I enjoy being a girl

I dunno, is waning cynicism a sign of aging, like having  a clumsier gait and finding stray hairs in places you don't want to find  them?

Because I usually go to rom-coms just to scoff and make fun of them, and I today, I did not.

Because today, Tami and I saw "Marry Me" and it was absolutely terrific!

 So terrific that I couldn't find a single thing to criticize.

The impossible plot worked and became not only possible, but plausible. 

(first rule of screenplay writing:  The plot can be impossible, but never improbable.  This was the most valuable thing I learned in college)

The chemistry between leads Jennifer Lopez and Owen Wilson was totally palpable, and the title song will be hummed by me and my fellow matinee moviegoers  for the next few hours--if not days.

I've been feeling girlier than usual these days, which I attribute to rewatching all the episodes of "Sex and the City", which I'm only doing because I loved the "And Just Like That.."  updated version.

I'm loving the fashions!  The friendships!  The filthy language!

(Not loving??  The fattism!  Talk about needed to be woke!!!..c'mon Charlotte, John Corbett does not have a "tummy issue" in his portrayal of Aidan, and there's worse things to dig up on Big's wife, Natasha, then the fact she was ten pounds overweight in college)

Back to "Marry Me"..it is the perfect Valentine's week release, the thinking gal's "Beauty and the Beast."

(Although I still think Owen Wilson is adorable, and he does not need rhinoplasty.  They might, however,  have considered casting a better looking pooch, but Owen is just fine)

Great backstories, great fashion, smart dialogue, and some well-earned happy tears.

What's next for the girlier me?

A Gucci bag?  Stilettos?  Hair extensions?

I'll tell you, the day I look at a handbag as something other than an eighty-pound container for all my stray pens and pocket sized notebooks and tangled combs and  expired cough drops and loose change is the day I write to Gloria Steinem, begging for forgiveness for betraying feminism.

(Bad example--she's a very attractive  fashionista)

I actually love a good romantic comedy.

It makes me truly believe... in love, actually!

Life is short..

"The Phone Call Revisited"--Part II

the time:  Present day, morning

the place: cluttered family room and/or "unknown"

FADE IN:

Act One

Scene One

WE SEE KAREN(aka "ME") SIXTIES, DISHEVELED, STRETCHED OUT ON A BARCO-LOUNGER, FEELING SMUG AFTER SOLVING TODAY'S "WORDLE" WITH TWO GUESSES. HER DAMP BANGS ARE CLIPPED TIGHTLY: IT IS THE ONLY GUARANTEE THEY'LL AIR DRY STRAIGHT; A FEAT THAT CAN BE ACCOMPLISHED BY SCHEDULING A TRIP TO THE SALON TO HAVE THE HAIR TREATED CHEMICALLY, WHICH  MEANS PUTTING ON A BRA AND DRIVING TO THE SALON, WHICH MEANS SHE'LL BE USING SAID  HAIR CLIPS  UNTIL THE SPRING THAW.

 KAREN (AKA "ME") PICKS UP THE RINGING LANDLINE, WITH MUCH RELUCTANCE, ON THE THIRD RING.

ME:  Listen, (SCANNING CALLED ID BOX)  "Shirley Schwartzman," I don't recognize this number and I don't want to discuss extending the warranty on my car with you, and...

MOM:  It's...me...

ME:  MOM??  What the hell??

MOM:  I borrowed Shirley's cell phone.  She's a yenta and I don't think she bathes, but her cloud is right next door to mine. What can I say, she's convenient.

ME:  You actually learned how to use a cell phone?

MOM:  I had to.  I figured you wouldn't answer if the caller ID just said "unknown."...That's a perk about being deceased.  I can read your mind.

ME:  You ALWAYS could..(KAREN ADJUSTS AN ERRANT HAIR CLIP AND STRETCHES) You know how much I hate the phone.  Can't you text?  Or send me a Facebook Instant Message?

MOM:  After eight years, are you actually asking if I know anything about technology?  The schools in the Afterlife have no patience with students like me. Do you honestly think I can text? I can barely turn on the TV

ME:  No..(SCOFFS)  But I HATE the phone!

MOM:  You didn't as a teenager.  We'd be in the kitchen, and you'd bolt up those stairs like you were Rocky Balboa, and our house was the Philadelphia Museum of Art,  just to talk to that creep with the toupee who stunk up our living room with his cheap cologne every time he took you out on a so-called date.

ME:  You'd think after eight years you'd stop bringing up my embarrassing past....

MOM:  Just because I'm no longer alive doesn't mean I'm no longer living.  I'm in your bones, your brain, hopefully, your heart.  That's why I had to borrow Shirley's phone today.  Can you believe it's been eight years since we last spoke in person?

ME:  Can you believe that I  think you STILL don't listen to me?  Or get me?  You KNOW how much  I detest that cliche.  Where every birthday or death anniversary is acknowledged with "I can't believe"..as 'though people really CAN'T BELIEVE that time does, indeed, pass by?

MOM:  Why are you yelling?

