3lastnamesblog

Blog Interrupted May 22, 2013

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Mothers/daughters,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 9:01 pm
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    I originally started blogging because I had a lot of free time, which is just a nice way of saying I had no life. But now my life is becoming busy and it’s interrupting my blog! Here’s what you’ve missed:

#1) I learned how to play Craps   I was at the Tropicana in Atlantic City. I had always watched my father play craps and I was interested in learning. So I casually sauntered up to the craps table. It was a fifteen dollar minimum bet, which for me was out of the question, so I just watched. The only thing I knew about craps was that you don’t want to throw a 7 or 11.  As the game progressed I asked questions of the man standing next to me as well as the dealer who after a while gave me that look to either bet or step away from the table. So eventually, with much trepidation, I took the plunge and placed 2 chips on the table. Apparently I placed them at a point in the game when they can’t be placed and they were handed back to me.  But the dealer talked me through and gradually I started to get the hang of the game, placing more and more chips on the table with each round. Each player seemed to get three or four chances to throw the dice and before long the dice were passed to me. So after choosing my dice I took my very first roll. The dice barely made it across the table. “SEVEN”! Oh no! I felt terrible that on my first roll I was out. But I immediately learned that at certain times of the game it is GOOD to roll a seven and that was one of them! The dice kept being returned to me and I kept rolling. There was a crowd gathering and lots of hootin’ and hollerin’. A crowd of young men in their twenties kept cheering me on, “Let’s go Shooter, C’mon Shooter!!” (Apparently I was “Shooter”.) At one point the man standing next to me told me if rolled an eight the table was going to erupt. I had no idea why I wanted an eight, but I prayed for one anyway. “EIGHT!” the stickman shouted and the table went crazy. This exhilaration continued for the better part of an hour. When my roll was finally over everyone around the table applauded and I got high fives throughout the night in the casino. I was a star.  But I forgot to mention the best part- my winnings! One dollar.

#2) I shot a gun. Well, a rifle actually. Now before you start to panic, I did not go from being a JAP (Jewish American Princess) to an NRA militia maniac (as my friend Dean put it). I simply shot at a target and was quite awful at it too. Perhaps I should have visualized an ex boyfriend or two… But, the most fun came from reading the comments to a picture I posted on Facebook of me aiming the rifle: “Oh G-d, you’ve turned into Sarah Palin” (Shelley) and “This gives new meaning to Jackie’s big guns” (Scott) as well as the myriad of inquiries if I had been kidnapped or joined a cult. Nope, none of that, just some good old fashioned red-neck fun. I reckon.

#3) I rode in the back of an ambulance. (No, this had no connection to me shooting a gun.) I was with my daughter, Gabby, who was in severe pain (She’s absolutely fine now). I called an ambulance because we needed to get to the hospital FAST! When the ambulance arrived the EMT strolled into the house like he was arriving at a garden party. “CAN YOU WALK A LITTLE F—ING FASTER PLEASE; MY DAUGHTER IS ROLLING ON THE FLOOR IN F—ING PAIN!!”  He neither altered his gate nor commented on my remark and after what seemed an eternity, we finally left for the hospital. When I inquired why we weren’t speeding and passing red lights. I was informed that only “happens in movies”.  Huh?? “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE F—ING KIDDING ME! WHY WOULD I CALL A F—ING AMBULANCE THEN? JUST YESTERDAY TWO F—ING AMBULANCES SPED BY ME!”  Where is my rifle now?? I’m pretty sure the EMT was happier to arrive at the hospital than I was. However, things weren’t much better at the hospital. It’s as if they did not see my poor daughter lying on the stretcher writhing in pain. But after much yelling and cursing and moaning and groaning (that was from me, not the patient) they finally gave her pain medication. By now it was the middle of the night and needless to say, I was a bit out of it. Thankfully my sister was with me (with Dunkin Donuts muffins and coffee of course). My daughter was finally resting quietly. The nurse asked me about diarrhea, vomiting and fever and when I told her I had none of that, my sister oh so gently reminded me, “THE NURSES ARE TALKING ABOUT GABBY, YOU IDIOT! “  I am sure the hospital staff is still talking about me.

Next up, I’m planning on going horseback riding. The last time I came close to a horse was in fourth grade. I was afraid to go near it and I threw-up from the smell.  Either I’ve evolved or I’m going to get one hell of a blog out of it.

