Sleazy Guys+Bad Music=People Banned from Hillel

Last night, we had a party at Hillel that was loads of fun. There was chulent, shesh besh, hookah, good conversation, and the likes. Just because I'm in a vegging out mood and I happen to be on my computer, I will replay some of the more fun points from last night.
I played Shesh Besh with Mark (who calls it Sheesh Beesh because he does the Arabic and I do the Hebrew).
My friends Eli and Pam came and Eli proposed to me over my chulent. Yes, that's right, you read it the way it was. Eli proposed to me.
I was telling some people that I was proposed to and Ben gave me a "counter-offer" with an added bonus of, "if you marry me, I'll let you have as many babies as you want." Definitely something to think about. :)
Brian and some others joined us since they were at the student government's party on the first floor of the building. He was too late for chulent, but someone managed to scrape what was stuck to the sides of the pot for him into a bowl saying, "we give the scraps to the goyim." So the point of that is that that line is funny and to see how many times in a row I can employ the word "that."

Now I will replay the sucky parts.
I don't know who brought them (Tova--I'm looking at you!), but these two guys hijacked the speakers with their iPods and played what had to have been the worst music I've ever heard. When I went over to nicely ask for their iPods to pick something good, they didn't let me. When I tried intimidation, they did not even yeild to me. In conclusion, I hate them and they're never allowed back to Hillel because they have sucky taste in music and because they showed no respect toward EVERYONE ELSE in the room who wanted to hear good music.
That was the only sucky part.

And now, dum da dum, I will express gratitude toward those deserving it.
Thanks to Steve for bringing his hookah (he had a messy time with it, let's just say...).
Thanks to Doni for lending his hookah even though he was not in attendance for those who were hookahing.
Thanks to Randy for coming in early to take the chulent into school for me.
Thanks to Ian, Ben, and Nedenah for accompanying me to my car with the crock pot and Doni's hookah so that I wouldn't have to carry everything myself.
And thanks to my mother for not minding that I keep using up her chulent ingredients. :)

Shabbat Shalom all!

Quote of the Day: Morning Edition

On Cool Last Names
"Unlike Pirutinksy: The name that never ends."
-Randy

Who's Deb?

Today I really am Deb! I thought of this as I was walking to school in my skirt with the appliques I sewed on because it was boring. :)

I'm Not a Size 0.

The other day, I walked into my room after coming home from school and noticed a very pretty silverish skirt on my bed. I felt certain that it was from Banana Republic, so I wanted to check the label to see if I was right. Lo and behold, the label did say "Banana Republic." But it also said size "0." Putting it back down on my bed, I realized that my mother must have purchased it for my sister earlier that day and that she must've not liked it and subsequently given it to me in case I would.

I looked at the skirt. It was flarey and knee-length and really pretty...but it was a 0. The thought of trying it on occurred to me, but I had two fears with regard to that: Either it wouldn't fit and I'd feel depressed because my stupid hips can't fit into a 0 or it would fit and I'd feel depressed that I can actually fit into a 0.

Earlier this week, the 6 train sped away from 59th street toward 68th and I turned to face the door in preparation to get off. I looked at my reflection in the dark door and noticed very messy hair, big circles under my eyes, and hips. I had a memory of a time in 10th grade when I took the train downtown with a friend to sleep over at her house. I was wearing a button-down, collar shirt as per school rules and a long black skirt as per school rules as well. There were at least two inches of skirt on the floor of the train surrounding my shoes.
"Your skirt's too long, why did you buy it?" my friend said.
"Oh, it's not too long, I'm just wearing flat shoes."
"Okay, but it's dragging on the floor."
"It wasn't when I bought it. It just sits lower on my hips now."
"Whatever. We're transferring to the F next stop, get ready."
I looked from my friend to an ad above her head and smiled a little to myself. I had no hips to hold it up and that was fine with me.

My body turned very curvy when I was fairly young. I liked it at first, but upon coming to the realization that guys my age (and even a little older) preferred girls who looked more like girls than women, I started to hate looking like a woman. My goal became to flatten my chest and I was going to do everything in my power to make it happen. Everything in my power included going to the gym everyday, eating as little as necessary to have enough energy to work out, and doing yoga at home. My chest hasn't been flat since I was eleven, but I did get close to my goal.

