Chanumas my friends and neighbors, but please stop asking my son if Santa brought him anything this Christmas especially after I sent Latkas, Chocolate Gelt, and egreetings from Isaac and Neil Diamond for Chanukah.

My son is not even three and I am trying to teach him about the holiday spirit by collecting coats for a community coat drive, baking homemade gifts for his teachers, and taking joy in playing music for his relatives on Skype.

I can handle your "Merry Christmases" after years of learning not to take it personally that everyone assumes that everyone celebrates Christmas, but please let me keep my son out of the consumer world as long as I can.

It really bothers me that this time of year, the USA stands for the United States of Advertising.

My wedding dress has disappeared. Bizarre I know, but true none-the-less. 

I am bummed, but at least I still have my wedding photos.

Oy vey.

The Israeli tank driver who stripped naked to roll in the snow the first time I brought him to meet the folks.

The first love, who now looks like Tommy Lee.

The rabbi, who travels the world teaching Kabbalah (though this is not really him it may as well be).  This was my guide while visiting Israel who took me on donkey rides, to an incredible 90 year old healer, has a daughter named Ahava - "LOVE" and looks like Moses or Jesus but carries a cell phone. 

The African American Christian firefighter - when I met his folks for Thanksgiving, Ebony and Ivory came on the radio as I choked down turkey.

The Catholic boy who practically made me get down on my hands and knees after a dream he had of his mother giving him guff after our make out session.

The Freeloader

 (Ok, I did not really date Kato, but others just like him.)

oddly, recently they have all surfaced through a plethera of calls and facebook emails apologizing for their various behaviors and telling me how sorry they were for the way they treated me.

It is ironic how those calls come way after you need to hear them.

Anyway, I just caught the trailer for Ghosts of Girlfriend's Past, and I have decided that I need to write my own version, because that would be some funny freakin' crap.

Perfect context, inflection, sigh, turn to look in my eyes, and with perfect timing . . there it was.

Kind of impressive, funny and shocking at the same time.

Instantly I blamed my husband, though he swore our son must had learned it from my 'truck driver mouth.'

It couldn't be me, I have been playing the part of a lady for awhile now. 

(Thankfully youtube was not around back in the day when I was beating men twice my size at belching contests)

I held it together this morning as my son ran around in circles while I was trying to get him ready, but on the way to school, someone cut me off (not a usual occurance in a town of 1500 with its first stop light being installed as we speak), but it happened. . .

. . . and now I see that my mini me did learn the f word from me, inflection, sigh, delivery and all.

Darn.

I talked to J.D. Salinger today.

I know what you have heard- he won't talk to anyone except Nicholas Cage, (or wait there was not proof of them talking, just an autograph for Ms. Arquette), but I managed it just the same.

I channeled him in the shower.

He gave me some good writing advice that I promised not to share with anyone, and I told him that I enjoy Catcher in the Rye and Franny and Zoey at least once a year.

I also told him that I knew he had written other books later in life and that I understood him not wanting to share them with the masses and critics. 

Sometimes the writing you do, is just for you and you don't need others to validate you, your writing, or trample all over it either.