I consider myself a warm and affectionate person.  I have very little problems with my feelings and expressing them.  I tell my friends at least a couple times a week that I love them(mainly because they are so awesome).  I tell my family that I love them after every conversation.  I like holding hands with my boyfriend as we walk down the street.  I love cuddling.

But as affectionate as I am, I have my limits.  

Hugging should be reserved for people you know and love.  It should be like an "I love you", if you do it too much it looses it's meaning.  It's a personal invasion thing.  You don't need to be in my space if I just met you.  I hug people I like.  If I don't really know you then I haven't decided whether or not I like you.  If you come in for a hug too soon in our relationship, I'm gonna have to quote Johnny Castle- "This is my dance space, this is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine!"

Holding hands.  I think of it as something very intimate.  Another thing I don't mind doing, if I know you and love you.  Or if you are a little child and we are crossing the street.  I once went on a second date with someone.  Second dates are not "hand holding dates".  Second dates are "we are still getting to know each other dates".  He held my hand while we were walking to the restaurant.  He held my hand at the restaurant.  He held my hand walking back from the restaurant.  Dude, I'm not going to run, you can leave my hand alone.

PDA.  I don't mind kissing in public.  When I say "hi" to the guy I'm dating, I'll kiss him.  Even when he does something cute, I'll kiss him in public.  I will not start making out with him in a bar full of people.  There are couples at the bar that I work at that don't leave much to the imagination.  When I feel uncomfortable coming up to your table because your tongues are down each other's throats, you should probably detach yourselves and pay the bill.  Your bed has to be much more comfortable than the bench you are sitting on. 

I really am a warm and affectionate person.  You just have to get to know me to see that side. Until then,respect my space.

Text Message

Sometimes I'm confused about the times we live in.  I was not born with a cellphone in my hand.  I had to remember phone numbers.  I had to ask permission to talk to the person I was looking for from their parents.  The term "land line" did not exist-because there was only one line, and if you were on it- nobody else could be.  The first "cell phone" my dad had, had it's own bag because it was so huge.    And even with the cell phone, you still had to remember phone numbers.

Most of all, I remember the times before texting.

I'm not anti-technology.  I LOVE technology.  I don't know how we walked around with cell phones that aren't IPhones.  And for those of you who know me also know that I'm not against texting.  I talk to my friends, all day, every day through text messages.  It's a great way to keep in touch.  I text my cousins in the States(which is awesome).  I text my parents while they're at work and can not talk.  But those are people I know and love.  Those are not people I want to date.

When did it become socially acceptable to text a girl about going out instead of actually calling?  Why did we (girls) give up on the fact that boys should make an effort?  We should hear their voice when they ask what time should they pick us up.  

I recently went out with a boy who texted me when and where.  We went out on a nice date, it was better then others but not awesome.  But, what really killed it for me was the fact that the next day- he texted me again.  And then proceeded to text me all day long about my day and his.  I am not 16 and neither are you.  You want to know how my day was? Call me up at the end of it and ask.  I went out on a second date with him because my friends told me it would be good, but really- I was already over him.  It was a week before we were able to schedule another date, which meant it was a week of texting from morning to night.  The second date was doomed from the beginning, even if he didn't do all the other annoying things he did.

This is not the first boy that has decided that texting is a way of life.  What happened and when did it happen??  Is it too late to stop?  

Guys, I'm 29, I remember the time you had to remember phone numbers- If you want to ask me out on a date, man up and call!

Mothers deserve a Mother's Day.  Here in Israel it has become "Family Day", not that family isn't important-but Mothers... they deserve their own day.  The Family does not keep going even though they are sick(in fact the Family curls up into a ball to complain and ask to be taken care of).  The Family doesn't clean up vomit(sorry, but they don't!).  The Family isn't there when you scrap your knee, or get your heart broken.  

My Mom is  awesome.  She DEFINETLY deserves her own day.  My Mom got parenting right.  Like any daughter, I had a couple of years when I was just plain mean.  I probably said a lot of things that would make me cringe today.  We yelled a lot, doors were slammed a lot, and there were tears from the both of us. But once the terrible teens were over, she became my best friend.

She's the reason I've seen and love all the chick flicks that make me smile or cry.  She introduced me to the classics(any Audrey Hepburn for example).  

