Saturday, December 31, 2011

Discover Pilates In 2012 NOW!

I'm a little late on this post. Pretend it's last week and it'll seem a lot more relevant.

You know the drill. You’ve said it a thousand times. “I’m going to lose weight starting January 1st. It’s my New Year’s resolution.” The intentions are noble, but I think this plan only sets you up for a big fat failure. The expectations are too high and unrealistic.

If this is you, then let me ask you, what will you be doing between now and January 1st? Will you be gorging and inhaling everything in sight? Will it be a veritable food free-for-all? Will you keep telling yourself that it’s all going to stop once the clock strikes midnight? This plan is flawed and it puts a lot of pressure on the individual.

Instead, why not start now. You can begin to build a foundation, ease into the idea slowly, with realistic goals. This is key to any weight loss or exercise program. As the Pilates Expert, I recommend dipping your toes into Pilates.

Pilates, unlike Zumba, Cardio Bootcamp, or some other hardcore, impact pounding exercise, is easy on the joints and great for the mind. What better way to usher in the new year, than to participate in a full mind-body program. It’s time that Pilates came out of Yoga’s shadows and got the attention and respect that it deserves.

If you want to give yourself the greatest gift that not too much money can buy, here are some tips on getting started. You won’t be sorry, and if you are, then email me.
  1. Push yourself away from the table and close your mouth.
  2. Find a Pilates studio in your neighborhood. I don’t recommend practicing Pilates at a gym, unless they have a room dedicated to Pilates.
  3. Make sure the instructors are certified. Ask them who certified them and do a Google search. Some instructors take weekend workshops and call themselves Pilates instructors. Hmm...
  4. Most studios are willing to work with you, financially, so ask about promotions and deals. This is a great time to sign up.
  5. If you can afford it, sign up for a ten pack. This will hold you accountable and force you to follow through. Nobody wants to throw money away.
  6. Figure out what time of day works for you and try to stick to a routine. When you’re starting out, it’s important to find your rhythm and what works for you. Set yourself up to succeed.
  7. If it’s available, I recommend alternating between a Pilates Mat class and a Pilates Apparatus class. This will teach you the fundamentals, and at the same time, challenge you on the equipment.
  8. Practice at home. Once you have the basic Mat moves, you can now do them anywhere there’s space on the floor.
  9. If money is an issue, I highly recommend surfing over to They have a wide variety of classes, ranging from beginner to instructor level, and some that use props. It’s $18 a month, for an unlimited amount of classes, and all of the instructor’s are highly qualified. I would first and foremost start out in a studio, with a live, face to face instructor, to get you started, but once you have perhaps 10 sessions under your belt, check out the website.
  10. What are you waiting for? Not January 1st! Go get your Pilates on!

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Actual J-Date E-Mails... OY!

These are J-Date e-mails that I received when I was on the site, looking for a man. To amuse myself, I commented on the e-mails, but I never sent them. I never found a man either but when you read the few gems below, it won't be hard to see why. Clearly I thought that I’d want to use these one day. Always thinking I am.

In honor of Chanukah, I give you, Too Jew For You, excerpts from real J-date emails. I do hope they’ll elicit some laughs, smiles, and some, “Holy shit nuggets, that can’t be real.”

10/28 2:38 pm
A healing penis with no baggage. Totally self confident except for a few social phobias. Driven by Wellbutrin and grounded by Effexor. A jew with his own toolbox who can do minor household repairs. According to Tom Leykis, you have the perfect profile for me. If you have a Costco membership card...I'm marchin' to the altar. Won't you give me a chance and help get me off this site?

I don’t know where to begin with this one. Penis? This guy actually wrote a “healing penis with no baggage”. That took balls. However, this vagina won’t be responding. Some people shouldn’t attempt humor because they’re risking sounding like an escapee from Bellevue. Get a grip dude.

