What are you afraid of?

He sits down next to me and I freeze in place. I barely breath, my eyes focused forward, unblinking.

"Hows your evening going?" he says.

"Great," I say, hoping like hell that he will get up and move on.

He is sitting so close to me, not touching me but just barely. "Are you happy?" he asks. I don't respond.

'Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone' I repeat in my head, over and over.

But he doesn't. He just keeps talking. He says he thinks it's nice that I don't have a phone in front of my phone. That the world needs more people like us. I am not willing to put him and I in the same category.

When I relax enough to move my head, I notice his fingernails are cracked and dirty. He has a rolled joint between his fingers. Some of his teeth are missing. For all intents and purposes, he looks homeless.

But he doesn't smell bad. I notice that.

He keeps talking, I try to tune him out but he won't stop.

He says he just wants to talk, he's a good guy, he just wants to connect with other people.

He says his name is William, by the way, and he hopes one day I will remember him as a good guy.

He seems to think that we are alike, and I hope that is not true.

 But I decide he seems harmless enough, so I start responding. "Are you happy?" I fire back at him.

He says not really, he is lonely sometimes and he just wants company.

He mentions Jewish people. I ask him if he believes in G-d. He says he doesn't believe in one G-d who runs the world, he thinks we are each our own G-ds and goddesses.

I tell him that I believe in G-d. And by the way, I'm Jewish. He says that's nice.

Thank G-d it is now my stop. I stand to get off. He stands too. I groan.

He says, oh I actually have to get off here too. I need to go to C___ station.

I say, you missed it, it's two stops back that way. He says he will walk.

I say it's a long walk, just take the subway.

Please don't follow me, Please don't follow me, Please don't follow me, I think over and over again. He doesn't follow me.

I leave the station. My heart is pounding. 

William, you are right. It is sad that there are so many bad guys out there in the world that we are taught to be afraid of them all. I live in New york and I know that the subway is ripe with weirdos. My first instinct is to run in the other direction.

If I wasn't afraid, I would tell you that I am happy, for the most part. That I'm a writer, and isn't that cool? That I'm different than a lot of people, that you and I have something in common, we both want to connect to people, but the difference is that you try while I block everyone out. I don't need people, I say. They are burdensome and annoying. They speak a different language. We have nothing in common.

William, why me? Out of all the anonymous faces on the train, why did you choose to sit down next to me? And why when you ask such a simple question, are you happy, does my heart pound and my mind is saying yes but thinking hmmm I never thought about it cuz no one ever asked.

I'm afraid of you, because I fear the unknown. Had I known you were no threat we may have had a pleasant conversation.

But I am also afraid of myself, and what I would discover if I let my guard down.

I'm afraid of what will come out when I open my mouth. I have so much to say, but no one really asked.

Why me?

Stay warm tonight, William. I will remember you.

The World and I

"There's no I in team". That's what they like to say, anyway.

If I help you, will you help me? Will we do this together?

But it was I who was up until 6 am writing my paper. It is I who will give it in. It is I who will be graded on it.

You encourage us to discuss, share, learn from each other. But what happens when I get paired with the one person in class who barely speaks or writes English properly? In an English class. An English major. It is grade school all over again as I search the crowd seeking out a partner, someone, anyone but him. And all I want to say is, why sir are you majoring in English when you can barely write it?

It is torture reading a poorly written paper, and to have to comment and evaluate it is hard. I want to mark it with a big red F and move on with my life. I know better. I am smarter. I am greater. My paper is complete, it meets the guidelines, it is perfect.

Why then must you ask us to reread, to rethink, to question, to restate, to reask, to revise, to rearrange? All words that begin with 're', the prefix that means to do over again. But I don't want to do over again, I want to be done with it. Don't make me question it, I have no answers.

Yes, I'm tired. My brain is lazy. It wants to curl up in warmth and sleep and stop revising a paper that will have no impact on my life.

I don't need you to tell me how to do things, because I already know.

Who said that I am right and you are wrong? Who said that the way we speak and write is right or wrong or must comply with the rules? Who has made these rules?

In an alternate universe, you would read my paper and groan at how bad it is and how hard it is for you to read such junk. You'd think to yourself, if only everyone could write like me the world would be a better place. You would walk outside and think that the sky is shining for you, that the birds are singing for you, that everyone is praising you for you are great.

I easily slip into the mode of right and wrong. Why do you heat up water in the microwave instead of on the stove, that's just dumb. Why do you straighten your hair every day, it looks just fine curly. Why do you take advil when you have a headache, be a man and suffer through it.

The question, really, is why is the world not more like me.

But instead of telling you what a stupid paper you wrote, I smile and say that you have a good start, here is where you can go with it.

I say, oh poor you I'm sorry you have a headache, when all I'm thinking is, (*cough*)drug abuser(*cough*).

The world may be full of idiots, or I may need to learn more tolerance, or both.

The answer lies not in the world, but in me.

The House Across The Way

I see them mostly every day. I can't say I really know who they are. We share a walkway. I say a neighborly 'Hi, how are you' when I see them. She's a mom, with two kids. There's no husband around. I thought he died. I heard they're divorced. I didn't care enough to find out which was true.

The little girls sat outside one day with a table full of toys from their house, yelling "Sale! Sale!". In an effort to help them out I bought a pack of playing cards for two dollars. They told me I was their second sale of the day.

On Purim I did the neighborly thing and accepted shaloch manos for them when people came around, rather than letting it sit outside their door.

I chatted briefly with the mom. I offered to let the girls wait inside my apartment when their mom wasn't home. I've seen them in school uniforms and assumed they attended the local frum girls' school. I hear them coming and going. I'm a New Yorker at heart. I can't say I really know them. I can't say I really care.

One day I saw them outside wearing pants. I looked twice to be sure they were the same little girls who lived next door. They were. I said hi and walked past. It made me sad.

I try not to be a nosy person, but I wondered if anyone knew, if anyone cared what was happening to the family. I only sort of know their names.

One Shabbos I heard the little girls outside. I am slightly ashamed to say I spied on them through the peephole. I heard them call their mother. No one answered the door. The older girl said, in a nervous voice, "I'm gonna ring the doorbell". The little one looked uncomfortable. She rang the doorbell and I ran quietly away from the door, thinking about what I saw. Their mom came to the door. I'm not sure, but I think I heard her voice through the intercom.

I'm thinking, somebody should do something about this. Anybody. But not me. I barely know them. I'm not nosy. What would I say?

And so I stood by and did nothing, and let these Yidishe neshamos slip away.

A simple gesture

He appears at my desk and immediately I wonder what he wants.

"I just wanted to say hi".

I say hi, in a bewildered voice.

"How are you?", he asks, with concern in his voice.

He asks like he cares. Like I am important and my state of being matters to him.

I say I'm fine, thanks, it's nice to see you.

He works in the upper management of the company and I've only spoken with him a few times. It is nice to feel like he knows me.

Say hi like you mean it.

Pity

There are times in life when we show the world how strong we are, that despite any situation we can keep going and stay strong. We scorn pity, we say no thanks we're fine, move along.

Then there are those times like when you get your wisdom tooth taken out and all you want is for people to say 'awww how's it feeling, that really sucks'.

Ya it sucks. I can't eat anything, I can't drink anything, there's blood, and I'll spare you the rest.

I may be brave but coddling would be nice. (Thanks mom).

#Hashtag #Chanukah #Blues

I can see the big greasy latkes my mother used to make when I was a kid. We would sit on the floor and play dreidel, eat chocolate coins and donuts and enjoy Chanukah like only a kid can.

