Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
I’m trying to be healthier, but my office is filled with junk food! I’m finding it hard to resist the temptations at every turn. What do you suggest?
Trying to Slim Down
Dear TTSD,
I have been having this exact problem myself. You see, last week, I put down I don’t know how many calories in anger eating. You know what I’m talking about – when you’re angry or hurt or sad and you find that cherry cheese blintzes are just about the only remedy? Well, I did my share of that, let me tell you. But no more! I’m back on the healthy food bandwagon. After all, I’ve got to fit into my mother of the bride dress!
“What?!?!” you say? Well, gentle readers, let me catch you up. Ok, maybe not catch you up on the whole story – let’s just stick to the one important fact – my daughter, Frannie, who is a good sweet girl, has decided to marry a nice boy named Sol. They’re very much in love and will be married very soon. Why wait when you’re in love? That’s what I always say. So sometime in the next 2 to 3 months, they’ll be marching down that aisle. So much to do in such a short amount of time! I can’t believe it! My little girl all grown up and getting married under her own volition because she loves the man she’s going to marry and wants to spend the rest of her life with him – no other reason than that.
First things first, we had to secure things with the temple. We explained to them that this was something of a rush job – Rabbi Zedek understood and said he’d take care of everything. Second – a dress! We’re going with a nice ivory color – it looks much better against Frannie’s skin than white. Probably with a pretty empire waist. She has such a nice bust, you’d want to draw the eye up, and not toward any problem areas that might exist down below. Tuxes, caterers, a cake, and all the champagne people can want – though none for Frannie – she wants to keep a level head so she can enjoy her big day.
So that leaves me dieting! Oh, boy! Here we go again. I’ve decided to do Atkins. I hear it’s a good way lose weight fast, and since the day fast approaches, that’s what I’m looking for! Frannie isn’t really thrilled. She says every time I cook up bacon, she ends up puking for an hour. Let me assure you that is just from the nerves of marrying a good Jewish lawyer. Oh, Sol! I can’t wait until you’re my son in law! Maybe someday in the future you and Frannie can start thinking about making little grandbabies for me and Morty to gush over. I can’t wait!
Monday, March 30, 2009
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
Friday is my last day at my current job. I’m somewhat conflicted. On one hand, I’m glad to be leaving a job that was no longer a good fit for me. On the other hand, I’m scared and anxious about being unemployed in today’s economy. I’m having a hard time reconciling these feelings and getting through my last week. How should I deal?
Happy and Sad in Austin
Dear HASIA,
Maybe you should take a few minutes and think about the CONSEQUENCES of your ACTIONS. You know, it’s not just you that you need to be thinking about. That’s your problem. It’s all YOU YOU YOU. Well, other people are involved now. How about your MOTHER?!? How do you think she feels? HMMM?!?! Bet you didn’t think about that, did you? Well, let me tell you how she feels. She’s MAD. She’s ANGRY. She’s HURT. And she’s scandalized that she thought she’d raised a GOOD GIRL who just turned out to be a WHORE. THAT’S HOW YOUR MOTHER FEELS. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?!?! PROBABLY NOTHING, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE TRAMP!! And now you’re sitting there, knocked up, unmarried, and just being STUPID. WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR BROTHER, JARED, WHO IS A DOCTOR?!?!
Dear Stella,
Friday is my last day at my current job. I’m somewhat conflicted. On one hand, I’m glad to be leaving a job that was no longer a good fit for me. On the other hand, I’m scared and anxious about being unemployed in today’s economy. I’m having a hard time reconciling these feelings and getting through my last week. How should I deal?
Happy and Sad in Austin
Dear HASIA,
Maybe you should take a few minutes and think about the CONSEQUENCES of your ACTIONS. You know, it’s not just you that you need to be thinking about. That’s your problem. It’s all YOU YOU YOU. Well, other people are involved now. How about your MOTHER?!? How do you think she feels? HMMM?!?! Bet you didn’t think about that, did you? Well, let me tell you how she feels. She’s MAD. She’s ANGRY. She’s HURT. And she’s scandalized that she thought she’d raised a GOOD GIRL who just turned out to be a WHORE. THAT’S HOW YOUR MOTHER FEELS. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?!?! PROBABLY NOTHING, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE TRAMP!! And now you’re sitting there, knocked up, unmarried, and just being STUPID. WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR BROTHER, JARED, WHO IS A DOCTOR?!?!
