A Tale Of One Mouse

A few weeks ago my apartment was stricken with a tragedy.

Thank gd no calls to 911 were made, no blood and gore.

It was worse.

We had a little visitor.

Dum de dum dum.

Sounds like a horror story eh? Well it was.

Now I’m all for visitors. I love hosting parties. I get socially awkward when I have many people over so I usually hide out in my kitchen but party planning and preparing are one of my hobbies.  Had I known this little thing was paying a visit though, I wouldn’t plan a party.

Yes, it was that bad.

We had  a mouse.

Ask N for details since she was oh so fortunate enough to see it.

Oh and by the way it was dead. Dead with poop surrounding it. Yum.

I smelled a pretty foul smell at the beginning of the day and figured it was rotten potatoes or something. So what do I do when I smell a bad smell? Just spray an overwhelming amount of Febreze while doing the Febreze dance, which consists of a lot of twirling and whirling.

You know you sprayed enough when you can’t breathe and need to stay out of the room for a minimum of 6 minutes because if you go in you may suffocate and die.

So maybe it was my ridiculous amount of Febreze, which killed the rodent. And for that I am sorry. Not.

Anyways, dead mouse. Poop. Smelly. Screaming. Threatening to never move from the couch again. I literally saw my future pass in front of me. I would get married on that couch. Have a baby on that couch. Make dinner on that couch. I was not not NOT moving from my couch until this rodent was disposed of. Thank g-d I was eating an apple when this whole thing went down. I just needed to make that apple last for the rest of my life and it would be the couch, the apple and me together forever.

I’m really not an animal person to begin with. Dogs are scarier to me then Bin Laden was. So when it comes to a mouse, well they are scarier to me then nuclear war.

Anyways, to cut a long story short the mouse was disposed of. Shout out D & J.

We called our landlord like any good tenants would do to pretty much tell him his apartment may or may not be infested.

The following is his theory (and I wrote a blah post so far either on purpose or because I have been studying all day. Your call. But this theory tots makes up for this eh post): “I believe the mouse came from the window. Yes, I guess it flew in or something and made it inside a closed cabinet. Of course mice are able to fly into a seventh floor apartment kitchen. Now I know the windows in the kitchen aren’t huge but it’s very possible.”

Ok great mice fly everyone. MICE FLY. So seal your windows shut because who knows you can get a little visitor flying through your window. I mean really?! They fly with what their tail?! A new mouse family began recently with the special power of flight?! I’m thinking if I was a mouse I would want the superpower of invisibility, but to each their own. Ok learn something new everyday. Apparently my landlord just:

1) found a new species

2) is a zoologist

3) is stupid

Next part of the conversation:

“So dear landlord, what do you suggest we do? Should we call an exterminator?”

“Oh my no. Don’t call an exterminator. They will evacuate you from the apartment for a few days and chances are they will evacuate the entire building. The entire building will be forced to flee with just the clothes on their back.”

I think it’s safe to say I thought he was high at this point.

Fine, I don’t know much about animals (forgive me National Geographic) so who knows perhaps a mouse species could have came into being.

But I’m going to be evacuated because of a mouse?
Like I will be sitting in the homeless shelter for the week that I would have been evacuated and would have no where to go and discussing with my fellow homeless-ers what brings us here. One guy came here because he lost his job. One girl came here because her parents abruptly cut her off (parents, never do that to me please) and I along with my two roommates (we miss you R) would have been there because a mouse came into our kitchen.

In November when the rockets were being thrown at us we asked our landlord what the deal is with the bomb shelter and he said we shouldn’t even bother asking because nothing will happen.

In June when a mouse was being thrown at us and we asked our landlord what the deal is we get, “HIDE YO KIDS HIDE YO WIFE THE MICE ARE INVADING. AND YES THE BOMB SHELTER IS NOW OPEN.”

I mean priorities. Please!

Update: We have not called the exterminator because sleeping on the streets for a week and then coming back to see all my fellow apartment building peeps hate us isn’t really in the cards right now.