One of my fond memories from childhood was running across the street to Lefferts park right before Shabbos Chanukah to see Rabbi Butman land in a helicopter and get a dreidel. He would light the public menorah in Manhattan and fly back to Crown Heights to make it in time for Shabbos. Then he would hand out dreidels to the kids waiting there.

Chanukah was an exciting time, to have vacation from school, get Chanukah gelt, and eat and eat and eat.

Chanukah as an adult is hard. Between work, school and life, I have to make time to light the menorah. I dread the greasy food, I treat donuts like they are the enemy, I can't imagine how many calories are in all these foods. 

We had an office Chanukah party for the first time ever and I made the effort to go. It was fun seeing coworkers after hours, there was food and alcohol and entertainment. Some people brought their spouses and families. I brought no one. 

I came home to see a card for me from my grandparents. They send me a Chanukah card every year, with a check inside. It is a nice gesture and I smile when I see it. Someone is thinking about me.

For me, the meaning of holidays has changed a lot since I became an 'adult'. Things are not done for me anymore. My family doesn't really have huge parties. If I didn't light the menorah for myself, no one would. 

It is a hard transition from being a child to being an independent individual with responsibilities. It gets easier but not funner. Even though I go through the motions, it would be nice if I could just show up and participate. 

Despite my personal feelings about holidays, it is heartwarming to see menorahs in banks and gas stations and know that the whole world is celebrating the festival of lights.

When chatty is too chatty

I got an email from my professor entitled "A letter to pretty much everyone I know". It was a holiday greeting of sorts. I don't know if she intended to send it to students or if she simply sent it to her whole email list.

It was 'family newsletter' style, updating people on her life, what she is doing now, etc. Oh, and that she is pregnant! Yay.

Is that too personal to be telling students? She actually told me already, we were walking to the subway together after class and she said she hates taking the subway, she used to bike to school but she stopped now because she is pregnant, even if that is just an excuse.

When I say pregnant I mean I can barely tell. She sits at her desk most of the class but I have seen her standing up and I don't recall seeing a baby bump. (Although I'm not the greatest judge, in high school there were teachers like in their 5th month and girls would be whispering about it and I would be like, what, she's pregnant? Huh.)

She is a very friendly teacher and the class is small and 'intimate', but I still think a line should be drawn and personal information such as having a baby need not be shared.

Oh, so on the show 'The Biggest Loser' the trainer Bob 'came out' as being gay, he was trying to encourage a contestant to 'come out' to his parents. I saw an article how this is the first time that Bob was open about his gayness. But c'mon, we all knew already. So is he now gay because he said it publicly, or was he gay all along? But if someone called him gay before he 'came out', could he sue for defamation of character? Is that a real thing?

Does all personal information have to be shared publicly? 

What I'm thankful for

It's quiet in the apartment as I watch my menorah keep an eye on it while watching a show on my laptop and I am thankful for the quiet. It is hard living with other people and coming home after a hard day of work and being surrounded by noise, and being asked how my day is when I don't care to talk about it.

But at the same time I am thankful that I have people in my life who ask me about my day.

I am thankful for my free time, which is rare these days. Between work and school I am pretty busy and have very few hours that I can just relax.

I get a call from a friend asking if I can come over and babysit now. She took a gamble that I wouldn't be in school and she got lucky. It is cold and rainy out and the thought of leaving the house on my free night is not welcoming. But I always tell her "call me if you need me" and I am always busy when she does, so I go. And I am thankful for the three gorgeous cuties who keep me company when they are supposed to be sleeping. The 3 year old tells me about the menorah he made, and squeezing 'shemen zayis' into his menorah and I want to pinch his cheeks. I say I'll tell them one bedtime story and I struggle to remember the story of Chanukah, something about Antiachus the wicked king, he did to the Jews a terrible thing, and besides he was so mean....- hey it's hard to forget that song. But the kids help fill in the blanks and we get through the story just fine. Then I tell them it's time to sleep.

I am thankful that I have a job where I feel appreciated necessary for the cause and I feel accomplished (when I don't want to strangle someone). I like that I have my work 'people' and work jokes and am a part of it.

I am thankful that I get to leave work at work and go home at the end of the day and not think about it.

We take so many things for granted, like food and shelter and money. I can't imagine my life any other way, neither richer nor poorer. I have come to accept that what I have is mine and I achieved it, I earned it. But it can be taken away in a second.

I am thankful that I feel content and grounded in life, that I am proud of what I have done and where I am heading. I am proud of what I left behind, it is great to be able to recognize that at any given moment in life, you are where you were meant to be.

Happy first night of Chanukah. Have a donut!

Silence

Chance.

John Cage's 4'33”. 

At first I thought it was the dumbest thing I ever heard, to take silence and call it music. 

How can you say that someone “composed” silence, or that they own it? 

It looks really dumb seeing a guy sitting there and not playing the piano for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. 

But truly, it is brilliant. It makes one question, what is music really? 

Is music the beautiful sounds of flutes and violins played for people who want to enjoy the music or dance to it? 

Is music the loud blaring pop that we listen to today? 

Or perhaps the jazz that was so popular, with all the instruments that came with it. 

Methods of chance are weird, make up strange sounds, take objects that we would not normally think of as instruments and use them to compose what can only be referred to as noise and that I would ask someone, no insist that they turn it off. 

It is torturous to listen to it and think thatanyone can possibly call that music. 

But to think that someone could block out a portion of silence and call it music, learn to listen to the sounds, a portion of time can never be duplicated, the idea of it is brilliant. 

Even if I would never choose to listen to it.

Scattered Pieces

There was money on the floor and no one was picking it up.

They didn't seem to realize that those tiny greenish scraps of paper littering the floor was a dollar bill torn into many pieces.

Who would do that?

Scattered forever never to be reunited.

Or perhaps swept up and thrown away.

21 pieces. All over.

There is George Washington's face.

You just stepped on him.

Clever, or stupid?

A game?

A message?

Were 'they' waiting and watching for someone to pick up the pieces and put the puzzle together?

But I can see it's just one dollar.

So really, is it worth it?

What Now

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Someone left the tap on again. I watch it and contemplate getting up to shut it off.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I have an essay due tomorrow. Haven't yet started it.

Drip. Drip.

Essay will not write itself.

I just sit and stare and listen to the sounds around me, try to hear the silence in the music, and wait for someone to walk by and shut it off.

I stand in the supermarket isle, my basket too heavy to hold.

I leave it there on the floor and walk up and down the isle, looking for a certain type of chips that I can't seem to find.

Get to the end of the isle and turn around and keep looking. Nothing.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

The sink is leaking harder now.

I can't find the chips. Where are the chips?

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

Why won't it stop.

I sit outside on the steps eating licorice. Close my eyes and hope no one will find me here.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

I found the chips. They are long gone now.

The tap is still dripping. It won't stop.

It's a steady stream. 

I can't seem to move.

Someone walks by. I ask her to shut off the tap.

The dripping stops.

Two minutes later someone leaves the tap on again.

I can't seem to win.

Wish I knew what to do next.

Remember, Remember, the 5th of November....

Happy 5 years of blogging!

Today also marks one year from the day that I started working at my current job. Big accomplishment for me, considering I could never imagine myself committing to one job for more than a few months.

I am older and wiser now, and more prepared to take on the world. I hope that this coming year will enable me to continuing growing and analyzing the world around me, in an effort to understand it. I hope that I can add a new perspective, and that people will gain something from seeing the world through my oddly shaped glasses.