 

Timing is Everything March 4, 2013

Filed under: Humor,Hurricane Sandy,middle age,Mothers/daughters,Real Estate,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:04 am
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If there’s one thing people know about me, it’s that I don’t like change (except for husbands apparently).  Usually the things I use like perfume, make-up, shampoos etc are all eventually discontinued because after 10 years I’m the only consumer that hasn’t moved on to something new and improved. I’ve had the same hairstyle since middle school,  I’ve taught at the same school for over 25 years, and I’ve lived in Massapequa, NY my entire life (except for  2 years when I lived in West Babylon which I refer to as the Dark Ages). As a matter of fact, most of my life I’ve lived on the very same block.

So when I announced on Facebook I was listing my house, you can imagine the shockwave that was sent throughout the internet. I could hear the collective gasp of my cyber-world friends. But not to worry, I was only planning to move to Southgate- the condominium complex right here in Massapequa.  I hadn’t been totally possessed by aliens.

It was an excruciatingly hard decision to list my house, made with much apprehension and trepidation. But my youngest is leaving for college in the fall and it’s time to down size.  Despite my anxiety I began the cleaning out process. Thirty black garbage bags and several panic attacks later I was ready for an open house.  It was scheduled for Sunday, October 28, 2012… yes, the day before Super Storm Sandy. Yes, I live by the water. And yes I had to evacuate, as did half of Massapequa.

My real-estate agent suggested we go through with the open house.  I had to start getting ready to evacuate so with my insurance papers, deed to the house, birth certificates, passports, Social Security cards, irreplaceable photos and diamond jewelry, I headed to the local bagel place to hide out for 2 hours while my open house was taking place. I was all alone except for one other person in my neighborhood who also happened to be having an open house that day- my sister!!  Crazy loves company. There the two of us sat , staring out the glass windows, watching people frantically prepare for the storm that the TV hanging above us was dubbing “Frankenstorm”.  Needless to say, no one came to see our houses that day. And no one has come since.

I’m not going to lie, my neighborhood was hit hard. Not as bad as some communities, but the trailers, storage pods and construction crews are all still present even after all these months.  However, MY house stayed dry- no water whatsoever! My sister was not as lucky, but her water was at least limited to her basement.  Since the storm I’ve been asked if I’m going to lower the price of my house considering my neighborhood went from being “prestigious” to a flood zone.  Are you kidding me? I STAYED DRY IN SANDY!  I think that’s a major selling point!

That is if someone would only come see my house! It’s a sprawling 5 bedroom expanded ranch with an open floor plan and neutral palette with marina and beach club rights. (That last sentence was definitely a plug. Am I using my blog as a platform for shameless self promotion? You’re damn right I am!)

But I wouldn’t exactly call myself “unscathed”. In my haste to get home after the storm, anxious to see the potential damage to my house, I tried to drive through a “puddle” the size of Lake Erie. Of course my car went dead within 10 seconds and eventually was declared totaled. My brother in law witnessed the entire incident. The good news is, he was kind enough to wade into water waste deep and push my daughter and me off the road to safety. The bad news is, he will never let me forget the extent of my stupidity.

  At this moment I am having an open house and am sitting in Starbucks writing this blog (the bagel place has bad Karma). Don’t buy my house if you don’t like it, but at least come to see it! Is that too much to ask?

Timing is everything, and mine couldn’t be any worse.

 House

 

Babs and Me October 18, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 10:19 pm
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Last Saturday night, I’m getting ready to go to go out,  looking in the mirror,  blow drying my hair, singing mmm-mmm- memories light the corners of my mind…. when ZAP, my blow dryer suddenly sparks and begins a speedy, burning, smokey death. Now at any other time in my life, this would be cause for an all out emotional breakdown, but tonight was different. I was going to see my lifelong idol, Barbra Streisand, at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn. Nothing could interfere with my sheer elation. I grabbed my back-up dryer and continued ….misty water colored memories…

I was seven years old when my mother took me to see Hello Dolly (1969). I remember the experience till this day because it was then that my love affair with Barbra began. I thought she was beautiful, funny and had the best voice I had ever heard. (Exactly how many voices had I heard at seven?) About a year later I discovered the soundtrack to the movie Funny Girl. That movie was released before Hello Dolly, but I was too young to see it in the theater. By now I had mastered all of Barbra’s mannerisms and inflections. At eight years old my dream was to someday play Fanny Brice on stage, but until then, I’d just have to save “Don’t Rain on My Parade” for my bedroom mirror.  As I got older, my obsession only grew. While other kids were buying Grateful Dead and Rolling Stones albums, I was buying the soundtrack to Yentl. My devotion never wavered.   I own every biography ever written about her, VCR tapes of her TV specials and every one of her CD’s. (Originally I had cassettes and had to replace them all with CD’s). They are organized in chronological order in a special case. I don’t have any photo albums or scrapbooks of family vacations, but I have a completely cataloged, preserved shrine to Barbra.

