That's A Terrible Idea

(Sherman Oaks) After consulting with her highly-paid media consultants, the Short Jewish Gal has reversed her earlier decision to live blog during her colonoscopy Monday morning. "My people thought it was a terrible idea," the SJG said in a phone interview. "They know my tolerance for pain is pretty low, and thought I should be heavily sedated during the procedure. Plus, I tend to scream during medical events when I'm awake. I refer you to all dental visits and both times I gave birth. So, I hate to disappoint the legions of fans who were looking forward to my live colonoscopy-inspired Yiddish curses, expletives and angry-faced emoticons, but let's face it, the idea was a big crap shoot, anyway."

Spend!

I'm feeling so semi-important this morning. My in-box overflows with exciting offers to spend, spend, spend. There are so many opportunities to purchase all the things I don't need at a considerable discount. Etsy and Amazon, Bluefly and L'Occitane. They want my gelt. Guess what? They're not getting it. But what about the things I do need? What about half-off on a lifetime guarantee of health and happiness and a nice helping of mazel? Actually, I'd pay full price for those goodies. How about a sweet deal on no more aggravation ever? I'd pay double for that. Triple, even. On Cyber Monday, I'll be looking for all the stuff money can't buy.

Sit, Eat, Leave

Find the SJG in the photo.

Happy to report the hungry people more-or-less followed the friendly instructions posted on the front door: Sit. Eat. Leave. I left out one word: Laugh. The sixteen of us laughed our tushes off, we poked fun at each other, we did a little Face Time with someone dear who couldn't make it, and we collectively composed a text that I wisely decided not to send to the no-show who showed an hour late, just in time for leftovers.  A wonderful holiday, a much-needed spiritual and emotional lift for the SJG.

Dusty is exhausted from watching me baste every half hour. 

Group selfie silliness.

Hubby, Scotty, SJG and Billy: What more do you need?

Forced to wear tiny pilgrim hats.

Front row: Bonnie (Allison's Mom), Andy, 

Allison, Willa, Char (my wonderful MIL)

Back row: Elly (my aunt), Levi and John

Grandpa Skippy and his grandsons

If I Get My Way

Today the people will gather and nosh and fress and indulge themselves like oinkers at the home of the SJG. There will be laughter and, if I get my way, unsolicited non-stop praise, along the lines of, "Oh, SJG, this turkey is so delish, I could cry." "Oh, SJG, you topped yourself again." "Oh, SJG, you really know how to spoil us with calories." If I don't get my way, I will solicit the praise. "Hey, gang, how about that turkey?" "Hey, gang, how about those yams?" "Hey, gang, how about some kudos for the hostess, for @#$%'s sake?" If I get my way, there will be no incidents of any kind. No one will hide under the table, crawl across the table, or dance the Funky Chicken on the table. If I get my way, no one will get too drunk on the SJG Spiked Punch and start a rousing game of "Where's The Money Stashed?" If I get my way, someone will say, "Thanksgiving Means Thanks Living," at least twice, if not thrice, because that's really what this day is all about: blessings and gratitude and all that good stuffing it's so easy to take for granted when you're too busy kvetching, no names mentioned. So, as I promised my brother John I'd say: Gobble this, bitches! Happy Thanksgiving! I love you all so much, I'm already full, and I haven't even started eating yet.

Things The Jewish Pilgrims May Have Said

My place or yours?

... At the first Thanksgiving:
1. I can't read the menu without my glasses.
2. Is this meal kosher?
3. I've never had pumpkin kugel before.
4. How should I know how many the Mayflower sleeps?
5. Baruch ata adon- oy vey, my yarmulke just fell in the borscht.
6. Don't Bogart that peace pipe, Shmuel, pass it over to me, already.
7. What, no utensils?
8. Did anyone remember to bring the hand sanitizer?
9. I sure hope this apple pie is gluten-free.
10. Why wasn't I invited to the after-dinner bris?

Leave room for dessert.

