always something that needs tweezing. No, I'm not going to give you specifics. You're just going to have to trust me on this. I live to tweeze, which explains why I only have half an eyebrow at the moment. No biggie. It'll grow back. So, when this coveted item disappeared from one of the eight places I stash it, I got a little panicky, a little frantic, a little loony. I started opening drawers and cursing the Goddess of Grooming. "Why did you take my tweezers, o Goddess of Grooming? What are you trying to teach me? That I can go without my tweezers for a day? That not everyone is lucky enough to have a bejeweled pair of tweezers like mine? Lesson learned. Bring them back to me, Goddess, bring them back and I'll never over-tweeze again."

Much like any of your favorite Greek tragedies, I know, there are so many, it's hard to pick just one, the Goddess didn't return my tweezers. She made me suffer. She could've put the tweezers in the freezer. That would've made for a fun rhyme. But she didn't do bupkis. I was on my own. I needed help fast. So I made an emergency appointment with a nice shrink who only charged me $600 for the first visit. She gave me the best advice I've ever received from someone who's been to medical school. "Look again, maybe the tweezers will show up." Well, spank my tush and call me Charlie. My tweezers showed up that very afternoon, in one of my many hiding places. I couldn't wait to share the news with the man I'm currently married to, in the form of an interpretative modern dance and a declaration of unbridled joy: "Hallelujah! I found my tweezers! I found my tweezers!" "Oh, sorry, were you looking for them? I borrowed them." "What?" "I needed them." "Why?" "To fix the sink. It was clogged and -- " "No more. Please, I'm begging you." "But -- " "You've tarnished them. For life." "I didn't mean to --" "Silence! Get thee to Tiffany's, tout suite! Get me new tweezers. I'd like them engraved. To SJG. With Love. Encrusted in diamonds. A few sapphires wouldn't hurt. No pressure. Helpful hint. Our anniversary's in a few weeks."

Thursday, August 1, 2013

May The Forced Smile Be With You

There are many types of smiles. Just check the emoticons on my iPhone: Crooked. Cocky. Sweet. Sarcastic. Angelic. Devilish. Toothy. Tight-lipped. There are smiles that are orthodontically-improved. There are smiles that are dentally-challenged. Lately, I've been thinking about one smile in particular. The forced smile. What exactly is a forced smile? I'm not entirely sure. But I keep forcing characters in the script I'm writing to smile in a forced way. "She forces a smile." "He forces a smile." So today, in honor of my forced smilers, I'm going to force myself to smile at things that aren't smile-worthy. I need to experience this forced smiling thing firsthand. When someone cuts me off in traffic, I will force a smile before flipping off the driver. When someone cuts in line at the market, I will force a smile before yelling, "No, cuts, beyotch!" When someone tells me something I don't want to hear, something like, "I ate the last Skinny Cow mocha ice cream bar," I will force a smile before removing him from the will.

Monday, July 29, 2013

When Opposites Attract

Some matches are made in heaven. Some are made in suburban parking lots. It was love at first zetz. My car saw the wall and the wall saw my car. The wall gave a wink. "Hey, baby, how you doin'? Come here and gimme a hug." My car tried avoidance. My car is no dummy. My car has been there before with other walls in other parking lots. My car knows walls only want one thing. Contact. Once again, my car couldn't fight the urge. My car has needs. It's been a while since my car rubbed up against concrete. The pull was too strong, the attraction too intense. Sparks flew every which way. In the end, the rear end, to be exact, my car brushed up against destiny. Backed right into trouble. Scrunch! Slight damage. Significant heartache. Stupid car. Stupid wall. When will they learn they're not right for each other?

Sunday, July 28, 2013

I See The Moon

When I was a needy little SJG... as opposed to now, a prolonged phase best described as "more than a little needy," my mom used to sing me a lullaby that remains embedded in my keppy, a place in need of serious crowd control. I can't look at the moon, full or crescent, makes no diff, without singing this sweet song, and thinking of her.

I see the moon and the moon sees me
The moon sees somebody I want to see
God bless the moon
And God bless me
And God bless the somebody I want to see

Here's looking at you, Mom. Wherever you are.