A new way to make pumpkin pie

Happy Turkey Day, readerettes. Enjoy your families. Our incessant complaining will return shortly.

She's taken, fellas

This past Saturday, Ette1 did what she swore on this very blog that she would never have the chance to do. She was convinced, at times, that she would NEVER get married. That she would NEVER have a husband. That she would be an old maid, a spinster, while ALLLLLL of her friends around her got hitched. We all rolled our eyes at her, told her she was crazy, told her that it would happen to her. But Ette1 is a stubborn gal, and she didn't want to hear it. So she kvetched. To all of you.

And now, my friends, she too is hitched. So, readerettes, if I were you, I would be mad at her. Because really, she made you all feel sorry for her, like she was an old hag. She made you feel like she would be alone forever. And yet on Saturday, she sashayed down the Puerto Rican aisle as the most beautiful bride you've ever seen and married her best friend. She glowed. She sparkled (not literally, that would be bad - no, she sparkled figuratively). She grinned ear to ear. She looked like a goddess in her hourglass, trumpet-bottomed gown. Her curls in stunning, island ringlets, her lashes long and sexy. She was a vision. Oh, and Pants cleans up well too. ; )

We danced, we celebrated, we did the hora (which felt much more authentic because there were "real" Israelis there), we got our Jew on. We had a BLAST. We ate amazing foods (hello, Lupi's). We spent rainstorms in hot tubs (pretty fun). We swam with jellyfish (not so fun). We played "Who Am I" while drinking margaritas and laughing our faces off (so fun). It was the perfect wedding weekend.

So let Ette1 know how pissed off you are at her that you wasted your worry on a gal that made the most beautiful bride, a gal who had the sweetest ceremony, a gal who married the love of her life. Because really -- we have bigger fish to fry right now. Like the fact that Oprah is only going to be on television for another 365 days or so. Talk about worry...who will tell us how to feel once she's gone??



(Congrats, Ette1 and Pants. I love Jew both!)

Lost in translation

מי שמבין את החומר הזה

So as you know I'm a big JOOOOOO, and like most members I have assorted family in Israel. We stay connected via our once a decade visit here or there and now through the luxury of technology facebook. Trouble is because they live in a third world country - them JOOOOOs don't talk English. So when I post pics of my adorable niece or my dad they write comments in Hebrew and like most American JOOOOOOs, Hebrew don't mean shit to me and I can't understand those weird looking symbols they write with. So I have to use some Hebrew to English translator online, which also apparently doesn't understand Hebrew, because here's a snippet of some of their translations, for real.

• Family stunning charming little
• Score lovely granddaughter and you good luck Foundation
• Image stunning lovely granddaughter, Ilan, Biondi brother love miss precious Score
• Hey Zion I know a liar would not understand why I'm writing you. I see your photos exciting I miss the lovely Alexandra. Tell everyone that hot hot with kisses.
• How you like my father Score

My favorite new web site

www.latfh.com

Look at this fucking hipster

Calories, shmalories

I don't know about you, but I'm opposed to this whole "nutritional content" divulge we're seeing everywhere. Give me a break, America, will ya? Is it not bad enough that I'm bombarded with ads and directives to work out more, stop eating red meat, quit smoking, work smarter, network faster, make more money, invest that money, live better, wipe my toosh a certain way...that now I'm being assaulted with the reality of how bad everything I eat is.

Seriously...we're going to create a nation of nannypoos if we keep this up. We already force our kids to wear helmets from the second they leave the house until they're hospital tucked into their beds at night. We sprinkle all sorts of weird "supplement" powders into our cereals and pop gingko biloba pills chased with coffee. We friggin wear eskimo boots in NY so our shins don't get frostbitten. Our kids are literally going to be walking around like delicate, Michael Jacksonesque frailties because we put fear into everything we do.

And now, on top of all THAT I have to stress about...now I know that my muffin this morning had 740 calories. Or actually, the muffin I WOULD have had if I didn't see that little bit of info. Instead I had nothing, and suffered the guilt all day of wondering how many calories are in each breath of air I take in.

And honestly...so-friggin-what if that order of medium french fries is 500 calories. They're f-ing French Fries and they taste good...doesn't that count for something?? I know there are "certain people" in "certain parts of our country" that could benefit from some portion control. But seriously, I don't think this is the way to reach them. These are not exactly the folks reading the little grid of nutritional info on products or menus. Those people don't care. They just want their ho-ho milkshakes and fried Snickers bars.