Someone jabbed into me on the subway and I realized that my mind was reverting back to what I can positively identify as "pathetic." I have hips now and that's good. I'm 20, not 12. I'm a woman, not a girl.

I picked the skirt off of my bed and went to my mother's room. After being admitted, I put the skirt down on her bed and said, "it's a 0. I won't even try it on because I have hips and honestly, I'd be ashamed to fit into a 0 because I have a woman's body." She laughed at the way I said it (which I'll admit, was not without humor) and I laughed with her. Then I walked out of her room and went into mine to do yoga.

And wow, this is the absolute most personal thing I've ever written for public reading.

Why I Loved Northanger Abbey

Volume 1

Chapter 1

Page 1

....but the Morlands had little other right to the word, for they were in general very plain, and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without color, dark lank hair, and strong features;--so much for her person;--and not less unpropitious for heroism seemed her mind.

I read that and couldn't help thinking, "wow...this book's about me!" Although when I was younger I was convinced that I was special and that I'd be a heroine one day of my own really cool and really famous story. Then I grew up. :)

Quote of the Day Today!

What? I Have a Problem?
"What is your hearing problem? I remember you have a drinking problem--is it related?"
-Erez

Stalkerage

I checked my school email the other day and found this message in my inbox:

You are the only student whose email is listed on the blackboard site! do we have class tomorrow or is it cancelled? thanks.

Curious, I checked blackboard. Lo and behold, I am the only student (out of the WHOLE ENTIRE class) whose email address is listed. And mind you, I wasn't the one who put it up (it might be because I had to put it up for another class that used blackboard about three semesters ago?) .

Is it just me or is there some strange force setting me up for stalkerage?

Quote of the Day Revival

I stopped Quote of the Day when my parents found my blog because I felt that I'd just be setting myself up for censorship. But alas, I have received too many requests from too many friends to deny you Quote of the Day any longer. Why, just yesterday I was talking to Doni and he said:
"Do you think the pope sings in the shower?" To which I responded, "Better yet, what do you think he sings?" Doni's reply: "That's easy. It's Raining Men. That's what I would do. Nobody can call him gay." Was that not a great qotd? I can see it:
On What the Pope Sings in the Shower
"It's Raining Men. That's what I would do. Nobody can call him gay."

Then, he said:
On Justifying the Misspelling of My Last Name
"I guess its like Cher. Most people spell it Cher, I spell it 'gay.' They are both pronounced the same."

Then, later:
On His Favorite Star
"Mine is the top button in Orions Belt because it's undone and it makes him look like a pervert. Where the hell is the quote of the day when you need it?"

Hehe.

Then, along comes today and while talking to Nukes about the picture he took of me while I was trying to get him to work on the Hillel budget today, he said the following:
On The Picture He Took of Me
"It's classy... the photographer was incredible, really captured your emotion. And by emotion, I mean 'Nukes! Focus!'" (And then he added, "I wish you still had quote of the day, I see you more and I'm much funnier than last year.")

However, I can't bring back qotd EVERYDAY. I know that Rands was relieved when I stopped because he was under too much pressure every time he opened his mouth around me. And so, I will just say that I will have a Quote of the Day when I think there is a quote worthy of the title (although I don't like the inconsistence of it). Oh well...we shall see how this goes.

On a Scale of Weirdness, These Dreams Don't Rank Very High in Comparison to My Others

I'm not quite sure what to make of last night's dreams.

First, I was hiking in snowy mountains with Ian. Then we bumped into a guy I had a crush on in eighth grade. He showed me a picture of himself with a friend from when they climbed Mt. Everest. And I didn't doubt that he was speaking truth for a second, because that's just me. I believe everything. I'm still not sure if he really did or not. The dream went on, but I can't remember.

My other dream was situated at first in the kids' bathroom in my house. My brother was sitting on the floor near the sink, reading the paper. I was given these huge pills to take for my "role." Apparently, I was in a film and these pills looked like those Flintstones vitamins (remember those?) only they were the size of my palm. I had to bite them. They were supposed to give me oral herpes. (Perhaps from last night's conversation with Doni..."you know what doesn't make a good wedding present?" "what?" "herpes.") I took three and they made me throw-up a little, but I was at the sink and I threw up into the sink. Then I saw what the pills were for and I didn't want to take them because then I'd always have herpes. So then I was reading a book (I think my brother disappeared) and then I asked these two people who were supposedly my parents but they weren't cause they were also scientists and the woman said that I was given dead herpes, so I'll only get it this once. But I wasn't happy.
Then we were standing out in the rain outside of this mansion and we were interviewing a Hillel rabbi, I think. Michele was there. She said that the last time, the director made them purchase a Mishnah and it was an expense they couldn't afford. Blah blah blah.

