Tag Archives: Getting Older

“Show Me Your Boobs”- A Heartwarming Tale Of Rosh Hashana Past

16 May

WAIT A MINUTE…these aren’t BOOBS!

See what I did there? Totally tricked you into reading a heartwarming tale of Rosh Hashona from 2010. And you thought it would be about boobs.

We are a week away from that  magical time of year ladies and gentleman! That’s right. It’s the Jewish New Year! A time to get together, eat apples and honey and gather around the dining room table while we laugh until noodle kugel comes out of our nose. What is it about the holidays that turn families into laugh factories? It seems to be the place where other family members cry out, “STOP! My sides! They’re killing me! You should really be a comedian!” Hardly. It’s the nature of family to tell inappropriate stories that no one in their right mind may find funny, except for the sheltered group of crazy people sitting before you, spraying green bean casserole every time a laugh escapes.

There are two main characters in this story: Steve, a club-footed ex-janitor who is a “friend” of someone who lives in the same condo as my Mother. Steve loves to tell inappropriate stories or say inappropriate things while in front of large groups of people. It’s a lack of filter combined with a “who cares who’s listening” attitude. Anyone know someone similar?

I always have to refrain from being like… “True or false: you’re aware people can hear you right?!”

Michael is the other main character, a friend of my mom’s, who is a brilliant individual bored with his job as a computer programmer. He was raised Southern Baptist in South Carolina and over the years has turned into a straight up atheist. BUT! He is a Bible Blaster, a “Master of Biblical Disaster.” I’ve watched him shut down several conversations about Religion with ease. It’s quite impressive. In any case, we include these two as part of our extended family who comes for just about every holiday and have become “Jews by association.” He and my Mother ballroom dance as a hobby, and that’s actually how they met and became friends.

Final note would be that my Mother, who is not a drinker by nature…has had two drinks. Two drinks for my Mom is the equivalent of getting frat boy drunk…getting Lohaned up, if you will.

She is…drunk.

The night was already weird, and little did we know how weird it was ABOUT to get. While we’re sitting around, Steve begins discussing his latest vacation he and my mother’s neighbor took (they’re a couple, clearly).

Steve: “Oh YAH, we went to Freedom Beach”
MOM: “Freedom beach?”
Steve: “Yes, it’s a nude beach.”
He proceeds to grab himself before finishing his thought…
Steve: “I got to let it all hang out, if ya get me!”

As I mentioned, my Mom had two drinks that night, which is like, two drinks too much…so she’s literally rolling on the floor laughing uncontrollably.

MOM: “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Steve: “No! Don’t you want to be FREE?!”
MOM: [stands up on the chair and shouts] “I’m FREEEEEEEEEEEEE”

Then falls.

Steve is still caressing himself in a disturbing and particularly gross way. Just to the point where you’re not sure if they’re doing it intentionally or just kind of…resting their hands in the general vicinity? Gross either way.

Some of Steve’s other famous stories include:

“I went to the zoo last week and watched these two monkeys go at it for like an hour. Do you know turtles can have sex for over 7 hours? Crazy, right?”

And, as if this should shock you by now…

[We were at the pool, all together, and he says to his girlfriend…]

“We need to go upstairs now. Because I want it. A sandwich, then nap and if we don’t go now…there won’t be time for OTHER things. Get me? OTHER THINGS.”

He loves that phrase, “Get me?” NO Steve…frankly, we don’t.

Michael’s stories, on the other hand, tend to be more detailed yet equally as disturbing and unexpected. The best one from the Holiday evening has to be the one he told directly after Steve’s, regarding a Ballroom dance routine gone wrong.

It is a general rule in Ballroom Dancing for ladies to not wear a tube top while performing, as the chances of “foreign exposure” are at an all time high. With the lifting, tilting, spinning and twirling, a lady’s chance of exposing herself are probably 80-90%. Usually, you see a woman with some sort of strap around the neck or shoulders for that very reason! Apparently not all people know this, or perhaps just disregard it. In this case, it backfired in a BIG way.

Picture this: A lavish ballroom scene with lots of competitors, judges, family and friends who have all come to see you take home the trophy for “most awesomest ballroom dancer…ever.”

