3lastnamesblog

Only My Hairdresser Knows for Sure January 2, 2017

Filed under: friendship,Humor,middle age,single,Turning 50,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 8:51 pm
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You might recognize my title from the famous Clairol slogan. It implied that Clairol’s hair color was so natural looking that only your hairdresser knew it was dyed. However, in my case, my hairdresser knows way more than that! It could be my Real Housewives tagline!

I’ve known my hairdresser Rose since my days at McKenna Jr. High. Well, I didn’t actually “know” her, I knew “of her”. She was the one we all called “Cher” because she looked just like her. (If any of my old time friends are reading this, they know EXACTLY who I am referring to). Man was she COOL. She had a sophistication well beyond her years. I mean, she was so mature, she acted like she was in eleventh grade or something. She had long hair, wore make-up and had clothes that included black and leather, two things I wasn’t allowed to wear until I was in my twenties! I, on the other hand, was very happy in my Huckapoo shirts, Levi corduroys and Earth shoes. I had a “shag” haircut and aviator glasses (no, not sunglasses- just eye glasses to see). And man, I thought I was ROCKIN it!!

Needless to say, other than the hallways of school, our paths did not cross too often. She was busy riding on the back of motorcycles while I was in my bedroom belting the soundtrack to  Streisand’s Funny Lady. So how did these two opposites get to be the best of friends?

My hair has always been a resounding issue in my life. It is a constant source of worry (it’s too humid out, it’s too dry out, my hair is too frizzy, too flat, too short, too long, too curly…..) After high school, it took me years to grow out the layers from my shag which resulted in hair similar to Rosanna Rosanna Danna from SNL (back in the day when it was actually called Saturday Night Live not SNL- kind of like Kentucky Fried Chicken and KFC). By this time I had been through several hairdressers and I decided to try the new hip hair salon in Massapequa called Imaginations. I had my hair washed and was escorted to my chair and there to greet me was CHER! She looked as cool as ever with her big hair, cut-off sweatshirt (a la Flashdance) and motorcycle boots. I on the other hand, had my wet hair wrapped in a towel and a plastic gown over me. I hesitantly told her that I remember her as far back as Jr. High and she of course had no recollection of me. Why would she? Something tells me she didn’t go to many of the school plays or spring concerts.

She proceeded to tell me that she wanted to put layers in my hair to bring out the natural curls. WHAT? NO WAY! I had just spent a traumatic four years growing them out and you want to put them back in? She insisted she would keep the layers long and it would create beautiful soft, silky curls that will finally free me from all my hair-stress. Well, one of two things was going to happen as a result of this haircut. Either I was going to sue the salon or I was going to latch on to this girl like a puppy in a pound and never let go. I’m happy to say it was the latter.

As our friendship grew I don’t think Rose realized what she was getting herself into. When she gave birth to her first child she decided she was no longer going to work from the salon but rather out of her house. Her husband was going to build a salon set-up with a chair and sink in the spare room. I had been calling and calling for an appointment but there was no answer and I desperately needed a haircut. Finally Rose answered the phone and let me know she had given birth a day and a half ago and had just gotten back from the hospital. “What great news!”, I exclaimed! I was truly happy for her but to me the great news was that she was home and could possibly cut my hair! Never wanting to disappoint me, she told me she had nothing ready but to come over anyway. So while her mom held the baby, she washed my hair in her kitchen sink and gave me a great haircut. That was over 22 years ago and since then, my dear friend has never let me down. She has cut my hair with a bad back, migraine headaches, 2 days post surgery and wearing a mask.

But amazingly enough, as we grew older our lives became increasingly similar. We were both single moms raising our children the best we could with the circumstances we were under. We supported each other during our struggles and applauded the triumphs. We watched each other become independent, confident middle aged women being thrown back into the dating world. We cried, we sighed, we gasped but most of all we LAUGHED. It’s amazing the things you’ll open up about while your hair is saturated in dye with a shower cap on it. I can confidently say, there is nothing left unsaid between us, and I mean NOTHING!  I still chuckle when I think about the time Rose, how shall I say it, was in a “compromising” situation and all she could think of as it was happening was “wait till Jackie hears about this one!” Now with technology we don’t have to wait. We’ll send texts as a situation is unfolding so we can be there for each other in real time.

