There is, most certainly, a recipe for a standard Jewish child:
3 years at synagogue or JCC preschool
7-10 summers spent at overnight camp in the Poconos, the Berkshires, or Maine (number of years is flexible)
1 or more additional siblings
Born and raised in a northeastern suburb
Bar or Bat Mitzvah, obviously
Rarely tall or above-average in stature
There are more stereotypes that I could add to the mix, but I figured I should stop before I offend or exclude anyone. I highly considered writing “dark, curly, thick hair,” but I didn’t want to make the few blondes in the tribe feel any less JAPpy or legitimate than the rest of us.
The truth of the matter is that the Jewish culture, as well as other communities and groups of people sharing a common nationality or religion, comes with a lot of tradition. We lead similar lifestyles, and while some of us lean more towards Jack Rogers and others towards Doc Martens (cough cough, me), we still manage to have a lot in common.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to notice this more and more. When we’re younger, we make friends through the connections that our parents have. Now that we’re fully functioning young adults with control not only over our bladders, but also our studies, our social lives, and our luxury cars, the connections we make are truly our own. It is impossible for me to go anywhere–whether it be a party, lunch in town, a charity event, or even a spin class–without speaking to someone that I know at least one person in common with.
This phenomenon is known as the “Six Degrees of Separation.” According to Wikipedia, the most reliable source that feeds the minds of millennials, “Six degrees of separation is the theory that everyone and everything is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world, so that a chain of ‘a friend of a friend’ statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps.” As a nice Jewish girl, this theory has been a part of my life ever since I can remember. But still, to this day, it blows my mind.
My parents met on Halloween in college when a friend in common introduced them on a street corner. It would come as no surprise to me if you told me that your parents were seated next to each other at a wedding, were set up on a blind date, or had at least one mutual friend.
For a while now, I’ve had a theory of my own. What if, to find our husbands or wives, we used the six degrees of separation to figure out who of the opposite sex (or of the same sex 😉 #DOMA) we statistically knew the most amount of people in common with? Then, what would happen?
Well, you would certainly have a lot to speak about, and that’s the obvious answer. But once you’re done discussing how that girl (who went to Hebrew school with both of you) shouldn’t have gotten into “x” college or how that guy (who also went to your pediatrician) needs to realize that no one cares he was a camp Olympics general, how much more would you have to discuss? Would my theory work? Or would we just have more people to gossip about?
To a certain extent, you are who you surround yourself with. If a boy and a girl know a lot of the same people, it could therefore mean that they are similar people themselves. But it could also mean that their paths crossed multiple times amongst the over-the-top Bar Mitzvah parties, the eight summers at camp, the four years at a rah-rah school, the three years in law school, the summer internship at JP Morgan… shall I dare continue?
Is there a difference between what is bashert and what, statistically, is a balanced recipe for a Jewish couple?
When we are done gossiping about the 2,000 people we know in common (2,000 is not an understatement) and we start to let our guards down about who we really are on the inside, will it be a perfect match?
Angelica Pickles is the younger, Jewish version of Paris Hilton. Wikipedia refers to her as a “spoiled brat,” verbatim. Wiki also says that she’s “vain, conceited, self-centered, irritating, bossy, selfish, self-righteous, arrogant, and obnoxious yet beautiful.” Since Wikipedia is the most reliable source of all time, and there is clearly no way that the article on Angelica was written by a thirteen-year-old Rugrats enthusiast with the vocabulary and grammar skills of a sloth, we must take in these vindictive personality analyses with the utmost sincerity.
In other words, Angelica’s a bitch and we love it.
Angelica is best known in film for her roles in Rugrats, All Grown Up, The Rugrats Movie, and in print for her appearance in the Pulitzer Prize-winning children’s book (which I also consider to be a personal favorite) Let My Babies Go! A Passover Story.
Here are some of Angelica’s greater moments:
“Chanukah is that special time of year between Christmas and Misgiving when all the bestest holiday shows are on TV.”
“So you see, Tommy, cookies made me who I am.”
“When life gives you lemons, make apple sauce.”
“A bacation is when you can do ezzactly what you want all the time.”
(After sorting through all of these quotes, I realized how likely it was that Angelica C. Pickles herself wrote her own Wikipedia article. I mean, the vernacular is almost identical. Typical Ang.)
Lastly, let us not forget Cynthia, who is almost as disturbing as Courage the Cowardly Dog. Let’s take a look at some of her better days:
I’d love to sit down and break some matza with Angie one day and ask her how a girl so Jewish could get away with being blonde and having minimal arm/body hair. I’m sure she’d be a doll.
Who is Ailsa Anderson?
If you don’t know this, then you don’t know The Royals. And if you don’t know The Royals, then you don’t know me. So preppy teenaged girls who thought they were bigger groupies to Prince William than any token Belieber is to J. Biebs has got it all wrong. Turn around now, honeys. You may have won the battle by hosting a viewing party of the royal wedding, but you lost the war by not knowing Ailsa. You’ve gotta know Ailsa.
