BERNTHIS.COM

MY BAD

To:almightyone@gmail.com

Subject:  SUNDAYS

Dear Almightyone:

After I posted your email to me last Sunday, it was brought to my attention that I am in fact Jewish and therefore am not required to take off Sundays to beg for your mercy, a date or the or even the early demise of my ex mother in law. .

I would like to thank all my gentile friends who were kind enough to point out to me, Ms. Jewy Jewstein-man-berg-owitz, that Saturday is "my" day, not Sunday and since you didn't mention anything about writing on the Jewish sabbath, I take it that you are okay with it.

Best,

Jessica

To: bernzee@mac.com

Subject: SUNDAYS

Dear Ms. Bern:

The reason I said Sunday and not Saturday is that you are about as Jewish as a pork chop and since the majority of people in your life are of the Christian faith, why not just toss you in for good measure.  That being said, it is clear to me that you do not work well with authority and will ultimately say and do whatever you please. As a result, I will ask that the next time you want a Tahari jacket at 95% off the retail value or anything else for that matter,  you will refrain from asking me for help.

Dear Almightyone:

Allow me to offer my apology. I have given it some thought and realized you are right.  Sunday is a day for rest and time to commune with you and from this day forward I promise to observe the sabbath along with all my christian brethren.  I do have trouble with authority and I"m hoping that over time, with your help, I can figure out why and go on to live a life of harmony.

Now, about that Tahari jacket....

In a Million Years, I'd Have Never Thought of That

After reading everybody's comments as to what to do with my wedding dress, I decided to take Joanie up on her idea and I donated it to a high school around the corner that is so expensive the only way I'll ever get Phoebe admitted there would be if I slept with befriended every single person on their admissions committee AND convinced them to give her a Hula Hoop scholarship.

Yes, hula hooping. That is Phoebe's true talent, as of the moment. She can walk up and down my front walkway all while gyrating her hips and keeping that giant plastic circle spinning round and round.  I'm telling you, it brings tears to my eyes when I think it was just yesterday that I thought she was just your regular, run of the mill kid. But now to know that if she can't get far with the hula hooping she can always belly dance or strip her way to the good life brings me such relief, l'm telling you, lately, I've been sleeping like a baby, God bless her and thanks again Joanie, you're a genius.

Maybe I Can Turn into a Hundred Silk Handkerchiefs

Since my divorce, I have worn my wedding dress twice. Once to a Halloween party and the other in the course of making a video for someone.  On both those occasions, I found myself feeling angry the entire time I was wearing it and could literally feel my mood lift the minute I took it off.

I am now in a place where I want to get rid of it. I don't want to give the dress away because I honestly feel that it would be like donating bad karma. It didn't cost me a fortune by any means but I do have a daughter and well, aren't mothers supposed to keep their dress so that one day they can pass it on?

I thought about setting it on fire until I realized that my fireplace doesn't work which is good since  I have this "thing" about accidentally burning my house down.  I am now considering just tossing it in the garbage. I know in my heart, I will never, ever put it on again but I keep picturing myself and Phoebe in twenty years, having the following conversation:

PHOEBE: Do you still have your wedding dress?

JESSICA: No, not any more.

PHOEBE: What did you do with it?

JESSICA:  I, uh, um, threw it in the garbage.  How about we go to Italy for your birthday?

PHOEBE: What? Are you kidding?

JESSICA: All it represented was bad luck. Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight?

PHOEBE: I can't believe you! You are so f**ed up!

Then I picture her running off to her room or wait, she'd be 26 by then, right, okay, then I see her running out to her car and backing out of my driveway or if I don't get a job soon, pulling away from the curb by the sidewalk where I will be living  and immediately calling her boyfriend, girlfriend, gay friend, or my luck, her father and telling him/her/them what I did and me not being able to forgive myself.

BUT then again, I feel very strongly that the dress really is cursed. Am I acting like an old Jewish woman aka: me or would anyone (read: gentiles) feel this way as well?

What would you do? 

Attention!!

I'm know I'm a day late but I just wanted to say thank you to all the men and women who have given their lives to protect this incredible country of ours. 

Your bravery is admirable. I literally could never, ever do what you do and I don't think enough of us realize what it takes to be a member of the armed forces.  I'm pretty sure that had I attempted to enlist when I was younger they more than likely would have sent me packing for the following reasons:

1. Shows severe signs of anxiety with the prospect of being overexposed to the sun for fear that her face will look even more like a wallet.

2. She's a total p**sy. When the Sergeant told her to stand up straight, she started to cry and asked him if he thought she was pretty.

2. Said her anti-depressants were not enough to keep her happy. That she must have her therapist with her because according to Ms. Bern, "he's the only one that "gets" me."

3. Stood up and held a white blouse next her face while yelling, "I look like I died" and refused to sit down unless the Navy agreed to change their colors from White and Navy Blue to Cream and Olive.

4. Actually, would not consider the Navy ever as she tends to get seasick and has a fear of not being able to drive to Nordstroms on a moment's notice.