ME:  I'm NOT yelling..I'm..frustrated. I get robocalls all day long. I get calls from people who have nothing substantial to talk about.  I don't CARE that you bought new tires today, I don't care that your sister, that I might have met once when we were in  camp, is moving to Rio, I don't care that you spent the last two hours organizing your junk drawer..(okay, maybe that one I DO care about) or that you lost four pounds doing Keto. (ditto)

MOM:  Well darling, not to be difficult on Shirley's phone, but while I was still on the planet, you'd call ME  every single day.  At 5:00 PM sharp. With..absolutely nothing to say.

ME:  And yet..I miss those calls.  Those boring, empty, ridiculous calls...

MOM:  You'd call because you knew I was the person who'd always have your back, even when it hurt. (BEAT)  I'm not ready to be reunited with you anytime soon.  Enjoy life.  Exercise.  Eat better.

ME:  Don't start...

MOM:  I just want you to be happy.  The pandemic is leaving, you're venturing out a little more these days.  I followed every detail last fall when you were celebrating your anniversary in the Dominican Republic. I just want you to keep enjoying life, that's all.  Life is short. I had eighty-five years, and that wasn't enough, believe me, I know.

ME:  You're right.  You're always right.

MOM: I just don't want to think about the day you make or receive  a call like this with your own kid.

ME:  Evan doesn't have a land line, and he mostly likes to talk about sports.

MOM:  I would talk about sports..or ANYTHING..if it meant I could spend one more day with my loved ones in person.  I'd watch tonight's Super Bowl with you and eat those chicken wings that don't agree with me..I'd pretend to follow the action I didn't care about just for one last chance to be called Mom.. or Grandmom.. or even if you got all smart-assed and called me Laurel, like I was a buddy..I need to have that title and that Mom  job for just one more night..

ME:  Well mission accomplished.  You're still doing a good job of making me feel guilty..and making me tear up a little. Like a Mom.

MOM: That's good, isn't it?

ME: (SIGHS HEAVILY)  Say hi to Dad..don't smoke. and .return the phone to Shirley..you're not going to need it for awhile

MOM:  So we'll talk again?

ME:  Same time, next year.

FADE TO BLACK

The birdle is the wordle

Oh Wordle, how I miss your cousin, Jotto, how I'll miss YOU when the NY Times makes me PAY to tax my brain in order to play you. 

I can't tell you how many games of Jotto I used to play to pass the time. 

 Once, in 1978, my friend  Barbara and I had to "Pass the Time" as  were auditioning for the new CBS game show, "Pass the Buck."

 I was invited to try out, being an ex-game show contestant("the $10,000 Pyramid") since it was  produced by the same team,  and she was my plus-one, who got a call back BEFORE I did, and yes, I handled that like the  pro that I am, the non-jealous pro  who just sold you some swamp land in Florida, which is redundant.

The game, "Pass the Buck",  was like "Outburst" and the idea was to name as many items that fit the category before your opponents could.  Our category was "holidays" and Barbara smartly remembered to include all the Jewish holidays, leaving  the  rest of us  stumped and therefore eliminated.

I remember passing the time with Barbara before our scheduled audition by playing "Jotto" and the reason I remember this is because the first word I randomly chose for her to guess was "misty"--and we'd soon find out, much to our shock, that  the person conducting our test was named... Misty.   

I remember this because of my neurosis, and Misty called me a few days after she called my tagalong, but neither of us made it to the air because the show never did.

I'll tell you first that someone made a version of Jotto and dedicated the game to me in the early 90's, and then I'll tell you a random story about Barbara that most of you have heard before, but because of my compulsion to try to tie things together that don't necessarily belong together, I'll share it again.

I was trying to maintain some decency during Evan's bris.  I should have been on a tropical island, relaxing, eight days after that C-section, which happened 30-some hours after laboring, but I had to feed a crowd  bagels and lox as my newborn  son took part in a ritual that made me cry.

Barbara knew I had a C-section, but carefully whispered a question  about my well-being, since there were so many people surrounding us, waiting for some vegetable  cream cheese.

The incision pain was still intense, so I answered her question as honestly as I could:

"I'm OK..my cut hurts 'though"

Her jaw drops, her eyes widen, as she offers:  "That's from the episiotomy..it'll go away"

I said, "I didn't have that..I had a C-section" to which she replies, with obvious relief, "Oooooh!  Your CUT hurts!"

I was too timid to talk about NORMAL things in my crowded kitchen..did she really think I'd use the most offensive obscenity of all time?

OK..no more v-jay-jay talk..  Yesterday's blog was  about the lost tampon, today's is..is..SUPPOSED to be about wordle..

I 'll try to keep this clean.

I make anagrams all day long, with every sign I see, and then I complain that I can't follow simple directions to a new board game because of my ""undiagnosed dyslexia" that I most likely brought upon myself.

If I DID do that, caused my brain to scramble so much   that dyslexia came about ,  it was totally worth it, because otherwise, I couldn't take my full name, Karen Randi Levson Amster, and SEE.. "kind voles ran near a stream".. now could I?

I have no idea if voles are kind or even if they run, but I bet some of you are googling now to see if you can find photographic evidence of them.

And wouldn't it be a hoot if "voles" is tomorrow's Wordle,  and ninety-nine percent of us guess "loves?"