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.