Have a cupcake in my honor.

If I went trick-or-treating

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I look around in confusion. Who is she talking to? She repeats the question again, looking at me.

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I say "hahaha, no, I'm actually coming from-"

She points to my red tote bag, which is holding my books from school. Says, "I thought, wow that's a lot of candy."

I smile and ask them how their trick-or-treating is going, did they get a lot of candy, I comment on their costumes and say how cute. I wish them luck in their candy gathering and tell them that I saw a lot of litter on the subway from candy wrappers. We wish each other a good night and part ways.

If I went trick-or-treating would I egg them if no treats appeared? Would I go from door to door and use that opportunity to tout my religion? In exchange for a treat, tell them about G-d?

I'd say, the real treat would be if we could all stop fighting, and live in peace and harmony.

I'd say, Obama's just a name and in a few years he will move out of the White House, and won't you just feel foolish for saying such nasty baseless things about him.

I'd say all these heartless murders are killing us, and there is an autistic child that went missing a few weeks ago, and we may never see him again. I see his picture everywhere and I wonder if he is lost somewhere in the subway tunnels where no one will find him. I think about his parents waiting at home for a call, to hear news good or bad and all they want is for their child to come home. And that little boy is not going trick-or-treating tonight.

I'd say we are separated by race and religion, by political standing and allegiances to teams that play games that mean nothing at all. Sports that waste millions of dollars yearly so fans can stand 3 deep at a bar and scream at the television screen, as if they could decide the fate of other humans. But you and I we share this world, we share the air we breath. We are all humans, people just trying to live our lives.

I'd say wouldn't it be nice to turn on the news for once and not hear about people dying, prisoners escaping, government officials being arrested for corruption, missiles falling in Syria and people pointing fingers and always trying to place the blame on anyone else.

I'd say aren't you scared to let your child leave the house dressed in a costume or a mask, looking like all the other bedecked children tonight and approach a stranger's house, many strangers' houses and ask for candy, are you not afraid for your child's safety.

If I went trick-or-treating I'd give out candy to all the kids, even the ones who came back for seconds, knowing that maybe their moms or dads are too poor to buy candy and tonight they want to feel just like everyone else. I'd make sure that they throw their wrappers in the garbage and not litter them on the subway floors and benches, because after all, that may be someone's bed tonight.

I think of all the people coming in contact with each other, strangers with flitting passing interactions, they laugh and talk and are emboldened by their disguises. They swarm the streets and subway cars in groups, hoping to get lucky tonight. Tomorrow will be back to school and work, if they wore a mask tomorrow they may get arrested for suspicious activity, we are taught to be scared of people in masks and hoods and disguises, but tonight, they blend right in.

Think of how much each person has to share with the world, if everyone dropped advice into these brightly colored trick-or-treating baskets instead of the poison we call candy, the poison that dentists love and parents hate, the poison that guilts people every day into dieting, if we forgo that poison for snippets of love and goodwill we may all be that much healthier and wiser.

I walked by a store tonight that had a sign in the window that announced "NO candy, only stickers", and I wondered which child was dumb enough to enter just to get a sticker, when everyone else was offering free candy.

If I went trick-or-treating I would say, "Sorry, NO candy, but I do have advice, I have life experience, I have insights and opinions, I have a unique outlook on life that is sure to be different than yours, I have happiness and sadness and stories, and love, I have inspiration that is sure to last way longer than that piece of candy that you stuffed in your mouth, or the one you left behind on the subway, deeming it unfit for your possession.

If I went trick-or-treating I would neither trick nor treat, I would not dress up in disguise. I would go out as myself, with all my flaws and all my attributes, I would share what only I can give and show people what they have been missing.

I would be ME, and hope that the world accepts me for who I am.

The Giraffe Challenge

One friend changes her profile picture to a giraffe, and I think "huh".
Two friends: Okay, what's up with this?

After a little digging, this is what I found: 
There is a riddle going around Facebook. If you get the answer right, nothing happens. If you get the answer wrong, you must change your profile picture to a giraffe for 3 days.

The riddle goes like this: "3:00 am, the doorbell rings and you wake up. Unexpected visitors, It's your parents and they are there for breakfast. You have strawberry jam, honey, wine, bread and cheese. What is the first thing you open?"

Really, my opinion of humanity is falling lower and lower.

If you feel like trying to solve the riddle, try your hand at the challenge here: http://thegreatgiraffechallenge.com/.

In the end, it really just comes down to: Do we have time for all this stupidity?

We Fought

In winter we fought, we fought in summer, and spring. Throughout the years we fought. We fought by parties and by weddings, we fought in company and alone. We fought on the phone and in parks, in restaurants and in malls. We fought over a $50 bill in the ocean, we fought over spots at the table, we fought for attention. We fought over shoes, and toys, we fought over books and computer time. We fought over looks, we fought with words, we fought with knives. You left and we fought, I came back and we fought, we fought over cars, and boys, we fought in old houses and new ones. We fought on buses, we fought in different cities, we fought when we were together, we fought less when we were apart. We fought over food, and jobs. In frizzy hair we fought, sleek and straight we fought. We fought in school and at home, we fought over rooms and beds, we fought with names, we fought with chairs. We fought over remotes, we fought over clothes, we fought with faces and gestures. You left me at home and we fought. They made you take me with you and we fought. We fought over friends, we fought over makeup and perfume.

 

We fought sadness, we fought pain. We fought insecurities, we fought weight, we fought ugly, we fought titles, we fought mean names. We fought ourselves. We fought the haters, we fought the enemies, we fought the losers and the weirdos, we fought the intrusions, we fought the uproots, we fought change, we fought life, we fought depression, we fought school, we fought society.

We fought, we fought, we fought.

You fought and I didn't know. You smiled and you fought, you gave presents and you fought, you shopped and you fought, you ate and you fought. You went on trips and you fought. You fought in the house and outside. You fought in company and alone. You fought and no one knew. 

You fought and for once we didn't fight.

Unsettled

Freeze.

You know you should say something but you can't make any words come out of your mouth.

So you sit in silence, and the seconds stretch.

You know the person on the other end of the line will say "are you still there?".

You have a choice, to pretend that you got cut off and to hang up the phone.

Which won't undo anything nor unsay what was said.

Or you could react.

So you say, "I don't really know what to say".

And that is all. That is how you feel. You know it doesn't involve you, it doesn't much affect you, life will move on and things will keep changing and spinning and happening on their own.

No one is waiting for your big reaction, no one is asking you to be dramatic or emotional or say what you feel, cuz really, it's not about you.

You want to just say, "uhu okay that's nice, thanks, bye" and hang up.

You want to rehash what was said over and over again until you understand it, and give your opinion on it, and make sense of it, and try to change it.

Change it. Undo it. Make it like it never happened. If we could turn back the clocks, would that make things right?

But no one is asking you, nobody cares what you have to say.

And it doesn't matter really, does it.

Usually, you can describe how you are feeling. But sometimes, there is really nothing to say.

You kind of feel nothing at all. And that makes you feel weird.

How can one describe nothing?

Devoid.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

And what does that say about me, really?

Forced Company

Friday afternoon, I still did not have a place to eat for the Friday night meal. My mother said, 'go to your brother!', but I go to him way too often, and I found out that he had gone away for Shabbos. My friend invited me to go with her to some post-sem single girls meal, and I was reluctant, thinking it would be awkward, and that I would not have anything in common with these girls other than that we were all single. I didn't enjoy the thought of being lumped into a group simply because we all shared the same 'single' status. Why don't they make a group for artists, or writers, or people who share the same interests? My whole life does not revolve around my singlehood, nor does it define me.