5.  She is not a good flier. As proof, she has offered to provide testimony from any individual who has ever had the "joy" of landing up in the seat next to hers.

6. Has never slept well on a cot and cannot guarantee the safety of her fellow soldiers when she doesn't get a good night's sleep or her toe nail polish starts to chip. 

7. Told us she'd already gone through Barry's Boot Camp in Hollywood and after talking with the head trainer, decided that she prefers to work out alone.

Perhaps I Should Have Sent a Card

When I was in NYC this past weekend, I walked by Sloan Kettering Memorial Cancer Center.  I used to live across the street. At the time I was doing stand up.  One day, I had this brilliant idea of getting together a few other female comics and going over there to entertain the patients.

On a bright, cheery, Saturday morning, myself and four other women, made our way into a room and watched while some patients walked in with little assistance, others were wheeled in and one person was brought in still lying on her hospital bed.

I was up third. About two minutes into my act, suddenly all you could hear were these loud beeping sounds and next thing I know somebody was yelling "she's coding" and they were pushing the bed bound patient out of the room as fast as they could.

Later on that night I had the following conversation with my parents:

MY MOTHER: So, how'd it go?

JESSICA: Great, I killed.

MY MOTHER: Oh, well that's good thing right?

JESSICA: Not this time.

Jerry Springer Should Be Calling Me Any Second Now

I was on the plane coming back from New York City when I realized that I was hungry.  Naturally, I had  a fresh salad with me, something I'd bought in the terminal right before boarding. 

I took my lunch out of the bag and put it on my tray table. Instinctively, I reached back in for a fork when it hit me, I had forgotten to get one.

What to do? I have a salad and no fork and I'm hungry. I  immediately ask the flight attendant if she could get one for me whereupon I was quickly reminded that Jet Blue only serves snacks and therefore has no cutlery on board.

The woman sitting next to me was busy watching the Jerry Springer show.  I hated to interrupt her viewing, especially because it was at the part where the girl announces to her boyfriend, a man with the intellectual functioning of a cave dweller, that he is not the father of her baby, but I felt I needed to tell her:

JESSICA: Excuse me. I just wanted to warn you that I don't have a fork and I'm extremely hungry so I've decided that I am now going to eat with my hands.  I'm not a monster and I promise not to spit on you or try to use your sweatshirt as a napkin.  I just don't have any other option.

The woman responded by telling me:

WOMAN: If I were you I'd just hold it up and pour it into my mouth you know like when all the ice cream has melted and you can't get at it with your spoon? 

JESSICA: Oh, right, yeah, well, um, thanks. Good idea.

As the woman returned to watching the show which was now at the part where the real baby daddy has  walked in and the other guy jumps up out of his chair and tries to choke him to death, I thought

JESSICA'S THOUGHT: Sure thing, nut job

until I reminded myself that I was in the process of tossing a salad of egg, black beans, lettuce, cucumber, green pepper, and ranch dressing, with my FINGERS. 

I had just put a particularly large bite into my mouth when the plane suddenly went through some pretty rough turbulence.  My immediate reaction was to grab onto this woman's arm with the same fingers I had used to shove the food down my throat. 

Hoping she wouldn't notice that I had gotten a bit of egg on her sleeve I began to talk to her with my eyes, since it was clear I was unable to speak. What I did was, I opened them very wide, which we all know is the international symbol for "I'm scared".  Problem was when you have ranch dressing dripping down your chin the person looking at you is not focusing on what you're eyes are saying but the fact that you are a disgusting pig who just got egg on her brand new hoodie. 

I chewed as fast as I could and as soon as I swallowed, I offered to pay to have it dry cleaned which is so something my mother would do and since I'd just spent four days with her, I'm surprised that after making the offer, I didn't try and get it off with my spit.

I then tried to share my bag of chocolate chip cookies with this gal which wasn't too impressive since Jet Blue gives them out for free and had about 438 bags left to serve.

As I searched for something else I could give her, she fell asleep, which is when I realized what she probably wanted the most was for me to leave her the hell alone. Which I did.

The Jig is Up

I got an email today. The sender's address was thealmighty1@gmail.com.  I thought it had to be some kind of spam where they were selling vibrators and flavored penises decorated with the image of Jesus all over them and when I opened it there would be a note telling me that if I were truly a good Jew, I would log on and purchase as much as I could.

I was just about to delete the message, when I realized the only penises I had left were orange flavored and wouldn't it be easier to just buy them on line?

So, I open the email and what do you know, it was really was from the AlmightyOne. At first I thought it was a joke but after I read the message, I realized no, this is for real. Here is what it said:

Dear Jessica:

First, I just want to say that I hope things went well with your mother's seminar. I, personally, think it's a great idea. Keep up the good work.

Speaking of which, it has come to my attention that you have committed to writing everyday for the entire month of November.  Although, I admire your work ethic, I must insist that you limit yourself to six days a week as we all know that Sunday is a day of rest, a day when one is supposed to do things like spend time with me, begging for my forgiveness, a job or the chance to go on a date with some very good-looking individual that they have no business even talking to, let alone date, to name a few.

