if you say you don’t have a crush on kate middleton you’re lying

i can’t believe i was jessica’s crush in the mid-90s. it’s so…so…unfair i didn’t know her then. i’m going to have to tell ricki the next time i see him in the girls’ room.

first things first: yes, i kind of abandoned you. kind of like when i went to under armour except this time i didn’t dropkick any ladies’ rooms bathroom stall doors and/or split my pants down the middle, then have to take a boat home, then have to go out for pizza with holly with my underwear showing. (gosh that was kind of funny now that i think about it.)

no actually i just felt severely unfunny the past couple months. so instead of turning this blog into an episode of my so-called life (omg loved that show; loved angela (loved her too much, probably), loved jordan, loved ricki & his eyeliner in the girls’ room, even loved rayanne) i decided to step back and “let the storm pass.”

so yeah, the storm passed. and one day i’ll write about it in a sensibly priced e-book. until then, i’m back to help you procrastinate to the best of your abilities. so here we go!

first: a number of revelations i’ve had over the past few weeks. let’s start with kate middleton.

1. kate middleton:  yes, if you say you don’t have a crush on kate middleton, you’re absolutely 100% lying. or else you’re of a grandmotherly-type age–or you’re actually a grandmother–in which case it feels quite wrong to crush on a real-life 30-year-old princess. but i’m not a grandmother yet so i’m just going to say that i suddenly noticed it’s probably almost impossible not to have a crush on her.

she’s just so…so absolutely heartbreakingly lovely. not only is she beautiful, she’s graceful and loves children–and they love her back! she’s the type of girl that, if she were to, say, walk into a forest–which i imagine she would once in a while, as she seems like the outdoorsy type–animals would gather around her feet. like bunnies and deer and baby animals in particular. puppies, especially. i know puppies don’t live in forests, but they would sense her presence and run into the forest to find her.

anyway, i’m not going to deny my feelings anymore. instead i’m embracing and sharing them and suggest you do the same.

2. facebook: i took a two-week hiatus from facebook and i kind of loved it. i felt so…so 90s. it kind of made me want to listen to some gin blossoms and…pick up my home phone and call someone. (of course i didn’t. but i could have. except for i’d text them first to tell them i was calling.) it was like: i wasn’t bombarded with 10,000 pieces of information every five seconds and i actually started liking people again. but then i got back on and got disgusted and started hating people again. it’s really a catch-22, facebook. i’d say more about this, but i have to go check my notifications. kthanks, brb.

3. growing out my bangs: ok, i’m back. speaking of the 90s, i’m growing out my bangs. yes, growing out my bangs. i should note i’ve had bangs since 2003 so this is major for me.

in hindsight, i’m noticing that bangs kind of held me back. like, creatively. now that i’m nearly sans bangs (that’s fraaanch. “sans” means “without” and no, i don’t remember anything else from five years of french, so help me, what a waste of time that was–i should have taken spanish so i could communicate with all the hispanic guys that probably say such nice things to me in their native tongue) anyway, without the baggage of bangs, so to speak, i’m able to do all sorts of fun things with my hair now: flipping it this way and that, using hairspray and clips and all sorts of things.

note: i haven’t used hairspray since the early 90s! i feel like buying some guess jeans, pegging them, splashing on some jean nate (pronounced GEEN-naTAY; also fraaanch) and doing the running man to some c+c music factory. i probably won’t. but i might. then i’ll go to friendly’s and get a fribble. WHAT. get outta here. i totally would but it’s 2012 and most of the friendly’s have closed down. i also don’t have to peg my jeans anymore. that’s what jeggings are for! 

4. the blue angels: the the blue angels came to baltimore and omg. we watched them practice and perform from our roofdeck and holy crap wow. seeing and hearing them so up close and personal from the comfort of home was like this big free gift wrapped in a bow dropped on our house–like a big ol loudass exciting present for persevering in this hot mess of a city. who knew a neurotic jew like me was an airshow fan! instead of complaining oy it’s so loud! oy they’re so close! OY ARE THEY GOING TO CRASH INTO OUR HOUSE CALL THE SISTERHOOD WE HAVE TO PUT THIS IN THE NEWSLETTA!  i was like HELL’S YEAH DOGGIE BRING IT ON!

5. middlesex: i finally read middlesex by jeffrey eugenides and woah. dude, that is a good book. i seriously felt myself getting smarter while i was reading it. also who knew a, ahem, love scene between a 14-year-old hermaphrodite and 14-year-old a red-headed girl could be so…special? oh shuddup. i’m not a sicko, just read the damn book, you’ll see what i mean. (p.s. I WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO THE RED-HEADED GIRL, DAMMIT, JEFFREY!)