After expressing my opinion and discomfort at the thought of this meal, I reluctantly agreed to go, because my friend is rarely ever in town, it would be nice to spend time with her, and well, why not.

We went to shul first, which was nice, and the lady in charge made me feel welcome. She is also my high school principal's mother, they look so much alike, and she brought back warm memories. After shul, we relocated to the room where the meal would take place, and then I started to get nervous. There were so many more girls than I expected, my friend and I could not find two seats next to each other, she was not agreeable with my idea that we ask two girls to move over so we could sit together, so I grumbled about sitting by myself next to strangers, and thought about going home, to my familiar warm apartment with no awkward social gatherings.

Then the meal started, and the girl next to me started talking to me, and I surprisingly had a very pleasant time. She was refreshing, similar to me in some ways, and we found what to talk about. Throughout the meal the girls sang songs, and my new friend and I sang a different song than everyone else, because we both just liked that song better. I helped serve food, and clear the table, I saw familiar faces of girls I met before, and I told the friend I had come with that it was okay that she abandoned me because I made a new best friend. She insisted that she did not abandon me.

The meal was arranged by a program that is geared towards post-sem single girls, and they want Friday night meals to be a regular thing, maybe once a month. The woman in charge said they are in the process of building a lounge, they envision it to be a place for girls to come and hang out, learn with each other, or just have fun. They also want to have programs, melava malkas, and other activities.

While the idea does sound very nice, and it is great that someone is taking charge and filling a need in the community, the thought of being part of a 'singles club' does still make me uncomfortable, mostly because I'd rather not be a part of it for logistical reasons. And also, joining feels like if I label myself as a 'post-sem single girl', that is what I will be forever. Silly, I know. But then, fears usually are baseless.

I didn't expect to have a nice time, and I did. And that is rare. So thank you to said friend for bringing me along.

Despicable Me

I hated those people, the manipulative ones, the ones who try to get there way 'just cuz', who push others out of the way and say things like, 'I don't really need it, I just want to stick it to them'. It makes me cringe.

I hate those people, the ones who call me 'liar' on the phone when I am just trying to do my job, and accuse me of trying to screw them over, and threaten lots of things if they don't get what they want.

I hate those people, the ones who refuse to pay for a service because one little thing was messed up, and I just keep thinking how dishonest that is, and it bothers me.

And yet I understand them, the hapless helpless feeling of what now? I trust someone, I trusted you to come through and you didn't and now what am I supposed to do about it?

So I basically called them a liar, and threatened them, and told them "I know what I'm talking about, so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes".

And then they came through in the end. And more than that, they offered me compensation to better 'satisfy' me. Now I feel ashamed, like how could I have stooped so low and become those people I hate?

Wake up on a Saturday night

It's Saturday night and to some people that means putting on their best glitz or glam outfit, lots of makeup, and going out on the town, trying to meet people, mix and mingle, find something to do, go where it's 'happening'.

It's 7:30 and I have nothing to do. No, I have an essay to write but I don't want to. I don't have school tomorrow so I should be out there with the best of them, doing something, anything but laying here bored out of my mind.

I don't have any good books to read. I don't have any movies I feel like watching. I think of getting dressed and going out, but then it's 10:00 and I haven't done anything and now it's too late.

And still I sit here, laptop sleeping, music playing on the radio, and I feel bored. Restless. I want to do something but have nothing to do.

I think the correct term would be 'Bla'. As per thefreedictionary.com: blahs A general feeling of discomfort, dissatisfaction, or depression.

Okay, so I decide to draw. And I can't think of what to draw so I draw charcoal people that don't really look like people but kind of do. I think of psychologists and how they have young kids draw pictures because they can't accurately express their feelings. And I look at my charcoal sort-of people and think about what I'm trying to say.

Then I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Then I call my mom. Then I hear her talk for ten minutes about a foreign film she saw with my father that she liked, it was in French with English subtitles, and she thought I would like it. I tune her out and think, sometimes you don't even hear what they are saying, it is just nice to hear their voice.

Then I hang up with her and think about watching a French movie with English subtitles, and think about getting dressed up and going out, and think about having someone to go out and do something with, and think about all the people currently out and having fun, or pretending to have fun, or having a horrible time but not wanting to go home because then their life would be really sad and depressing, so they go out and pretend to be full of life and exciting like everyone else but really being boring and depressing and wanting to go home, and thinking about how nice it is that I can stay home and not feel like I'm missing out on some big party scene, and then I listen to a Hilary Duff song that I heard on the radio years ago when I wasn't supposed to listen to the radio but I did so secretly until my sister caught me and told my mother, but now I can do whatever I want and the song is about going out on a Saturday night and I wonder if she actually wants to go out on a Saturday night or maybe they just told her that is what she has to sing about so she did what she had to for her career.

So I listen to it about 7 or 8 times and then write the world's longest run-on sentence just for fun.

Time to go to sleep. Happy Sunday.

Dreams

Did you ever wake up from a dream ad have that feeling that something good happened, but you can't remember it?

And then you do, it is a warm fuzzy memory from dreamland, an occurrence that never really happened, and yet you remember it as if it did.

You play it over and over in your mind, wishing you could go back to sleep and return to that dream, hit play and see what will happen next. But alas, we have no control in dreamland.

You replay the details again and again, bothering it like a loose tooth, until you are not even sure what you dreamed.

After many times of thinking about it, it begins to fade, until the warm fuzzy feeling goes away, and you realize that it was only just a dream.

But you want so badly for it to be real. 

Worldly Experience

There was a guy who declined to date me for the reason being that he didn't think I was 'worldly' enough. He has since married a girl from South Africa. I guess living in another country could make one 'worldly'.

What does being worldly even mean? Does it mean you have to travel to many countries, be cultural, know current events, be involved in politics? Does it mean anything or is it just a pretty way of saying nothing?

A person can have a more extensive life experience staying in one city his whole life, than someone who has traveled the whole globe. Experience comes from what you know, how you perceive the world, how you think, how you act upon what you know.

People have book smarts and people have street smarts and people have no smarts at all.

What makes one a worldly person?

The B---- who stole my day

I don't hate all people, just some people. And the some people that I hate, it is usually because they don't respond to me in the way I had expected them to. And I don't adapt very easily.

Building on my last post, the girl who I will now forever remember as "The B---- who stole my day", is at it again.

I emailed her being that not only did she hand in her story on my day but to top it off she didn't even print out enough copies. So I messaged her to say, in the nicest way, "hey B----- who stole my day, please send me your story. Oh, and by the way, not cool what you did."

In my exact words:

"It seems there was some confusion, as you switched your workshop date with mine without letting me know, being that I missed two classes. I stayed up late finishing my story only to find out that it is now due in three weeks. As you can imagine, that was a bit distressing for me. There is nothing you can do about it now, but it would have been nice if you tried to get in contact with me, send me an email or ask the professor to let me know ahead of time. I would have had no problem switching with you and having extra time to work on my story, had you asked me. In general, that is the decent thing to do."


Me thinking that she would be all nice and apologetic and I would be all forgiving, like oh don't worry about it.


