The $64,000 Question

Dear SJG,
If you're not too busy, I'd like to ask you one, and only one question: When will this thing be over?
Air Hugs,
Losing Patience In Loma Linda

Dear Losing Patience,
You're in luck, I'm not all that busy, even with my impending Bubbehood. As I sit here on my tuchas, anticipating the all-consuming joy I'm on the verge of experiencing from a social distance with a nice mask upon my punim, I believe I've just arrived at a response that's Talmudic in nature, with a generous helping of Ben Starr thrown in for good measure.
Q: When will this thing be over?
A: It will be over when it's over.
You’re Welcome,
The SJG

A Little Preoccupied

"Drive safely."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You just said, 'I'm going to drive upstairs now.' "

"I did not."
"You did."
"Oh, for eff's sake, what's wrong with me?" 
"You're preoccupied."
"Maybe a little."
"You're about to be a grandma."
"You're about to be a grandpa."
"During a pandemic."
"How crazy is that?"
"Pretty crazy."
"I better go upstairs and lie down."
"Are you still planning to drive?"
"I think I'll walk this time."
"Good idea."

Let Me Entertain You

It's Week 555 of the Pandemic Lockdown Situation, or maybe it's Week 5, but in any event, I'm running out of songs that my limited vocal range can handle while I scrub my hands into oblivion. A rapidly aging goddess can only yodel "Let Me Entertain You" and a few other personal favorites so many times a day before the neighbors start slipping cruel and hateful notes in my mailbox. Would you like to read a few examples? Of course, you would.

"Hey, yeah, so, is there any chance you could, oh, STOP HOWLING 'Let Me Entertain You' every five minutes like a dog in heat? I seriously can't stand another second. I'm heavily medicated as I write this. Please show some humanity. Thanks, Anonymous. P.S. Did you steal my Instacart delivery from Gelson's? I know it was you." 

"Hi, I live in one of the many overpriced homes in your general vicinity. I try not to judge others, but for you, I'll make an exception. What the @#$% is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head recently? Do you think MAYBE you could close the stupid bathroom window when you wash your hands 82 times a day? Is that too much to ask? Cuz if I have to hear you sing 'There's No Business Like Show Business' ever again, I'm gonna use the Ancient Voodoo Doll I just bought on eBay with you in mind. This is your final warning. Thanks, Anonymous. P.S. Did you steal my Blue Apron delivery? Not cool."

"Listen closely, you off-key nutcase who couldn't carry a tune if your life depended on it. If I hear you sing 'R-E-S-P-E-C-T' one more time while you wash YOUR HANDS, I'm going to take matters into my OWN HANDS. Thanks, Anonymous. P.S. Did you steal my Amazon Fresh delivery? You suck."

Sheesh, talk about hostile. 

My Twenty-Second Booty Workout

Shake it, don't break it

Oh, hey, everybody, happy.... um... whatever the @#$%'n day it is today, and welcome to the SJG's Twenty-Second Booty Workout. Wait, what? Twenty seconds? That's all it takes to tighten up the tush? Given your level of concentration, your lack of focus, your total lack of motivation, it's plenty. Why tire yourself out? You probably have other things to do today. Like what? Beats the kaka out of me. Okay, bitches, are you ready to release an endorphin? I know I am. Let's get started. Go to the mirror, turn around, look over your right shoulder at your tush and alternate cursing, screaming and glute-shaking for a count of 10. Great job! Now look over your left shoulder at your tush, and alternate cursing, screaming and glute-shaking for a count of 10. Nice work! You're done. Wasn't that fun? Twenty seconds never went so fast, am I right?

See you tomorrow for the SJG's Twenty-Second Elbow Workout.

Grandma-In-Training Sanity Prayer

Blakey watches over Chlo 

Hellody, peeps. I'm your humble Grandma-In-Training, currently hibernating at home just like everybody else, so what makes me so special? Plus, no one needs to train to be a grandma, it comes with the territory, right? I beg to differ. Just because I've been mothering sons for over 30 years doesn't mean my grandmothering skills are up to date. There's so much to learn, I need a new set of flashcards to memorize all the things I shouldn't say and do. In a pandemic, being a Grandma-In-Training is challenging. I need a plan to keep me from going cuckoo, or as Chlo-Chlo, my glamorous French daughter-in-law likes to say, "cocoa." More than anything, I need a daily prayer.

Don't go cocoa!

So here it is, The SJG Sanity Prayer to help me cope: Grant me the will power to stop eating any chocolate that crosses my path, including the caramel Easter Eggs that appeared on the kitchen counter by magic, just to test me. Help me accept all the things I won't get to do, including meet Baby Girl at the hospital. Give me the strength to keep the over-worrying in check. Convince me to let go and let the Ob-Gyn take care of business. Tell me to dial back the unsolicited advice, but come on, a few suggestions may slip out, because I wouldn't be me, otherwise. Guide me in the management of my expectations, which lean toward unrealistic. Remind me on a daily basis that this too shall pass, the question is when? Amen. 