We cry.  We cry at movies, happy or sad.  We cry at tv shows, happy or sad.  We cry at award shows.  We cry at Presidents' speeches.  We cry when we are angry.  We cry when we are tired. We cry when something good happens.  We cry when we see each other cry.  (I realize it sounds like we cry 90% of the time..but sometimes it's a good cry!)

She pushes me to be better, to try harder.  It may not be things I want to hear and I may tell her to leave me alone, but I appreciate it.  

She has sacrificed things that she wants to get me things that I want, and I try very hard to return the favor when ever I can.

When I have a problem, she's the one I talk to about it.  

When I write, she's the one I ask to tell me her opinion about it.

When I get my heart broken, she's my shoulder to cry on.

She taught me the answer when cynics tell me that being in love with your spouse does not last- I think about my parents and laugh-because I know that it does.

I plan my trips home so that I have time with her.  

When I fight back tears during an argument(pissed at myself for being such a girl), I have her to thank for that.  When I forget my keys in my door or can't remember where I last put something, I have her to thank for that.  When I realize what awesome friendship is and when to cut the unhealthy drama from my life, I have her to thank for that.  And when I can honestly tell a guy who says he "wants to make me better" that I am AWESOME, I have her to thank for that.

She is a big part of who I am today.

My Mom deserves more then one day.  My Mom deserves a life time of days.  

My Mom got parenting right, because when I think of the day that I have children and I say to myself "Oh my God, I'm just like my Mom"-it will be one of my proudest moments, cause then I'll know that I'm getting it right.

Love you soooooooo much!

My first experience on J-Date was not awesome.  A boy sent me a message on the site.  I looked at his profile, and decided-why not?  Sure, his profile was a little wordy(maybe that should have been a warning sign), but I decided (or probably more accurate, my friends lectured me that I need to stop being a "Seinfeld" episode) that I'll go out with him.

After a couple of short messages he asked for my number.  A few seconds later, he called.

It was the longest hour and 20 min.(but who's counting) of my life!

Yes, that's right, ONE HOUR AND 20 MIN.!!

During the longest conversation of my life, this boy asked me three times if I REALLY wanted to go out on Friday(I'm pretty sure that the first time I said yes should have been a clue to that question).  Told me about what an awesome boyfriend he is with examples from past relationships.  And managed to make me uncomfortable when he told me about his sick mother and dead father.  When people over share, especially ones I haven't even seen in person- I have no idea how to react.  The only thing that popped into my head is- "Maybe my Mom is your Mom's nurse!"  Yep...that's the best I could do.

During the phone call from hell, I was trying very hard to not go Seinfeld on certain things-even when asked if I would hug him when I saw him(for the first time).  To which I replied- No. I don't know you.  I hug people I know.  To which he thought appropriate to say "Oh, so you are a cold person".  Even then! I gave him another chance.  I explained that once he gets to know me, he'll realize how untrue that is.

Then everything took a turn for the worst(yes, even more.).  After the 50th time he told me to be more open and talk more(I don't think he realizes that for that to happen- he has to stop talking!!!)  I told him that was not going to happen.  With patience and time, I open up, and there's nothing he can do to change that.  

But it's ok, because he doesn't want to change me, he wants to make me better!

HA!

I told him that after 28 years, I feel really good about myself.  And I'm pretty awesome.  After about 2 minutes of back and forth I realized that I'm arguing with somebody I don't know!  We even started arguing about whether or not we are arguing(I'm pretty sure that when you start raising your voice..you are arguing!).

Needless to say-we did not go out that Friday.

Although the first on-line dating experience was not awesome at least I learned something.  ALWAYS talk with guy on the phone before going on a date with him.  

I’m 28 years old.  Last year I broke up with my boyfriend.  After a long post break up relationship- you know the one- when you decide you can be friends and talk all the time.  Then you decide that it would be an awesome idea to get together- because you’re friends!  Then you fall into a pattern, a familiar pattern, but that ok- because you’re friends!  And then you realize you’re not really friends.  So you have the talk, again.  You cry, again.  You get over it…again.

After the break up, I rebounded.  I started hanging out with a boy who had broken up with his girlfriend around the same time that I had broken up with my boyfriend.  We talked at night when we couldn’t fall asleep.  We laughed.  We had fun and it was exactly what I needed when it happened.

