My name is Ethel Flamerod, and I'm....

... a JellOholic.

There, I said it.

I can't believe it's come to this. Most of my life, I needed alcohol like a lokh in kop. I had my first taste of hard liquor on my eighteenth birthday. I was served drinks in teensy little glasses called shots. I thought they were like cocktail noshes, little snippets of flavor without a lot of substance. I figured it would take about ten of the little drinklets to fill up a glass, so I enjoyed several of them in rapid succession-- a strawberry shortcake, lemon drop, chocolate kiss, and something called "151". After that, things got a little fertummelt. I remember almost nothing. I vaguely recall trying to remove my glitter nail polish, which apparently was hampered by the fact that I hadn't actually put any liquid polish remover on the cotton balls. I awakened to find that my tongue was inexplicably black, my hair was in dredlocks, and my fingernails were obscured by long, wispy strands of white cotton. I looked like a ongepotchket muppet.

I vowed never to drink again, and I haven't. Unless you count slurping. Do you count slurping? 'Cuz ever since I tasted my first Jell-O shot, I've been slurping like a freser. I found a recipe for those delicious Malibu shots, which taste like globs of tropical heaven, and the last week has been a haze of blue coconut excess. Last night, I showed up at the HEAT meeting with a trayful of shots, half of them already empty. My dear HEAT friends, bless their hearts, immediately held an impromptu intervention. Meshuggenah Earl, it turns out, is a former shikker, and he's offered to take me to one a' them AA meetings tomorrow morning, after I sober up a bit.

Oy-oy-oy! I am such a farshtinkener. Forgive me, readers. Forgive me, fellow Helfans. I'm done with the Jell-O for good... except for what's already in the fridge. What, I should throw out perfectly good food when people are starving?

Justice Kagan: Come out of the closet!!!

Today, I was watching CNN's coverage of Elena Kagan's confirmation, and, as I saw image after image of the diminutive Justice-to-be, standing in the long shadow of just about every other human in her vicinity, I had a stunning realization: This woman is no ordinary Jewish legal genius. My instincts told me that Elena Kagan is actually a fellow Helfan!

I jumped on the computer to confirm my suspicion that Ms. Kagan was sired by a little person who didn't stick around long enough to be a father to her (in other words, an elf masquerading as a human). To my dismay, I read that her father was very much in the picture throughout her life, and since no mention was made of his height, I had to assume he was not unusually sized.

At that point, my despair was as heavy as my bubbe's matzoh balls. Could it possibly be that *gasp* my helfandar had failed me for the first time? I decided to do more research. Can you believe that there's not a single picture of Daddy Kagan anywhere on the Internet? As the youngsters say these days, "Woot, woot!" Clearly, this has gotta be a massive cover-up. I'm telling you: she is a Helfan sistah with a different mistah!

Justice Kagan, I urge you to come out of the closet and proudly declare your Helfanity to the world! Don't hide anymore. It's 2010. It's about time that the Supreme Court became truly inclusive -- not just of different genders and races, but also of specieseses!



And maybe you could nudge your new colleague, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, to come out of the closet, too? 'Cuz girl, no way that chick is human!

I love Phlegm!

Phlegm is such a mensch! He and I spent an hour outside of Melvina's apartment, singing the entire song list from the musical, "Mamma Mia", until she finally forgave me for deserting her, passed out and spread-eagled in the lobby, after that distastrous Jell-O shot HEAT meeting a few weeks ago.

The three of us continued our sing-along on the taxi ride to the Moe Howard Jewish Community Center (until the cabbie made us stop, the killjoy). Our spirits were so high that I didn't even flinch when I saw Meshuggenah Earl waiting for us. He had a new tinfoil hat on, shaped like a swan, which seemed appropriately festive for the night's meeting.

Phlegm asked lots of questions about my Helfanism. He thinks there may be a Helfan in his family tree, which would explain why the men in his family never crack the 5'6" ceiling. I've suggested he research it some more, see if there's a little person in his distant ancestry who could have been an elf. Wouldn't that be exciting!

He asked me about my own elfin father, and I told him what little I know: that he was a carny worker nicknamed Lobo, he got my mom preggers in the parking lot of her high school, and soon after that he left town never to return. I have no photos of him, though lately I've been picturing him as a very short John Wayne.

I didn't tell them about the other elf I know. That's a story for another day, and I may need a fair amount of Jell-O before I'm ready to share it.