If you know anything about Miss Streisand, you know she stopped doing concerts after her “Happening in Central Park” Concert because she forgot the lyrics and developed stage fright. That was in 1969.  Growing up I knew I was never going to be able to see my idol in concert. But in 1994, there was an announcement. Barbra Streisand was going on tour. After waiting 25 years, and at 32 my lifelong dream was about to be fulfilled.

My sister and I were able to get unbelievable seats from someone in the music business. I remember getting to Madison Square Garden and feeling waves of electricity run through my body when I saw BARBRA STREISAND on the marquis. I insisted we arrive early and for about 30 minutes my sister and I were the only ones in the garden. Slowly the fans started to arrive as did the stars. Right now in front of me I have the actual piece of paper that my sister and I used to write down all the stars that we saw arriving. They included Liza Minnelli, Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols, Meryl Streep, Sydney Pollack, and Harry Bellefonte.  The anticipation was palpable.

When Barbra stepped out on the stage, I wept like I had just held my baby for the first time. I can say without hesitation that it was one of the most memorable, important nights of my life.  I’ve had the program stored safely away for the last 18 years. I have no idea where the deed to my house is, but thankfully I can get my hands on that program in a moment’s notice.

Which brings me to last Saturday’s concert. I know what you’re thinking….what about the last concert she did about 7 years ago? Well honestly, I didn’t go because I thought it could never live up to the concert I had already seen. Right or wrong it was a decision I made and I have to live with it. But now Barbra is 70 and I couldn’t miss what could be my last opportunity.

This time I went with my friend John. You know you’re a mega Streisand fan when you can tell a gay man things about Barbra he didn’t already know. As the opening montage was playing on the screen I wondered how many people recognized Barbra  in her role as Miss Marmelstein in her first Broadway show “ I can get it for You Wholesale” which is where she met Elliot Gould with whom she had her son Jason. Or noticed the picture of her performing at the Bon Soir- one of her first night club appearances in 1960 (two years before I was born.)

The entire concert I was keenly aware I was in the presence of greatness. It was another unforgettable night with another program to preserve and protect. Over the past 50 years Barbra has only performed 84 concerts and at least I was at two of them. I never did get to star as Fanny Brice in Funny Girl, but I do sing “Don’t Rain on My Parade” at Karaoke with the same passion and pleasure as the little girl in the bedroom mirror……….. The way…. we…. weeere.

 

Best Friends Forever (I Hope) August 30, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Turning 50,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:36 am
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I have been blessed with many great friends in my life, but one stands out among the rest. It’s my BFF Liz.  It’s a deeply rooted friendship. We celebrate our children’s milestones, we applaud each other’s successes, we keep our deepest secrets and we mourn our greatest losses.  We met when we were just young teens in Jr. High and our friendship has spanned more than thirty years. It’s an enduring relationship because we give and take. She gives, I take.

In high school, Liz and I were very different. She played sports; I was in drama club and chorus. But she was very supportive of my interests. As a matter of fact, Liz never missed one of my performances. Whether it was a concert or four nights of a play, I could always count on her to be in the audience.  Now ask me how many of Liz’s games I attended. Not many.  And by not many, I mean none.  Well, I was busy with rehearsals!  Plus, it wasn’t like I’d be in a heated auditorium with comfy seats. I’d have to climb steep bleachers in my high heels and endure bad-hair weather! (In our yearbook there’s an outdoor picture of me and Liz. She wrote, “One time in four years your hair was messed up; glad somebody got a picture of it!”)

