The invites are out.

There is no turning back.

Six weeks from today…

My baby boy will become a man.

He will read from the Torah.

Jonah will become a Bar Mitzvah…

And I, will be sitting there, as still as I can…allowing some dick head DJ control the biggest night of my kid’s life. Run the party. Lead the Horah. Pass out the tinsel maracas. Omg. I can’t even breathe, as I am typing. My hands are shaking. My palms are sweaty. I don’t think I am capable of just watching. I just don’t think I can do it. How in Goddess’s name am I going to relax, and allow some person that I don’t even know to MC MY KID’S BAR MITZVAH? I just don’t think I can. I actually feel bad for the guy. I mean, does he even know who he is dealing with? I am meshugie. But I have MC’d like 2000 Mitzvahs in my career. Ok, maybe not 2000. But Joe Cornell Entertainment in the D taught me everything I know. Sigh. I already told Jonah, if the dude sucks, he’s out. I will pummel him, and throw him to the ground…rip the microphone from his hands, and take over.

And do you know what Jonah said?

“Mom, if you even touch the microphone, I will tackle you to the floor.”


Tough crowd. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that me, and his Auntie Julie had prepared a dance to preform. I literally told him I had choreographed a “little number” to go with the basketball theme. And we were going to be wearing Hornets outfits, and using pom-pons. I was fucking dying. He was not. He was freaking. His mouth was on the floor, and he was white as a ghost. I kept it up for a good three minutes or so. I walked away, and he is still not really sure if it’s a joke. Ha. Serves him right for calling me “woman”.

Well, I guess I better just hope for the best, and trust this DJ. I mean how bad can it be? He is supposed to be the “best” in Charlotte. So what if he plays the YMCA, or Love Shack? What’s the worst thing that happens, my guests leave? I mean most of them have never even been to a Bar Mitzvah before! I love it. And I am not kidding. I am having 200 people, and I shit you not…180 are not Jews. I even sent out a letter to all the parents of the kids explaining what a Mitzvah was all about, and what to wear. Everyone is totally stoked. And appreciative. And EXCITED! They’re not going to three parties every weekend, and bored out of their fucking minds. I can give them a T-shirt, and they will love it. Everything is new, and cool…and NEVER BEEN SEEN! Can you even imagine? Having a Mitzvah where nothing has ever been done before? Holy shit. I am in party planning heaven. Thank you, Charlotte for being so goyim-heavy. hehe. “Goyim-heavy“. I think that should be in Urban Dictionary.

With six weeks left, I am good to go. Really. I am ready. I will remain calm. I have my outfit. What else does a girl really need? Oh, I know…my Jonah to be happy. I just want him to have the best night ever. Celebrating his special day, and all of his hard work. With all of his friends, and family around him. So, I won’t be tackling anyone. Or yelling. Or freaking out. And I will most likely allow the DJ to do his job. Maybe. 

Now, who is in charge of keeping my glass filled all night? A filled glass would most definitely up the DJ’s chances of survival. ;)

xo j



Do you think my posts are too lengthy?

Like, too wordy?

Fuck, I say too much.

I’m long-winded. I go on, and on…

I perseverate. What a great word. Perseverate.

Isn’t it like the best word ever? I use it all the time in my house. Having a kid with Aspergers, we tend to do it a whole lot. You know..go on and on….and on about a single topic, or a subject. Obsess over it. Harp on it. Perseverate. Ya. Like it used to be animals. Fuck he loved animals. Then it was just penguins. He would tell me anything and everything there was to know about penguins. And now, it’s gotten much better…we are sports freaks. Jonah’s world has turned in to Sports Center, and we are all just living in it. I wake up, and get the stats. Before I pour his cereal, it’s a stat. When I drive to school, it’s a stat. Holy shit, ask me. Go ahead. I know it all. Every player, every team. Every God forsaken number, or score of which game…or who played for what team when. OMG. I’m in ESPN HELL. But, I love him. There is no other Jonah. And one day, he will famous. I am sure of it. No one in the world knows sports like my J. I call him, JSPN. (Jonah Sam Sports Network) And I say it with love.