We have not seen/smelled/heard a mouse since. BLI AYIN HARA. 

An Afternoon Rant

It’s true, I think I live in a movie. I guess it’s a pretty dull movie because I really don’t do much with my life, but Les Mis was a dull movie (hate me. I just have the guts to say what everyone was thinking) but yet it made millions.

I just wish I had some DJ following me around all day with the perfect song to match the activity I am doing. It’s not fair that in movies the moment the rain falls (as a break up is happening, of course) some slow yet intense song comes on. The moment the two main characters prance around in the flower field (because of course that always happens) some Indie, hippy wannabe song blares.

I have noticed I spend more than half the time during the too frequent “Me Moments” looking for the perfect song on my iPod.

When I am on the bus the perfect bus song needs to be playing. But then again a “bus song” is truly subjective. There are many factors that play into choosing the most accurate “bus song”. Who’s on the bus, how is the driver’s driving skills, is it a smelly bus and so on.

If it’s a perfect day outside with strictly good looking people on the bus then that qualifies for a specific genre. However, if it is this creepy bus that I unfortunately need to ride on every so often with thousands of unwashed, ancient dolls lying around something dark and scary needs to be played. I am telling you these dolls have not been washed since the dawn of man. I am really into home décor and all but this bus is a totally different story. (The 168 if anyone is interested)

But the one rule I have for my iPod, which after four years together it is well aware of, is to never to play any inspirational or power to the female gender songs because it will make me cry.

Every time I watch that now famous Dove commercial about the sketch artist the tears just flow. Every time.

I also always need the perfect song because I’d like to think when I go out some movie making moment will happen to me. 

Like someone will go into labor and I will deliver their baby. By the way, I recently decided I want to be an OBGYN. I then remembered my bio grades in high school, so I think we will save this OBGYN dream for another life.

I also think when I am out I am going to meet some guy who will sweep me away in his Lamborghini. I’m not shallow. I promise. Or that someone will attempt to jump out of a window and commit suicide but I save their life by reminding them how J.Crew occasionally does free shipping to Israel.
Perfect song for saving lives anyone? 

I also think that there are times that a film crew is filming me to see how I will react to certain things. Clearly I think very highly of myself. But why is it that on my Facebook newsfeed the MikvahCalendar keeps on popping up and I didn’t even like the page. It is constantly telling me when I need to go to the mikvah. Sorry I’m really not that holy. And FYI not married and repulsively single.

Also you know those metal bar security barriers? And once you put your ticket through the machine or the security guard checks your bag the bars are supposedly meant to automatically move?

Well then I have a question for you Mr. Inventor Of The Metal Bars, why does it discriminate against one specific white, blonde, Jew? Yours truly.

I can sue for the amount of bruises I have covering my hips. And for the almost dented hip bone. Saying I broke or crushed a bone is too intense. I think dent is a perfect word to describe hurting a bone. Of course I know what I am talking about. I want to practice in the medical field and be an OBGYN anyways. 
The perfect song is necessary. 

I think the fireworks that went off last night were planned. Why is it that the one time I am walking alone past 9 o’clock and bugging out that a cat is going to attack me (who cares about rapists. Cats are so much more dangerous in this day in age) there is a sudden boom.

I love Israel and all but let’s not forget it is this itty bitty thing of a country surrounded by enemies. So when I hear a bang or a boom or even a frying pan fall the first thing that comes to mind is, “and the moment we have been waiting for. Syria is on the lose. Egypt is in wacky land. Grab your emergency kit and that non existant gas mask because you have been too much of a lazy bum to order it.” Well lucky for me the boom at 9 o’clock last night were just fireworks. You know because July 6th is a highly significant day and deserves fireworks. See if only some Katy Perry “Fireworks” would be blaring out of my handy dandy iPod we would be set to shoot the “Lottie Project.”

