Yiddish Curses

Perfect for any and all occasions, the best Yiddish curses you can hurl at various targets:
 Ale tsores vos ikh hob oyf mayn hartsn, zoln oysgeyn tsu zayn kop.
All problems I have in my heart, should go to his head.

Zol es im onkumn vos ikh vintsh im (khotsh a helft, khotsh halb, khotsh a tsent kheylik).
Let what I wish on him come true (most, even half, even just 10%).

Eyn imglik iz far im veynik.
One misfortune is too few for him.

Khasene hobn zol er mit di malekh hamoves tokhter.
He should marry the daughter of the Angel of Death.

Zalts im in di oygen, feffer im in di noz.
Throw salt in his eyes, pepper in his nose.

A kramp (a kram, a kortsh) im in layb (in boyakh, in di kishkes, in di gederem, in di finger).
A cramp in his body (in his stomach, in his guts, in his bowels, in his fingers and toes).

A Few Thoughts on Patience

"With love and patience, nothing is impossible." 
-- Daisaku Ikeda 

"No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing." -- William Shakespeare

"Asleep, I'm supremely patient; awake, not so much." -- The Short Jewish Gal 

A Date With The Doctor

"Looks like someone's been waiting a long time."

"I'm seeing the doctor on Tuesday."
"Is this the new guy?"
"New-ish. It's our second appointment."
"What are you going to wear?"
"A paper gown, open in the back."
"You can still accessorize."
"Oh, I plan to. You know what I always say."
"It's important to look lovely."
"You got that right, sister."

Take Two Tuk Tuks...

... And call me in the morning:
"Hellody?"
"Hellody!"
"We're back in Bangkok."
"Yay. How'd you get there?"
"We took a tuk tuk to the pier, we took a boat, we took a plane, we took a taxi ride from hell, and we're here."
"Wow. Sounds exhausting."
"The traffic in Bangkok is insane. It took an hour and a half from the airport to the hotel."
"My butt hurts just hearing about it."
"Tonight we're going to the Sky Bar where they filmed 'Hangover 2.'"
"Fun."
"It's the biggest open-air roof top bar in the world."
"Oy. Stay away from the edge."
"I will, Mamaloo."
"Love you."
"Love you."
"Come home already."

Stop! In The Name of Adventure!

Someone else's quote of the day.

The sons may be off having their Big Adventures, but that doesn't mean the SJG doesn't get to have a few new semi-wild experiences of my own. Why, just yesterday...

I dodged an oncoming bus at Hollywood and Vine...

... Tried to break into the W Hotel (who knew I needed a room card to get in the side entrance?)

The Faux Supremes

... Developed "The Shimmy Shimmy Shoulder Groove," a new seated dance move sure to sweep the nation -- all while the lady in the row behind us YELLED out crazy sh*t throughout "Motown: The Musical." Examples: "Diana!" "Michael!" "Uh huh, that's right!" "Mmm, mmm, Marvin!!!!" 

Get in line, ladies

... And at Intermission, fought my way to one of three dangerously crowded bathrooms at the Pantages and made it out alive. During my lengthy wait, in between shoving matches and "hey, no cuts, byotch!" I do believe I came up with...

... A genius idea. There are apps to reserve parking spots. Why not a Ladies Room App to reserve a stall at any theater, stadium or airport in the known world? Talk about a time (and bladder) saver. I told ya it was genius.

Still Waiting For Directions

I bet these folks can help me.

The other day, I asked the social media universe, "Can you take me to Funkytown?" Sadly, no one offered up directions. Disappointing. But then, what isn't? So the SJG had to take matters into my own little hands. Like so many things in life, I had to figure out how to get there myself. And I did, because I'm a doer. Turns out, Funkytown, for those interested, is located on Hollywood Boulevard, in the vicinity of the Pantages Theater, where "Motown: The Musical" currently lives. This afternoon, along with my favorite troublemakers, brother John and his good friend Erlin, I'll get about as funky as the SJG can get while seated. I'll pretend I'm actually seeing The Jackson Five. I'll make believe it's Diana Ross up there, and Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye. Chances are excellent I'll sing along with my favorite songs, till someone suggests I shut the eff up, or management intervenes. Just kidding. I'll be good. Always a challenge, but I'll give it my best rim shot.

Tour The SJG's Sherman Oaks

Some of the lucky participants

Congregation Oy Gevalt is offering a brief but illuminating tour of the Short Jewish Gal's Sherman Oaks today only. So corral your friends, neighbors, frenemies and estranged relatives to join in this exciting event, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life and after-life. The bus will depart Gelson's at 10 a.m. and return at 10:30 a.m. Fine. It's a very short tour. But look what's included: Temple Oy Gevalt, a historic Sherman Oaks landmark where the SJG's sons were bribed into getting Bar Mitzvahed; soon-to-close Solley's Deli, where the SJG has bought chicken soup and passed it off as her own more than she cares to admit; the Westfield Mall, where the SJG often buys gifts for other people, because she's a giver, and of course, Gelson's, where you can choose your own nice snack from one of the aisles the SJG roams twice, if not, thrice-weekly. The cost is $40 per person for Congregation Oy Gevalt members, $45 per guests and $15 for students age 18 and under. Oh, and did we mention, the SJG is your tour guide. If you pass up an opportunity like this, there's something seriously wrong with you.

