Monday, January 18, 2016

Revenge (AKA I love to WIN)

Going through a break up is hard*.  Going through a break up without getting the last word in is even harder.  There’s so much you want to say, but really if you were to try to speak only sobs would erupt from your mouth volcano.  I get it.  You can say, “No I really do want to stay friends, too,” in the moment and then days later realize that’s completely untrue.  Why would I want to stay friends with you?  You are a trash monster.  Sometimes I wish I could just rewind and say all the things I really wanted to say but then it would just be the movie Click and we all saw that turned out, am I right, Adam Sandler? 

I know it isn’t about “winning” and it really never should be.  However, sometimes you just want a little piece of REVENGE. Just a piece.  Just a sliver of that revenge pie. Don’t eat the whole pie, because you’ll be sick in the middle of the night and probably wake up with a face rash, but maybe just a nibble.  To revenge or not to revenge is always the question.  People say that weird phrase, Let sleeping dogs lie.  No, wake that dog up!  And tell him what a piece of garbage he is.  I went through a really fun phase where I decided I needed to “express my truth” at all times.  It was LUNACY for sure and I confidently believed I was some sort of truth angel sent to earth, but in some ways it was good.  It helped me to express my desires clearly, to state when I felt someone was treating me the wrong way, and one time I professed my love to someone.  LOL.  Honestly, live your truth and confess to someone your pining feelings for them, but be prepared to be returned with THEIR truth.

When I say revenge I don’t mean getting your ex-boyfriend fired and then seeing him lying homeless in a gutter as a street urchin (THOUGH HILARIOUS IMAGE).  Sometimes it’s just nice to see an ex-lover at a Trader Joe’s when you’ve just showered and your hair is blow dried and your stomach looks kind of flat in your high waisted jeans.  You can think to yourself, “DAMN, I look good and he is missing out on this fine piece of ass.” And then you can go home and eat every last piece of the $100 of groceries you bought in one sitting and feel great. 

I know everyone says to just be the bigger person, but sometimes I want to be that girl in the movie who storms into the coffee shop and TELLS IT LIKE IT IS.  Listen up world it’s me, Rachel McAdams, and I have something to say (knocks over tip jar and says, “Here’s a tip: Don’t be an asshole!”)! That just seems so much more satisfying, doesn’t it?  Granted in the real life version of this, we’re at a CVS instead of a coffee shop and I’m buying rash cream and have just knocked over a whole shelf of Depends, but like still, REVENGE.  (In that scenario, I would knock over the adult diapers and scream, “I could never DEPEND on you, you piece of SHIT!”  Honestly, guys, my writing is just MEANT for the SILVER SCREEN.  I didn’t even realize it until now). 

So until the day that I confront my ex-lovers/garbage people I will write speeches in my head and fantasize about an entire store applauding me as I shout, “I AM A MILLION TIMES HOTTER AND FUNNIER THAN YOU.  GARCON, TAKE OUT THIS TRASH.” Or I’ll just wait it out until I forget their names and silly haircuts and then publish a tell-all memoir that hints at just enough so they know it’s them. 

*I didn't break up with my boyfriend. We are still living a PERFECT LIFE free of trash.  This piece goes out to the former trash boxes across the USA.  

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Human Again

What's so exciting about being alive, besides free samples, watermelon, really tiny babies that look like old men, and flavored lip glosses that make your lips tingle and taste like slurpees, is that little old thing called free will. Free will, you're probably thinking, it sounds familiar, and yet so very far away.  We're all so wrapped up in pleasing one another and doing what we think is the "right thing" and making everyone happy but ourselves, that we forget, "Wait, I can do whatever the hell I want." I can make my own decisions.  I can eat what I want for dinner (cookies). I can buy what I want to buy (cookies). I can marry who I want to marry (cookies).  And yet. OH AND YET.  Somehow we get ourselves into these crazy situations where we are dating someone for 3 months because we feel like we have to?  We are working at a terrible job that we despise because we NEED to?  HAWHAT?  That's crazy talk.

(it's so scary)

If you don't want to date me, then don't date me. Goddamnit somebody call up Cosmo Magazine and have me hired because I am a dating wizard.  And yes I'm talking to you. And you. AND YOU. AND YOU. Because it's everyone. We all treat each other like garbage and somehow it's okay.  We wait 5 days to respond to a text (IT IS 2014 WE ALL GET HOW PHONES WORK).  We cancel on dates hours before.  We like each other, but we both pretend like we don't like each other, and then eventually ending up not liking each other because we can't tell if we actually like each other? GARBAGE.

