Protective Edge Observations...

Little fun facts/ observations/ lifestyle changes/ etc going on in my little neck of the woods as rockets casually fall and fly over me. Because you know that's totally normal.

- Little Miss "Cursing is So Unnecessary & Distasteful" (me during non rocket times) goes away to Snob Land when the siren goes off. Time for the potty mouth

- I also learned I may need to work on my religiosity. I long for the day when I scream "hashem yishmor" when a siren goes off (like a holy friend of mine did) as opposed to "SHHHHHHHH******T" like this BA chick did. (refer above if you are pondering how such an un-Lottie word comes out of Lottie's mouth) 

- I am surprisingly really not adopted. Shocker right? I know this because I'm neurotic when it comes to rockets casually flying over me. Mapping out the safest place to go, leave shoes by the door, take 5 second showers etc. And I 100% got it from my mama.  Thanks mother dearest. 

- Deciding with your roommates to finish up all the drinks in your fridge is just a really bad idea. We'll leave it at that. Basically anything that ends with "omg guys it will be soooo funny" just isn't going to be funny. 

- Going to sleep with the possibility of seeing the neighbors at 2am creates major havoc in PJ-Land. Last night I went to sleep in my Sunday best. Tonight, screw it. If the worst thing that happens to my neighbors is they see my infamous "How to Marry Prince Harry" PJ shirt then so be it. And yes, I will marry Prince Harry. Just give me a few more months. 

UPDATE: 8am on Thursday morning the neighbors saw the "Marry Harry" shirt along with Soffes... Throwback Thursday to those pre sem Soffe days... sigh. And calm down tznius police, I'll sleep wearing a burka tonight. 


- I no longer crave sushi 24/7. Rather I crave peace. You like that eh? (and if you're quoting me, since obvs this has the potential to go majorly viral, please add my name. Thanks)

- Benji Lovitt is hilarious. If you are not following him on FB your Protective Edge experience probably sucks. If you are following him, well your Protective Edge experience probably still sucks. But not as bad.

- I guess it's about time I learned the map of Israel. I honestly always thought Rechovot was north of Tel Aviv and was legitamatly confused why they were getting more sirens than us. Initially I thought it was because of Tel Aviv Power (woot woot), then I looked at a map.
  Whoops

- Only Shlomo Katz & Shwekey these past few days. Non stop. 

- Pretty cute how Hamas takes KY15 (my apt building) into account when planning their attacks. It's like they knew we were in desperate need of a staircase reunion. After all November 2012 was our last one... I wonder why that happened... 

- And lastly, on a serious note- why can't Hamas go bully a country that doesn't have G-d on their side?! It would def boost their deflating ego.
 I think it's pretty obvious who has the upper hand here. Of course the IDF, iron dome and incredible unity of Am Yisrael play a massive role, but most of all we have the Man Upstairs and ain't nobody messing with Him and His people.

The Land of the Dramatic, the Free, and the Brave

It doesn’t take much for someone to realize I am American. I have a disgusting accent and a false feeling of self-worth because that is what all Americans are taught growing up. You grow up in ‘Merica you’re growing up in the best country on earth. So great that you shouldn’t travel to any other country, (unless you are intervening in issues that your nose doesn’t belong in…)

However, being that I am a special breed child (one of a kind, unique, science experiment sort of unique) since I grew up in America with British parents I would be lying if I say that I feel fully American.
Examples:
1) I think sarcasm is absolutely hilarious and I am proud to say I am an avid user.

2) I don’t like hugging. I really don’t. Especially with strangers. Why can’t the stranger I just met just say “hello” to me instead of physically harassing me? 

3) I used to force myself to “enjoy” fun days (and sometimes still do…shhh). For example, in school and camp I thought trips that were meant to be “fun” were in fact a torture sentence. No, teacher, I don’t want to jump into a pit of balls and break my head open. No, consular, I actually don’t want to go on that rollercoaster which ensures immediate death. No teacher, I don't  want to go to the zoo and potentially get eaten by a lion.
Fun for me is and will most likely always be routine. And to live it up a bit a trip to a museum every so often really shakes things up. Hashtag IAmTheLifeOfTheParty. 

4) And along with the entire United Kingdom population I find Americans so melodramatic.

Just because Hollywood is in America does not mean you are living in a movie. (Yes, I know I do sometimes join in on the melodramatic fun, but I would like to think it’s usually for kicks.)

Actually in the wise words of Ferras, "Hollywood's not America."

For example I was flying on American Airlines for the first time in years yesterday (I am an El Al chick. That is how I truly express my Zionism. Holla) en route to London.

I get on the plane and the airhostesses are yelling “HELLOOOOO and guess what today is? It’s a SUPER SPECIAL day because we have WIFI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (me- yes hello to you to you loud individual who seems more excited about wifi than world peace).

When there is turbulence- “now it is going to get a little BUMPY BUMPY BUMPY (keep in mind this was said in a tune. I believe the pilot was a failed singer.)

Dear Pilot,
Just FYI, the "big kid" word for "bumpy bumpy bumpy" is a rather large word consisting of 10 letters called tur-bu-lence- put it all together you get turbulence.

When the seatbelt sign comes on- “put that seatbelt on. Seatbelt time. Woohoo seatbelts seatbelts seatbelts.” How about you just say “please put your seatbelt on”, that is what mature adults say.

I was just thinking you are either on drugs or your a Disney character meets Big Bird. There is no way you are real. You just cannot be real.

One of the air hostesses was walking around with a flashlight loudly proclaiming that she just got eye surgery and can’t see without the flash light. So when she was checking seat belts she would shine the light at you. How about you just don't come to work if you can't see anything... just a friendly suggestion. 

Another one began yelling when this guy came on the plane. “OH MY GD FRED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fred I haven’t seen you in FOREVER. WOW this is the BEST day EVER. Give me a hug NOW”

Alternative way of saying that like a mature adult- "Hello Fredrick. I am so happy to see you, but I am currently working. So to not cause a stir, I will come over to you when you are sitting in your seat with your seatbelt fastened."

Now Americans, being the interesting species that they are, can also act like the Hulk. Fasinating isn’t it, this dichotomy between the Disney American species and the Hulk American species?

