Time Tunnel

On Sunday afternoon, the sons of the SJG retreated from the hard work of slowly-emerging-adulthood and slipped through the Nickelodeon time tunnel.  They zoomed  back to the '90s and I went right there with them, watching "Rugrats" and "All That" and "Kenan and Kel."  Back to the days of vocabulary quizzes and carpool.  Hockey practice and basketball on the driveway.  Before texting and learner's permits and why isn't he home yet, it's 2 a.m.  But flashbacks make the SJG utzy.  I can only take so much nostalgia before I over-emote.  "Oh, remember that time when..."  "Oh, it was so cute when you guys used to..."  Danger, Will Robinson.  Don't go there.  Keep it together.  I prefer to nag them in the present:  "Why can't you ever date a Jewish girl?" "Do you not know how to open a dishwasher?"  "Does it bother you that everyone on the planet can see your boxers riding up over your jeans?" "Try not to talk with beer in your mouth."

Pillow Talk

"Shush."  "What?"  "You're making noise."  "I'm breathing."  "You're snoring."  "You were snoring first."  "I don't snore."  "Uh, yes you do."  "Prove it."  "Where's the tape recorder?"  "The what?"  "Tape recorder."  "I haven't seen a tape recorder since Scotty trained for his Bar Mitzvah."  "You make it sound like an athletic event."  "It took a lot of endurance to reach the finish line."  "A lot of money, too."  "What time is it?"  "You don't want to know."  "I can't fall back to sleep."  "Just try."  "Can you try not to breathe so loud?"  "I will if you will."  "I'm not the problem here."  "Don't start that again."  "Shush, I'm trying to sleep."  "I was asleep till you woke me up."  "You woke me up."  "Shush."

Nesting Instinct

I think the neighborhood birds have started their own Facebook page.  How else would they coordinate all the poop attacks on my house?  Apparently, they're bored with the patio chairs.  Now they've upped their game.  They're nesting in the light fixture over the front door and crapping on the welcome mat.  Every day brings a new delivery.  Every day I say to hubby, "Do something."  Every day, he puts a new piece of cardboard directly underneath the light to catch the splats.  "How long is all this front door crapping going to go on?" I ask.  "Only a few more months," he says, as if he's wired into some top secret bird timeline.  But I've just about had it, people.  Those birds either need to start paying rent or I will personally evict them from the light fixture.  I will get up there on a ladder and... oh, wait... look at the birdies.  Tweet, tweet, tweet.  They're so cute in their little nest.  And look at that, they're reading my favorite book, "Are You My Mother?"  Oh, I hope their mommy comes back soon, or I may have to adopt them.  Let's face it.  Poop happens. 

Suggestion Box

"You know what would've been funnier?" my dad said, after watching his grandson's latest short, "The Intervention" on funny or die.   By now, I'm used to getting notes from the veteran comedy writer.  "What?" I said.  "If you had said, 'Why the @#$% couldn't you have gone to Burger King?"  "You're right, Dad, that would've been funnier."

Keppy-Scratcher

The news that Lauren Ambrose of "Six Feet Under" fame will headline the Broadway Revival of "Funny Girl" has left the SJG in a state of shock and hurt feelings.  No one does Babs like Babs.  No one except the SJG.  Why they didn't ask me to audition is as big a keppy-scratcher as picking a red-headed shiksa to play Fanny Brice.  So Ambrose is a trained opera singer. So she fronts her own band.  This snub is going to take me a while to get over.  Casting Lea Michele of "Glee" would've been the no-brainer.  Maybe she was busy?  Either way, when the show opens at the Ahmanson Theatre Jan. 15, before heading to Broadway, expect to see the SJG in the front row, singing along, bitterly.  This is just all kinds of wrong. 

Don't Even Ask

The SJG learns so much in my travels.  Yesterday's lesson, courtesy of Kelly, regards bachelorette parties.  Kelly is co-hosting a big bash tonight and needed supplies.  "Will you come with me?" she asked.  "Sure," I said, not knowing what I was getting into. Thirty-one years ago, my girlfriends lavished me with some questionable gifts, pre-matrimony.  I thought I was prepared for this outing.  I thought I could handle it.  But those silly gifts I received look tame and innocent compared to what's available today.  The minute we walked into the brightly-lit store and heard the loud disco music pumping, I started to giggle and blush and count the minutes till we could leave.  "Oh my God, oh my God," was all I could say.  That, and, "Get me out of here."  Not Kelly.  She was a gal on a mission.  She walked right up to the tattooed lady behind the counter and asked for the such-and-such straws.  "Over there," the lady said.  While I gawked at the wide variety of X-rated products, Kelly calculated how many packages of straws to buy.  "It would be terrible to run out," I said.  My only contribution.  She threw another package in the pile, along with a wedding veil covered in don't-even-ask, some you've-got-to-be-kidding-me balloons, and other items I'm far too classy to mention.  "That was hard for you," she said, as we left the store.  "I thought we were going to Rite-Aid," I said. 

Reboot and Call Me in the Morning

It's true, sometimes the SJG brain circuitry gets all tangled, and out come the nonsensicals.  One time, while cooking dinner, I announced, "I'm faxing the corn!"  I looked around, expecting some kind of parade in my honor. All I got were weird, "What's wrong with Mommy?" stares.  Yesterday, out came another oddity.  "Is the dentist here?" I asked, in response to hearing the gardener next door, cranking up the leaf-blower.  The college boy shot me his time-honored, WTF expression, cracked up and immediately posted the evidence that his mother has officially lost it, on his Facebook page.  When the eldest got wind of my latest verbal disconnect, he suggested a complete cerebral tune-up, a comprehensive reboot involving flash cards, Scrabble, Sodoku and repeating grades 1 - 12.  Or I could just take a nap.