The Oys of Motherhood

Exactly when did the SJG become a Jewish Mother?  It happened long before I gave birth.  It happened at birth.  My birth.  From the moment I popped out, I wanted to know if everyone was okay, if anyone needed anything, if I could do something to help.  My first complete sentence: "What's wrong?" The Caretaker Curse grabbed me, genetically, right out the gate.  When someone got hurt on the playground, I was the one hovering over the wounded and bleeding, asking the important questions.  "Would it have killed you to wear a helmet and some knee pads? To walk, instead of run for once in your life?" At home, I was always in the kitchen, making tiny treats in the Easy Bake Oven, trying to spread a little joy and fatten up the family.  I was the one waiting up for the parents to come home, and later, when they started driving, the brothers.  I was the designated worrier.  What I'm saying is this:  You don't just become a Jewish Mother.  All the signs are there from the start.  And then, the contractions kick in and the skills you've acquired all come together in a giant ball of angst.  They hand you the baby and say, "Good luck with this."

Off you go on a wild adventure, no travel brochure to guide you, no special shots to protect you from all those cute germs coming your way the instant the little people hit pre-school. Certain things, they neglect to tell you in Lamaze. "Oh, didn't we mention?  You'll never know another moment of peace." Motherhood.  It's non-denominational, the underpaid, under-appreciated, much-ridiculed role of a lifetime.  You study and rehearse, you audition, you get the call. "Mazel tov, you got the part, see you on the set." Lights, camera, action. All you can do is pray you get your lines right some of the time. Hope for decent reviews. Say kina hora, poo poo poo ad nauseum. And trust that the scars  (there will be scars) won't be too permanent.  Oh, and one other thing. Overfeed daily.  Give extra helpings of love, the more unconditional, the better, but please, you're not a miracle worker. You're a mother.  Let's face it, you're going to have bad days, bad years. God willing, they won't replace you with some other actress who looks better in an apron.

The Midnight Bladder

Well, I've got to run to keep from wee-in',

And I'm bound to keep on pee-in',
And I've got no more empty bladder,
But I'm not gonna let it catch me, no,
Not gonna let it leak, the Midnight Bladder.

And I don't mind the words I'm swearing,
And the urge goes on forever,
And I've got no more empty bladder,
But I'm not gonna let it catch me, no,
Not gonna let it leak, the Midnight Bladder.

And I've gone past the point of caring,
Same old bed I'll be vacating,
And I've got no more empty bladder,

But I'm not gonna let it catch me, no,
Not gonna let it leak, the Midnight Bladder.

No, I'm not gonna let it catch me, no,
Not gonna let it leak, the Midnight Bladder. 

(apologies to the Allman Brothers)

Asparagus, A Funny Vegetable

There's just something funny about asparagus. It's one of our funnier vegetables, don't you agree? Go ahead, say, "Asparagus!" Say it at the top of your lungs. Don't pretend it's not funny. It just is. Asparagus has always been a source of hilarity in the SJG homestead. Why? I'll tell you why. My all-time favorite comic, may he rest in peace, was Steve Landesberg of "Barney Miller" fame and so much more. When the eldest was in preschool, Steve Landesberg was a parent there, as well.

"Honesty is the best policy, but 

insanity is a better defense."

During a carnival, I was working the soda booth and when he came up to get a drink, I gushed, "I love you. Can I do my favorite routine of yours?" He smiled and said, "Sure. Give it a try."  So I did. "You wanna know why the suicide rate is so high in Sweden?  The husband comes home from work and says, 'What's for dinner, snookums?  Asparagus? Again?' " Then I pointed my finger at my head and made the sound of a gun going off.  Ka-boom.  Steve Landesberg laughed at my feeble attempt to recreate his brilliance. "Not bad, but it's, 'Asparagus?  Not again.' " To this day, every time hubby and I eat asparagus, we do his routine. Seriously. Every time. So the other day, when the eldest requested some info, I texted back, "I'll get it to you ASPA." As opposed to ASAP. Well, the Gods of spellcheck didn't like my ASPA and changed it to, what else, asparagus. As in, "I'll get it to you, asparagus."

Silly, silly asparagus

"Hahahaha," the eldest said, followed by laughing emoji faces. Like I said, even in a text, and even as a typo, asparagus is still the funniest of vegetables.

