Hello, Mother

The phone rings at 7:52 this morning.  "Hello, mother."
"Hello, angel."
"Okay if I come for breakfast?"
"Only if you give me hugs and kisses."
"I can do that."
A few minutes later, he arrives.  Thanks to SJG Apartment Finders, Inc., he's conveniently located down the street.  He delivers the mandatory outpouring of affection, and takes over the kitchen.  He's heating a croissant, grabbing lunch supplies, making himself a noon-time feast to bring to work. 
"Going so soon?"
"Gotta get gas."
Dusty and I follow him to the door.  "Dinner tonight?"
"Maybe.  Probably not.  I'll let you know."
I'll be waiting by the phone.

Alter Ego

Last night at dance class, a lanky gal with great hair asked, "Where's Kitty?"  I've been taking this class for 10 years.  This is the first time anyone has ever uttered the question, "Where's Kitty?" "Who's Kitty?"  I asked.  Lanky Gal looked at me like I'd just dropped in from Mars. "Oh come on, SJG.  Kitty.  Kitty Slurp.  You stand next to her all the time."  "What?!!!!!"

Self-Talk

Thor, my new life coach/ass-kicker, has given me homework.  He wants me to pay attention to how I talk to myself and tweak my dialogue, accordingly.  Turn "I can't" into "Oh, I sure as eff can."  Change "What if" into "So eff'n what, bitch?"   Switch "I'm not feeling it" into "I'm sooooooo eff'n feeling it!"  Thor wants me to curse like a trucker while retaining my ladylike ways.  The SJG can so eff'n do that.  Thanks, Thor.  You're a game-changer.

Good Advice

Dear SJG,
Every time I see a photo of Sean Penn and Scarlett Johansson together, my instant reaction is, 'Yuck," followed by, "Big Mistake."  Does that make me a judgmental bitch, or a concerned gal who predicts heartbreak and public humiliation for Scarlett?
Sincerely,
Judgy in Sherman Oaks

My New Advisor

In an on-going effort to stay fit, the SJG pushes the limits of what this aging body can do, and what it can do depends on forces beyond my control.  There are days when I should seriously join the Marines, I'm so freakin' strong, so ready to kick ass it's just wrong. There are other days when I should hire a stand-in.  In the role of the SJG, I give you, Olympic figure skater Kristy Yamaguchi.

Saturday Morning

A soccer game blasting on the TV.  A college boy on the sofa, eating a bagel.  A dog jonesing for crumbs.  A step up from dorm life.  A plane ride north on Sunday.  A tearful SJG.

Back On Broadway

"The Book of Mormon" starring the SJG (that's me in the pink)

Soon, but not soon enough, the SJG makes a return engagement on Broadway, to scout theaters for "Dusty:  The Musical!" and hop on stage to join the big splashy fun of "The Book of Mormon."  I'm sure the "South Park" dudes won't mind a little SJG song and dance magic amidst the sacrilege.  Or maybe they will.  We'll find out, won't we?  I do believe I'll fit right in.  But, just in case my performance doesn't pan out, and I get booted -- a slight possibility, methinks -- relax, peeps, I've got a backup plan, to wiggle my way into "War Horse" at Lincoln Center.  I'd be so good as an equine puppet, I just know it.  When I'm not on stage, stirring up mayhem, I'll be buying out Fifth Avenue, shopping for a Picasso to add to my vast collection, and signing autographs.  Get ready, NYC.  This is your final warning.

Gimme A Kiss

Kiss or I'll shoot!

There's nothing better than a good shoot 'em up to distract the SJG from writing.  After a leisurely lunch, served to us by Hans, my private butler, co-scripter Kelly and I were just about to do a heap of collaborating, when an online story diverted us.  Let's just say we went a little "Street Car Named Desire," reenacting the little drama that played out in Kelly's home state.  Her Southern accent puts mine to shame.  But then, she can't speak a lick of Yiddish, so we're even. 

The Last Time I Saw Liz

Dick & Liz in "Private Lives"

In the early 80s, brother John and the SJG went to the late, great Shubert in Century City to see Short Jewish Gal Liz Taylor (she converted at the age of 27) and Richard Burton in "Private Lives."  It was campy and over the top and a big thrill. 

