My Life In A Nutshell

Meshuggeneh Monday: Embrace the crazy. Order Uber ride to Funny Farm.

Testy Tuesday: Test will power. Fail test. Test how long it takes to get to kitchen.

WTF Wednesday: For each "WTF?!" spoken during 24-hour news cycle, take Tequila shot.

Teetotal Thursday: Abstain from booze. Use time to feel present, mindful, tranquil. Give up.

Fried Food Friday: Fry. Eat. Repeat. Peanut Butter Cups. Bananas. Girl Scout Cookies. Spaghetti-O's. Potato Chips. Matzoh from 2003.

Sacrifice Saturday: List good deeds to be done. Don't do any. Make new list. No good deeds to be done.

Sanitize Sunday: Clorox counter. Lysol lifestyle. Purell panic.

Parental Distancing

Keep your parental distance. 

Week whatever of this rollercoaster ride from Hell, and the delightful millennials I birthed a while back continue to put me in my place. They scold me in the most parental way, attaching various nicknames to soften the blow.

Youngest: "Sweet Ma! What am I going to do with you? I told you, in no uncertain terms, not to go out. How many times must I repeat myself?"
Me: "Oh, for @#$%'s sake, honey, all I did was walk the dog."
Youngest: "Don't lie to me. You went to Gelson's, didn't you?"
Me: "I refuse to answer on the grounds it may contaminate me."

Eldest: "Mama Bear! I thought we said no more CVS outings."
Me: "It was fine. I kept my social distance. I wore gloves. I didn't yell at anyone."
Eldest: "Did you throw out the gloves like a good girl?"
Me: "Yes. I'm not an idiot."
Eldest: "No one said you were."

Youngest: "I'll only come over on Sunday if you stay six feet away at all times."
Me: "I'll have my measuring tape ready."
Youngest: "No hugs, Sweet Ma."
Me: "What about air hugs? Are air hugs okay? "
Youngest: "I'll consult the CDC and get back to you."

Eldest: "You can't come over till after the baby's born."
Me: "What did I do to deserve such banishment?"
Eldest: "It's not you, it's the pandemic."
Me: "What if I stand on the driveway and wave?"
Eldest: "We'll consult the Ob-Gyn and get back to you."

Yesterday, the mother-son texting kicked up a notch.
Youngest: "Ma! You just butt dialed me!"
Me: "What?! My phone wasn't even in my back pocket."
Youngest: "Three times."
Me: "I didn't butt dial you, honey, I fanny pack dialed you. That's different."
Youngest: "Still."
Me: "Can you ever forgive me?"
Youngest: "It's okay, Ma. You didn't mean to interrupt my work call. Three times. "

What Is Essential

When I met future longtime hubby in 8th grade, did I know that one day he’d be the definition of what is essential in my life? That one day we’d marry, move from this place to that place multiples times, and wind up in the Valley, where we swore on a stack of hot latkes we’d never live, and yet, here we remain, some 34 years later? No, I didn’t know any of this in 8th grade. One thing I do know, now more than ever during these terrifying times, is that the man I said “definitely” to in front of friends, family and a rabbi straight out of Central Casting nearly 40 years ago, is not just essential to me and our mishpocha. He's also essential at work. He even has a letter to prove it.

This is not the letter.

Every day he must flash his letter of verification, not just at the CW gate, but also in the direction of my aging eyeballs. But I need more than that. “Tell me again, darling, why you must go to work and leave me and Sir Blakey home to worry, catastrophize, and disinfect the palatial estate in 15-minute intervals?” Whereupon he justifies his departure in a heartfelt manner. “I must go because I’m essential.” “I'm blocking the door." "Step away. I have Papal Dispensation." "Don't get fancy on me, mister." "I'm exempt from the immediate obligation of law." "Oh dear God in heaven, this is what you've dreamed of your entire life, isn't it, honey?" "Pretty much." "Fine. Go. Do. Be essential. Purell yourself, constantly, and then get the eff home. You dig?” “I definitely do.”

