Oui! L’Awkward

Posted on January 9, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

You know how sometimes dinner parties can be awkward because no one is talking?  I’m not terribly familiar because I never stop yapping, but I did once sit through the most awkward of awkward dinners.

We took each of the kids on a trip as their Bat/Bar Mitzvah gift.   Aubrey was first of course, and we settled on Paris.  Aubrey and her family hosted a French exchange student, Olivier, a year or two prior to our trip, and we made arrangements to visit him and his family.  His parents insisted on having us for dinner.

When we arrived at their home everything was beautiful and they were very warm and gracious, at least as far as I could tell, because it turns out that they don’t speak English, and we of course don’t speak French.  No problem, I figured Olivier could translate for us.  Unfortunately we discovered that Olivier’s English had really gone downhill since he’d been in the States, so there we were, smiling and nodding and saying nothing.

As we sat there nodding and smiling and saying mmm, yum, Aubrey told me in a stage whisper that dinner was awkward.  Yep, true, except for Dan.  This is the exact situation he loves; no need to make conversation or exchange pleasantries.  He was happily scarfing down all the food without a care in the world.  It didn’t hurt that they were serving wine with each course, and Dan was drinking way too much of it.

We endured course after course in silence, other than Aubrey whispering to me that I should say something and me smiling and reminding her I didn’t speak French.  At long last we got to dessert, and were nearly home free, until they offered Dan coffee.  Far be it from tipsy Dan to just politely decline; he launched into a monologue about how he had reflux.  He kept gesturing to his neck and saying reflux over and over again as if that was going to help.  Aubrey begged me to get Dan to shut up, and I kept begging him to do exactly that, but he was on a roll.

In a desperate effort to make Dan shut up, the family brought out a stack of photo albums; Olivier’s baby pictures.  Who knew baby pictures were the international language?  We oohed and aahed and made a fuss over the adorable pictures and at long last we all relaxed.

Before we left, the family wanted us to see one more thing; a box of macaroni and cheese that Olivier brought back as a souvenir.  They were laughing hysterically and managed to convey that they thought it was a gag.  They kept pointing to the picture of the cheese packet and then pointing to the lovely selection of cheeses they offered us.  Bright orange powdered cheese?  All of the tension melted away as we laughed and laughed about the box o’crap.

Let’s evaluate our cultural exchange.  The French gave us amazing food, wine, fashion, art and café society.  We brought them soda, Le Big Mac and Pizza Hut.   Good deal!

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Happy Birthday Sean!

Posted on January 7, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

My nephew Sean turns 20 today. He is the youngest of the children and has suffered some abuse at the hands of his older siblings. No one understands that better than I do with two older brothers and no younger sibling whose life I can ruin. It builds character for sure, but I’m not sure what kind.

My August 21 blog, A Parody Of Ourselves, was your first introduction to Sean:

I saw my 19 year old nephew recently, and he was surprised to hear that my husband and I now have 4 cats. Sean’s deadpan response was “You do realize you’ve become a parody of yourselves?” Yes, we realize it.

Understand that my family has raised sarcasm to an art form; as you can see Sean makes the rest of look like amateurs, although I think Aubrey and I still have him beat on the extreme sport of eye rolling.

Sean is a sophomore at Northwestern studying Theatre. He’s been doing stand-up comedy literally since he was 5 or 6 years’ old and appeared as The Comedy Kid. He did not get laughter and applause just because he was an adorable imp (even though he totally was), he was actually hilariously funny. His comedic timing was impeccable. I knew right then and there he was going to be a contender.

I will modestly mention that Sean starred in every production his high school ever put on stage; Our Town, The Music Man, Welcome to the Monkey House and many more that I’m too senile to remember.  Sean says he can’t sing but he does hold his own in musicals.  Any musical talent he or the other kids have come from their mom’s side because no one on our side of the family can carry a note, or even schlep one for that matter.

I basically live vicariously through Sean (is that wrong?) because he’s living the very dream of mine that was quashed so many years ago; to be a star of stage and screen. Here’s the biggest difference between me and Sean…he’s actually brimming with talent.

I suck up to Sean much more than the other kids (sorry guys) because he may one day be in a position to give me a bit part on SNL, or let me write a skit or something. I mean, he doesn’t have to identify me as a relative and ruin his reputation or anything.