Those lips, those eyes

"National Velvet."  "Father of the Bride."  "Butterfield 8."  "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"  AIDS activist.  Philanthropist.  Perfume mogul.  Jewelry maven.  Oft-married.  When's the last time I got to use "oft"?  A spunky broad who spoke her mind.  She will be missed.

Harvey & Sheila

Another great song from the SJG Lindbrook Dr. Archives

Get Off The Thin Mints

A size-6 former Mrs. Sherman Oaks beauty queen is fighting in court to get her tiara back after claiming that pageant officials harassed her for packing on the pounds.
Dethroned Mrs. Sherman Oaks Carol Starr Schneider, aka the SJG, claimed pageant organizers told her to "get off the thin mints" because the beauty no longer looked good in a bikini, the Associated Press reported.

Linda Bloomstein, president of the Mrs. Sherman Oaks organization, said that a recent bikini photo of the SJG yielded "unusable" pictures and couldn't be airbrushed, because the once-stunning mother of two gained a couple pounds of Girl Scout cookie tonnage.  "I couldn't help myself," said the SJG.  "They're so good."

Love Story

Scout and Dusty:  Two Labs in Luv

They met cute when they were puppies.  Bumped into each other on the street.  It was love at first sniff.  Dusty fell for Scout.  Scout fell for Dusty. It's been going on for some time now.  They plan to marry when it becomes legal.

The Return of the Rapper

Desperately Seeking Renee

I expected the college boy to come home bearded and shaggy.  He came home shaggy and beardless.  He didn't shave for me, though.  He shaved for Renee, president and CEO of the SJG Beauty Team.  Her duties, for which she is paid handsome-ly, include the haircare needs of my sons.  Turns out, Renee has more power over the college boy than the SJG.  "Tell Scotty I don't want to see him with a beard," she informed me, while attending to my baby fine follicles last week.  "It will upset me." 

BYOB

This morning, I come downstairs to find a bottle of Bushmills on the kitchen table.  I look at hubby.  "What up with the whiskey?" "I'm bringing it to work."  "Is that allowed?"  "Consider it a gray area."  "There isn't much left in the bottle."  "I'm buying more."  "When does the fun start?"  "Nine o'clock." "Pace yourself."  "Don't worry."  "Have you met me?"  "It's just a fun promo tradition started many years ago.  Irish Whiskey makes the promos better.  We make Irish coffee and the day seems to go much faster.  Of course, we limit the intake.  The mixture is simple:  Bushmills, sugar, coffee and whip cream.  It's heaven in a cup."  "Are you telling me you're Irish?"  "Today I am."

What She Won't Be Wearing

Too poofy

Speculation over Kate Middleton's wedding dress reached fever pitch this morning after the SJG, said to be coaching the Royal Couple on "all things Jewish," revealed several gowns that the future princess will not be wearing.  Interviewed by the Sunday Times, the SJG reported, "We went back and forth, and finally I told Katie, as I like to call her, keep looking, hon.  At first she was a little weepy, a little, 'but I look so hot in the knitted one.'  I gave her a chocolate bikkie and said, 'Don't be a diva,' and as usual, she followed my advice."

Too much

Too hot

Meshuganah Alert

It has taken me years to get used to the people who walk around, talking loudly into tiny phone mics. Years to figure out they're not talking to themselves, there's someone on the other end, listening -- along with everyone else at the market, post office, name your location.  This particular advance in technology creeps the SJG out.  Do I want to hear you kvetching about your various medical conditions and parole violations while I'm out doing errands?  Let me think about that.  No.