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
My husband is lazy. He won’t do anything! He won’t load the dishwasher, he won’t walk the dogs, he just sits around and plays Call of Duty. Sometimes I want to spend special, alone time with him and he’s too busy playing his video games to even do that! What should I do?
UGH! MEN!
Dear Ugh,
After as many years of marriage as Morty and I have had, I know how that goes. I tell him to do things, he ignores me. Meh. What can you do? If he tried to do it, he’d just mess it up anyway. I just do it myself – that way it’s done right the first time. One woman who will never know that pain, though is my daughter Frannie. She’s going to marry this fancy lawyer named Sol. Oh, and the woman who marries my son, Jared. She’ll be the wife of a doctor. He’ll be too busy saving lives to worry about doing the dishes, but that’s the price you pay when you marry a doctor like my son, Jared.
Anyway, about Frannie. Some diligent readers might have noticed that I briefly mentioned that I was having a little St. Patty’s day get together with Sol, his family, and Frannie. I don’t normally talk about myself in these columns, so I’m sure this one break in professionalism was noticed by many. Well, I’m sure you’re wondering how that all turned out. Let me tell you. So Sylvia came over with her husband and Sol. Frannie greeted them at the door with kind hellos, because I raised her right. Then she turned to Sol – her future fiancé, and said “I’m sorry!” “I’m sorry!” I says. “Frannie, why are you apologizing for this lovely get together?!!? We’re going to have a great time. A great little nosh, some of my famous cherry cheese blintzes, and we’ll all talk about your future together.” “Muth-ther!” she says. You know how the kids say it with an eye roll. Seriously – she’s how old and she still rolls her eyes like a teenager. “WHAAAT?” I says. “Come on, Sol, I’ll show you those drawings I was talking about.” Frannie is quite an artist, you know. She has made quite a career for herself doing anatomical drawings for medical text books. Not enough to get her moved out of my house, I’m just sayin’. “Leave the door open!” I shouted up the stairs as they trotted up.
So I turned to Sylvia. “What did you bring?” I asked. Wouldn’t you know if she didn’t look me dead in the eye and say “Oh, I made some of my delicious cherry cheese blintzes.” I’d like to have blintzed her at that moment. But I just smiled and said “Oh, then we’ll have extra because I made my famous cherry cheese blintzes, too.” “Sure, we can eat those if we run out of mine, they probably didn’t dry out like yours tend to” she said. “They’re going to be family…they’re going to be family…” I just kept repeating that in my head. I can’t hold anything against this woman. So I painted a smile on my face, served up her runny, tasteless “blintzes” and said “So, Frannie and Sol have been seeing a lot of each other lately…do you think that’s going to go anywhere? I’d love to see Frannie end up with a nice boy like Sol.”
Sylvia painted the same smile on her face and said “I’m sure you would. He’s a good boy. He’s a lawyer, you know.” “I know, my son Jared is a doctor. I know what it is to have a smart, successful son.” “Well,” Sylvia responded, “then you know how important it is that he be paired up with someone worthy of his talents.” “Are you implying that my Frannie is not good enough for your Sol??!!” “No,” bitch said, “I’m saying it flat out. Frannie is not good enough for him. She’s got a liberal arts degree! She sits at home watching Judge Hatchett with you and Morty every night. She wouldn’t be a good mother, she wouldn’t raise my godson in the temple, she wouldn’t want him to be a doctor. She’d probably let him go around uncircumcised to comic book conventions or something. I will not have my grandson raised by that daughter of yours.”
I slammed down my plate of bland chemotherapy food. “You have no right to say those things about my daughter! Frannie is a good girl who would make a good wife to your Sol. And she most certainly would not let my grandson go without a proper bris!”
At that moment, I heard a noise behind me. I turned to find Frannie and Sol standing there with shocked looks on their faces.
“Mom!” they both yelled in unison. Frannie was crying, I could tell. “Mom,” she said. “What are you guys doing? Why are you doing this to us?”
“You too, Mom!” said Sol in a less than congenial tone.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter, anyway,” said Sylvia. “It’s not like you’re going to be getting married or anything. And you certainly won’t be having my grandson.”