Sean has always been good with the ladies too. When he was a young teenager I went with Lisa to pick him up from Jew Kid Camp (he loved it, went every summer) and we heard all about his first girlfriend Ashney or Courtley or whatever her name was. Ever since then he seems to always have a cute girlfriend by his side, whom I of course scrutinize to be sure she’s worthy.

I admire nothing more in a person than a sweet tooth, and Sean lives up to all of my expectations. When he was a kid he didn’t get much access to soda, but when he did he really loved it, so sometimes we called him Sugar Water Boy or just Sugar Boy. When Dan and I took him on his Bar Mitzvah trip we went out for ice cream on our last night, and he had an orange soda ice cream float. Don’t ever tell his mom, but he enjoyed it so much that when he finished we told him just that once he could have another one. Two floats in, he was a happy camper.

Sean’s talents extend well beyond the stage. When he was 11 or 12 he befriended a Rabbi who was a holocaust survivor.  For his Bar Mitzvah trip, when he could have gone (almost) anywhere he wanted to go, he led Dan and me on a pilgrimage to the Rabbi’s home village in the countryside outside Krakow, and to tour Auschwitz where he was once imprisoned.

It would take me quite some time to tell you the full role he played in the Rabbi’s life and beyond, but at 13 years old, within the confines of the 10 minute time limit imposed by the History Day competition he entered, Sean made a beautiful documentary http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qlAy2sqo7Y  In addition to competing, Sean used the video to raise funds toward a memorial to commemorate a desecrated cemetery in the Rabbi’s home village.  Pretty amazing kid, right?

It has been my absolute joy and privilege to be a part of Sean’s life, and there’s so much more to come.  A thank you note Sean sent us a couple of years ago said something to the effect of “you’ve stood behind me all this time, and I hope you’ve chosen wisely and bet on the right horse.  If you did, the payout on your investment will be 520:1.”  We’ve already been paid out 10 times that much (approximately) for having him in our lives.

Happy Happy Birthday Sean!

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Poetic Snow Job

Posted on January 6, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I’ve always believed being a TV weather person (not a fancy meteorologist) would be a lot of fun.  I could cheerfully report sunny weather or gravely report armageddon from an important looking Storm Center.  I could point to China on the map while describing the weather in Minnesota, and make use of the Vanna White skills I developed in hopes that she would eventually retire and give someone else a chance.  Bitter disappointment.

In my job, when I tell people something is going to or not going to happen and then it does, or doesn’t, I’m held accountable.  Maybe I should try the weather person response; shrug my shoulders, smile coyly, and advise that everyone carry an umbrella no matter what I say.

What never occurred to me was that I could also wax poetic from time to time.  I was watching the news yesterday when the weather person predicted “conversational snowflakes and annoying raindrops.”  Wow.  Filled with all the passion of a Thomas Kinkade painting, but the guy’s got a point.

snow

When the first flake of snow comes down from the sky we immediately say “it’s snowing!” which is likely to spark a conversation about how much snow, if it’s sticking, if it was predicted, how much will we get and maybe we won’t have to go to school tomorrow!  Well, the last one just for a split second until I remember I’m a boring grown up and have to go to work regardless.

We glance out the window again and notice the snow has turned into cold ugly rain.  Bah.  Crap.  Forget all the excitement, these are just annoying raindrops overtaking the snow.  Bitter disappointment.

rain1

Anyway, I think flowery weather language is the way to go.  I predict that tomorrow the life-giving star we call Our Sun will rise, but will our hands and hearts be too full to see it?  There just might be puffy clouds that bring the delight of the sweet nothingness of cotton candy.  There might be big angry raindrops that remind us the earth is thirsty for the sky.  And if so much as a single snowflake falls like magic from the sky, majestic in its complexity and yet as simple as a child’s smile, let us all bare our souls to the sparkly white object of our desire.

sun

And now you know why I don’t write poetry!

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The Really, Really Long Way Home

Posted on January 5, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Where were we?  Ah yes, a packed train filled with hungry, thirsty beasts.  I was breathing easy because we’d been going for a while without incident.  Oh, the cruel winds of fate.  (Was that too dramatic?)  We were in the Baltimore station when Amtrak announced that for one reason or another they couldn’t go all the way to Union Station but assured us they had buses waiting outside that were going to drive us the rest of the way.  Still hanging with my airplane friends, we now looked at each other in complete and total disbelief.  So close and yet still so far.