Her response:

"I'm sorry that you felt rushed without the knowledge that you didn't have to have your piece ready, but I can assure you that I had no idea that there was anything to inform you about.
I had an issue with my workshop date and asked the professor if she could switch my date and she told me that she would be more than happy to bump up my date earlier. At no point did she tell me that I would be swapping dates with you or that I should inform you about it. I was under the impression I was being moved into a free slot. I would think it would be the responsibility of the professor to inform her students of a swap or at least provide one student with the other's contact info.
The decent thing to do would be to not make assumptions about a situation because, like you stated, you were absent and therefore weren't there when this happened. "

(When I told the professor, she said she had assumed that this girl had worked it out with me. There is way too much assuming going on.)

 Thanks, B-----.

I noticed she was wearing a magen david necklace. Now I feel like saying, hey while I was out celebrating our holiday, where were you??

I so want to tell her that her story sucks, but she would probably just find a way to turn it around on me. And the worst part it, based on the first few sentences, she is a decent writer. Which makes me hate her even more.

Now do you understand?

Fiction writing

I'm taking a fiction writing course at school. I wanted to see if it is something I would be interested in.

I learned that it is not. I decided that I either have no imagination or it is somewhere in there so deep that I can't find it.

Every time I sit down to write a story, I second guess myself. Is it stupid, will anyone like it? Didn't I just read a book with the exact same storyline?

Every idea I come up with seems too cliche, done before, tired, or from a book I just read. Or I stress and think, will it suck, will people hate it?

I get myself so worked up that I can't even write the first line. My mother told me that I am thinking too much, that I should just start writing and forget about all that stuff. I told her that I may need something to 'relax' me first, so she told me to have a drink. (Yes, my mother suggested that I drink.)

So I stressed and stressed and managed to write a story that seems decent enough, and it was due today because each student has a scheduled day that they have to hand in their story to be workshopped. At 2 am I finished, and I went to check the list of students to see how many copies I needed to print.

Then I realized that my name was moved to the 24th. So basically, no one told me that I was switched. I missed 2 classes because of Sukkos. My teacher replied and said that a girl asked to switch with me because she would not be there on the day hers is due. My teacher just assumed that she had asked me so the switch was made without telling me. In her words, "we've made changes. People joined the class, things evolved." Thanks lady. While things were 'evolving', I was celebrating my holiday.

My story is done a few weeks early. But that will just give me extra time to stress about it, revise it, scrap it, hate it, love it, all or none of the above.

If you are interested in reading the story, feel free to email me. I chose not to post it here because this is not a fiction blog.

Bystander effect

When you see a stranger in distress, do you run towards them or away?

The bystander affect is an interesting phenomenon whereby many people witness an event happening, such as a mugging, an attack, etc. But the more people that are in the crowd, the less likely it is that any one of them will run to help, or to call 911, being that everyone thinks that someone else will do it.

A famous story used to illustrate this effect is the Murder of Kitty Genovese. A woman who was murdered outside her home, and neighbors heard her screaming and did not go to help.

It is unfortunate, but pretty common.


Also it's natural to not want to get involved, especially if there's a possibility of personal harm.

But what if you needed help and everyone stood and stared and said, hey anyone got a light?

If you see something, say something. Do something.

American Haiku

He browsed a newspaper left behind.
How many hands held it today?

                                                    June 5, 2013, #2 train
            * * * * *

If we all shut the tap tightly,
we'd have more water in the world.

                                                June 5, 2013

            * * * * *

He dropped his ID card
and I ran after him shouting "excuse me!".

                                              June 17, 2013, College Campus

           * * * * *

Zooming around on office chairs is fun
when the boss is not around.

                                           June 18, 2013, The Office

Fear

Fear is irrational and stupid.

Tell that to the trillions of people who suffer from stupid and irrational fears. And the list literally goes on and on: The phobia list.

I thought my 'fear' was made up, but apparently it is real: Graphophobia- Fear of writing or handwriting. I don't have a fear of writing so much that I have a fear of sucking, or of ridicule. I just have to write a short story for school. But what if it comes out horrible?

Ah, there's a word for that too:
Katagelophobia- Fear of ridicule.

Some are especially noteworthy: Kleptophobia- Fear of stealing.
So like, don't steal.

LOL: Syngenesophobia- Fear of relatives. 

Chaetophobia- Fear of hair. (Like, even on your head?)
 Phalacrophobia- Fear of becoming bald.

Cenophobia or Centophobia- Fear of new things or ideas. (ME!)
  
I think if I keep reading and identifying with this list I will become insane.

And there it is: Agateophobia- Fear of insanity.

Cibophobia- Fear of food.(Sitophobia, Sitiophobia) (Do you starve?)

Chirophobia- Fear of hands.

Macrophobia- Fear of long waits. (Most people, everywhere.)

Hmmmm... Papaphobia- Fear of the Pope.

Yup, Xenophobia- Fear of strangers or foreigners.

Anthropophobia- Fear of people or society.
Sociophobia- Fear of society or people in general.

Oh so that's what my problem is:  Sophophobia- Fear of learning.

Bromidrosiphobia or Bromidrophobia- Fear of body smells. (I think we all suffer from that)

Agoraphobia- Fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places like markets. Fear of leaving a safe place.

I searched 'fear of babies'. No such thing.

Made the list:  Theophobia- Fear of gods or religion.

BEST. ONE. EVER:
Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia- Fear of the number 666.

Okay seriously, if you need a laugh check out The List 

I need to go to sleep.

Oh no:

Hypnophobia- Fear of sleep or of being hypnotized.
Somniphobia- Fear of sleep.

Noctiphobia- Fear of the night.    

Clinophobia- Fear of going to bed.

I could just go on and on.....  

Careers for People-Haters

The article aptly starts off with: "Hi, Hater. That's right - I'm talking to you, the one grimacing at the idea of having to carry on small talk or sit through departmental meetings. We get it: You're just not the type of person who likes to work on a big team or collaborate with coworkers on projects."

In other words, if you hate people and you dread the idea of working closely with others, these 6 career options may be for you.

How to help a trader escape

This is why I should write posts when I think of them instead of leaving them sitting as drafts until months later:

"Here's How Snowden Could Escape from Moscow and Exactly Where He Could Go"

So like, thanks for the great plan. I hear that Snowden is living the dream in Russia now. 

Another great reason for frum guys to grow beards

I can't explain why I find guys with beards attractive. It's just what I'm used to.

When I was 5, my father decided to grow a beard while we were away for the summer and he was in the city working. When he came to pick us up, I didn't recognize him. My mind was telling me that the person I was looking at was my father, but he looked... different.

As a frum Jew who is Lubavitch, I do think that guys should grow full beards.

And apparently there are great benefits that come with it.

Abortion Laws

Some people are just truly idiots.

Little words, Big talk

The smell of
cold air
in a hug.

The outdoors
clings to you
as you enter.

Pine, green and sharp
taste the chill
on your tongue.

The sweetness
of love
in a homemade cookie.

The smile
of appreciation
for your favorite dish.

A coin holds
the warmth
of my palm.

My wish
for your safety
and contentment.

The sharp slam
of the door closing
behind me.

The sound of
quiet finally,
bittersweet.

A rushed goodbye
as the car
pulls away.

Hope you heard
all the words
I didn't say.

Oh, Religion

Tonight I argued that Catholicism trumps Protestant, Galileo Theology, and Jesuits.

The Protestants said that "We" took their money, and prevented them from getting closer to G-d.

Galileo said that his beliefs and discoveries in science did not contradict the church, and that he was still a firm believer in G-d, although the church claimed that his scientific discoveries went against the bible.