Oh, The Places They'll Go (Without You)

And he's off...

The youngest has landed, and all I can say, not surprisingly, is thank God. (What, me worry? Oh, a little.) He's wanted to go to the land of David Beckham and Wayne Rooney since he first laid eyes on a soccer ball. This is a dream for him, a big trip, a huge step out of his comfort zone. Let's just say he wasn't President of the Sherman Oaks Adventure Club. He's more of a stay-at-home, listen to music and write pithy rap lyrics type of emerging adult. But listen, all he needed was a giant shove out the door and look at him now. After London comes Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague and Rome. I'll just sit here in the dark and wait for updates. I'll be fine. Really.

Beer in Thailand? Why not.

Meanwhile, on another side of the world, the eldest sips beer in Thailand, sleeps in an eco hut, snorkels, motor bikes and protects his girlfriend from vicious jungle monkeys that want to steal her phone. He's been chasing adventure since he arrived on the planet. Two seconds after he first walked he was ready to run. I've been trying to catch up with him ever since.  

I couldn't be prouder of them both. 

The Best of Dave

 

Dave's last show tonight: don't even go there. It's too much. It's too soon. I'm not ready, are you? I'm sitting shiva over his departure. I love him for his wit and snark, his goofy smile and intelligence, his sharp observations and self-deprecation and above all, his honesty. Thanks, Dave. Thanks for all the laughs and all the fun. There will never be another Dave. You heard me. Never. 

For The Anxiety Prone

Dear SJG,
The American Association of Anxiety-Prone Bloggers (AAAPB) wants to reassure you that your treasured and adored offspring are just fine, whether you believe it or not. We know, we know. Who would you be if you weren't worrying about something real or imaginary? You'd be someone entirely different, that's who. While one son island-hops in Thailand, and the other prepares to depart for Ye Olde UK, all you can do is fret yourself stupid. We at AAAPB would like to offer a little unsolicited advice: Stop That. Sons off on adventure? This is a good thing. Or so we hear. We at AAAPB are a little obsessed with our own people, too. We wish they'd just stay home and never go anywhere. Would that be so terrible? It's a scary world out there.

Be well, or a close approximation,
Your friends at AAAPB

It's The Real Thing

Just go with it, man.

(Sherman Oaks) News crews from around the globe gathered on the semi-brown, drought-stricken front lawn of the Short Jewish Gal, to await her SPOILER-FREE reaction to the series finale of "Mad Men." During the commercials, she popped out with hot slices of kugel for the reporters (What a mensch, right? Who does that?) and a range of sentiments: "Aww." "Sob." "Really?!" "Roger!" "Go, Joan!" "Peggy!" "Really?!" "You have a call from..." "Sob." After the finale, the SJG invited the reporters inside for an ice cold Coke, a group meditation and sing-along. Later, she put love beads around their necks and shoved them out the door, with a final message. "Peace out, bitches!"

I'd like to buy the world a coke. But put it on my expense account. 

The Zen of Don Draper

When last we saw Don Draper,  he was sitting on a bus bench in the middle of nowhere, with a Sears bag. Life had kicked the sh*t out of him yet again, and the expression on his face said, "Yeah, I deserved it." Depressing? Exhilarating? Confusing? Oh, hell yes. But then, Don Draper has always been the most confounding of TV characters. Just when we thought Don was on an upswing, he eff'd it all up, just like before. We kept watching, anyway. That's the weird pull of "Mad Men." Tonight the series finale will tell us where he's going next. Or not. Wherever he's headed, nowhere or somewhere or just a new purgatory of his own making, it feels like a do-over. He's falling off that high-rise, metaphorically. Maybe he'll take back his old name, Dick Whitman, or keep his current name, or find a whole new name that suits this suit-less, hat-less version of the most mystifying, post-Madison Avenue man to ever grace TV. I will miss him, deeply. Here are some of his best quotes:

 True that.

I'm on it.

Who doesn't?

Exactly.

Gee, But It's Great To Be Back Home

If I may quote Paul Simon, and why shouldn't I quote a fellow short Jew: "Gee, but it's great to be back home. Home is where I want to be." It's nice to go away, it's nice to come back. Will I miss the half-naked stewards on JetBlue Mint asking to freshen my minty cocktail? Let me think about that. Yes. So much, it's painful to admit. Over here in the S.O., no one ever offers me a hot hand towel. No one. Hasn't happened once. Not once. Which is why I would love to travel Business Class throughout my daily life. This would be a good thing. "You can choose three menu items, SJG." I could live with that Monday-Sunday. "Would you like a blanket? A pillow? A foot massage? Have you decided on dessert yet?" To get such exquisite pampering for 5.5 hours each way, one must hitch a ride with this handsome guy right here:

Hey, Big Spender

Am I lucky bitch, or what?