We briefly discussed renting a car, but decided we should just get on the bus and go with the flow.  Fine, we were all resigned to it, except that by the time we stopped to buy water (and M&Ms) and got outside the buses were gone.  Vamoose.  Nowheresville.  The buses had filled halfway up and taken off.  I know it’s not the same as the Titanic, but I couldn’t help but think about all those passengers who watched half-full life boats paddling away.  (Yes I know that was way too dramatic.)

So, my new buddies and I shifted gears again and agreed to share a cab to National Airport, our original destination when we set out that morning.  There were about 5 cabs and about 50 people, so once again ugly behavior as people ran out to cabs and bribed them to get out of the line.  We weren’t going to stoop to that level, so we did the next best thing, heckled and screamed at the people breaking the rules.  I know they will always be haunted by the sound of my voice screaming that it wasn’t fair, because these are the kind of people who care deeply about what’s fair.

One of the cab drivers called all his buddies and told them to head over to Amtrak because business was brisk, and eventually they had enough cabs for all the nice people who waited in line and didn’t act like animals.  I don’t judge, I’m just saying I’m vastly superior.

We held our breath knowing that anything could still happen between Baltimore and National, but we made it back with no further mishap.  Sure, we exchanged email addresses and promised we would get together every year back at LaGuardia.  We laughed, we cried, we hugged and finally went our separate ways.

As Dan and I headed home from the airport I started relaying the whole adventure, babbling away until I heard a thumpety whack thumpety kind of thing.  Flat tire.  This why my life most often resembles a bad sitcom; angst.  Dan changed the tire while I stood there and asked him every couple of minutes why he wasn’t done yet.

We made it the remaining 3 miles with no incident whatsoever.  Oh, by the way, what was I rushing home to do?  Get on a plane and go on vacation.

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Take The Long Way Home

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

In general Dan and I have been blessed with good travel karma.  Other than the lost luggage in Moscow and one or two other mishaps, things tend to go well for us.  It was nice while it lasted, but one fateful November day my karma was gone daddy gone.

I was working in NY at the time and grabbed a shuttle to DC like I did every week.  We taxied out to the runway and lined up for take-off.  But it seemed like we had been on the tarmac a long time.  Like a really long time.  I looked around and other passengers were also fidgety and checking their watches.  Every once in a while the pilot or a flight attendant would mumble something into the loud speaker and we would desperately ask around to see if anyone had caught what they were saying.

Soon it became apparent that we weren’t going to be taking off, and the plane taxied back to the gate.  Storms in DC or something and now all flights were grounded until further notice.  OK, stuff happens; luckily I was able to book one of the last seats on a train leaving for DC within the hour.  A couple of other passengers were also headed for the train, so we shared a cab to Penn Station, where we ran furiously (even me) to make the train.

OK, so a slightly frantic morning, but no big deal and now I was finally on my way.  Except that not long into the ride the train screeched to a stop, and didn’t start again.  After a few uncomfortable minutes we managed to make out an announcement that the train had broken down and Amtrak was sending a “rescue train.” Unfortunately, we were told, the rescue train couldn’t take us all the way to DC, so instead it was taking us to the closest stop, Trenton.  Oh goody.

Those of us who had been on the plane together stuck close to each other; we were a team by then, laser focused on getting to DC.  The rescue train dropped us in Trenton where we found a mob of people boarding the train to DC.  The Amtrak people said that we were getting on a train that was already nearly fully booked, so we might have to sit on the floor or something.

As it turned out, Amtrak broke every safety rule ever made, unless the Fire Marshall suddenly ruled that sitting around and blocking all exits is A-OK.  But hey, I can sit on the floor for a couple of hours, I just needed to get some water.  I made my way to the café car, which was no easy feat, to find what looked to be a riot.  Apparently the café car had sold out in record time, and there were adults stomping their feet about their need for a hot dog.

The water was long gone, but in an amazing stroked of luck I spied a forgotten pack of M&Ms on a lower shelf and snatched them up.  They would have made a fine lunch if right then a little boy behind me didn’t start crying saying he had wanted the candy.  The mom was gently explaining to him that I was there first.  Good grief, I had no choice but to turn around and give the candy to the kid, although I admit that I was pouting a little.  OK, whatever, we’d be at Union Station in no time.

