Archive | September, 2012


What the hell is Prana breathing anyway? The Mandarin detox was pretty good, up to a point, and then suddenly Dario started telling me how to breathe while he was stimulating my lymph nodes. Then he made me drink this revolting green-colored juice which made me want to puke, but unfortunately, I think I mentioned that I’m not one of those women who easily hurls her food. My stomach was shot the entire day. $2000 later and I still need valium.

You’re probably wondering how this all started.

Actually I’m having some trouble remembering myself.

Oh yes. It’s coming back to me. I had a hangover. A really bad one. If you recall, we were invited to dinner at Lysette‘s, my old friend who used to work for the Mossad. I based my detective character on her. I think I already mentioned that.

Lysette lives in some place called Kew Gardens. We took a taxi over, stopping for drinks on the way, and by the time we got there, we were an hour late, which shouldn’t be such a big deal, but you can tell from the look on Lysette’s ethnic boyfriend’s face, it was.

So it was pretty much a disaster from start to finish. My future ex-husband, through no fault of his own, can’t really handle being around poor people. He got completely soused on the Dalmore we bought with us and before too long he was making his usual drunken racist comments. Santiago, surprise surprise, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, and sometime after the ‘entrée’ was served, they were yelling at each other and talking about current events. In her sad, little kitchen Lysette revealed to me that she was pregnant after years of trying. As my readers know, when people tell me about their fertility woes, I usually say a little prayer for them that they won’t get pregnant, because no one really understands the extent to which children make you unhappy. But with Lysette, it was too late, and she was so excited about having a baby that all I could do was listen and pretend she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

I can’t emphasize enough that going to Queens was probably one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made, or at least, the biggest one of the summer. But the summer is ending, and I’m hoping for a respite from all the drama this fall. Let’s all say a little prayer for Jasmine.

in Dalmore, future ex-husband, Kew Gardens, Lysette, Manhattan, Mossad, Queens, Uncategorized, Valium | Read full story · | Comments { 9 }


If I see one more four-year-old at Balthazar while I’m trying to drink my bloody mary, I swear I will kill them. I’m so hungover I could eat bread. I’m crabby and irritable and if you want to sue me, go ahead. My future ex-husband has a law degree from Duke and he loves confronting idiots. Good luck to you.

Remember when you could not like certain kinds of people and no one cared? While we were having brunch today, I was complaining about our evening in Queens, which I’ll get to in a future post, and then started bitching about our errant interior designer, Mark Mooalem. Everything was going fine, and our friends laughed at the appropriate moments and felt really bad for me. Then I used a certain word to describe Mark and… Bam! The bonhomie was over. Everyone at the table gave me dirty looks like I’d murdered a puppy. The waiter started crying. The couple at the next table complained to Hadassah, the skinny blond Hostess, who I know from when I used to work in the business.

My future ex-husband quickly dropped a few hundred dollars on the table and shoved me out the door. He’s hoping that with some hats and sunglasses we’ll be able to go back next week, but I bet that bitch Hadassah has just been waiting for an excuse to blacklist me.

Everyone in this city is so sensitive. It makes me want to puke. If only I could. It’s a skill I never mastered.

Well, I’m off to the Mandarin now because my mother swears by their 24-hour detox. And since it’s summer, tomorrow we’re headed to my future ex’s place on Meadow Lane. See you there, darlings.

in future ex-husband, Gay Men, Mark, Queens, Renovation | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }


Yes, it’s true. My father is remarrying. I literally can’t believe it. I cried and I screamed and I threatened, but he won’t listen to reason. The bitch who’s manipulating him into this atrocious act is a dental hygienist named Sabina. Her ten-year-old son is called – I’m not kidding – Elvis. I can’t even focus on vetting the publicity team my publisher is putting together to promote my book. It’s so like Daddy to ruin everything for me.

“You’ll always be my little girl,” he told me when I tried to convince him that Sabina was an objectionable, East European skank. That’s well and fine for him to say, but where does that leave me when he dies? Did you know, that even if he wanted to, he can’t disinherit the faux redhead cow under New York law once they get married? Isn’t that insane? I am frantically looking into other state laws on the subject, in the hopes of convincing them to move. My only other option, of course, is to stop the wedding.

My future ex-husband is looking over my shoulder and informs me that I can’t write that I “literally” can’t believe something that I know to be true. He’s such an asshole sometimes. He’s lucky that he drives a Cabriolet.

And worst of all? Tonight we have to go to Lysette’s house in some place called Kew Gardens. She said she’s written some poetry, and she’d like to show me some now that I’m a writer. She asked us not to bring wine because her boyfriend is a recovering alcoholic. And they’re vegetarian. I can’t even muster up the energy to be sarcastic about tonight. Please pray for me.

in Cabriolet, Elvis, future ex-husband, Jasmine Schwartz, Jasmine's Father, Kew Gardens, Lysette, Queens, Sabina | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }

Why Yiddish Is Awesome

Ale tseyn zoln dir aroysfaln, nor eyner zol dir blaybn af tsonveytik – May all your teeth fall out, except one to give you an ache.
One of the best curses ever

Oysgevapt – A bubbly drink that’s lost its fizz
The Eskimos have many words for snow, but only in Yiddish does seltzer have categories

Se zol dir grihmen in boych – You should get a stomach cramp
Other People might wish a headache on each other, but for Us, it’s always about the stomach.

Trepsverter – The perfect comeback that comes too late
Wasn’t there a Seinfeld about that?

Chaloshes – Disgusting
Practically an Onamonapia

Mit eyn tuches ken men nit tantsn af tsvei chasenes – You can’t dance at two weddings with one behind

Ver derharget – Drop dead!
A classic. Did anyone have grandparents who didn’t say this?

Did I miss any?

in Jasmine Schwartz, Yiddish | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }