Tag Archives: mom blog

Fame Has It’s Price…$67.49

24 Jan

Written by Lori Stefanac of

So, I was shopping at one of my favorite little boutiques the other day when I noticed the store clerk staring at me.

I pretended to go about my business, but it was actually sort of difficult to concentrate with all of the fucking staring.

Finally, feeling rather exasperated, I look up and we meet eyes.

The clerk asks, “Can I help you with anything?”

She’s being coy.

“No, no. I’m good” I say as I continue methodically working my way through the rack.

You see? I know what’s going on.

This store clerk?

She recognizes me.

I have achieved a bit of celebrity here in my small town and she is staring at me because she knows who I am, but she’s embarrassed to say anything.

Shut the fuck up! She does SO know who I am and is in no way just looking at me because I happen to be the only customer in the store.

Anyhow, I’m used to it by now.

The side glances, the double-takes and even the outright staring…

It’s all just the price of fame.

At this point I have acquired a few pieces that I would like to try on.

Store clerk approaches.

Poor dear…she’s nervous.

I can tell by the way she is walking with a wobble.

Shaking really.

A wobble having nothing to do with her 4 inch heels.

“Can I get you a dressing room?” she asks…shyly.

“Sure” I say.

I am OVERLY friendly to put her at ease.

I mean, come on, Honey, I’m JUST like every other customer…

Except for the FAME…

don’t be NERVOUS!

She leads me to the dressing room and as she opens the door for me she introduces herself.

“My name is Cindy if you need anything. What’s your name?”

That’s cute.

Like she needed to ask.

But I play along.

Afterall, this is a REALLY big day for her.

I’m sure when I leave, she’ll be on the phone, all “OH MY GOD! YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE WHO WAS IN THE STORE SHOPPING TODAY!!!”

“Lola” I reply cooly.

She acts as if it doesn’t ring a bell.

She’s a pretty good actress.

I try on the clothes and select a couple of things that I like.

As I approach the register the clerk, Cindy, looks up.

“Did anything work out for you?” she asks.

She has had time to compose herself in my presence. I’m glad.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, It DID. These!” I declare as I place the items on the counter.

The items that will undoubtedly be known, from this time forward as “Items Worn By Lola!!”

“Oh, yeah! Those are SO cute!” says Cindy.

Like I, Lola, need to be told which items are CUTE.

Even if they WEREN’T cute? They’ll be flying off the rack as soon as the masses get wind of WHO purchased them.

I snicker a little to myself.

“Yes, they are SO cute!”

I’m nothing if not agreeable.

Now comes the part I both dread yet understand.

I look away and pretend not to pay attention.

I AM modest, afterall.

But it’s all a part of “celebrity” and it’s something that I MUST deal with.

“Um, Lola? Can you just sign this?”

And there it is.

Sweet girl.

Took her ALL this time to muster up the nerve to ask for my autograph.

“Sure! It’ll be my pleasure” I reply with my toothy white celebrity smile and ever present graciousness.

“Where do you want me to sign?” I ask.

“Just right here, on the line” she says as she points to a small piece of paper.

It’s too bad I forgot my autographed 8 x 10 glossies at home.

Oh well.

I’ll make sure to throw them in my purse for next time.

“And who should I make this out to?” I ask.

“Uh, just to the store….Just sign on the line if you don’t mind” she says, clearly embarrassed to be putting me out.

I give her a wink to put her at ease, “will do.”

Then I write in my curvy, beautiful celebrity writing:

FROM LOLA WITH LOVE XOXO

Cindy takes the slip of paper and looks at it for a moment.

Call me crazy, but for just a second?

She seemed…well…almost annoyed.

I don’t get it either.

Perhaps she really wanted the autograph made out to her personally and lost her nerve at the last second.

I decide to let her off the hook.

I grab a business card from the stack on the counter and I give her another wink.

“Here, Honey! This one’s for YOU!”

I sign the business card and hand it to her.