Tomorrow I'm gonna live dangerously and get that muffin. F you, skinny bitches.

I lost my funny

So all I have to share is this...dead fly art. Enjoy.

I will not relax!

You know what really stresses me out? When wedding vendors say "Relax." I cannot relax sir. My wedding is three weeks away, I have sent you a large deposit for your services, you barely speak english (and I no spanish), and when I ask you things like did you download all the songs I asked for, you respond with phrases like "We have lots of music," or "You don't have to worry, you are working with the best," or "We've done tons of weddings." All of these responses, meant to calm me, actually enrage me. I am a hyper New Yorker who works in event planning. I don't work on island time. I need solid answers like, "yes in fact we went on itunes and downloaded each song to your specifications, I can show you the receipt if you like." So I called him yesterday to get to the bottom of our playlist and it turns out he's on vaca with the fam until two days before our wedding. So seriously, somebody better bring a boombox for backup. Thank goodness I'm having three weddings, so if this one bombs then I can do it again in good ole USA, where nervous yelling and demanding emails actually get you somewhere.

I'm a winner

You may remember such posts from me as "Sports Sucks" or "Sports is draining the life out of my soul inning by inning and I want to break the TV just so that I don't have to listen to another second of the roar of the crowd or the sneakers squeaking on the court because my ears are bleeding."

But a World Series bid does wonders for a girl's tolerance for the game. When your hometown team wins, you feel like a winner. Same way as when you find out a famous person you really like is Jewish (Zac Efron) or when a Jew wins the nobel prize, all the Jews feel just a little bit better about ourselves, because we're basically related and we're all a part of that special little group. When a bunch of rabbi's are arrested for major corruption in NJ, well then we just decide not to read that article.

But the point is, Philly is awesome, Jews are awesome and I am also awesome. We are winners.
Let's go Phills.

Game over, Ette1

This weekend marked an important milestone in Ette1's life. Her booty-shakin' days officially had their last major, unmarried hurrah on Saturday night, in cheesy, tacky, and altogether PERFECT Atlantic City. If you're gonna go out, go out with a bang, right?!

The girls hit the road Sat morning and everything went off without a hitch. We started the car ride with a few repeat plays of the best song on earth, Don't Be Tardy for the Party by Atlanta Housewife Kim. Pretty much the best song ever written. It took my group about 2 hours and 14 minutes to actually find Lincoln Tunnel and get OUT of NYC...I'm not really sure who's responsible for the detour signs navigating you toward the tunnel, but they should stop smokin' the reefer. We did no fewer than 4 major circles, as if we were sort of in a vortex spiral making our way to the mother ship. I mean, seriously. It shouldn't be that hard to get out of the city. What if there were a nuclear attack? Ette1's bachelor-ette's would be dead. Gonzo.

Once we arrived in AC it was another feat finding the parking garage. We decided to be frugal and self-park, b/c seriously, we're tough, and we can shlep our own overnight bags a few extra feet, right? We self-parked for $5 (could have stayed for 6 months and still would have only paid $5, btw) and then Ette1 led us on a scary, trek through stairwells better left for hookers and homeless people. I think there was actually a hooker and a homeless person making out when we entered the stairwell. (Business is not so good, I guess). Ette1, I hope that Pants has a better sense of directional intuition than you do, and can keep you out of harms way, because a pretty young Jewcy thang like yourself should not be opening dank, urine-stained unmarked doors. Ever.

Finally, we entered the Tropicana. Oh, glorious Tropicana, where do I begin? Your musty aroma? Your crazy, overweight clientele? Your fake potted plants? Seriously, Trop...you are a brilliant establishment and we loved every moment of our stay. Ahem. Cough. So without boring you with the gory details...Ette1 was showered with love, penis toys, sexy panties, garters, and champagne. She danced her tuchus. Ette1 felt the empowering, cool metal feel of a stripper pole beneath her virgin palms, as she test drove what it would feel like to be a slut-ette. Granted, she kept her clothes on, but she really enjoyed it because she hopped up there a couple times to show us what was up.

Overall, many lessons were learned throughout the weekend, and I'll share a few of them with you now:

1) Tequila is for SURE the way to go. No hangover. Shot after shot, and we all felt pretty great Sunday morning.
2) Girls from Long Island should not be in Atlantic City. Especially not if they are from "Sigh-ahhh-setttt." They have their own casino, right? They should go to Foxwood's. At least that's what we think after lots of shots of tequila.
3) Crazy people love casinos. And I think casinos thrive off crazy people.
4) Being told by a pedi-cab driver that we could get that t-shirt we're admiring in the window for even less money by "Jewing them down" makes you feel kind of gross. And just reminds us that we're glad we don't live in Atlantic City.
and last but not least...
5) Pants is one lucky man. Because Ette1 is not only one hot mama who knows how to work it on the dance floor; she's a major doll, a funny gal, and a stellar friend.

