First things first: I honestly had no idea what the response would be to my “Ask A Jew!” post, so I truly appreciate your comments, emails and follow-up questions. In fact, the response was so positive that I do believe I’m going to make it a semi-regular feature. I’m thinking that once a month, I’ll do an “Ask a Jew” post. April is fast approaching, so I'll let you guys know when the next one is coming, but feel free to email your questions to me in the interim!
In other news, I just returned from a trip to Boston. I’ve been traveling quite a bit lately, and so I like to think I have the whole “laptop out, carry on bag in bin, boarding pass in hand” part of air travel down to a science. And for the most part, I do. There was just one crucial thing I forgot to do:
As I inched my way up the security line watching men unlace their wingtips and women easing off their boots, I glanced down--with a growing sense of dread--at my sockless feet in my flats. Flats that had seemed adorable right up until then...the moment I realized I’d need to remove them and STEP BAREFOOT ON THE FLOOR OF LA GUARDIA AIRPORT.
Good lord, I’m dry heaving just writing this.
Classy lady that I am, I whimpered inwardly as I placed my flats in the bin on the conveyor belt, and attempted to...nonchalantly walk on the sides of my feet through the scanner. The security guard asked me if I was okay, and when I assured him I was, he said to me, “Bet you’d be doing even better if you remembered to wear socks, eh?”
I vividly imagined all manner of transdermal floor-borne diseases working their way up through my feet. I contemplated washing them in the airport bathroom sink, which seemed like a pretty big leap towards becoming a bag lady, and so I ultimately settled on applying Purell to them in the handicapped bathroom stall. Because you know, that’s much more normal.
My flight to Boston, however, was fine, and I had a bit of free time while I was there. Upon Miguelina’s recommendation, I hit up Newbury Street, reveling in the wonder that is Lush (my first time there!), and discovering my new favorite face cream at Kiehl’s.
Yes, it’s time for another beauty recommendation: Kiehl’s Ultra Facial Cream.
I’ve only been using it for two days, but it’s SO GOOD that I couldn’t wait. It’s incredibly moisturizing, but my skin doesn’t look greasy—it’s (dare I say?) GLOWY. Radiant, even. The cream has magical ingredients from glaciers and the Australian desert (I’m not kidding), and a little goes a long way. It doesn’t have any noticable scent, and the size of the tub is pretty generous for a “fancy” brand, particularly when you consider that its effects last all day.
Next up: There’s really no good segue from beauty recommendations to salacious gubernatorial scandal, so I’ll just say it…
I suppose that by now, you’ve all heard about my governor’s…indiscretion(s)?
real name, ironically, is “Ashley Alexandra”), an aspiring singer from South Jersey? (And how the ONLY reason I even know this is that the NY Post devoted practically half of its newspaper pages today to the minutiae of this situation?)
It’s a proud, proud day for New York.
My favorite part of the whole thing so far was that Gov. Spitzer commenced his resignation by saying, “From those to those whom much is given, much is expected.” I don’t think it’s really considered expecting too "much " to ask that the governor refrain from sleeping with hookers. I'm just saying. And perhaps I sound snippy, but you know what? This is hard for me. As you may know, I’ve long harbored a weird crush on Spitzer, my jug-eared, troll-esque governor. I devoted my VERY FIRST TWITTER to said crush. I've mentioned it in not one but TWO BLOG POSTS, and he’s at the tippy top of my list of weird crushes. I believe I may have even texted the words “Ooh, his bald spot! SWOON.” to Heather B. after she told me she spotted him one time. (I was joking. Sort of.)
And THIS is how he chooses to repay my crush? Soliciting prostitutes and resigning in disgrace?
Whatever, Spitzer. We’re THROUGH. I can’t have a known solicitor of prostitutes at the top of my weird crush list. It’s just icky, and is precisely why Charlie Sheen didn’t make the cut. And so, I’ve replaced him. With someone even weirder. Someone so random, someone so creepy and odd, that my FORMER crush on Spitzer will pale in comparison.
Are you ready?
Janitor from Scrubs.