Rhode Island & Other Adventures

New York can get suffocating. Anyone who lives here will tell you that frequent vacations are crucial to maintaining some amount of sanity. I don't know if it's all the hustling or the social overload or the weather or just the pollution (or all of them at the same time), but you can't stay here for too long without losing your mind.

I was running on 4 months without a break when my boss pretty much forced me to leave. What he actually said was, "don't come to work tomorrow. Go somewhere fun." Which he may have meant as 'go to Times Square' but which I interpreted as "go on a random adventure to the most random location within driving distance."

So with the help of a few fun unemployed friends and a school ditching roommate, I somehow ended up in the middle-of-nowhere-Rhode Island.

Pit stop somewhere between NY and RI.

Our first stop was at a bar called "The All-American Bar." It was off the highway 13 miles into Rhode Island and the first bar we found. There were 10 senior citizens sitting around the square bar, most sitting with their drink and staring silently at the wall in front of them. They were all on first name basis with the bartender and were quite surprised/confused when the 4 of us rocked up.

The All-American Bar in New Kingstown, Rhode Island.
Photo Courtesy of Google Images

"Did you guys come here to visit family?"

"Nope."

"Oh, so you came to visit friends?"

"Mmm..no. We just started on a road trip and ended up here."

"Oh..okay.. So where are you guys staying?"

"We're actually driving back in a few hours."

We ended up in a group conversations involving the bartender and all 10 of the other locals. They were all more than happy to give tourist advice about the local hot-spots ('local' meaning 20 minute drive away) and popular lighthouses in the area.

And none of them seemed too surprised when one of the local ladies offered home-grown jalapenos to Jane the Bartender and then offered the remaining two to me. Cuz that's normal right? People in bars are just always handing out home-grown vegetables.

We moved on from there to cobble-roaded Main Streets and stargazing in State Park parking lots. There was an unsuccessful lighthouse scavenger hunt and a We Almost Broke Down In The Middle Of Connecticut At 4am scare.

Cobble Roads

Roommate Sarah and I.

    And stopped to take pictures on an empty highway:

Walking highways

And then drove back to NYC to make some Rhode Island Jalapeno Chili.

Mommy of Lincoln Place

When someone asks you if you "can cook" are they asking if you make flavorful food or if you can create edible dishes without burning them?

My true talent is not the quality or the quantity of the food I make, but rather the speed at which I am able to make a 3-course meal. My roommates find entertainment watching me defrost frozen meat in boiling water and grilling it on broil, while simultaneously cooking rice in the microwave, steaming veggies on the stove, chopping lettuce for a salad and making an apple pie in under 10 minutes. They judge my techniques yet I've never heard them complain that dinner was ready before they even realized they were hungry.

Dinner was served 15 minutes later.

But word has gotten out that dinner's are made on Lincoln Place and they have now turned into frequent dinner events. There have been Schnitzel Wednesdays, Sloppy Joe Thursdays, and multiple Taco Mondays*.

*I know. It's supposed to be called "Taco Tuesdays" but we don't like being told what day of the week we can eat tacos.

There was also a Fajita Night (from the previous blog post) and the numerous Five-AM Dinosaur Dinner Parties:

 

Growing up, dinner time wasn't an option. We all sat down and ate together no matter what day of the week it was. No matter if we were in the middle of pretending to do our homework or busy with other things. It was a designated family time that I didn't exactly love back then but which I now miss.

So though I may get mocked for becoming a soup kitchen, I've fully embraced the title "Mommy of Lincoln Place."

The Last Fajita I Ever Had

Day 1 of the boss being out of town and I've already gotten yelled at, dealt with more paperwork than I'd like to be dealing with and had to buy my own lunch. We are not off to a great start.

I did however get a surprise visitor with a surprise heart-attack in a cup that looked like this:

(except I stole this picture from Google Images because it was consumed before I had time to remember to take a picture).

In other news, I learned how to make fajitas yesterday and I have also been informed of the devastating news that Mumford and Sons have taken an "indefinite hiatus." I will allow a few minutes to let both of those settle in.

Between those two pieces of news, I am more emotional about this Mumford situation. Not that I don't like fajitas or anything, but it's not like there will ever be a fajita shortage. I won't ever have to reminisce about "The Last Fajita I Ever Had." But Mumford is another story. It was the only concert (aside from Coldplay) that was on the top of my bucket-list. And as amazing as that concert was, it saddens me that I may never be able to see them live again. Unless... I stalk them and follow them around and beg them to play me a song. But I'm not stalker material and a restraining order wouldn't be good for my rep.