Love ya girl. One month to go!

A preview of what me and my girls will be looking like on sunday

Roomers, since she's driving



Sissette, she'll prob lock the door so we can't get in to help her



Ette 1 and 2, since we're dancing till we drop

Everyone else

I freaking can't wait

Let's talk T.P.

Something really bothers me about people and toilet paper. It's not the empty roll I am often met with. It's not the messy overcompensated re-roll of the last user who was too excited apparently and yanked off more than she needed, then tried to reverse the roll, leaving a loose, saggy mess. No, I'm talkin about the backward roller. Toilet paper rolls are meant to be grabbed from the top down -- didn't you know? When someone puts the toilet paper in the roll backwards, and I am made to yank behind the roll, or roll in reverse, it royally f's up my day. It's just plain rude. I once called out an ex boyfriend of mine -- when I was confronted with the incorrectly loaded T.P. roll in his bathroom -- that he had it all wrong. He went into such a state of confusion, and then, in a moment of unfamiliar clarity, realized that what I was saying made complete sense. He later told me (long after our relationship had ended) that every time he changes his T.P. he thinks of me. Sweet. Glad I could help.

So from now on, just remember: load (haha, no pun there) the goods so the end piece rests on top, and can be pulled forward. And I swear, if I go to any of your houses and that crap is the wrong way, I'm unraveling the entire thing and leaving it there, like a cottonelle rug.

I hope you had fun

That's right Pants, I hope you enjoyed your bachelor party this weekend.  It's fine that you don't want to tell me what you did, or who was there or where you went.  It's ok that you didn't answer any of my text messages, and didn't call all night.  I'm not upset that you came home this morning looking like a zombie and went immediately to bed.  It's no biggie that you only got out of bed twice, once to pee and once to drink some gatorade.  It's even fine that you have no explanation for that stain on your shirt.  That's fine.  I hope you enjoyed your special evening.  Because now it's my turn. Whatever you did, I'll do - but worse.  So you better hope  that nothing slips out this week my friend.  I know people, people who know things.  It would be bad for you if any of them happen to let slip any details of your activities. Because then I will be active too.  What's fair is fair.  Watch yo self!

You got me sick

Dear _______,

So apparently, the health notices and flu safety messages that the business management has wallpapered the bathrooms, cafe, and hallways with went unnoticed by you. Too busy to stop and smell the Purell, huh? Or maybe you thought you were immune? Well you weren't -- as was made evident by your 2 days of in-office hot flashes and sneezes. Well you know what, you may be feeling better now. Yeah, sure - you're feeling like a friggin rockstar. But guess what? I'm sick. I don't feel so hot. And you know why? Because I share air with you every day and you decided it was too important for you to stay and "work" rather than heed the swiney warnings and go home to quarantine yourself.

So here I sit, laid up in bed, sniffly and sort of making those whimpering sounds that are both upsetting and therapeutic...and H-ette is now affected by your stupidity too b/c he's taking care of me, while fearing for his own health and weekend plans. Although I will say, I really feel closer to H-ette when he becomes the caregiver -- it's a role he's VERY good at...the man rubbed my keppy all through The Office tonight and he even drove 20 minutes to get me real Jew Food from the good place. We're talkin' the real deal matzoh balls. That's love. So I guess I can thank you for that, at least. For givin' my hubby an excuse to be my knight in shining knishes.

See you on the other side, sucka. I'm dropping a hit of Nyquil and hitting the hay.

Ette2

I'm drawn to train wrecks

I can't turn away. Take The Hills, for example. I managed to steer clear of this particular train wreck for YEARS...I never saw a single episode of Laguna Beach...when all my BFFs were chatty Cathy-ing it up about this Kristen Cavatelli and ragu biatch I was ho hum with my own "intellectually stimulating" shows, like ER. Or Six Feet Under.