6. new jersey housewives: i know she’s kind of a bee-otch, but jersey housewives wouldn’t even have a storyline if it weren’t for teresa. so even if you don’t like her, i suggest you just deal with it or else you’re not gonna have a show to watch. also: i love rosie. and, i hate myself for saying it, but joe gorga‘s kind of a hunk. and if you don’t watch the show don’t worry about it, you’re probably better off without it, let’s go to the next revelation.

7. more with the hair: i need a keratin treatment. i tried to deny it. i said i wasn’t interested but i am. i’m going to get carpal tunnel in my right arm from straightening my hair in this damn humidity. put that in your sisterhood newsletter. no wait. don’t. my mom probably gets that newsletter.

til next time!
xxo!
jessica, i.e. the one in synagogue with the mouthpiece and all the hard candies

Advertisement

so i had this dream about katy perry…

"jessica, will you do me a favor? i'd *reeeeeally* appreciate it."

yeah. i did. and it was hot. i mean, it was really really hot.

you wanna know why it was hot? ok, i’ll tell you:

it was hot b/c…
she asked me to…
to…
to……..

dog sit for her. DOG SIT HER HUGE-ASS DOG. and i had to run around chasing it. which made me hot.

i wish it was a hot dream for different reasons, but it wasn’t. no, katy perry, fresh off my gimme list, asked me to dog sit her large dog. it was black and grey brindle and appropriately named, get this, Pepper.  yeah. Pepper the Dog.

 (note: i have no idea if katy perry even *has* a dog. i made this entire thing up. yes, i am that creative.)

pepper was like a…pit/great dane mix. pepper was huuuuuge and somewhat intimidating, but, apparently, also a gentle giant. i don’t remember too much from the dream, but i do remember chasing pepper all around. i also remember asking katy perry for her cell number in case i needed to get a hold of her while she was gone (of course i had no details about, you know, how long she’d be gone and how long i’d be dog sitting) and ask her pepper-related questions.

she hemmed and hawed about giving it to me and i was like, katy, i’m only asking you so i can call you in the event that there’s a problem with pepper.

she was going to give me her secondary cell phone number. she hemmed and hawed some more, while, i’m like, sweating, from chasing friggin huge-ass pepper around.

then she starts saying that maybe she’d give me her publicist’s cell number. (as i former publicist and a current journalist i know that the actual chances of me getting in touch w/her in the event of a real pepper emergency was slim to none.)

despite her scorching hottness, i’m losing my cool at this point. i’m like, katy, i only want your cell number in case there’s a problem with pepper. i am *not* going to stalk you. i’ve had cyndi lauper’s home number for years (this is true; i interviewed her years ago and for whatever reason, her publicist provided her home number, which was pretty weird) and i’ve been a huge fan of hers since i was a little kid and i haven’t called her since then. please. just give me your cell number.

i think i woke up shortly thereafter, so i’m not sure if she caved or what. i’m telling you, i’ve been laughing about this dream for a friggin week. mostly due to the fact that i came up with such a great dog name (Pepper! how cute is that??! esp. for a black & grey dog!) and i had such a truly un-hot dream featuring katy perry. i mean, dog sitting? really?? my subconscious really couldn’t do any better than that? c’mon.

next i’ll have a dream about going grocery shopping with drew barrymore. (which, btw, i totally would if she asked me.) or getting starbucks with rihanna. or washing windows with fergie. of course the bucket could fall off the ladder…and then our t-shirts would get wet and… oh who the hell am i kidding. we’d probably be using windex.

who’s your ‘gimme’??

me and drew: besties. (except for that's not me on the right. but it could be. well probably not. anyway.)

every couple has their “gimmes.” you know, if you’re in a committed, exclusive relationship (yes, that includes being married; pbbbt! i know, boring right??) that person–or people–that are so understandably irresistible that your mate throws up his or her hands and pronounces that person your “gimme.”

most of the time gimmes are completely and totally out of one’s reach. movie stars, rock/pop stars and the like. straight women usually choose george clooney as their gimme. this confounds me. i know i’m gay as a day in may but c’mon ladies. what about someone like jude law or lenny kravitz? i personally think they blow him out of the water. but that’s just me and like i said, i’m a homo.

anyway, this whole famous-person-gimme thing keeps things fun and safe as your average person probably wouldn’t a) bump into any sexy famous ppl and b) have a chance w/them, most likely b/c they’d be blubbering about what a big fan they are and omg my husband/wife/partner totally says you’re my gimme.