Liz and I both stayed home for college. We commuted everyday to school and had part-time jobs. She worked at Harmon Drugs, I worked at”the mall”.  After work, around 9:30 PM we would meet and go to a diner. One night we went to TWO diners. Those were wild and crazy times. But it was during those years that Liz started traveling with my family. My sister was married and my parents wanted me to have a companion, so Liz came along. My favorite story was when Liz and I met two cute guys our age in a Florida hotel lounge (the drinking age was 18 back then).  I claimed the short blonde; she had the tall brown haired guy. We went up to their hotel suite. (Only now do I understand why my father went totally ballistic when he found out about that.) After some alone “couple” time Liz asked if we could switch guys and I gave her the blonde. So don’t say I never did anything for her!

Time quickly passed and before you knew it we graduated college and were married women. I was the first to have a baby and as luck would have it, Liz wound up babysitting Julie while I taught school.  Her son had just been born and she stopped working in the city. She needed the money and I needed the sitter so it worked out perfectly for both of us. Many years later, it was just assumed she would watch Gabby. We never even discussed it. On Labor Day, Liz just said, “I’ll pick Gabby up tomorrow” and that was that.  Of course, what she didn’t tell me was that she was pregnant (with her second child).  She didn’t want me to worry that I’d have no one to watch Gabby for the few weeks after she gave birth. So she waited until she had found a fill-in to tell me.  All in one breath she said “I’m pregnant but I HAVE SOMEBODY TO WATCH GABBY!” Gee, if I had known, perhaps I wouldn’t have asked her to “help me” put together my patio furniture the week before.  There she was on her hands and knees, hammering and screwing while I’m pouring her iced tea.  How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?

Some things never change. Last Summer I wanted to fill in my garden beds with some perennials. Liz graciously volunteered to bring over some cuttings from her own garden to save me the expense of buying new plants. She came over with all the plants, a huge bag of soil and a shovel. (She knew me well enough to know that there was no way I owned a shovel, let alone ever dug a hole.) So, she dug the holes and I put in the plants. It was extremely hot out and I was sweating profusely. I said to Liz, “Ya know, I don’t remember ever sweating this much as a kid when I did manual labor”. Liz’s response to me was, “I don’t remember you ever doing manual labor!”

A year ago was Hurricane Irene.  I love when I tell people I had to evacuate and they picture me in a high school gym on a cot. The truth is, Liz opened her home to me and it was like staying in a Bed and Breakfast. She made a gourmet dinner and for breakfast the next morning (after a sleepless night) she made a fresh pot of coffee, eggs, bacon and English muffins. Would it have killed her to make potatoes?

Of course I told Liz my next blog was going to be about her.  Kiddingly she asked, “Am I going to read it and wonder why we’re still friends?”  But the truth is, I had already asked myself that same question.  So I decided to dig out our yearbook and look back at our relationship.  She wrote, “What I love about you most of all is your outstanding wit and personality which seems to draw people to you… Knowing you has made me a better person… You instilled confidence in me I guess I always lacked…Your friendship means more to me than I could ever put down in words.”  After reading that, I realized I must’ve been giving something all these years!

She ended with, “Remember the old and look forward to the new”.  And that’s exactly what we’ve done for the last three decades. Best friends forever?  Not a doubt in my mind.

 

Nothing Says I love You like Chicken Cutlets July 30, 2012

Filed under: Humor,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 12:45 am
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It must’ve been about ten years ago. My friend Nancy was driving us to Jones Beach. It was a bright sunny morning; the windows were down, our hair was blowing, the radio blasting when suddenly I yelled out “OH MY GOD, THE CHICKEN CUTLET!! Not  a sentence most people say, but I kept screaming “THE CHICKEN CUTLET! THE CHICKEN CUTLET”!!

You see my nephew Sam was away at sleep away camp. The only thing he asked my sister to bring him on visiting day was one of Aunt Jackie’s chicken cutlets. I had one frozen in the freezer and was supposed to drop it off and I forgot.  Fortunately, my sister lives around the corner and was able to pick it up.  If he didn’t get that chicken cutlet I would never have forgiven myself.

Sounds ridiculous, I know. But in my family, my chicken cutlets have become an expression of my love.  It’s an “event” when Aunt Jackie is making her famous chicken cutlets. Word gets around and the family gathers together for what is sure to be a special meal.  It takes me hours to prepare. Not only do I prepare enough for the dinner, but I make enough to give home to both my nephews (who are now 23 and 26). It is somewhere around the second hour of frying that I think to myself “Why can’t they like my roast beef?”