The Jesuits, while claiming to support the church, said that they brought education to schools. They had a pretty weak argument.

A guy in my group kept apologizing for what "We" did to the people, claiming that the church is different now, that it does more for the people, and that being that it is the foundation of Christianity and that all these other breakaway religions came after, then ultimately everyone will find their way back.

I tried telling my teacher that I'm Jewish, thinking that would settle the argument. But he told me to go along with it. 

At the end of the debate, which was pretty funny and had everyone laughing (Galileo said 'follow me or you will die'), my teacher welcomed us to get out of character and say our true opinions.

So I said to the 'Protestants', you gave a good argument, but what do you really believe in?

Religion is a touchy subject. And while I find it amazing that in a classroom of secular students, most of whom are not Jewish, who come from vastly different backgrounds, countries, and religions, we are discussing G-d. And not just a discussion of 'does G-d exist', but more so, that He does exist, and how religion helps one see that.

I was never very good at arguments. I just wanted to say, "I'm Jewish, we are the Chosen people, there was no big bang, we did not just come to be, we were here from the beginning of time, we will be here until the end of time, and all other religions are bogus".

I did not think anyone would take too well to that.

Oh ya, and Jesus was Jewish, he went to hell and he is never coming back, so there goes your savior.

Eat, sleep and party

Boots. It's the season of boots, and I am on the search for the perfect pair. The problem with actually knowing what you want is that it makes it somehow harder to find.

"Hello, boots store, yes I'd like a pair of boots in my size. No, I don't know what style. Not sure what color. Weather? What do you mean weather, it's like colder than Florida but warmer than Alaska..."

I'm looking for leather lace up combat boots, preferably with a side zipper, blue would be nice, they have to have a well-made sole, good reviews, decent price. I saw one I liked but they didn't have it in my size. Now I want them so badly.

Tishrei Guests. I never know how to treat someone elses guests. Should I be overly sweet and helpful, or open the door and then let them do their own thing?

Somehow they annoy me just being here, invading my space. Then I remember that they are a few thousand miles from home, that they barely speak English, that they probably just want some food, and maybe to lay down and sleep.

My brother was in town for a month. It was a pretty nice visit. I wonder if there are Israelis who roll their eyes when they see him and think, 'oy, those Americans, what are they doing here again?' I hope there are some people who are nice to him there.

Vacation. We like to party. We like, we like to party.

We actually don't like to party. 'We', as in me and my universe want to chill. I want to chill from work, I want to chill from school. I want to take a break and let my mind relax. It is kind of funny after having a 3 day yom tov, to feel this tired. But the only problem with having a 3 day yom tov is that no matter how much time you have to sleep, you never do, and when yom tov is over you are wishing that you were given those 3 days to do some work. And then you are back at work and you just want to sleep.

Hello world. My life is pretty boring these days. Every time I say that I don't do something because I'm lazy, my father says that I may be many things, but lazy I am not. I am working full time, and in school full time, and still manage to keep up with all the current tv shows.

Here's the thing, ladies and gents. I'm tired. But not tired as in, go to sleep early one night and you will wake up refreshed. Tired as in, I am on a not so pleasant ride at an amusement park, and I want it to stop but they won't let me off. So you keep going, and going, and wonder if it will ever stop.

I miss writing. Writing like, who cares what anyone thinks, I just had a crazy thought and I must get it down on paper. I miss being honest and unfiltered.

I just saw my niece today, and she was adorable as usual. My brother was watching her, and my sister-in-law was out. My niece was in her playpen, and I just wanted to hold her. So I picked her up, she squirmed out of my arms and started running around the apartment, squeeling, laughing, turning in circles, waving her arms, making noises. I laughed and laughed and said, what are you doing??

Babies have no cares. They don't know that they are acting crazy. Maybe if they knew they would tell us to let go and try it for once. Just throw your head back and laugh uninhibited. Let people stare at you like you are crazy.

There's a party going on down the block, and when I say party I mean an all night long, music blaring, dancing, cotton candy and kids with light up things in their mouths, crowded, noisy, block party for simchas baid hashuava. If you have never been to Crown Heights on Sukkos, then get over here. It goes on until 6 am. Literally.

I want to be there. But I am busy reading a book called 'Shaping of the modern world'. I hate history. We fought,. We won. Let's eat. I am not even registering any of the words. We will have a quiz tomorrow that I will fail, even though technically I read the chapter.

To eat? To sleep? To party?

To work work work your life away?

That is the question.

Tolling of the Bell

Clock marks the passing of time.
Happy time, and sad time.
Bright time and dark time.
But all the time counting,
and recording.

What are you counting towards,
or counting from?
Where are you rushing to?
Keep checking the clock
as the bell tolls.

Fingers drumming, foot tapping
impatient to leave, to move,
one toll, half on the hour,
two tolls, quarter of the hour,
still two hours to go?

Voice is buzzing at the front of the room,
but you hear nothing, pining to leave.
Dreaming of sun, and summer, and food,
and sleep, and joy, and pleasures.
And no dull boring lecture.

6:30, 7:00, 7:15, 7:30, break time,
extended break, 8:00, 8:15 still going...?
8:19. Wow is this clock slow?
8:20. One whole minute passes as life goes by.
And you want to be anywhere but here.

Head slipping down,
eyes fluttering closed,
clock ticking, time passing,
missing and losing out just wishing
for the bell to toll.

Passions

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever meet a guy who truly gets me.

They say that G-d makes the perfect match for each person, but what if I meet someone who doesn't understand me, and like a petulant child I say, 'no you just don't understand!'.

What if I meet someone who understands me perfectly, and I'm the one who doesn't understand him?

Does one have to like all the same things and have an interest in all the same things as their spouse?

Maybe the important things.

I don't think you can be with someone if you don't fully appreciate their gift, or care about what they care about as they need you to. What if someone paints, and every time they finish a painting that they think is a masterpiece, their spouse says absentmindedly, 'oh honey, that's nice'. That might not work in a relationship.

Should you not go out with someone if you hear that they are passionate about ________ but you have absolutely no interest in that subject/thing?

Anger

I have a pounding headache and the bathroom is filled with steam. Someone has turned on the hot water and hung a shirt to get out the wrinkles. Great. We now have a sauna in the apartment.

Strike one.

The same person has a very hard time washing dishes. It must take a lot of effort to pick up a sponge and move it around. Said person has left dishes in the sink for a week at a time.

Strike two.

Now I'm pissed. With a headache. In the morning. I hate talking in the morning.

Leave sign in big bold red letters. "Wash your dishes". No exclamation mark, no "Stupid" at the end. That would be overkill.

Said person upon seeing the sign: "Do you think I'm 3?" (Think: What would my mother say? 'No, cuz a 3 year old would wash their dishes before they are asked!')

Instead, say: You made a sauna in the bathroom in the morning when everyone has to use the bathroom. (The two incidents may not be related, but at this point the anger is boiling. Get everything out now.) You leave dishes in the sink for a week! It is not that hard to wash dishes!

Said person goes to their room and slams the door.

(I hate confrontation, especially in the morning. I feel like I am shaking. It is anger? Is it fear? Should I not have said anything?)

I go to my room and shut the door. Hear furious whispering behind the door. Said person is now badmouthing me to a 3rd party. Yay. Real mature.

Angel emboldens me. Normally I try to tiptoe around people and not make a big deal of things even if they bother me. But when I am mad, I say it all. It usually feels really good.