HEAT wave in the East? Not so much

I guess I should have known, when I starting going Yiddish on everyone at last week's HEAT meeting, that something wasn't kosher. I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a carpet growing on my tongue. My first thought was that I'd feel better if I ate something, and the only thing I thought I could stomach was another of those darling little Jell-O treats that the frat boys brought to the meeting.

I dragged myself to the bodega down the street and asked El Jefe if he had a box of instant "Malibu" Jell-O, and he says to me, "Ethel, this ain' no liquor store!" Turns out those little Jell-Os were chockful of alcohol. Those little pishers got me drunk!

Melvina isn't talking to me because I left her passed out (like I knew?) in the lobby all night. So I went to the meeting alone last night. Meshuggah Earl was waiting for me outside the Moe Howard Jewish Community Center and said the room stank to high heaven of rotting gefilte fish. I ended up cancelling the meeting and spent the entire time scrubbing down the meeting room with with bleach, which barely cut through the stench. Thanks a lot, New York, for picking this week to have a record heat wave. Pee-uw!

One positive note: one of the frat boys showed up last night and helped me clean up. Ian (his nickname is Phlegm) was very apologetic and said he was actually interested in joining HEAT! So I guess it's not a total loss.

I just wish I could stop thinking about Jell-O.

Frat boys in HEAT!

Weeeeee! Tonight was the most successful gathering ever of my HEAT chapter, thanks to this blog.

I just knew that my outreach into the blogosphere would boost attendance. I spent all day in balebusteh mode, making enough gefilte fish to feed an army! When I got to the community center, I was mortified: there was no one there but me, my wonderful neighbor Melvina, and meshuggenah Earl. (I know, I know. I should be grateful for his support, but oy! His tinfoil hat apparently had food in it at one time, and it's beginning to attract flies.)

Anyway, I was just about to call the meeting to order when the door burst open, giving way to at least a dozen boisterous boychiks who had read about the meeting on this humble blog!

"Welcome, friends!" I shouted above their joyous laughter. "Please help yourself to a nosh and a pamphlet."

(Photo from piratejohnny's photostream on Flickr)
"Nah," replied a youngster named Tucker, who turned out to be the president of the college fraternity that had graced us with their presence this evening. "We brought our own refreshments." He pulled out a cooler filled to the brim with darling little glasses filled with Jell-O. Kids these days with their crazy snacks!

These boys were so enthusiastic. Every time I said the word, "helfan", they would all yell "Helfan yes!" in unison and slurp down a cup of Jell-O. They even got me and Melvina to join them in their delightful little celebratory ritual. (Earl refused, of course; he won't eat anything that isn't in a hermetically sealed container.)

I guess the youthful exuberance of my new HEAT members was contagious. I got a bit carried away, tossed the week's agenda into the trash, and joined Melvina and the boys in a high-spirited game of gefilte fish soccer. Earl left in a huff, and before I knew it, it was 10:30, well past the time we were allotted to be in the community center. We all had one more of those tasty Jell-O treats in honor of our helfan brothers and sisters ("Helfan yes!"), and then the boys helped me clean the gefilte bits off the floor and out of my hair. Such mensches!

Melvina, the poor dear, fell asleep during our cab ride home. I have left her propped up on the floor in our building's lobby. In my defense, I'm only 4'8", and Melvina is thick-boned and over six-feet tall. I should try to schlep her up three floors?

What I really should do is start planning for the next meeting, but think better lie down now. For some reason, room seems to be spinning.

Oy.

I am in HEAT!

Welcome, dear reader. I am Ethel Flamerod, proud Helfan and founding member of HEAT, the Human Elf Association for Truth.

Having only recently discovered my true species identity, I am embarking on a mission to find my helfan brothers and sisters across the globe. I am also hoping to end the embargo on the truth about our existence, which has been buried by the elfin establishment and ignored by the entire human population for centuries.

In the coming months, I shall tell you the truth about elves -- their origins, history and their interdependent relationship with the human species -- and their dirtiest little secret, their Helfan offspring who suffer needlessly because they don't understand their special gifts and abilities.

I realize that this endeavor opens me to great risk, so I am asking you to be my witness, my confidant, and my advocate. If I do not write at least once a week, I beg of you to alert the authorities and demand an investigation into my disappearance. I suspect that the CIA, or INTERPOL, or (G-d forbid) Santa himself, will seek to silence me.

I shall not be silenced.

I am Helfan! Hear me roar!!!!!