(note: if you ever run into any of your famous gimmes don’t say that. instead act cool & sexy, then discreetly text your spouse/partner/signficant other that you have, in fact, run into your gimme and fair’s fair and my phone will be off for at least 90 minutes and i’ll text you when we’re done, love you ttys!)  

but right, back to the famous gimmes. holly has a nice long list of these and they’re usually blonde. this pisses me off to no end as i am very clearly a brunette. of course we have a lot of the same gimmes and holly’s a brunette. but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about her and plus the rules are different for me, don’t ask me why but they are.

so holly’s #1 gimme has always been, and will most likely forever be, the lovely drew barrymore. i can’t say i blame her. portia di rossi is a close second. there are more, but i think i’m purposely forgetting them right now b/c most of them are blonde. [oh wait: i just remembered another–shannon tweed (also a blonde). you know, the ex-playmate and longtime partner of gene simmons. holly’s into the strong older woman type and i get that.]

anyway, obviously we’re very open about this kind of stuff, and we recently had a very frank conversation about drew barrymore and her gimme-ness.

i proclaimed that drew is one of my gimmes, too. so what if we were to actually run into her?

“well, we’re obviously not sharing her. it’s either you or me,” i told holly. (i think we were in the car.)

“well then i would get her,” holly proclaimed, all high and mighty-like.

“why would you get her?” i said. “i’ve loved her forever!” 

“and i’m four years older than you, which means that i’ve loved her longer. so i get her.”

she had a point. dammit.

“that’s fine,” i told her. “b/c, honestly, i think drew and i would wind up becoming best friends anyway. we might hold hands or make out or something, but mostly we’d probably get lattes, do our nails, get lunch and talk about our favorite books.”

“yeah, drew barrymore and i wouldn’t be doing much talking,” she told me.  

“whatever,” i said, probably crossing my arms at this point.

“look,” i said. “if you ever meet drew barrymore, i kind of feel like you might leave me for her and you two might actually become a couple. if this happens, i want you to know i’m going to be pissed but i’ll understand. i would. but since my number is the primary on our cell phone account, i also want you to know that i will immediately drop you from our family plan. i know your family’s important to you, so i’ll call them first and tell them so they don’t worry when your phone number doesn’t work anymore. i don’t think they’ll blame me.”

“thanks, babe. you’re the best wife ever.”

“i know. but chances are you won’t meet her, and this is a moot point.”

“i might.”

“you won’t.”

“i might.”

“yeah, you won’t.”

“i might,” she whispered. at this point i decided to be the bigger person and not argue anymore and instead thought about how i really am a great wife.

ok, so who are your gimmes? mine, in no particular order, are including but not limited to:

yes, drew. yes, portia. also: rihanna, karen from will & grace, the latina girl (ok i actually think she’s iranian in real life) who was on “the l word” for a while (tho i’m not sure how long since i had to stop watching that show as i found it highly annoying), katy perry and, the newest addition, kyle from the real housewives of beverly hills (does she count? she’s a reality tv star. disclaimer: strike that from the record if she turns into a crazy and/or psychotic megabitch). discuss.  

p.s. yes, i really would drop holly from the family plan. like a hot potato.

p.p.s. drew: if you’re reading this, call me.

holly and i both have one shiny fingernail thanks to the hot israeli girl at the mall

if you were a jersey girl in the 80s/early-to-mid 90s who went to “the city” w/your street-wise mom on an even a semi-regular basis, you probably grew up with the following advice:

“listen to me. are you listening? walk fast and stare straight ahead. don’t talk to anyone, don’t look at anyone and don’t make eye contact. AND HOLD ONTO YOUR BAG.” (holding onto your bag was key.)

considering that i got those pointers hammered into my head at a fairly young age, i’ve gotten pretty darn good at avoiding anyone who appears even remotely like a threat. holly, once a western pee-ay girl who used to say hi to everyone and “stare at the crazies” (as she did on our first date almost 10 (!!??) years ago), has followed in my footsteps and now also excels at walking fast, staring straight ahead and holding onto her bag. (psych! you know she never carries a bag! i’m the bee-otch always stuck carrying everything in whatever bag/purse i’m dragging around.)

anyway, the story. so if you’ve been at any mall in the past 20 or so years, you know the hallways are full of these kiosks. jewelry kiosks. family photography kiosks. bath fitter (omg, still don’t get that one) kiosks. (i’d like to take the opportunity here to note that a disproportionate amount of kiosks sell cellphone cases. how does one make a living selling cell phone cases?!) and then there are the hair straightener kiosks. and the nail care kiosks. and for whatever the hell reason i don’t understand, the great majority of these last two are manned by israelis.

oh israelis. i love the israelis. i love israel. been there twice. gorgeous, magical place, unbelievable food. but hot damn, israelis are pushy! it’s their “way.” their “charm,” if you will. they are also disproportionately good-looking. this combination makes them extremely good kiosk employees. almost deadly.

here’s a typical exchange at an east coast mall for holly and i.

