• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
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He Didn’t Notice That The Lights Had Changed

I turned in my revised article to Poets & Writers today. I’m really hoping they take it because I could use the dough. And I’ve always wanted to get in there ever since they turned down my article about author photos eight years ago. I still can’t believe they didn’t snap it up. Speaking of snapping things up, I received three Monday morning rejections today. It’s a good fuck me Monday morning feeling. Saw my therapist today, usually I go on Fridays. I’m the same fucked up person on Mondays as I am on Fridays. Why is this day no different than all other days?

Two of my clients received amazing blurbs. Two of my clients are waiting for months to hear from their editors. Two of my clients are AWOL. I can’t get the dermatologist to call me back.  Jon Stewart is wearing glasses tonight.  I’ve always liked men in glasses. I did all the edits for the P&W piece on-line. Believe it or not, I’ve  never done that before. I wish my life had a track changes option. Show changes. Show final. Me on a slab ready for stuffing and lipstick.

What would you like your epitaph to say? AED once said mine would say, She Dieted. Ha ha. She got that right!

37 Responses

  1. Track Changes on life? Brilliant. I’d kill for the option to Accept Changes or Reject Changes. Imagine being able to Reject that really stupid evening with one too many martinis when I couldn’t speak without slurring my words. Or Accept those moments when my daughter looks at me and sees someone she admires.

  2. What? They turned down an article about author photos? Was it a “don’t let this happen to you” article where you were going to give out tips about not putting hands on the face, or was it more of a retrospective on your favorites?

    My epitaph might say, She played to be runner up.

  3. Epitaph: “I’ll be fine in a minute!”

  4. Epitaph: “She loved all dogs and some people.”

  5. Epitath: “He always got this confused with ‘epigram.’ Not any more.”

  6. “Despite all the kicking and screaming, she really did cherish her life.”

  7. Christian Kane, David Tennant, Colin Firth, and my husband also look good in glasses . . . what was the question?

    Epitaph: “To be continued . . . “

  8. Betsy, snap out of it! You’ve got your blog and people like me actually reading it. Send me the article about authors photos. I’ll just change the title, add my name and send back to Poets and Writers/ They’ll publish it. You’ll write a big expose on them and publish that somewhere else and make even more money than they would have paid you in the first place. And now look what you’ve done: you’ve got me writing a reply to your blog instead doing my own stupid work. Stop blogging me. I’ve got my own life to worry about.

  9. Epitaph:
    Heaven… I’m in heaven..

  10. Wait! Not done revising.

  11. What is it about dermatologists not returning calls?

    That could possibly be my epitaph, too. Or I like your line “Same fucked up person on Monday as she was on Friday.” That works well.

  12. Epitaph: She wasn’t funny enough.

  13. She tried.

  14. Weasel: 9, Jess: 0.

  15. She never cried at the appropriate times.

  16. I’ve already put in my will that instead of an epitaph, to have the final chorus of Turnadot placed above my name on the tombstone. I’d rather be interred with a positive expression than under a reminder of my failings.

  17. I have an article in the May/June issue of P&W…too bad we won’t be appearing in the same issue. Though I’m guessing your article would be a hell of a lot more entertaining, so you’d just make me look bad anyway. So never mind.

    I assume your author photos piece got picked up somewhere else? People love that kind of stuff.

  18. Epitaph: She’s not here

  19. Synchronicity? Swear to God I woke up from that very dream this morning, screaming at myself for not tying up all the loose ends. But I am.
    Doesn’t matter that I made beautiful stained glass windows; that I also made beautiful hand-painted tiles, including a mural that adorns a church—they weren’t loose ends, rather side tracks.
    But this life is coming full circle, which I am tying up with a memoir before getting aboard for the next dimension.
    Epitaph: “She came full circle” which has the makings of a pretty good story.
    Thanks for asking.

  20. Epitaph: “Motherfucker”

  21. “Don’t Cry For Me, Betsy Lerner”

  22. This is not original to me, but I warned the real author of it that I intended to steal her idea because I’m not funny enough to come up with something as good as this. My epitaph: So NOW you bring me flowers.

  23. freedom fighter.

  24. Someone will sneak into the graveyard and change mine no matter my last wishes, I just know it, and it will probably end up reading: See! Told ya. Just look at him now.

  25. Just to try to give back the love you have given me, is it passover? How deeply imbedded is your religion, your people? Could this be the cause of the hopeless feeling. Have a seat, Betsy. The Romans aren’t sweeping through. You have done nothing wrong. But, if your religion is hopelessly imbedded in you, nail that symbol on your door. Do yourself a favor, and then figure it out later. Sometimes, life is that simple. Or, I’m a total asshole. I really can’t figure it out sometimes. But I think most people are bilging their ass anyway. So what the fuck. What the hell. You never know. I hate guilt.

  26. It’s all on videotape, DVD, Blu-ray (I do not know what this is) and on-demand.

  27. My hand is always darting out in search for the Back button, even when I’m not at my computer. That’s why I spend so much time online: no regrets, only distractions. No epitaph; I’ll simply be cremated on the bank of a river, if I’m lucky.

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