Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Get Your Matzoh Here
Monday, March 30, 2015
The Nobel Prize For Undergarments
Dear Nobel Prize Committee,
Hi, how are you? Hope you're in good health. If not, I hear Vitamin C stops a cold in its tracks. My whole life, I've heard this. I've yet to stop a cold with Vitamin C. Personally, chicken soup works better. Maybe that's just for my people. Anywho, I heard you guys were taking suggestions from the public. Relax, I'm not nominating myself, although I strongly believe I deserve an award for something, but what? There are so many categories that would suit me. Nobel Prize For Laundry? I accept! Nobel Prize For Kvetching? I'm honored. Nobel Prize For Grocery Shopping? This is my cart, bitches!
Believe it or not, this letter isn't about the SJG, despite my international status as Silliest Blogger Ever. On second thought, it is a little about me, but then, isn't everything? The other night, I went to my 40th High School Reunion. It was lovely, thanks for asking. The thing that gave me that extra jolt of courage and helped me approach just about anybody in attendance, whether they knew me or not, and most of time, sadly, didn't know me from bupkis, was a certain amazing, biblically miraculous undergarment. That's right, Nobel people, I'm talking about Spanx, the most genius invention of all time.
I'm telling you, if every world leader could just wear a nice pair of Spanx (not one of those knockoff brands, but the real deal) to the next big confab, doesn't matter the gender of the personage, they would feel so much better about themselves, they would sign any peace agreement you put in front of them. A nice pair of Spanx makes everything brighter. What could be better than looking five pounds thinner without starving yourself? Nothing comes to mind. Therefore, I nominate Sara Blakely for the Nobel Prize For Undergarments.
Whether this category exists is besides the point. I urge you to stop everything and make this happen. And make sure to give me credit. Without credit, I'm just another under-employed TV writer trying to look svelte for Passover.
Thanks!
Big hugs,
The Short Jewish Gal of Sherman Oaks
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Party Like It's 1975
Ellen, Jill and the very silly SJG
My 40th high school reunion will soon be a blur, probably by Monday or Tuesday, at the latest. Not that I didn't have fun. I did. Many two-second conversations. "Hi!" "Hi!" "How are you?" "Fine!" "You were nice in high school!" "Uh, thanks!" I lost my voice about an hour in. The SJG speaks at a low volume. So I had to scream to be heard. That got old fast. I stood a lot. I danced a lot. I'm hoping at some point I get some feeling back in my feet. And yet, a few highlights will stay with me forever. The giddy moment I reconnected with my dearest friends from Warner Avenue comes to mind. Ellen Bernstein and Jill Borden were the sweetest gals, then and now. We laughed and acted like the goofy grade schoolers we once were, and promised (as we did at the 20th reunion) to get back in touch.
Jeff, who didn't go to high school with us, and wife Maddy, who did; me and a handsome stranger; Helen, who didn't go to Uni, and husband Ned, who did, and two nice photo bombers I don't know.
The high school sweethearts.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Decisions, Decisions
Oh, congregation of strappy sandals, which pair should I wear? Which pair won't cripple me by hour two of the high school reunion? Do I go high heel, sure to make me somewhat model-like in appearance? Do I go mid-heel, sure to make me a little taller, but not that tall, because who am I kidding? Do I go old lady heel, sure to lower my height expectations, significantly, but keep me from whimpering in pain throughout the evening? Decisions, decisions...
Friday, March 27, 2015
Let Me Introduce Myself... Again.
At my 30th high school reunion, I spent most of the evening re-introducing myself to the people in attendance, this despite the name tag and tiny graduation photo prominently displayed over my heart. The exchanges usually went something like, "Hi, I'm Carol? Starr? Schneider?" Blank stare, followed by a quick glance at my tiny photo. "Oh. Right. Hi." After a few hundred of these touching moments, I pretty much said, "Oh, eff it," and stuck to the few people who didn't need a name tag or photo to identify me. Included in this elite group: hubby, my high school sweetheart. Even after a few gin and tonics, he still recognized me. "Let's not go to the 40th," I said on the way home. "Okay," he said, a bit tipsy at the time. He has no memory of saying that. In fact, the entire evening is a blur. Which brings us to the 40th high school reunion tomorrow night. We're going.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
The Crutches In The Background
Allison and Andy, Billy and Emily...