Phoebe vs. Rachel

What could be funnier than two famous former TV co-stars swearing at each other like truck drivers? Nothing comes to mind.  A little Yiddish, a little Greek, a little French. A lot of bleeping. Enjoy. And double click, why don't you, for full screen, curse-off effect.

Looking For Mrs. Cubbison

Here she is!  I found her!

The elderly woman turned to me in despair. "I can't find Mrs. Cubbison." The SJG understood her pain. "Well, you are in Pavilions," I said. I left out the rest of the description, for fear of offending her. Over here, we call it Crappy-Ass Pavilions because it's always out of whatever you've gone there to buy. The woman stared at me and moved on. Clearly, I had done nothing to comfort her.  The situation felt unresolved. Until, a moment later, I found Mrs. Cubbison just sitting on a shelf, waiting for an admirer to bring her home for Thanksgiving.  I grabbed her, determined to do a mitzvah.  I would track down that elderly woman and hand her the coveted item. I scurried up and down the aisles, anxiously. Where did she go? Where? Where? She was here a minute ago. Oh, look. She was already in line. "Excuse me," I called out. "I found Mrs. Cubbison!" The woman glanced at the holy grail of cornbread, then at me, and deadpanned, "That's too much stuffing.  I'm only making a small turkey." That was it. No "thank you, short person." No nothing. For my attempted mitzvah, I got a big box of bupkis in return. But that's okay. The reward for attempting a mitzvah, is to attempt another mitzvah and what could be more satisfying than that?
(11-24-12)

Go Light On The Sage Advice

Dear SJG,
It's my turn to have Thanksgiving at my palatial retreat. I'm still not over that time, several years ago, when hubby's aunt took a big fat tumble and blamed it on an innocent folding chair. Is it tacky to post a sign at the door that says, "Management Not Responsible for Your Drunken Klutziness"?
Thanks,
Settled Out of Court

Dear Settler,
It would be tacky if you didn't post the sign. As an extra precaution, you should force your guests to sign a waiver before entering. You can never be too careful when allowing relatives to roam freely through your elegantly-appointed home. You never know what sort of trouble these people might get into.
You're welcome,
SJG

Dear SJG,
I'm having not one, but two house guests this Thanksgiving. When is the right time to tell them my rates have gone up? Before, after or during the meal?
Thanks,
Front Desk

Dear Front Desk,
To avoid any awkwardness or Thanksgiving tantrums, just swipe their credit cards when they're not looking, and let them figure it out on their own.
You're Welcome,
SJG

Mazel Tov Worthy, Or What?

Such a nice couple

The news that Sarah Ferguson and Prince Andrew are getting re-hitched, thanks to Kate Middleton running interference on their behalf, has warmed the SJG's heart on this semi-chilly Sherman Oaks morning. I have it on so-so authority that the conversation between Kate and the Queen went something like this:

Kate: "A little toe-sucking, a little nudity. It's all in the past, Granny. Just another royal scandal no one remembers. Let it go, already."
Queen: "I think not. She's so uncouth."
Kate: "She's plenty couth."
Queen: "Since when?"
Kate: "Since she took that online course on couthiness."
Queen: "Cuppa tea? Chocolate bikkie?"
Kate: "Don't change the subject, Granny."
Queen: "I'm the Queen, you know."
Kate: "Yes, you are. And as Queen, you need the world to see how forgiving you are."
Queen: "I'm not in the business of forgiveness. A beheading goes a long way."
Kate: "Granny!"
Queen: "I'm kidding."
Kate: "You're so naughty."
Queen: "I try."
Kate: "Now Granny, seriously, you must give Andy and Fergie your blessing or they can't re-wed. I can assure you based on the one time I bumped into her at Marks & Sparks that Fergie is a changed personage."
Queen: "If you say so."
Kate: "So you'll give them your blessing?"
Queen: "Maybe."
Kate: "Come on, Granny. Bitterness does not become you."
Queen: "I'm not paying for the wedding."
Kate: "That's only fair."
Queen: "And if she dances topless at the reception, I'll simply have to throw her in the tower."
Kate: "No one would blame you."