I'm not garbage. Sometimes I find garbage in my purse or cookies in my hair, but I am not made of trash. At least not yet. One day all of our parts will be replaced with recycled materials.  Then, you can treat me like garbage. Actually, probably by then all of our hearts will be replaced with stone or rocks or wires and we won't feel anything anyways.  But, then what's the point of being a human?  If you don't want to feel anything, then go ahead and be a toaster.  Should I be embarrassed because I know what I like and dislike?  Should I be embarrassed because I have reactions to the people and things around me?  I AM A HUMAN.  Go live in a cave if you can't "deal with people." Poor Lumiere and Mrs. Potts wanted so badly to be human again, but they were stuck as household objects and we are just wasting our human bodies.  I don't want to be a candlestick. DO YOU?


As humans, we get to feel all the horrible, terrible, amazing, barfy things.  There is nothing like the specific sharp pain in your stomach when you see your ex-boyfriend riding his bike down the street in Queens and there is nothing like the giggly heart exploding joy of hearing your friend say she bought that denim crop top and skirt ensemble. Should we just eliminate feelings all together and pretend to be robots?  I want to love and dance and eat as many ribs as I can and I'm excited about that.  And I will shout that from the rooftops.  I LOVE RIBS AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.

If you like someone (a person or a specific kind of cooked meat) why should you pretend not to?  That's straight up crazy talk. Tell them.  Tell them to their dumb face and if they can't handle it they they are even more dumb than you previously assumed. And if you don't like someone, tell them too.  Because yeah you could just stop communicating with someone altogether and they'd get the message but that's SHITTY.  SHITTY SHITTY GARBAGE PEOPLE do that.  

Spread the feelings.  Get mad.  Cry in front of a Best Buy. Yell at someone in a Shake Shack. Tell someone how you really feel after eating ramen noodles (unless you're gonna break up with that person because you really don't have to pay for my dinner if you're just gonna be like BYYYYEEEE right after) #SPECIFICS


Mayonnaise, someone's gonna wanna makeout with you, I promise. It's just not me.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

I don't want to dance with you.

The fourth of july.  A time to celebrate our country, reminisce days of yore, and drink PBR and eat 10 different kinds of potato chips on a rooftop.  I’ll take any excuse to wear a red crop top and eat guacamole, so the fourth of july is always a thumbs up for me.  Yesterday, in my red crop top and shorteralls (= short overalls, for anyone who doesn’t know and isn’t living their life to its greatest potential), I prepared to have THE MOST FUN I WILL EVER HAVE.  Because every night you go out in New York City has to be the BEST NIGHT YOU WILL EVER HAVE. Here’s a little secret, any night someone remarks, “Oh my goooosh, this is gonna be the best night EVER,” it’s not going to be.  It’s like that part in a movie where Liz Phair is playing and 6 girls are walking down the street and the second after someone says that they are all kidnapped and sold into sex slavery.  You know, that ladies sex slave kidnapping movie?  Sure, sure, it’s probably a thing. You say the phrase, and like some sort of witch’s curse, the night is immediately poisoned.  Someone’s bag is going to get stolen.     Someone is going to barf all over their new sneakers.  Someone is finally going to fall down one of those open grates.

I began drinking alcoholic beverages around 2 PM.  “It’s the 4th of July!” I exclaimed, as I if that meant anything.  I poured rum into a tiny mustache flask, because I “needed to be prepared,” becoming more of a parody of myself, and ventured into the gloomy, rain soaked city in my denim shorteralls and denim jacket. Every party can be a costume party if you want it to be. 

I’m going to kiss a million boys, I thought.  No more garbage men! (I don’t mean actual garbage men, they are probably great people; I mean people who are HUMAN GARBAGE).  We’re going to meet people who respect us and want to talk to us about our childhoods and will respond to texts in a normal amount of time. Today will be the best day ever!

Many Fourth of July activities occurred.  I drank bud lite. I drank Malibu rum. I ate Doritos.  I bought a slurpee at 7-11. I bought a hat that says SLURPEE at 7-11. Not all of it was bad, in fact some of it was great.  I’ll probably wear that neon slurpee hat for the rest of my life.  I got to hang out with a lot of amazing friends and watch them try and chicken fight by the East River. 

The real reason I’ve chosen to unload my feelings on such a public forum (besides the fact that I need attention every hour of every day) is to say this:

Hey dudes in New York City,

Let’s cool it.  We all just want to have a good time and be young and celebrate our lives and spend all of our money on rent and whiskey blah blah blah. 