You’ve chosen a purple glitter dress with a high, right leg slit, illuminating your silver stockings. The dress is a tube top style, strapless dress but you’re not concerned! No big deal! The dance begins and you and your partner are off! You’ve gone through your choreography and are ready for the big lift!

Annnnnnd, you’re up!

But wait? What’s that breeze your feeling? Could it be? Uh-Oh! Your boobs are full on exposed, flapping around in sync with you as you are swept from one side of the stage to the other.

Apparently, the couple finished the entire routine and when they finally took their bows, the lady stood up and put her breasts back in.

The ENTIRE routine? YIKES! That is ONE proud dancer! The Holidays are always great, and I look forward to writing a similar post after Rosh Hashanah takes place next week! To all my He-brews and She-brews, enjoy the upcoming Holidays and let it all hang out!

P.s…open seats at our family dinner table. No? No takers? Bueller…?

FACT: Babies Are Ruining My Life

16 May

There Goes Your Hopes and Dreams!

Sweet Moses, this topic is frightening! For those who have yet to read my interesting perspective on all that life has to offer, I apologize in advance. And for the five of you loyal readers ( Mom, big ups to you!) who hang on my every sentence for entertainment…and to feel better about you, once again…you’re welcome. I’m sort of like watching Intervention. At the end of it, you’re a bit confused, worried, turned on…but ultimately grateful that you lead a completely different life, and that’s why I’m here, to bring horror to the masses.

Recently, I’ve become more and more entwined with the community, which is great, since my goal is to ultimately do something positive for children, women in distress and shelter animals. Children and I tend to get along famously, as I’d rather spend my days sipping Juicy Juice, watching SpongeBob SquarePants and running around the house pants-less.

Children are awesome. Their honesty, their integrity, and their ability to be happy with life’s simplest pleasures. I’ve had a glass of wine, so if this post goes sappy, blame the silly juice.

My thoughts on children, as of September 2011:

So here’s the thing.

Most of you who know me, know how I feel about giving birth as I did a wholllle portion of my stand-up comedy act on it and I’m not particularly shy about saying the following: I’d love kids, I just don’t want to birth them.

Previously, I’ve said the following things have to happen prior to me agreeing to have kids:

1. Caging children must become legal, so like a dog, if I get frustrated with little Yikes Jr. I can cage it until it learns not to pee in the house.

2. Men must be able to have uterine transplants. Seriously, they should be able to have children already…it’s 2011.

3. They would have to be able to put me to sleep, take the baby out, perform liposuction and wake me up when everything is over, with my tang tang intact.

4. The only alternative to three, would be having your egg removed, mixed with your partners, it’s put into a pod that you check on and feed…kind of like sea monkeys…and eventually, the baby grows and wakes up at nine months cuter than hell and ready for you. Kind of like…iRobot meets Identity Report…meets the Pillsbury Dough Boy (he rises in time…in time…ON HIS OWN).

It’s a wonder I’m not married with kids yet, no?

Well…here’s the thing. Most of that nonsense above, while completely ignorant, stems from me assuming the right person will make me feel differently. My mother, who is probably gagging as she reads this, insists that as we get older…there is an instinct that rises.

So what’s been happening? There are children…everywhere. Seriously, criminally adorable children. Slowly but surely, I don’t feel like that anymore. I find myself looking at these families, envious that someone has made them feel like blowing their pelvis and tang tang region out was totally worth it.


Furthermore, people from high school…from college…from my LIFE are having children at such a rapid rate it’s bananas. Some of them, I don’t even know they’re pregnant, then today I see TWO of them have, “Little Isaac turns one month today!” whaaaaa….t?

AT LEAST have the courtesy to throw us a baby bump pic here and then so we’re not shocked! ( And this is what technology has done to us!)

I’m 26. I’m in no way, shape, or form behind on the times. I’ve never been married, because I want to do it right…one time, and forever. Optimistic? Sure, sure, sure. Not in a rush (absolutely no man believes this)!

So for now I’ll continue sipping my Juicy Juice and roaming the house pants-less, while watching SpongeBob SquarePants and come to grips with the epidemic that will most likely grow as I continue to!