The Only Product You'll Ever Need

(Sherman Oaks) A short Jewish maven on everything proudly announces the release of SJG Emotional Scar Removal Cream, a miracle formula comprised of amnesia-inducing New Age remedies and a hefty dose of rachmones. "That's Yiddish for compassion," the SJG said in a self-serving interview at her palatial estate. "You can't get rid of those deep emotional scars without self-compassion, am I right? The instant suppression of unhappy memories is an added bonus. Just apply a nice shmear and no one will see the pain and suffering you're trying to cover up. A week or two of twice-daily application and those hurtful issues you've been shlepping around in your eff'd up psyche since birth will dramatically diminish. Suddenly, you'll have the energy and confidence to face your relatives at Thanksgiving without projecting years of anger and bitter resentment over all the dumb and insulting things they've said and done. Remember a few years back, when Great Auntie Zelda asked if you were pregnant and all you could say was, 'I don't have a uterus anymore'? Well, my emotional relief emollient will help you vanquish all that ugliness, once and for all. A month in, your natural glow of feigned mental health will shine through and everyone will think you just got back from Maui. SJG Emotional Scar Removal Cream will eradicate a lifetime of trauma, so fast your head will spin like a dreidel. You may get a little nauseous, but as side effects go, it could be worse. " The SJG went on to say that no therapists were harmed in the making of this, the only topical you'll ever need.

Before "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf"

Mike Nichols: A legendary mensch 

... and "Barefoot in the Park" and "The Graduate"; before the Tonys, Oscars and Emmys; before Diane Sawyer, there was Nichols & May. My parents introduced us to their brilliant comedy album when we were kids. We'd sit in the den with our grandparents, "An Evening with Mike Nichols & Elaine May," on the turntable, and our laughter echoing off the walls. Here's my favorite routine: "Mother and Son."

Scrambled Green Eggs

Ham and Eggs, 
I'll Never see, 
They are not KOSHER, 
So let me be! 

I will not eat green eggs and ham. 
I will not eat them, Sam-I-am. 
But I'll eat green eggs with a biscuit. 
Or I will try them with some brisket. 

I'll eat green eggs in a box. 
If you serve them with some lox. 
And those green eggs are worth a try 
Scrambled up in matzoh brie! 

And in a boat upon the river, 
I'll eat green eggs with chopped liver! 
So if you're a Jewish Dr. Seuss fan, 
But troubled by green eggs and ham, 

Let your friends in on the scoop: 
Green eggs taste best with chicken soup!

http://judaism.about.com/library/2_humor/bldef-joke_greeneggs.htm

Start Your Gobble, Gobble

Today starts the SJG Official Obsession over Thanksgiving, a holiday loaded with memories, mostly good, some painful. In the past, we've heard happy news on Thanksgiving: "We're engaged!" And sad news, too, implying: "This is my last Thanksgiving." This year, setting the table is a dicey proposition. This year, a few empty seats will haunt me. There's a family estrangement I never saw coming. And a daddy who can only pull up a chair from the Great Deli in the Sky. And yet, turkeys, two at last count, need to be bought n' basted. Chairs need to be shlepped out of the garage. There are forks and knives and plates that need arranging, and house guests, two at last count, to make comfy. A busy Thanksgiving awaits the SJG. The reinvention, once again, of my favorite holiday. Life is life, as my family says. In the long run, we can't rewrite the rules, but we can keep trying, anyway.

These Boots Are Made For...

Singing and dancing and big Broadway-style fun. 