Now, just so you know, my nephews, for whom I would throw myself in front of a train, refer to me as “Crazy” Aunt Jackie. They try to tell me it’s a term of endearment.  So while writing this blog I texted them and asked them to give me some examples of why I’m “crazy”. Well the good news is, they didn’t come up with anything off the top of their heads. The bad news is, about 24 hours later they called me with a long list, and yes, I’m indeed crazy. It’s enough for a blog of its own.  But the one thing they didn’t mention was the time I took them out for lunch to the International Café. They were probably 5 and 8 years old.  I didn’t know the restaurant only accepted cash so I had to leave to go to the bank and I left them as collateral.

My nephew, Robby, is getting married in just a couple of weeks. I recently attended his fiancée Lindsay’s bridal shower. The invitation asked to bring a recipe. I wrestled with the idea of giving her my chicken cutlet recipe, but I just couldn’t do it. If she had the recipe then Robby wouldn’t have to come to Aunt Jackie’s for his chicken cutlets; he could get them right at home. That was not happening! Instead I gave her a “recipe for a successful marriage”. I wrote, whatever advice I give you, do the opposite!

I’m sure you all have your own favorites- your mother’s chicken soup, your Nana’s banana cake, your aunt’s sweet potato pie. But is it really that much better than any you’ve ever had, or does it have more to do with the person that’s making it? People ask me all the time what makes my chicken cutlets so special. I tell them, it’s not the ingredients; it’s being around the table with the people you love most that makes everything taste better.

So I’m sure Robby and Sam will add to their list that I wrote an entire blog about chicken cutlets.  Yes, I’m crazy, but I think they love me all the more for it!

       

 

Om Sweet Om July 7, 2012

Filed under: Humor,middle age,Women's Humor,Women's Issues,Yoga — 3lastnamesblog @ 12:03 pm
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If you’ve been reading my blogs, you should be able to sense that I think… a lot…all day long…about every possible scenario… in every aspect of my life. I tend to “what if” the hours away, which can lead to a”bit” of anxiety (those who know me are laughing right now at the “bit”). Ok, I’m a little on the nervous side. But I’ve been that way my entire life. For instance, my daughter is now in Eastern Europe and Israel for the summer; I wouldn’t even go to day camp. At least I own up to it.

A little over a year ago, I was discussing the approaching summer vacation with my therapist.  She knows I become anxious over the summer because I have too much time to think. She suggested I take up yoga. Now why didn’t I think of that!? It’s meditative and I happen to be pretty flexible (which if you’ve been lucky enough to be with me at a party  that’s serving alcohol,  you’ve probably seen me attempt to put my leg around my neck.)

So I immediately began to investigate the best yoga studio. All arrows pointed me to Om Tara Yoga Studio in Massapequa. Next, I had to get a great yoga outfit. If I was going to make an ass out of myself, I at least wanted to be fashionable doing it. And let’s not forget I needed a fancy yoga mat with matching carrying case. Studio- check.  Outfit- check.  Mat- check. Now all I had to do was actually go.

I’ll always remember my first class.  I didn’t want anybody going with me. When I was there, I didn’t want to make new friends. I just wanted to remain anonymous. My instructor’s name was Barbara, a young sweet girl. There were lit candles and incense burning. It seemed quirky yet somehow soothing.  I had NO CLUE how to do the poses, but it was a supportive atmosphere. During a part called “savasana” you’re supposed to just lie there and not think, but of course I was making a grocery list.  At the end, everyone (except me) chanted “Om”, which up until then I thought was just a myth and quite frankly seemed silly.

Fast forward a year.

My goal of remaining anonymous failed tremendously. Within a few sessions I made a dear yoga buddy and it turned out my yoga instructor, Barbara, was not only Jewish, but she blogs! Now, I don’t “do” yoga, I “practice” Yoga. I call poses “asanas” and I know them by their Sanskrit names. I know the 7 chakras and the colors associated with them. I use ujjayi breath, yoga mudra, focus on my drishti and “om” louder than anyone in the room.  Plus, I have a killer collection of yoga pants.