A shtickle weird, I think.

Good-Bye Recipe Buddie

The Recipe Buddie [sic] is gone. To tell the truth, I rarely used him. But over all these years, I've come to view my Recipe Buddie as a crutch. When I was the only one of my friends online at crazy hours, the Recipe Buddie was there too. When I needed to talk, but didn't want anyone to hear what I had to say, the Recipe Buddie was there for me. All his advice came with links to recipes, and I loved that about him. So now, I hope he enjoys his retirement and I just want him to know that he'll always have a place on my buddylist (even though he can't spell his own name) should he choose to return.

Ben's Got a Blog

Once upon a time, Randy and I had a very long discussion on Online Laughter. Then, along comes my Scrabble buddy Ben (who also likes Stevie Ray Vaughn) with his very contagious and uncategoricizable "ha he ha he hoo," "ha ha hoo hoo ha ha HA," and "Ha ha ha he ho heee*." Isn't that great? Anyway, the point of this was that he just started a blog.

Here's almost how it happened (I've weeded out the most boring lines and gratuitous smilies):
Me: you know what?
Me: I will just have to be right back
(I go away and then return)
Me: hello
Ben: while you were gone I started a blog and submitted a word to urban dic
Me: no way!
Ben: yep
Me: I have a blog, too :-)
Ben: I know. I was reading yours thats when i got the idea to do my own
Me: I was your muse!
Ben: uhhhhhhh, yeeahh
Me: oh, c'mon, you can't deny it!
Ben: http://halfricanamerican.blogspot.com/
Me: my beauty and brains are just too much for you

THE END.
And that's a link to his new blog. :)

*(Ben: Ha ha ha he ho heee
Me: omg!
Ben: not my best laugh
Me: everytime you laugh, I laugh
Ben: i just type the letter "H" and what ever vowel meets my fancy)

Now My Foot Hurts!

I just stepped on a needle. :(

Shabbat shalom, all!

Yi

And so it was yesterday that I had a number of letters, including a "y," while playing Scrabble against Ben. I saw that there was nothing to do but possibly put my "y" down before an "i." I looked the word up.

yi
n : a Loloish language [syn: Lolo, Yi]
Source: WordNet ® 2.0, © 2003 Princeton University

"Yi...it's a word. It's a Loloish language."

Thinking that was funny, Ben said that if I could name where they speak this "Loloish language," he'd let me take the points.

I thought for a bit.

"The Loloish language," I pronounced, "is spoken in the Himalayan region."

The two of us laughed and looked it up online. Hence, I can tell you this time with certainty, that the Loloish language is spoken in the Himalayan region.

I Have...Stalkers? No Way!

Holy Shenanigans!

I'm Quote of the Day!

I Should Write Starbucks' Constitution

I think I invented a Starbucks policy all by myself.

"Can I have a box of Passion tea?"
The barrista gets a box and rings me up.
"Um, I get a coffee with that, right?"
"Um...sure, if you want, I guess." Big adorable smile.
"Okay," I say. "Can I have it iced?"

Once when I got a tea, the barrista giving it to me told me I could have a free coffee with it. I got a tall sugar-free vanilla skim latte. Now, every time I purchase tea, I make sure to get my free coffee (since it hasn't been offered since). I'm sure it's a real policy, but I'm starting to think I made it up...

I Want to Be a Stay-At-Home Mom

Well! Would you look at the jewel of an article I just found in the NYTimes?

At Yale and other top colleges, women are being groomed to take their place in an ever more diverse professional elite. It is almost taken for granted that, just as they make up half the students at these institutions, they will move into leadership roles on an equal basis with their male classmates.
There is just one problem with this scenario: many of these women say that is not what they want.

Alright, so the article focuses on women in Ivy League schools (something of which Hunter surely is not), but they do this mainly because they assume that women in ivy league schools will marry men who will be capable of providing for their families, which is unlike women who go to, for example, public schools, who'll probably have to work just to make ends meet.