Men dressed as women wearing boots. Red and sparkly, thigh-high boots. Not a look the SJG could pull off. Wonderful songs by Cyndi Lauper about, what else, boots. Boots, by the way, are a symbol of love and acceptance, fathers and sons, hopes and dreams. All this talk of boots, the triumph and the glory, the sassiness and the liberation of boots, served as a personalized reminder that I couldn't wear boots right now without howling in pain. A song about heel spurs -- on account of wearing boots -- would've made the SJG feel a little better about my current existence. But alas, "Sex is in the Heel," according to the show, and not in the unsexy orthotics I've been sentenced to insert into my shoes, forever. So, other than the tuneful subtext  that I'm seriously boot-deprived at the moment, I adored "Kinky Boots."

You Gotta See...

"Kinky Boots"

In spring 2013, I had this conversation with Cindy of Telecharge, before heading to New York:

"What other shows you wanna see? How 'bout 'Kinky Boots'?"

"I'm seeing 'Lucky Guy.'"
"You gotta see 'Kinky Boots.' I got tickets for you. What night?"
"I don't think I'll have time."
"Come on, you gotta see 'Kinky Boots.' How 'bout a matinee?"
"I don't have time to see 'Kinky Boots,' Cindy."
"Well, listen, if you decide you have time, call me, and I'll find you tickets for 'Kinky Boots.'"
"I will."
"You better. Have a nice day. It's been a blast talkin' to you."
"You, too, Cindy."
"Last chance for 'Kinky Boots.'"
"Bye, Cindy."
"Okay, bye."

Well today, Cindy, at long last, I'm taking your advice. I'm seeing "Kinky Boots" with my brother John. In our hometown. And it better be good, Cindy. 'Cuz you said, "You gotta see 'Kinky Boots.'" So I'm seeing it, Cindy. I'm seeing "Kinky Boots." And I got high hopes, Cindy. High apple pie, in the sky hopes.

Keep On Kvetchin'

(Sherman Oaks) She did it! After 34 hours, the Short Jewish Gal now holds the Manischewitz World Record for longest uninterrupted live kvetch report. We caught up with her at her palatial home to see how she was faring after all that kvetching. "To be honest, I've been better. My feet hurt, my mouth is tired, and I could use a nap. I haven't slept through the night in 56 years. And don't even get me started on my back. It aches like nobody's business. Kvetching for 34 hours was the easy part. I've got a litany of endless complaints. Physical, emotional, professional. Pick 10 neuroses from Column A, 10 from Column B. I could probably go another 34 hours, but my throat is hoarse from moaning." Asked why she launched her personal kvetch-a-thon in the first place, the SJG said, "I won't lie, I wanted some attention. I figured, why not focus on me for a change, instead of everybody else and all their issues? Kvetching is what I do best. It's the gift that keeps on giving. I wanted to share it with the world, maybe get a National SJG Kvetch Day going on the 2015 Calendar. I know, I'm probably too late. Maybe 2016. It's something to strive for. In the meantime, I'll keep on kvetchin.'"

You Rascal, You

"I'm a good boy, I am." -- Cockney Raccoon

"Honey, I have some disturbing news."
"Is it bad?"
"It's pretty bad."
"Okay, tell me."
"The raccoon repeller is a dud."
"What?"
"It has failed to repel the raccoons."
"No, really?"
"Yes, really."
"How do you know?"
"They left evidence."
"@#$%! Did they destroy the grass?"
"Just a section."
"Those @#$%'n bastards."
"Don't worry, honey. I saved most of it. I was ruthless with the stomping of the grass. Stomp, stomp, stomp."
"You know what I spent on that raccoon repeller?"
"How much?"
"Enough."
"Well, it's a dud."
"Maybe if I turn up the frequency, I can blast those suckers out of the yard."
"Definitely do that. Set that repeller on high."
"Oh, I'm going to."
"I know."
"I really thought this would take care of it."
"But it didn't."
"@#$%!"
"You can say that again."

How Not To Apologize

I know you are, but what am I?

Let's face it, some people just don't know how to say "I'm sorry." Some people present a pseudo apology when all they're really saying is,"Get over it." Lucky for you, the SJG is the master of apologies. It is my honor to guide you through this uncomfortable patch. I've been apologizing for things I may or not be guilty of since 1958, so trust me, I know what I'm talking about. First, here are some rules for dummies who should know better.