During the past year I liked one boy-but was way too “post break up blind” to see that I was seeing the wrong boy.  Luckily, him being the wrong boy, totally blew it after like 2 minutes.  He’s a good friend now, the real kind and I love him a lot.

I went on one real date.  But when running on the treadmill te next day- all I could think about is the ex.  I decided to wait a little while before I started dating again.

I started to enjoy the quiet.  I slept with both pillows.  I leave the cabinet doors open and my clothes on the floor.  I might have started on one side of the bed, but as the night goes on, I’m all over the place.  And the best part, I leave a place because I want to leave (or it’s closing, whichever comes first).

Then I made my last, “I’m over you” move.  I liked a guy who was a lot like my ex-boyfriend, only a little better.  He’s my “Ex 4S”.  Basically, the same only with a couple little improvements.  When I realized that, realized I didn’t want that, I knew I was read to date. 

Except I’m 28 and I don’t get out.  I work at a bar with mainly drunk men.  And when you’re drunk, you are not attractive, male or female.  When I’m not at the bar, I like to stay at home………and sleep.

So I’m 28 and have decided to register at a dating website.  Put it out into the universe that I’m ready to date.  And deal with whatever weirdness comes my way.  Plus, I’m pretty sure it will make a funny blog… 

I love books. 

My Parents have a Kindle.  They have fallen in love with it.  They even almost convinced me to get one ASAP.  It actually makes more sense here in Israel.  The book stores here aren’t over flowing with English books(the only kind that I read) and the books that they do have are pretty expensive.  With a Kindle you can have that book you’ve heard about in a matter of seconds.

 

Except, Kindles don’t look as good as books on bookshelves.  In fact, you don’t really need bookshelves for a Kindle.  I love my bookshelves.  I love the way all my books look on my shelves.  I had recently bought this very pretty bamboo straw bookshelf.  What makes it even better are the different sized and different colored books from my favorite authors.  When I run out of new books to read I just go to my trusted shelves.  I skim over the different spines and pick a book I’ve read already and fall in love with it all over again (one of the many reasons I’ve read Lamb 4 times).

Kindles don’t use all your senses.  New books are my favorite.  They have a new book smell.  The pages aren’t creased yet and the spine is still straight.  They don’t have little animal bites on them(my bulldog loved books too).  They’re pretty.  New books feel new.  The pages turn easily and they’re still soft.  When you turn another page on your book because you can’t put it down and go to sleep(even if you have to get up early in the morning) you hear a page turning(instead of a click).  New books will make me turn off the tv and get lost in a world where my imagination can run wild.  If the book is awesome, I won’t put it down (not even for coffee or a meal).

You can’t get a Kindle signed.  The best anniversary gift that I got my parents is a signed copy of Lamb by Christopher Moore.  When the book got here, I was so excited I thought I was going to burst.  I’m not good at keeping secrets from my parents(why I’m a Warady), so the day it came was the day that I called my sister 3 times to figure out when we are going to give it to them.  When I did finally give them their present, they loved it.  The book was beautiful and the fact that it was signed made it amazing. This was the best anniversary present we could have gotten for my parents, and it couldn’t have happened with a Kindle.

You don’t have to go to a book store every time you want to buy a book when you are using a Kindle.  I LOVE bookstores.  I can spend a lot of time at a bookstore in Israel, and they don’t even have a great selection.  Not compared to the States at least.  I can spend the afternoon in a bookstore in the States. Wandering the aisles, trying to decide what book I want to read next.  Discovering new authors and making sure I didn’t miss any new books from my favorite authors.  The smell of bookstores.  They smell like coffee all over the world.  Coffee and new books. I LOVE bookstores.

Bookstores, books in general are becoming extinct.  I love technology(I’m in love with my Iphone), but books should be here to stay.  I understand Kindles.  But I will buy books at bookstores till there are no more or nowhere to buy more.  Books(with actual pages to turn) are always going to be more awesome then a Kindle.  Always.

Family Ties

I was reading my Mom's blog (yes Mom, I really do read your blog): "Coming of Age..again" (comingofageagain.blogspot.com).  She talked about weeding out the old clothes in her closest and that got me thinking about the different things I get from both my parents.

