Beware The Guacamole

The Super Bowl's on Sunday

Line your snacks up for half-time

In terms of guacamole

Pick your seasons and your rhyme

It's easy to make homemade

Not that store-bought is a crime

Be careful what you shop for

If you want that dip sublime

Be sure to wear your glasses

To read what's between the lime

And tell the mild from spicy

Or the heat will start to climb

The jalapeño pepper

Might reset your body's clime

Don't forget to ask your host 

How hot's that guac, Wisenheim?

Don't you scorch your 'lil tongue off

And get stuck in pantomime

You Must Remember This

"Tell me again so I don't forget." 

These days, the memory is a bit iffy. There's just too much to keep track of before the expectant parents move into a very old, but incredibly charming house that needs a lot of love, what with all the people coming and going to fix things, change things, make things better. The only way the rapidly aging enablers, that would be longtime hubby and myself, can keep things straight is to communicate as only we know how:

"Honey?"
"Yes, my devoted first wife of 40 years?"
"Not to correct you, darling, but..."
"That's never stopped you before."
"It's 39.5 years."
"Shouldn't we round it up to 40, dearest?"

"Let's not. That will only confuse me."
"Very well. In any event, what were you going to say? And can you say it, swiftly? I don't wish to be late for my job. The network falls apart without me."
"I was going to remind you to do something very important."
"You've got my full attention."
"Do I?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you're looking at your phone."
"I can pay attention and look at my phone."
"That's hilarious."
"I'm putting the phone down."
"I was going to remind you to... oh, dear God in heaven, I can't eff'n remember what the eff I was going to remind you to do."
"Well, when you remember, text me."
"If I text you, will you actually read it?"
"Don't I always?"
"Only when I remind you to read it."
"Then call me first, remind me to read it, and I shall do so, immediately."
"Excellent plan, honey."
"Kiss kiss, see you later."
"Not if I see you first."

Imaginary Support Animal Barred From Flight

(Sherman Oaks) A short Jewish rapidly-aging goddess threw an epic hissy fit when she learned that airlines no longer would be required to accommodate imaginary emotional support animals under new federal rules proposed Wednesday. "I've been bringing my imaginary emotional support guinea pig Stuart Little on every flight I've been on since I was a little girl growing up in the humble village of Westwood," she told reporters gathered in her palatial kitchen. "Look, Stuart Little was a mouse in the book, I get it, tell me something I don't know, but in my world, I made him a guinea pig. Why? I'll tell why. Because I needed a sense of power, capiche? I hope that's cool with you there in the back. Save some kugel for the others. Stuart Little was everything to me. Imagine my shock and surprise when I got him a buddy, King Saul, named during my biblical phase, and Stuart not only gave birth, but plotzed on the same day. I don't think I've ever gotten over it. This explains why I take Stuart with me as my spirit animal, my emotional rock, on flights to keep me calm. The one time I left him home, I started doing the hora up and down the aisle, involuntarily, on a turbulent flight to Kansas and spent a little time in airport jail. I don't like to talk about it. So they can't take him/her or should I say them, away from me." At this juncture in the press conference, the same kugel-hogger/reporter raised his hand. "Not to upset you further, but there's nothing in the rules about banning imaginary emotional support animals." "Say what now?" "They're trying to block the poorly-behaved live ones, the peacocks, snakes, pigs and turkeys that people try to pass off as emotional support animals to avoid paying the fee to transport them." "So you're saying I misread the rules?" "Yes." "Oh well. That's very different. Never mind."

