I don\’t know how to tell you this, but I think it\’s over.
I don\’t want you to take it personally. It\’s not you; it\’s me. I just need some time to get my head together. I just need to find out who I am without you in my life. After 28 years, I just need to move on.
One recent day, all was right with the world. I was the master of the details in my universe. I had arranged to pay my bills online, lugged five pairs of shoes in to be shined and reheeled, picked up my dry cleaning, bought stamps.
I meet a guy. I\’m pretty sure I like him because I haven\’t erased the message he left on my answering message. I call my machine from work and listen to it a time or two, smiling and blushing and feeling like a complete idiot.
The good news is that Roseanne may have finally found three nice Jewish boys as suitors for her three daughters. The bad news is that the boys live in England and the girls in Los Angeles.
After 13 years in Hollywood, Myles Berkowitz didn\’t have a film deal. Or a girlfriend
I had my qualms. Having endured every form of group torture in the name of uniting Jewish men and women, I initially resisted the Traveling Shabbat Singles ad.
When an important local rabbi invited me to his house for Shabbat dinner to discuss my column — which he doesn\’t like — I was appalled. How patronizing, I thought, to summon me to his home so that he can tell me, with home-court advantage, to change what I do.
They were actors, set designers, writers, studio secretaries, directors. Now they\’re residents of the Motion Picture Retirement Home, a placid place tucked into a sleepy Woodland Hills neighborhood and dense with stories of Hollywood past.
I wake up early, groggily slapping the snooze button and hating the outfit I\’ve picked out the night before. When I go to brush my teeth, I\’m frightened by the sight of a hideous pimple that seems to be taking over the left side of my face. A familiar sense of dread comes over me. I have to go to Sunday school. Well, I don\’t have to go; I\’m choosing to go. I\’m going back to Sunday school to find out if it\’s as bad as I remember it.
Here\’s a list of nicknames that friends have given various men in my life: Dead Dad Guy, Dead Sister Guy, Institutionalized Mother Man, Dead Dad Guy II, The Gambler and the ever-popular Mack Truck Collision Victim.
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