Let’s now do a comparison between two events that have occurred to me within the past twenty-four hours, shall we. One occurring in JFK and the other in Heathrow.

At precisely 8:40pm on April 28 I left JFK en route to London. However, like any person on the entire planet, due to Al Qaeda we must endure anywhere between 5-55 minutes of highly illegal and humiliating activity such as potential strip searches, verbal harassment, intrusion of one’s privacy, and the worst of them all - taking off shoes on an uncarpeted and cold floor. I mean really, if someone has to take their shoes off just make it as comfortable as possible, but we will leave that suggestion for the “Ways Lottie Plans On Changing The World” blog.

Anyways, in JFK this security check is taken very seriously. I believe more seriously than jail.

As I was waiting in line chugging down my water in order to save my water bottle since I am too Jewish to spend $1 on a new water bottle, some woman shrieked “put all your liquids in a baggie. Ma’am don’t stare at me like I’m an idiot because there will be consequences. Sir I am not kidding the repercussions for not doing this is immediate death.”
I find it hilarious that as they are attempting to scare us all so much in the hopes that we will just turn ourselves in for potentially having the ability to be a terrorist, they use the word “baggie”. 

So I take my makeup remover, body spray and Purell and place it in the “baggie” which was thrown at me. Like the good traveler I am I put my laptop, scarf, shoes, jewelry (as someone who wears 5 bracelets and one necklace on a daily basis taking them all off is a real nightmare) and two carry-on bags through the machine.  Then I go through the awful contraption they have in JFK where you have to put her arms up over your head as if security is about to shoot you (which they probably will do someday soon) while this thing scans your body. I don't even want to know what it shows the person checking the image. Chances are the guy working there is some sexual assailant.
After I am miraculously found innocent of having a bomb in my underwear,  I go get my stuff and realized that my polka dot bag was missing and a big man was guarding it. Yup, he was guarding my highly dangerous black and white polka dot bag filled with weapons of mass destruction.

“Ma’am is this your possession? Ma’am I am talking to you.”

Yes I am aware you are talking to me you big, fat bully, give me a millisecond to answer you. 

When I told him it was mine he dumped the contents of the bag and my makeup bag in a box.

I apologized that it was such a mess and that I haven’t cleaned my makeup bag in ages which is why he is getting the remnants of my blue eye shadow all over his gloves.

“Ma’am please do not talk to me as I am going through this procedure.”

Please, all you are doing is going through a Clinique makeup pouch with old makeup falling out of it's containers. You are not in some undercover situation in Iran detonating their nuclear weapon, so calm down.

“Ma’am is this yours?”

No duh Sherlock, it was in my bag which you are getting to know pretty well.

“Yes that is my face serum”

He then started staring at me and asked me why I did not listen to the directions did not place the serum in the “baggie.” I told him I figured it was empty so I was not going to bother.

“Ma’am look me in the eyes when you answer the questions I am about to ask you regarding this possession”

Q- what is this?

A-    again, it is face serum. Serum for the face. Serum face.

Q- did you buy this?

A-    Yes (no, actually Osama Bin Laden bought this for me. Real kind of him)

Q- where?

A-    Sephora (I was beginning to think he was just acting like Inspector Gadget to find out where to buy this for his poor wife. If he has one… oh diss.)

Q- what is that?

A-    a makeup store 

Q- where?

A-    well there are many all over America but this is from New York. (I was beginning to regret that I have never wiki-ed the history of Sephora since I thought that would be his next question)

Q- how long as this been in your possession for?

A-    About a year and a bit

Q- so you don’t know exactly how long?

A-    No!!! (No I do not celebrate or know the anniversary date of me and this useless piece of serum.)

Ok I hope you get the point.

He then put on clean gloves, you know just in case the serum contained explosives he needed different gloves and put that tissue thing all over it. And shockingly my face serum which had maybe a drop left did not contain poison, a bomb, a mini gun, scissors, or Al Qaeda’s phone number. Twas a real April 28 miracle.

He then left me, without thanking me for being so patient, to pack up my bag with the content that he kindly dumped all over a big box.

Real mench right there. Ladies the race is on for this potential bachelor.

Ya, I would rather live with 17 cats and 2 dogs.

Total time of Operation Harass The Innocent Looking Chick- 29 minutes

Anyways, this situation happens again when I was going through security a few hours later in London to get a flight back to Israel.

Kind, somewhat good looking, in shape man who does not suffer from a superiority complex: “Can I see your passport please?”

“Yes, you kind, somewhat good looking, in shape man who does not suffer from an inferior complex, you may.”

“Charlotta, do you mind if I place the contents of your bag on to the table. You can help me do it if you are particular.”

He took the stuff out of my bag with his hands that he clearly washes after using the bathroom, and put it on a table. I apologized for my bag being such a pigsty to which he laughed and said he’s seen worse.

“Oh no, Charlotta it appears that your hand lotion* was the issue. I am assuming you did not place it into the machine because it is practically empty, but I am just going to put it back into the machine to double check. Is that ok with you?”

(*Yes, clearly I travel with enough cosmetics and smelly lotions to give to an Indian tribe… you never know when they come in handy)

Now Mr. Wannabe G.I Joe back in JFK, this is a person. Someone who knows he is not Arnold Schwazenager and doesn’t attempt to be. Someone who knows he is not going to be able to defeat King Kong, so he won’t try. Someone who knows that except for his mummy and daddy, he isn’t that special. Someone who is just doing his job, not trying to win an Oscar for his dramatic acting. Need I continue or are you too busy harassing another twenty two year old wearing the least threatening multi colored scarf?!

“Yes it is ok” And if you want me to marry you that would be ok to. Really, it would.

He came back with my hand lotion, apologized for taking up my time and helped me put everything back into my polka dot bag.

Total time- 3 minutes.

Three minutes of no “WOOHOO’s” “HEEEEEEEEY’ “YAY YAY YAY USA USA USA” or “MA’AM LOOK AT ME” “YOU PIECE OF S*^T FOR NOT PLACING THAT DROP OF WATER IN THE BAGGIE” “YOU IDIOT”.

