Hello, hello! Thank you for joining me and being patient while I try to find a solid 15 - 20 minutes of alone time to write in this thing. If you are new to this Substack (even if you’re not), that you so much for joining this personal experiment. I know I started out thinking maybe I’d write some recommendations and stuff, and I will, eventually, but I’ve also had a lot of ideas to write about rolling around in this head of mine and the exciting thing about this new publication for me is that — I genuinely do not give a rat’s a** if I get a lot of views or not. It’s just fun. In my past experiences with online creativity, I’ve cared a lot, like, a lot a lot, about how many views and likes I get. And then I turned 42 and felt like maybe it’s time to stop acting like a teenager and not care so much about that, yes? Yes.
So buckle-up.
Today’s post is truly an exploration of what I’ve come to discover about myself and the people I connect with. I absolutely have a type. It’s so glaringly obvious when I look back over the last 20 years of my life. When I look back to whom I’ve connected with—whom I want to be around all the time—it’s not the Jake Gyllenhaals or even the Brad Pitts of the world. No. It’s the Lainie Kazans of the world. Don’t know who that is? First, make it a little less obvious that you are neither a Jewish woman in your 40s or a gay man in your 20s (and older). Second, let’s take a deep dive in to my love affair with the older Jewish lady (heretofore referred to as OJL), shall we?
It started when I was out of college and working in my first jobs. I started noticing a pattern in whom I gravitated towards within work culture/life. My first job ever out of college (aside from being a barista at Starbucks, Capital Hill), was working for an organization called Death with Dignity National Center. The staff list consisted of me, administrator assistant, a remote Communications Director, and a highly overpaid Executive Director. We rented our work space from a larger organization called Alliance for Justice. Thankfully, Alliance for Justice had a full employee roster of young, smart, professionals whom I absolutely adored cause I would have been stuck with the train wreck that was my boss as a social outlet at work and HARD pass on that. It wasn’t until I had moved on to Chicago and started working for The Hillels of Illinois that I truly fell in love with my first older Jewish lady co-worker and that co-worker, was Patty Ray Ray. Her first name? Patty. Her middle name? Ray. Her married last name? Ray. Yes, her legal name was Patty Ray Ray. The aren’t strong enough words to describe the character that is Patty Ray Ray. She was at least 20 years older than me, give or take a few years, and religiously observant. She had a Shew-Fro (She Jew-Fro) and wore long skirts with sneakers and I want to say there was always a fanny pack but I’m not sure if that was actually part of her get-up or I just wished it to be so. Patty Ray Ray was my gateway into falling in love with this strong Jewish female. Not strong in the sense that she was going to feminist rallies and sticking it to the man, but strong in that she didn’t give a F*CK what people thought about her — she was solidly who she was and went about her days and nights seemingly just being her quirky, overtly Jewish self to the point that some might say she was not very self-aware and I loved it and her for it. Of course, at the time, I could not put my finger on what it was that drew me to her but drawn I was. Every time I had a meeting with her or program on her campus at Loyola, I was genuinely excited to see Patty. I don’t think she was particularly creative or innovative at her job and I did not see her as a work mentor. I just saw her as this being of truth— I saw something in her that pulled me in and I wanted to be around that as much as possible.
There have been other OJLs since Patty Ray Ray that my love and adoration has been directed towards. There was Diane at the Jewish Council on Urban Affairs who wore so much Clinique Aromatics perfume I had to politely ask her to stop wearing it to work because it was making me nauseous. I still adored her though — even if she hadn’t stopped wearing that relic from the 80s. Shew-fro? Check. Quirky, loud personality? Check. Wore sensible shoes or sneakers to literally every event ever, regardless of assigned dress code? You better believe it. Can’t name a current pop celebrity but can make the best brisket of your life? Check. Let’s go, Diane. I got you. After Diane there was Arlene and Jacquie in Miami and Jodi in Los Angeles, just to name a few. In my 20s, this OJL crush would typically be directed at an older Jewish lady who was at least 20 - 25 years older than me and that rule still seems to apply. Now, as a 42 year-old, there are absolutely OJLs in my life who are in the early 60s whom I worship and fit this bill to a T.
It’d be easy and a little elementary to assume that my love for the older Jewish lady stems from my relationship with my mom but I genuinely don’t think it does. My mom is Southern, even though she doesn’t truly admit it. She says things like, “tomatah” instead of “tomato” and her Hebrew-speaking has so much twang to it I sometimes get lost in listening to her say whatever prayer she’s reciting because it’s very cute. No, it doesn’t come from my mom because the OJLs I fall in love with are typically Ashkenazi East Coasters who are low-key ball busters with hair like Barbra’s from A Star is Born and can sometimes be really mean but you love them anyway.
So if you’re reading this and you feel I’m describing you in this post, can I just say, “Thank you" and also, please please please, keep being unabashedly, unapologetically you. There’s a slightly younger Jewish woman out there secretly worshipping the ground you walk on.
Just so you know, there used to be a store here in Rome (it only closed last year due to lock downs, etc) that I always affectionately referred to as The Old Lady Jewish Store. Not quite OJL, but near enough. It was my way of telling my friends that it was a clothing store for us ('old' ladies) and was also owned by an extremely nice and friendly Roman jewish man who was SO happy to find out I ,and my daughter, were Jewish. If I had known I could make an acronym out of it, it would have made it so much easier. OLJS. I miss it.
we can't be out here mingling with people who don't know who Lainie Kazan is. It ain't right. lol