Hurtful Met Gala Snub

I would've looked so good in this outfit.

Dear Met Gala,
I'm hurt. So hurt. Do you have any idea how hurt I am? I'm about to tell you. I asked you people to wait for me. Just wait a few weeks. I told you I'd be in New York in two weeks. I told you I could attend the Met Gala, as God intended. But did you wait for me, Fashion Icon of Sherman Oaks? No, you did not. You went ahead without me. The fact that you never even sent an invite to Fashion's Biggest Night hurts even more. What does an International Blogging Sensation such as myself have to do to get your attention? I demand to know what up with the epic snub? The only way to make it up to me is to re-stage the whole shebang in two weeks. You heard me. I want a Do-Over. Just get the whole Manus vs Machina gang back together. How hard would it be? Get busy, Met People.
Awaiting your reply,
The SJG

I could've been a high fashion/heavy metal robot server, too.

Dear SJG,
We received your application to serve hors d'oeuvres at the Met Gala, but have been too busy to respond until now. We had a big party last night and we're really tired. The reason we didn't bother to answer your ridiculous request in the months leading up to our event may have something to do with your "resumski," as you called it. As far as we could tell, you have zero experience serving hors d'oeuvres to famous people. In fact, you've never catered to famous people in any professional, or unprofessional capacity. A robot would've done 18 times better than you. We told you last year and now we'll tell you again. Please don't contact us again.
Sincerely,
Met Gala

Coming Up Next

Between the Nightingales mating... no, not the new neighbors, silly...

... And the dumb-ass alarm going off on my dumb-ass ancient Sharper Image radio... let's just say hubby and the SJG didn't have the best night's sleep. But we did discuss some important issues. 

"Honey, you're in TV."
"That's what they tell me."
"In the 'coming up next,' why do they say something's a hit show when it isn't?"
"Because they can get away with it."
"Even if it isn't a hit show?"
"Yeah."
"Does that get more people to watch it?"
"No one knows."
"You know what I'd like to hear instead?"
"What?"
"Coming up next, a show no one's watching."
"Coming up next, a show that's a hit because we say it's a hit."
"Coming up next, a show that's a big bomb."
"Coming up next, a show everybody hates."
"These are good. You should share them with the big machers at the network."
"Coming up next, TV exec escorted off premises."
"On second thought, never mind."

Are You Sitting Down?

Are you sitting down?  I am.  Maybe you are, too.  Chances are good that you are not pole vaulting, ziplining, high diving, rappelling, pirouetting, juggling or jitter-bugging while reading this, the only blog you need to get your day started, properly.  And yet, people on the phone keep asking: "Are you sitting down?" People, people, people. Stop asking this. Every time the asker asks this, he/she is setting up the askee for a big letdown.  It is the SJG's personal experience that the news that follows is never that exciting, except in the delusional mind of the asker. Why should I sit for a letdown?  I'd rather pace back and forth and curse you under my breath for bothering me.  When someone asks, "Are you sitting down?" all I can say is, "No, I'm doing the laundry.  What else would I be doing?"  Or, "No, I'm putting the groceries away." Then the asker is obligated to say, "Sit down." Great. Now I'm thinking it's not going to be the letdown I'm expecting, but something awful and altogether tragic:  "The mail man just tripped on your sprinkler head and plotzed on your fancy, paved driveway. You're being sued by the U.S. Postal Service for 88 million dollars." So please, you askers out there.  Stop asking, "Are you sitting down?"  How about cutting to the chase, instead:  "Do you have some time to talk?  I heard about something you might be interested in."  Or, "I've got some upsetting news.  A meteor is about to fall on your house.  It was nice knowing you."

The Cloak of Wisdom Costs Extra

Every now and then, more then than now, someone stops me on the street and asks me something pithy. Why this happens, I cannot tell you. Maybe I just look like someone with all the answers. Maybe it's that cloak of wisdom I bought on eBay. The other day, I was standing on the corner of Ventura and Kreplach, minding my own business, as opposed to the universe's, when a dapper-looking fellow turned to me. "Excuse me, but are you the Short Jewish Gal?" "I am. What's it to ya?" "It's an honor to meet you." "I know, right?" "There's something I've always wanted to ask you." "I'm listening." "What is the guiding principle of your life?" "I always wait for the light to change."