#37 That's The Way It Is

It is not fair. It is not fair. It is not fair.

Brush your teeth and

Brush your hair.

You lost your mom. You lost your mom. You lost your mom.

Not in the supermarket and

Not by a bomb.

You hate the system. You hate the system. You hate the system.

It’s all that guy’s fault and

You didn’t vote for him.

A pound of flesh. A pound of flesh. A pound of flesh.

Class action suit for

Faulty vaginal mesh.

She is always late. She is always late. She is always late.

Eat your vegetables until none are

Left on your plate.

We are burning up. We are burning up. We are burning up.

Cry for the stray kitties and the

Adorable pups.

The Jews have a bris. The Jews have a bris. The Jews have a bris.

Don’t ask the boy infant

Because that’s the way that it is.

#36 Yellow Lawn Mower, Mormon Friend and Kmart

I have a Mormon friend who is intrigued by my Jewishness. When we spend time together, not more than 5 hours will pass without a reference to Jews and Mormons. It goes like this:
“I once knew a Jewish person who had horns!”

And I counter:

“So how many wives ya got now, friend?”

Just some background: Our beautiful daughters were in pre-k together.

This is how odd fellows meet.

We un-friended each other on Facebook during the last presidential election and I am sure our friendship was saved by this mercenary act. I am so relieved, because we like each other so much more when we don’t know each other!

We are at the Sidney, New York Super Kmart and he decides to buy a lawnmower. The K-staff cannot locate the proper UPC code to scan the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Yellow Floor Model. My Mormon Friend and I sit on the summer lounge chairs (ea @$28) and wait for them to figure out how to scan the Mac and Cheese Mower into the system so my Mormon Pal can pay up. We are stationed in front of a plethora of meditative water ornaments, each priced at approximately $100.00 and fashioned out of "stone": Chinese Zen Mediation Waterfall style... to the Mickey Mouse Lawn Jockey ($169.95).

Made in China.

The world passes us with their carts filled with garden paraphernalia: wood chips, shovels, lawn statuary, tomato plants, pansies, wooden garden stakes and I spy my MF (Mormon Friend) eyeballing their mid-sections’ which resemble Yogi Bear.  I know how my MF feels about overweight Americans.

He tells me a joke: 

"What words won't a Jewish woman ever hear?"
"What?"
" 'Blue Light Special!'  Hahahahhahaha!"

We continue to watch the parade of humanity at the checkout. He glances over at me and I pretend not to look, because if I do, I will blurst out laughing and that would be so un-Christian, or un-Jewish of me. We wait until the staff hauls employee #3 to the register. He has short cropped hair and both ears are pierced and says into phone/loud speaker:

“MELISSA! PLEASE COME TO GARDEN.”

We smirk and wait to see who Melissa is.

She is wearing a black jean jacket and matching jeans with a smartphone tucked into her back pocket. She efficiently scans somethingorother and the proper total is up on the computer screen and my MF can swipe his credit card, when I scan a glance, so he will gather miles for this purchase.

Shop Smart at Kmart!

I pull the car up outside the exit and he hauls the boxed Mac & Cheese lawnmower into the rear of the car and we head to his house: a Victorian/Neo-Classical Mess Which Needs A Lot of Work. Undoubtedly, he will accomplish the work and will emerge victorious, and poor, in two to three decades.

I envision us, a few woodchucks, a bouquet of lilacs on a mahogany table in his formal living room in the next century. We will sip a flavored beverage, and admire his work.

Of course, politics are off the table.

#35 A Persistant Sound You Cannot Find The Source Of

You will not believe this, but for the past hour, at least, a car alarm is hogging up the air with its howling barf. It isn’t the 90’s anymore when this sort of sound barf was typical and we all just waited for some asshole to stumble out of a bar or noise proof apartment and aim his (yes, HIS) little remote at the offending obnoxious vehicle and end the nasty sound garbage that fills our ears and brains and there is no reason for this to be happening in 2014. 

I even heard an adjacent neighbor yell, “shut up!”

It didn’t work.

I know the source of the sound but I do not know from where it comes, precisely.

It is a car. What street? I don’t care. It is close enough to hear it like a throbbing headache. Throb. Throb. Throb.

Pause.

Tricked you! Throb again, again, again.

Oh, stop. Please.

Christ in Heaven Above, it is 45 minutes later and the car is honk, honk, honking without taking a breath to recoup. Why must we be punished in this way, Dear Lord? What are you trying to teach us? Please tell us in words, not sounds.

Oh, and thank Ye for the rain that fallest upon the earth right now to provide a holy buffer to the Sound of Ye Car Alarm.