But I still have a far from perfect practice. My shoulders need to relax during Virabhdrasana 2 (Warrior 2) , my hips are uneven during  Trikanasana (Triangle Pose)  and the owner of the studio has remarked that my pinky toe (yes, my pinky toe) is positioned incorrectly during  Dandasana  (Staff Pose).  Alas, I will never be going to the yoga Olympics.  However, if there’s a cute, straight guy in class, I can hold in my stomach continuously for an hour and half while stretching, extending, inverting, twisting, bending and balancing. How many young yoginis can say that?

I may still make a “To Do” list in my head during savasana, but I can say without hesitation that I am my happiest, calmest self when my yoga class is over…at least until I check my cell phone. Hey, temporary peace is better than no peace.  Namaste.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prom June 16, 2012

Filed under: Humor,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 8:53 pm
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I’m starting a support group. It’s for mothers of teenage daughters going to the prom. The first topic of discussion will be shopping for the dress. My daughter, Gabby, insisted we go to Estelle’s Dressy Dresses, along with the rest of the south shore teenage population. It was jammed with girls and their mothers all grabbing wildly for the same tacky dresses. Nobody told me I was going to need armor. But like soldiers in battle, Gabby and I kept our heads down and plowed on through until we had at least a dozen dresses to try on.

 We waited 20 minutes just to get into the dressing room. When we finally got in, it was sheer mania; hoards of hysterical girls shrieking and crying like at a Justin Bieber concert.  After navigating the mounds of dresses and hangers on the floor, we were lucky enough to find a dressing room with a semblance of a curtain.  My modest daughter had me hold the fabric tightly together so that not a crack of light could be seen through it. She didn’t want anybody seeing her get changed yet she didn’t mind coming out in a dress that exposed 90% of her body.  Naturally, every time I liked a dress I got the “Ma, are you kidding me” look.  But eventually we managed to find a dress we both liked that didn’t have a pull or snag in it. For that reason alone we had to buy it.

Next, it’s all about the hair and make-up. The appointments are set, as are the mani/pedi and eyebrows. We are still in negotiations over the spray tan.  These can all be topics for future support group sessions.  The mothers out there who have been through this before know exactly what I am talking about.  After all the pampering and primping, there’s no guarantee she’s actually going to like it. The up-do may have a strand out of place, the make-up may be a shade off, there may be a stray eyebrow hair or a dangling cuticle. Any of these can lead to an international incidence.

But that’s not all, there is more to plan for.  It seems that after the prom, the new tradition is to go to a “Prom House”.  Apparently there is security and a chaperone (probably someone’s 22 year old brother and sister).  No one is allowed out, no outsiders are allowed in. No alcohol is permitted. There is a pool but no life guard.  There are about 30 kids and they reside there for two nights. Somehow I was convinced that since they stay in one place, this is a “safer” alternative. I MUST HAVE BEEN DRUGGED!

Yes, I have completely LOST MY MIND and am allowing my daughter to stay two nights at a house in Sag Harbor with her boyfriend. The truth is, she’s been dating this boy for quite a while and he is a very reasonable, mature young man.  I trust the two of them to make responsible choices.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!!?

I think I gave in partly because I am living vicariously.  I think back to my own prom, MHS 1980. I wore the same gown I wore to my sister’s wedding. I did my own hair and for make-up, my sister put eye shadow on me. I polished my own nails. What’s a pedicure? My date was “just a friend”. Is it any wonder I’m looking forward to my (I mean Gabby’s) prom?

But the truth is that my prom date and I have remained dear friends till this day. We went our separate ways romantically (no he’s not gay) but our friendship has lasted more than 3 decades. Come to think of it, Gabby should only have the enduring relationship with her prom date that I had with mine.  So, to Gabby and Danny, have a wonderful, magical time.  And remember, I AM TRUSTING YOU TO MAKE GOOD DECISIONS!!!

Hopefully Gabby and Danny won’t be drinking any alcohol, but I can assure you, I will be having plenty!

 

March 6, 1930 May 31, 2012

Filed under: Humor,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:19 am
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If you have been enjoying my blogs, then I must give some credit to my dad.  He had a gift for storytelling and a knack for descriptive language like no one else. I’d like to think I inherited at least a small portion of his talent.

First, a brief description of my father. He was a salesman. He sold wallpaper, but if you ever asked him what he sold he would always say “himself”.  He was a sincere salesman, which in most cases is an oxymoron, but not in his case. He had white hair, dressed impeccably, drove a huge Caddy and always had a cigarette in his hand. He traveled the country non-stop, yet most of my childhood memories include him sitting in his chair in our living room reading the newspaper- dressed to the nines, of course.