What not to do when "apologizing":
1.Yodel
2. Laugh
3. Blow your nose
4. Lose control of bodily functions
5. Call a friend
6. Root for the home team
7. Fiddle with your iPhone, iPad, laptop
8. Sing the National Anthem
9. Reenact the Civil War
10. Guzzle tequila

What to do when apologizing sincerely:
1. Grovel
2. Cry
3. Beg
4. Repeat steps 1 - 3
5. Admit you eff'd up
6. Promise not to ever eff up again
7. Give scorned person a very expensive gift
8. Give scorned person an elegant spa retreat
9. Chant "I'm sorry" 18 times while spinning on your head
10. Repeat steps 1 - 3

For You, A Little Wisdom

Beyond Valium,
peace is knowing one's child
is an internist.

On Passover we
opened the door for Elijah.
Now our cat is gone.

After the warm rain
the sweet smell of camellias.
Did you wipe your feet?

Her lips near my ear,
Aunt Sadie whispers the name
of her friend's disease.

Today I am a man.
Tomorrow I will return
to the seventh grade.

Testing the warm milk
on her wrist, she sighs softly.
But her son is forty.

The sparkling blue sea
reminds me to wait an hour
after my sandwich.

Like a bonsai tree,
is your terrible posture
at my dinner table.

Is one Nobel Prize
so much to ask from a child
after all I've done?

(Haikus for Jews by David Bader)

Big Fosse Fun

Who gets a standing ovation in the middle a show?  

No one. Except Andrea Martin, who steals "Pippin."

What a wacky, wacky show. I'd never seen "Pippin" and probably never would've seen "Pippin" unless my theater-loving brother John said, "Wanna see 'Pippin'?" and I said, "Sure," not knowing much about it. Not that it mattered. John knows everything about "Pippin," even though he only saw one performance at UCLA years ago, and it was, in his estimation, terrible, terrible. "Did you know that Irene Ryan, Granny on 'The Beverly Hillbillies,' died on stage during 'Pippin'?" he asked before the curtain went up. "I must confess, I didn't know that, but what a way to go."

Last night, we saw the reinvented Cirque du Soleil-inspired "Pippin." It was super ridiculous, over-the-top big Fosse fun. Lots and lots of jazz hands, jumping, leaping, hanging upside down, magical feats and anti-war messages. And singing. Singing of not very good songs about  I-have-no-idea-what, other than love and sex in cages and weird locales and finding a corner of the sky. Pippin has a lot of trouble finding his corner of the sky, but eventually his inner GPS directs him toward humble, everyday bliss. Like I said, a wacky, wacky, silly, silly show. A good escape for the SJG. And personally, I'm just so glad nobody plotzed on stage. That would've brought the house down, and not in a good way.

Indoor/Outdoor Fun

So this arrives yesterday. Whenever a package arrives, the SJG gets so excited. I immediately think, oh boy, something wonderful this way comes. And then I open it, whether it's for me or another member of The SJG Worshippers of Sherman Oaks -- I have no boundaries when it comes to packages -- and nine times out of ten, I find something less than wonderful. Case in point: The Guardian, Indoor/Outdoor Pest Repeller.

I get a little worried about my "indoor" menagerie. How will Barney, my indoor bat, respond to this repelling-yet-silent sound wave of shame? What about Minnie, my indoor mouse? And, of course, what about Dusty, my indoor/outdoor elderly pup? Hubby reassures me on many levels. There is no indoor Barney or Minnie. That's just my imagination running away with me. Color me relieved. And Dusty won't be bothered one bit by the indoor/outdoor pest repeller. That's good news. Whether the outdoor squirrels and raccoons trying to destroy the just-planted flowers and sod we put in, in a flash of uncharacteristic optimism, will indeed be repelled, horrified and alarmed by this new gadget hubby found online, has yet to be seen. I, for one, feel so much better just knowing it's out there in the yard, guarding us from evil outdoor rodents, as opposed to those residing indoors, keppy-side.