The Other Side

Dear SJG,
I just found out that my best friend Azalea has moved to the other side. I'm so shocked I could plotz, but I've got a lot on my plate. Azalea and I have always been on the same side. She didn't even give me a heads up. I'm hurt, betrayed and altogether confused. How should I handle this? I've known Azalea since I shared my cream cheese and olive sandwich with her in second grade.
Sincerely,
Verklempt in Valencia

Dear Verklempt,
Listen, sometimes friends move to the other side and forget to leave a forwarding address. Try not to take it personally. I'm kidding. Sure, Azalea might've mentioned it, but maybe she knew you'd get mad so she took the easy way out. The good news is you have choices. You can beg her to come back. You can let her go. You can try to see things her way. You can bring her a nice coffee cake from Gelson's and let the crumbs fall where they may.
You're Welcome,
The SJG

Every Year

Every year I light a candle in his honor. Every year I put a photo of him next to the candle. Six years in, this is the first time I thought, "I wish I had a more current photo." Just a simple shot of him, seated in the best booth at the Big Deli in the Sky, where there's no draft and no waiting. In front of him, a nice bowl of chicken soup. Next to him, Mom. Sharing the booth, their closest friends, the Libermans, the Danzigs, swapping hilarious Hollywood stories. Wouldn't that be something? 

Milk It While You Can

Let's face it, nobody knows how to milk her birthday better than the SJG. Here I am, a day before my birthday, which, if I haven't already told you, is today, wishing for something very special, kina hora, poo poo poo: "I wish that this year, unlike last year, and the year before that, Blakey finally barks out Happy Birthday, just like I've spent many hours teaching him to do."

I may have to wait another year, maybe two, till the lessons kick in.

Queen Asks SJG To Solve "Megxit"

The Queen's big announcement from Buckingham Palace today went something like this, more or less: "After lengthy discussions regarding the Harry-Meghan royal exodus, we realized only one person could help us negotiate this rather awkward situation, and that is the Short Jewish Gal. You may or may not recall that she helped smooth things over when William and Kate, after repeated viewings of 'Fiddler on the Roof,' decided to convert to Judaism before their nuptials. We didn't see that one coming, I can assure you. The SJG graciously acted as their personal maven, teaching them how to dance the hora, speak Yiddish and say oy vey without ever losing their royal demeanor. Which brings us to our current dilemma. When the SJG reminded me via Royal Face Time of her deep personal connection with Meghan, having written 'When Sparks Fly,' that delightful Hallmark movie she starred in, and offered to help us sort out this epic shanda, how could I, in good conscience, decline? If anyone can end Megxit, it's the SJG. After all, she's been dealing with estranged relatives since the tender age of 12. As she told me just this morning, 'There's nothing a nice round of Hava Nagila can't solve.' Even better, she wants nothing in return other than unconditional, endless, daily praise and an invitation to tea. Sounds jolly good to me, don't you agree?"

Put This On

Q: What is a Jewish sweater?
A: It's what a Jewish child wears when his mother is cold.

Little Paul says to his father, "Daddy, Daddy, I want to get married."
His father says, "For that son, you have to have a girlfriend."
Paul says, "But I've found a girl."
"Who?"
"Grandma."
"Let me get this straight. You want to marry my mother? You can't do that."
"Well, why not? You married mine."

Becky was very rich. One day she phoned a famous young artist and said she wanted to commission him to paint her. He said his fee would be $10,000, and she immediately accepted. When she arrived at his studio for the first sitting, she gave him a check for $12,000. The artist was very surprised and asked what the extra money was for.
“I want you to paint me in the nude,” she said. “Do you have any objections?”
“Not for $12,000, I don’t. But I would have to keep my socks on. I need somewhere to put my brushes.”
http://awordinyoureye.com

It All Started With A Pointy Head

The pre-Bar Mitzvah boychick 

On this day in 1988, he came out with a pointy head. The four grandparents looked alarmed. They wanted to know what's with the pointy head, will the pointy head be a thing, will the pointy head go away, will it get worse, do we have to call him Cone Head, or Mr. Cone Head, what's the best nickname for such a spiky situation? Of course, we would have loved him no matter the shape of his head. And while his keppy did settle into normalcy, his devotion to spikiness remained. The bleached blond tips, gooped up and aiming skyward, extended well into his teens. Until one day, he decided to lose the spikes for good. We've always encouraged him to make the big decisions on his own, and we couldn't be prouder of his unpredictable choices. Math-averse in school, today he does digital marketing in the financial world. Not a big fan of studying foreign languages, today he speaks fluent French. See what happens when you fall in love with a French beauty? Good things. At 32, he's a daddy-to-be. So let me get right to the point: Happy birthday to you, Billy, and oh so many more.

