When Royal Sparks Fly

Prince Harry & Meghan Markle 

(Ye Olde England) This morning, Prince Harry issued the following statement regarding the origins of his budding romance with the lovely Meghan Markle. "I was sitting at home, watching telly, when this delightful Hallmark Channel movie came on. It was called When Sparks Fly and written by the Royal Family's dear friend the Short Jewish Gal of Sherman Oaks. You know the SJG is our go-to on All Things Jewish. She taught Wills & Kate how to do a proper hora at their wedding. She's shared her famous kugel with us on numerous holidays. When I saw the SJG's name pop up in the credits, I knew I was in for a fun romantic comedy with a guaranteed happy ending. And isn't that what the world needs now more than ever -- more Hallmark movies by the SJG?"

The SJG's Hallmark movie has made a royal match 

"Within seconds, this simply stunning actress named Meghan Markle appeared on screen and I was... what's the word the SJG always uses? Farklempt. My royal eyes bulged with intrigue, my royal heart went pitter pat, and I realized, blimey, I must meet her! I had my people call her people and in no time, I jetted, royally, to Canada and met Meghan whilst she filmed Suits. Can you say fireworks? Of course, the SJG has already reserved a spot under the chuppah, which seems a bit premature. But you know how the SJG gets ahead of herself. If you happen to see her, wandering the streets of Sherman Oaks, as she's prone to do, till the authorities remind her, 'No loitering,' be a love and tell her Meghan and I would like to thank her for making a worthy match. And should things progress, as they do in her charming Hallmark movie, she'll be the first to know."

Business Is Business

Hetty and Hannah hadn’t seen each other for some time when they bumped into each other at the Westfield Mall in Sherman Oaks.
"So Hetty, how is your grandson, the proctologist, doing?"
"My grandson is no longer a proctologist, Hannah. He decided to become a dentist instead."
"A dentist! Why the change in career?"
"Business is business, Hannah," Hetty said. "Let's face it, everyone starts off with thirty-two teeth but have you ever heard of anybody who has more than one tuchas?"

Old Avrahom was a poor tailor whose shop was next door to an upmarket French restaurant. Every day at lunch time, Avrahom would go out the back of his shop and eat his black bread and herring while smelling the wonderful odors coming from the restaurant's kitchen. But one day, Avrahom was surprised to receive an invoice from the restaurant for ‘enjoyment of food’. So he went to the restaurant to point out that he had not bought anything from them. The manager said, "You’re enjoying our food, so you should pay us for it." Avrahom refused to pay and the restaurant sued him. 
At the hearing, the judge asked the restaurant to present their side of the case. The manager said, "Every day, this man comes and sits outside our kitchen and smells our food while eating his. It is clear that we are providing added value to his poor food and we deserve to be recompensed for it." 
The judge turns to Avrahom and said, "What do you have to say to that?" Avrahom didn’t say anything but stuck his hand in his pocket and rattled the few coins he had inside. 
The judge asked him, "What is the meaning of that?" Avrahom said, "I’m paying for the smell of his food with the sound of my money."

The following was overheard at a recent ‘high society’ party:
"My ancestry goes back all the way to Alexander the Great," Christine said. She then turned to Miriam and asked, "How far back does your family go?"
"I don't know," Miriam said. "All of our records were lost in the flood."

http://www.awordinyoureye.com/jokes33rdset.html

That's Personal

Mine, too.

As a thin-skinned gal since, oh, 1958, a gal whose feelings get bruised if you look at me the wrong way, a tender soul who takes things a bit too personally -- because, um, I'm a person, so what are my choices? To take things robotically? -- I've spent a lot of time trying to toughen up. No really, I have. I've attempted to depersonalize the situation. I've tried to take myself out of the equation. But guess what? It hasn't panned out. I'm still part of the scenario. I'm in it for the long haul. I'm still just a petal. It all comes with the territory of being the SJG. Which is why I'd like to stay on the topic of thin skin for just another moment. Unless you have to rush out and have a life. In which case, ba-bye. Okay, for the rest of you who stayed, I'd like to mention the total irony that my metaphoric thin skin now matches my actual skin. It's thinning out, people. Thinning as we speak. Did someone put my skin on a diet? In terms of skin, some layers have gone missing. This seems terribly unfair. My epidermis is showing, and quite frankly, I'm not sure I like it. So ends Friday's blog. Thanks for sticking around. I hope it was worth it. If it wasn't, don't tell me. You know how thin-skinned I am.

