Who's Schmooie?

I moved out West a few years back to obtain a fancy edumacation. In the process, I told all my new friends in that new place out West to find me a nice Jewish boy. I was living in a modern city, but much to my astonishment, my friends told me I was the first Jewish person they had ever known. Well, I still do live in that very modern city even though most of those friends have moved back to their respective home-states. Surely, Schmooie must be in this city somewhere?

Then a year and a half ago, I did something rather stupid. I moved to Mississippi. How the heck was I going to find Schmooie in a place where I had to explain what a “latke” was? Good grief, I actually had a customer who’s name was “Bris.” He was 3 years old. It was hard keeping a straight face when talking to his mother. Perhaps he was named after a delicious slice of brisket his mother ate when she was pregnant. No one believed me when I later tried to explain to my Southern classmates what a “bris” was in the Jewish religion. They thought perhaps that I was some sort of witch doctor. Schmooie, you probably don’t live in Mississippi, do you?

Now, I’m in the process of moving back to that very modern city out West. I need a job and I need to locate Schmooie. Sometimes it’s a frustrating fruitless process that makes me want to strangle Schmooie once I do find him. This blog details all my attempts to locate Schmooie where ever I go.

Who is Schmooie, you ask? Schmooie is the man of my dreams; that knight in shiny armor, that Prince Charming (not Prince Charles). Schmooie is Mr. Right. I’m just searching for Schmooie.