"Oh ya? You are stupid and ugly and I hate you."

"I don't love you and never did."

"You are useless and you should move out."

Do you ever think bad thoughts in your head? Do you ever see a person that you really hate and think, I hate you and I wish you would die? We are told that our thoughts have as much power as our actions, and we should be careful what we think.

But somehow, it is easier to control our actions than to control our thoughts.

So I don't think 'Die stupid girl, die'. Instead I think, move out of the apartment you lazy stupid (bleep bleep bleeeeeeeep) person, you never wash your dishes and you take up so much space and your room is always messy and it smells, and I don't care where you go after that, even if you end up in a garbage heap'

Ya, I'm such a horrible person. And in Aseres yemai teshuva no less.

Sometimes we don't want to apologize or ask for forgiveness.

Sometimes we don't want to write inspirational pieces and say how we can better ourselves.

Sometimes we just want to indulge in the anger, pure and simple.

You annoy me, and I hate you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid

We are going to have weekly quizzes to make sure that students do the reading. Like you don't trust us when we say we did the reading. (I didn't do the reading.)

Four questions. Oh wow, I don't know anything.

Make up answer.

Try to sound smart.

Sound dumb instead.

Idea: Write teacher a note saying how you feel about it. (That is the rave these days, embrace your feelings.)

"Dear Professor,

The reading was very long and tedious and I didn't know what to focus on. I do not feel that a four question quiz accurately reflects whether a student did the reading. Maybe it would be better if you gave the questions before class so we could know what to look out for."

(Signed, a brilliant student.)

Voices in my head: Maybe I shouldn't have written the letter. Should I ask for a new paper? Should I rip off the bottom? No, too suspicious. Oh well.

After class, teacher gives a few questions to focus on in the reading for next week's quiz. Oh wow, it's like she read my mind.

Tell her what you feel. (After all, it is better to speak your thoughts then to let them fester.)

Professor, will you give questions every week so we can know what to focus on in the reading? (Make it feel like it was her idea.)

Of course. I did that last week. I wrote down seven questions on the board, in the first class.

(What??? You did??? I have no knowledge of this!)

(Don't totally cave in.) Hmm, it must have slipped my mind.

Leave classroom. Pull out notebook.

Second page:

"Questions to focus on while doing the reading".

And ALL FOUR QUESTIONS FROM THE QUIZ.

Now, not only does she think I'm dumb, but dumbdumbdumbdumb, did you not listen in class dumb, did you not do the reading dumb, do you think you are smarter than me, dumb.

Leave class, thinking stupid, stupid stupid. I will have to apologize so she doesn't fail me prematurely.

Heading home. A girl starts talking to me. "What are you doing after class?"

(What...? Who is she? Do I know her? Is she hitting on me? Is this what it feels like to have a girl hit on me?)

"Um... I'm going home."

No, what did you think of the class?

"Class... um... you're in my class...?" (Think. Do you recognize her? No. What is her name? No idea. She has a nose stud. Is that significant? It may be for next time I see her in class. Like, hey, you're the girl with the nose piercing whom I was so rude to in the street!)

Ya, we are in class together.

"Ohhhh... so sorry, a lot of faces, you know..... Um, I think it's really boring." (Speak your mind. Always say the truth. Then at least you will get some laughs.)

I thought it was just me.

(No, it is never just you. The whole class thinks it's boring, even the students who feign interest. Like, this book is soooooo fascinating! You know they're lying. Who finds history of the English language fascinating?)

Forget to ask her name. Say goodnight and part ways.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Next time, think before you speak/write/say everything that is in your head.

The chase

When I was little a girl called me a mean name, so I got up and ran around the table chasing her, with no clue what I was going to do once I caught her.

I had seen all the other kids doing this, saying "I'm going to get you". Perhaps it was all about the chase. I just wanted to be part of it, I wanted to fit in.

I don't think I ever caught her.

Sometimes we say things that hit too close to the truth, like 'Why are you acting so hormonal, are you pregnant?'.

Or, 'If you wife keeps taking trips out of town, people will think you are getting divorced'.

And then we realize how dumb it was to say that, because it doesn't even matter if we hit upon the truth. We just wish that we hadn't uncovered it.

 Truth: I hate Fall, because it signifies that Winter is coming, and I hate winter.

Truth: I am hating my new semester and wishing I was not in school.

Truth: Sometimes you are mean to someone not because you dislike them, but because they have no right being around.

People are still wishing, Happy New Year, but it doesn't feel like a fresh new start to me.

If feels like the 'same old same old' repeating itself. I just did this all last year, so can we wrap it up please?

P.S.

My music professor said that horns were used as instruments in Africa long ago. Then he showed us this clip:

 The students were laughing, but I thought how great it is that Jews are such a part of society. Plus I'm like, hey I just heard that on Rosh Hashana.

Young'uns

Now I'm starting to feel old.

I asked around for someone who does cheap haircuts since I only wanted a trim. A friend recommended a name. The girl comes downstairs, and I mean girl. We started chatting, and she asked how old I am, what seminary I went to, etc. Then she said she was just in seminary two years ago. Which makes her around 20. Wow. It feels weird entrusting my hair to this young girl.

She did a nice job though.

Wet

Dry

Frum and single

It seems to get harder and harder to inject spirituality into my life.

I used to push myself to daven, to learn, to do the things I am supposed to do. Sometimes it came naturally, and sometimes it was hard.

Once I left high school and seminary, I kind of drifted slowly away, not in any negative ways, more just neglectful. But I still had a conscience, and once in awhile I would think about all the things I'm not doing that I should be doing. Every year around the High Holidays I would get this guilty feeling, like I better shape up for the coming year.

And now even that has faded. I went to shluchim for a few years, helping with the kids and the meals, davening, saying tehillim. But this year I decided to go to my parents instead. There won't be a lot of people around, and the thought of a quiet no pressure yom tov sounds appealing.

Any time I mention my guilty feelings, my mother says that I'm doing so many wonderful things and that maybe I should focus on what I am doing rather than what I'm not doing. She may have a point, but that is still not a great mindset to live with.

Jewish life is all about family, and being single makes it harder to feel like a part of it. Sometimes for shabbos meals I stay in and make a small meal in my apartment, and it feels weird to not have a man saying kiddush. When Chanukah rolls around, I can't just go downstairs and listen to my father light the menorah, I have to set it up and do it myself. When Sukkos comes, I have to go over to my brother to borrow his lulov and esrog, or get some kid on the street to lend me his.

All these small little rituals that you take for granted when living in a family environment where things just seem to happen on their own are that much harder when you are single and have to create it for yourself.

It is hard to create an atmosphere that is conducive to being religious when living on your own. I know that may sound like an excuse, but it's true.

That's why I'm gonna marry a Rabbi so he can just lead the household, and all I have to do is show up. 

Wedding: Check!

It was nice. The whole family was there. I mostly can't stand my family, but for simchas we all 'make nice'. My brothers even let me take pictures with them. One brother came in from Israel, another from Florida, married sister trooped in with all her three kids.

My little brother about whom I used to say 'hate', yes, I hated him, he put his sweaty face near mine and smiled for a picture with me and my niece. I gave him a friendly punch on the arm, and he lightly punched me back, instead of shoving me like he used to.

I watched my brothers dance, and tried to guess who had the most to drink.

I made my sister the kallah jump rope with me, even though she didn't want to. It was fun, holding my dress, flying in the air, feeling like my feet would never touch the ground.