So god bless the USA. The land of the “we love FUN FUN FUN”, physical harassment done in the form of hugging, and absolutely ridiculously dumb humor. With the demography of Hulk wannabes or Disney wannabes who don’t know how to act like normal people just trying to get through the day.

Only In Israel Eh

Lottie Kestenbaum can count by twos and tie her shoes. She can zip zippers and button buttons, but Lottie has no common sense. None whatsoever. Zero. For example when she says she knows what she is doing- RUN.

Ok back to first person. A few weeks ago I went to my cousins for Shabbat. Well if only that was the end of the story.
I was going from Jerusalem, and noticed that the buses to Givat Ze'ev (where they live) had different numbers, but I didn't think too much about it.
Mistake number one.
I went on the last bus before Shabbat and assumed that the route would be the same.
Mistake number two.

Twenty minutes into the ride we were driving through a Charadi area, when all of a sudden I noticed I was the only person left on the bus. Yup, just little old me. I assumed the next stop would be by my cousins house so I stayed on the bus. All of a sudden the bus driver noticed me (I may have had a slight cough attack which is why he noticed me- who knows where I would be right now if I swallowed my water the right way and he didn't notice me) and pulled over.
He told me that he already stopped at the last stop.
I think my initial reaction was the obvious "oh." And then a blank stare. I know, clearly I'm able to express myself wonderfully. I guess the blank stare went on for a tad too long because he then told me to get off the bus.

I was really thinking this would be an "only in Israel"sort of scenario. You always hear those stories of that idiot that goes on the bus to Eilat thinking they are en route to Metula and then when they realize they reached the wrong destination, the bus driver will drive them 3 hours in the right direction.
Well all this man had to do was drive me 10 minutes. 10 minutes of his 24 hour day. But no no, because "only in Israel" stories only happen to me when I don't want them.

For example, a few weeks ago I had a driving lesson (again). I am telling you the day I receive my license, which will probably be way after I learn how to ride a bike, make rice (don't ask. I can make anything, but rice. It has some sort of vendetta against me), and learn to keep a secret, I will throw a party. A party that is better than Justin Beiber's thirty twelve party ("we gonna party like it's 3012 tonight". I don't really get it either. Why would we party like its 3012 when we can party like it's 2012, but whatever.)
Anyways, the way it works in Israel is towards the end of your lesson you pick up another student and then that student drives you home and has their lesson. So my lesson was coming to an end and I picked up this 70 year old woman (who says your too old to learn how to drive? Umm Me.) who drove me to where I thought would be home. Suddenly she pulls up to some station and my driving teacher goes "since it's Friday I assumed you are going away for Shabbat so find your bus".
Ok driving teacher, sweetie, that is really nice of you. Really really nice of you. If. I. Were. Going. Away. For. Shabbat.
It's like a pilot telling you on a flight to New York, "I figured you all wanted to go to LA anyways to say hello to Rodeo Drive. Bye"
I felt too bad to tell him "DID I MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT GOING ANYWHERE?!" so I put on my polite face and left the car. I honestly had no idea where he dropped me off. Thank goodness for Google maps. After about 15 minutes (yeah that's right it takes me 15 minutes to read Google Maps) I realized I was in the Tel Aviv Tachana and ran to get my bus before I got:
1) shot
2) raped
3) all of the above

Well that was my "only in Israel" story. Short and sweet. But not sweet. Not at all.

So now, the one time an "only in Israel" story would be highly necessary, it's a no go. He gave me that look that says "you belong in a mental institution, get off my bus. I have no soul, I won't drive you ten minutes you oddball American." So off the bus this oddball American (yup that's me) went.
Obviously for dramatic effect it had to thunderstorm as I exited the motor vehicle. Yes, it rained in this drought ridden country, the one time I needed food, shelter, and love. I found shelter under a cardboard box and spent Shabbat there. The end. No jokes.
I found shelter under a bus stop across from a mikveh. If anyone was wondering the mikveh in frummy Givat Ze'ev a half hour before Shabbat is very hip and happening so I suggest you go early. You can thank my obnoxious bus driver if that piece of information just helped your pre Shabbat planning.

I looked on Google Maps to see how far the walk would be to the cuzzies- 1 hour and 29 minutes. A 10 minute drive. But an hour and twenty nine minute walk. In rain. Thunder. Lightening. Who knows the long awaited earthquake could finally hit if I dare engage in the trek of doom.
After about a two millisecond contemplation as to whether I should walk or not I decided I would rather take refugee under the bus stop, get spat at for wearing a shirt that was redder than a pepper, and eat dirt while my cardboard box is getting electrocuted by lightening (yes, I know it's not possible, but I need to prove a point here.)

My phone was dying (obviously. Because when isn't my phone dying, 1% charged or dead) so I called my aunt who picked me up in her chariot of shining armor make of diamonds and Swarovski crystals. Aka her car.

And there you have it. The "only in Israel" story which had so much potential, but just never happened. Why the world hates me, I will never know. All I do know is my jumbo Toblerone chocolate bar needs to be finished tonight. Challenge accepted.

The Saga Of The Test...

Today I realized I have been at this driving thing for far too long. Six months far too long to be precise.
The saga began on April 10, 2013. Actually, the saga began on January 26, 2008 when I turned 16 and was too stupid to get on this licence thing pronto.
But thank gd the finish line is slowly in sight. And I went about a meter (please, I'm all Israeli and use the metric system now) closer today after passing my fifth driving theory test.
Five theory tests, you ask. Yes, five theory tests.
My justification for being a late driver is quite valid actually. I was born ten days late. I began walking at about 1 and a half. I don't know how to ride a bike (fun fact: I was in a raffle to win a bike along with 800 other kids and I won the bike. Whoever was in elementary school with me I hope you're over it by now. If not, the bike is sitting in my garage. Pick it up whenever). I don't know how to roller skate or blade nor ice skate. So basically I'm just not into the whole notion of self transportation. Clearly relying on myself to go from place to place ain't my forte. This is why I have needed the past 5 and three quarter years to ease myself into driving, because after all it is a form of self transportation.