10/27 10:32 pm
Hi - I am the one that came up with the 100 word minimum on J-date. If you'll have dinner with me, I'll reduce the minimum to 50 words. If it REALLY goes well, I'll dispense with the minimum altogether! I LIKE it when you're serious - did you surprise yourself? Joseph

This is in response to my bitching about the 100-word minimum that J-date asks you to meet when answering their questions. A lot of guys think they’re being cute and funny when they address this issue. Most of the time they’re neither cute nor funny. There’s a part of my profile where I answer one of the questions rather seriously and then call attention to how serious I was being. This fellow thought he’d get inside my head. Not a good idea. It’s dangerous in there.

10/27 12:18 am
Hi Great Smile and teeth. I'm a newyorker, or, x its been along time. Im in west hollywood and would enjoy hearung rom you..i just rejoined/good /or bad? Ill try. Scott 323 653 7519

There’s something creepy about pointing out someone’s teeth. Even though mine are exceptional. My parents paid dearly for them and I paid dearly, socially. I had braces for 5 long years and my social life suffered. Can you say Chelsea Clinton? His spelling is horrific. I would think that he wouldn’t want to look like a jackass so he’d do a spell check. Most computers nowadays have spell check. Do the work. Don’t be a lazy, f’er. It’s attractive.

10/26 12:47 am
This is fun. Sit down in a chair. Take the index finger of the hand you write with and point it forward. Now lift your leg so your foot is off of the floor. (If you are right handed use right leg and vice versa). Move your foot clockwise. At the same time, write the number 6 with your index finger. Let me know what happens. Ken (My picture should be online tomorrow)

This was definitely one of the more unusual. I’ll tell you what happened, Ken. I got dizzy and almost fell off the chair. What’s with the games? The fucked up thing is that I actually did it. Okay, that’s my issue but c’mon. I got a little scared as soon as he said index finger. I thought, index finger? Where is this perv going? What actually happens is that your foot and your finger start moving in sync. See ya Ken. And good luck.

10/24 6:23 pm
Great hair..... David

Not that this isn’t a lovely compliment but what? How do I respond? “Thanks, my mom has great hair too. It must be in the genes. Truth be told, she’s really a retard when it comes to hair products or knowing how to use a blow dryer. My dad and brother, however, are bald. They don’t use products. Recently my hair has been thinning around the crown area. It’s a horrible thing for a woman. I’ve tried the shampoos and two different ‘programs’ and I got bupkis. I had really, really short hair about 5 years ago but my ex-husband said that he felt like he was fucking a little boy. He asked me to wear lipstick whenever possible. I eventually grew my hair out and divorced his sorry ass.” What, too much?  

10/22 12:42 pm
Love’s labor shall not be lost (As long as you respond!) [Play on Shakespeare]

Okay, this brings me to the ‘pre-made’ teases that you can choose from. I think if you use a prefab line, you’re saying, “I’m a lazy SOB, and this is the best that I can do.”
These are a few examples:
We seem to have so much in common, let me know if you agree.
I'm looking for a serious relationship, are you?
I'd like to start-up a conversation, can I write you sometime?
We've already "clicked", so why stop now?
All your imperfections are perfect for me.
I'm intrigued, feel free to email me.
How much harder would it have been to write the same sentiment in your own words? A little effort goes a long way. You are looking for your future ex-wife aren’t you?

11/20 2:26 pm
Now I don't date actresses, being a manager, but I can't resist telling you that rather than leaving my hat on, I date women free of STD's and don't want any part of condoms. Leave your diaphram in.

Seeing STD in print or hearing it out loud gives me the coodies. And do you think that saying you’re a manager is going to turn me on? And what makes you think I use a diaphragm?

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


I recently got hired as a Pilates instructor at a large and chi chi health club. Management asked me if I would offer free demos to their members, introduce them to the Pilates method and to meet me. Clearly this would be for those members that have been living under a rock with their heads up their asses, because, really, who doesn’t know what Pilates is? Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow and Tiger Woods do Pilates for crying out loud. Ooh, that wasn’t an example of me getting into the holiday spirit now was it?

I’ve done so many free friggin’ demos since I became an instructor, that it’s a bit of a soul killer to have to whore myself out again. I don’t mind whoring it out if I’m getting paid, in cash... whole other story. That being said, I took a meeting with myself, like I’m want to do, and decided to suck it up, adjust my attitude and do it. 

