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How Would You Fight A Lion?

How Would You Fight A Lion? That’s the name of my new short story.

Though the story has just come out, my readers, ever enthusiastic and faithful, have been flooding me with suggestions about how they’d go about it.

Sarah from Wasilla, for example, would shoot it with a Remington 870 Pump, and then mount the head over her fireplace. Good for you Sarah! Jasmine likes an unreconstructed approach to most things.

Lindsey from Merrick, on the other hand, would punch it between the eyes. Mel from Sydney would complain that it’s Jewish and Brett from Los Angeles would bait it with cocaine. Both ideas are creative, don’t you agree, and each, in its way, just slightly old-fashioned. Laura N. from Brooklyn would “give it a cookie”. I think we can all agree that she’s toast.

And what about you? Imagine that you’re there, in the savanna, staring into those amber eyes. Would you run, readers? Would you understand that this is the greatest moment of your soon-to-be-ended-in-horrible-fashion life?

It’s such an evocative question and really, I think the answer tells you more about a person than you’d like to know. But if you’re curious to learn how to really fight a lion, check out my new story, and stay out of the jungle, my darlings. Not all of us are equipped to brawl with the beast.

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The paperbacks of my novels are here, crisp and shiny and new. Happy holidays, my darlings. Jasmine is wearing red, in spite of her Jewessness.

Farbissen: Melissa Morris and the Meaning of Money – 1st in the series.

“There were days when fortune smiled and others when it grimaced, and the current one was up for grabs…”
Melissa Morris is a thirty-something single New Yorker who works in fashion. She has it all, until she fails spectacularly and is banished from the fashion industry. Set adrift, Melissa follows her boyfriend to London, hoping for a second chance. But Melissa’s search for herself is interrupted when she discovers a dead body.
Get Farbissen.

Fakakt: Melissa Morris and the Meaning of Sex – 2nd in the series.

Melissa Morris is living the Good Life in New York until she gets laid off. She’s thrust into the Manhattan abyss, aimless and desperate and deciding the only thing to do is marry. She flies to Rome to track down her errant boyfriend, hoping that he can save her, but on her way to meet him she’s arrested for murder.
Who will save Melissa now? Marriage? Sex? Or something even more surprising? When Melissa sets out to find the real killer, she discovers an underside to Rome, and herself, she never imagined.
Get Fakakt

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Things NOT to do when being questioned by police

Things NOT to do while you’re being questioned by the police in relation to their investigation into the entirely accidental death of your uncle, Myron Xavier Schwartz while he was skiing in Verbier.

DON’T tell one of them that he reminds you of the chauffeur that used to take you to junior high school

DON’T berate your interior designer Mark on the phone because he forgot to order the Lotus brass sink fittings for the en suite bath

DON’T spend ten minutes going through your purse looking for your cellphone when all the while you threw it out the window earlier that day after speaking to your mother in Palm Beach

DON’T wish aloud that you were in St. Barts

DON’T suggest that they do something useful with their time, such as looking into the immigration papers of Sabina, the Kosovan dye job who thinks she’s marrying your father

DON’T laugh at them when they ask if you know how to ski

DON’T tell them that anecdote about Mike Bloomberg and the lisping caddie in Tucker’s Town

DON’T excuse yourself to take a dose of Opana when you’ve already had your 40mg that day. Twice.

DON’T spill your Dalmore on the Mansour rug and then ask if they plan to pay for the cleaning bill

DON’T ask, “Is this really necessary, boys?”

I think that just about covers it, darlings. When they come for you, you’ll know just what to do. Never let it be said that Jasmine isn’t selfless. Oh yes – I almost forgot. My novels are available now in paperback as well as on Kindle. Get them here and stay out of trouble:


in Dalmore, Jasmine Schwartz, Jasmine's Father, Jasmine's Mother, Myron Xavier Schwartz., Sabina, Uncategorized | Read full story · | Comments { 6 }


Now that the storm has past and the lights are back on, now that the poor people have kept their president, now that China’s Politburo have elected Xi Jinping as their leader at last, I think it’s high time we bring the focus back to Jasmine.