Ok back to the five theory tests. I'll break it down for you:

First test- One morning in the  18th year of life I decided to be smart and begin driving. Theory test numero uno. Permit received. Party. Well not really since my dad was in work and my mom had and for some bizarre reason still has an irrational fear of getting in the car with me. Yup, just with me.

Second test- Three years after "Lottie Received Her Permit" day, I remembered I had a permit and should probably should turn it into something relevant aka a license. But no no, the permit expired. Hence theory test numero dos. But theory test number two was a no go. Lesson I learned from that test- just because you took a test three years prior doesn't mean you will remember the answers three years later smartypants.

Third test- About a week later I took the test again. Basically I was really dumb and failed. No rhyme or reason. I may or may not have cried myself to sleep as I saw my future life. I was going to be a dog walker. Why a dog walker? Well I could only have a job where the main focus is walking since I would never be able to drive a vehicle due to my lack of knowledge. And I chose dogs as the animal as a punishment to myself for being so dumb. Correct, I don't like dogs. As I told someone recently, if I had to be born again as a dog, I would rather not be born again.

Fourth test- A week after planning my future dog walking life, I took the test yet again and passed. A shhechiyanu was most likely said. A party was most likely thrown. The images of me being a dog walker were never thought of again.

Well that was until I realized I'm making aliyah so a permit means nothing.

So today, October 17, 2013, the day that I have 7 Facebook friends celebrating their birthdays, I took theory test number 5.
I began studying for it (which thank the Lord above you can take in English) about two months ago and told people almost daily I am taking it tomorrow. This theory test basically became the equivalent to other peoples' "my diet starts tomorrow".

However, this week I was stricken suddenly with a terrible, no good, very bad cold. A cold that has made me sound like Miley Cyrus (you know because she has a nasally voice). A cold that has made tree cutters cut down many more trees then necessary for Kleenex to supply me with more tissues. And a cold that has kept me up at night due to my stuffy nose and sore throat. On Sunday night when I couldn't sleep I was trying to come up with a new way to breath since the whole breathing through your mouth and/or nose was clearly not going to be happening to me anytime soon. By Monday night, I realized I can not come with a new way to breath, so I might as well do something useful while I heave for air. And that useful thing was study for this theory.

I did have a scare yesterday which I thought was a sign I would fail my theory (at that point I was  so nervous to take the test I was just looking for excuses- I have a fear of tests, it's true) when my credit card got swallowed up by an ATM two seconds before a driving lesson. I didn't want to keep my driving teacher waiting so right after the lesson I went back to the bank and had to wait behind the smelliest man I have ever stood next to, for hours until I could get someone to get my card out. I'm telling you, forget about all the steam and lavender and what not your meant to smell to clear your airways, just stand next do a sweating smoker and all will be clear. Since my phone (aka my source of entertainment) dyed mid-wait, I was fortunate enough to watch the documentary the bank was so kindly playing for it's customers. It was a documentary about British people riding dwarfed horses (smaller then donkeys). No offense to the horse family, but horse dwarfs are rather unfortunate looking. As were these British riders.

Anyways, after fishing for every excuse in the sea and realizing it's now or never since the craziness of school is about to kick in, I went to the test taking place this morning. Or should I say I went to jail this morning.

By the entrance there was a security guy. I am far from anything suspicious looking, so they usually just let me in without thinking twice, oh the life of being a dumb American. Well this guy stood up and blocked the entrance. So I figured he was just being nonsensical, so I would step around him, but he blocked my way. In my head I was thinking oh so politely "MOVE OVER SO I CAN ENTER THE PREMISE", but he wasn't budging, so I asked him what he wanted from me (message to all security guards- tell people what you want from them. Clearly we aren't too good at guessing games). He told me I need all my forms out and I have to shut off all electronics and put my bag in a locker and lock it before entering. So I did that, the man gave me a number and then he let me in.
What was next? Remove your clothes and put on this orange jumpsuit?

The room was dead silent. Dead silent. Well minus this guy who wouldn't stop yelling to his friend waiting outside the room. No worries, the security guard dealt with the matter immediately and severely. Shockingly no handcuffs were taken out. Since no one had their phones on them all we were able to do was look at each other (what a concept) or pretend we were fascinating by our tofes yarok (the driving form that you had to bring with all your medical info). I did the latter. I must have read the tofes yarok about twelve times. Test me.

After a few minutes of sitting in the most uncomfortable silence, where you could hear a feather drop, and yes I'm aware a feather makes no noise, my number was called. She took a picture of me and told me not to smile. She also didn't tell me when she was taking the picture and when I'm nervous, as I was for this test, I blink profusely, so this picture is probably one of me looking like someone who just got arrested mid blink. I pray I never need to see this picture.
I then paid and she gave me my change in coins. I'm quite certain I muttered "screw you." I know, I'm so rude.

After this woman did her business with my forms she told me to sit back down until she called me up again. I was shaking like a madman. Another security guard began eyeing me and since the woman took my tofes yarok I had nothing else to do but stare at my shoes, which were black flats so that wasn't too entertaining.

The woman called me back up, and gave me my forms and told me to enter the next room to take the test. In that room there were three men walking around the room watching us. I think if I ever do wind up in jail, this experience will defiantly help me know what to expect. When I sat in front of the computer my hands were shaking so bad the mouse was wiggling. I have always had a fear of taking tests. I would rather do the hokey pokey in front of hundreds of people then take a test. Even if it's a test with information I know without thinking twice I panic. It's an issue. I know. In Israel you get asked thirty questions and you are only allowed to get four wrong. I finished the test and wanted to faint. You only find out whether or not you pass once you get the key to your locker and take your stuff out. Well when I went to my locker that same security guard (who should be fired) was blocking my way and being that he thought he was the head honcho didn't listen to me when I asked him to move. So I had to stand there for about five minutes while the what's, if's and's and but's about this test were going through my head. Finally I was able to get my sutff and the woman behind the desk said she had to tell me something. I thought it would either be regarding the test or the fact that you can't attempt to escape from jail. Well she told me she likes my name. Ok sweetie, your job isn't to tell people whether or not you like their name. I couldn't care less what she thought of my name. I could care what she thought about my test results but that didn't seem on the agenda, because then she asked me if I go by Charlotta or India or I have another name. So I told her kind of obnoxiously that I go by Lottie, hoping she will get the hint that I didn't pay 61 shekels to talk about the origins of my name and if she does want to discuss it it's almost lunch time so she could take me out to eat. I'm thinking her dream job is to work in for a baby naming dictionary company, because when she told me I passed(!!!!) she didn't sound half as excited as when she told me my name.
And to quote Jenna Rink from 13 Going On 30, "and I floated home on a cloud."