First of all, my Mom blogged about her ability to go through her closet and get rid of clothes.  This is an ability that I don't have.  Now, if you go through my Dad's closet you'll find..well..everything he's ever worn. It may not fit anymore, it may have many many holes, it may be from before I was born- but you can't throw it away, what if he NEEDS it sometime in the future.  To people like us, EVERYTHING is sentimental.   Everything reminds us of something.  And maybe I haven't worn this since last year, but I might wear it tomorrow.

I cry at everything.  My boyfriend knows me well enough by now, but he's still surprised at how much I cry. I love chic flicks, because there is always a chance to cry.  I am the typical girl when it comes to tearing up.  My Dad doesn't even have to look at my mom and me when he hands us the tissues.

I can balance a spoon on my nose.  It was my Uncle's thing- on my Dad's side.  It may not seem like much to you, but it was great entertainment for my co-workers at the bar that I work at. 

I forget where I put things.  I used to laugh at my Mom when it happened to her.  When I would find the ice cream in the fridge or the milk in the freezer, I would shake my head and think "oh mom".  Then I started doing it too.  My keys would stay all night in the lock on the outside of the door.  I once misplaced my glasses and found them in the refrigerator. 

I love this country.  I'm happy here.  I have great friends, I have a great job, I love being able to speak Hebrew, and I love the view that you have almost everywhere.  This, I get from both my parents.

Super Size it for a Shekel Ninety?

 Right now I'm sitting in the restaurant that I work in and my stomach has started grumbling.  This morning when I got up' I had a typical Israeli breakfast: some cheese and a nice salad.  That's what you see under "Israeli Breakfast" on a menu in a coffee shop.

Maybe that's why fast food places don't long here.  KFC never made it very long, along with Dunkin' Donuts.  There is not a McDonald's or Burger King around every corner.  Even the Israeli fast food hamburger joint is going bankrupt!

This country was built on good old, mother in the kitchen, home made food.  Almost every child here was raised on home cooked meals, if not everyday, then at least every Friday (Shabbat). 

It has to be something in the air.  I have known my Mother for at least 26 years, and for the first 12 of those years, I was sure she couldn't cook.  My Dad was the one that made dinner every night- Ala' Warady.  Once we moved here though, we found out that my Mom can cook- she's even really good at it!  Everything that I make for my friends, I learned from her.  Not only can she cook, but apparently she can also bake!

It's not that we don't have fatty, fried, not very healthy fast food.  We do, it just comes in a pita.  Falafel (a round vegetable mix ball) is deep fried and then served with French fries, hummus and salad all stuffed in a pita.  We also have wonderful fatty lamb meat, served like the Falafel.

Maybe it's just that Israelis like their meat looking like it came from a cow (instead of a round shaped machine.).

Did I mention that I was hungry?? 

Happy Birthday MOM!!

As a tradition that I started July 28^th (my dad's birthday), this blog is all about the girl who brought me into this world!  It was her birthday yesterday, and no one deserves a blog dedicated to them on their birthdays' more than my parents (because without them…..there would be no me!).

As I mentioned on my Dad's birthday, I have a wonderful relationship with my parents.  Since growing out of the terrible teens, they have become my best friends.  I am my mother's daughter.  Physically, I look exactly like her.  When I was little, my dad showed me a picture in black and white and I thought for sure that the picture was of me when actually it was of my mom when she was little. 

I am my Mother's daughter in every other way.

We cry at everything.  We are the kind of girls that can cry at tv commercial.  We cry when we are happy, we cry when we are sad, we cry when we are angry or tired.  We cry a lot.  We cry when somebody dies in a movie, when somebody gets married, we cry when somebody makes an emotional acceptance speech. We cry when there is an emotional story on American Idol.  It is always comforting to hand my Mom the box of tissues without even looking over to see if she needs them.

I can thank my Mother also for my memory, or lack there of.  I realized I was my mother's daughter when I had to leave for work and could not find my keys.  I looked everywhere-twice.  I decided that I had to leave the house unlocked.  I opened my door and found my keys, in the lock on the outside of the door.  This has happened more than once.  I've also found things in the fridge or freezer that did not need to be there.

I can also thank my Mom for my sense of responsibility, my discipline, my loyalty to my friends and family, my culinary skills (every dish I know how to make well, I know because I learned from her), my confidence and my self esteem.