TO MY DEAR FRIEND CINDY! IF YOU SHOOT FOR THE MOON, YOU MAY LAND AMONG THE STARS.
MUCH LOLA LOVE

I know, I know…inspirational.

I get teary eyed myself when I think about it.

Anyhow, THAT awkwardness being overwith, I give her one more celebrity wink and make my way towards the door.

“Ta ta, Cindy! Feel free to tell your friends! Oh! I almost forgot! Did you want a picture? I have my phone!”

She looks puzzled.

She probably can’t understand why I’m SO NICE!

Apparently shyness has gotten the best of her again and she declines the photo.

Her loss.

Anyway, when I get to the door I pause…

I open my purse and pull out my super big diva sunglasses.

I place them gently on my nose and peer around the corner before I continue on my way.

Why am I so careful?

One word…

Paparazzi.

 

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And G-d said, “Let there be Boca”

19 Jan

 

written by Tracy Beckerman from LOST IN SUBURBIA

20120119-115755.jpgEveryone knows that God made a covenant with Abraham which gave the Jews Israel in exchange for a little foreskin. What most people don’t know is that God also agreed to give us Florida. This is why Jews move down to Florida when they retire. We don’t have a choice. It was part of the original deal. The Christians got Martha’s Vinyard and we got Boca Raton.

This being the case, I wasn’t all that surprised when my parents told me they bought a place in the Sunshine State. My dad had been in semi-retirement for several years and my mother was not far behind. Besides, my dad was a golfer and my mother made a mean brisket, which meant they satisfied the official Jewish retirement prerequisites. They were one Lincoln Continental and two zuzim away from qualifying for a little place in the Palm Beach area on a golf course with their own orange tree and an alligator in the backyard.

Giddy with the prospect of all-you-can-eat 4:00pm dinner buffets for $2.99, they had one foot out the door when I warned them that they needed to do some prep work before they moved to the promised land of milk and honey and Metamucil. As two hip, artistic, culturally-sophisticated New Yorkers, they were under-prepared for life in the matzoh-ball soup capital of the world.
Of course, as a middle-aged Jew still in my formative guilt years, I didn’t have all the info they needed, either. So I picked up the book, “Florida for Dummies and Alter Kockers” and found some handy tips for helping my parents acclimate to life in the panhandle. According to the book, my folks needed to focus on the following:

1. Playing Games: To truly enjoy retired life in Florida, make sure to learn shuffleboard, Bridge, and how to work three Bingo boards at a time.

2. Driving: You must learn how to drive 20 miles under the speed limit and with your head six inches below the steering wheel.

3. Clothing: Men: pants that fit snugly under your armpits. Women: Bold prints in bright pastels. Polyester pantsuits with short sleeves and a tropical palm motif are always a good choice. Donate your black clothes. Black is for funerals which is not a good message to send in a place where everyone is over ninety.

4. Dining out: When you go out to eat, remember to empty the basket of dinner rolls on the table into your handbag before you leave, eat all the food and THEN complain that it wasn’t cooked properly, and steal packets of Splenda.

5. Voting: This is your right as a US citizen and you are entitled to do this for as long as you can drive (which in Florida is well into your late 90’s). Words to know:

Chads – The tiny bits of paper left over from punching a ballot when you vote.

Ballot – the thing left after you punch out the chads.

Do not worry about either the ballot or the chad. They very rarely count.

6. Sex: This is only for men who have outlived their wives. There are two of them.
Satisfied now that my parents were adequately informed to make a new life as social-security card-carrying Floridians, I bid them adieu and mazel tov on their new home and reminded them to stay out of the sun and watch out for alligators and honey bees, but not to worry about wasps:
They retire to Connecticut.

About the author: Tracy Beckerman is a nice Jewish girl from the suburbs of New York, who got married and moved to the suburbs of New Jersey where she learned the only difference between the Jewish girls in NY and the Jewish Girls in NJ is the size of their hair and which mall they go to. Tracy is the author of the book, “Rebel without a Minivan: Observations on Life in the Burbs.” She writes the syndicated humor column Lost in Suburbia,

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