PROOOOOF!!!

Well actually there was a pet shop nearby so I was thinking of buying a fish and naming it:

1) Stanley, because that has been my dream name for a pet since I was about ten
2) Almost A Licensed Driver (AALD for short- no, it's not the name of a drug, it's the name of a potential fish)
3) I Love Lottie (ILL for short- I know ILL is a horrid name, but what is stands for is truly beautiful)

But I didn't buy a fish. We'll save Stanley/AALD/ILL for when I pass my next driving test, the driving test!
Stay tuned...

Mission Accomplished

I know I tend to make a big deal out of things. And since I don't plan on stopping anytime soon here goes Lottie vs gas mask take two.

Whoever lives/has lived/will live with them should know/already knows that I am a loser and I don't set my alarm for times like 7:00, 7:15, 7:30, etc. You know the "normal" times.

Why?

Because I feel bad for the times that never get attention. You know who are we to take that 7:17am isn't a wonderful time. 

If you want to hear about this theory feel free to contact me. I am going to save my dignity and shut up. 

Anyways yesterday morning I set me alarm clock for 5:16, 5:19 and 5:22. 

Mission: Gas mask. 

On the first bus at 6am. Actually I was the only one on the first bus at 6am. 

If some stalker happened to video me as I was walking the two minute walk of determination from the bus stop to the post office I request you make it in slow motion and Chariots of Fire in the background. 

I knew I was going to be first. I mean please, I woke up at 5:16am. I was going to be numero uno in line. And be out of there and not be late for work. 

Well let me tell you, sometimes its very damaging to your ego to be a cup half full type of person. 

It was 6am and by the time I got there there were 100 people already. Oh and let's keep in mind that the post office didn't even open until 8am. 

There was a piece of paper going around where you had to write down your name next to the next number on the list. 

I was number 105. 6am and 105 people are standing like exhausted idiots outside of a post office. 

I mean I think only Assad can accomplish that. He made us wake up before the crack of dawn, so ya, Assad proved his hatred to us. We get it. Now let's just end this and carry on with our lives. 

Well by 7am the list was at 600 people. It was choas. Really all we needed was a Na Na Nach truck and the mental institution committee would be on their way. 

Chabad really missed out on this one. They had 600 people to put tefillin on. 

- Looks like Steven Spielberg has got some competition. You can't tell how many people are ahead of me in this video since I was at the bottom of the staircase. But believe me when I say that there was a lot. 

But in terms of people writing their names of the piece of paper with the numbers, things were pretty organized. 

Since the post office wasn't open until 8, regular guys had to keep the crowd under control. 

There were TV crews everyone and people mumbling their predictions of will it be doom, death or destruction? 

Never a dull moment in the holy land eh. 

At 7:30 this guy Shachar took charge and went to the top of the stair case and yelled down that he got barriers to create three orderly lines at the top of the staircase so numbers 1-30 should go in line one, 31-60 in line two and 61-90 in line three. 

Obviously since there were more people there then the amount of Jews leaving Egypt, after Shachar yelled it the guy closest to him yelled it, and so on. It was basically one big game of telephone. 

One big game of telephone at 7:30 freaking a.m. with Israelis. Joy. 

People listened though. Believe it or not and for the most part there were no riots or fist fights. I think that's enough proof to prove that g-d can indeed make miracles. 

Ok so 8:00 comes. Post office is not open. 

For some reason the man in charge, Shachar, who has in the past half hour become our savior and had a number of job offers and requests to replace Bibi, managed to ask someone in the post office why they were still closed. As he stood up on the top of the staircase we all got quiet to here the newest Moshe Rabianu speak. (It was hysterical every time he stood up it went silent.) 

Shachar told us that they can't open because they need permission from the police. 

Honestly if it was any other country I would ask why, but in Israeli it's just not even worth the brain cells to ponder this wonder of the world. 

Right after Shachar spoke some guy in the crowd yelled if we all cheer for the police maybe they will come and open up. 

Five seconds later we are all chanting "mishtara, mishtara, mishtara". I felt like it was color war and we were team "police."

Why everyone woke up on the right side of the bed with the words "unity" "teamwork" "smiles" "cooperation" "go with the flow" is beyond me. 

But when 800 people cheer "mishtara", you just gotta join. 

Lesson learned: cheering gets you no where. 

Five minutes later Shachar comes back from his new office that he made for himself at the top of the staircase with a megaphone. 

This guy was getting more legit-er by the minute.  

He kept on making Obama jokes and told us what today's forecast will be. 

Honestly by hour number three, with a very much dying phone in the 9am heat you will laugh at anything. 

Finally at 9:30 (yes, an hour and a half late) he told us that the police finally gave permission. 

The cheering was the sort of cheering you would hear from me if the Mindy Project comes back tomorrow and not September 17. You get the picture. 

After the police gave permission oh holy Shachar said in his now decorated megaphone (this guys ego was skyrocketing, higher then any rocket that will ever come out of Gaza) that number 91-120 can line up. 

To quote Glee (and whoever originally sang the song One Of Us)- "yeah yeah gd is good yeah yeah gd is great". 

I was finally in a line and not in a moshpit at the bottom of the staircase.

I was in a line at the top of the stairs next to Shachar, The Holy One. What have I done to deserve such a reward?

Behind me in line was number 106, Ms. Yaffa Perry. I know this because this woman was literally a psychopath. 

First of all she had a bag on her head. You know it was getting really hot so a lot of people were putting pretty funky things on their heads. We had the cardboard box lady who basically injured a few people with the sharp corner of her box. We had the guy who made a sail man hat out of paper. I'm sure his kids loved him. We had Ms. Yaffa who had a bag on her head that said "I love Italy and Italy loves you." I highly doubt that that love is mutual. 