(handsome israeli man zeros in on two potential customers. they’re both female. double whammy. we make eye contact for .02 seconds. dammit! this is what my mother warned me about!)

(it’s too late. he’s walking towards us. he singles me out.)

“excuuuuse-me! MEEEESS! [“miss”],” he shouts across the hallway. “meeeess! excuuuuuuuuuuse me do you straighten your HAAAAIR?!”

(of course i straighten my hair! i’m jewish! i want to yell. instead i focus on a an invisible spot across the mall and walk faster.)

“keep walking, honey,” i tell holly w/out moving my lips. (suddenly i’m a ventriloquist, too.) “just. keep. walking.”

“MEEEEES! deees will only take a meee-nute! you have very beautiful hair! i make you even more beautiful!” (what he doesn’t realize is that his swarthy charms won’t work on us the way they do on other girls. we are immune.)

“THAT’S OK NO THANKS WE’RE NOT INTERESTED BUT THANKS ANYWAY!” i yell back, trying not to sound rude but failing. i sense holly’s defenses crumbling simply bc she is too nice. i, on the other hand, was raised in new jersey. i grab her arm and drag her. we finally make it out of the danger zone. we both breathe out.

this scenario is repeated fairly frequently. but last week [when we were prowling every hair place in white marsh looking for the perfect product for holly’s hair (don’t get me started, don’t even get me started)] there was a crack in our usual plan. it was…a woman.

we were passing a nail kiosk and a pretty olive-skinned girl spotted us.

“shit honey! she saw us.”

“excuuuuse me!” she shouted. “are you two seeesters?” [“sisters”]

seeing how i’m friggin tired of ppl asking if we’re sisters (hello, we look totally different. but we both have brown hair, are caucasian and under 5’5″ so sure, i guess we look like sisters), i was like, “no. we’re married.” i don’t usually do that, but i figured, what the hell. maybe she’d give up b/c gay girls don’t care about manicures bc we all work on motorcycles when we’re not fixing cars and building ikea furniture. (false, btw. i totally do my nails and hello, i’ve never put together ikea furniture. i get holly to do it for me!)

anyway, i don’t remember what she said, but her accent was so cute and she was so pretty (ok, gorgeous), that, yup, you guessed it. holly and i both stopped.

“let me ask you a queeeestion,” the hot israeli girl asked us both. she knew she had the married girls hooked. “are you reeeady to see something unbelievable?”

“um…yeah?” we both responded. i wanted to run but my legs were glued to the marble floor. i couldn’t move them. it was like a bad dream except not that bad.

she asked to see holly’s hand. i knew what was about to happen. yup, and out came the three-sided puffy nail file (ladies, you know the one i’m talking about). she filed and filed and was talking and talking and honestly? yeah, i don’t remember what she said, just that she was unbelievably pretty.

“try not to yell too loud when you see this, okay? you will simply not belieeeeve dees.”

she lifted the nail file and holy crap, i could practically see my reflection in holly’s nail. then she did it to me while i stood immobilized, unable to tell her to stop or no. when she removed the file, my nail (index finger) was shinier than it’s ever been in my entire life. then she took out some special bottle of oil and put it on our cuticles. and still, we could not run.

“beautiful, no?”

“wow,” i said, looking at my  nail, preparing to tell her that under no circumstances were we going to buy these nail kits. or even one nail kit for that matter.

“only $34.99!” she said, smiling her thousand-watt israeli smile.

“no…it’s ok, maybe next time,” i croaked, clearing my throat.

be strong, i told myself.

“ok! for you, i give at special price! $29.99!”

“no, seriously,” i said laughing. “we’re ok. no, thanks.”

but no. this didn’t work either. she just thought i was playing hardball.

“come here, come into my office,” she told us, moving towards the kiosk chair. and what did we do? we followed her. like little lambs.

“for you, only for you, i give very special price.” (only for me? geesh.)

she tapped some numbers into a big calculator and turned it around to face us. it read $24.99.

this was my big chance to say no. ain’t no way no how uh-uh not gonna buy it. what did i say instead?

i asked if she worked on commission, for her name and told her we’d be back next week. until then, we each have one insanely shiny fingernail. all of this could have been avoided if we’d just stuck to the plan and run like hell.