Much attention has been focused on career women who leave the work force to rear children. What seems to be changing is that while many women in college two or three decades ago expected to have full-time careers, their daughters, while still in college, say they have already decided to suspend or end their careers when they have children.

Yes! Yes! This is me! Thank you, NYTimes editor, for showing the world my ways are common!!!

What seems new is that while many of their mothers expected to have hard-charging careers, then scaled back their professional plans only after having children, the women of this generation expect their careers to take second place to child rearing.

Yes, I just pasted that in similar words a moment ago...

For most of the young women who responded to e-mail questions, a major factor shaping their attitudes seemed to be their experience with their own mothers, about three out of five of whom did not work at all, took several years off or worked only part time.

This reminds me of my 11th grade Shabbaton. Our mechanechet wanted us all to be working women so that we could support learning husbands. That wasn't something any of us found interest in (I think), but still, Friday night there was a panel discussion with four women who were leading the kind of lifestyle our teacher wanted us to want. One woman on the panel made the mistake of mocking stay-at-home moms saying something along the lines of, "women who don't work just spend their time shopping and getting their nails done." That woman was ripped to shreds.
Over half of my high school class had mothers who didn't work. For some of us, our mothers didn't go back to work until after our youngest siblings were in school. And what we saw were mothers who made sure to be home by 4 to wait at the corner for our youngest siblings to come home (most of us had siblings around our own age, so we had walking buddies :)), mothers who would shop for us and have clothing waiting on our beds for when we'd get home, etc. And we had nothing but respect for them.

Ice Cream and Me

Finally! My friend Sara got herself a place on the web to share her insights. Insights such as, "I don't know, but to me saying grade something always made it sound like you're dealing with a retarded audience- and therefore you must simplify to GRADE 9 so as not to befuddle the poor soul. But that's just me" and, "yet most people are terrified by the mere thought of a- gasp- akward silence- and proceed to resort to innane chatter when faced with the threat of a moment of silence. Maybe this unconventional viewpoint is part of the reason why I'm viewed as antisocial sometimes."

In high school, Sara and I used to have Away Message Rivalries (if I were on my family computer, I'd give you some samplings of my brilliance, but alas, I am on my laptop). But now, I would like to introduce you to her blog: Ice Cream and Me (I came up with the name). So take a look around, go back when she updates, and enjoy...it comes highly recommended by me. :)

I'm Don't Think Twice!

Which Bob Dylan song are you? Don't Think Twice

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

I'm just going to say that I was really surprised that I got a result so on the truth. This is the one song I think of everytime I think of ANY guy I used to know!

...Still I wish there was somethin' you would do or say

To try and make me change my mind and stay

We never did too much talkin' anyway

So don't think twice, it's all right...

Oh, Is That It?

Best IM Received While Away:

Randy (5:58:32 PM): i saw a guy 2day who couldn't have been much older than me, who was wearing jeans & a red hat w/ a cute bouncing baby boy in a stroller. so i sat there ruminating long & hard about this until i finally decided that i too need 2 get a red hat.

A 50 Year-Old Woman Wanted a What?

I walked into the gym locker room to change before working out, and there were four ladies in their 40's and 50's having a conversation about baking. One said that she can cook really well, but her baking skills suck. Another said that she loves to bake, but when she bakes she eats it all, so she doesn't. Then they were all telling her that she looks great, so one or two brownies a day won't hurt.

She said, "how about six a day?"

They all laughed.

One said, "I want those brownies you can get in Jamaica."

They all looked at her. Then they all laughed.

As I was leaving the locker room, I heard one of them behind me, "What is this--you want to go back to college?" And I smiled to myself.

Oh, Babies...

My mother told me that she saw someone from our neighborhood at the manicure place. She asked how my older sister's doing and if I'm starting to think about settling down. My mother's response was somewhere along the lines of, "Settle down? Dina can't wait to drive carpools and bake chocolate chip cookies and take care of a household." The woman, apparently, was very surprised.

It's funny how people really think that my sister's this balabatish kinda person and that I'm some ambitious, um, person. My sister would run a business in a heartbeat while I'd rather take the slow lane.