But somehow, somewhere along the line, between Lauren's center part and her half head braid looks, I got sucked in. That's how it happens. It's like ambient noise in the background, and all of a sudden, you catch an interesting song, a diddy you've heard maybe once before but never placed. And here it is, and you're like "what's that song?" so you turn the volume up and pay attention. So while Brody's fightin' with Lauren who's fightin' with Audrina, you're just semi-listening to the banter, just waiting for the chorus to come in. And then, just like that, the crack pipe is put down, and you find yourself rewinding -- going, "did she just say that?" or "she's not seriously hooking up with him..." or "did Heidi really just look to Jesus for guidance regarding Spencer?"

So here I sit, H-ette snoring away in the bedroom, and I'm watching the season premiere of The Hills. And it's D-R-A-M-A fro the get-go, and I love it. I love every minute. I'm loving Bedroom Eyes this season, and even more so, this new Kristin girl is a dream come true for TV. So sweet, that girl. Really. We all need a Kristin in our lives...and a voodoo doll in her likeness.

I'm sorry too

1) To all the businesses I've dissed on my @westchesterlife twitter acct...I hope that rather than my negative tweets killing your profits, you instead have taken my advice and made some changes to be better at what you do.

2) To the rabbit we killed in the car the other night. We saw you in the middle of the highway, and H-ette didn't slow down, because honestly you were looking right at us and we thought you were gonna hop on outta the way, and you didn't, and then it was too late, and we heard you under our tire, and I cried, and H-ette tried to console me. And I gave you a Twitter eulogy, but I'm still sorry, b/c you were somebunny's baby. Or momma.

3) To Stewpart, my brother's dog, for making jokes at your expense and telling everyone how annoying you are. You just wanna be loved -- even sucky dogs deserve love.

4) To the guy who gave me the shoulder massage at the nail salon the other day. You SO went above and beyond the 1 minute freebie and gave me a full on, 10 minute neck rub. You rocked. And I didn't tip you. My nails were still wet and I had already tipped the manicurist. And quite frankly, I just didn't want to smudge. I apologize. I owe ya one -- not a massage, but maybe a buck or two.

5) To the big G-O-D. I had coffee today. I suck, I know. I don't even have the willpower to starve myself for a freakin' day. I made that coffee and I knew the whole time I was crushing my beans, and filling the pot reservoir that what I was doing was wrong, but I did it anyway. And it tasted really good. Amen.

Sorry

Yom Kippur is tomorrow, and that's the day when good Jews begin a 24-hour fast and ask for forgiveness from friends and family in the hopes that the big guy upstairs will absolve you and write your name in the book of life for another year. Well I have a pretty big November coming up and it would be best if I were alive for that, so I'm going to try to get all my repenting out of the way early. Here's all my bad deeds and I'm sorry's. Hope you will forgive me.

• Sorry Bam for planning to leave you with the crazy chihuahua guy who wants you to sleep in his bed
• Sorry about the whole no tv in barbados thing sisette's nanny
• Sorry to all the annoying facebook people for calling you annoying
• Sorry to Ette2 for being a lazy blog partner
• Sorry to Pants for threatening to leave you if you air horn me, although seriously I will, so think hard about that
• Sorry friendly Doorman for pretending to listen to music when I walk in the building to avoid talking to you
• Sorry ass for not bringing you to the gym more like I promised
• Sorry Megan Fox for pointing out your toe thumbs
• Sorry book club for basically just skimming the first chapter of the last three books we read and then showing up to the discussion just for snacks
• Sorry to Project Runway for not watching you now that you are on Lifetime
• Sorry to the fat guy in the elevator who didn't move even an inch from his spot blocking the entire door when I needed to get out. He doesn't know why I'm apologizing, but let's just say I had some not nice thoughts
• Sorry for hating cats and Renee Zellweger and Ryan Seacrest

I seriously think that's it. But for safety, I'll say this. I may not be perfect, I may write snarky things that may hurt someone's feelings behind their back - but it also probably makes someone else laugh - so can we just call it even? Thanks and hope you all have an easy fast!

Doggie daycare

So one of the things that's been stressing me out about my impending nuptuals is who the heck is going to look after our beloved pet while we're basking in the sun for our island wedding. Because she's such a pill and all around not-fun-to-be-around kinda dog, we can only leave her with our closest family. That means momette from time to time, but mostly sisette and that's only as payback for all the bbsitting hours I donate to her. So we're in a bit of a quandry. Any friends and family we're close enough to to ask are coming to the wedding. We stopped into several doggy daycare places that told us she'd have to pass a personality test for them to accept her. Well, there's zero shot of that happening, so that's out. We actually had a not so not serious chat about what if we leave her in the apt with a week's worth of food and spread wee wee pads over the entire place. She doesn't really get along with people anyway and prefers her solitude, so this might be a nice little relaxing break for her. We decided those pesky animal cruelty laws might pose a problem there, so that idea's out.