The Dirty Details- Israeli Presidential Conference Style

"Let us in!"
"Are you psychotic?!"
"We will push this wall down"

You would think I was at some "Occupation is a crime free Palestine" sort of rally. Or the breaking down of the Berlin Wall take two. Well I wasn't.
This was at the Fifth Israeli Presidential Conference that through some grace of gd I was invited to.
Pretty much it was such an honor and so exciting to be there. I was literally like a kid in a candy shop. Actually a Reeses and peanut M & M's shop. My favorites.

However, the last few hours of the Conference things didn't really go as planned.
The last session was a plenary (no worries, I am using that word to sound smart. I still don't really know what it means and I can't pronounce it for the life of me) with Peres, Bibi, Shransky and some other guy I never heard of so he prob wasn't important. Or I am just ignorant.
I planned my entire day around being front and center for this plenary.
They told us security is going to be tight and there will be a difference entrance to get inside due to the heightened security. So I didn't go to the panel right before so I would make it to this plenary.
I was among the first 50 people in line to get inside. 50 out of 5,000 if I may add.
I waited on line for about a millisecond and went through the whole security shabang.
It was literally insanity.
They put this paper swab thing on your hands to make sure you weren't around gun powder. You know when someone does something like that to you and all of a sudden you second guess yourself thinking "hmmm I do think I was around gun powder recently" so all of a sudden I was thinking I was Ahmadinejad's (fun fact: this is spelt right. Thank you Google) deputy and just came out of the nuclear factory.
But thank gd I was as innocent as innocent could be. Shocker. And I got through to the other side.
They didn't even open the doors yet and I along with 50 other people were waiting outside.
I saw my future in front of me- I would sit third row (you know because the first two are reserved for g-d and Sharon Stone) and someone would notice me and come next week I'll be a millionaire.
Anyhoo, as that thought was ending they opened the doors.

Ok. I will put two options out there and I won't tell you what really went down. You will decide based on if you think I'm an idiot or not:
Option One- I was not told that we need a special ticket to enter the plenary. I mean not really a special ticket but you just needed to go to the information desk and ask them for a ticket which you get for free.  It really isn't a big deal. Well, it wouldn't of been a big deal if I knew about it and got the ticket. But I didn't know you had to do that.

Option Two: I did know you needed a ticket but I was too lazy to get one and I thought since I have a press pass (ya I'm basically paparazzi. Holla) I thought you could just get through.

So in a nutshell the two options are I really didn't know you needed a ticket vs I am stupid and thought I was more legit than I was.
Your call.

So they open the doors and asked me for my ticket. And I said in my posh British accent "oh please ma'am I am press."
She tells me I can't go in because I don't have a ticket.
My world shattered.
All that's good in the world ended.
It was as if they told me Reeses was going out of business. Or that Kate Gosselin adopted all of her eight kids. Or that the Tiffany's necklace I wear everyday is actually fake. Or that Kim Kardashian's baby's name is North West. Oh wait that happened.

Ya it was bad.
Anyways, I had to do the walk of shame. Which was pretty awkward.
I figured I'll just go and get the stupid ticket and I'll be out in five mins and back on line to claim my rightful third row seat.
Well by the time I got the ticket and was back on line about a thousand more people were there with me. It was as if there was an ice cream truck giving out free ice cream. Yes, that many people.
Anyways so I'm waiting on line for a good hour and then they call all press people to wait at the side so I thought "great they are going to give us VIP entrance like we deserve. You know because we are basically holier than thou". So we are waiting at the side for 45 minutes and they are letting the regular peasant people get in but not us. That's when it got violent.
I felt like it was the French Revolution take two, but this time Israeli style.
It was bad.
Punches were (almost) thrown. The gate was (almost) knocked down. The police were (almost) called.
Yes, I'm trying to make it a little more dramatic then it was.
But I was just waiting for a tire to be thrown.

Anyways, I realized after two hours it wasn't worth it. Please, I have dignity. And I heard three out of the four speak already and hate to be a Debby downer but it's not all its cracked up to be. So yesterday.
So I left. With the stupid (*#$#)($ ticket in hand.