Will we ever make it home?  Stay tuned for part 2…

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Uncle Cousin and Aunt Neurotic

Posted on January 3, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Many years ago Dan’s rank in the family was pushed down a notch.

We were all settling in to the Outer Banks beach house we rented for a week each summer; me, Dan, CJ, Lisa and the three kids.  The kids were pretty young, maybe 4, 6 and 8 or something, so typically the house was pretty noisy.  But suddenly the house went way too quiet.  CJ yelled for the kids and heard some giggling coming from downstairs.

I certainly didn’t get up and do anything; I mean he’s the one who wanted to have kids or whatever, so I only did fun stuff.  Anyway, he went storming downstairs and the next thing I hear is his very dad-like yell; “Aubrey!”  “Craig!”  “Sean!” and then “DAN!?!”   I heard three children’s voices and one alleged adult muttering about how they weren’t doing anything wrong they were just goofing off and stuff.

CJ addressed each of the children, and was just sputtering by the time he got to Dan.  “And you?  You’re supposed to be an Uncle?  You’re more like a Cousin!” and with that he knocked Dan down an entire rank.  What the hell happened down there?  That has remained a closely held secret, but Dan’s demotion stood.

The kids thought it was hilarious that Dan had two sides to his personality.  He was Uncle Dan on those rare occasions when he acted like an adult, but when he was just goofing like a kid he was Cousin Dan.  They got him coffee mugs and magnets that said “World’s Best Cousin” and routinely asked if Cousin Dan could babysit (specifying that Uncle Dan was not permitted).

I proudly maintain my full Aunt status, but I’ll admit it’s easy to get carried away.  One Hanukkah my mom got Aubrey a beautiful doll house and a bunch of furniture.  She couldn’t wait to play with it and neither could I!  So there we were with an empty house and a pile of furniture.  Aubrey took one of the sofas and put it in an upstairs room.  I smiled nervously and said “Sweetie pie, that’s silly!  The sofa goes in the living room.”  But it got worse as Aubrey continued to do whatever she wanted instead of following proper rules like the rest of us were taught.

I was getting really wigged out because now she had a high chair in the playroom and the baby sitting on just a regular old chair on the kitchen furniture that was unbelievably crammed into the living room.  As an Aunt, I felt like it was my responsibility to immediately quash Aubrey’s imagination and teach her how to properly furnish a doll house.

You ever feel like you’re watching yourself from afar?  That’s how I felt when I started explaining to Aubrey that we would have to take all the furniture back out of the doll house so we could get it set up properly.  That way, I told her, she would be able to play dolls!  Flash smile, go in for a hug and kiss.

“I like it like this.”  I remained calm.  “I know honey but it’s not right.  Don’t you want to put the high chair in the kitchen so the baby can eat in there?”  She looked at me quizzically and said no she didn’t.

Aubrey was fine but I felt like I was going to have a meltdown because she wasn’t playing right!  Thankfully, a wave of reality swept over me and I realized I was arguing with a 5 year old about her doll house.  Ridiculous!  I apologized and walked away, feeling foolish.

I headed straight for the other room, where Craig and Sean were building a Lego town.  Those crazy boys didn’t even know their building was in the completely wrong place!

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Truth Revealed! Page 201

Posted on January 2, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Not to beat a dead horse, but apparently some of you are still uncomfortable taking diet advice from someone such as me.  That’s OK.  But where will you turn?  Do you think the answers are buried in the pages of glossy magazines like Ladies Home Journal and Good Housekeeping?  Let’s flip through a typical issue.

P.8:  What Red Bull doesn’t want you to know about boosting your energy:  Sleep More, Work Less!

