It's my birthday and I'll kvetch if I want to

Yes, it's fun to have the cake and all, but 28 is too damn old!!

Yes, I know it's self indulgent to whine and I have my whole life ahead of me, but damn I wish I was 21 again.

Enough kvetching for one day.

Birthday checks made out to the Jumpin' Jewess will be happily accepted.

Intervention: Operation Handbag

If any of you kiddies watch the A&E show 'Intervention,' you know how dramatic it can be. Basically, a poor shlub who once exhibited alot of promise has fallen into some terrible sort of addiction, be it to street drugs/prescription drugs/alcohol/unhealthy eating/gambling - you name it. The families of these individuals, understandably, want to liberate their loved ones from their terrible and unhealthy cycles of destruction, and exhibit tough love as they appeal to them to go to treatment. Sometimes the addict succeeds in kicking their habit, and sometimes they don't, but no matter what, it is very brave of all involved to consent to have this process put into a documentary format and for the addict to try to change their lives.

It really is a very touching show.

I enjoy it so much precisely because I feel that I don't need an intervention - my worst vice is Sharon's Sorbet.

Which is why I was caught unaware when 'Intervention' entered my life. You see, despite the fact that much of my income goes to my ridiculous Manhattan rent, I am frugal in all other areas of my life. I've gone so far as to recycle plastic bags (dang!). So it should come as no surprise that I buy knockoff handbags on the street, rather than shelling out for the real thing at Coach, Gucci, etc., as so many NYers do. As far I'm concerned, I save a bundle that can go into my 401(k), instead of wasting it on something that will give me shoulder pain and bad posture. No one can tell the difference anyway, right?

Apparently they can.

This summer, in a frenzy of preparation for the (swashbuckling-inspired) Fall season, I bought an orange snakeskin handbag from a perfectly pleasant vendor. We hondled, I got what I thought was a decent price, and I walked away with my lovely Hermes knockoff. Yes, it was glaringly orange, but I like to be different, and while it wasn't perfectly workplace-appropriate, the rest of my ensembles are usually conservative, so no one said anything.

That is, until my loving mother and sister intervened.

You see, campers, they have more discerning taste than I. While I am content to purchase clothing at Filene's and call it a night, they do the same but intermix (see, sis, I know boutiques!) these matziahs with more expensive fashions. Although I had gotten many a compliment from strangers on my faux bag (and a PETA-esque inquiry as to whether it was real snakeskin), my relatives sort of recoiled at the sight of it.

Which is how I found myself to be the surprised recipient of a handbag intervention.

Late one Sunday evening, as I contemplated the work week ahead, my mom and sis showed up on my doorstep (alright, I don't have a porch - I buzzed them in) and stated that they had a surprise for me. As an early birthday present, they were showering me with a beautiful, expensive new handbag! I stood there, mouth agape. It's hard for me to accept expensive gifts in general, but I knew that my emotions were telling me something more. There was tough love behind this seemingly innocent gesture, and I could sense it.

They gave me what I thought was a perfectly nice bag, and explained that it would be both socially and work appropriate, and was also quite expensive. I thanked them, but asked them what was wrong with my current bag. DEAD SILENCE.

That was when my instincts were confirmed and I knew I had a problem. It is unacceptable for an ambitious woman in the flower of her youth to valga around the streets of NY with a cheap, shiny knockoff (that is probably funding Al Quaeda anyway-read the mags for more on this story). I accepted their offering, and thanked them for their help.

It took me some time, but I went back to the boutique where they bought the bag and exchanged it for one that was more to my liking. However, unlike the past, I actually added an additional $100 of my own to an already hefty price tag! I left feeling like a new, more glamorous and problem-free version of myself.

Now I have a lovely leather and suede purse that I will proudly model on Thanksgiving. However, I have to say that while the intervention did liberate me from my cheap, addictive and self-destructive cycle, my old bag was much more utilitarian, and I can't find anything in this damn new bottomless pit (yet faboo!) hobo.

But in the end, I am happy. Why? My frugality resulted in my being the recipient of a designer bag that I didn't pay for. So lovely readers, I suggest you do the same. Buy a cheap handbag from nearest friendly knockoff artist, and perhaps you too can be the lucky victim of an intervention!!!

Holy Thanksgiving, Batman!

Last night I had a dream. A beautiful dream. In this vision, I was lovingly spooning stuffing in my mouth, delicately snarfing down sweet potatoes and indiscriminately wolfing down pecan pie, happy as a (kosher) clam.