“Well, Mom. That’s where you’re wrong,” said Sol. I grabbed the back of my chair in anticipation. Were they engaged? Oh, my God! Was I finally going to get her out of my house?!?! And married to a real lawyer – a real, Jewish lawyer?!?! It was a mother’s dream. I held my breath and waited. Sol took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant” Frannie shouted just as Sol opened his mouth.
“HOW!?” I screamed. “YOU’RE NOT MARRIED!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!?!” That’s the last thing I remember. That and the sound of glass breaking as I took out the table as I fainted. But, dear reader, wouldn’t you know that when I came to, Morty had done the dishes and cleaned up the whole kitchen himself. So if you want your husband to take care of a little light housework, there are ways to make him!
Dear Stella,
My husband is lazy. He won’t do anything! He won’t load the dishwasher, he won’t walk the dogs, he just sits around and plays Call of Duty. Sometimes I want to spend special, alone time with him and he’s too busy playing his video games to even do that! What should I do?
UGH! MEN!
Dear Ugh,
After as many years of marriage as Morty and I have had, I know how that goes. I tell him to do things, he ignores me. Meh. What can you do? If he tried to do it, he’d just mess it up anyway. I just do it myself – that way it’s done right the first time. One woman who will never know that pain, though is my daughter Frannie. She’s going to marry this fancy lawyer named Sol. Oh, and the woman who marries my son, Jared. She’ll be the wife of a doctor. He’ll be too busy saving lives to worry about doing the dishes, but that’s the price you pay when you marry a doctor like my son, Jared.
Anyway, about Frannie. Some diligent readers might have noticed that I briefly mentioned that I was having a little St. Patty’s day get together with Sol, his family, and Frannie. I don’t normally talk about myself in these columns, so I’m sure this one break in professionalism was noticed by many. Well, I’m sure you’re wondering how that all turned out. Let me tell you. So Sylvia came over with her husband and Sol. Frannie greeted them at the door with kind hellos, because I raised her right. Then she turned to Sol – her future fiancé, and said “I’m sorry!” “I’m sorry!” I says. “Frannie, why are you apologizing for this lovely get together?!!? We’re going to have a great time. A great little nosh, some of my famous cherry cheese blintzes, and we’ll all talk about your future together.” “Muth-ther!” she says. You know how the kids say it with an eye roll. Seriously – she’s how old and she still rolls her eyes like a teenager. “WHAAAT?” I says. “Come on, Sol, I’ll show you those drawings I was talking about.” Frannie is quite an artist, you know. She has made quite a career for herself doing anatomical drawings for medical text books. Not enough to get her moved out of my house, I’m just sayin’. “Leave the door open!” I shouted up the stairs as they trotted up.
So I turned to Sylvia. “What did you bring?” I asked. Wouldn’t you know if she didn’t look me dead in the eye and say “Oh, I made some of my delicious cherry cheese blintzes.” I’d like to have blintzed her at that moment. But I just smiled and said “Oh, then we’ll have extra because I made my famous cherry cheese blintzes, too.” “Sure, we can eat those if we run out of mine, they probably didn’t dry out like yours tend to” she said. “They’re going to be family…they’re going to be family…” I just kept repeating that in my head. I can’t hold anything against this woman. So I painted a smile on my face, served up her runny, tasteless “blintzes” and said “So, Frannie and Sol have been seeing a lot of each other lately…do you think that’s going to go anywhere? I’d love to see Frannie end up with a nice boy like Sol.”
Sylvia painted the same smile on her face and said “I’m sure you would. He’s a good boy. He’s a lawyer, you know.” “I know, my son Jared is a doctor. I know what it is to have a smart, successful son.” “Well,” Sylvia responded, “then you know how important it is that he be paired up with someone worthy of his talents.” “Are you implying that my Frannie is not good enough for your Sol??!!” “No,” bitch said, “I’m saying it flat out. Frannie is not good enough for him. She’s got a liberal arts degree! She sits at home watching Judge Hatchett with you and Morty every night. She wouldn’t be a good mother, she wouldn’t raise my godson in the temple, she wouldn’t want him to be a doctor. She’d probably let him go around uncircumcised to comic book conventions or something. I will not have my grandson raised by that daughter of yours.”