It has been a tough year, work wise. I started losing clients back in March, and I haven’t really picked up any new ones. I did leave the country to teach in Dubai for two months this summer. That couldn't have been good for building a client base and continuity.

I have impeccable skills and I deliver quality Pilates instruction, with the added bonus of my kick ass personality. But the evidence doesn’t lie and I wondered what I might be doing wrong.

Perhaps I’m not attracting new clients because of my laissez-faire attitude towards beautifying myself when I teach. I know this is unimaginable when I say that perhaps my winning personality isn’t enough. I know, I can’t believe it either. Could my client drought actually be because I don’t wear make-up, shower frequently, or blow dry my hair before I hit the Pilates studio or gym?

I’ve always felt that I shouldn’t have to succumb to such shallow and superficial practices. I choose to sit comfortably crossed legged on my high horse, espousing ditties such as, “Like me for who I am, and how I can help your horrible posture. Don’t like me because my hair is long and luxurious. My work speaks for itself.” Aren’t I adorable and misguided.

It was the same way when I lived in L.A. and auditioning. I wanted to believe that people would hire me based on my f’in talent alone. I never worried about whether the powers that be thought I was pretty or wanted to sleep with me. I think we can all agree that my strategy was both flawed and naive.

But that was then, and this is now. What’s wrong with putting on mascara and showing just a hint of tit (men do Pilates too ya know) if it’s going to bring me paying clients? Once I’ve reeled them in, they’ll be so balled over by my teaching and humor, that I can then just roll out of bed and not brush my hair. I wanted to see if I made an effort (this means wearing unstained clothes and putting on lip gloss) would I attract more clients?

I had my first Pilates demo last night. I put on make-up as if I were going to a wedding, and I changed my clothes a half dozen times, finally deciding on a head to toe Lululemon ensemble. My Astro pants showed off my camel toe, and gave me a wedgey. Perfect. I went with a tight purple Define jacket, wearing only my bra underneath. I needed a bit of padding to help lift the sistas up onto their perch. I smoothed out my hair, and flat ironed my ponytail. However, I did not shower. It was my little secret. Between me and... me?

“Chaka, Chaka, Chaka, Chaka Khan
Chaka Kan, Chaka Kan , Chaka Kan
Chaka Khan, let rock you”  -- Sorry, it just came on my itunes.

After two long hours, just one man asked for a demo. It’s hard to say whether he was genuinely  interested in Pilates or he just likey my wedgey. I have another demo tonight, and I will whore it out again, all in the name of investigative reporting.

Monday, December 19, 2011

I linked up with Ghosts of Blogging Past

My first blog post is from September, 2007. 

I had a few choice words regarding the first Sex And The City movie. 

No Sex Please

Gift Giving and Receiving Is Shrouded In Agita.

At what point does my boyfriend and I sign the gift labels on his kids' Christmas and Chanukah presents, "From the both of us?" Up to this point, we've shopped separately, and paid separately. It's not about the money, although those little people aren't cheap, it's more about the feelings of separation and inclusion.

I enjoy buying the kid's gifts, and I like labeling them, 'from Chanukah Henrietta'. I wonder if this will always be the case. I wonder if the Girlfriend part of The Girlfriend Mom will merge with the Mom part. I wonder what that might look like. But like everything else in my life as The Girlfriend Mom, things will work themselves out organically. I've learned not to use force or guilt, and to sit back and watch it all unfold.

My boyfriend and I went shopping the other day to buy him skis (we're going skiing next week) and a kick-ass ski bunny outfit for me. I had to face the facts. In the past, a major reason why I never warmed to the idea of going skiing or to be outside in the cold in general, was because I never had the proper gear. Since I moved back east, five years ago, I have been doing without snow boots. I know.

