Jewish, Single… Ready To Mingle?!

50 Ways To Leave Your Lover – Paul Simon

Have you ever had to ask yourself: Am I anti-Semitic?

I have.

So tonight started off with myself and my buddy Chowder DJing at the London Hotel. Up on the rooftop. Pool party. Savage spot. You know the one, just featured in the last episode of Entourage where Turtle was having his business meeting. (On a side note, what has happened to that show? Or was it always dodge?!) Anyway, last pool party of the summer. Dance. On! Started off well. Setting up, this little orangey brown girl with big pikey style jewelry next to us kept shouting out song requests. Please pipe down, Snooki, give us a minute. (On another side note, have you ever seen My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding? Just realised Snooki dresses like one of those brides. Good work all round). Pretty soon she was carted off by her minders, music gets going. Free booze for the first hour. Place is soon packed. Not a bad night’s work. Until we realise there’s something weird going on. Large group gathered next to us. Almost all women. All mingling about. All stopping and staring when walking past the DJ booth. Hmmm. Something’s up.

Husband Hunting

Spot a flyer on the table near us: Single Jewish Women’s Night Out! Single, Jewish… Ready To Mingle?! Come join us! Oh Jesus. That’s why there’s so much eye humping going on all over the place. No wonder there’s a reek of desperation in the air. Girls walking past the booth, heads twisting like Chucky, bizarre look of ‘I’m-hunting-down-a-husband-before-my-biological-clocks-expires’ tattooed on their faces. By girls, I mean mostly women. Done up to the nines. Wobbling around on high heels. Ready to stick their claws into the most suitable guy they can find. Pressure of finding the right man twitching out of their necks. Veins popping. Fake smiles wavering. Overhearing conversations between desperate Jews along the lines of: Ha haha ha ha, that’s so funny haha ha… MARRY ME!!!!

Intense crowd. Guys weren’t much better. Mostly bald. Or balding. Belly but skinny. Gut protruding out from under their shirts. Suits too short. Pants one size too small. Beady eyes surveying the room. Nnnnwaaahh. Trying to be cool in the bathroom. Ahh man, you don’t know what I’m gonna do to that girl tonight! What girl? Well, when I find a girl. I’m single and here to mingle! Jewish in the hoooouse! That’s nice. Good for you. Walk out of the bathroom whistling Desperado. Fan of the subtle digs. They were desperados though. Longer the night went on, the more desperate people got. Longer stares of death. You will like me. And we will get married. I’m not growing up to be old and lonely. We’re going to force ourselves to like each other and get married and grow old and bitter together, OK!?!??! And also, what do you do for a living…

What Are You?

Myself and Chowder tried to hide in the shadows for as long as we could. Dodge these preying desperate pariahs. Slowly but surely they hunted us down. All leading with one of two questions…

Are you gay?  Define what gay means to you, eh, hey hup, my turn to play a song!

Or… Are you married? (I wear a ring on my right hand. Clowns mistakenly assume this means I’m married. Usually don’t believe me when I say I’m not. So I’ve found the best way to end the conversation is by rambling on and on…)

Yes. Really? Yes. But not normal marriage. On my right hand so it means I’m married to God. Really? Yes. Just me and God. So that means you never have… Ahem. Oh no I do, just with God. With God…? Well I think of God. I imagine God’s face. Oh my Gawd. Can I ask what God looks like to you? (Flutters eyelashes, hoping I say her.) You sure can. Point to Howard’s face… Kind of like that. Except has a beard. And more of a woman’s face. Point again to Howard’s face… Nothing like that so really. You know what I mean… By now they’ve either: Walked away confused. Or. Exclaim: Oh my Gawd, Irish customs are so weird. I’m fascinated by it! By the way, are you Jewish?  Oh no, sorry I’m not. And then they walk away.

Tut. Rejected.

... And A Vegan? Some Catch!

All in all, intense night. Desperate women are intense. Desperate men are desperate. Single Jews trying their best to mingle and find a spouse are the most desperate of all. Packed up our stuff. Waiting for the car to be valeted. Surveyed an underage disco style scenario outside. Everyone trying to pick up scraps. Girl sitting next to me on a bench. Bald headed eagle eyed desperate beady eyed cherry in a skimpy suit swoops in… Nnnnnwaaaah. I’m going for pizza. Want to come? Must be vegan pizza though, nnnnwaaah, I’m allergic to regular cheese. Nnnnwaaahhhh.

No.

Nnnnnwaaahhhh. Off he slithers, on to the next one. Leaving the girl next to me. Staring at me. Smile back. Pierces me with her eyes. Imagines what our life might be like if we were to get married. Forty years of thoughts flashing across her face. Smiles again at me. So I tell her: I’m not Jewish. Smile disappears. Tuts. Shakes her head in annoyance. Grabs her keys from the valet guy. Drives off in disgust. Which is when I saw that she drove a savage Porsche. Tut. Dose. Should’ve converted for the convertible!

Auntie

Anyway, now I’m trying to figure out: Does all this make me anti-Semitic?  Or is it that I’m just not a fan of desperate people? All seemed to be clowns. Desperate clowns. Although Snooki seemed like a bit of a clown too. So maybe I’m just anti-clown? Yeah, that’s it. I’m not anti-Semitic. I’m Auntie Clown. Snooki looks like a gypsy bride-to-be. Single Jews are intense. And then they all walk away. The end.

One Is The Loneliest Number – Three Dog Night

Here’s a better photo to do that slick pool some justice. Pink on!

Tags: 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover, Clowns, DJ'ing, God, Intense, Jewish, Joke, London, Married, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, Nutters, One Is The Loneliest Number, Party, Paul Simon, Porsche, Ready To Mingle, Single, Snooki, Three Dog Night, West Hollywood