Some other thoughts on the Conference:
1) It was awesome
2) I helped this odd bodd Colombian woman sitting next to me at one of the panels play Bejewled on her iPhone. It was a boring panel anyways so Bejewled was much more entertaining
3) Dana Weiss (some Israeli TV reporter) was the moderator for the first plenary with Tony Blair and Rahm Emanuel, Peres and Clinton and was wearing a STRANGE little outfit.
She looked like a jogger gone magician gone crazy. Weird little outfit.
If I could give the heads of the conference any advice for next year it would be make sure the moderators wear normal clothes. Like go shopping with them. Don't let them choose for themselves. Bad idea.
4) There were not too many outlets to charge your appliances. And I was a loser with only an iPhone. Most people had at least the entire Apple store with them. And there truly were not enough outlets.
The second day I was charging my phone in the Tachana and not by some normal spot but next to the guy who sits by the bathroom all day and charges people for a shekel.
It was strange.
Lesson learned: after seeing this poor guy get every excuse under the sun as to why people can't give him a ONE shekel, I do not want his job.
5) I was on line for the bathroom when all of a sudden g-d herself aka Sharon Stone cut all of us and her big macho security peeps kicked everyone out of the bathroom for her to do her thing. I think she pees gold or something.
Obviously when she was standing two feet away from me I didn't have my phone on me.

Today's Lesson

So I don't have my license. Israeli or American.
I'm a little behind. Old news.

So I am in the process of getting my Israeli license and I just had my eighth (I think. You lose track after four) lesson today.
Don't start throwing a party.
Eight out of twenty five.
Basically spending all my parents money here, but then again I made aliyah so they can never hate me.
Anyways my driving teacher knows me better than anyone. I mean after spending at least 40 minutes together about three times a week we have discussed almost everything. He practically knows me better than I know myself. Truth.

Well I thought he knew me until I helped him fix his car today.

He really is a great driving teacher and if anyone needs his info let me know (English speaker and all) but I think he likes the idea of having a chauffeur.
I mean I drove his kid to gan, I dropped him off at the supermarket once, and I also dropped him off in Aroma.
Just call me soccer mom.
But every time he leaves the car he leaves me in it with the engine on, his wallet and his phone. At first I thought this was odd and that was all, but recently I have started to think he is testing my stealing capabilities. And I am no thief.
Because...
1) Why is it fun to steal something and then forever live in guilt?
2) Who wants to be that uncivilized person who runs out of a store? I have some dignity left.

Anyways, so no, not planning on stealing his wallet or phone or car with his name written all over it.

However, today he told me to pull into a gas station which I did.
Apparently my turn was really bad because he told me today is his son's birthday and he would like to be alive for the party. Oops. He also said he didn't write his will yet so I can't kill him yet. Ha. Ha. Ha
(P.S.- I'm a really good driver...)

Anyways, we pull into the gas station and he gets out of the car and I'm just sitting there. Then he comes back and says there is no gas.
Which I don't understand. It's a gas station. All they need to supply is gas. That is it. They don't need to go to the field and pick wheat or some forest to get berries. All they need to do is somehow get the gas from a nuclear Iran and by the looks of it that can't be too hard since everyone has gas. Everyone.

Reason number 742 why Israel can't get into a nuclear war with Iran. Then we won't have gas and I will be dead. Which would suck.

Well then my teacher gets into this other car and I just figured I should get in it with him. We are driving for 30 seconds and he gets out. So I do as well. It's basically a game of Simon Says. He does something and I follow. No, I don't think for myself anymore.
Then he lift the hood of this new car. And I am bugging out.
1) I didn't put sunscreen on before I went out
2) I didn't have water with me and I wasn't really in the mood faint today ironically enough.


Him and his little pal are fixing this car and I am standing at the side of the highway pretending I have some very important business to take care of on my phone because I so didn't want them to ask me for help.
Of course they did.
Well for thirty seconds until they realized how white my dress was or that I just did my nails or that this is not my forte. I think the latter is most likely.