I repent I repent. No sin shall emanate from my being ever, ever, ever, beep, beep, beep, again. Never. Christ Almighty. Praise ye.

The sound has ceased. The rain is beating down in springtime cheer. Relief, oh Lord! Praises unto Thee. Praise the final cessation of Thy Car Alarm.

I have listened and obeyed. I bow unto Thee and Thy Devine….

You tricked me, Oh Lord. You have perpetrated further Car Alarm pulsating madness upon me and my brethren. We  hear you.

We hear the car alarm.

We hear the car

The alarm.

Alarm

Fuck.

It has stopped.

#34 First French Kiss

I need a love to keep me happy. I need a love to keep me happy.

Baby.

Happy.

Sorry to go there, but the tongue: The Rolling Stones tongue. Mick’s lips and tongue.

It’s all about the tongue; the iconic tongue. The organ inside the mouth required for speech, taste and swallowing is also necessary for French kissing.

Um, French?

Gross? No! Don’t go back to the early days of basement make-out parties, spin the bottle, truth or dare, cause if you do you will remember the sick strange moment when you realized someone else was doing it and you would, too. No pressure, maybe some actual excitement and a tiny weak heart and hard moisture in the nether region. Swapping spit and feeling the fleshy other person’s tongue that is just like your own poking around and licking the inside of your mouth. Not even remotely sexy. Yet.  Is this how sexy starts?  It doesn’t seem natural, but when you do it for the first time nature really has very little investment in the behavior. 

It’s pretty much a copy cat crime.

And you people on the subway. Why do you do this to us? WHY? What is wrong with you? We cannot escape your slimy, in your own little bubble affection. Why do you need to do this for the first time with all of us sitting there watching you?  Do you really feel more comfortable with an audience of strangers pretending not to look at you? Does this make you feel like you are in some private pocket, playing out your first tongue kiss with your equally inexperienced, inept, tongue kiss partner? Is this something you want to tell your grandchildren about someday? 

Does this historic moment make you proud?

No, you aren’t thinking, are you?! Only that tongue of yours is operating on it’s own accord. Doing it’s little tongue thing. It’s little pink swirly dance.

Happy. Baby gonna keep you happy.

#33 In Which You Get Out Of Lying By Saying Something Literally A Fact But Nowhere Near The Truth

Another train story starting at Bleeker Street on the uptown 6. I am sitting there and three separate groups of young Asian people get on over the course of the journey. Each group has 3-4 individuals and the dominant gender is male. They stick together and talk a lot, of course, in their own language. Though I understand nothing they are saying, one group I peg as speaking Cantonese. They are tall boys with not very good complexions and they are wearing sturdy dark canvas backpacks. I know, I mean, I sense they are very good at math and it makes me sort of agitated because I am not and it seems evident that they are predisposed genetically for mathematical aptitude and I know this sounds racially wrong but it is coming from a place inside me of admiration and envy.  They are also bi-lingual and that irks me as well, because I am not. I only speak one language and this is it.

At Union Square another group gets on and my guess is they are speaking Japanese. They are a little bit older and much better dressed than the Cantonese boys. The cumulative wardrobe value of this group is, by my rough calculation, estimated somewhere between $1500-$3000. Very simply stated and nicely tailored. Good quality shoes and haircuts. However I notice a tiny plastic wire hanging off one woman’s Michael Kors handbag and I wonder if she bought it discounted at an outlet shop somewhere. It is also a light colored leather and in good shape, not stained on the bottom which also impresses me because there is no way I would not trash something like that in no time. The leather would be smudged with dark brown stains if it belonged to me. I’m a pretty sloppy girl.

I notice that one of the gentlemen in the Japanese group is slyly eyeing an Asian woman who is seated a few people over (who are also Asian, Korean I think, and seem be an informal group, but I am not sure if they are together) from where I am sitting. I can’t see her face fully but get the sense she is very pretty. The young gentleman is wearing tortious shell Warby Parker glasses, which is just a more sophisticated version of Harry Potter glasses, and they look cute on him.  At 42^nd Street there is a mass exodus as they all leave at the same time and I wonder where they are going and why all the Asian kids got off at Grand Central. I decide to follow them and I don’t get very far because at the top of the stairs they all disperse and go in different directions so I head back down to the subway platform and wait for the next train.

I get on the next 6 train and there is a huge crowd of Orthodox Jews and they all stare at me and then avert their eyes and continue reading their small, tattered prayer books.  I lose interest pretty quickly and decide not to stare anymore.