Posted by Ilana Angel
We all knew that Judd Apatow was talented, but seriously, this is brilliant. I imagine that years will go by and this will still be considered funny. You don’t need to be a Jew to get it, all you need is a sense of humor. Bravo to the American Jewish World Service organization for this classic. Beyond going viral, will it help generate much needed money for your important cause? I’m keeping the faith.
Click on this link and enjoy!
12.5.13 at 3:16 pm | Heaven has received a blessing today.
12.3.13 at 3:05 pm | Every time I go into the kitchen I half expect to. . .
11.30.13 at 10:42 am | "The only correct actions are those that demand. . .
11.29.13 at 1:56 pm | My nest will never empty as my son will always be. . .
11.28.13 at 7:59 am | Think. Laugh. Cry.
11.26.13 at 7:06 am | God places love where we don't always see it.
9.15.13 at 3:14 pm | I love you Russell Brand. (300)
7.25.11 at 5:38 pm | We need more Jews! (280)
12.3.13 at 3:05 pm | Every time I go into the kitchen I half expect to. . . (250)
October 30, 2010 | 8:39 am
Posted by Ilana Angel
This list of Jewish “words” was sent to me by a friend, who received it from her Dad. I don’t know who came up with them, but they are hilarious so I thought I would share. Whoever came up with these gets a round of applause from me. Brilliant.
Jewbilation (n.) Pride in finding out that one’s favorite celebrity is Jewish or that your offspring is marrying a Jewish person
Torahfied (n.) Inability to remember one’s lines when called to read from the Torah at one’s Bar or Bat Mitzvah (OR from the Hagadah at Passover)
Matzilation (v.) Smashing a piece of matzoh to bits while trying to butter it
Bubbegum (n.) Candy one’s mother gives to her grandchildren that she never gave to her own children
Chutzpapa (n.) A father who wakes his wife at 4:00 a.m. so she can change the baby’s diaper
Deja Nu (n.) Having the feeling you’ve seen the same exasperated look on your mother’s face, but not knowing exactly when
Disoriyenta (n.) When Aunt Linda gets lost in a department store and strikes up a conversation with everyone she passes
Hebort (v.) To forget the Hebrew one ever learned immediately after one’s Bar or Bat Mitzvah
Jewdo (n.) A traditional form of self-defense based on talking one’s way out of a tight spot
Mamatzah Balls (n.) Matzo balls that are as good as your mother used to make
Meinstein (slang) “My son, the genius!”
Mishpochadots (n.) The assorted lipstick and make-up stains found on one’s face and collar after kissing all one’s aunts and cousins at a reception
Re-shtetlement (n.) Moving from Brooklyn to Boca Raton and finding all your old neighbors live in the same condo building as you
Rosh Hashana-na-na (n.) A rock ‘n roll band from Brooklyn
Yidentify (v.) To be able to determine Jewish origins of celebrities, even though their names might be St. John, Curtis, Davis, or Taylor
Minyastics (n.) Going to incredible lengths and troubles to find a tenth person to complete a Minyan
Feelawful (n.) Indigestion from eating Israeli street food, especially falafel
Dis-kvellified (v.) To drop out of law school, med. school or business school as seen through the eyes of parents, and grandparents. In extreme cases, simply choosing to major in art history when Irv’s son David is majoring in biology is sufficient grounds for dis-kvellification
Impasta (n.) A Jew who starts eating leavened foods before the end of Passover
Kinders Shlep (v.) To transport other kids besides yours in your car
Schmuckluck (n.) Finding out one’s wife became pregnant after one had a vasectomy
Shofarsogut (n.) The relief you feel when, after many attempts, the shofar is finally blown at the end of Yom Kippur
Trayffic Accident (n.) An appetizer one finds out contains pork
I hope you all have a great weekend. It’s been a long week and I am looking forward to a couple of days off. I went to services last night and woke up today with a full heart and a calm soul. Shabbat Shalom. Keep the faith.
*** Addictions are starting to come in! Bravo People!
Yidlock (n.) The traffic jam around the synagogue parking lot at the high holidays
October 28, 2010 | 9:02 am
Posted by Ilana Angel
I have been doing a little dating lately and it’s been good. I am currently on Match.Com and am meeting some really lovely men. I talk a lot about how interesting it is to date at age 44. Today I’d like to focus on what it’s like to date in the body of a 44 year old real woman.
For a long time I described my body as “average” in my online profile. The average size of a woman in America is 16, and I fluctuate between a 12 and a 14, so I am actually a little under average in terms of my body, but people seeing me in person would think I was heavy.
In middle America I might be considered average, in other places around the world my ass would be considered perfection, but in Los Angeles, I am obese. This is the land of skinny, and even in the suburbs, away from Hollywood, it is still Skinnyville.