So today I learned I can drive to gas stations (just about) but fixing cars is just not in the cards.
Also I learned to never attempt to wear a cute outfit for a driving lesson. Who knows the next pit stop could be "oh Lottie can you drive me to my friend's house? We need your help fixing the broken sewage pipe."

The End :-)

A Mistake Will Cost You. Oh Well.

It's not very often I show off about things.
One, because it's awkward and frankly no one usually cares.
Two, because I never had much to show off about.

Here are my three claims to fame in life:

1) My brother is Zushye Kestenbaum

2) In my elementary school there is a week called TV Awareness Week where you don't watch TV for a week and if you succeed you get a ticket for a raffle to win the grand prize... a bike. Gasp.
Well I didn't really buy the whole no TV business. Please, thirteen year old me needed her Sabrina The Teenage Witch reruns. But my Chumash teacher said whoever didn't watch TV for the week will get ten points on the next test and being that I had to get into high school because it is soooo hard to get into the exclusive Maayanot Yeshiva High School for Girls, I partook in TV Awareness week.
Naturally since I didn't watch TV I got a ticket in the raffle by default.
And guess who one the bike out of 800 kids who were also in the raffle.
Yup, little old me. The one who didn't and still doesn't know how to ride a bike.
I got my picture in the school newsletter and all that legit stuff.
The bike is currently sitting in my garage. Used once- for my dad to attempt for the hundredth time to teach me how to ride it.

3) Yup, I was the person who saw that woman get her head stuck in the train door a few months ago. I'm basically a household name because of it. Ha lies.
Check it out- http://newestsabraontheblock.blogspot.co.il/2012/12/a-heading-home-adventure.html

See, really nothing to show off about.

Well then I get this email from some guy inviting me to attend the 5th Israeli Presidential Conference as a Times of Israel (Newest Sabra's cousin) blogger.
One of my friends who clearly cares oh so much about me told me that this guy is probably a rapist.

As she whatsapped that to me I was just seeing Hollywood.

Especially after taking a sneak peek at the guest list.
"Um hello the Prince of Monaco." "Bill Clinton, my dad loves you so I think we can be on first name basis" "Barbra Streisand, I don't know any songs you sing but I loved you in Meet The Fockers"
Step aside my current peasant friends.

I see it now. Me and my autograph book (going to explore Pinterest tonight for some solid ideas). And get ready Instagram for June 19-20 (sadly I am not invited to Peres's rocking 90th birthday party on the 18th) because I will bombard you.

Some people are excited to go to hear about how to make Israel a better tomorrow, others are going to be doing their whole networking shtick.
I will stand there starstruck while plotting how to get some of the Prince of Monaco's attention. Single lady right here.

Isn't it blatantly obvious from this little rant that this is a big mistake. They meant to email some blogger with a similar name to mine. Or Obama's email got confused with mine.
Times of Israel, this mistake may cost you.. at least I'll have fun!

Now back to watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

My Seven Wonders Of The World

I recently realized I have a lot of questions that can't be answered. So instead of sitting in sorrow and despair and trying to answer the unanswerable I thought I would invite you all to join my "Unanswerable Questions" club.
This is not aliyah or Israel related. Just call me an anti Zionist.

1) Why is it that Humans of New York is always able to capture the most picturesque, photogenic and charming pictures of the humans of New York?

I really hate subways. I would rather walk hundreds of blocks then take a subway. I just have this serious theory that it is a hotbed for a terror attack and every person on that subway wants to rape, kill, or worse to me. So for the sake of my life I walk. And walk. And cry but keep walking.
But the few times I have taken a subway psycho paths and mental institution escapees have boarded.
One day some guy with ripped pants was going from person to person cursing them out. Clearly gd is watching over me because he skipped over yours truly.
Anyways once out of the subway (and after I benched gomel) I looked at my Facebook and HONY just posted a picture of a mother reading "Guess How Much I Love You" to her daughter.
It was as if there was just a split screen between my life and HONY's.