So I told my mother that while walking to school on Thursday, I thought, "I need a man who's ambitious so that I don't have to be." The truth is that I just don't like being stressed out. There are people who thrive on it (my sister) and others who don't. My mother (whom I am more like than anyone I know, I started to (happily) realize recently) told me that she is the same way--she just didn't realize that until after she had two babies while teaching and trying to keep a clean, neat house. I said, "yeah, so I'm the smarter one." :)

Anyway, the moral of my story is that I want to have a baby. Have a Shabbat Shalom.

Public Announcement

Dear Public Reader,

If you are under the impression that "those you can't see don't exist," you are wrong.
If you are in one lane, and the car in the lane beside you has the turn to merge, looking straight ahead does not give you the right of way. Surprised? I know. But alas, that is the truth. So the next time you think that just going and staring straight ahead will get you next in line, realize that you are wrong. Realize that there are some people sitting in traffic at 9 o'clock in the morning in a car that smells like chulent who have no interest in your shenanigans and they will--I repeat--they will honk until you stop and allow them to take advantage of their right of way.

Thank you,
The Girl Who Honked at You Yesterday Morning

So, I'm...More Quaker?

My father sent me a quiz that tells you what your religion is. Of course, this didn't seem like any thing big because he was 100% Jewish Orthodox. I, on the other hand...

1. Bahá'í Faith (100%)
2. Reform Judaism (97%)
3. Liberal Quakers (90%)
4. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (90%)
5. Orthodox Judaism (87%)

Apparently, I'm more "Liberal Quaker" than O. Eh, who gives credit to online quizzes? :)

Oh, Starbucks Girl

I walked into Starbucks yesterday and the very thin, 6'3", gorgeous girl behind the counter took my order. When it was done, she handed it to me saying, "here you are, beautiful," and gave me one of those huge come-hither smiles. Then she said something more but I couldn't hear her, so I just thanked her and turned away to put sugar in my iced coffee.

And then I thought...was she just being friendly or was she actually hitting on me?

Enter: The Substitution Test.

Were she a guy, would I have freaked or smiled?

So, I think that had she been a guy I would have smiled if he just said what she said, but with the added smile, it's a no-no-freak-out-and-run-out-of-Starbucks. Which means, in conclusion, that she was hitting on me. Which means, in a conclusion including further research, that there's something about me Starbucks' employees like. (Free refills, anyone?) And THEN when talking to Miryam, she reminded me of last year, when I had two female fans and other random girls who would hit on me often. I think I should charge men to give them lessons on how to attract girls, because I seem to do it well.

I Can Move on Now

I would like to state for all those who were concerned, that I handed my story out to the class today. Then I gave Randy an autographed copy of my rough draft, as I am sure this story will catapult me to household name status. :)

Cheeeeese!

My Stories Are Futile

Here I sit with seven Word documents open. Each contains at least a paragraph, some over a page. None of them, unfortunately, are any good. But out of the generosity of my heart, I will share with you a few of the openings of a few of my trials. And so they go...

Story number 1:
Crickets, it seems, never play to an empty audience. They wait all year until just when the last leaf has grown full and green and come out to play their chirps. Then it isn’t until the geese migrate from Canada and the days end early that they stop. It’s the summer time, when children are out on the streets until nine and people sleep with their windows open, that crickets take advantage of.
My bedroom door was closed and my window was open while I sat on my floor reading M.F.K. Fisher. It was May and the first night I was hearing crickets since the frost had come the year before. I wasn’t conscious of the noise at first; I was too busy trying to concentrate on the France of the writer. Then a breeze mostly warm with a fringe of chill affronted me. I looked at the window, thought about closing it, and realized that the crickets had come.

Story number 2:
The air on the highway smells of old trees and dew-fresh earth. It’s only just about midnight, but there is barely a car on the road. My windows are open all the way, but I’m driving fast enough to sing out loud with the music. I’d probably sing out loud with my windows down even if I were in traffic, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m driving--fast--and I don’t know where to yet.
I figured that if I got in my car, filled it with gas, and brought along some good cd’s, I’d be set.