P. 15:  The REAL Al Roker:  Weatherman or Double Agent?

P. 31:  Science Review:  Can you really dig a hole to China?

P. 52:  Veterinary Anthropologists Agree:  Cats Rule, Dogs Drool

P. 112:  Knock, Knock:  Do we ever really know who’s there?

P. 156:  5 Diet Tips to Take You from Fat to Fabulous

Oh goody!  That’s the one we want.  Flipping to page 156…exactly 5 tips:

  1. Ditch those hair extensions!  Thick hair is weighing you down—thinner hair, thinner you!
  2. Easy does it…one foot on the scale, one foot on the floor
  3. It works for the celebrities why not you?  Pull out a rib or two!
  4. Switch from glasses to contact lenses-every ounce counts!
  5. Fat sucks:  new home liposuction kit

Happy now?  Those the brilliant ideas you’ve been hoping to discover?  Hmmph.  Time to walk away from that magazine my friend; they don’t care about you, because right there on page 182…

Quick and Easy Candy Kabobs!

Prep Time:  20 minutes

Eating Time:  5 minutes

Ingredients:

1 bag large marshmallows

1 bag peanut butter cups

1 bag Oreo minis

1 box truffles

1 bottle chocolate syrup

Alternate ingredients on long skewers.  Dip in chocolate syrup.  Eat and repeat.

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To Wait Or Not To Weight?

Posted on January 1, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Happy New Year everyone!  It’s hard to believe it’s 2013; it seems like just yesterday we were partying like it was 1999.  This morning we all woke up facing a new year, a year full of possibilities of everything we can become over the next 12 months.

Apparently, for many of us what we want most desperately is to lose weight.  That is overwhelmingly the number one New Year’s Resolution in the US, which is either ironic or reassuring, considering that overall, we are kind of obese.  I think we ought to look at the methodology that routinely results in the US being named the most obese country in the world.  Currently, it is measured as the percentage of all people who are obese, with obese defined as “someone who owns one or more pairs of fat jeans, and holds a frequent flyer card for Dairy Queen.”

I feel like there’s a better approach—how about taking the average weight of all Americans?  I figure if my excess weight could be spread across a dozen anorexic supermodels to come to a reasonable average, we could all feel better about ourselves.

Regardless, so many of us resolve to lose weight each year and envision ringing in next year by proudly passing out from not eating.  I think this is actually the worst possible time of year to resolve to lose weight because we’re still smack in the middle of candy season.

Candy season begins in October as everyone starts buying way too much Halloween candy.  We eat way too many “mini” candy bars and scarf down all leftover candy within 24 hours of the last visit by a trick-or-treater.  Then we all swear off the stuff.

That’s fine, until three weeks later when we run smack into Thanksgiving.  We face not just candy, but a dazzling array of pies, cakes, cookies and other treats.  OK so we binged a little, but this time we really really mean it, we are going to be really good through the generic December holiday celebrations.  And we would have been OK too, if no one had put out egg nog and cookies and cakes and candy and all that other yummy stuff.

The last week has been a blur of leftovers and half price chocolate Santas, so let’s not even discuss it.  Aha!  I know what you’re thinking, what better time than right now to resolve to get in shape?  So let’s say that you start eating nothing but organic sprouts and yogurt, and you drag your sorry butt to the gym 7 days a week.  Good for you!  Clothes fitting better?  More energy?  Good for you!

Wow, in just 6 short weeks you have really whipped yourself into shape, and here you are, slim and trim on February 13.  Don’t throw those fat jeans out just yet, because tomorrow we eat!  February 14 is a major candy holiday.  In my world February 15 is also a major candy holiday, because Dan simply cannot resist half price candy.

OK, so one little lapse in judgment and you gain back half the weight you lost since new year’s, but that’s OK, you are back on track.  In 6 or 8 weeks you admire yourself in the mirror, looking good!  Wait, what’s going on this weekend?  Easter?  Really?

Yes, it may be the home stretch, but it’s still candy season.  Find me someone who doesn’t enjoying gnawing the ear off a chocolate bunny, and I will show you a freak of nature.  I know, technically I don’t celebrate Easter, but half off Easter candy is hardly a religious statement.  I mean, have you had a Cadbury Caramel Egg?  To die.  I like to think that all that gooey caramel strengthens the bonds we share across religions.

The corollary to candy season is of course no-candy season, which begins immediately after Easter and runs through the end of September.  So forget January resolutions, cut yourself a break and start your new diet and exercise regimen in the spring.  You will be feeling great right through the first visit to the pumpkin patch when the cycle starts again.  If you’re lucky, come new year’s you weigh the same as you weighed last year at this time.

Now, who wants to  kick off 2013 with a trip to DQ?