So I think my best option would be not to mourn their separation but rather, to be happy that I had the opportunity to see them at all. Because I know how many of my friends are now regretting not coming with me. 

Future Notice: When I Am Going Somewhere Fun, You Should Probably Come With Me Because You May Never Get This Opportunity Again. 

P.S. Thank you Shevs for the much-needed sugar overload today. Also, for being able to read emotion through an emotion-less text message. 

You Haven't Been Abandoned

I am aware that I've been slacking at this whole blogging thing but it's not because I forgot I had a blog that required constant updating. And it's not either because there haven't been any interesting things to write about. If anything, the past month or so has been a non-stop series of interesting events.

There were strangers on benches, random encounters with old acquaintances, there was the week-long party called "Sukkot in Crown Heights," I stopped running, I learned new words in Hebrew... it's been a busy few weeks. And just when things are beginning to calm down, my boss decides to tell me that he's leaving for a week and I'm going to have to handle the tornado of chaos called "My Office" all by myself. For an entire week. 

I threatened my boss that I'd quit on him while he was away but then he threatened to kill me when he got back. So there goes that. I should maybe start looking for employment in places where my life is not on the line every few months (See blog post dated July 4th, 2013). 

But now that my boss will be away I should have plenty of time to blog at work. 

Stay tuned for a frequent update of the happenings of my life.

Two Scoops of Friendship on a Sugar Cone

I live for 3am field trips in the middle of the week. Or any day of the week. And at any time really. The more last minute the better.

I'm dying for a spontaneous road trip to Maine or South Carolina, but being that most normal working people don't just up and drive to a different state for fun, I usually end up settling for a midnight stroll or a 7-11 run.

There's something about spontaneity that is extremely fun. You want to drive to New Jersey to make a BBQ in a forest at 11am in the wintertime? Sounds fun. Airport runs at 4 in the morning? Why not. Anything to get out of the house, change of scenery, to unknown destinations. But unfortunately for me, most of the people I know are not the spontaneous type. They get into pajamas at 8pm and once they are in pajamas there is no leaving the house. It's either a pajama issue or it's the issue of "I have work at 8am and need to be in my bed by 11pm." This is what I have to put up with; working, responsible, mature individuals (adjectives I don't appreciate having to compete with.)

Maybe it's a good thing I have responsible friends. Or maybe it's a good thing they have me. Who knows? But there's no denying that I make their lives more fun. After I beg them for hours, drag them out of bed and offer bribes, eventually, (if I'm irritating and pushy enough) they will go for ice cream and sit on a park bench with me in the middle of the night. They get a free ice cream and I don't have to give up my dignity by going for ice cream alone. This is called true friendship.

Temple Drama

You know how some people say that the way you behave on Rosh Hashana is a reflection on how you will behave the rest of the year? Well...I may be spending this year really angry at mean old ladies.

Here's the backstory:

I paid to reserve a seat for Rosh Hashana for 2 reasons. Reason #1- so I can leave a sweater on my chair without it getting stolen. Reason #2- so I can come late and still have a place to sit.

So when I show up on the first day of Rosh Hashana, in the middle of services, I am quite surprised to find an older woman sitting in my seat. I didn't want to be disrespectful, so I played dumb counting the chair numbers outloud so the woman would clearly hear that I am seat #129. It didn't work. She looked away and continued praying without bothering to apologize or offer to move. So I uncomfortably mumble, "okay...I guess I'll find another seat..."

Though multiple people (including the Rabbi) gave me speeches about being a pushover and offered to put the woman in her place themselves, I wasn't about to embarrass an old woman in front of everyone on Rosh Hashana (even though she kept yelling at the kids and rolling her eyes in frustration at anyone who was irritating her.) I was going to be the bigger person.

I decided that instead of approaching her, I would simply wait until the services were over and then I'd leave my machzor on the chair for the next day. So you could imagine my surprise when I came at the end of services only to find that she had left a duffle bag on my chair. A duffle bag. Like she was moving in. Camping out. In. My. Seat. 

When I showed up the next day and she was in my seat again, I was surprised and frustrated all over. And when you aren't sitting in your reserved seat, you're sitting in someone elses'. So I had another whole day of playing musical chairs.