 My pictures of random New Yorkers would just send me to jail with a black eye. But HONY's get raving reviews and comments like "you have inspired me to stop being an alcoholic, domestic abuser, drug user and unemployed."

The grass is always greener on the other side is true.



2) Why is it that people feel free to tell you their stories? I mean I really love hearing people's stories. Both funny and sad. But within moderation.
When I was back in New Jersey a few months ago I was at the dentist and the hygienist was telling me how her sons disrespect her and she doesn't know how to get them to stop.
Ya hi. I am a 21 year old, super single, absolutely no bun in the oven, ten thousand percent no kids to tend to- why the heck do you think I would ever have the answers to your kid problems. Especially when they are 22 and 20.
I also went to get my hair trimmed back in America. The haircut took an hour and a half. I know I have a tendency to exaggerate but this is for real. I wish I could say it was because she was such a perfectionist and needed that amount of time to cut my hair. But no no. She needed that amount of time to tell me all about her Indian realtor.
I gotta admit at first it was funny. Then it got racist. Then it got really racist. Then I started to think maybe she hates me and she thinks I'm Indian so she is secretly trying to insult me. Then I remember my skin is whiter than snow or redder than a tomato. But still we all have some Indian-ness in all of us.

3) This is a really serious wonderment I have had for a while. On almost all El Al planes in the bathroom there is a sign by the sink that says "do not drink the water from the faucet." Pretty self explanatory.
Until you look to the right of the sink and there are cups.
So the options are:
1) El Al is promoting the cup company.
2) El Al are testing their passengers to see if they will give in to the deliciousness of sink water.
3) El Al has a good sense of humor.
Either way this truly bewilders me.

4) Why is it that job websites make you pay to use their website?
Correct me if I'm wrong but one usually looks for a job when they are penniless, not when they are billionaires.
Frankly I would like to bye a pen and some paper to beg my family to send me some food. I don't think anyone would ever choose to spend their last penny on a job website. That is if they are so fortunate to have a last penny.
I think I have just solved the homeless issue. Make job websites free. Tada. There's a solution to the world

5) Back on planes. Forgive me for my inconsistency.
Why is it that 98% of the world is so selfish about reclining chairs?
This guys head was practically on my lap his chair was so far back. It was like I look down and "oh hello. Glad you're comfortable".
Or the chair kicker. The chair hitter. The person who constantly head up and hold on to the top back part of the chair and ends up pulling your hair (I would like to think I am not the only girl with this constant oh so painful experience.)

My theory is these chair abusers are strategically placed to make sure we are overflowing with adrenaline for when we land.
That is my best and only attempt at the benefit of the doubt in this situation.

6) I guess we all need to come to terms at some point or another that the world is gross and hardly anyone washes their hands after leaving the bathroom.
I promise I am not one of those people. If anything I am immune to soap I use it so much.
Anyways, the point of this is not to show off my hygiene but rather to present my sixth worldy wonder- why is it that people don't wash their hands?
And even more so why is it that when people are in a public bathroom they don't wash their hands?
Fine, I don't get it but if you are in private to each your own.
But really a public bathroom where everyone sees you you will make a point to not wash your hands?
It's really nothing to show off.
And don't think I will be sharing my pencil with you ever.

7) The last and final wonder of the world- baggage claim at an airport.
This marvels me every time.
We all learned in kindergarten a circle goes around and around and around and around. It never ends. Not side or corners just round.
So let me ask why do people jump, dive, sacrifice their lives at baggage claim and pounce on their bag knocking all those down around them.
I can understand if baggage claim was a broken circle. Then your bag will come around and if you miss it it will be thrown out of the circle (because there is a break in it), but thank gd someone who did well on his SAT's and knows geometry invented the baggage claim, so let's all CALM DOWN.
And I plan on suing all those people that have ever made me that they broke me toe.
Even though no bone was ever broken the thought is bad enough and worth the money.

7 1/2) Because I have to.
Uggs.
To quote Joey Tribiani: "why g-d why?!"