Nicely Said

"As they say in the old country, it's nice when nice happens to nice." - Jon Stewart

"Let's face it, a nice creamy chocolate cake does a lot for a lot of people; it does for me." - Audrey Hepburn

"Make nice, you two, or you'll never eat kugel in this house again!" -  SJG 

My Only New Year's Resolution

I never thought I'd be so excited for Monday. But today, I'm ecstatic. Why? I'll tell you why. Because I finally know it's Monday, as opposed to last week, when I couldn't tell you what day it was if my life depended on it. Fine, maybe if you shoved a calendar in my punim, shamed me, repeatedly, interrogated me for hours under a hot lamp, and held up a flash card that said, "Today is ---, you dummy," I might have been able to identify the day. But let's get back to basics, m'kay? According to the non-profit SJG Mental Health Institution of Sherman Oaks, the fact that today is Monday, and I know it's Monday and don't have to verify it with anyone is such a good thing. In 2020, I have only one goal, one resolution: I'd like to know what day I'm occupying without asking anyone in my immediate vicinity. That's it. This is my gift, not just to me, the well-deserving recipient, but also to anyone I hold captive until they tell me what the eff day it is, anyway. As for the date itself, who cares, I never know and don't expect that to change. In 2020, I'm keeping it simple. Who's with me?

A Little Obsessed

French Baby gifts from Chloé's French friends 

Okay, so maybe I'm more than a little baby-to-be-obsessed. Is this healthy for your SJG? Hmm. Let me get back to you on that. Meanwhile, I can't help myself. The baby girl isn't even arriving till mid-May, kina hora, poo poo poo, the shower I'm throwing Chlo-Chlo isn't until end of March. And yet, I am a grandma in training. This is serious work, people. It takes preparation, Talmudic study and deep reflection. What's that? It's the role I'm born to play? That goes without saying, even so, here I am in my adorably cluttered office, in need of a handmade sign that says "Gone Googlin'." Who has time to make a sign? I'm way too busy. Yesterday, when I should've been working on my new play, I was ordering baby shower favors, instead. The choice was pretty clear. Re-read "Macbeth" (don't ask) or devour Pinterest for clever ideas? Pinterest, duh. What do I know about baby shower favors? Bupkis. The whole adult party favor thing is fairly new. For me, the cut-off was pre-Bar Mitzvah. I haven't put together a plastic bag of crappy toys, teeth-destroying candy and whatever little boys liked in the '90s since, well, the '90s. I'm in new territory here.

Chloé in Paris. I don't remember looking this
glam at five months preggers. Or ever,
for that matter. 

The parents-to-be in Paris, jetting home as we
speak. If only they could teleport and be here
sooner. Is that too much to ask? 

Need A Mensch? Give Us A Call

(Sherman Oaks) Welcome to SJG Such A Mensch Staffing Agency, your gateway to the finest mensches in your area. We take pride in providing a mensch for all your needs, and we do mean all. Why hire a schlepper, a no-goodnik, or a nar, when you can employ Such A Mensch, instead? Need a last-minute mitzvah? Someone who's happy for you just because? Someone who's there for you and no one else? Someone who listens while you kvetch? Never interrupts? Brags about you on cue? Hire one of our highly-qualified mensches and if you're not satisfied, there's something seriously wrong with you, and we say that with love. Here at Such A Mensch, we're dedicated to finding you the most compassionate and attractive humans you'll ever meet.

And all you have to do is cough up the gelt to get them! No one has to know that the cute mensch you brought to Shabbat dinner charges by the hour. No one has to know that the millennial mensch you're passing off as your "new business partner" is only there to make you seem young and hip. SJG Such A Mensch won't tell a soul. We're 100 percent trustworthy, unless we've had a little too much to drink, then all bets are off. The fact that you're paying for companionship (wink wink), expertise and excellent optics is strictly hush-hush. Listen, if it makes you feel good, and your check clears, that's really all that matters, right? So give us a call, send us a text or stop by our palatial suburban offices, where the coffee is free but the empathy costs extra.