While I may be a so-called pushover (I think this just means I'm nice to people who don't deserve it), my friends aren't exactly the type to let this fly. At the end of services, a friend of mine (though I tried to convince her not to) marched right up to the woman and told her off (in a nice way of course) while the woman played dumb about not knowing it was my seat and how she wanted to sit next to her friend and yada yada yada.

Maybe G-d knows how much I love playing musical chairs. Or maybe this was a test of my patience or of my ability of giving people the benefit of the doubt. I don't know. But my mom always taught me to respect my elders (even if they don't appear to deserve it).

So although I may be the biggest pushover who's deathly scared of confrontation, at least my mom is proud of me.

Chicken Soup Problems

While sick at home last Friday, my kindhearted roommates brought me home some chicken soup. I put it in the microwave to reheat and then I brilliantly attempted pouring the boiling hot soup from the plastic container into a regular bowl when the soup started pouring out from the edges and got all over the counter and all over my phone which was conveniently sitting on the counter. I dried off the phone but it started having weird seizures so I panicked and then my phone spent the weekend in a bowl of rice.

I feel like this doesn't happen to regular people.

I've heard of people dropping their phones in the sink or jumping in the pool with their phone in their pocket or even (on special occasion) people forgetting them in the washing machine. But never have I ever heard about a phone getting destroyed by chicken soup.

But getting back to the fact that I've been sick for an entire week in August with a phone that is (thankfully) no longer broken: I was pretty sure that "a cold" was called "a cold" because you get them when it's cold outside. I didn't think it was a thing to get "a cold" when it was 85 degrees outside. You can't even tell people that you're feeling "under the weather" when the weather is 85 degrees! This upsets me.

But I suppose there could be worse situations..I could be sick with a phone that was completely killed by chicken soup. Try explaining that to the Sprint guys.

Open House

So you're walking home from work after a long day and casually notice the sign on your corner directing pedestrians to an 'Open House.' You barely focus on the sign cuz those happen all the time right? But the big confusion occurs when you are approaching your house, notice a crowd out front, and start panicking that perhaps someone is in danger or your house is on fire.*

*Side Note: I had been informed briefly about possible open houses and someone had even reminded me about this one earlier that morning but either my memory is failing me or my brain was too tired to process the events quick enough.

As my confusion and panic set in, I quicken my pace and prepare to bolt up my stairs (to rescue the survivors obviously) only to get stopped by 2 border-control real estate brokers who tried explaining that I 'must wait in line' and first 'take a brochure.'** Excuse me maam but I actually LIVE HERE and you're in my way!

**Another Side Note: I'm not exactly sure why she thought a tired looking 22-year-old wearing a baseball cap would be looking to buy a 3-story brownstone... Is this how you know people take you seriously?

I tried climbing the stairs to my top-floor apartment but found it difficult maneuvering around the 15 strangers who were wandering around discussing how they could 'break down walls to extend the dining room.' (All this going on while us current tenants are sitting on the coach being watched like we're in a zoo up for sale which 'may or may not come with the tenants.')

Some lady tried making this whole ordeal feel like less of a violation by acknowledging 'how annoying this must be.' Yes. Yes it is. And you are still in my house. And you are still a stranger.

The second it turned 8pm we just started turning the lights off and shooing people out of our house, trying to regain our dignity before having to do this all again next week. Knowing me, I will probably forget all about it and go into 'my house is on fire' panic mode all over again. I'm not emotionally prepared for this.***

***Last Side Note: This may have been easier to take in had there been Open House cookies waiting for me when I got home. But no. What kind of Open House doesn't have cookies??

Weird Side of the Bed

I'm really not a morning person. Like I'd rather sleep in late and go to bed late than wake up early and go to sleep early. Don't get me wrong, the early hours of daylight are beautiful, but there's something about the busyness of the night time that I like better.

Also, I'm probably not pleasant to be around in the morning time. Some days I wake up overly chatty, after silently sleeping for so many hours. Other days I wake up and don't want to talk to anyone for a good amount of time while my brain wakes up.

But today I woke up a different person. I woke up (before my alarm) at 7am. Yes, that was AM, as in "three hours before I actually needed to be awake." And instead of turning over and forcing myself back to sleep, I got up, put on my sneakers and went for a 2.5 mile run. This really happened. I swear. I have photos to prove it:

This is what 7:30am looks like for those who haven't seen it in awhile.