Here’s an example of how my father expressed himself. A typical dinner conversation would include: “Cecile (that’s my mom), I’ve eaten in 5 star restaurants throughout the country. I’ve dined where celebrities and royalty have dined, I’ve been to restaurants so exclusive they don’t even have a sign on the door, but none of those meals Cecile, none of those meals can compare to your meatloaf.” And the truth is,  he truly meant it.

Back when I was in college we were on vacation in Hollywood Florida at the Diplomat hotel. It’s one of the very rare times I remember seeing my father in a bathing suit. Let’s just say he wasn’t the “outdoorsy” type. Picture a man in designer bathing trunks, a matching button down short sleeved top, a perfectly blow-dried comb-over, a gold watch, gold bracelet and the palest skin ever seen outside of Antarctica. I remember him walking slowly toward us with a slight limp, even whiter from the 3 bottles of suntan lotion he put on… ”Cecile (long drag on the cigarette), Cecile, I’ve had impacted wisdom teeth, I’ve had my neck in traction, I’ve had my gall bladder removed, but nothing Cecile, can compare to the pain between my toes from these rubber thongs.”

Anyone who knows my father knows you can’t mention him without mentioning “the diner”. The Shore East Diner to be exact.  Somehow, we always wound up at the diner. Even after a night on the town in the city, we found ourselves having coffee and hot chocolate at the diner. We would eat there every Saturday for lunch without fail. When my mother, sister and I would start complaining about the table we were seated at and my father would say, “For God’s sake, we’re not moving in!”

So, one time back in my twenties,  my back went out and my sister had to take me to the emergency room. I remember lying on a table in the waiting room because I couldn’t sit upright.  My sister bought me a hamburger, mashed potatoes and a donut from the hospital cafeteria. It was literally one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten (other than my mother’s meatloaf, of course). Shortly after, my parents arrived. They had been in the city having dinner. My mother was in her mink coat (not yet politically incorrect) buttoned up to her chin.  It was 6 thousand degrees in the hospital but for some reason she refused take that coat off. Finally at 2:00AM, after 4 long grueling hours and a huge needle stuck into my back, it was time to go home. My sister wheeled me into the parking lot with that look on her face that she was clearly tired of waiting on me. I had that look on my face that one might have after getting a shot in her back. My mother was still in her mink, her face beaded with sweat. My father took a puff on his cigarette and said “Meet at the diner?” And, of course, we did.

Many years later my parents moved to Florida because, as Jerry Seinfeld puts it, it was the law. One of the last conversations my mother had with my father in the hospital after his heart attack was, “George, the girls are coming down”. He could barely speak, but whispered from under his oxygen mask, “That’ll be nice… just the four of us… like old times.”  But my sister and I didn’t make it in time.  He passed away while we were in flight. That was 15 years ago.

March 6 was his birthday. He would’ve been 82.  And in honor of his birthday – you guessed it- I’ll be going to the diner.  Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you.

daddy in bathing suit

 

The Unfriendly Skies

Filed under: Humor,Women's Humor — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:17 am
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WARNING:  DO NOT FLY ON April 9!! I can predict with greater certainty than the Farmer’s Almanac that on that day there will be some type of major weather event or unnatural occurrence which will lead to unprecedented delays.  How do I know this? Because I’m flying on that day.

I think back to Christmas Eve 2010. As my daughters and I were enjoying our filet mignon and potatoes au gratin at my best friend Liz’s house, I had my eye on the Weather Channel app on my phone. For those who don’t know me, I am a weather junkie.  Nothing excites me more than tracking a line of thunderstorms on Doppler radar.  With my phone app, I can get my fix whenever I want.  But this time I wasn’t doing it for the sheer joy; there was talk of a blizzard arriving the day after Christmas- yes, the day my girls and I were supposed to fly to Florida. Santa wasn’t the only one up all night; Jim Cantore, (the Weather Channel anchor) and I were up all night too. Around 5:00AM I made the decision that we needed to get out of New York asap. I called Jet Blue and rescheduled our flight for just a few hours later.  That was the easy part. The hard part was dragging my daughters out of bed at the crack of dawn. I needed them to pack fast, and we needed to go!!  They tried to convince me it was sacrilegious to fly on Christmas. I reminded them we’re Jewish.