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The Day Before The Night

Posted on December 31, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Sandra Bernhard was certainly the highlight of our visit to NY, but we had an action-packed day before we got to the show.

Being NY, there was no shortage of strange agents.  We went to the theatre for a matinée; Al Pacino starring in Glengarry Glen Ross.  It was very good; this Pacino guy definitely has potential.  At intermission I went to stretch my legs and was standing around in the back when two elderly women came over and sat on the steps.  There was a terse conversation that I tried desperately to hear but couldn’t because there were too many other people yapping.  I noticed one of the women dig through her purse and pull out what looked to be a bottle of water and pass it to her friend.  Thankfully it quieted down enough for me to hear their brief debate about the bottle, which as it turns out was actually full of vodka, and they both proceeded to take a couple of big swigs.  Look, I know it’s not easy to settle in for a Broadway show without a couple of good strong belts, especially when you’re on a day pass from the nursing home.  Bless their hearts.

We took the train to NY, which is always a great opportunity for me to eavesdrop on people whose lives are even weirder than my own.  I try to tune in to the conversation directly ahead of me, directly behind, and directly across the aisle.  I’d like to be able to juggle all three but on occasion I get them all mixed up.

Directly across the aisle were Mr. and Mrs. Bickerson, with their bratty kids sitting in front of them.  They spent the entire trip arguing about where they were going, what they were doing, and in what order.  They also argued about who was making the trip to the café car, whether or not it made sense to have a little snack or wait for lunch, and ultimately, what specifically constitutes a little snack.  In case you’re curious, they specifically ruled out the son’s suggestion of 2 hot dogs, a bag of chips, and a soda.  They were still negotiating on one dog and shared chips and a soda when I lost the thread, but I think the kid was still holding out on having his own bag of chips.

In sharp contrast, the couple behind us was agonizingly planning every minute of every day in NYC.  They agreed that the first thing they should do is go straight to their hotel and check in, but they backtracked and said no, the first thing we’ll do is get a cab to the hotel from Penn Station.  A cab, are you sure?  What about the subway?  A mere two hours later, the transportation question had been decided in favor of the subway, and they agreed to unpack and do a little ironing before heading out to their next destination.  They spent the rest of the ride reviewing their complicated plan in detail to be sure they hadn’t missed anything.

I kept looking at Dan to see if he was catching any of this, but he was clueless.  He was focusing far too much on his reading and not nearly enough on eavesdropping.  Oh well, I was busy anyway, furiously jotting down notes so I could remember to share everything with you guys.

He also missed the conversation the two women sitting in front of us were having about a friend’s recent engagement.  It seemed they were primarily obsessing over the diamond engagement ring, because I kept hearing about a rock, a really giant rock, where he got it, cut, carat, clarity, etc.   The whole thing sounded like a Mervis Diamond commercial.  In fact, apparently the whole purpose of the trip to NY was to visit the ring, and I guess the friend too, assuming she was attached to it.  I’ll admit, they piqued my curiosity to the point that I almost asked to see a picture of the damn thing.  It sounded like quality merchandise.

Speaking of which, Dan and I mindlessly wandered in to the jewelry store in the hotel where we were of course immediately pounced upon by a salesman.  He just stood there and looked at me for a while, eyebrows knitted in deep thought, before he started telling me which pieces I “needed.”  It was a relief to find out that they just happened to be having a big sale, so the necklace he envisioned for me was marked down from $7,800 to $3,800.

But you know what?  He really liked me; I’m a nice lady with excellent taste, so only for me the final price went down to $3,300.  I felt bad because at that point he told me he wasn’t even making a profit on it, he just wanted to enjoy seeing me in the necklace.  I mean, if any other poor slob walked in the door he was definitely not going to give her an extra $500 off.  He only had eyes for me.  And my wallet.

When we thanked him profusely but politely declined, the man leaned in close, looked around, and then whispered a secret just to me; jewelry was the best possible place to invest money right now.  I couldn’t resist; I noted that it’s really not an investment other than on paper.  He told me my engagement ring was absolutely an investment, and by then I was pretty amused, so I took it off my hand and asked how much he would give me for it.  He immediately protested that he himself doesn’t buy jewelry but he would give me an estimate of what I would get from someone who actually does buy jewelry.