The Fateful Internet Diet

THIS WAS WRITTEN LIVE TWO WEEKS AGO. THE WEEK OF THE FATEFUL INTERNET DIET. 
My thoughts and feelings may have changed since I wrote this. 

On May 5, 2013 my roomies and I undertook a challenge that some deemed as impossible while others thought it was a walk in the park.
We were going to go a week without the Internet. You know 1980's style. The way I like it.
I figured it's about time to get to know real people, not their online pseudo selves.

Note about me: I am one of those people who truly wish they were all "run with the birds, frolic in the fields" but in short, I am no where near that. No where near.

DA RULES (Fairly Odd Parents anyone?)

I think this week is just one of those many proofs to this statement.

Disclaimer: This is a pathetically honest post. Read at your own risk. NO JUDGING ALLOWED!
I promise I am a nice, not shallow member of the human race.

The first hour: We had our goodbye ceremony. I can not tell a lie, it was hard. Perhaps a few tears were shed. Or not. It was defiantly harder then I thought it would be. Good or bad, a good percentage of our lives are online. My social life, my academic life, my work life- all contact, or most is done by the means of Facebook or email. Or texting and whatsapp which were also big no-no's this week.
Oh Facebook. That was a tough goodbye. As a self admitted addict it is hard to go cold turkey (anyone else find that phrase somewhat repulsive?). But a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.
That spot next to me on my bed where my phone rests will be pathetically empty and missed tonight.
I really will miss those radiations.

Sunday Night, May 5: I went through my first 23 hours Internet-less. I thought I would have the easiest time. Well I was wrong. Big time.
I realized that almost everything on this weeks to do list would have to wait for next week. Oh just another week I am pushing things off yet again. It's not like I specialize in that or anything.
I haven't been sleeping well. I know it's just been one night but it was hard.
I have been displayed severe Internet withdrawal symptoms. Headaches and constant sneezing (which I am so sure can only be related to Internet detoxing. For sure not a cold.)
Just like I have a schedule for my day, I also have a schedule for my nights. Every night at about 12:00 am is usually the time I explore Instagram, travel the day through Facebook, watch the latest Ted videos on YouTube. Videos that should be changing my life by now but still haven't.
Me and my phone start our daily date night at 12am.
My phone really knows how to treat a girl well.
How do you say goodbye to such a chivalrous buddy?
The only way I am guaranteed to not be tempted by such beauty and goodness is to not only remove my stunningly dressed J.Crew clad iPhone from it's spot on my bed but to move it to another room all together.
Gasp.

Stay tuned for tomorrow episode of "How Is She Surviving? The Eighth Wonder Of The World."

Tuesday May 7, 2013:  Not only is this week hard, but it is completely destroying my equilibrium system. Before this week I was a happy healthy person. Walking about 200 hundred feet again. Stretching my legs on the couch. And might I say doing a lot of getting up and sitting down from one class to the next. However, this week that has all changed.
I sleep during the day because if I am not in class there is just nothing else to do to pass the time. I eat constantly because that is just what you do when you are bored.
Over the past nine months since I have been living in Israel my meals usually consisted of pasta and some sauce on top with my favorite go to- Parmesan cheese, or the easy and simple fried veggies. Now all of a sudden I am eating courses. Yes, each meal has two well prepared healthy courses. They are really delicious if I may say so myself. I never knew I had this Mario Batali side to me. I also read and read which is good but by the 300th page in two days the information no longer processes anymore.

This Internet diet is slowly killing me. I must have gained about ten pounds. And I no longer sleep at night.
Internet detoxing may sound like a good idea but it's not. In fact it's highly dangerous.
You may think you can do it (like me) and tell your friends to believe in you because you will succsesed. But you won't so get over it now.

I am proud to say I was the first of my roomates to go online. And no, I didn't have to wait the full week. I am a gifted and fast learner and by Wednesday morning I got the point and spent the next day online catching up on very important, academically gifted things of course.