I mean has no one ever heard of a hat. H.A.T. Definition- something you put on your head to guard you from the sun. 

Anyways back to Yaffa. Women with babies were allowed to wait inside once they got their number because it was way to hot for a baby to be outside for so long. Actually it was way to hot for anyone between the ages of 0-120 to be out for so long, but that's besides the point. 

Yaffa accused every woman who went inside with their baby of cutting the line. She also told one woman that she is too skinny to have a baby that young so she must have stolen the baby. 

She had Shachar check the list of names every time a woman passed with a baby to make sure that the woman knows her number and knows that she, Yaffa, is number 106 and if anyone goes before her they won't need a gas mask. Why? Because they would be dead long before Syria sends any chemicals over. 

It was 9:37, and my line was still not budging. I ate around the slutty brownie I casually had with me for a party later. I actually brought everything I needed for work with me. I thought since I would be in and out of there within two hours I would go straight to work. 

Little did I know that this wait would cost blood, sweat and tears, and a shower after was more than necessary. 

Some woman in the crowd, you know those peasents at the bottom of the staircase with the number 807 who basically had to wait all day, fainted from the heat. 

When this happened I overheard the best comment ever. Oh and this guy also asked it so philosophically- "hmmm I wonder if it's this hot in Uganda."

The woman was brought to the top of the staircase to sit next to the fan that us top of the staircase-er VIP's were so fortunately blessed with. Obviously Yaffa accused her of faking. 

It was about 9:52 and I was finally the next person up to get my gas mask. 

I saw my life pass before me. 

It took me 21 years to get to this moment in my life and I couldn't be any happier. No regrets. Well maybe a few, but nothing major.

I came, I saw, and (four hours later) I conquered. 

Yup, I finally got it, and after doing my victory dance, I got cheered, high five-d and interviewed.
I came, I saw, and (four hours later) I conquered. 

Yes, my dream came true. I got interviewed. However, I would have never guessed that during my first interview I would look like a sweating cow. I was so giddy I couldn't even answer her questions. 

She asked me what time I woke up this morning, how long I waited, and what are my feelings about the overall situation. 

To put in nicely every answer consisted of about 100 "um's", zero eye contact, and showing off my gas mask box to random strangers who high five-d me. 

You would think I won an Oscar. 

But basically if you see me on TV, please don't watch. I look like a space cadet purple (I was wearing purple) cow. 

When I got to the bus stop, a few woman were sitting on the bench waiting and they saw me holding my gas mask and they got up and told me I deserve to sit. 

Note to self- if you ever need a confidence booster, walk aruond the post office with a cardboard box (for those who don't have a gas mask) and for those that do bring your gas mask to the post office. 

Works like a charm. 

I was so late for work that it didn't really matter if I just ran home, showered, and threw the box in my closet. Oh and did another victory dance of course. 

Honestly at first I thought my little gas mask would be my newest cuddle buddy. The effort I went threw to get it, allows it to replace my Reeses pillow, but now I feel like I have a weapon in my closet. I open the doors slowly as to not disturb the gas mask, and I hid it under a bunch of scarves since it really is scary to look at. It's like a monster is living in my closet. A monster I have named "gassy"- it takes too long to say gas mask. 

Lesson learned: when your roommate ordered her gas mask way back when last Septemeber, don't make fun of her and tell her you would rather walk around wearing lime green nail polish then order it. 

Instead be inspired and motovated by this psychic friend to jump on her bandwagon. 

And with that I wish Yaffa and Shachar (who is probably still chilling at the post office with his megaphone friend) a gas-less Shabbat. 

May we laugh at this whole gas mask saga very soon and never need to actually opened the sealed box! 

Presenting Israel's Newest Social Scene

If I was a psychic this is what I would have told myself approx 3 hours ago:

Before leaving your home/apt/trailer/street prepare yourself: 

- You will sweat. 

- You will be pushed. 

- You will be elbowed. 

- You will basically be able to sue for physical harassment had you been in America. 

- This will be worse than Ben Yehuda on your first Friday of Shana Alef. You have been warned. 

What to bring:

- an iPod with inspiring, power to you, type of songs. 

- a smile. If you are not a smiley person, no worries, it will go away after a few minutes. 

- a good attitude. You were sent into a bomb shelter this year, buying a gas mask half a year later. All part of the Israeli experience. Whoop de do. Let's paint rainbows. 

Gas mask time baby. Cue the inspirational, dramatic music. 

Well I didn't know any of this. 

I woke up this morning at 5am to study for a final (yes, it's Aug 28 and I'm still taking finals.), took the final at 8:30, accepted the fact that I failed which broke my heart, went to buy some food to help me heal my broken heart, realized how sad my life is when I am not in school/at work, came home and was ready to cram in some last minute studying for my driving test which I was planning on taking in the afternoon. And then I went on Facebook. 

Is it just me that whenever I hear "and then I went on Facebook" you know something bad is about to happen. 

Gas masks, war, chemicals, Assad. Doom. Death. Destruction. The Mayans got confused and really meant Aug 2013 is when the world will end. 

Dum dee dum dum. 

Lord have mercy. Life is not a highway, Rascal Flatts, it's a freaking episode of 24 that never ends. And I am your main character. Move on over Jack Bauer. 

I am a news freak. I love reading the news. Especially in Israel, you gotta know what the deal is. This place is so unpredictable that if you skip the newspaper routine one day you will miss that "today Israel is not selling apples in protest of the strike that is going on in Ben Gurion which is due to the lack of toilet paper in Jerusalem." Basically you gotta read the news. 

So I knew what the deal was in Syria for a while, but I guess it finally hit me.

You. Gas. Mask. NOW. 

 I'm thinking it hit me because I was really not in the mood to study for my driving test. It's not everyday you can procrastinate using the excuse of gas masks. 

Hashtag only in Israel. Hashtag YOLO. Hashtag people who say "hashtag" in sentences annoy me more than a broken ice cream cone with ice cream dripping out of it.  

I looked up a few numbers to call for home delivery, because I'm lazy. And honest. 

But obviously in times of need they decide not to be working. I can't say I'm surprised. 

On to the post office (gas mask distrubution spot) in Tel Aviv I go... 