Boomers Zoomin' Boomers

Some nice people I love to Zoom with. 

On a Monday mourn, I have a question: Who Isn't Zoomin' Who? Or if you're an aging English major, whom? The Zoom thing is trending, but then you already know that. You're Zoomin' too, assuming you know someone techno savvy. It's the only way to spend quality time with friends and family without catching something deadly. So hubby and I Zoomed it up the other night and toasted our wonderful friends with Tequila. Personally, I got tipsy as kaka, my preferred state at the moment. All before 7 p.m. Between the Tequila and the hourly consumption of the mini-chocolate "It's A Girl!" candies meant for the baby shower I had to cancel, I've hit a new low. I may never wear pants that zip again. I don't care.

Quarantino'd

For everyone stuck at home, contemplating their pipik, or if you prefer, pupik, SJG-TV is ecstatic to announce four new shows in four hour blocks, all part of our new Corona-V Schedule!
1."Advanced Kvetching": Just when you think you've run out, the SJG helps you discover even more topics to kvetch about. The state of your hair. The state of your face. The state of your left elbow. The state of your right elbow. The state of your sofa. The state of your cutlery. The state of your cookie jar. We'll unpack all the tsuris at length. What's the rush?
2. "High Anxiety": Sure, there are plenty experts telling us why we're feeling anxious. Well, duh, who wouldn't be anxious right now with these chapped hands from over-washing? But how many of these mavens know the true meaning of the Mel Brooks classic? Spend four hours analyzing, memorizing and singing the High Anxiety theme song, and most importantly, dancing round your palatial estate just like Mel.
 3. "It Is What It @#$%'n Is": Rabbi HaMotzi L. Hoffman of Temple Beth Hellodi will help us yank our keppies out of our tushies, count our blessings, look at the bright side of suffering, and accept that things totally suck right now, so we should deal with it like a mensch, because what's the alternative, to act like a putz and cut in front of other shoppers at Gelson's?
4. "Kugeling In The Time of Corona": God willing, you've survived your latest trip to the market and everyone kept their social distance. God willing, you've got the egg noodles and the eggs and enough random items in your pantry to take your kugel to the next level. At last count, there are 1,432 different types of kugel in the known world. So open up the fridge, empty out the pantry and let's see all the kinds of kugel we can make in four hours, then deliver them from a safe distance to the neighbors, the nursing homes and any mispocha willing to let us inside in our hazmat suits.

Lemon Ricotta Cherry Kugel? Why the eff not? 

Take A Number

The eldest son took this early-morning shot of the line to get into Target from the comfort of his auto. The big question, inspired by his heritage of award-winning impatience: Would he utter the family credo -- @#$% It! -- and exit the parking lot, because who needs the aggravation, plus he knows there's plenty TP at the palatial palace -- or would he bravely get in line and suffer alongside the other shoppers, sanitized, God willing, in some type of anti-bacterial potion? The answer, via text: "All good, walking in." I think we can all agree, he's turned some kind of corner. He's ready for parenthood. 

Don't Panic

I've done a deep-dive germ attack,
Cursed the current reality.
I've scoured the worldwide almanac
In search of curability.
I've prayed, panicked, tried to step back,
Analyzed the calamity.
I've acted like a maniac,
Inspected every entity.
If you're a hypochondriac,
It's a path to insanity.

Some Days

Some days, I wish I could go shopping with my mom for 

matching leopard coats.

"Please excuse Carol's hair. It has a mind of its own."

Some days, I wish I could ask my mom to write me a good excuse.

Some days, I wish I could tell her she was right about everything. 

Some days are just like that.