I am my Mother's daughter…thank god.

Love you MOM!

Month of Many Holidays

The Hebrew month of Tishrei is almost over (thank god).  I think the translation of "Tishrei" is "A month that everyday is a holiday".  Children here don't stress out about the first day of school because they know that they will only have to suffer about 2 hours before they are on vacation again!

The month of many holidays starts off with a good one, Rosh Hashanna.  Rosh Hashanna is the Jewish New Year.  Instead of staying up late with lights and music, we go to bed early after eating a feast.

The next one is a little less fun, Yom Kippur, ten days later.  The Day of Atonement.  That's the one where we fast and think about what we did.  This one is the toughest of all.  It's not so much the fasting, I can do that, but why do you have to bring little children with baggies of food to temple to taunt me?  That doesn't seem very fair.  Luckily for all when the sun goes down, we get to eat- a lot.

And then comes the holiday that I didn't know existed when I lived in the States.  If I knew, I would've insisted on a week off.  Sukkot- which apparently is the time where the Jews made a pilgrimage to the Temple of Jerusalem.   This is the time of year when Israelis get out there tools and start building a Sukka (as in the fragile homes of our founding fathers.  Not "sukka" as in slang for "sucker").  A sukka is decorated with children's drawings and Christmas lights (yep, that's right, Christmas lights) and most people eat their meals there.  This goes on for about a week until Simchat Torah (that's when we finish reading the Torah and start all over again).  Israelis are normally pretty good about taking down their Sukkas right after the holiday is over. 

So let's count them up: we have 2 days for Rosh Hashana, 2 days for Yom Kippur, and 8 days for Sukkot and Simchat Torah = about 2 weeks off of school in the month of September (not including weekends of course).

Not only am I glad that this month is almost over and the kids (and their parents) will be going back to where they came from, but I can also get back to the gym and start eating right again (did I mention that Jewish holidays involve feasting?).

Happy Holidays!

English Muffins and Ginger Ale

I was planning that this blog would be about Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.  I was going to talk about the tradition, how I've evolved from a kid running around the halls of the temple to a fasting adult.  I'd talk about the spirituality of the day and maybe even rant a little about bringing little kids with baggies of food to the temple.  But then, something terrible happened..

I got sick.

My boyfriend came back home a little sick.  He had a stuffed up nose and a soar throat.  Not a big deal for someone who isn't me. I don't get just a little sick- I get fever sick almost every time.  

It started Wednesday, a little soar throat, nothing to worry about.  Then Thursday came around, I wasn't feeling that great, but I could still function.  I went to work and realized that I wasn't talking that much.  I just kind of wanted to cuddle up in a ball and be left alone.  One of the managers at work helped me out (though apparently made it seem like I was dying), and I was able to go home.  Then it hit me.  I had fever pains all over, and decided to curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for someone to rescue me.

When I woke up Friday morning (Eve of Yom Kippur) and decided (I think pretty rationally) that it was better to just die, I realized that I probably wasn't going to be able to fast. I know to most of you that may sound like a blessing, but did I mention I'd rather die?  And I really do like the spirituality of fasting (maybe I will still write about it..).  I had planned a big meal with friends who stayed up north for Yom Kippur (though, most of them didn't fast).  I gathered all the strength that I had left and I cooked chicken for the feast.  I was able to be there for half an hour before I needed to curl up into a ball again. 

I went home and my boyfriend took care of me.  He made me tea, checked my temperature, made me drink water and cooked me some soup (he even made me eat a couple pieces of bread, even though I didn't want to).  We watched movies and he even let me put my legs on him, even though he was hot.  I went to bed and he checked in on me and gave me water and aspirin.  He was pretty good at taking care of me.

And still, I found myself just wanting to go home.  To my parents house, where they were and they could take care of me.  I found myself fantasizing about English Muffins with some butter and Ginger Ale (the secret to getting better).

 Some things never change, I'm 26 years old and all I wanted yesterday (besides being put out of my misery and just dying already) is to go home to my Mommy and Daddy. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

So another year has passed.  And once again the holidays are here.  Once again you can hear the statement "I'll take care of it after the holidays." Or "talk to me again, after the holidays."