I love dancing. You love dancing. You can ask me dance!  Great!  I might dance with you.  But sometimes I might say no.  Because I’m allowed to.  Because maybe, I don’t want to dance with you.  You hear me? I’ll say it again. I don’t want to dance with you.  I don’t need a reason why and neither do you.  Walk away and move on. When I turn my back on you that doesn’t mean you can then try to dance with me from behind.  Get your dick off my back and stop sexually harassing me.  I'm not being coy. I'm moving away from you to the opposite side of the dance floor because I don't want to be around you. This isn’t a fun game where if you bother me long enough I will give in and have sex with you in the bathroom.  That is 2000% never going to happen even if you tell me you are a pilot, or that’s it’s your friend’s birthday, or you follow me to another bar like a LUNATIC.  You want to dance with me?  Ask me what my fucking name is first. 


Wednesday, January 29, 2014

OkCupid Final Round Up: RIP Jewishhag

The deed is done.  I have deleted my Okcupid.  May Jewishhag live on forever in the memories of the men I ignored and then copied and pasted their messages onto the internet for the public to view.  Many apologies to all.  Hey, guess what, I'm still single, so guess the joke is on me.

I refused to go down silently.  I thought I'd have a little fun with my last few hours on the dating interwebs.  I should have known fun and dating and internet are three words that do not belong together (unless the sentence is I love the INTERNET because I can watch sphinx cat videos instead of DATING, which is so much more FUN).

I despise men who describe themselves as: 
easy going 
looking for a good time

I especially despise these statements:
I love to laugh 
I'm really good at making people laugh 

Are you?  Are you really?  Because I did zero laughing reading your profile.  I did laugh at the fact that you "spend a lot of time thinking about the human condition" because THAT IS ABSURD.  

I decided to change up my profile a bit and see what the responses would be.  First I changed my profile picture to this: 

Super sad.  Those are real tears.  I am a trained actor.  I'm currently seeking work, so please contact me with any opportunities.  

Please let it be known Jewishhag has been my username always and forever and it makes me laugh every time I think about it.  

Then, I edited my profile to reflect my inner turmoil.  

I tried to make it clear that I was JOKING.  You know because WE ARE ALL REALLY GOOD AT MAKING PEOPLE LAUGH.  

Pizza bagels are a very sad food.  One time when I was younger, I tried to make myself breakfast while my mom was at a meeting.  I made pizza bagels, spilled the entire tray as I was taking them out of the oven, realized they were undercooked, STILL ATE THEM, ate 2 tangerines, and barfed on the way to school.  

I obviously added "the human condition" but those are actually real things I had on my profile.  I am a lunatic.  Let's be real, the human body is crazy and genetic disorders are crazy and it would be so crazy if none of us had teeth.  What fun date discussion topics!


Apparently, once I put up that photo and added a lot about crying the okcupid algorithm went bananas and sent me into the lunatic pile.  

Many people were very concerned for me. 

HE TRIED OUT FOR AMERICAN IDOL TWICE. NOT ONCE BUT TWICE.  That is love. Get me to the church on time, because I'm gettin' married in the morning. 

Some just didn't understand. 

Oh sweet sweet bb.  There are so many things I could share with you.  

Others saw through my deceit.  

People were straight up weird.

And super racist.  

I do not want you kissing me.  I do not want you anywhere near me.  
He has a puppy in his profile photo as if he is a normal human!  DECEPTION.  DECEPTION.  DECEIT.  (I really want to be in The Glass Menagerie). 

RIP Jewishhag.  It was swell while it lasted.  Guess I'll have to meet people some other way.  Although, I'm currently in my room eating carrots and watching those goddamn sad videos on Upworthy, so we will see how long this lasts.  

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

OkCupid Weekly Roundup: Everyone is Still Horrible

The trauma continues. Here are some of this week's prospective sugar daddys: 

I don't usually like to post pictures, but I literally thought this man was a baby when the photo appeared in my inbox.  And I was all, how did a baby get on okcupid?  Someone save that little baby from sadness! 

I've always said I was looking for a nice Jewish boy and I finally found him.  

It is pretty hard to believe he's really a hasid though…He probably bought that costume at Ricky's.  

Oh man, things just got heavy.  Is okcupid really the place to be discussing this?  I always think it's amusing that people take their profiles so seriously.  Sure I have a lot of goals and aspirations, but I don't know if this is the forum to express those.  Which is why for awhile my profile just read "My self summary: IM AN OLD WITCH." 

I received some really special messages ;) 
(I'd like to express that sending me the winky face is equivalent to stabbing me in the eyeball) 

I googled this "massage" and apparently langham means penis. So a penis massage. So a hand job? I'm so glad I know this now because god knows I'd be sucked into someone asking me after yoga to give them a langham massage and I'd be like I guess okay, I just want people to like me, I crave attention, I'll do it.