and the crutches in the background
This happy photo of my cousin Andy and his gorgeous wife Allison, about to dine in San Francisco with the eldest son Billy and his gorgeous girlfriend Emily, arrived on my Oy-Phone last night and made me smile and kvell and all that... until I noticed the crutches in the background, leaning against the wall. The SJG Brain immediately cranked into uh-oh mode. Clearly, one of my people had been seriously injured. One of my people, including Andy's two out of three children on this trip but not in the photo, had tripped and sprained, broken and done damage to a limb, requiring an emergency room visit, crutches and possibly months of physical therapy. Suddenly, this seemingly happy photo seemed like a cruel way to clue the SJG into the situation.
"Who's got the crutches?" I asked, casually, like an after-thought. As in, by the way, who got hurt and ruined the trip? Andy texted a series of untruths, followed by "JK. Don't panic." JK? Who's JK? Was there another family member I didn't know about? I thought I was up to date on the family tree. I don't know from JK. Then it hit me. JK = Just Kidding. Oh. Hahahaha. "Do you know me at all, Cuzzie?" I asked. Andy texted, "They belong to the people behind us we don't know." "Well, tell them I'm worried, anyway."
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Take It Or Leave It
So yesterday, I was in the Gelson's parking lot, where else would I be, putting my recyclable earth-friendly super cool billboard grocery bags in the trunk of my car, when I noticed a woman standing off to the side, staring at me. I shut the trunk and she stepped closer. My mind started to race. I looked at her. She looked at me, and said, in a very thick Spanish accent: "I-take-it." I said nothing. She said it again: "I-take-it." I smiled, stupidly. It's not often you're faced with such a run-on sentence. I started to move my cart. She took a step closer, and said, slower this time, "I... take... it."
Ah, a moment of clarity. Don't you love those? She wanted to take my cart, as opposed to something else, like my left shoe or one of my recyclable earth-friendly super cool billboard grocery bags, which she'd have to fight me for, and she'd lose, because I love those freakin' bags. Love. Them. So. Much. Now that I understood her goal, I sent the cart her way, and said, "Take it."
You'll be happy to know that just moments ago, I decided to stop saying, "I take it," before they take me away. Although, a nice rest wouldn't be so bad. If they do take me away, would you come visit me?
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Every Tom Hanks Movie Ever
One of the most hilarious Broadway shows I've ever seen starred James Corden in "One Man, Two Govnors." Since then, I've followed him, not in a stalkerish way, that's not the SJG style, but in a "what is this talented bloke up to these days" way. As of last night, he's hosting the "Late Late Show" on CBS. God forbid I should ever be up that late late. But I'm still going to record it now and then, because I love James Corden so much. Not in a deeply romantic way, mind you. More in a "what a talented bloke" way. I'm glad we cleared that up. You know how jealous hubby gets when I turn my attention elsewhere. Here's a very funny clip of Tom Hanks and James Corden reenacting every movie from Hanks' cinematic oeuvre. Enjoy, people. Enjoy. And please, double click, bitches. How many times I gotta tell ya? Double. Click.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Timing Is Everything
In my dreams, I'm always running late.
In my life, I'm always on time.
Well. Almost always.
Sometimes there are roadblocks.
Manmade.
Or self-imposed.
To arrive at my destination,
I need to get out of my own way.
And remember that wherever I go,
Timing is everything.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
All I Want Is A Little Attention
That's all.
Friday, March 20, 2015
Chia Head: SJG Edition
As of today, it's official. Spring has sprung. Don't deny it. It has, too. Maybe not in your neck of the woods, but over here in Sherman Oaks, I'm so full of spring, so overly-pollinated, that with proper watering, I could be my own Chia Head. Given my personal pollen count, grass and flowers would bloom from my scalp, I'm sure of it. A couple spritzes of Miracle Gro would bring forth the daisies, but then I'd sneeze even more, and I'm already doing enough of that as it is, so I'll stick with hair spray. Sneezing and wheezing eat up most of my day, and I'm not talking dainty little girly-girl sneezes. My sneezes are thunderous. They're a force to be reckoned with, I promise you. My sneezes echo and roar and knock down passersby. I scare old ladies and children with my stereophonic ACHOOs. One look at my red nose, my watery eyes and dark circles and folks run the other way in fear. Of course, not everyone bolts on my behalf. Hubby tells me I've never looked lovelier. This explains why I married him. He tells it like it is, even when it's not true.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Are You My Basketball?