Ailsa Anderson is the babe who placed the obviously-framed royal birth announcement upon its golden easel that, in British terms, probably cost about as much as it did to fix Austin Powers’ teeth. Only a loyal servant to the Queen (not referring to Beyoncé this time) would have this honor–oh, yes, the dutiful honor of placing a frame upon an easel–bestowed upon her.
Ailsa is no ordinary civilian, however. She’s actually part of Her Majesty The Queen Elizabeth II’s mothaf****’ clique. She started from the bottom now she’s here. Ailsa’s title is “press secretary,” and is one of the three woman that the Queen surrounds herself with each and every royal day of her royal life. Because the Queen ain’t no queen without a possé, amirite?
According to PEOPLE.com, “Living in the home counties just northwest of London, [Ailsa] likes to shop for clothes at the designer outlet stores at Bicester Villlage (where Kate has been known to visit) and has a nose for a good deal. ‘She’s great at sussing out the good bargains in sales,’ says a friend.” So, basically, we love her.
Ailsa sported a sick snakeskin pencil skirt with a pearl cropped jacket and three-inch heels to make the birth announcement. We love you Ailsa, because you’re a champ. Keep it up girlfriend.
I have decided that the second most important day in my life will be the day that I decide what to name my children. The first, most important day of my life will be the day I attend a party at Jay Gatsby’s house or smoke with yo gurl Miley. I must admit that I practically have chosen my future children’s names already. I mean, if we’re being real, hasn’t everyone?? But unfortunately, it really doesn’t count because I haven’t yet pretended to care what my husband’s say in the matter is.
Of the the trendiest activities is baby-naming. It’s like going to effing SoulCycle. Nowadays, having a good name is just as important as carrying around an Herve Chapelier tote in the seventh grade. When I was born, my name was the number seven most popular name, according to a random government website. Palindromes were so the thing. In pre-school, there was another girl named “Hannah.” Because I always wanted to start with my trendiest foot forward, I had everybody call me “Hannah Dylan,” incorporating my chic middle name into the mix.
I couldn’t tell you what the most popular baby name is today because the government people haven’t updated their website in literally years, and Snowden hasn’t released anything on the topic onto WikiLeaks yet (ugh, right?) but if I could take a guess it might be Ali, especially after the recent rise of psychos inspired by Pretty Little Liars. Also because I feel like everyone is named Ali and that’s a very wild guess.
I would like to take the time to go through the do’s and don’t’s of recent celeb baby names. Because trust me, whether you’re thirty-something or just a hopeless 13-year-old auditioning for Teen Mom, you’ll thank me.
1. Gwyeneth’s Apple Paltrow
Gwyen—what are you thinking girl? Your daughter’s name reminds me of putting on my Victoria’s Secret lip gloss in the synagogue bathroom during Rosh Hashana. Yet something inside of me loves it.
2. Nicole Richie’s Harlow and Sparrow
Nic—I wish you were my mother. I hope you enjoy breast feeding Harlow and Sparrow in the middle of an ever-growing wheat field.
3. Gwen Stefani’s Zuma Nesta Rock
Are we in the middle of Ethiopia? Didn’t think so. But next time we are, I’ll be sure to name my kid Boulder Stream Ocean Sanctuary Pelican Algae Savannah.
4. Ashlee Simpson’s Bronx MowgliI don’t get it Ash. Nic got away with marrying a punk rocker but didn’t f- up the names. Why, babe? Why?
5. Hilary Duff’s Luca Cruz Comrie
She wins, hands down. However, I still cannot get over the fact that Lizzie McGuire’s uterus is mature enough to develop a human being.
As for me? I must have a Lila. I like Noa for a girl. And Gus. Is that pushing it? Fine. Then I’ll just go with East, even though that’s definitely not Jewish enough.
Overalls have been a really large part of my life since I was a lesbian-child infatuated with Mary Kate and Ashley. I think that they are really convenient because you don’t have to struggle with finding a matching top and bottom when you wake up crusty-eyed and retainer-clad at 6:30 a.m. Instead, your biggest struggle becomes “how the hell do I go to the bathroom in these” which doesn’t apply much to me and my camel-like bladder tendencies. Since I started my lemonade-cayenne pepper-maple syrup cleanse, however, these statistics have unfortunately changed. If you have a strong bladder, and are not currently on a liquid cleanse, go for the overalls. Trust me.
Once, I watched an episode of my fave TV show, My Strange Addiction, in which a transgender human has an obsession with acting, dressing, and appearing as if he/she is a baby. See photo below:
Then, recently, I realized that I actually seem to wear one-pieced clothing, overalls included, very often in public. See photos below:
After this epiphany, I got super concerned. I have to rely on pure faith that people don’t think I, too, am addicted to being an adult baby. I’m just addicted to being chic, and spending less time picking out real outfits in the morning.
And sure, maybe I am still a little lesbian for the Olsen twins, their frail bodies, and their oversized fur coats that each cost more than my four years of Ivy League education will. But everyone is, so it doesn’t really count.