Does he know you refer to him as your ashkenazi?  Because maybe that's why he is leaving.  But of course, I will replace him.  Because all Jews are the same.  AND WE ARE ALL WITCHES.  OLD, OLD WITCHES.  

I will be honest, I really don't understand this at all.  Is this supposed to be sexual?  Or violent?  Or both?  Either way, I do not need to find out.  

And finally, I received this message in August of 2011 during my 1st brief stint on OkCupid. (I delete it every few months in a panic and send texts to all my friends that say IM FREEEEEE).  I will never delete this and I will cherish it forever.  I give you MEDRASHER.  

I then received another message days later.  

I really miss him. 

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

OkCupid Weekly Roundup

Here are the best (WORST) messages (NIGHTMARES) I received (WAS ASSAULTED BY) this week: 

hi you're hot. want to meet for drink now, with the intention of sex? I'm handsome, smart, etc. etc.(If this is something your interested in, I'll reply with pictures of course) I'm 30, white, and jewish

Do you enjoy foot massages?

You're adorable, so adorable in fact that I've decided I'm going 
to adopt you as my new little sister! Don't worry, we'll spend all our time 
climbing trees and drinking kool-aid. Actually you seem like a cool person, 
I'd love to get together sometime and 
let you cook for me haha.. Wait! You're not crazy, are you!?

Here's some sweet convos I had with a few of my potential life partners:  

The thing is, he is still messaging me and I cannot tell if he is kidding.  His profile says this: 

But it also says this: 

I really set myself up for this one: 
Is it so wrong to think that I thought maybe he would write back, "good ramen" or "delicious overpriced cocktails?"  You cannot put a picture of you with your grandma and mention kinky sex.  Those are the rules.  

And finally, the piece de resistance.  I give you, GurkMises. 

Sorry ladies, he is off the market.  Feel free to Skype him though.  

Sunday, January 5, 2014

FA LA LA LA- Why are you yelling at me?

A reflection on the holiday shopping season

As a sales associate in a major store in New York city, I've experienced any and all terrors you can imagine.  The snow starts falling, twinkling lights are hung with care, and a woman tells me I'm ruining her entire christmas because I can't call every store in New York to see if they have purple pants.  Yell at me about having too many pants to choose from, too few pants to choose from, the fat upper arms you just can't seem to get rid of, my fat upper arms I just can't seem to get rid of, etc.  I get it.  The holidays are hard.  Your family has been in the car the entire day because you needed to find the black jacket in a medium and it's my fault.  Of course it is.  I forced you to come here.  I used my jewish witchcraft to lure you into this store.

Those who truly struggle the most are the humans of the male variety.  Women can be mean and crazy, but most men are just severely clueless.  

Here are some quick tips to get that guy through holiday shopping! 

1) Know your girlfriend's favorite color, what she enjoys doing, her hobbies, what her size is.  Just know facts about your girlfriend so I don't have to stop and wonder if you are making her up.  If you aren't sure of what her general interests are, let's reconsider why you are getting her a gift in the first place. I don't think she really cares if the shirt you got her is my favorite color. Also, you complaining about how expensive this gift is does not sell to me the love and appreciation you feel for her. 

2) A green top and neon orange shorts do not go together. Are you color blind? Oh you are, well then I can help you with that. 

3) When I tell you what my size is so you can have a point of reference you do not need to emphasize hoooooow much smaller your tiny pixie child girlfriend is. WE GET IT. She's like so small.  Like HALF my size.  Like MORE than half my size.  Like take my leg and she's that size.  Like take my leg, have a dog eat half of it, and that's the size of her waist. 

4) I'm not flirting with you. I work here. If you say "my girlfriend" one more time I will choke you with a pair of pants. You have a girlfriend. I understand that. We are not in a bar. I'm approaching you because you look incredibly lost in the women's tops section. 

So some people are the worst, but sometimes people can be the greatest. A woman told me I should be on "So You Think You can Dance."  Obviously, she was straight up delusional, but I still appreciated the sentiment.  Plus, the level of cuteness of hot dads helping their kids buy their mom a gift had me having an aneurysm every hour.  What is it about hot dads, man?  Let me stroll around Prospect Park any day watching those dudes.  I digress.  

In conclusion, I hope everyone had a great holiday.  I hope you found all the gifts you needed and received everything you wanted.  Except for the lady who called me fat.  I hope you tripped and fell in the blizzard.  Blessings to all and to all a good night.