Our conversations through the years have included but were not limited to: our kids, boyfriends, sex, work, money, sex, fashion, TV, sex. And of course we often reminisce about our Jr. High days and how unlikely it was for us to become so close. But here we are. And when I say “only my hair dresser knows for sure”, the last thing I mean is hair dye!

                             img_4770

 
 

The True Meaning of Ordained April 28, 2014

Filed under: friendship,gay marriage — 3lastnamesblog @ 9:57 pm
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I am a Jewish minster.  I know what you’re thinking.  A  Jewish minister is an oxymoron like jumbo shrimp and sugarless candy. But I am not a contradiction. One of the definitions of minister is “a person serving as an agent for another by carrying out specified orders or functions”. I will be doing just that when I officiate my friend’s wedding. It was a long and arduous on-line process to become ordained. I had to fill in my name, address and telephone number and press “Get Ordained”. But please, no formalities are necessary. Minister Jackie will do just fine.

I will be officiating the wedding of my dearest friend John to the love of his life, Eric. It is a gay, interracial marriage with a Jewish minister. I am honored to be part of a ceremony that does not discriminate based on sexual orientation, race or religion. It’s just about the love. In New York Sate a notary republic cannot perform marriage ceremonies. But I can. This may sound like a farce, but let me explain why I think I am the most qualified person to marry these two gentlemen.

First of all, John and mine’s relationship began over a decade ago. He started teaching in the same school as me and we became quick friends. I knew when he told me I was the funniest woman he knew, he was going to be in my life for a very long time. I’m not sure John realized exactly what that meant for him.

You see, I have some issues. One of them is, I am afflicted with a new disease every week, at least in my head anyway. John has humored me through glaucoma, lymphoma, deep vein thrombosis, Lyme’s disease and most recently carpel tunnel syndrome. Several months ago, I was sitting next to a man at a bar with a terrible cough. I was sure he had given me Tuberculosis. I was with my sister when I diagnosed myself and told her I had to call John immediately to let him know of my most recent illness. She reminded me that John had just gotten his gall bladder removed and that maybe I shouldn’t bother him. Was she kidding me? Everybody knows that TB trumps gall bladder! Needless to say, I called John and he sympathetically listened as I explained my bout with TB. I mean c’mon his gall bladder surgery was laparoscopic. That’s like what, one stitch?

John is also my Karaoke manager. By that I mean, he is the lucky one who gets to go with me to Karaoke every week and listen to me sing the same songs over and over. Also, when “regulars” come up to me to say hello he quickly whispers in my ear their names because he knows there’s not a chance in hell I will remember them. He also is equipped with the names of the bar tenders, my colleagues, my neighbors, my students’ last names and distant family members because one never knows who you’re going to run into at Karaoke.

Another responsibility John has is to answer certain questions such as “How does my hair look? “, “Do I look fat in this outfit?” and “Can you notice this zit on my face?” This of course is a no-win situation for John. You might think that just to play it safe, he should lie. However, John has tried that, only to find himself in deep trouble when I see a picture of myself and clearly the zit looks like a second nose on my face. So now John has a politically correct response to which men all over the world should take heed…. “Well personally, I think your (hair) looks great, but I know it’s not how YOU like it to look”. Genius! When I ask my boyfriend similar questions I actually hear him think aloud, “Hmmmm. How would John answer this”? I think I understand now when John told him “She’s all yours!”

But I have helped John too. I have given him much advice both professionally and personally. Actually, when I first met John he wasn’t “out” to his parents yet. He was nervous about telling them and I told him I was certain they already knew. My advice was to keep it simple- sit down to dinner and say ‘I’m gay, pass the ketchup”.

And finally along came John’s love Eric and it was love at first sight (for me that is, I can’t speak for John.) He has fashion and decorating sense where John is lacking. Together they make the perfect gay man. At our first meeting we played a game. By the colors I chose Eric was able to tell me about every aspect of my personality including my sex life. This was my kind of guy! I knew when Eric told me I looked so much younger than my age; he too was going to be in my life for a very long time. I’m starting to think I’m like a duck- throw some bread at me and I’ll cling to you till you start running from the park.

So I ask, who better to marry these two men than me? They will not be giving their vows to a stranger, they will be speaking to ME, someone who loves them and is invested in their future. I am ordained by the power of this friendship. They have to answer to a higher order- ME! They just better make sure they speak the truth, because I want to look good in the pictures.