I had a press conference with myself, and left the meeting prepared, and dare I say, excited, to drop some cash and stock up on all that I needed. If my boyfriend suggested that we go sledding or tobagganing, I would be the first one out the door. As an aside: The same holds true for dinner party and business clothes. The only thing I'm prepared for, attire speaking, is working from home, or at my local cafe, teaching Pilates and sexy time in bed.

I hijacked the saleswoman at the Ski Barn and told her that it had been awhile since I bought ski pants, and gloves, and that I needed some TLC and whole lot of  help. We started with the layer closest to my skin and I worked my way out. It was painless and productive. These aren't words used to describe my shopping experiences. Ask my mom or my friend Liz. Anyone who has had the pleasure of going shoe shopping with me, can attest to the fact that I HATE shopping. I am not my mother's daughter.

My boyfriend gave me the thumbs up on my wicked tight and sassy snow pants and after I picked out my helmut, I met him at the register. All of my crap was already in bags. He paid for everything. It sort of confused me because I didn't know if he was trying to expedite the transaction because he was hungry and ready to leave, or if he wanted to pick up the tab. I started to feel nervous. This wasn't discussed at the press conference. What the f? I'm a Virgo for crying out loud. You can't do this. 

When we got in the car, I told him that I'd pay him back. He said that it was my Christmas present. I said that it was too much money, and that I didn't feel comfortable. The anxiety was building up in my gut. I started to flush.

He assured me again that it was my Christmas present but I couldn't do it. I immediately rejected the idea and then, in no particular order, shit shot through my brain, in rapid fire.

I refuse to be a kept woman. I don't want to be like his ex. I don't want to come off as sponging, or spoiled. I'm not worthy. You can't buy me. It's controlling. I don't want to be a taker. He who has the money, has the power. I was looking forward to buying the stuff myself. I don't want a hand out. I feel nauseous.

When I was a kid, and I saw my name on the presents under the Christmas tree, (and then Chanukah bush and sleigh) I dreaded picking up the presents, taking them, and then opening them. I must have expressed my uneasiness because my brother would inevitable pipe in, "If she doesn't want hers, can I have it?" Maybe I was trying not to be like my brother and well, it just never stopped.

In the past, I've returned birthday present checks from my father, if I thought that it was an excessive amount. Of course I was the one who determined what was excessive. If the amount didn't make me feel queasy, then I would be able to accept it.

When we got home, and for the next day or so, I kept thinking about my boyfriend's offer and my reactive response. Why couldn't I have trusted that if he didn't want to give me this generous gift, he wouldn't have offered? Why couldn't I have said, "Thank you. That is so sweet, thoughtful and generous of you. You'll definitely be getting some tonight. And I have what to wear."

But I didn't say that (he got lucky anyway) and then yesterday he presented me with the receipt, so that I could make sure what items were mine. Here's the honest to goodness truth. I was secretly hoping that he would insist on giving me this incredible gift. That he would see through me and my angst and ignore my neuroses. What better way to learn to accept than through practice? I mean, come on, how much does he think I make as a Pilates instructor and writer anyway?

We spoke briefly about the incident and I nutted up and suggested that maybe we could split it. He didn't like my idea and said, "Too late. Now maybe the next time I want to get you something, you'll wise up and just say thank you." He ended up giving me a gift after all because I will never be so asinine again!

Thursday, December 15, 2011

FCC Rulings and Rug Turds

If you've been reading my blog, and I don't know why you wouldn't be, you know that I am very sensitive to television volume. See this blog. Well, I'm happy to report that the FCC has weighed in on this very heated, and all important topic of turning down commercial volume.

It's the calm act of 2010 and has to do with excessive commercial loudness. You know what I'm talking about. You're watching, I Hate My Teenage Daughter
and all of sudden you hear, "DO YOU WANT TO SAVE MONEY ON CAR INSURANCE. GEICO, IT CAN SAVE YOU 15%," at a volume that would wake the dead. But now commercials will have the same average volume as the programs that they so annoyingly interrupt. Glory be.

I know many of you were also wondering how my office was shaping up. Well, I was making progress but then I had a bit of a setback. I bought a rug several weeks ago at Home Goods. It was an 8x10 for $299. Although this is a lot of money, I didn't think it was excessive for such a large area rug. I thought I was getting a bargain and pretty darn proud of myself for spotting such a good deal.