I went on a date with a dentist who told me I was a little too heavy for his liking. I also went out with a marketing executive who said I was little smaller than what he likes to date. Everyone has a type I suppose, but is the type based on a person’s character or how they look?
I have a physical type and also a character type. In terms of character, my top “types” are honest, funny and tactile. In terms of physical “types”, I like tall, light eyes, bald, and Jewish. I imagine people are pissed off that I said Jewish was a physical type but for me it is.
Jewish men have a look. From Goldberg to Woody Allen, there is a Jewish vibe in how someone looks that I love. That’s not what this blog is about however, so if you’re offended by my stereotype then just write a comment slamming me for it, and we’ll move on.
I used to be really heavy. Over the past six years I have lost over 100 pounds. When my father passed away I weighed almost 300 pounds. I was divorced, a young mother, and incredibly unhealthy. My dad died and it was a wake up call. I did not want to die and leave my son.
The reason I share this piece of information is to give you some perspective. For me, right now, as a size 14, I am a supermodel. I am so skinny that if I could walk around naked all day and flaunt it, I would. I am the skinniest I have ever been as an adult and I love it.
I’m not a hide under the covers and shut the lights kind of girl. I have an embracing and healthy view of my body. Perhaps it’s because I used to be heavier, or perhaps it’s just because I am a grown up, and sexual, and I judge myself from the inside out.
I have more self-confidence than most. I happen to think I am fabulous. I am funny, smart, a great housekeeper, a brilliant cook, a patient listener, and a supportive partner. I am romantic, enjoy touch, and think sex is an important part of being a grown up. I’m a catch!
I happen to be the perfect girl, trapped in a “fat girl’s” body, and unless a man digs fat chicks, I’m not going to get a chance which is a drag. I don’t think I’m fat. I know I am viewed as a fat chick by some and it’s cool. I would love to be a size 8 but that’s just not my destiny.
I am confident in how I look but at the same time it’s hurtful when I am judged by my weight. Having a few extra pound does not mean you are a slob. I hike once a week, walk everyday, and take care of myself. I don’t do it to look good, but to feel good.
If a man is looking for a girl who is pretty, caring, funny, supportive, loving, helpful, dedicated, loyal, tactile, sexual, entertaining, nurturing and in possession of an incredible ability to keep the faith through thick and thin, then he needs to look past weight.
I will love him, love his kids, be his dream girl, respect him as a human being, allow him to be a man, and make his life better. I will never suck in my stomach, always make myself look nice, and if I want a sandwich instead of a salad, I will have one, with fries instead of fruit.
I will always cook healthy in my home and splurge when I am out. I will continue to search for a man who will love me and my fabulous size 14 ass. I will always be fantastic, and bravo to the man who realizes my ass will not always be a size 14, and picks his type from the inside out.
My online profile body type has been changed from “average” to “a few extra pounds” so the interest may die down and it’s okay if it does. I’d rather hear from 1 really great guy than 12 posers. At the end of the day it’s not about my size, as much as it is about keeping the faith.
October 27, 2010 | 8:26 am
Posted by Ilana Angel
My mother’s sister passed away yesterday. She had been ill, and even though we knew we would lose her, she had hung on for so long we thought it was possible she would be okay. My mother is one of eight children and my aunt Sarah was the youngest.
I loved Sarah. She was not much older than me and we were good friends. I was born in Israel and left when I was two. When I returned at 18, Sarah and I spent a lot of time together. She lived in Beer Sheva, where I was born, and where she grew up.
She was married with two young daughters and was a diabetic her entire life. Diabetes had robbed her of sight and her legs, but she was a strong lady who always put her children first. They are wonderful little girls and it is devastating to have lost their mother.
I am going to miss her and remember her always. When my mother called to tell me of her passing, she was distraught. She kept saying my baby sister, my baby sister. I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose a sibling and this is the third one my mother has lost.
My mother losing her sister breaks my heart, as my mother’s heart is broken. I never think about my mother passing away. I am certain she will live to be 300 years old and never leave me. When we spoke I wanted to take away all of her sorrow and ease her pain.
It was as though I was the mother, comforting my child. I wonder if Sarah knew how much my mother loved her, if my mother knows how much I love her, or if my son will ever fully understand how much I love him. For my son, my aunt’s death is a scary thing.
If his great aunt can die, and she was younger than his grandmother, then is it possible that his grandmother could also pass away now? If I am younger than my mother, as Sarah was, could I pass away? Do we spend so much time teaching our kids about life, we forget about death?
It’s hard to know what to tell your kids about death, especially when they are young. When my dad passed away I told my young son that when he felt wind on his face it was grandpa blowing him kisses. All these years later, when it’s windy, he will always say “Hello Grandpa”.