I slammed down my plate of bland chemotherapy food. “You have no right to say those things about my daughter! Frannie is a good girl who would make a good wife to your Sol. And she most certainly would not let my grandson go without a proper bris!”
At that moment, I heard a noise behind me. I turned to find Frannie and Sol standing there with shocked looks on their faces.
“Mom!” they both yelled in unison. Frannie was crying, I could tell. “Mom,” she said. “What are you guys doing? Why are you doing this to us?”
“You too, Mom!” said Sol in a less than congenial tone.
“Well, it doesn’t much matter, anyway,” said Sylvia. “It’s not like you’re going to be getting married or anything. And you certainly won’t be having my grandson.”
“Well, Mom. That’s where you’re wrong,” said Sol. I grabbed the back of my chair in anticipation. Were they engaged? Oh, my God! Was I finally going to get her out of my house?!?! And married to a real lawyer – a real, Jewish lawyer?!?! It was a mother’s dream. I held my breath and waited. Sol took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant” Frannie shouted just as Sol opened his mouth.
“HOW!?” I screamed. “YOU’RE NOT MARRIED!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!?!” That’s the last thing I remember. That and the sound of glass breaking as I took out the table as I fainted. But, dear reader, wouldn’t you know that when I came to, Morty had done the dishes and cleaned up the whole kitchen himself. So if you want your husband to take care of a little light housework, there are ways to make him!
Monday, March 16, 2009
From the desk of Stella Goldberg
Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.
Dear Stella,
What is the proper way to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? I know they say everybody’s a little bit Irish that day, but I’m Chinese. My husband is Thai. I just don’t feel the love of the Emerald Isle rising up within me. What should it do?
Erin Go Bragh?
Dear Erin,
I certainly know the feeling of trying to find the luck of the Irish within you. My Bubie was straight out of Russia and Morty’s family was chased out of one of those countries that doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t think there’s much Irish to be found running through these veins. But you know how I compensate? I make a reason to celebrate the date that has nothing to do with leprechauns or clovers. I find an excuse to celebrate. It’s fantastic! This year I have the perfect reason, too. My daughter Frannie is seeing the most wonderful boy. His name is Sol. He’s a lawyer. They’ve been dating for a few months now but she STILL refuses to bring him over to the house. “Frannie!” I says. “Frannie! Why won’t you bring Sol over to the house for dinner? I’ll make brisket and some of my famous cherry cheese blintzes!” “MA!” she says. “MA! This relationship has potential! I’m not bringing him over so you can show him pictures of me naked trying to take a bath in the toilet when I was 2!” Oh, dear readers. Do you know how my heart leapt when I heard her say that the relationship had POTENTIAL!! I just knew she’d settle down one day with a good boy. Someone like my son Jared. He’s a doctor, you know.
So I figured if she’s not willing to bring him to the house to spend some quality time with his future mother-in-law, then I would go over his head. To his own mother. Now dedicated readers may remember that his mother, Sylvia, and I haven’t always gotten along in the past. But we’re family now. We’ve got to let bygones be bygones. So I called her up. “Sylvia,” I says. “Sylvia now that your Sol and my Frannie are dating and eventually will be married, maybe we should get the families together. Maybe have a little St. Patrick’s Day party. We could get some clovers for the wall and those cookies with the icing from the grocery. I’ll make my famous cherry cheese blintzes and you could bring something as well. We’ll have a nice nosh. We’ll get to chat with the kids, it’ll be fun.” I swear I heard Sylvia mutter something about Frannie trying to get her claws into my lawyer son, but when I asked her what she said, she told me she was just telling her husband to turn down the tv. Likely story. “Listen,” I said, “I’ll set everything up. All you guys have to do is come over on St. Patty’s Day, bring something yummy – all your food is always so delish! – and that will be that.” See, it’s all about being proactive. Tomorrow is the big day, readers, so I’ll have to keep you updated on how we all get along. Maybe Sol will propose at the party – you know, do it in front of the entire family. Really get everybody involved. That would just be fabulous!
So, Erin, be proactive. Set up a party or something. If the Irish isn’t going to come to you, then you have to take yourself to it. Besides, who is going to turn down an excuse for a nosh!?!?
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