He came up with some ridiculous number and I just smiled and took back my ring.  I could see that he was quickly falling out of love with me.  In classic NY style, he shrugged his shoulders and said he could care less what I bought or didn’t buy, he was just trying to be a nice guy.

By the time we left NY, we’d had enough sights and sounds.  We headed straight for the quiet car on the train ride back home.  I may have missed some interesting stories, but it was pure bliss.

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A Night To Remember

Posted on December 30, 2012 by Jill Foer Hirsch

What a night!  We arrived way too early because we intended to get a bite to eat before the show (of course I intend to get a bite to eat before and after anything I do) but it was freezing outside and snowing/sleeting and after walking just a block or two we decided we should just get inside.  I can assure you that our decision did not have anything to do with me whining about how my hair was getting ruined or blaming Dan for the weather or anything like that.  I’ll just say that my hair was getting ruined and Dan could have been more thoughtful about the weather.

When we walked into the venue we saw a balcony area that looked like it might be a café, so we went upstairs.  It wasn’t a café but I’m glad we went up there, because we met the woman who works for Sandra, Elyce, and her friend whose name I should have written down right away, but I think is Shara or possibly Sharna?  They were both really lovely and funny and I mean that in a completely non-fawning sort of way.  They were also quite tolerant, because even though we sat around staring at them for an uncomfortable amount of time, and I wouldn’t stop yapping about my favorite topic, me me me, they didn’t call security or whatever.

Finally it was time for the main event, Ms. Sandra Bernhard herself.  What can I tell you that you don’t already know?  She is beautiful, hilariously funny, and a full on chanteuse.  She punctuated her amazing musical performance with her sardonic humor; or maybe she punctuated her sardonic humor with her musical performance, it’s hard to say.  It kind of doesn’t matter because she is just pure talent.  And I mean that in a completely non-fawning sort of way.

And for those of you worried about us not eating all evening, the venue served really good food so neither of us passed out or anything.  Perhaps if we thought about it…the name of the venue was Joe’s Pub after all…we might have caught on to the fact that we didn’t need to eat beforehand.  Bygones.  And not to obsess over the food or anything, they did serve incredible frites with malt vinegar mayo.  I felt like I was back in Amsterdam except there was no pot smoke wafting my way.  Maybe I was sitting in the wrong section…

As you may recall, last time we saw Aimee Mann at The Birchmere we got stuck sitting with 4 annoying lawyers.  At Joe’s we were sitting with a couple of very nice aspiring singers/songwriters/thespians.  I can tell you this; no one was rehashing oral arguments or Supreme Court decisions.  I love DC, but NY can be very refreshing in that sense.

Ok forget all that, I am digressing all over the place!  After the show Sandra hung out and signed CDs and DVDs and T-shirts and such, and that’s when I got to meet her.  She was incredibly gracious and warm and I’m pretty sure she is my new best friend.

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Well, maybe only in my head, but that’s where I spend most of my time anyway.  At the very least I feel like we’re on a first name basis now; I can call her Sandra and she can call me generic annoying fan, although I do resent being called generic.  Either way I feel like we bonded, because although she of course called security on me, she put up with me for a few minutes first, and they didn’t rough me up or anything (which in many ways was disappointing).

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And as if that wasn’t enough excitement, I got to meet and chat with Sandra’s friend and stylist, whose name I also should have written down, but I think it was Joey?

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He was really nice and I mean that in a non-fawning sort of way.  I told him I loved seeing Sandra hanging with Andy Cohen on WWHL and he said they had a lot of fun together, and then listened to me as I babbled on about how I wish I was Andy Cohen and everything.  As we all know, I am a gay man trapped in the body of a straight woman (mom, please don’t freak out and overreact, I’m not getting the operation you heard about on 60 Minutes ) and I really, really really want a clubhouse filled with toys and celebs.

So that was it; after we overstayed our welcome by an uncomfortable length of time, we dashed back to the hotel, and came home this morning.  Don’t worry, I’ll be regaling you with more stories of our quick getaway, but now you’ve heard the most awesomest parts.

Many thanks to Sandra and her team for their gracious hospitality, and please remember that the more money you give to charity the less you pay to Uncle Sam.  Sandra donated our experience to a silent auction benefitting the True Colors Fund, and as her BFF, I know she wants everyone to give ‘til it hurts.

http://truecolorsfund.org/

 

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