My son is a wise soul. He feels tremendous sorrow about loss but is able to hold memories close to his heart and be grateful for time with people he loved. He is both my student and my teacher as I learn a lot about life, and death, through the eyes of my child.
I love my mother and I tell her everyday. I love my son and tell him every second. The last thing I said to my Aunt Sarah was that I loved her. Those are blessings. I look forward to holding my mother’s hand at my son’s wedding and for that day I will forever keep the faith.
October 26, 2010 | 2:05 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
I am in love with my son. I can remember when he was a baby and I loved him so much I thought my heart would explode. It keeps getting better and I love him more today than I ever have. I am blessed to be this child’s mother everyday.
It is an interesting time in our relationship because we are both dating. He is almost 15 and a little insecure, while I am almost 45 and have unlimited self-confidence. I am an old pro, and he is a newbie, but his advice is remarkably valuable.
Last night when my son went to bed, I went to say goodnight and ended up hanging out for a chat. We talked about girls, dating and my online search. I am very lucky that my teenage son wants to talk to me about these things. All my hard work is now paying off.
I never introduce men I am dating to my child unless it is serious. He has met only 3 men in the last 14 years, and all of them were important to me, and not just someone I was casually dating. It was a decision I made early and am very happy I stuck with it.
You need to earn the right to meet my kid. He is very special and just because you buy me a drink does not mean you get to spend time with him. I think he respects me and my dating life because of the choices I’ve made. He knows if he meets someone it means something.
I am able to check men out, make sure they are worthy, and then let them meet my son. For my boy however, he is going to date girls from school, all of which I know, and have opinions about. He thinks it’s unfair that I get to have an early opinion of his dating life.
He’s right. I have known the majority of his friends for years and I have opinions about all of them. They are a great group of young people but still, I like some more than others. There is a history that he does not have in terms of my dating and I suppose it’s not fair.
My son thinks he is at an age where his opinion should be brought into the mix earlier. He says he is old enough to form an opinion about a man, and would perhaps see things that I don’t. He knows me, and his insight on my last couple of boyfriends has been spot on.
My son is becoming a grown up. Being a child of divorce, going to high school, and feeling a sense of obligation in terms of taking care of his mother, all make you grow up. He worries about me, which is both charming and sad. He should focus on his dating, not mine.
I know I am raising a good man. He loves me, respects me, and has my back. I don’t think my dating life will include my son anytime soon, but perhaps I can speed up his involvement a little bit. I am a lucky girl because regardless of my dating life, I am in love with a wonderful boy.
Whether I meet my Beshert, or spend the rest of my life without a partner, my heart is full. My desire to be in a relationship is a want, not a need, and for that I am grateful. I am a mom who dates and there is no guidebook. All I can do is hope for the best, pray, listen, and keep the faith.
October 24, 2010 | 12:17 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
Last night I had dinner with my friend Rachel. She is an ordinary girl who has led an extraordinary life, and I want to be just like her when I grow up. She is brutally honest, yet kind. She cuts to the chase and never lets me feel bad about myself.
It’s great how getting another person’s perspective can make you see things differently. Last night Rachel gave me another way to look at things. She didn’t make it all sunshine and roses, but managed to remove the fog, and give me clarity.
I have been feeling off in terms of religion. My connection to God has not wavered, but how I fit him into my life is something I’ve been thinking about. Can I not go to services, but still say I’m following my faith? Do I need to be in a place of worship to connect to God?
I happen to believe faith does not need to be connected to religion. I have always had faith. I believe in God, and even though I am not particularly religious, my faith has never wavered. My issue is that while my faith is solid, I crave religion.
Last night Rachel said I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself to define who my Jewish self is. I believe, I pray, I raise my son with values, and at the end of the day I am a good person, and a good Jew. I am the only one judging me.
My success as a mother will be in passing down my faith to my child in a way that allows him to embrace Judaism. It does not matter what level he chooses to practice as an adult, only that he respects our faith, honors me and what I have taught him.
To Rachel, I love you. I heard what you told me, appreciate the way you shared the information, and I woke up feeling good. I also woke up with a little bit of a crush on our busboy from last night. Was it just me or was Hector fabulous?
We had a great dinner at a little Italian restaurant called Kristina’s, on Overland, in Los Angeles. The food was really good, the company was excellent, and the busboy, Hector, was phenomenal. Seriously, the meal was better because of this guy.
He could not have been more attentive or charming. He took care of everything we needed, anticipated what we wanted ahead of our asking for it, and smiled the entire time. He did not linger, yet whenever we looked up, there he was. I loved him.
There are a lot of things I love about Rachel. For one, I like to stare at her gorgeous boyfriend Luke. Another thing I love about her is that she is a fellow Canadian. Both our families are in Toronto and that provides a special connection.