Snickerdoodle 101

They deliver cookies... and other stuff

"Still not enough."  "How much more?"  "I think I have to get to a grand for them to deliver." "What have you got so far?" "A snickerdoodle and a brownie.  And milk."  "How much have you spent so far?" "950."  "Wow.  That sounds like a lot for milk and cookies, honey."  "I know, but it's so good." "Well, I wouldn't want you to go hungry, my darling." "What else should I order?" "You can't go wrong with chocolate chip."  "Done.  Oh, wait, they still won't deliver." "How about something with peanut butter?"  "Perfect. That should do it."  "What's it called again?"  "Nite Owl."  "So they deliver cookies and milk and what else?"  "You don't want to know."  "Give me a hint."  "Late night supplies."  "Gotcha."  "Sh*t!" "What's wrong, my love?" "Nothing."  "Tell me.  Whatever it is, I'll understand."  "I just added up my orders for the past two quarters." "And?"  "2.5."  "Million?"  "Whoops."  "You've spent 2.5 million on cookies?"  "And milk."  "At least you're not spending it on hookers and crack."

WTF

I went to "Rango" to find the funny.  I found a little, but not enough.  I went home and called my dad, a funny, funny guy.  He wasn't feeling the funny.  Drank some wine to find the funny.  Got a funny buzz in my keppie.  Hubby and I went to PayTV to find the funny.  "Morning Glory," a movie that tanked, made us laugh, it was so funny.  Today I asked him, "Was it really that funny or did we need it to be funny?"  "Funny is funny," he said. And we left it at that.

What Do You Do All Day?

"...and then you'll go to the grocery store."

This morning, the eldest son drops by for breakfast.  He figures why go to the market and buy food when he can sponge off the 'rents.  We discuss the horribleness in Japan, and whether the tsunami will sweep through Sherman Oaks and carry the SJG away. We touch on his theory that Global Warming is to blame for every-thing.  "In 300 - 500 years, humans won't be alive," he says.  "I hope I finish my novel before then," I tell him.  Worried that I'm going to spend the entire morning weeping in front of the TV at terrible images of destruction, he asks what else I'm doing today.  Before I can answer, he says,"Wait don't tell me," and rolls out the entire day he envisions for me.  "You're probably going to write for awhile, go exercise, go to the grocery store, make dinski, watch TV and go to sleep."  "Wrong!  I'm going to see 'Rango' with Kelly."  His eyes start popping in dismay.  "Why?"  "Because Kelly and I want to see it."  "Why?"  "Because we're writing an animated script."  "How many years have you guys been working on that?"  "Great writing takes time."  "Maybe post-90." 

Dusty: The Musical

Future Broadway Star

The news that "Spider-Man:  The Fiasco" is shutting down has created an exciting opportunity for the SJG.  I'm taking Dusty to Broadway, just as soon as I can teach him to work those "jazz paws," perform a few simple acrobatics, and carry a tune.  Barking for two hours won't fill the seats, I'm afraid.  Like all things SJG, "Dusty: The Musical" will be a family project.  The college boy will write the rap lyrics and play drums, the employed son will play electric guitar and write the music, hubby will find the backers and handle promotion, and the SJG will do the rest. Most important decision:  what to serve at intermission.  I'm thinking bagels, cream cheese and lox bites on tooth picks.  I'm feeling so good about this, people.  All I need to pull this puppy off:  Dusty to hit those high notes (as of now, he's a little pitchy), a gifted canine chorus and a few billion dollars.  Feel free to invest.  The return is going to be huge, kina hora.

I Need That Watch

       Leslie: "It worries me so when he stops his heart this way. It's
       over three hours, isn't it?" Anna: "Yes. But it does relax him."

"Dad, how did you come up with that special watch in 'Our Man Flint?'" "I invented it.  He'd pretend to be dead and the little hand on the watch would come out and tap him awake."  "It's brilliant. I want one for hubby.  He falls asleep on the sofa every night and comes upstairs late and wakes me up.  I need that watch.  Where can I get one?"  "You can't."  "Why not?"  "They built it, sweetie."  "Why didn't they give it to you so that you could give it to me?"  "I didn't ask."  "But I need it."  "Sorry, sweetie."  "I need that watch, Dad."  "I'm saying goodbye now."