On the bus I realized I should have brought my driving theory test study material. You know, getting back at Assad. Yo, this woman can drive baby. But I am not gangster and don't plan on talking to a dictator anytime soon, so I stopped that thought. 

Got to the post office. First time I didn't get lost using google maps (I'm telling you, I can't follow a map for the life of me). Shehechiyanu. 

About the post office... In most countries there post offices are probably dead quiet all day. Well Israel is not most countries. 

Dear Bored Post Office Workers, 

Move to Israel. We know how to turn dull outdated buildings into quite the hot spot. 

Love, 

Israel

Thousands of people. It was like going in a time machine to the old school days and the only means of communications was through pigeons or mail. Pen and paper and stamps sort of mail. Kind of like those long lost Lisa Frank days. 

It looks like a handful of people waiting. Well multiply this handful by 1,000 and that's how many people are in front of them, inside, or waiting on sidewalks. 
The Teaneck post office wishes it looks like this. 

Only thing to remember was this post office was Israelite style. 

What is a line? Hmmm g-d gave me a fist and a terribly loud voice for a reason eh. 

There were so many people that the tickets with your number in line ran out. Classic Israel, when the tickets run out you just push even more. 

Assad, you haven't attacked us yet nor will you ever (please gd) but you caused Israelis to attack me with their elbows. And gosh their elbows are strong. My bruises thank you. 

Even more classic Israel, when hundreds of people can't even get into the building to see which ticket number is next up because it is so blocked up some guy comes outside and yells the next number up. 

About 15 years ago I was in England with my fam jam and we were waiting outside Buckingham Palace for the gates to open or something. Remember I was 6. I didn't care about anything but chocolate. 

Anyways, my parents were pushing about four different strollers, because at the age of six I had four siblings. Camp Kestenbaum. And as some car was coming down some pathway (remember 6, chocolate, me) a British guard screamed so loud at my parents to "MOVE THAT BUGGY". (Buggy is a stroller). 

Point of the story is that this British buggy guard had nothing on this calling numbers guy. 

Havoc. 

If this guy becomes famous tonight... you saw him here first. 

I am pretty competitive so when I set my mind to doing something I like to do it and do it the best way possible to show the world that I really am invincible, but this wasn't worth it.

As I started leaving I saw a bunch of TV crews and interviewers and people with those chunky monkey cameras. Basically paparazzi. I guess in Israel you're a celeb if you leave getting a gas mask to the 11th hour. 

Represent. 

I left interview-less, gas mask-less, bruised, and so upset that I was excluded from the newest Israeli fashion trend- holding a cardboard box. 

Presenting the newest fashion trend. 

You will be on a beach during your labor day weekend. 

I will be waiting for a gas mask during mine. 

Tell the beach I send my love. 

Never a dull moment. 

Post Office, prepare for take two tomorrow in Jerusalem. See you at the crack of dawn.

Shout out Assad for ruining my sleeping routine.  

Lessons Learned (In Honor My Aliyah-versary)

A few years ago around Thanksgiving time, one of my brothers showed me a Youtube video of a headless turkey (chill, it was a cartoon) singing "I Will Survive." 

Being the highly intellectual person that I am, I erased that video from my head until recently when I was thinking about my one year aliyah-versary.

Yes, it's true the first thing I thought of when thinking about August 14 was a Youtube video of a headless turkey. Nbd. 

I was trying to reason this extremely ridiculous comparison to myself and came up with a pretty solid justification- I have survived my fist year as an Israel even though there were more times than one, actually more times that about twenty three, when I thought I had really lost my mind. 

Whoever invented the phrase "never a dull moment" has clearly lived in Israel. 

Honestly, I have been targeted by a wallet thief, Hamas, Ms. Manner's rebellion squad, my phone company, and motorcycle drivers who are incapable of understanding the difference between the street and a pedestrian sidewalk. 

Call me a miracle child. 

But in the name of YOLO, I wouldn't trade any of these near death physical and/or mental experiences for anything. 

I think.

Here are some things I learned this year about myself and about living in Israel.

1) I learned how to tell someone my number, address and say you are always welcome, without actually telling them. Ya that's right. No need to awkwardly ask for peoples' numbers anymore. 

Here are the dirty details: Ever since I found out there is a somewhat good sushi place that delivers near me, I think all the delivery guys think I want to marry them based on how many times they have been to my apt to deliver.

Back when I was getting money from the government (aka back when I was rich) I would order sushi more times than I feel comfortable admitting. In fact, I still do order more sushi than I feel comfortable admitting.

Due to this, not only am I slowly turning into a spicy tuna (you know, because you are what you eat), but all the sushi delivery guys know where I live and my phone number. And they know it very well. So well that they don't even buzz into my building anymore.

One of them practically watched Sleepless In Seattle with me one time while I was looking for money to pay him. 

It's true, I love sushi so much I am willing to look like a player for it.

And that my friends is how it's done. More dating tips coming your way. 

2) I have learned the tactics of cutting in line. Not that I would ever endorse it or anything. I still have some self-dignity. But after observing the deed being done on more than about fifty six occasions here's the drill.

Setting: the bank (believe it or not that's when it happens the most.)

Victim: a twenty one year old, blonde hair (well sort... bad dying job a few years back), blue eyes, 5"4, American. Oh that's me by the way.

Step One- Look the victim in the eye. Eye contact is essential. Try to intimidate them or engage in the ultimate blinking contest.

Step Two- Confuse the victim by encircling her several times and appearing somewhat confused while you do it. Confidence will only lead to the victim hating you even more.

Step Three- After the fourth encircle, causally go in front of her.

Step Four- Once your victim notices you cut her, she may appear as though she just found out that the tooth fairy is a lie (aka she may look shocked) but ignore them and continue to act like your rude, cocky, obnoxious self.

Yes, I am a victim of this terrible reality. Us victims anonymous must unite to create a better and polite tomorrow.

3) I have learned how to shush people, or at least I try. 

The other day on the bus, I was sitting near a woman who was yelling down her phone. 