I shoved the rug in the back of my Mini. It was a tight squeeze to say the least. My boyfriend was thankfully home and helped me unload it and bring it into my office. He had to leave but I decided that it couldn't wait and so I tried to lay that baby down by myself. It's a large wool rug, which makes it uber heavy. First I had to lay down the non-slip padding. That shit really works. Once it's down, it's down. I couldn't position the f'er where I wanted it and I started to sweat.

I unrolled the rug, using ever ounce of strength that I had, and tried laying it evenly over the padding. I was at it for a good half hour. That was funsy. When my boyfriend came home, he looked at the rug and said, "I'm not sure it really goes and it's uneven." Fuck. He asked me if I had a pad underneath and when I nodded in the affirmative, he said that I didn't need one because the rug was so heavy, it wasn't going anywhere. Hey, thanks, where were you an hour ago?

I think he took pity on me and helped me roll up the rug, remove the padding and relay the rug. Great. Nice and even.

Three weeks later.

I couldn't stand the rug. No sofa matched it and it shed. A lot. At first I thought that if I vacuumed it often, then the shedding would stop. It didn't and it got ridiculous. The rug coated my socks with its teeny tiny fibers just after walking across the room, and the fibers were migrating into other rooms in the house. I decided to vacuum one more time... just to what? I knew it was a piece of crappy crap. Why was I wasting my time? Because I probably had some writing to do and this was a valid distraction.

As I vacuumed, the fibers weren't being sucked up. Instead, they turned into fiber balls. What? And then the light on my vacuum went off. DANGER! DANGER! WILL ROBINSON! I opened the canister, or rather I tried to open the canister but it was stuck. When I finally got it opened, this is what I found.

 Get out of my sight!

My boyfriend and I moved my two ton desk and I rolled the crappy crap rug up and immediately returned it to Home Goods.
The moral of this adorable tale, "You get what you pay for."And I obviously paid for a rug that shed lint turds.

Monday, December 12, 2011

"Holy Menorah Moshe"

I live in a small beach town in New Jersey and as my profile states, no, I do not know Snooki. I don't lunch with any of the Housewives of New Jersey either. Although, I'd love to be their personal Pilates instructor, so if anyone has an in, let me know.

It's Christmas time. The holiday season. I get it. But what's sometimes forgotten is that this includes Channukah. Or as some know it, 'the festival of lights'. Or, as kids, we in the tribe knew it as, eight guaranteed presents! It's such a cliche but, compared to the pomp and pageantry of Christmas, the festival of lights kind of blew.

However, as an adult, I've come to dig the ceremonial candle lighting, now that I finally understand the meaning of Channukah (pretty lost on me until I had to explain it to my boyfriend's son) And now, as the Girlfriend Mom, I spread the guaranteed eight presents tradition to the kids. My boyfriend's son insists on lighting the candles. I'm touched but I think he does so because matches and fire has sparked his inner pyromaniac. He's thirteen. It's a right of passage.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, beach town. The decorations are up on the lawns, porches and storefronts. People sure do love their inflatable Santa's and nativity scenes. And god bless. If someone wants to blow up a baby Jesus, who am I to judge. But what I have noticed is this. I do not live in a Jewish neighborhood. I'm cool with that, sort of. Am I really asking too much to see one inflatable Menorah?

People's own homes are one thing but what about the storefronts? It feels a wee strange not to see Menorah's in the windows, or a friggin' dreidel. Isn't it a bit unfair, especially since Channukah overlaps with Christmas this year. There's a Jewish deli on one of the corners, and there's bubkis in the window.

All holidays should get equal stage time.

Full disclosure. Accepting a Christmas tree and decorations in the house in which I now live with my Portuguese lover (read: not a Jew) has been a process. Truth be told, from a style and taste perspective, I'm not a huge fan of standard fair tree ornaments or holiday pillows. I do like the lights, though. This is because of the further disclosure below.