Just Another Day in NYC

At the CW Upfront: A capella group Naturally 7. 

So good, it's redonkulous.

Oh, hell yes. Of Monsters and Men, 

all the way from Iceland. 

Golden Globe winner Gina Rodriguez 

and cast of "Jane the Virgin."

All the gorgeous actors from the CW. 

These people lucked out in the gene pool.

The SJG and boyfriend Ian Somerhalder, 

star of "Vampire Diaries," and more significantly 

in my world, "Lost." I wished him 

a big mazel tov on marrying Nikki Reed. 

The Curious Incident of the SJG in NYC

Chilina Kennedy, fabulous as Carole King

Sometimes I'm a little opinionated. Like yesterday, when moments after "Beautiful" ended, as Debbi (aka "Bubbles") and the SJG made our way out of the theater, singing our mutual theme song, "Natural Woman," the gal walking behind us dispersed with highly erroneous, Carole King-related info. Wife to Husband: "Nothing in the show about James Taylor?! She was married to him!" The SJG brain started pinging. I'm an expert on Carole King, an expert, I tell ya. And James Taylor? Please. I know plenty about him, too. I turned around and defended my idols.

JT and CK

SJG: "Carole King and James Taylor were never married."
Wife: "They weren't?"
SJG: "They were close friends."
Wife: "But they had a child together!"
SJG: "No, they didn't."
Wife: "Are you sure?"
SJG: "Positive."
Wife: "I thought they had a child."
SJG: "They didn't."
I turned around. My work was done.

Taylor Trensch in "Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time"

In the evening, another incident. "Oh, no!" I said to the elegant and very tall Connie Ray, star of Broadway, TV and other impressive stuff. "What is it now?" she said. "We don't get to see Alex Sharp, the Tony-nominated guy." "We don't?" "No, we're seeing the Wednesday guy... Taylor Trensch." "So?" "So, I'm just telling you." "I'm sure the other guy will be wonderful." As usual, she was right. He was great, the show was great and my head is still spinning, maybe due to the crazy-high pollen count. 

Really, New York? Really?

So Many Marilyns

Andy Warhol anyone?

How often do you get to go museum-ing on a whim? If you live in L.A., uh, never. In L.A. you must plan. You must get a Ph.D in Traffic Avoidance. You must schlep, schlep, schlep. In New York, you can say, "Hey, why don't I get my ass some culture, like, now?" Well, that's what I did yesterday. I wandered around the Museum of Modern Art, bathing in Picasso, Monet and Van Gogh, till a guard came by and said, "The only nudes welcome here are on the wall. Put your schmata back on." Message received, sir.

My shoe is your shoe.

I don't know about you, because you never write, you never call, but when I think Warhol, I think about the Multitude of Monroes and Campbell Soups, not shoes. Turns out, he did a whole series of shoes when he was the sole illustrator for shoe maker I. Miller. 

You can lead a shoe to water but you can't make it drink.

I found Warhol's clever shoes so magical, and my own sensible, orthotic footwear so appalling, that I felt momentarily horrified. But it passed, especially when I found this famous portrait...

Frida K.

... and felt instantly grateful that God spared me such a hellacious unibrow. What, they didn't have tweezers back then?

Shiva with Larry D.

In the early eve, hubby and I grabbed Cuban food at Victor's Cafe, totally delish, by the way, and went to see "Fish in the Dark," Larry David's smash hit. How I scored these tickets, I'd rather not say, but a guy named Guido was involved. I adore Larry David so much, it's hard to quantify said adoration. I wanted to adore his play. There were laughs and fun and all, but overall, it didn't quite match my high expectations. But then, what does?

Eavesdropping In NYC

A muggy, muggy day in NYC

The lady at the Cosmic diner summed it up best, with a bissel Yiddish, to boot: "Be grateful! This is bashert." Whatever she meant was meant to be, I can't tell you, but I took it to mean that I was meant to eavesdrop on her conversation. After all, she was on the other side of my booth, having a loud and testy conversation with someone I decided was either a husband or ex-husband, or more than likely a brother, given the level of New York honesty.

When you talk loudly in front of the out-of-town SJG, be forewarned. I tend to jot down a few notes. And this gal was offering such wisdom:

Man: "You are a pain in the ass."
Woman: "I know, but it paid off."
Perfect response to any insult hurled your way, am I right?

Then later, this:
Woman: "Stop trying to placate me."
Man: "Stop lecturing me."
Who wouldn't want to hang out with these two?

The lovely windows at Bendels

Earlier in the day, I visited Bendels, my favorite store. Gone: all the private vendors. It's now 100 percent Bendels merchandise. So I bought myself a Bendels-made bauble. How could I not? Gone, too, the uber-aggressive makeup section. There was no one to accost me. No one to say, "I've got something for that situation under your eyes." Well, color my cheeks ecstatic with a hint of shimmer. If that's not the definition of bashert, what is?

The almost late "Late Show." Don't go, Dave. Stay.