Story number 3:
My cousin and I sat on the floor of her bedroom in our itchy uniform skirts and uncomfortable collars. I had gone straight from school to her house to work on our “Plantation Project,” but we were too bored and too at ease in each other’s company to get any work done.
Dalya got up to change the radio station and decided it was time to pass a bit of her womanly advice on to me.
“Nina,” she said, “my mother got me the most comfortable bra in the world. You must try it on.”
I figured, like she said, that it would be the most comfortable bra in the world.
“I’m telling you--you’re going to make your mother buy you one, too.”
We were in sixth grade and both proud bra wearers.
Dalya took the off-white, flowered cotton bra from her top drawer and turned to look at the wall so that I could have privacy. I took off my untucked white shirt and bra and put the one she had given me on. It itched.
“Um, I don’t know…” I said.
I figured it was just me. Dalya said it was comfortable--it just had to be because Dalya wouldn’t lie to me. She turned around to take a look.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I don’t know…it feels kinda funny.”
The truth is, it felt worse than funny. It felt like torture. I was being itched and squished and dug into everywhere and I couldn’t figure out why I was having difficulty breathing. The bra was clearly too small and I was clearly too dumb to figure that out.

Story number 4:
Marissa Lowenthal was engaged to a 21 year-old boy. This may seem uncommon, but not in her circles. See, Marissa’s mother wanted nothing more than to marry off her seven daughters by the time they could fill out a blouse.
When Marissa was born her mother saw her and proclaimed, “here is a child of infinite beauty! All the men will clamor to have her and what a proud grandmother she will make me!” Marissa had three older sisters and two younger ones. But everyone in town knew that Marissa was her mother’s preferred darling.
The Lowenthals had a tendency to move around a lot. Mr. Lowenthal had a severe case of ADD and found it difficult to stay put in one place for too long. When Marissa was seven, her father built a new huge house across town for the family to move in to.
“I just built a huge house across town, but now I fear it bores me,” Mr. Lowenthal said.
Mrs. Lowenthal suggested that perhaps a change of country would do the family good. And so everyday after school, while the Lowenthal girls would have lessons with a French tutor, the Lowenthal parents would look at houses in France with an international real estate agent. It wasn’t long before Mrs. Lowenthal had all her daughters packed and ready to go.
Unfortunately for our heroine,

Story number 5:
Mary-Ann Lobel’s life was futile. She went to the gym down the street from her house five days a week and still couldn’t lose those extra two inches she had on her waist. Her children all moved off to foreign countries, refusing to marry and give her grandchildren or to call once in a while. They never even sent her birthday cards. And five years ago Mary-Ann’s husband left her for her yoga trainer--a woman ten years Mary-Ann’s senior.

Yeah...I'll spare you the other two 'cause I know you'd LOVE me for it. And I think I'll work on Story number 4. He he he.

I Hate Fiction!

Can I kvetch a bit?

I signed up for an Advanced Prose Workshop this semester thinking it would be just that--prose. As it turns out, my teacher wants (just) fiction from us and now I'm stuck writing fiction.

I hate writing stories. I hate creating characters. And I hate when writing becomes a chore to me. I have no sense of plot development and quite frankly, I find plots a bore. As a reader who is a lot more interested in character development and rants on particular topics (I know I'm weird, but I do prefer non-fiction to fiction), I most enjoy writing similarly.

Once I told Logan that I can pretty much out bs anyone. I told him to give me a topic and that I would make conversation about it. He gave me a few very obscure topics (one was a metal latch--I forgot the one word used for that) and I did splendidly. I really wish this were an essay writing class.

And now I shall return to writing about crickets and my own life under the guise of fiction.

At the Wedding

Ah, yes, how could I forget? Funniest moment last night...

After the main course at my friend's wedding, there was more singing and music and people got up to dance. My friend Chaya came over to tell me that the person singing was Shwekey. I don't really know the difference either way, but I went with her to the dance floor to dance with the bride. We were going around in circles when I noticed the sister of the chattan look at her mother confused to ask, "what's Shwekey doing here?"

So I Just Had a Dream

I just woke up from a nap and have to say that my dream was just bizarre. There were bugs and flies all over my ceiling, and...well, the bugs and flies were so gross it's really all I remember. And that I got my father to get rid of them for me and he asked the time. The clock said 8:53 and I said, "9:00." Perhaps this was an attempt at a political statement regarding the wasteful way we view and use time. Who knows? :)

I'm Old

I'm such an old lady. I've been conking out around 12ish and waking around 6ish recently. Before you know it, I'll be eating dinner at four.