Don't Forget To Remember

"Your mind not only wanders, sometimes, it leaves entirely."

There's a reason I've had this comic pinned to my bulletin board for at least 10 years. It so aptly describes the SJG state of mind, it's spooky. Why, I have only to mention yesterday's mental mishap to illustrate what goes on up there in my clogged keppy: 

"Hi, I'm here for my appointment with Lenny. I'll go grab a smock. "

"What time is your appointment?"

"11:15."

"Lenny doesn't get here till 12."

"Oh."

"Carol, your appointment is tomorrow at 11:15."

"It is?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, spank my butt and call me Charlie."

"Uh, okay. See you tomorrow."

I get home and check the calendar on my bulletin board, conveniently located to the left of the afore-mentioned comic. Yep. It's right there, written clearly in ink: Friday, 11:15.  What a goof ball. Maybe next time I make an appointment, I'll be all tech-savvy and such. Set up a calendar alert on my iPhone. Throw in a blaring horn sound. AWOOGA! AWOOGA! Assuming I can remind myself to remember to do that, which, just between us, seems doubtful.

Meddlin' Mama

Connie Ray plays April's meddlin' mama

 tonight on "Grey's Anatomy."

"Hi, Connie. It's me. Calling all the way from Sherman Oaks. Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm on 'Grey's Anatomy' tonight."

"Really?"

"Yep. I'm playing April's meddlin' mama."

"That's funny. I'm on 'Grey's Anatomy' playing April's meddlin' mama tonight, too."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"But -- "

"This is my 'all about me' moment. Not yours."

"That's harsh. You know I live vicariously through you."

"You need to stop doing that."

"Okay. I'm going to hang up and call you again."

"Good idea."

"Bye."

"Hi, Connie. It's me. I'm so excited to see you tonight on 'Grey's Anatomy' playing my meddlin' mama."

"Not your meddlin' mama. April's meddlin' mama."

"Oh. So you're saying I'm not actually on the show tonight?"

"Exactly."

"Got it. Well, I'm setting my DVR anyway, just in case I make a surprise appearance."

"Stop meddlin', mama."

The Squeak Heard Round The House

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. It is the sound the SJG makes. All day long. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. It is the sound of my fashion-backwards footwear shlepping across the floor. It is the plaintive cry of my arch-supporting, old lady orthotic inserts, unhappily cohabitating with the cross trainers I've been sentenced to slip onto my swollen, messed-up feet. All those pretty pumps I've bought, thinking I could wear them comfortably for an hour or two? Ha. Banished to my closet in shame. All those ankle boots that make my legs look a tad longer? Ha ha. Adios, bitches. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. It is the sound of my left heel-related tsuris. My new podiatrist had much to say about my current condition: Heel spur. Plantar fasciitis. Bursitis. The SJG doesn't like these words. What's to like? These are the words of pain courtesy of trying to stay healthy and fit. That's what the SJG gets for being active. Better I should sit like a lump on the sofa in the dark. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. It is the sound of the SJG makes. All day long. 

Why Aren't You Voting?

The joy of voting. The joy of making a difference. The joy of choosing a candidate. The joy of... yeah, I know. It's not all that joyful. Personally, I haven't stepped foot in a voting booth in years. I vote by mail. I'm lazy that way. But that doesn't mean you can't get out there and vote today. Vote for me, if you feel like it. A vote for the SJG is a vote for... not that much, to be honest. But feel free to write my name in, anyway, so I can go on national tv and announce, "If elected, I will not serve anything but kugel." I'm not all that political, even though I was raised in a very political home. It was all, "Go McGovern!" My parents tended to back the non-winners more often than not. I don't think I've been excited about anyone since McGovern, and that was before I could even vote. But every year, every election, I vote. And then I wait for the results and try not to feel too upset that this one didn't get elected, or that proposition didn't pass, or maybe it passed when I didn't want it to, but either way, I voted. And, not to shame you too much, but you should, too.