So I've been asking around and this guy in my office heard of a "Chihuahua man" who apparently specializes in the little terrors. So I call him up and can instantly tell he's a freakshow. He has 6-10 chis to his house at a given time, he gives them the run of the apartment. He lets them sleep in his bed with him and he steams veggies and chicken for all their meals. He set up ramps so they can easily access the couch and bed. I can only imagine what his place looks/smells/sounds like. Oy, so I told him all about our special friend and despite what he's heard, she's in. He also suggested that she'll come back to us more socialized and happy.

So we're signed up. I'm not like some mothers who want to interview or even meet the people who will be caring for her children. All I need is a 5-minute crazy phone convo with incesent barking the background and I'm set. I agreed to pay whatever he asked. And we'll see how it goes, if they get along, maybe we'll let him adopt her, as in aka forget to pick her up and then change our numbers.

TV is my God

Sisette dropped off the bb this am so she could go to work early, or go the gym, or just eat breakfast without a 2-year-old putting her fingers in the cereal or something like that. So I babysat for an hour and half while getting my own self ready for work before the nanny showed up to get her. Our time together included making eggies, 45 minutes of trying to get her to eat eggies, bb unscrewing all my makeup tubes and then painting her face and my duvet, cleaning her face and my duvet, individually placing a stack of 100 UNO cards around the living room, yelling at the dog for eating her eggies, picking up 100 UNO cards and then finally, peacefully watching Dora. That’s when the nanny shows up and starts lecturing me about letting the kid watch TV.

Whatevs nanny, maybe in Barbados they don’t have TVs, but here in America we have lots of them, and they are flat screened and they show cartoons with little children with big heads who speak Spanish and carry backpacks. And kids LOVE them. They sing along, they say vamanos and delicioso, they get a little scared when the map pops out of the backpack, but in general they love it and they are freaking mesmerized and best of all they sit still and are quiet. So yes sisette and sisette’s uptight nanny – the bb watches TV at Auntie’s house, you don’t like it then you can find another backup bbsitter.

L'Shana Tova, Readerettes

Just in time for the New Year comes Twitteleh...the Jewish mother's alternative to Twitter.

Pretty accurate.

Wife: 'What are you doing?'
Husband: Nothing.
Wife: 'Nothing...? You've been reading our marriage certificate for an hour.'
Husband: 'I was looking for the expiration date.'

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Wife: 'Do you want dinner?'
Husband: 'Sure! What are my choices?'
Wife: 'Yes or no.'

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Wife: 'You always carry my photo in your wallet.. Why?'
Hubby: 'When there is a problem, no matter how great, I look at your picture and the problem disappears.'
Wife: 'You see how miraculous and powerful I am for you?'
Hubby: 'Yes! I see your picture and ask myself what other problem can there be greater than this one?'

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Girl: 'When we get married, I want to share all your worries, troubles and lighten your burden.'
Boy: 'It's very kind of you, darling, but I don't have any worries or troubles.'
Girl: 'Well that's because we aren't married yet.'

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Son: 'Mum, when I was on the bus with Dad this morning, he told me to give up my seat to a lady.'
Mom: 'Well, you have done the right thing.'
Son: 'But mum, I was sitting on daddy's lap.'

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A newly married man asked his wife, 'Would you have married me if my father hadn't left me a fortune?'
'Honey,' the woman replied sweetly, 'I'd have married you, NO MATTER WHO LEFT YOU A FORTUNE!'

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Girl to her boyfriend: One kiss and I'll be yours forever.
The guy replies: 'Thanks for the early warning.'

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A wife asked her husband: 'What do you like most in me, my pretty face or my sexy body?'
He looked at her from head to toe and replied: 'I like your sense of humor!'

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A man was sitting reading his papers when his wife hit him round the head with a frying pan.
'What was that for?' the man asked.
The wife replied 'That was for the piece of paper with the name Jenny on it that I found in your pants pocket'.
The man then said 'When I was at the races last week Jenny was the name of the horse I bet on.'
The wife apologized and went on with the housework.
Three days later the man is watching TV when his wife bashes him on the head with an even bigger frying pan, knocking him unconscious. Upon re-gaining consciousness the man asked why she had hit again.
Wife replied. 'Your horse phoned.'