I Blame Daylight Savings

Gosh, isn't it nice to get that extra hour of light? People I know go crazy about that extra freaking hour of light. They feel reborn. As for me, not so much. I tend to kvetch about it. I'm only a day in, and Daylight Savings can kiss my tush. Subtract an hour, one stinking hour, and the SJG brain flies out the metaphorical window. One stinking hour, and my circadian rhythm goes kablooey. On Sunday, I parked my car on the expectant parents' driveway, their first driveway ever, a challenging, narrow zone with no real barrier, no sense of division. Immediately to the right, maybe a foot or two away, the car that's always, always on the neighbor's driveway threatened my well-being and parking acumen. Park too close to the neighbor's car and your passenger, if you're schlepping, say, a mama-to-be, must weigh her exiting options. She can crawl out the sun roof. Sidle out the driver's side. Or sit in the car till the car that's always, always, there departs. This is no way to live.

My options were limited, too. I could park way too close to the vinyl picket fence on the left side, or tell my goddess-in-law, "Get out," and dump her at the curb. But who's thinking logically at a sleep-deprived time like this? Not this lil' byotch. So I parked too close to the fence, squeezed out and tried not to fall head first into the thorny rose bush. Chlo-Chlo escaped with ease. The fact that my car was beeping escaped me. I mean, seriously, this car just beeps too much. The minute I turn it on, it starts in with the beeping. The entire time I'm driving, I'm feeling berated. The beeps translate into all kinds of harsh judgment. "Hey, you, do you see that wall? Try not to hit it this time." "Hey, you, you've departed your lane, for eff's sake. What's wrong with you?" "Hey, you..." You get the point. I tend to take the beeps a little too personally.

As Chlo-Chlo and the SJG headed for the front door, lugging groceries and ignoring the beeps that herald my downward spiral, the daddy-to-be arrived, fresh off a drunken bachelor party weekend, with just enough brain cells to detect that something was amiss. In a tone reminiscent of all the times I've scolded him throughout his life, he said, "Mom! Don't you hear the beeping?! You left the car on!" "Oh, @#$% that!" I went back to finish that pesky step I'd neglected. But was it really my fault? Of course not. I blame Daylight Savings. I plan to blame Daylight Savings for every mishap from now till next Sunday. I'm going to milk it, and I think you should, too.

Smart Puppy

When I asked my very astute Cuzzy Andy to recommend someone lawyerly -- I was asking for a friend who wants one who works on contingency -- I was stunned at the crazy high percentages that get bandied about. "What the eff? That much? Is it worth it?" Whereupon he threw out this pearl of wisdom: "Fifty percent of something is better than 100 percent of nothing." You can't argue with that.

SJG Tosses Bagel Hat Into Ring

(Sherman Oaks) The Short Jewish Gal, blogger of some repute, mostly of her own making, called an early morning press conference in, where else, her kitchen, on Super Tuesday, no less, to make a very important announcement, but only after offering the small gathering a little something to eat so they shouldn't go hungry. "So," she began, "look, let me tell you what's on my keppy." "Hurry up," said a reporter from the Daily Kvetch, with a mouthful of ruggelach yet. "I still haven't voted." "Be patient, you, and by the way, where'd you learn your etiquette, off a box of stale matzoh?" "Sorry." "You should be. Okay, so here's my plan. I'd like to announce that I'm tossing my bagel hat into the ring." "Where's the hat?" "Yeah, I only see flat, lifeless hair." "Pay attention, you schmohawks, I'm speaking metaphorically." "SJG, are you saying what I think you're saying?" a lovely pregnant French gal asked from her comfy spot on the sofa. "Yes, I am." "You wanna share it with the rest of us? Also, where's the good lox?" "No good lox, no bad lox, no Goldilocks. I'm on a budget here." "Wrap it up, already, we have a zillion voting places to cover today." "Okay, okay, hang onto your gatkes, I'm getting there. I'd like to declare that I'm officially running for Grandma. Why? I'll tell you why. Because I'm overqualified for this position. I've been in training all my life. I'm ready." "You'll have to wait till mid-May to claim your title," the expectant mom called out." "I'm good with that. No rush, take your time." "SJG, do you validate parking?" "What's wrong with you people? Can I get a mazel tov?" "Can I get this kugel to go?" "Get out, you schnorrers. Out."