So…it only makes sense that for his Bar Mitzvah I would chose basketball as his theme. Oh. Wait. Do all y’all know what a BAR MITZVAH is? Shush, up you Jews! I need to fill my non-Jewish readers in! I’ll give it to you short and sweet all y’all. And I hope you already know. But just in case…It’s when a Jewish boy or girl, comes of age. Becomes a man, or a woman. And that magical age is 13. It’s really quite an amazing day in the lives of Jewish families. I mean our kids have been preparing for this day since birth. Ok, maybe not that long, but close enough. The studying Torah, the Hebrew school…all of it. And listen, it ain’t easy. Jonah wants to kick my ass. He has to go to Temple every weekend from now until his Bar Mitzvah! He has tutoring twice a week. And misses out on lots of other kid-stuff. OMG. He is like ready to plotz! And the service that Jonah will lead is unbelievable, and he actually reads from the Torah. He will be chanting (singing) in Hebrew. Oy Vey. In front of all his peers, and family. It’s a big damn deal.

Ok, so…after all this hard work, and perseverance…what do you think we do?

We THROW A FUCKING PARTY!!! Whoop whoop! And no one knows how to throw a party like a Jewish girl from the D! HOLLA! Now, some of you might argue that no thirteen-year old child needs a party like the ones we Jews like to throw. Ya, whatever. I get it. Its like a wedding. There is a DJ. There is dancing. There is an abundance of food, and a theme. And usually..the bigger, the better. But hey, it is what it is! And if you think I’m obnoxious, don’t come. Stay home. When you get my KICK ASS invitation in the mail, please, by all means…RSVP NO! Your loss! My kid, who just spent the last 8 years of his life studying Torah is having a party. He will have dancers, and flashing lights…and it’s going to be INSANE!! I mean, after all, do you know who is mother is? I told him that me and his Auntie Julie were working on a cheer to perform at the party. Ya know, to go with the “theme”. You should have seen his face. His reaction was priceless. Then he said, if we even thought about it, he would “tackle us to the ground”. Yeesh. Guess that’s out. ha.

But you wanna know the funniest? When I talk to him about the big day, he doesn’t really care. I tell him all the fantastic things we are going to have, and do. I have hired the best event planners. The best creative team. I have the best caterer, photographer, and video crew. The best DJ in town. We have like 2000 kids, and even Hugo the fucking Hornet! I mean, come on Jonah…can you give me something here!!?? I have Hugo the FUCKING HORNET!! But no. Nothing. He just says, “Cool.” Cool. The kid says, cool. The party is in 4 months. I am sweating bullets over here, working on every last detail to make him the event of the century! THE BIGGEST BASKETBALL BLOWOUT, BABY!

But do you want to know the truth?

It’s not about me. It’s not what I want. This is not MY party. It is Jonah’s party. This is HIS Bar Mitzvah, and he has done all the hard work…ugh. Maybe, he doesn’t want 250 people. Or Hugo the Hornet. Or the best DJ in town. Or a Basketball theme. Shit. I need to check myself. And being in the entertainment industry for 15 years, I should know better. I’m ashamed of my behavior. I have MC’d a million Mitzvah’s, and I promised myself I would never do this! But here I am…all caught up in the hoopla. But it’s just so easy, when you want to give your kid the best night of his life. It’s hard to focus on what is really important. Not the big-ass party, but the service…and the religious part, the actual Bar Mitzvah.

Yup. I guess I should bring it down a notch. Pull it in. Take back the dress I ordered 3 years ago. Yes, that’s right. I bought a dress 3 years ago. Now, before this gets “too lengthy” I must wrap it up. But before I go, I just want to say… Hugo the Hornet stays.  ;)

xo j

Great ass.

Nice face.

All his hair, omg…there is no way.

And he is Jewish? Come on. In Charlotte?

No ring. He’s single!

Call the Rabbi, and book the Temple.


He’s all mine, bitches. All mine. And I will fight you for him, I swear to Goddess, I will. I’ve tried to date the non-jews, and it just didn’t work out so well. Those nice goyem men just can’t handle a Jap like me. I talk to fast, and I bitch to much…and I order my food to damn dry. I swear, I went on, and the fishy site…and Hi-HO-Tinder. I did them all. The sites, not the men. And failed miserably, but this single-sexy-yid I will piss on if I have to. Just to mark my territory. Like a dog on a freshly mowed patch of grass…I will cop a squat, and take a nice warm, pee-pee on this man. Gross. I am not pissing on anyone, ok? But you get my point. This yummy boy is not to be shared. No can do. And you can’t do, him. Get it?