Yet everywhere I turn, someone is trying to obstruct this deserving cause. Mark Moelim, my interior designer, pestered me with his boyfriend troubles earlier today.

MM: Jonathan wants to be exclusive Jasmine, but I’m not sure that I’m ready. I really love him. What should I do?

JS: How about getting the Travertine wall tiles installed in the en suite bedroom? I bet that would make you feel a whole lot better.

That’s right readers, you’re not hallucinating. Mark hasn’t finished the bedroom yet. And he’s bitching to me?

MM: Jasmine, I know you don’t like gay men, but I need a friend right now. Can you pass me the Remy Martin?

JS: I don’t not dislike gay men, Mark. I just wish you’d stop being such a precious little drama queen and focus on your job.

Mark shook his head, drained his balloon snifter and got up to leave. If only he’d done just that, instead of turning around and adding this:

MM: Just be honest for once in your life, Jasmine. The reason you don’t like gay men is because of your…

JS: Shut up Mark.

I had no better luck with my future ex-husband. He’s been acting strange lately, and you’d think it’s because of that admittedly sexy socialist winning the White House again. But no. He’s been this way ever since that night at Lysette’s.

FEXH: Sometimes I just wonder what we’re doing, Jasmine. That’s all. Is that so wrong?

JS: It’s obscene. And why aren’t you dressed? We’re already late for Jean Georges.

FEXH: Did you ever think about having a baby?

JS: Fine, I’ll call the car service. Just be ready in five minutes.

I tell you, sometimes it’s like I’m talking to a wall. If only the wall had a mirror, and was pouring drinks, then at least everything might not be so intolerable.

In other news, my “doctor” gave me a prescription for Opana. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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

50 Shades of Oy Vey

My mother called me yesterday. As always, when she aggravates me, I want to post about it here.

Here’s why:

Mother In Palm Beach:He’s going to marry that Russian, isn’t he?
JS: She’s Kosovan.
MIPB: I always hated those Russians. They completely ruined Brighton Beach.
JS: You’ve never been to Brooklyn
MIPB: That’s a filthy lie, Jasmine. You’ve always taken his slide.
JS: It’s not even eleven o’clock mother. How can you be drinking already?
MIPB: Don’t pretend you don’t have a Hendricks in your hand right now.

(Silence of Admission.)

MIPB: I was a good wife. I didn’t do everything he wanted, but I stayed skinny. How was I supposed to know what he was into?
JS: Mother, I don’t want to hear…
MIPB: He just seemed like your typical finance asshole when we met. I thought the masks were part of an old Halloween costume.
JS: Mother please!
MIPB: Not that he ever satisfied me either. You think just once he’d asked what the straps were for.
JS: Could we please focus, here Mother? How are we going to stop this wedding?

Mark: Maybe they really love each other.

This last helpful comment came from Mark Mualam, my errant interior designer, who was in the kitchen taking measurements.

JS: How about finishing the bedroom before you share your pearls of wisdom?
MIPB: Who is that? He sounds just like…
JS: Shut up, mother. You know I never speak about him. And let’s get back to the wedding. What are we going to do?
MIPB: I got my settlement darling. You’re on your own.


My future ex-husband: What if Mark is right? What if they do love each other?

Did I mention that my future ex-husband has been behaving bizarre ever since the night we went to Lysette’s house in Queens? As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. I swear I must be the only sane person in this entire penthouse, including Pavel, who’s installing the Novellini shower door in the en suite bathroom.

On another subject: As my readers know, I don’t like to call attention to other women. However, these two ladies had the same idea as I did and posted their two cents under the title “50 Shades of Oy Vey”. Anyone who thinks likes Jasmine is doing something right.

Abbey Prentice – Writer and blogger and sadly for her, a mother – really, really hated the S&M books and says they are “not worth the paper they’re printed on”.