You see my children, Thanksgiving is upon us. It is the happiest chag of the Jewish year, since it is all the food and none of the guilt. Read that sentence over again so you can feel the impact - no guilt. As a patriotic American citizen, you are expected to stuff yourself like a well-shaped butterball turkey and plop down in front of the TV (to preferably watch football although I prefer Laguna Beach - don't tell Jewgrrl). It is a no-holds-barred foodfest, and there are no Jewish traditions to worry about, such as teshuva, prayer or beating your heart for your sins. (I suspect I will be patting my distended belly, but that is not the same thing.)

In this gleeful spirit, with shout-outs to Pocohontas, the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria, Chrissie Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci, my mother for her cooking and all the turkeys that will be giving up their lives l'shaim food, I offer this list of what I am grateful for:

-My stylish and comfy Aerosoles brown boots that I have been wearing every day and were reasonably priced (unlike other stores on the Upper West Side - Club Monaco, that means YOU);
-The re-election of Mayor Bloomberg, a wonderful Yid. Thank G-d our bars and dance venues will be smoke free for another year. Phillip Morris - eat our dust! Cough! Cough!
-Shanghai Red nail salon, which offers free green tea and pretzels with their services, replete with technicians don't appear to be gossiping about me in a foreign language;
-Tom Cruise, who finally fired his incompetent sister as his publicist and hired a real hack, allowing himself a 1.5% chance that he can salvage his career and a shred of dignity by being forced to keep keep his trap shut about post-partum depression and how heterosexual he is;
-Brownie, who's doing a heck of a job! (Just kidding - FEMA =feh);
-The guy who dressed up as Yoshka (otherwise knows as Hay-sus to you secular folks) over October's Purim (Halloween) and blessed all in his flowing caftan. Thanks also goes out to The portly Asian man/sumo wrestler who dressed up as a nun. Mother Superior, may good occur onto ye. They showed that religious understanding can exist and renewed my faith in humanity (or at the very least, costumes);
-JewYorkCity's roomate, who allowed me to jump like an impaled kangaroo all over his room and take over his CD collection at their last big shindig. For that matter, I am thankful for his CD collection, which included Justin Timberlake, Britney Spears, and Cher's greatest hits. It doesn't get much better than that;
-Staten Island, for just being there. Even if I am priced out of Manhattan, as I know I eventually will be, I can take comfort in the fact that wherever I move, it will most likely be more fabulous than SI (although perhaps not as gritty and down-home);
-The fact that I might one day outgrow such blatant New York City snobbery (highly uncharitable but so deliciously fun!);
-Torah, chessed, ma'asim tovim, and all that good stuff;
-Kreplach, Yerushalmi kugel, kishke and all that good stuff;
-The crosstown bus, which delicately deposits me on the East Side each time I dare venture outside the hallowed blocks of the Upper West;
-Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens;
-Muumuus of the Mrs. Roper kind (so delightfully retro and sexily ugly!);
-This blog, my excellent co-authors and my darling readers (who I hope number in the millions - a Jewess can dream, can't she?); and finally
-Rice milk, which is so much kinder on my intestines than regular milk or soy milk.

That's it, campers. I hope you enjoy the holiday and gain at least 5 pounds. Otherwise that would unpatriotic and what would the Plymoth Rock shadchans say?

The Phoenix's are Jewish

Get your Chanukah presents ready for River Phoenix who has been discovered (err, by me) as a Jew!! Apparently, the actor family of River, Joaquin and Summer Phoenix were all born to a Jewish Bronx-born Mom, Arlyn Sharon Dunetz. Who would have thought?

On Internet Porn, Children, Judaism and Muppets: A Scholarly Discourse (Intercourse?)

As I rested from the day's labors with my ritual lunch (five minutes sitting at my desk and shoving partially frozen food into my beak), I contemplated the latest edict handed down in some very frum communities. Apparently, a group of very involved Rabbis have banned the internet among their flocks. That's right, completely banned it, and any parents found to have it in their home computers will have their kids promptly kicked out of Yeshiva, with a huge black 'CHEREM' stamp on their tush.

Now, I've tried to understand this. Since I was not born yesterday (in fact, I am an old hag about to turn 28), I realize that there is a preponderance of a little thing called porn on the internet. That means that at some point on your travels on the glorious info highway, you're bound to stumble upon some media that show Places in France Where Naked Women and Men Dance (and believe me, they're not ponying or Israeli dancing). These sites are nothing to sneeze at and make your parents' (ew!) Friday night mitzvah rumbles look like The Muppet Show. And for that matter, you can probably find sites dedicated to muppets and porn. (Try MuppetLove.com - not that I would know from personal experience.)

However, there are elements of the internet - true gems! - that are getting lost in the shuffle. For instance: online shopping (oooh plumber.com!) the real truth about every celebrity, sites that allow you to find a fellow Trekkie in Mongolia, and of course, our blog. On a Jewish note, there are sites that teach kids the aleph bet, give women the stunning opportunity to shop for the latest snoods and Shabbos robes, and tell the charming and touching story of
Hanukkah Harry.