Hmmm. I am going to have to get his attention. He is looking at me, looking at him. Wait for it, Jen. Don’t be a loser…pretend you are texting. Ya. Or, I could actually text. Duh, I text like all the time. Omg. He’s totally looking at me!! No, he is looking at the woman sitting next to me. Fuck her. What does she have that I don’t have? If she is smarter, he can’t tell by looking at us. Phew! And I clearly have better Botox. Do I have something on my face? Shit. Hey, have y’all ever used your iPhone camera as a mirror? OMG how smart is that? Ya know, you flip the camera around…so you are actually taking a selfie, but you’re not really gonna take a pic! And then you can see yourself. Genius. Hold on, stop reading. Try it! Go on..flip the camera around. See! Nothing on my face. And look how adorable he thinks I am… I’m watching my boys play basketball! I am such a hot-sports-mom. He is thinking, “Wow. What a MILF. And she is an athletic supporter.” That’s right. I am quite the fan of all things athletically supported. But I am not a MILF, anymore. Boo. Cougar, maybe? ha.


So, here I am, totally cute and sweet. And I am interacting in a basketballish kind of way with my boys. I mean what could be sexier than that? And I’m playing all shy, and making eye contact from across the JCC gym. And he’s shooting hoops with his little boy, awwww. (not really, the kid is dirty. I hate dirty kids) And I can feel the energy, the chemistry. I know this is it. He is wanting me, yearning for me. OMG. He is totally coming towards me!!! Holy shit balls. Suck in your fat Jen, and stick out your tits. Sit up straight, asshole! This is it! It’s probably the only hot Jew in all of Charlotte! This could be, your next ex-husband….


“Ummm…Hi, I know this is a funny question. But are you the girl that writes that crazy male-bashing blog?” It’s so funny, as the words were coming out of his mouth…I noticed there was this white, gooey build up in the corners. And I think he had this greenish booger attached to one of his nostril hairs, too. And I could barely listen to what he was saying, because I was so distracted by his nasty-ass breath. “Male-bashing blog? Oh, no. Not me! You must be thinking of someone else. I’m the girl that writes the blog about all the fucking losers I’ve been out with since my divorce. Why, did you want to try your luck, and take me to dinner?”

And such a pretty face, why do they have to go and ruin it by opening their big, fat fucking mouths? Oh, I’m sorry. Is this that crazy male-bashing blog? ha. ;)
xo j

I want a tree.

And not just any tree, you guys.

I’m not talking about a Chinese Maple, or a Fern… or a Fig Tree. If I wanted my landscaping done, I would call up Pita Boy.

I want a Christmas Tree.

Ya, you heard me. This Jewish girl wants a Christmas Tree…and I want it now.

And I can have it, wanna know why?

Because I am not married to Mark anymore, and I can do whatever the fuck I want! 

Phew. Think he’s reading this? Not that he can really do anything about it anyhoo.  If I want a tree, he can’t stop me. After all, it’s my house. And it’s my life, and it’s my holiday to spend any damn way I choose. Now, I’m sure this is going to cause a whole lot of trouble around these parts! But guess what? I don’t care. I mean, before Mark came into the picture, I did actually have Christmas. I grew up with it. Until he came, and snatched it out of my life…like the Grinch. I don’t know, I guess I just thought I could convince him to celebrate it, even though we were raising the kids Jewish. Boo. I guess I didn’t bat my eyelashes hard enough. Or give him enough blow jobs. I lost that battle. I had “converted” when we got married, and promised to bid “adieu” to Old St.Nick. But secretly, I was sad. And wished my kids could feel the magic of Christmas…and still have Hanukkah. And still be Jewish. I mean, c’mon…can’t we just have it all? Nope. We can’t.