I don't know if you know this but Rosh Hashana is actually like 4 days long.  It was never this long in the States.  At least, I don't remember it being that long.  I remember getting up early on Rosh Hashana day, and going to services.  We'd have to get dressed up, in a dress!  I hated dresses, so wearing one was not fun.  Then my sister and I would be shipped off to kiddy services.  I know these things are meant to keep kids out of the way, but kids hate kiddy services.  Kids hate kiddy tables. Kids hate being called kids.  But I dealt with it, probably not gracefully, but still..

The best part of the holiday is after services.  We all get together and have a really big lunch.  The food is great, but the family is amazing.

It’s noisy all the time.  Everybody is talking at once and kids are running around trying to find entertainment.  There is always at least one person laughing.  It's wonderful.  I loved it and I love my family.

Then we moved to Israel.  We kept the tradition of Morning Services and a big lunch afterwards.  I got used to wearing dresses, and even like it sometimes.  I get up early with my own alarm clock and don't put up much of a fight.  I get to sit next to my Dad in grownup services.  We laugh and pray and it's a pretty good time.  Then we walk home and eat till we can't breathe. 

I love living in Israel.  Holidays are a great time for family and tradition.  But every holiday, even Yom Kippur, I miss the noise, talking and laughing.

"Our troubles are all the same"

I love routine.  Change makes me nervous.  I never understood the people who love new things.  I don't get people who complain that they are in a rut.   I LOVE being in a rut.  Ruts are safe.  I'm a friendly person, but I can't grasp the need to meet new people. 

If I was on a TV show, I'd be on Cheers.  I'd be at a bar where everybody knows my name every night.  I'd sit at the bar with the same people and have the same drink.  And I'd have fun.

My Dad and I have the same running jokes for years now.  Tell him your back hurts and he will always answer the same way- "When did you get it?".  The correct response is "Oh..about a week back"(this is when you laugh out loud).  

I have watched repeats of Seinfeld and Friends a lot!

Like I said, rut is great!

So when my parents' said, "We're moving to Israel", it wasn't the happiest day of my life.  I didn't know the people, I didn't know the country, and I didn't know the language.  How was I supposed to survive in this strange place?

Luckily my parents' picked the one country where everybody knows your name.  If they don't know your name, then they know somebody who knows your name.  I found a bar where I walk in and people yell out "SAM"(well, pretty close).  There's a channel that runs reruns of Seinfeld and Friends.  And when all the seasons end, the next episode will be the first episode ever. 

I can live here no problem.  These people love rut too.  If we're not in a rut that means there is a war, and who wants that?  

Christmas in July

Let me first describe what July means in Israel.  I live in the Jordan Valley up north near Tiberias.  It's so hot that if Satan was walking around here, he'd complain he was shvitzing too much.  It's that hot.  If I dare to open the window while the sun is still up, I'd be greeted by a nice hot wind, the kind that makes you think "huh, so this is what a turkey feels like in the oven".  It's that hot.  And when the sun finally goes down, Satan is thankful, finally a temperature he's used to.  It's that hot.

I live in a desert.  I get that.  It gets hot in a desert.  I get that.  July and August are like the high noons of summer.  I get that.   But each year I'm surprised at how hot is.  And every year I'm confused as to why there are so many Christmas movies and shows on TV during July and August.

Any given hour, and any given day there will be at least one Christmas movie or show on TV.  I never knew there were so many people who were Santa's children and had to take over for him and save Christmas.  Who knew that turning into Santa or any other Christmas character was such a popular occurrence.  I think it might be different if they were to show "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Miracle on 34^th Street".  But, the movies that they show here in Israel just aren't good.

It's not that Israel doesn't get seasonal movies.  "The Ten Commandments" is shown every year on Passover.

 I don't think Israel gets Christmas.  Snow confuses Israel.  The one day a year it does snow in Jerusalem, the whole city is closed down.  I'm not talking about 10 feet of snow, no; I'm talking about maybe an inch.  Israel sees those white cold flakes and freaks.  

Or maybe they know something that the Christian world doesn’t.  Maybe Christmas is actually in July.  Maybe it's the world that is confused.

Or, maybe Israel just likes to torture us simple citizens with snow and below zero weather, while we are sweating in front of the tv.

I guess I'll never know and just have to chalk it up to one of the many mysteries that is the Holy Land!