People came. When there's a simcha, family and friends and neighbors come crawling out of the woodwork, and I look around and realize that there are people who like us. Who knew.

It is hard to focus on my friends, when I feel like there are a million things going on and I don't want to miss a single thing.

The guys had awesome dancing on their side, so naturally I gravitated there to watch.

Someone set off firecrackers right after the chuppa, which was awesome, and then a confetti bomb during the dancing, so it looked like confetti threw up all over the dance floor.

Some guy was rollerblading. I guess anything can be called 'shtick'.

I looked gorgeous, and got many complements.

As the next single girl in line, I got many 'im yirtze Hashem by you's and I smiled and said thank you, amen! I don't know why girls get bothered by it, I genuinely appreciate that there are people out there who are thinking of me, and in my opinion, the more brachos I get, the sooner it will happen.

My feet hurt. Like, hurt. The term 'hobble' took on a whole new meaning when I hobbled to work today. Hopefully the pain will go away.

I got tons of pictures, my nieces looked adorable (!!!!!!!!!!!!!), my sister looked pretty, and she seemed very at ease and relaxed, which is nice.

She posted sheitel pictures already.

My mother and father cried by the kabbalas panim, which made me cry, and my father said "you should have a wonderful life, with lots of cute kids, even cuter than _______'s kids" (my older sister who has three kids.) I told my sister that and she said 'hey!', like how could there possibly be kids cuter than hers. I kind of agree.

My mom keeps saying it's a miracle that my older sister is married. I know it sounds mean when people say things like that, kind of like, oy poor girl it will probably never happen for you.

But it is a miracle, everything Hashem does it technically a miracle, and now I don't have to ask Hashem every day to 'please let my sister get married soon so she will move out of the house and stop annoying me'. Even though I don't live at home anymore, I called dibs on her room. I'm guessing it will already be taken by the time I get to it.

'The guy' seems nice. I don't have much to do with my siblings spouses anyway, so what do I care, as long as my sister is happy and her husband treats her right.

So as they say, 3 down, 3 to go (of marriageable aged children in my family.)  C'mon G-d, just a few more and you can take a break.

Baruch Hashem for simchas.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

(From the perspective of the chicken)

These damn humans question it all the time. Shut up stupid humans and stay out of my business. Do I ask you, “Why do humans bark like dogs? Why do humans touch their lips to another human's lips? Like, ew. Humans, stop face-sucking other humans.

I crossed the road because- none of your damn business!!! Stop asking what you call the “Age-old question”, or the next question will be, “Why did the chicken shoot the human?”

Bam. Now you can't ask THE QUESTION ever again.

Happy chicken.

_______________________________________________________________

(From reporters perspective)

“In other news, the chicken has finally fought back, in what can only be described as a mental chicken breakdown. As you can see behind me, a crowd has gathered here to watch the chicken, who seems to have finally snapped. Chicken squawks of “death to humans” can be heard, as millions of chickens come out in support of their brother. The question of “Why did the chicken cross the road?” has been asked by humans everywhere, since the beginning of time. Humans just want answers. The chicken wants, in his own words, “To shut humans up.” The chicken has been taken into custody for threatening a human with an illegally obtained gun. We will be closely following this story as it unfolds. Stay tuned for the follow up story of the chicken's arrest and arraignment. I am Chayanne McFarlin, ABC News.

I HATE YOU GMAIL!

After an already crappy horrible day, now gmail is making the new pop-up 'compose window' the default, and you can no longer switch back to the old method. Did I mention I hate change? I hate it! No, I will not get used to it. I'm mad. For a free service, gmail sure is trying to 'improve' a lot. Just leave it the way it is and every is happy.

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

Switch it back!!

Think about it. What if your cleaning lady/live-in maid/mom/picker-upper-person took your favorite comfortable old ratty t-shirt and through it out cuz hey, you can get something newer and better. But you LOVED that t-shirt!

Maybe not the greatest comparison, but people like what is familiar and comfortable.

Oh, change is good, you say?

No it's not!!!

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

"Temporarily switch back to the old view."

I. Hate. You. Gmail.

Die. 

Night-time candy run

"Do you speak Hebrew?" he asks me.

"A little", I respond, thinking, please sir just give me my laffy taffys. My mother's voice is talking in my ear and I have no idea what she is saying. Something about a dress for the wedding...sea-foam green...?

"Yaldah yafa me'od', he says, dangling the laffy taffys in his fingers, and I just want him to put them on the counter so I don't have to take them from his hands. "Yaldah yafa me'od" he repeats, and as I get a creeping feeling in my stomach I try to understand if he is saying a very nice girl or a very pretty girl, and then I wonder why it matters. I realize it is dark out and the store is empty and the man behind the counter is staring at me and asking me what my name is. I give him an awkward thumbs up and thank him for the items that I just paid him for and hastily leave the store, wondering why something that is meant to sound nice gives me a sickening feeling in my stomach, and if there was something I did to signal to him that I was interested, or if I am way overreacting.

In the safety of my room I stare at the laffy taffys and wonder why I even wanted them that badly.

The Price of Silence

"It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt." -Attributed to Mark Twain.

I know, I know I shouldn't respond, but I want to so badly. I want to put someone in their place for once, knock that cocky smile off their face, show them up, say my piece and be done with it. The problem with people is, you can't control them. If I say one comment they must respond. So when will it ever end? "I know you're stupid but what am I?" Oh ya, great comeback.

I was never very good at comebacks. In high school I tried verbal sparring with a classmate and she won every time. You have to be quick, and I'm just not able to be quick and witty at the same time. She tried to teach me, but every time I would retort I sounded like a mad idiot with nothing good to say. In my world, I would say my brilliant response, and people would be speechless as I walk away.

In reality, they respond and it makes me go grrrrrr just shut up already, I want the last word! But people don't shut up. So you must control yourself and NOT say that great comment you thought in your head, unless you are ready for the repercussions.

When to tell someone "you suck!"

Why must I go through this torture? They make me read this junk and I have to critique it and say nice things but all I want to say it you suck! This is junk you should never write you will never be a writer this is generic, it is stupid, it makes no sense, how can you call this writing??? It has horrible spelling, grammatical errors, confusing sentence structure.

But then I think, what if someone said that to me? Would it crush my dreams of ever being a writer? What if I was really a horrible writer and I needed someone to awaken me to that?

I know I shouldn't be mean but it is so hard to not be harsh and blunt when I am suffering through every word of what could barely be called writing.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sick Leave

 
We used to have a sign in my office that said, "I used up all my sick days, so I called in dead." It has since disappeared from the office. I guess that excuse just doesn't fly with my company. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter to us. Come in to work anyway.

I believe the era for "calling in sick" is long gone. I woke up with a bad cold to I texted in sick. How can you convince them in a text that you are sick, without coughing on the phone, making your voice sound hoarser than it is, unable to say your d's or n's properly cuz your nose is stuffed?

Text: "Hey boss, I woke up dizzy and with a really bad cold, I'm not coming today".
What I really mean is: "There's this amaaaaaaazing sale at the mall and I just haaaaaaave to go!".

Boss: "Okay, feel better".
What he really means is: "Liar. We know you are not sick, you don't even sound sick in text."

Well, convincing or not, I was sick. Still sick. Summer cold, I guess. No, really, I am. I even brought my cold medicine to display on my desk today so everyone knows that I am really sick and not faking it. And the medicine tastes disgusting, no way I would fake that.

The worst part about recuperating from a cold is getting my sense of smell back on garbage day.