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...! 

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.