Bank On It

The SJG:  The Blonde Years

Whenever my grandpa gave us money for birthdays or Hanukkah, he always said, "To the bank! To the bank!"  The SJG took his advice to heart.  Early on, I put every cent I earned babysitting, street-sweeping and weed-wacking, in the bank.  When I worked for a newspaper, I went "to the bank!  to the bank!" just like Grandpa told me to.  I deposited my humble checks and guess what happened?  They bounced.  Did I sit idly by and do bupkis?  Oh, hell's no.  I took the publisher to small claims court and they took him "to the bank! to the bank!"  That's right, they attached his lowly bank account till I got all my money.  Thanks to Grandpa, I'm now a multi-millionairess.  I've sued everybody I can think of; I'm kinda litigious that way.  Piss me off and look out.  Of course, I don't like to brag about my vast sums of gelt, but now that I'm buying my twelfth home in Sherman Oaks, or maybe it's my thirteenth, who can keep track, it's time for me to give back.  You heard me.  I'm handing out dough at the Sherman Oaks Galleria.  Today only.  It's strictly first come, first serve, people.  Why?  Because my Goddess DNA told me to.  Duh.  So look for the SJG at Mrs. Fields, somewhere between noon and five.  I'm working there now.  Free samples for everyone!

Legal Advice

Look out for the dog bone!



Dear SJG,

I'm seriously considering taking my pooch to court, after I went boom in the kitchen, on an account of his dumb ol' doggy bone.  One minute I was up, the next I was down.  Splat!  I'm pretty sure he left it on the floor, just to eff with me.  If Mr. Don't-Look-At-Me doesn't apologize by this afternoon, I plan to take action.  Can you recommend a good attorney? 

Thanks,

Klutzy in Sherman Oaks 

Dear Klutzy,

I hear the law firm of Barker, Barker & Woofstein is excellent. 

You're welcome,

the SJG

Oh, so it's my fault? 

What Old Friends Talk About

"Mean people live longer than nice people."  This was just one of many topics we covered at lunch yesterday.  The six of us, friends since junior high, got together to celebrate the birthday of Lucy.  (All the names have been changed to protect the daughter-in-laws who still have a few issues to sort out.) When we were young, we used to talk about guys.  Now that we're older, naturally, we talk about death.

The Hang

Last night, hubby and I watched "Troubadours," a new documentary custom-made for old music fans who never tire of nostalgia.  It's all about the 70's music scene at Doug Weston's infamous club on Santa Monica Blvd.  I had a lump in my throat, a tear in my eye, a crazy flashback to that tender time when I fell head-over-heels in love with the music of Carole King and JT, Elton John and Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne and Laura Nyro, Loggins and Messina and Tom Waits.  And of course, Mr. Bob Dylan. "Troubadours" sent me on a sentimental journey.

The Royal Yarmulke

Put the hammer down, Charles.  It's all good!

With the Royal Wedding ever-so-soon, the SJG is proud to announce two important hires:  my sons will carry my veil, whether they like it or not, as I walk down the aisle to the special throne reserved just for me.  I fully expect to be seated between Elton John and Kanye.  If not, I may throw a royal tantrum.  You have no idea how hard it's been teaching Prince William a bissel Yiddish.  His "ch" and "ts" sounds are a shanda, people.  Nothing but tsouris for the SJG.  Plus, groomy's a little sensitive about his receding hairline and bald spot.  Quite the touchy subject among those of us intimately involved in the Big Freakin' Day, or BFD, as we insiders like to call it.  Not to worry.  Once again, the SJG has solved another royal headache.  Found a handsome yarmulke to boost his pride, cover his keppy, and signal his conversion to Judaism with subtly and grace.

Winning: The Cologne

Jimmy Fallon as You-Know-Who.  Winning.  Duh.

Make Me A Match

Dear SJG,
Some crazy dude on TV keeps ranting about tiger blood, fire-breathing fists and healing himself in an hour.  He lives in a big mansion and has lots of cars.  Does the newly-formed SJG Internet Dating Service have this man in its octagon?  I'm dying to become his third goddess.  Can you arrange?
Just curious,
Witchy
Dear Witchy,
No eff'n way.
You're welcome,
the SJG

Parental Advisory

This morning's press release from Santa Cruz: "In a shocking turn of events, The K.I.D.S. have decided to change their name to Golden Age due to concerns over originality. The EP is coming later today on mediafire and will be available via Facebook. I think you'll like the artwork! Loving you! Your son, the rapper"