It’s hard to be a JOOOOO at Christmas.

For the following reasons.

• Because, all the non-JOOOOs get to take this week off, which means, us JOOOOO’s who just last week were lighting the Hanukah candles have nothing to celebrate, so we have to be in the office and do all the work everyone else left undone.
  

• Because I can’t watch 5 minutes of my favorite TV shows (Jersey Shore) without seeing one of those annoying GAP group rap/dance commercials about buying flannel or socks.

• Because people keep inviting me to their place for holiday parties and dinners. I just got a wii, I seriously need time at home to bone up on my bowling technique.

• Because people keep sending junk food to the office and since I’m a chocolate-loving JOOOOO I can’t turn it down.

• Tourists

Bah Humbug.

The Husband Store

A store that sells new husbands has opened in New York City , where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates:

You may visit this store ONLY ONCE! There are six floors and the value of the products increase as the shopper ascends the flights. The shopper may choose any item from a particular floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband. On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

Floor 1 - These men Have Jobs
She is intrigued, but continues to the second floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 2 - These men Have Jobs and Love Kids.
'That's nice,' she thinks, 'but I want more.'

So she continues upward. The third floor sign reads:

Floor 3 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, and are Extremely Good Looking.
'Wow,' she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 4 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Good Looking and Help With Housework.
'Oh, mercy me!' she exclaims, 'I can hardly stand it!'

Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign reads

Floor 5 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Gorgeous, Help with Housework, and Have a Strong Romantic Streak.
She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 6 - You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.


To avoid gender bias charges, the store's owner opened a New Wives store just across the street.
The first floor has wives that love sex.
The second floor has wives that love sex and have money and like beer.
The third, fourth, fifth and sixth floors have never been visited

Tips for successful wedding pics

1. Always get in the middle. Make sure to sandwich yourself between two other people, with your arms wrapped behind them. This is a helpful tool for hiding arm fat. If you have to have your arms down, make sure you are holding something with both hands – a bouquet is helpful, but hold it about 5 inches away from your midsection, that way you create a little tension in the arm – again helpful for arm fat. Don’t hold a glass of champagne (unless it’s during a toast), then you just look like a boozer.
2. Put the adorable 2-year-old to bed early. That way she won’t steal your thunder in all your pics.
3. Have a couple tubby bridesmaids. Don’t make the mistake that I did, all my maids and basically all my friends who attended were skinny bitches. You want a couple of big friends to pose with so you look really skinny in comparison.
4. Watch out for photographers who want you to do that dip/kiss combo a lot. It’s fun in theory, but then you get the whole neck flab issue as you are trying to keep yourself up while your groom is dipping you dangerously low after he’s had a couple drinks.
5. Also for neck flab, be sure to dip chin out and down just a bit when you are posing, you avoid a whole mess of unsightly neck flab that way.
6. Make sure your maids swab you down before pics in warm climates. You’d be surprised where you sweat when you’re in a 300 lb dress in the tropics – so part of their job is to take a hanky and dab you whenever and wherever you need.
7. Spanx
8. Overhead florescent lighting is bad – soft candle light is good.
9. Make sure to pull hair in front of shoulders, that way you cover up that little flap of fat between the side of your boobs and arms that gets all pushed up and magnified when you are wearing a strapless dress.
10. Don’t have someone make a life size cake replica of you out of cake.

To the crazy lady in the Mercedes SUV

Dear Crazy Lady,

When I was reversing out of my spot, I turned to look behind in all directions before going anywhere. Just because my reverse lights are on, and I inched out of my spot slightly to be able to see around the behemoth Escalades and Suburbans with tinted windows on either side of me, does NOT mean I was going to pull out into oncoming traffic (i.e. you, the only moving car in sight).

Was it really necessary to lay on your horn as if trying to warn a herd of deaf geese? Was it then necessary to do a slow, driveby as you stare relentlessly into my car, STILL laying on your horn no less, as you try to "prove your point?" Was it necessary to come to a COMPLETE STOP behind my car so you could stare into my soul a little longer just to get your point across? The only point you've proven is that you're a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs. That's right, wackadoo lady. Get a grip. Not everyone is a bad driver. Not everyone is gonna bash into your ugly SUV and leave you to drive around in a denter. You need to chill out. Take a chill pill. REEEE-LAX.

Now maybe you're upset because you're one of Tiger's mistresses. For that I'm sorry. You have every right to be angry today. And every day for that matter.

That is all.

Sincerely,
Ette2

Don’t plan your wedding anywhere near the holidays

Just because my whole family flew to Puerto Rico and stayed for a week, bought proper wedding attire and got me extravagant engagement and wedding gifts, they all think they don’t have to go big on Hanukah this year. To that I say, that’s not want G-D wants. The JOOOO G-D wants us to remember the story of the Macabees and how they fought the Romans – don’t really remember why exactly, but he wants us to remember that. And he wants us to commemorate how the JOOOOOOOs had to learn Hebrew with dreidels, betting with gold coins. G-D wants you to give me gold. It’s a mitzah after all. You will feel better about yourself if you get me good gifts for Hanukah. To make it easier for you, I’ve developed a list.

• HD TV for bedroom (This isn’t something I want, it’s actually something I need, since our current tv just kicked it)
• Sneakers (This is for gym use, so it’s actually more of a health thing than gift)
• Designer purse (my Belenciaga that may or may not have been stolen or faked - since I got it from a sketchy web site - lost a grommet, so I need a replacement and since I obviously can’t take it to a Belenciaga store (since it might be hot or fake), I need a replacement)
• iMac

Thanks guys

Because what's the holiday season without some Aretha teasing?

I mean, seriously, Aretha, first the spaghetti straps, now this. We need to hold a fashion intervention, stat. What is that part your head is poking through? You kind of look like Kenny from South Park. I'm sure everyone at the Rockefeller tree lighting were just enamored by your wardrobe choices...it's nearly as festive as the tree. Honey, the dress ain't that special that you had to show it off (and still manage to keep your neck warm).

WTF?

So we know Kvetchette has had a little bit of dust on it, lately -- Ette1 was busy getting married off into the Miller clan, and I've just been...well, busy with life's have-tos and what-nots -- and we fully intend to get back on the horse and bring you the funny. We're just taking a breather, because honestly, none of you are loyal readers anyway, so if you don't care about us why should we care about you?


Well in my time away from the site I guess I hadn't noticed that our one lonely Google ad (that by the way, has netted us no money, so I don't even know why I am doing them any favors putting their name on my blog, we all know Google ain't putting my name on THEIR blog, so...), anyway, our one lonely Google ad featured this brilliant product, above.

Thai Brides? Seriously, Googles? This is the best you can provide me with? Have you wasted ALL the good thumbnail ads on more important people? All the Snuggie ads? I'll even take an old Girls Gone Wild promo! But seriously, Thai Brides?? What about Kvetchette says to Googles computer generated ad-placement, mail order brides from friggin Thailand?

Fail.

Parenting 101

Seriously Katie? Is there a reason why your 3-year-old should be wearing high heels? This picture is ridiculous. This shit has got to stop. I'm sick of celebs who complain about paparazzi dressing their kids up for photo ops. I'm talking to you Gwen Stefani and your kid's bleach blonde hair, and to you too Angelina with your kid's mohawks. Are they so unappealing that you need to adorn them with jewelry and edgy hairstyles to make them interesting to others? Guess what, they are rich - they will find friends just fine. Good parents let their kids be ugly and awkward and wait until they are at least 15 before paying for their plastic surgery. Right Mom?!

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

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