This is called a 'running selfie.'

Timestamp: 7:51am

And as if it wasn't bizarre enough that by 8am I had already completed a whole exercise routine, I then came home full of energy and started to paint. Like on a real canvas with real acrylic paint. I may have gone a little crazy.

My whole life I despised exercise and I was pretty sure I was artistically challenged. And then I magically woke up one day and turned into one of the morning jogging people who apparently likes finger-painting before breakfast time.

This is what early-hours enthusiasm looks like. 

But now the real issue is trying to figure out if this is the new and refined me, or if this was just a one time woke-up-on-the-weird-side-of-the-bed type of situation. Either way, I hope it's something that will be happening more frequently because I secretly enjoyed forcing my morning enthusiasm onto all the non-morning people. (They LOVE that by the way.)

P.S. I may need to look for new roommates if this morning enthusiasm continues. I don't believe my current ones were so appreciative of this new-found crack-of-dawn ordeal...

Cheaper by the Million

My entire family hadn't been all together, under one roof, in four years.

There are 11 of us kids and then another 3 brother-in-laws, 1 sister-in-law (and 1 new one), 2 nieces, 6 nephews and 2 parents. For those who don't have patience to count that up, it comes out to 25 people in my (relatively) immediate family (26 with the latest sister-in-law). But it seems more like 4 billion when we're all together.

While home for my brother's wedding last week, I couldn't help but analyze the constant chaos. There were kids flying around the house, screaming and beating each other up starting at 7 in the morning everyday. Cereal spilled all over the floor. People walking around with hair dye in the hair, wearing shower caps like that's totally normal activity for 2am. My mother sitting on the floor of the kitchen organizing groceries, the fridge wide open, people all over the place.. It would be weird if all was calm and quiet in this household.

Normal living room activities.

I could never imagine what it would be like as an only child or growing up with only a few siblings. I wouldn't even know what to do with all that attention. Who would I steal clothes from? Who would hide all my clothes on the porch when they got mad at me? How would I ever learn to cherish my personal space because it's not something that should ever be taken for granted? Siblings are an interesting concept; you never actually realize how much you need them or how much they've affected you until you imagine what life would be like without them. How calm and uneventful your childhood would've been...

The whole family (including parents and the new sister-in-law). 

They may make me crazy (they may actually be crazy) but they are family. They are my family. And if you mess with one of us, expect to have 25 other crazy people coming after you.

Flying Solo

Airplanes are a very interesting place. You are stuck next to the same people, the same odors and the same scene for a good few hours and you pretty much just need to make the best of it.

Everyone always wishes to be sitting next to someone normal or entertaining but that never actually happens in real life. Real life is not a fairy tale romance where you meet the love of your life or your future best friend in the seat next to you on a cross-country flight. Reality is that you usually get stuck in between an annoying couple who keep passing food over you or next to some lady in the aisle seat who sleeps the entire flight and you can't ever get up. I get so jealous of the people having interesting conversations around me while I'm always stuck next to the snoring old Russian man.

But my flight yesterday was different.

Just in case you were wondering what gate I was at, now you know.

Everything from the morning on was running smoothly. I got to the airport on time, I wasn't charge overweight fees (even though my bag was probably overweight), I brought enough food with me to last a good few days...

Thanksgiving meal. (There was also a sushi and yogurt parfait. Don't judge me.)

The only thing that would make this flight better was to sit next to someone cool.

And as I was walking down the aisle to my seat, I was silently praying that I wouldn't end up stuck in the middle of the family of 5 with the 3 screaming children. Seat 20H was like a gift from God. Exit row, normal human being next to me, located in the middle of the airplane right next to the kitchen. The steward gave me free earphones because he said the movie was too dumb to make me pay $5 to watch it. I got an unexpected hug from the stewardess because she was giving the other stewardesses hugs and she didn't want me to feel left out. This is why I fly alone. (Also because when I actually end up in the correct city, I feel like I deserve a pat on the back for not getting on the wrong plane.)

I always get on the airplane hoping to make new friends and this was the only time in my life that that's actually happened.

Homeless Chic

My sense of style has often been described as 'homeless chic.' I'm actually pretty sure I coined that term. It usually refers to 'one who wears clothes that are comfortable, and often over-sized, but attempts to make them look semi normal by adding neon accessories.' But today I may have created a whole new meaning to the term 'homeless chic.'