Pink Lady Lindsley, also a writer, sounds like she has a really hot sex life herself. Alas, she found the sex scenes boring and prefers 9 1/2 weeks for getting libidinous. Jasmine hasn’t read the books but generally endorse anything erotic, so long as it doesn’t make me feel old.

in future ex-husband, Gay Men, Jasmine Schwartz, Jasmine's Father, Jasmine's Mother, Lysette, Mark, Queens, Renovation, Sabina | 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 }

Podcast: Some Bitch Talking About Her Alter-Ego

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is what I said in the podcast. So here it is, insatiable readers – a podcast about Jasmine for the first time, with all her flaws. Just kidding! Jasmine is still perfect.

Listen to the podcast.

in Crime Fiction, Gay Men, Jasmine Schwartz, Writing | Read full story · | Comments { 0 }


It’s true. I’m giving away a short story this week, for free.

Here it is.

Enjoy, readers. It’s a prequel to Farbissen and Fakakt, and, yes, it’s also Fa-fabulous.

But let’s not kid ourselves. As the cover of ‘Before The Crash’ points out, Nothing is Free. So in exchange for this story, I need suggestions and I need them quick.

As you know, my father is dating his dental hygeinist, Sabina. Her ten-year-old son is called – I’m not kidding – Elvis. All three of them were spotted at John Dory yesterday, which is ridiculous, because Daddy doesn’t even like oysters. The whole thing is so distressing that 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.

I need to break up this couple immediately. That’s where you come in. Somewhere out there, someone has experience in making sure a relationship meets a timely end. So I put it to you, my readers. What should I do?

Thanks to one of my faithful readers, Santo, for his inspirational story describing how he got rid of his daughter’s boyfriend. It’s greatly appreciated, Santo, but I’m not so good with animal carcasses, so please, if you have suggestions that don’t involve dead animals, do send them along. Speaking of which, there is a dead animal in my story, ‘Before the Crash.’ And have a look, Santo baby. I snuck in a character named after you.

As many of you also know, I’m actively looking for something stronger than a valium, so all suggestions on that front are welcome as well.

in Crime Fiction, Jasmine Schwartz, Jasmine's Father, Sabina, Valium | Read full story · | Comments { 3 }


My future ex-husband always says, “If they can’t afford to live in Manhattan, don’t waste your time.” What he means is, life is short. Pursue your dreams. Don’t let anyone tell you no, especially if you’re attractive enough to get your way. It’s so true. Five years ago my uncle Myron was skiing in Verbier and Bam! Just like that, he was gone.

I was thinking about this the other day when I decided to write a novel. As my readers know, I’m the hostess at a private gastro-pub in Manhattan. We don’t give out the name, we have no website, and the sign on the door is written in invisible ink.

It’s terrific work. I love the pleasure of turning people away. I would do this job forever, if I could. But I can’t.

You’re probably as sad about this as I am. You’re asking yourself: Why, Jasmine, why?

I had this plan to be young and glamorous forever, but it never panned out. It’s a shame because I’m gorgeous. But tragically, my beauty is fading. I didn’t realize it, but the decline in beauty, as it relates to increasing age, is not gradual. It’s exponential. Did you know that? That once you pass a certain age, you might as well get fat and dress in that cheap, synthetic clothing that they make people in the Midwest wear? I wish someone had told me about this years ago. I would have come up with a different plan.

Given these unfortunate circumstances, it’s unfair of me to keep my job. Our customers deserve better. The men who grace our establishment should be greeted and seated by a woman they want to have sex with. The ladies deserve someone who makes them feel overweight and bad about themselves in general.

It’s time to face reality. I need a new career that doesn’t expose others to my crow’s feet. As Mark Twain said, “wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been, but unfortunately they end up making women ugly.” So here I am, bravely looking ahead, wondering what’s next for Jasmine.

With no other skills or training to speak of, I naturally turn to writing. Tomorrow I start my first novel. How hard could it be?

in Crime Fiction, future ex-husband, Jasmine Schwartz, Myron Xavier Schwartz., Writing | Read full story · | Comments { 1 }