Billy bonds with the giraffe

The Folding Chair Intervention

Waiting For Passover

Some lovely people I know are doing a virtual Passover this year. I'm doing bupkis. The other day, I almost did something. But someone I married a while back staged an intervention in the garage. It went something like this:
"What are you doing, buddy?"
"What's it look like I'm doing, buddy?"
"Staring at the folding chairs."
"You got that right, mister."
"Why?"
"Because I can."
"Even though..."
"Even though."
"If it makes you feel better."
"It does."
"Will you be standing there when I get back from my Essential Job?"
"It's quite possible. I've got nothing but time."
"You want me to try and find matzoh?"
"No, that would be sad."
"But staring at the chairs isn't?"
"Staring at the chairs is cathartic."
"So I shouldn't be concerned?"
"If you come home and I've set the table, feel free to question my mental health."

Next year in Sherman Oaks (kina hora)

Step Outside The Box

Sometimes you gotta step outside the box, buddy. Yesterday, which I think was Friday, but honestly, I'm not sure, and during this apocalyptic time, does it matter, I did just that. All it took was chutzpah and desperation for me to step outside the box. The Bento Beauty Box, to be exact, full of magic and customized hair color formula. The credit goes to Lenny, the SVP of the currently furloughed SJG Beauty Team, who made an offer I could've easily refused had I been in my right mind. But I wasn't. So instead, I traveled to an undisclosed destination, donned the mandatory face disguise and fetched the top secret kit Lenny had prepared just for me. When I arrived, he greeted me in his chic hazmat suit, handed over the Bento in exchange for cold hard cash, and gave me two minutes of his time. Our conversation, with him on one side of the driveway, and me on the other, more than six feet away, at least, went something like this:
"Lenny?"
"What? I'm very busy."
"I'm on the fence about this whole thing."
"You're nowhere near the fence. Keep it that way."
"Just tell me, do you really think I can do this myself?"
"I'm not going to do it for you."
"What if I eff up the color?"
"Just follow the directions."
"You're saying you believe 100 percent I can do it?"
"I'm saying I believe you're fairly capable of doing it."
"Close enough. Thanks for the pep talk."
"Why are you still here?"
"I'm going, sheesh."

The Bento Beauty Box

I hurried home -- the formula's time sensitive! -- trying to mask my fear of the unknown, and there he was, Mr. Essential, the man who always stands by my side, whether I ask him to or not.
"Let me do it."
"I think I can do it, honey."
"I should do it."
"Why? You don't color your hair."
"No, I prefer the distinguished gray. But I'm good with a paint brush."
"And I'm not?"
"I've never seen you use one."
"How dare you. Plus, this isn't a paint brush, it's a hair color brush."
"What's your point?"
"I don't have one. Put on the purple gloves first so you shouldn't stain your fingers, God forbid."
"Okay. What I do first?"
"Start with the part."
"This is fun."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"There are some things in life you must do yourself. Give me the brush."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay if I watch?"
"If you must."

Not bad for an amateur

Thirty minutes of processing later, I shampooed, I dried and by a miracle, it came out pretty, pretty good, considering how many ways I could've messed up. I'm so pleased, I could scream. I've never been prouder of any other accomplishment in my entire life. 

It's Important To Make A Statement

Diamond-encrusted anti-germ accessory

Up until a few weeks ago, my motto has remained the same: It's important to look lovely. No matter the situation, there's no excuse not to put a little lipstick on, am I right, ladies? Of course, I am. That was rhetorical. Up until a few weeks ago, I never entered my personal homeland of Gelson's without my kisser a-glow with color. My new motto, thanks to the new edict: It's important to make a statement. Dare I enter my happy place, which, just between us, feels less happy and more "Twilight Zone Grocery Store," I must now wear a less-than-well-defined mask. Not a surgical mask. No, no, no. Save those for the medical heroes. I'll be wearing something casual yet elegant. Good thing there are plenty of options.

I can go with the bandana look. "Howdy, partner, give me all your TP and nobody gets hurt."

I can transform into a human Disco ball for the "Staying Alive" theme.

I can go with a Flower Power motif and think groovy thoughts while trying to find frozen pizza.

Or I can recreate a lipstick look and smile through my panic. No matter what cover I choose, one thing's for sure. I will kvetch. I will hate every minute until I can rip it off my aging punim. But I'll do it, dammit. Why? I'll tell you why. Because it couldn't hurt.