I am hoping this will be the only time I need to contact you regarding this matter. If you consider ignoring my request, I would urge to remember it is I who will decide where you will spend all of eternity.   I have cc'd Stacy as I was told she pushed you into this against your will by promising to find you a husband. 

Have a great week.

Best,

The Almighty One

Being that I am quite religious and terrified of spending the afterlife in a condo next door to my ex mother-in-law, I am afraid that for the rest of the Sundays in November, I will be spending my time in Bloomingdales temple, taking advantage of their fall shoe sale, connecting with the Almighty One. Now some of you might think I'm a total pussy religious fanatic, however, I assure you that I am only doing this because I need a new pair of brown boots out of respect for my higher power and I believe if you were looking for a reason to get out of this NABLO whatever crap got an email from the Lord, you'd do the same. 

Bless you all and I have a wonderful day. 

The only runway I'm seeing is at the airport

The other night, I went out to dinner with Christy . If you don't know who she is, please go to her site.  She is very smart and funny, my two favorite personality traits and never fails to put a smile on my face. 

Christy is also the gentile version of me which is to say, she drinks, she's happy and she actually went out for a meal in NYC and nothing she wore was black.

Anyway, the restaurant we went to was Mexican. We hadn't been sitting down two minutes when I grabbed my first chance to humiliate both of us.  You see, I've been studying Spanish for almost a year and try to practice as often as I can. When the waiter arrived to take our order, I asked if I could do so in Spanish to which he had no choice but to reply:

WAITER: Ahhhh, ummmm, si.

Now, I love languages,  but suffice it to say, as I hard as I tried to speak with an accent, I never fail to butcher the words into small little pieces to the point where people stare at me like they are listening to a three year old trying to describe her first day of pre school.

Had Christy stood up at that moment and headed straight for the door, I wouldn't have been surprised.  Instead, she took it all in with good humor, probably figuring, it would be the last time that evening that I would make her wish she had stayed home and steam cleaned her carpets.

Unfortunately, for her, that is when the two tall, thin, young, waifs walked in with what should have been MY legs, my skin and for God sakes my hair . It was obvious they were models and I suddenly found myself excited because during my entire teenage years, I wanted nothing more than to walk the runways of Europe.

Deep, I know.

These girls just so happened to sit down next to us. Right away, I was dying to ask them, "Do you guys model?"  Christy, was not on board with the idea at all and seemed to be paying attention more to the guacamole than to my need to know if these women were making a living with what truly should have been MY body. 

In retrospect, Christy was most likely more focused on how long it would take her to remove me from her Facebook page than anything else, but of course, I didn't notice because WE HAD TWO MODELS SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO US!

In the end, I couldn't take it anymore and finally just asked them. Naturally, they said yes. Then I asked them how old they were and told them my model dream scenario and stared intensely at their incredible skin.  I would have stayed longer but I wanted to leave before things got awkward.

Is there a mouse in your mouth or are you just happy to hear from me?

I called my daughter at in Los Angeles tonight.  The following is a verbatim recall of our discussion:

JESSICA: Hey baby, mommy misses you soooo much.

PHOEBE (says nothing just makes squeaking noises)

JESSICA: Did you have a good day at school?

PHOEBE (still with the squeaking)

JESSICA: I love you so much.

PHOEBE (the squeaking continues)

JESSICA: I bought you some clothes.

PHOEBE: Are they pink?

JESSICA: (says nothing, just makes squeaking noises)

PHOEBE: Stop it!

JESSICA: (still with the squeaking)

PHOEBE: Ma Mee, stoooop!

JESSICA: (the squeaking continues)

PHOEBE: Daddy gave me his candy from Halloween and said I could bring it to your house.

JESSICA: Is it all chocolate? Are there any "Dots"?

PHOEBE: I have to go now. Bye.

Call Me When You Can Breathe Out Of Your Nose

I talked on the phone the other night with a guy.  I decided not to go out and meet with him because I could hear the fall out from his deviated septum and the possibility of spending the rest of my nights hearing it live was just too much to bare.

I know you’re thinking I’m being too picky but let me tell you that if there is one thing I love more than chocolate it’s sleep and what kind of woman would I be to put “rhinoplasty” as a condition of marriage?

Then again, if I did let him sleep in my bed night after night, I might save on having an alarm system. You gotta figure that if I can hear this guy breathing heavily on the phone and all we were talking about is the fact that he sells glass frames for a living, which trust me, was a huge turn on, more so because I’m now officially far sighted and have you seen the price of a good pair of frames lately? 

Anyway, I digress. With his breathing, I could save on the cost of the alarm because any intruder who decided to stop by would more than likely turn around because he would know that there was a man in the house which would be better than a dog, which was the other form of “protection” I was thinking of investing in but have yet to, due to the cost of food, health care, leashes and the idea of picking up after him every time he decided to show the world the contents of his colon.

However, an alarm system has no mother, is self sufficient and best of all, I can push it's buttons and all I get in return are a few beeping sounds.