Now I too am a phone yeller, but I took a Ms. Manners course for the phone yellers, and no longer talk on the phone on buses for the sake of others. However, this woman was another story. All I could make out was someone just got engaged (side-note: is it just me or am I the only one left who isn't dating, engaged, or married). Great. Mazal tov. Bayit neaman blah blah blah. But this woman was yelling and yelling and there I was, little old me, just finishing another exhausting day at work and wanting to have a calm and peaceful bus ride home. Enough was enough!

I got so mad I was going to shush her. Crazy. I know. 

Anyways, I finally got the courage to do so and my shush came out more as a quiet blow out of fear that she would beat me up. 

Lesson learned: I have a long way to go. 

4) Speaking of buses, I have a tendency to sit next to psychopathic, mental institution runaways on buses. 

A few weeks ago I sat next to a woman who just found out:

a) Kate Middleton had a baby boy and not girl (I'm telling I was dead set on this heir to the throne being a girl).

b) What happened on The Bachelorette. I won't even go there. Too soon. Way too soon.

I mean those are two very valid reasons to be yelling that loud, but really on a bus?! I thought she was going to hit me next. I would be lying fir I said I didn't get off that bus two stops before my stop. 

I also sat next to a girl who was listening to music without headphones. 

First of all they sell headphones more than they sell water these days so that's just not an excuse. 

Also I really appreciate the free entertainment she was offering, but 50 Cent is not my forte thank you very much. Especially not Candy Shop on repeat. 

I sat next to a woman who was gagging the entire bus ride. Without going into details, I moved before anything dramatic took place. Call me rude and inconsiderate, but there is a reason I ain't becoming a doctor. 

5) I am very into my personal space. I don't like it when people get in my face. I know, I sound like the sign by the lions in a zoo, "don't get too close at the risk of getting bitten". Well that's me. Get too close, I will bite you. 

And then I moved to Israel. 

I'm telling you I could sue someone for physical harassment and win if what was happening to me in Israel happened in America. 

The other day some guy pushed me and it was my fault. Yup, my fault for "being in the way." Forgive me sir for living. 

6) Another personal fun fact I learned about Israel is Israelis confusion about coming on and off trains. A long long time ago, aka two months ago, signs were put up all over Jerusalem by train stops saying "let others get off first before you get on". 

I can tell you the day I learned this rule. Story time. 

The week before my bat mitzvah I broke my leg by slipping on ice. Yes, ultimate fail. Thankfully my bat mitzvah dress covered the cast and I just wobbled around on bat mitzvah day since I refused to use my crutches, and dancing was a no go. I was promised a re-do f my bat mitzvah, and I'm still patiently waiting for one. Tear tear.

Anyways, if we are looking at this story from the cup half full perspective, I got to use to elevator in my school for the month I had a cast on. I have never been so popular in my life since I had to use it with a buddy. 

Anyways, one day I was waiting for the elevator with my buddy and we went in before the teacher could get out. 

Oh my g-d, I pray that no one ever yells at me like that ever again. It was tragic. 

Well from that day on I have been an advocate of letting others off before going on since I always here that teacher's voice in my head. 

So back to what I was saying- the signs go up. Whoop de do. But they don't seem to understand that letting others out first means stepping aside so they can come out, not crowding their space so you can be the first one on once they all get out. 

My solution- if you are trying to get out and they are crowding your space just jump on the guy in front of you and do some crowd surfing. 

7) I have learned that Israelis make the biggest deal out of absolutely nothing and the smallest deal out of something really important. Take the ouse in my apartment for example- http://newestsabraontheblock.blogspot.co.il/2013/07/a-tale-of-one-mouse.html. 

Or when a train and/or bus is approaching they run to get it as if the apocolypse is coming. Chill. Egged provides more than one train/bus. You will live. I promise. 

However, when it comes to Hamas throwing rockets and the siren going off where I live all I get is "woohoo eize chavaya" and "eh you will be fine." 

So mice and trains can kill, but rockets are a walk in the park? Got it. 

8) I have also come to terms with that fact that I am and will always be overdressed. Actually it's not so much of being overdressed, it's more of I will always be wearing appropraite clothes for the place I am going to. The first time I went to a governmental office the guy helping me was wearing sweatpants. 

I was flabbergasted. Floored. In shock. If I could think of more synonyms off the top of my head I would write them. 

10) I learned that getting appointments anywhere are the equivalent of finding a traveling the world, curing cancer, running a marathon and making world peace. All in one day. 

Let's see who still wants to be my friend after I say this- I had athletes foot for a while. 

It was gross. And hurt. Badly. 

So like any normal person I wanted to go to an pediatrist (preferably Jacob's dad, but sadly he is located in America). So I called an English speaking office and asked to make an appointment. They told me I need to get a referral from my doctor. I told them I am currently watching my pinky toe fall off (sure you still want to be my friend?) so I don't think I need a referral. They told me I do. In protest I dropped the whole thing. 

Lucky for me with enough Neosporin the whole thing went away. I promise I am athlete foot free for the time being. Promise. 

11) I learned never to discuss J.Crew on Times of Israel. I think whoever knows me knows I tend to exaggerate when I write (and those who don't know me I don't think I am a holier than thou snob). Well I forgot TOI people don't know me, are over politically correct, enjoy nitpicking and excel at being fun suckers. 

And for all of you wondering, no I don't constantly order from J.Crew. (referring to my aliyah article on the TOI)

Props to me for getting readers to talk about J.Crew customer service or whatever on my aliyah blog. 

12) I have learned the El-Al flight schedule to JFK/Newark and Heathrow/Luton off the top of my head. It's the eighth wonder of the world as to why I have failed to memorize the bus schedule from Givat Shmuel to Jerusalem. 

13) I have learned that Israelis believe in the freedom of the dog, and do not provide leashes for their animals. It's like the whole "give me liberty of give me death" situation has gotten a little confused and out of hand. The "give me liberty" bit applies to the dog in this country, while the "give me death" scenario is awarded to the poor unfortunate soul who gets savagely ripped apart by the liberty-provided dog. 

In case you didn't know yet, saying I have a fear of dogs is an understatement. 

The number on tip to living here is learning how to laugh at the little things. Thankfully, I learned this early enough to avoid the psych ward or jumping off a bridge. 

Here's to year two...!