I would like to end with the Seven Blessings that are traditionally recited at Jewish weddings. Below is a non-denominational interpretation of these blessings which I feel perfectly fits the union of John and Eric. I would like to take credit for this version, but I found it on line.

  • May you be generous and giving with each other
  • May your sense of humor and playful spirit always continue to enliven your relationship
  • May you always respect the diversity of human kind
  • May you act with compassion to those less fortunate and with responsibility to the communities of which you are a part
  • May you appreciate and complement each other’s differences
  • May you always share yourselves openly with your friends and family
  • May your home be a haven of blessings and peace

  Can I hear an Amen Sista! (Okay, that one was mine!)

I love you, John and Eric and can’t wait to celebrate YOU on your special day!

Me John Eric

 

A One of a Kind Story February 5, 2013

Filed under: middle age,single,Uncategorized,Women's Humor,Women's Issues — 3lastnamesblog @ 2:47 am
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 I knew “it” was in the box labeled “Jackie’s Memory Stuff”.  In that box was everything from my wooden shoes from Holland (didn’t all kids go on family vacations to Europe?), to the 1991 Massapequa Post cover of my sister and I with our kids on our lap coming down the big slide at the St. Rose Fair (the irony of the Jews at the St. Rose Fair) and of course all those pictures and letters that someday my daughters will read when I’m gone (just like Bridges of Madison County) and realize  that their mom was not sitting home alone on the weekends they were at their dad’s.

Just as I hoped, I found “it” – my very first letter to my pen pal.

It started back in second grade. (You’re thinking to yourself, wait, isn’t she 50? How does something from 43 years ago have any relevance?  Be patient!) It was the 1969-70 school year. My teacher (Miss Rice) announced that we were going to have “pen pals”. She explained she had a friend that taught second grade in Ft. Wayne Indiana and they were going to match up their students so we could write to each other.

A few weeks later a letter arrived at my house. (In those days nobody worried about giving out your home address). It was dated January 16, 1970. Enclosed was a picture of the most beautiful blond-haired girl I had ever seen.  It read:

Dear Jackie,

          I am your new pen pal. I have a puppy and his name is Bullet. Do you have a pet? What is his name? I go to bed at 8:30 and sometimes 9 o’clock. What time do you go to bed? I have one sister and a dad and a mom and me and my puppy. Do you have a sister or a brother? Please write soon.

                                                                                      Your friend,

                                                                                      Beth Anne Nartker

From that moment on a lifelong friendship was born. Beth and I continued to write non-stop through the rest of elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. I remember telling her I was engaged….

Then of course real life stepped in and the letters became farther apart and eventually ended. But not for one moment had I ever stopped thinking about her and wondering how her life was going.   Remember, there was no internet, Google, Classmates.com, or Facebook back then.

But now there is! A couple of years ago I had the idea to search for her on Facebook. I used the first name “Beth Anne” and came up empty. After months of trying different variations, finally up came a picture of the same beautiful blond-haired girl. I recognized her immediately.  I messaged her on Facebook, “I’m not sure if you remember me….”

Well she replied that of course she remembered me, had been thinking of me as well and had also tried to find me on Classmates and Facebook . (But let’s face it, with all my last names, that’s an impossible feat!)

We picked up right where we left off, taking time to update each other on the past 25 years.  Just recently, after Hurricane Sandy, Beth (now living in Arizona) reached out to me and the girls. I expressed my gratitude for her concern especially from her of all people. She didn’t understand what I meant by “you of all people”. I explained that her concern meant even more to me, considering we had never even met! She responded, “I paused for a moment when I read your comment that we have never met as I actually forget that is the case! I feel I know you so well and consider you a dear friend – and we will meet some day. : ) xoxo”

So, it can happen. Two people who only correspond through the written word (we have never even spoken on the phone) can cultivate a life-long meaningful relationship. Perhaps I should’ve written to inmates instead of going on Match.

So I ask. Do we meet and run the risk of realizing we are total strangers that have nothing in common? Or do we give ourselves the chance to finally wrap our arms around the lifelong friend we’ve grown to care so much about?  I’d ask somebody who’s been through this before, but like I promised, this is a one of a kind story.

pen pal letter 1 (2)pen pal letter 2

pen pal pic        pan pal recent

 

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.