The next time I flew it was hurricane season.  Now being a weather fanatic, I particularly love hurricane season so I can watch the Tropical Updates at 10 minutes before the hour. I track hurricanes from the time they’re just a tropical wave off the coast of Africa. Hurricane Irene was no exception. The track was uncertain, but it seemed a pretty good bet it was going to make landfall in South Florida on the EXACT DAY Julie and I would be landing in West Palm Beach. But with hurricanes there’s always that cone of uncertainty, so like an obsessed lunatic I watched that station until I was convinced the hurricane was going to miss Florida. We were able to go. We got “lucky”.

It started as an ordinary flight.  The pilot explained the flight plan was altered slightly so we wouldn’t run into the hurricane and we should have a nice, easy, smooth flight. We were next for take-off. The plane was picking up speed when suddenly it came to an abrupt halt. “Ladies and gentleman, we are sorry for the inconvenience but JFK has been indefinitely closed” HUH??? Good thing Jet Blue has TV’s so we were able to see on CNN that there had been an earthquake in Washington DC.

I called my mother, “Ma, there was an earthquake.”

“OH MY GOD!!  OH MY GOD!! GO HOME !! DON’T COME!! GET OFF THE PLANE NOW AND GO HOME!!!”

“Ma, we weren’t IN the earthquake, we’re just delayed and I’m calling you because I don’t know how long we’re going to sit here. They’ve closed the airport”

“OH MY GOD!!! HOW’S JULIE?? IS SHE OK??”

Ma, Julie hasn’t looked up from her Sudoku book. She’s fine”

Then my phone lost the call. Not because of the service, but because the day before I dropped my brand new Blackberry in the toilet and was reduced to using an old phone which was only a notch above one by Fisher Price.

Anyway, we FINALLY got to Florida very late, and the next day I turned on the weather channel, curious as to where Irene was headed. Last I heard it was supposed to make landfall in the Carolinas, possibly veering off into the Atlantic. Well, that had all changed.  Now it appeared, the hurricane was headed straight toward Long Island. As a matter of fact, the eye looked like it was going to pass over the very block I lived on, which happens to be by the water and an evacuation zone. SHIT!

“Ma, Julie and I have to go home! I have to prepare my house for the hurricane!”

And back home we went.

I’m not through.  The next time I flew was the end of September. Gabby and I were going to visit my mother for the Jewish Holidays.  It was a beautiful, sunshiny day.  What could possibly go wrong? Let me make a long story short. There were severe thunderstorms surrounding us which were spawning tornados.  All the flight paths (“highways in the sky” as the pilot put it) were closed. I didn’t know they could close the air, but apparently they can. SIX HOUR DELAY!

So in the last three consecutive times I have flown, I encountered a blizzard, a hurricane, an earthquake and tornados. What are the chances of that?  I’m not sure, but if I were you, I’d stay home on April 9.

 

 

 

My Blog is My Boyfriend

Filed under: Humor,single,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:12 am
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When I was at my therapist last week, she asked me if I’ve been dating or had an interest in anyone. I thought about it for a while and then I had an epiphany. My blog is my boyfriend.

It’s everything I’ve been looking for. “He” is good company when I’m bored. He lets me tell all my stories in great detail without interrupting.  He allows me to express myself creatively. He shares my opinions.  My friends enjoy his sense of humor. My family likes him. He relieves my stress. And most importantly, he leaves me feeling fulfilled.

I told my therapist this relationship was the real deal, one that can finally go the distance. She pointed out that I’m telling her I’m finally enjoying a relationship with someone (thing) that doesn’t talk back, has no thoughts of its own, and does whatever I say. Puzzled I ask, “Is there something wrong with that?”

I tried to explain I’m not totally crazy. I’m actually thinking rationally.  I realize there are some things my blog can’t do. ”He” can’t help around the house or take care of the kids or rub my feet. But let’s face it; does such a man even exist?  I’m aware I have to sacrifice things such as being taken out for dinner. But believe me, I can live without the scintillating conversation of “pass the butter” and “how’s your soup?”  And I don’t have to put out in the end.

I finally thought I had her convinced until she suggested we meet more often.

But I’m sticking to my guns. Don’t expect a break-up anytime soon. I’ll be sharing my stories for quite some time to come. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll meet a man with all the same qualities as my blog and I’ll be calling myself 4lastnames.