I've rescued dogs in my neighborhood. I've rescued drivers licenses. I've rescued pacifiers and scrunchies, baby blankets and cute red booties. But last night, driving home after dance class, I rescued a basketball. Poor thing. It was just sitting there in the middle of my street, illuminated by my xenon headlights. Man, they're bright. The sad little basketball, hoopless and abandoned, white and Nike-branded, glowed like an otherworldly orb. I viewed it with awe. "What the eff is a basketball doing in the road? I wonder which neighborhood child created such a monumental road hazard." As I pulled into the garage, I realized, oh, for eff's sake, that basketball belongs to the SJG household. That's our stupid ball. It must have rolled out when I backed out of the garage hours ago. It's probably been waiting for the right moment to escape. No one plays with it anymore. The eldest, the youngest, and all their friends who used to pound it mercilessly into the driveway, they've forgotten all about the Nike ball. So it said, "I'm outta here, bitches," and rolled off in search of a new owner.
Rescuer that I am, enabler of note, I trotted down the street to retrieve the ball. "Hello there, little ball, how you doin'?" The ball just stared at me, which I took as a sign that maybe I was mistaken. Up close, the basketball looked unfamiliar. "This is not my beautiful basketball." I wished it well, set it down gently in the bushes, so that the neighbor-hood child who selfishly discarded it might one day reclaim it, and went home. "I just found a basketball in the middle of the street," I told hubby. "Was it ours?" "Do we have a white Nike basketball?" "Yes." "Oh, eff, I'll be back." So then I rescued it for real, and felt so good about myself as a human being.You'll be happy to know the basketball has been repurposed as a giant chew toy. Just this morning, Dusty dribbled on it, sniffed it and then ignored it, in honor of March Madness. When it comes to basketball, the dog takes after me.
Rescuer that I am, enabler of note, I trotted down the street to retrieve the ball. "Hello there, little ball, how you doin'?" The ball just stared at me, which I took as a sign that maybe I was mistaken. Up close, the basketball looked unfamiliar. "This is not my beautiful basketball." I wished it well, set it down gently in the bushes, so that the neighbor-hood child who selfishly discarded it might one day reclaim it, and went home. "I just found a basketball in the middle of the street," I told hubby. "Was it ours?" "Do we have a white Nike basketball?" "Yes." "Oh, eff, I'll be back." So then I rescued it for real, and felt so good about myself as a human being.You'll be happy to know the basketball has been repurposed as a giant chew toy. Just this morning, Dusty dribbled on it, sniffed it and then ignored it, in honor of March Madness. When it comes to basketball, the dog takes after me.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
The Best Way
The best way to get the SJG to look horrified...
... is to show up at my door in these.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Let's Talk About Drywall
Let's not!
"Someone's getting drywall.""Drywall?"
"You know what drywall is."
"A product that dries walls."
"That's not what it is."
"I know. I've watched enough HGTV to tell you what drywall is."
"Then what is it?"
"You tell me."
"It's a quick way to finish a wall without having to actually plaster the wall."
"When's the last time you drywalled anything?"
"When we fixed the leak in the floor we had to do drywall."
"Did you personally drywall it?"
"Personally, no."
"Aha! So who's getting drywall?"
"Our neighbors across the street."
"What are they drywalling?"
"I have no idea.'"
"I think we're done talking about drywall."
"Good."
Friday, March 13, 2015
Beautiful People In Beautiful Dresses
"I'm outta here, bitches."
Kathy Griffin was barely getting started as Joan's replacement, just warming up, and now she's done, spinning her departure this way: "I thought I could bring my brand of humor to 'Fashion Police' so that beautiful people in beautiful dresses could be teased when appropriate. My brand of humor, while unrepentant and unafraid, is all about CONTEXT." She went on to say she doesn't want to "contribute to a culture of unattainable perfectionism and intolerance towards difference."