So I was walking home from work at an exceptionally late hour when all of a sudden, one of the straps on my sandals snapped. Instead of panicking I kind of just stood in the middle of the street, a mile away from home, and started laughing. Obviously this had to happen to me.

And what exactly are you supposed to do when you are in the middle of the street left without a shoe? You casually take the other shoe off, you continue walking and then you call a friend so you don't look like a complete homeless person walking barefoot through the glass-filled streets of Brooklyn. Because at last if you are on the phone you can laugh at yourself, and then maybe those witnessing your wardrobe malfunction will laugh too instead of making fun of the crazy lady walking barefoot.

It was only when I got a few concerned stares that I started pretending to limp, as if I had removed my shoes because of a blister at the bottom of my foot. But on I trudged. Through the weird looks, over the rocks and glass, occasionally pretending to limp, with my shoes in hand all the way home.

And yes, I could have called a cab and avoided this all together, but I wasn't sure the cab driver would be down to letting a barefoot, homeless looking girl into his cab.

My fashion sense from now on will probably be more along the lines of 'homeless-not-so-chic.'

Procrastination's in My Blood

So my brother's wedding is in 10 days and I have neither a flight nor a dress.

This is the story of my life.

I have always been a procrastinator. But not just the regular type of procrastinator who waits til the last minute-I wait til the very last second. This was me in Elementary School. This was me in High School. This was me in College. This is me always.

Breakfasts were made flying out the door on my way to school. Homework was always done during the class before it was due. Finals were studied for at the last possible moment (when I still had time to memorize the information and then forget it right after it was regurgitated.) This is, and always has been, fun for me. I'm always calm as a dolphin, as if I have all the time in the world to swim around and sunbathe, and then I become a hot mess an hour before the deadline. It's a game to me. An adrenaline-rushing, heart-racing, exciting game.

But sometimes, I think that maybe I should change this so called "bad habit," and maybe start planning in advance. The only issue with doing that, is that I'll still end up with the last minute prep and finalization. And then I'll be stressed from the time I start planning until the due date a few weeks later. And plus, I'm pretty sure I create better work when I'm rushed. So forget that idea.

And also, my horoscope says I'm a procrastinator and I'm not about to try changing my astrological chart.

Somewhere in this chart it mentions my procrastinating nature.

The Summer Heat Just Got Better

New York City is awesome in the Summer. There's all these hipster outdoorsy events going on, people actually sit outside and talk to one another, I actually get to meet my neighbors who have been hibernating all Winter.. it's great. 

Except for the million-degree weather with some added rain and humidity. It's like being in a sauna, without the spa aspect or the relaxation.

The only good thing that has come from the Summer heat is this video: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6tKJvWWDP4

Necessary Naptime

So you know how you sometimes leave a party with the excuse that you "need to take your nap?" And then the people at the party get all skeptical and think you just came up with the worst possible lie to leave the party? And then when you try to explain that you are actually planning on going home to nap, they aren't sure if you are a weirdo who needs daily naps or if you are just really good at lying?

Except this time, I'm actually telling the truth.

See, when I was in grade school I hated naps. I was the worst napper. Like, I was that one kid who couldn't stop talking or thinking or bothering the other kids. And since I was so stubborn and incredibly adorable, I always got out of having to nap. (Clearly, I was teachers' pet.) So when all the other bratty and obedient kids were forced to nap, I was allowed to read in the corner, just as long as I promised not to wake the other kids. I think now I'm making up for all my missed sleep from my childhood.

Or maybe I'm Benjamin Buttons and I'm aging backwards...who knows.

But looking back now, I'm embarrassed of my bad napping behavior. I don't understand how there was ever a time when I didn't appreciate them. How there was ever a point in my life where I refused to nap. If there was one thing I could tell the 4-year-old me, it would be to appreciate the sacred nap time. Even on those dumb uncomfortable blue cots. Even when you just want to beat up the other kids or stick things in their ears while they try to sleep. Even when you want quality time to suck up to the teacher. Because there is nothing greater than a good nap. And the sooner you learn that information, the sooner you'll become a less sleep-deprived, more stimulated person with more time and more energy to bother your friends.

You're welcome.

