funny, you don’t look jewess

Posted on August 31, 2010 by the jodi

jodi sh doff : onlythejodi : jewess : trucker cap

I keep getting confused between Rachel Shukert and Jillian Lauren.

Both of them have hot books out now.

Both books employ colons : in their titles.

Both of them are pretty. Really pretty. Really pretty rock n’ roll girls who are now happily married hot moms. With hit books.

Both are dark-haired Jewesses who wrote memoirs about going overseas and having sex with foreigners.

I’m reading Shukert‘s book, Everything is Going Great : An Underfunded and Overexposed European Grand Tour. I heard all about her hilarious Amsterdammed sexcapades while I was there recently, having my own less-than-hilarious depresscapades. Then, I heard her read an excerpt at a recent Literary Death Match . Which, by the way, I helped her win, even though I’d actually gone to support another writer. (Apologies to Melissa Petro . I can’t help it, I’m really competitive and the team assignments were random. You were Wonderful. But, not Jewish. Or brunette. So, more about you some other time). The New York Times loves Shukert.

I have Jillian Lauren’s book, Some Girls: My Life in a Harem, on the top of the pile called “Next”. I saw her read at a Sex Worker Literati event this past May. Wait, that’s a lie. I left before she read, but that is where I bought the book. And this morning I listened to a Rumpus Radio podcast interview with her where Stephen Elliott spends the first five or ten minutes talking about how smoking hot she is. She hadn’t even gotten to the studio yet. She is, apparently, so hot that her hotness precedes her like an entourage, announcing her imminent arrival. Impressive. And apparently a little intimidating to the ladies of the View.

By the time I got home today my brain had mashed up Rachel Shukert and Jillian Lauren to one over-the-top gorgeous, literary, funny, sexy Jewess.

Rather than figure out which I was reading and which I was about to read, which one was funny & hot and which one was hot & funny, I took the easy way out. I Netflixed Yentl. One more Jewess, yes, but after all, it is almost Rosh Hashanah. And I never confuse Streisand with anyone else. Well, almost never.

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the bridal bouqet

Posted on July 11, 2010 by the jodi

It was a lovely wedding in a neighborhood church that welcomes all possibilities of love.

I’m not usually a big fan of weddings or anniversary parties or christenings or anything that reeks of well adjusted people having picture book walk happily ever after in the sunset family lives. But, the gospel choir sang “Kisses Sweeter than Wine“  and I cried, or rather, my eyes leaked.

They were two people, utterly in love.

I want to believe; in a small dark corner inside me lives the hope that true love is more than an illusion.  But it’s a struggle to believe my eyes and not the little voices in my head.

I think love is sex and wet your pants with laughter silly and comfortable silences and wanting to protect the other person and wanting to do that over and over and over again.

I’ve never had that, but I’ve seen it.
I’ve never been to the moon either, but I’ve seen that too.

Time came to toss the bouquet, I excused myself and went to get a cup of tea. I didn’t want to catch it or be pushed into the crowd of singletons. I don’t want to be in love, I say, it hurts too much. I’m afraid to be in love is the truth.

There was no tea to be had and when I get back to my seat, the bouquet is sitting on the table. It had landed on my empty chair.

I’ve been in love, twice. Once with someone who loved me back. And I believe, even if I excuse myself to get tea rather than risk staying and saying I want to be loved again, the universe will find a way to get it to me. If I live in a church that believes in all possibilities of love, Love will land on my empty chair and wait patiently for me to come back. I believe this because even though I’ve never touched the man the moon, I know he’s out there.

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feeding the beast within

Posted on June 27, 2010 by the jodi


All my life –seriously, all my life, and that is considerable at this point, all my life I’ve felt like I was fighting dragons.

Picture me in a medieval princess gown, with a broad sword, fighting off dragons as they come at me from every side. Vicious, horrible things that would make grown men run and cry like little girls. Breathing fire and stank like raw sewage. Ready to incinerate me, roast me, toast me, eat me whole or tear flesh from bone if I take even one second to let my guard down and rest. I’m scared, my back is to a tree and that’s the best I can do, find a shady place to fight and something to lean on.

All I’ve ever wanted — seriously, all I’ve ever wanted is for someone to take up that sword and protect me from the dragons. Just for a little while. Just long enough for a nap. That’s not asking much, is it? I’m so tired, I think to myself. I’m weak and tired & this sword is so heavy. I cannot keep my arms up, not even one more second. Can’t you take it from me, take care of me, protect me, just for a moment? Just for one fucking moment? Then I’ll take the sword back, seriously, because I know your heart is not really in it. I mean, after all, they’re my dragons, not yours.

Today, for the first time, it occurred to me, it might be in my best interest to stop leaving food and fresh milk out for the dragons. Perhaps, I should stop offering them a warm dry corner of my mind to sleep in. Maybe I should stop treating them as if they were my pets. They are, after all, vicious beasts.

The beast inside looks at me, smiles and says “You knew what I was when you picked me up.”

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