And truth be told…I promised myself if there was ever a chance to have Christmas again, I was going to take it! YES SIREE, KRIS KRINGLE! I need to grab the reindeer by the antlers and take my shot! So, this is it…call the lady who decorates all the houses, and let’s get this party started! You do understand where I live, right? I mean it’s Christmas before Thanksgiving is even over, for the love of Rudolph! My friends have been buying the decorations for their houses since last year, am I right girls? I am driving down the street, and even the cars are adorned. I am counting Reindeer noses and antlers on every car I pass. And there is a place here only an hour away called Christmas Town USA! I shit you not. You actually drive through the town, and it’s all lit up like fucking Times Square, only better. It’s just not fair. Not to my kids, not to me…and not to anyone that doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Not in the South. I mean, come on, all y’all! We can’t even compete with it. Hanukkah doesn’t stand a chance. It’s like the red-headed step child of holidays. Dang, what kid would ever pick a Menorah over a Christmas Tree, if given a choice? I am dying over here! You can’t even compare the two. Oy!

I wanted a tree a couple years ago. Just a tiny, little one. From Fresh Market. And Mark aka The Grinch said, if I got it…not to bother coming home. haha. Don’t you threaten me, Mister! In fact, I could just get an ax, and cut one down my damn self. Now that would be bat shit crazy! Picture that…a girl like moi, in the middle of the woods…wearing her motorcycle boots, and skinny jeans, looking for a tree. Ha.Ya, well…not so much. I can’t cut my own steak. How would I ever cut down an tree? Just like ordering my Thanksgiving dinner from Whole Foods (don’t judge) I would call up the tree people and have it delivered. Ummm. They do have “tree people” right? I’m assuming there’s a company for that? A guy with a some sort of saw-tool, that you can call to chisel down a nice, lush evergreen? I pick the size, and shape, the color. A nice shade of green. Perhaps on-line, and they just show up with it at my door? Yes! No? Well, what the fuck?! Someone needs to get on that. Like now. Yeesh. No Jew is going to cut down their own fucking Christmas tree, I’ll tell you that right now, for free. Ain’t gonna happen!

So, do I get the tree, or not?

What’s the big whoop? I mean, am I doing it for me, or to get back at Mark? Hmmm. Let me think about that. I don’t honestly know. What would the tree symbolize, really? A new beginning. A fresh start. Hope, and love…and a happy, holiday season. A new tradition for me, and the boys. I could take all my old ornaments from my Mom’s house, and put them on my new tree, which would be really cool. And I could have some of my family with me…in spirit. I love that. But what message would it be sending to my kids. My Jewish kids. They are not both religions. I am, I was born a “cashew”. Not them. Ugh. Crap. Here comes the internal struggle I have. I can only do what my gut is telling me…

And my heart. And as badly as I want a Christmas tree for me, maybe it’s not the best thing for my boys? Maybe I need to start a new tradition for the 3 of us. Maybe…just maybe, I need to get a BUSH!  Yes. I am going to get a bush. Or a plant. A Hanukkah plant. Or shrub. Or a Hanukkah Hosta. Am I really writing this? And no Hanukkah Harry. He is just such a loser. Now listen, don’t be all up in my shit about this blog. This is only my opinion, all y’all. Am I going to convert to Christianity, and start going to Mass on Sundays? I think not. I don’t think they would even let me in. In fact, I’m pretty close to certain the Church would go up in flames, or get struck by lightning. I’m just saying, I want a flipping tree. Is that such a shonda?

So, here is the plan…no Christmas tree. Damn. Maybe a Hanukkah plant or shrub. New traditions. No causing trouble, or getting back at Mark. And no confusing my kids. After all Jonah’s Bar Mitzvah is in 6 months. Omg. All I need is him ratting me out to the Rabbi, that kid has zero filters. I can see it now. He already hates being Jewish. He actually told the Rabbi he doesn’t believe in God, and that there is no way Moses could really have parted the Red Sea. Great. I say, give that boy a Christmas tree! We don’t have enough drama. lol. Better yet, let’s give him a Hanukkah Hosta…along with a punch card for all the therapy he will be needing. At least he will have lots to talk about. Ha. Have a Happy Holiday, all y’all, whatever you choose to celebrate…and a can someone invite me over for a tree-decorating party? Thanks! ;)

xo j