Further disclosure. We, my Jewish family and I, used to celebrate Christmas. Oh, yeah, we were those reformed Jewish families that you might have heard about. We lived in a two bedroom apartment and my dad always brought home a tree, whose top branches just brushed the ceiling. I never questioned this tradition and I certainly didn't question the Christmas presents under the tree, in addition to the eight Channukah presents.

As years went on, our ginormous Christmas tree became a Channukah bush. I never really understood that. The bush part I mean. Like a burning bush? My dad was slowly finding his Jewish roots, and we were slowly losing our Christian Christmas. If you ask my mom why we celebrated Christmas, she'll say that it was never a religious celebration but rather an opportunity to decorate. And wrap. The woman is an expert gift wrapper.

We no longer had the glass balls, that would break if you breathed on them, or tinsel. Gone were untangling the lights to be hung around the tree, that often brought about curse words, and several, "Why are we doing this? We're Jewish!"

They were replaced by artsy and whimsical ornaments, usually made out of wood. We had moved to a bucolic and country town, and my mom thought that stringing popcorn and ornaments from Amish people were less 'Chistmassy'. She was in friggin denial. 

By the time I was in college, Christmas consisted of stacking presents in an antique (wood) sleigh. How country chic of mom. My dad had had enough of trees and bushes, and a few years later, we found our way back to an artsy, country and whimsical menorah. At some point it just didn't feel right to be celebrating Christmas. It's funny how that happens.

Cut to present day. My brother married an Italian and Scottish woman, and my nephews celebrate Christmas, just like my brother and I did when we were their age. And now I celebrate Christmas (just the decorating part) with my boyfriend and his kids. It's still an ongoing process of acceptance, in spite of my upbringing.

But this is what couples do, right. I'm sure Katie Morosky and Hubbell Gardner ("The Way We Were") celebrated Christmas and Channukah. Of course they ended up divorcing, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't over Channukah gelt.

If I can light the candles in my new bicycle menorah, then my boyfriend can hang his climbing Santa, that rings, sings, rattles and shakes. Because that's tolerance and love. 

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Awards Mean That You're Popular!

Yea, I'm now in the popular group. I better go find me a jock to blow.
Did I say that out loud?

Seriously, I am honored and genuinely surprised at getting these awards for my blog and blogging prowess. Humbling. Truly humbling. No, not really, I totally deserve them.

First shout out goes to Sara at moments of exhileration. She knows talent when she can smell it. Or it may be her daughter Adeline's poopy diaper. Never the mind, she's kick ass, so check her out. I believe she's bestowed on me the Tell Me About Yourself award.

My second shout out goes to the brilliant Annie at Annie Off The Leash. She was one of my first fans and I'm grateful for her eye for spotting genius as well as her own genius. Stop reading my spew and check her out. I think she gave me these two awards. Someone call me out on my shit if I have this incorrect and I'm just giving myself awards willy nilly.
In order to be worthy of these awards I must list 7 things about myself. Here ya go.

1. I spent 12 hours in Nicaragua, because when I saw a bug the size of a small child outside my motel room, I had to flee the country.

2. I proudly display my Cher doll on my desk, although her shoes went missing decades ago,

3. I prefer eating standing up.

4. I don't like to shower unless I've worked out.

5. I have to feel the weight of a blanket, or my boyfriend, on top of me in order to fall asleep.

6. Collecting passport stamps is a badge of honor, and like these blogger awards, makes me feel important and popular.

7. I have no idea what the difference is between the old and new testaments. (Oh, yeah, my parents are proud)

And now, I'd like to share a side of me that I don't think a lot of my new readers have been exposed to. The Pilates Instructor. Here are a few posts that take you through my Pilates journey. C'mon, it'll be fun.

A newbie

Discovering Lululemon

Teaching. Performing. It's All the Same

I had no business teaching pregnant women

AND now the most important part. Awarding my fellow bloggers and sharing the love.

Sad In The City

Moms Madhouse

My Dishwashers Possessed

Misadventures in Motherhood

Suburban Rules

The Unnatural Mother

grrl guide