How can the Rabbis justify the ban in the face of so much wisdom and Yiddishkeit? Don't they know that parents can install filters on their computers? Don't they realize that not allowing kids to see something makes it that much more sexy to them? Kinderlach will find a way to elude the Internet Police (not to be confused with the Tznius Police), mark my words.

I don't know the solution to this. It would take someone with the wisdom of King Solomon to figure out a solution. And it would take someone with the wisdom of a tse tse fly to watch Fozzy Bear, Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy have a threesome.

Frum guy seeking fake wife....

Ahh, so this poor guy has giving up seeing anyone at Sinai, apparently hasn't banged it out in a while, but is kinda frumster and hates going to corporate events without another half. He's an attorney with a full head of hair that wants a trophy-chick to escort him to work events. Either every UWS girl should be on top of this guy (err literally), or someone direct him to the personals in the back of the Village Voice... but to go on Craig's List.... oy, how tacky.

Jewish Fashion Conspiracy - Confounding White Supremacists in Idaho, Arkansas and All Over the Rhineland

I am departing from my usual slaughtering of hideous fashion, to shout from the heavens that the Jewish Fashion Conspiracy has finally been set into motion! As members of the tribe already know, we've run Hollywood for years (that Yentl had such a big impact), and thanks to our illustrious ancestor Shylock (such a smart boy, how many silly girls wouldn't date him because of his looks) we also are at the helm of the financial world!

And now, dear Jewish brethren, we can finally control fashion! Trends will no longer be decided by swishy men and evil women - our Bnei Akiva youngsters have taken over!

So get out there, and dance in the streets in your new gear! I myself am partial to the "Bris me, I'm Jewish" sect, but we can all co-exist as one. So drop your pre-conceived notions about knitted vs. velvet, and help take over the world, one pair of gotkes at a time.

Ku klux klan - nyah nyah nyah!!!

Madge says Paris isn't frum enough!

As reported in teentoday, Madonna fumed on British radio about Paris's lack of commitment to Kabbalah, "People like Paris Hilton who come into a centre and buy a book or a band and that's it for them. It doesn't mean they study it. It's very hard to be a believer. I'm very serious about it."

Kinda like the dudes in Yeshiva who buy a sefer or a yarmulka, it doesnt mean they are actually learning. It's hard to be as shtark as Madge. Ahhh, what's her frumster id? I so wanna buy her a custom Claire...

YAWN....Another celebrity sighting. But wait - is this an opportunity for (post-Yom Kippur) tshuva?

Yesterday, I had the dubious pleasure of eyeing Alec Baldwin as he waited for a taxi/car and driver to pick him up on Central Park West. I was like, 'ho-hum, big deal,' since I would much rather have seen Seinfeld. And to tell ya the truth (Jumpin'Jewess would never lie to her dear readers) I was jealous of Alec. Yes, I experienced 'kinah,' a sin, just for a dumb sighting. I have to confess - I was feeling like a jealous shlep because I had to go shove myself into the subway and Alec was being picked up oh so smoothly, just because he had showed his (cute) tush in a couple of movies. (Which leads me to the sin of watching lewd movies - pritzus.) Now where was I? Oh yes, Alec was also accompanied by a very attractive woman, so guys, you might want to try to run into him. I'm sure he has a bevy of women.

Alec looked good compared to reports that he had become...AH...portly, and I'm happy to report that he is still, in the immortal words of Cher from 'Clueless,' "a Baldwin." (Although Steven sure isn't and it's arguable if he ever was. Maybe a Baldfisher, if he's lucky.) But still, I was pretty unimpressed by the whole deal.

That is, until I clicked onto CNN.com and saw THIS article, which explained that Al and Kim Basinger, his stunning but odd ex-wife, are embroiled in a vicious custody battle. I know things can sometimes get touchy in a divorce, but for heaven's sake - they're both accusing each other of being mentally unfit! (I'm sure their grandmothers are rolling around in their graves right now.)

I must confess again: this article warmed my cold, cold heart and redeemed my celeb sighting. Now, I could analyze whether Alec had acted like a nutty fruity patooty when I saw him. It's all coming back to me - he was twirling naked in the streets! He was throwing candy at strangers! He was singing hava nagila and doing a (very unfortunate) hora!

I got excited - perhaps I would be called upon to testify in court??? Was I now in the thick of things - just where I wanted to be??

Then my mother's voice kicked in: 'What shtus! Just be happy you have a roof over your head and knaidel in your soup!' So I heeded my wise mother's sage words and realized: maybe I should just continue shlepping on public transportation, thanking G-d that my personal business isn't splashed all over the media...*

*Note: Our blog is the exception of course - we write very nicely about everyone.