When we met, we were about to shake hands when someone pointed out we were both Canadian. We immediately gave up on the handshake and hugged. There is something about being Canadian that is special, especially being so far from home.
We reference the same Canadian shows, talk about classic Canadian things like poutine and pickle potato chips, and talk about the old neighborhood like we still live there. I can mention any place inToronto, and she has a story about it.
Last night was great. I got to see my friend, gain some wisdom, have a great meal, and find a new crush. Friends and faith are important and I am blessed in my life that they go hand in hand. Thank you Rachel. xo Thanks Hector. Today will require no effort to keep the faith.
October 23, 2010 | 6:53 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
I think Mel Gibson is a pig. I think he probably hates Jews and he probably was abusive to his girlfriend. I have not seen a movie of his in years and don’t imagine that I would see another one. That said, I will go see Hangover 2 and I would have seen it with or without him in it.
Gibson was dumped this week from the film Hangover 2 and replaced with Liam Neeson. I love Liam Neeson but like I said, I am planning to see the movie regardless of who is in the role of the tattoo artist. What I find so interesting is why people are making a fuss.
The cast apparently had a problem with Gibson because of his past, yet nobody seemed to have any issues when Mike Tyson was cast in the first Hangover film and he is a convicted rapist. Tyson can serve time for rape, but Gibson is fired with no conviction?
I like Mike Tyson. I actually feel bad for him and even though I know he is a convicted rapist, I don’t hate him. I don’t feel bad for Mel Gibson. I have issues with his opinions, but I don’t hate him. He’s a loser. He is not however, a convicted felon.
At the end of the day, who cares? The first Hangover movie made a gazillion dollars as will the second one, and that has nothing to do with whether Mel Gibson is in it or not. I think it’s great that people have opinions, but this is just silly to me.
I’ve written about Gibson before, and I imagine something else will come up where I feel strongly enough about him write again. Will I write about Hangover 2? No. Would I write about it if Gibson were in it? Yes. Interesting but silly objection from the cast.
Gibson has enough money that he never has to work again. He can spend his days watching his own movies, hating Jews, and leaving messages for the girlfriends he never should have been dumb enough to be with. He will be busy, but hopefully able to find some time to keep the faith.
October 21, 2010 | 7:51 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
I am heading back to Match.Com. Chances are I will not meet my Beshert online. I will keep trying, but my hopes are realistic. That said, someone really great wrote me today on Match and I’m excited about the possibility of having a date with him.
He sent me a note saying he thought my profile looked interesting and if I’d like to chat to get in touch. He is handsome and seems quite lovely. Rather than write back immediately on my phone, I decided to relax and respond to his message when I got home. I finished work, ran to the market, put gas in my car, and thought about what to write back.
When I got home I unloaded the groceries from my car and headed into my building. My mother called as I got on the elevator and we started chatting. My mom cracks me up and is awesome. We are chatting, I’m fumbling with all the bags but manage to get to my door without dropping anything. I put everything down, get me keys out of my jacket pocket and when I go to open the door, the key does not work.
I am now annoyed. I keep trying to open the door as if for some reason I am simply putting the key in the wrong way. In my frustration I am knocking and ringing the doorbell, which is ridiculous as the only person who would answer the door during the day is me. I call the super to see why my locks have been changed, but there is no answer.
I now want to start crying. I’m tired, the groceries need to go in the fridge, my key won’t work, it’s raining out and all I want to do is be inside my home. I gather up my bags and head back to the elevator. I’m thinking I will drive over to a friend’s house, through my things in her fridge, and convince her to have a glass a wine with me in the middle of the day.
The super will be home at some point and when she gets my message, asking her why my locks have been changed without my knowledge, she will feel horrible for the imposition and rush up to help me get inside. I am waiting for the elevator and it’s not coming to I opt for the stairs as I’m so frustrated that just standing there is annoying.
I walk down the stairs and as I reach the bottom I realize that something is wrong. I have not gone down enough flights to make sense. As I hit the bottom step I decide to sit down because I am laughing so hard I think I might drop my bags and break the eggs. It turns out that I just tried to break into the apartment directly below mine.
When I got home, and was chatting with my mom, I got off on the wrong floor. I was ringing the doorbell and pounding the door of an apartment that was not mine. Thank goodness they were not home. I would have been mortified is they had been there and probably would have peed myself if someone opened the door as I thought it was my apartment.
I am now safely in my apartment. I left an appropriately apologetic voicemail for my super, have a gorgeous pot of soup on the stove, am wearing a comfy pair of pajamas at 5:00 in the afternoon, have opened a fabulous bottle of wine, spoke with my son who is hanging with his dad for the night, am happy to be home, logging onto Match, and keeping the faith.