Ooopah Shmoopah, Schmooie

Was there a full moon last night or was it the unseasonably cool weather in town that made the men at my local synagogue act unusually crazy? After services, the rabbi and his wife always served light refreshments for the congregation. Last night, light refreshments were served al fresco on the backyard patio. There was a darling British woman and her husband who come to synagogue. I keep hoping they have a British relative my age who might be available. I can’t resist a Brit, instead I got a Greek. Read on to find out what that means.

A few months back, a very nice hippie lady at synagogue had told me that she wanted me to meet her son. She said he was very shy around women and he needed to be brought out of his shell. She thought I could do it. She eagerly told me, “My son’s here tonight!” and brought me over to him. Wow, he wasn’t shy, he was hopeless. A very nice guy with no personality. How did he have such a lively mother? He kept hovering near either me or his mother. I felt sorry for him if it was shyness that held him back. I’m actually quite shy myself. I asked him questions and tried to be sociable. He ultimately followed Mama out the door for home. I’m sure there was something symbolic and Freudian in that. 

Then there was a middle aged dude who kept giving me the eye. I’d talked to him before, but he never acted “interested.” I just thought he was another nice person at synagogue. But yesterday, he went on at length about his recent gall bladder surgery and that he too had spent time living in the Deep South. He thought we had a lot in common, gave me his card, and said we should go for coffee sometime. I wonder if I know anyone I can fix him up with.

Finally, there was The Insane Greek. I had never seen him at synagogue before. In fact, I was hurrying out the door, lest the Nice Middle Aged Gall Bladder Man follow me, when I bumped into The Insane Greek, standing outside at the sidewalk. He didn’t look Greek or Jewish. He actually looked Italian. He said he was converting to Judaism. He felt he always had a Jewish soul and that his family was okay with his decision. He had some sort of failing business selling over the counter medication. Now that medical marijuana may become legal in my state and since he knew a lot of legislators, he was thinking of getting into that business. Um, okay….? So, was he going to live life like on the tv show “Weeds”? I didn’t get it. Hence, I call him “insane” even though everything else he said was rather rational. He said we ought to go to a really good Greek restaurant he knew of in the ritzy area of town. He followed the offer up with “You can meet my dad!”—Huh, how’s that again? Turned out his father’s a musician and plays Greek music at that particular restaurant once a week. Look, you are so not Schmooie, but I am willing to go on just that one date if it means we get to throw dishes and say “Oompah!”