The SJG's Latest Feat

Daredevil blogger Short Jewish Gal crossed two wires, blindfolded and without a safety harness or a net, strung between two Sherman Oaks Starbucks on Sunday evening in a hire-wire act of major chutzpah. Holding a parasol, the SJG cautiously moved across one wire, and back across another, as a minyan gathered on Ventura Boulevard, five in one Starbucks, ordering lattes, and five in the other Starbucks, ordering hot cocoa to keep warm. There were occasional shouts of, "Oy vey, be careful." It was the latest feat for the SJG, who became the first person to walk through Gelson's blindfolded, not to mention backwards, without knocking over a single display in June 2013. She decided to up her game with the Starbucks stunt, even though she prefers Peets, but couldn't find two locations to teeter between, so she turned to Starbucks, hoping to score a nice slice of pound cake at one of the Starbucks and a grande half-caff, half-Chardonay at the other. She trained for the non-event at her palatial estate, balancing precariously between bar stools. Guinness World Records rep Shlomo O'Brien said, "The SJG is a courageous blogger-tight rope walker in her own mind, and for that we applaud her. But she's getting bupkis from us, in terms of recognition, so we'd really appreciate if she stopped bothering us."

Coming To A Theater Near You

"If you give me my clock back now, that'll be the end of it. But 

if you don't, I  will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you."

Oh, joy. Oh, wonder. Is that another hour of sleep you've just offered me? Why thank you, Time Change Enforcers, soon to be a major motion picture starring Liam Neeson.  The basic premise: "Change your clocks, or die, mutha-effer's!" And yet, if I've just gained an hour--as opposed to another pound, thanks to the elegant dinner party I attended last night in honor of the wonderful birthday boychick Dan, an event involving many courses and wines and smuggled truffles and a large array of silver, which caused great confusion between myself and my cuzzy Andy, the birthday boychick today, a la, "Which fork do we use?" "Whichever fork Libby is using"--why do I feel as though I've lost an hour? Why? Why? Maybe because the dog named Dusty, renamed Coney for his endless need for the collar of shame, doesn't give a bark about time changes. The elderly pup wakes up at 5:30 a.m. anyway. Good thing I've got hubby trained for early morning dog duty. And yet, I still suffer from sleep deprivation, even though I don't leave the bed. The clock giveth, and the clock taketh away. Feel free to quote me. Now, if you don't mind, excuse me while I go back to sleep, in search of that extra hour.

Candy Cops

Ding dong...
"I have a warrant to search the house of the SJG."
"What did I do this time, officer?"
"I understand you're hoarding candy."
"Hoarding is a little harsh. The bowl is right there on the dining room table."
"I'll just have a look around."
"Help yourself, officer."
"Maybe just one Reese's. You have M&M's, too?"
"Peanut and plain."
"I'll need a few of these for evidence."
"Enjoy, officer."
"Thanks."
"I like your costume, by the way."
"This isn't a costume. I'm an officer with the Division of Candy Confiscation."
"Your mother must be very proud. Have a Twix. It's delish."
"Enough with the sweets, SJG. I gotta watch my waistline. Where's the rest of the stash?"
"Stash? What stash? I told you, it's all right there in the bowl."
"That's not all of it."
"Yes, it is."
"Don't make me arrest you."
"There might be an extra bag around here somewhere."
"Just one?"
"Two at the most."
"Turn it over."
"What? Why? Is it illegal to have candy in the house?"
"It would be criminal to let all those calories go directly to your hips."
"You're right, officer. I'm so glad you stopped by to save me from myself. Here, take it. Take it all. Take every piece."
"I appreciate your cooperation, ma'am."
"What choice do I have? My last mug shot was terrible. I need a makeup artist and better lighting before I go through that again."