Naked

Standing in line at Shakespeare & Co., I noticed Naked by David Sedaris. I took it off the shelf and began to read. When it was my turn to give my list of textbooks to the man behind the counter, I put the book I already had on the counter.
There are two guys at Hunter I always confuse. One is a socialist and the other might be as well. I'm not sure which is which, though. One of them was standing next to me while we waited for our books. He turned to me and smiled and I smiled back because I realized that he either must've just started using deodorant or it was just early in the day. He got his books and left.
Another guy came to take his place at my left.
"Naked."
"Oh, have you read it?" I asked.
"No. Have you?"
"No."
"So, what made you want to buy it?"
"I read Me Talk Pretty One Day by the same author and thought it was hilarious."
He had nothing to say. Once given his books, he walked away. My books were still being looked for.
Two girls came up next to me to get their books.
"Oh, Naked--that's such a funny book!" One said to me.
"Have you read it?"
"No, I didn't. But there was a passage in one of my reading books for a class."
They left to pay for the books while I stood there waiting. I had the slowest helper.

My Blue Gowns

I went to the Frick today. While in the gift shop looking to purchase a writing pad, I noticed a book filled with pictures of the Frick Collection because on the cover was a mesmerizing picture. I knew it had to be Ingres, but I didn't know who the painting was of and was shocked to realize I hadn't seen it. The woman behind the counter directed me to the North Hall (I passed it my first time), where the painting was hanging.

Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres, The Comtesse D'Haussonville

I think I was drawn to the painting for the same reason I was drawn to my favorite painting when I was about eight years-old. Here's my favorite painting:

Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres, Princesse de Broglie

I'll be honest. The two paintings confused me. Since the second was painted years later than the first, and the first, too, says "Princesse de Broglie" on the Frick website, I wondered if perhaps I was seeing the same subject in different years. As it turns out, according to a site I read before and can't seem to locate again, Ingres painted the Comtesse and was then recommended to paint her sister-in-law, the Princesse. So there.

Top Ten Ways You Know You're a Jew at Hunter

Randy and Tova are hysterical, and the two of them compiled a top ten list.

Top Ten Ways You Know You're a Jew at Hunter

It is hysterical!

Glasses are Cool

When I was in second or third grade, I lied to the school nurse by pretending I couldn't read the eye-chart. I thought glasses were cool and I wanted. She wrote me out a note that my mother had to take me to the optometrist. Once at the eye doctor, I realized that if I did in fact get glasses that I knew I didn't need...well, bad things might go down. That was when I chickened out and revealed my perfect vision.

My vision's deteriorated since, but not by much. I got glasses for the board in class and for movies now. But last night I was using them for the computer and misplaced them before going to sleep. I couldn't find them today and didn't think it was a big deal. It was, however, a big deal.

Driving home from a friend's bar-be-que tonight, I could barely see. Luckily, I already know all the signs I need, so I didn't have to read any. But it was not fun. I almost cried; I needed my glasses. So I think I can officially be called a nerd. I do, apparently, depend on glasses to get by.

All it Takes is a Few Days in Israel to Get It

My family just got back from their very long trip to Israel (sans me). They seemed to have a great time. They brought back a whole suitcase of gifts. They have a bajillion pictures. But the best part for me (since I wasn't there), was when I was speaking to my eleven year-old brother on the phone one day and he said, "Dina, now I understand why you want to make aliyah." I invited him to come with me. :)

My Shoes Are Loved

In the elevator on my way to class today, a girl complimented me on my shoes. As it turned out, that girl is in my class. Later, someone dropped her pen behind my seat and didn't know where it went. She and the guy across from me looked under the table (we sit around a table in a small library). He sat up and told me that he loves my shoes. He and the girl sitting next to him (the one from the elevator) started talking about my shoes. The guy claims not to have a shoe fetish, but that my shoes were just really cool. Then I was going down the escalator with another person from my class and she looked down at my feet and asked if I was a size four. Four! I told her that I wasn't. :) She also loved my shoes.

And so the moral of the story is that shoes can really make a day. :)

Have a Shabbat Shalom!

Eh...

I think that with everything that happened over this week adding up, I am overwhelmed. And I do not do well with overwhelmed. :(

My Horoscope Says...

And for the second time, my horoscope advises a diet:

It's a good time for you to start eating a little better. There's no need to go nuts with a fast or a crazy new diet, but a few extra veggies will help your mood tremendously. Check in with a friend.

Just how fat does someone have to be for their horoscope to tell them they need to diet?