Bittersweet Trick-Or-Treat

Who am I?*

Most childhood Halloweens mush together in the SJG brain. I vaguely remember a princess stage, a Hobo stage, and that's about it. I'm sure I dressed up, I'm sure I ate too much candy, but the rest is a big Abba Zabba blur. I'm more sentimental about my extended door-answering phase. As a teen SJG, I loved handing out candy. Loved it. The cute kiddy costumes. The parents waiting at the bottom of the steps. This was my idea of pure gooey fun. Still is.

Memories of opening the door on Halloween stick with me more than anything else about the holiday. I'm sure this has to do with the fact that the SJG is a giver. A giver, I tell you. How many times must I remind you? I like to give. Candy. Unsolicited advice. Directions. Easy-to-return gifts. Extra helpings of kugel. But back to Halloween. My favorite memory of all time? I was in 11th grade. It was 1974. I opened the front door, expecting a few trick-or-treaters. What I found instead was this:

The Uni High Marching Band 1974
 Steve Kaplan, second row, long hair, with drum mallet

The entire Uni High Marching Band spread out across our front lawn. And there was my cousin Steve Kaplan (alav hashalom) grinning back at me. I think of Steve every Halloween. If only I could open the door and find him there in his band uniform, smiling at me. That would be sweeter than any Snickers Bar or Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.

(*spooky ex-governor of Alaska)

(10-29-12)

Ready Or Not

It happens a lot in life. You do something biggish and within two minutes, the well-meaning ones want to know what you're planning for an encore. You graduate college and the nice people want to know when you're getting a job. You date a mensch and the nice people want to know when you're getting hitched. You bring home a baby and the nice people want to know when you're getting Baby #2. And don't even get me started on the sad stuff, the losses that life throws your way. The nice people sometimes say the wrong things. They try to give you a gentle nudge to move on. Maybe you don't want to move on. Maybe you want to linger a while. Sometimes there are no replacements, no substitutes. Sometimes the encore isn't an encore at all, but a baby step in the right direction. Ever since the Eccentric Elderly Pup departed, the nice people want to know when we're getting another dog. My answers vary depending on the day. The nice people ask a lot of questions, offer a lot of opinions. What kind of dog will you get? Will you get another Lab? I always say, "I don't know." Or sometimes I get all Zen on them, which really baffles them. "I'll know when I know." Oddly enough, the other day, sooner that I expected, suddenly I knew. That happens a lot in life, too. One day you don't know. The next day, you know too well. In a few days, we'll meet the dog we hope to adopt. It's a slow process. Baby steps. A meet-and-greet. An overnight. And maybe, if this sweet little guy likes us, and vice versa, adoption. The nice people call it a forever home. Sounds about right. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get rescued.

In The Words of Mine Russian Ancestors

"A pumpkin is only a big fat squash 
with its eyes cut out."

"Break me off a bissel KitKat."

"May you eat candy corn till your arteries clog."

"I don't care if it ruins your costume, 
put this sweater on."

I'm Monday, Damn It!

"Hello?"
"Is this the SJG?"
"Speaking. Who's this?"
"This is Monday."
"Monday? Shut the front door. Is it really you?"
"Is there another day called Monday?"
"No, you're the only one."
"Then it's me."
"Hi, Monday. What up?"
"I understand you're not a fan."
"It's nothing personal."
"It's plenty personal. This day is all about me. It's not my fault that I come with more baggage than the other days."
"Poor Monday. Tell me about your baggage. I'm here for you, gal."
"I come with the leftovers from Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday and Sunday, you eat and drink, you relax, you stay up too late, maybe you see a movie, maybe you see some friends. Then you wake up on my day, the first day of the week, and you go, 'Oh, hell, why did I eat so much this weekend? Why didn't I sleep more? I look like crap. Thanks a lot, bitch.'"
"Wow. You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you, Monday?"
"Yes, I have. I'm tired of being blamed for Saturday and Sunday's transgressions. I'm really a very nice day, once you get to know me."
"Well, Monday, thanks for calling. Now, if you'll excuse, I need to haul my tush out of bed and start you."
"Spread the word, SJG. I'm just as good as the other days. I'm Monday, damn it! I deserve some respect."
"Monday?  What part of I gotta go aren't you getting?"