There must have been a lot more going on behind the scenes that nobody's sharing; some sort of toxic agenda. I thought the point of the show was to poke fun at the perfectionism and laugh at today's fashion-obsessed, overly-botoxed celebrities. I don't get what all the fuss is about, other than the worst fashion accessory of all: censorship.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Bring Your Own Teeth
If you qualify for Senior Discounts, these STCs (Senior Texting Codes) are for you. If you don't, it gives you something to look forward to as you grow old and leaky. Who said aging isn't funny?
· ATD ~ At The Doctor's
· BFF ~ Best Friend Farted
· BTW ~ Bring The Wheelchair
· BYOT ~ Bring Your Own Teeth
· CBM ~ Covered By Medicare
· CUATSC ~ See You At The Senior Center
· DWI ~ Driving While Incontinent
· FWB ~ Friend With Beta Blockers
· FWIW ~ Forgot Where I Was
· FYI ~ Found Your Insulin
· GGLKI ~ Gotta Go, Laxative Kicking In
· GGPBL ~ Gotta Go, Pacemaker Battery Low!
· GHA ~ Got Heartburn Again
· HGBM ~ Had Good Bowel Movement
· IMHO ~ Is My Hearing-Aid On?
· LMDO ~ Laughing My Dentures Out
· LOL ~ Living On Lipitor
· LWO ~ Lawrence Welk's On
· OMMR ~ On My Massage Recliner
· OMSG ~ Oh My! Sorry, Gas!
· OVIM ~ Oy Vey, I'm Old
· ROFL-CGU ~ Rolling On Floor Laughing, Can't Get Up
· SGGP ~ Sorry, Gotta Go Poop
· TTYL ~ Talk To You Louder
· WAITT ~ Who Am I Talking To?
· WTFA ~ Wet The Furniture Again
· WTP ~ Where's The Prunes?
· WWNO ~ Walker Wheels Need Oil
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Bette Sings Kim!
Here's something giggle-worthy. Bette Midler sings Kim K.W.'s inspired fashion tweets. If this doesn't put you in a good mood, you might as well stay home and blame it on Daylight Savings Time.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Walking Worried
Dear SJG,
I'm a little concerned that my neighbor across the street might be a zombie. I don't like the way she looks at me and licks her lips. I don't like the way she drools on my driveway whenever I'm unloading the groceries. Is there an agency I can call to report her? My husband thinks I'm overreacting.
Sincerely,
Walking Worried
Dear Worried,
Get out while you can.
You're Welcome,
The SJG
I'm a little concerned that my neighbor across the street might be a zombie. I don't like the way she looks at me and licks her lips. I don't like the way she drools on my driveway whenever I'm unloading the groceries. Is there an agency I can call to report her? My husband thinks I'm overreacting.
Sincerely,
Walking Worried
Dear Worried,
Get out while you can.
You're Welcome,
The SJG
Monday, March 9, 2015
If You Don't Know Who You Are...
If you don't know who you are, you try all sorts of things to figure out who you are.
If you don't know who you are, you follow the folks who think they know who they are.
If you don't know who you are, you act in-the-know even though you aren't.
But... if you do know who you are, you say it with pride.
I'm the SJG. And I'm a Kvetch-A-Tarian.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Act Surprised
A very silly Stu Brower, hubby and me,
wearing very silly party beads.
wearing very silly party beads.
Last night at the surprise party, we debated whether the guest of honor looked even the slightest bit surprised when he walked in the door. Actually, it wasn't much of a debate. We all agreed he looked like he was faking surprise, which is hard for most humans. Unless you're a graduate of the Royal Academy of Acting Surprised, it's nearly an impossible feat. And so, as the birthday boychick, a spry 50-year-old, table hopped, we forced him onto the witness stand and cross examined him at length. "Were you, or were you not, surprised?" He swore on a stack of menus that of course he was surprised. Then he began to waffle a wee bit. Not "oh my God, you got me!" surprised. Not "I had no idea you loved me this much!" surprised. But more along the lines of, "I thought something was up, but I wasn't sure" surprised. In other words, he was acting surprised. His wife looked pretty convinced he was surprised, which is all that matters.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
The Kelly Clarkson School of Self-Acceptance
British journalist Katie Hopkins, aka the Wicked Witch, would like us to know that, "Kelly Clarkson is now a chunky monkey, if we're putting it kindly. She does look like she's eaten her backup singers. My advice: she needs to get out there with her stroller and do some pushing and get some of that weight off... That's not baby weight. That's carrot cake." Apparently, Hopkins thinks she's entitled to fat shame because she put on 40 pounds in three months and documented the whole "experiment" for British telly, including how she lost the extra weight.
But guess who doesn't give an eff about what Hopkins or anyone else thinks? Kelly Clarkson. She doesn't let all the fat-shamers get to her. This makes me love Kelly Clarkson even more. She's found a way to quell those mean-spirited critics, not only in the media, but most importantly, in her own head. Whatever school of self-acceptance Kelly Clarkson attended, I hope they're taking new applicants. I'd pay double to be that cool.
But guess who doesn't give an eff about what Hopkins or anyone else thinks? Kelly Clarkson. She doesn't let all the fat-shamers get to her. This makes me love Kelly Clarkson even more. She's found a way to quell those mean-spirited critics, not only in the media, but most importantly, in her own head. Whatever school of self-acceptance Kelly Clarkson attended, I hope they're taking new applicants. I'd pay double to be that cool.
Friday, March 6, 2015
The Birth Of A Jewish Mother
Never loses its flavor.
Mother as coffee table.
("Mother" by Judy Olausen)
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Show The Love
There are so many ways to deliver a warm and fuzzy heartfelt message to the SJG. Email. Text. Voicemail. Pony Express. Facebook. Carrier pigeon. And then there are the huge, showy public statements that keep me going. I refer you to the outpouring of love I received on SJG Appreciation Day. The skywriting over my palatial Sherman Oaks estate: "We worship you, SJG!" The billboard on Sunset: "Stay Kvetchy, SJG!" The exuberant sighting at Gelson's: "OMG! It's the SJG!" That one caused a near-riot in the produce section. Have you ever tried to autograph a banana? Not easy, my friends. Not easy. But I'm learning. I'm learning all the time. In case you missed SJG Appreciation Day, relax in the slacks, as Grandma Shorty used to say. You have plenty of time to make up for your hideously glaring mistake. April is SJG Appreciation Month.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
The Optimist Sees The Bagel...
The Pessimist Sees The Hole
Excerpts from the "Little Jewish
Instruction Book," by Leonard Sorcher:
The
optimist sees the bagel, the pessimist sees the hole.
If you
can't say something nice, say it in Yiddish.
Who
else could have invented the 50-minute hour?
There
comes a time in every man's life when he must stand up and tell his mother he's an adult. This usually happens around age 45.
WASPs
leave and never say goodbye.
Jews
say goodbye and never leave.
Israel
is the land of milk and honey.
Florida is the land of milk of magnesia.
Florida is the land of milk of magnesia.
The
High Holidays have absolutely nothing to do with marijuana.
Always
whisper the names of diseases.
One
mitzvah can change the world; two will just make you tired.
If you
don't eat, it will kill me.
Anything worth saying is worth repeating a thousand times.
Never take a front-row seat at a bris.
Next year in Jerusalem. The year after that, how about a cruise?
Anything worth saying is worth repeating a thousand times.
Never take a front-row seat at a bris.
Next year in Jerusalem. The year after that, how about a cruise?
Spring
ahead, fall back, winter in Miami Beach.
A
schmata is a dress that your husband's ex is wearing.
Without Jewish mothers, who would need therapy?
According to Jewish dietary law, pork and shellfish may be eaten only in Chinese restaurants.
Tsuris
is a Jewish word that means your child is marrying someone who isn't Jewish.
If
you're going to whisper at the movies, make sure it's loud enough for everyone else to hear.
Laugh
now, but one day you'll be driving a big Cadillac and eating dinner at four in the afternoon.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Singin' and Swingin'
Donny Most at Catalina Jazz Club
A rainy Sunday night and the SJG and hubby were out on the town - a highly unusual event. What got us out of the house? Why, Sinatra, Dino and Darin, of course, courtesy of Donny Most and his big band. Donny, well-known as Ralph Malph of "Happy Days," is a nice Jewish boy, a gifted singer, an all-round talented mensch, married to the spectacular Morgan, who had the honor of living with me in college for one glorious year. And she's still talking to me! A wonderful evening. I'm still snapping my fingers and singing "Mack the Knife."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)