I Think This Makes Me An Official New Yorker

I'm not one of those adventurous New Yorkers that are constantly going to museums, shows and concerts. I'm more like one of those naive New Yorkers that is so overwhelmed by the museums, shows and concerts going on, that I never end up going to anything.

There are a few exceptions to this statement:

Exception A: I find out about an event 8 months in advance, and then wait impatiently for 8 months for that event to happen.

Exception B: One of my "adventurous New Yorker-type" friends invites me along to one of those "adventurous New Yorker" events.

Yesterday was an example of "Exception B."

Ever since I watched the philharmonic symphony in August Rush, I have been dying to go to a philharmonic concert in the park. Like it was one of the select few things on my Bucket-List. And though similar events are constantly happening in this town, I obviously don't find out about them until 3 weeks later.

But just my luck, yesterday, an "adventurous New York-type" friend of mine informed me that there was a New York Philharmonic concert that had already begun in Prospect Park. And knowing that I would already be an hour late, I frantically jumped in a cab and literally ran from the cab through the park to get there.

And it was ah-mazing.

Like imagine being in a park with thousands of other people, fireflies lighting up everywhere (and occasionally attacking your face,) and dead-silence besides for the 50-piece orchestra playing the most relaxing lullaby you could have taken a nap in the dirt you were sitting in. Well...
I was there. I was one of those silent audience members getting attacked by the fireflies and in awe of the musicians on stage playing musical instruments I never knew existed. (Google what a contrabassoon is. Those things are great.)

Listen when I tell you that this is something you need to see. It's one of the greater events that New York City has to offer. And though I don't have much to compare it to, you're going to need to just trust me on this one.

I Should Probably Start Exercising

Old people are to be admired. Also, people who exercise. But old people who exercise is like a next level of respect.

I'm only 22 and can barely find the energy or time to do any sort of physical movement. I'd rather stay at work or babysit for strangers than have to do manual labor. But it's not only that I don't WANT to exercise, it's also that I just CAN'T exercise. I tried running once, and the second I forgot I was on the treadmill, I fell off. True story. Those things require concentration.

But getting back to old people who exercise... I really don't get it. They are like superhuman. It doesn't make any sense to me how someone 50 years my senior can go for a 5 mile run in 90 degree weather. Or any weather. When I'm 70, I will most likely be playing bingo in a nursing home. The most movement I will be getting will be from those chair exercises and maybe a little bit of synchronized swimming.

Yesterday I met my latest hero. He must have been in his 70's and I had seen him earlier jogging through Prospect Park. We were at a crosswalk together and he started saying something to me about how I should photograph the sun peaking out from behind the clouds. I tried explaining that I was no photographer and my phone's camera just wasn't good enough, but he kept persisting. (Note: don't try arguing with an old man who clearly has more energy than you.) So I did it. And though you can barely see it, he kept mumbling about "How glorious! Just glorious!" it was.

And as I went off on my way, I turned around and found him like this:

This orange tank-top, sweatband-wearing, man is my inspiration to start exercising more. It probably won't ever happen, but he did leave me with a moment of inspiration and a huge smile on my face. How can you look at that adorable man and not smile?

The Curious Case of the Orange Chicken Tattoo

Tattoos are commitments that I just can not make. Partially because they're frowned upon in Judaism, partially because I'm ridiculously indecisive and would spend 5 years trying to come to terms with my choice before making one, and partially because my mom would kill me.

So when I somehow ended up at an alcohol-less, ghetto State Fair in New Jersey a few days ago, the "Henna Tattoo" booth seamed incredibly appealing. I could never come up with a design for a permanent tattoo, but I thought I wouldn't have any problem agreeing on one that would only last for 3 weeks (this was a wrong assumption.) To go with the butterfly or not (just kidding. I know better than that.) Finally, I agreed on the Chinese word for "happiness" on my left wrist because words like "trustworthy" and "honesty" just didn't suit me. The actual henna part only took a few minutes but then I had to wait impatiently for 2-hours for the dumb thing to dry.

Forty-five minutes later, while frazzled exiting one of the kiddie rides, I forgot about the thing and smudged half of the tattoo. Now I was hungry AND annoyed that I would have a smudged situation stuck on my arm for 3 weeks! So I went back to the sketchy henna booth and drove the man crazy to fix the thing to the best of his ability. Knowing myself all too well, I knew I'd manage to ruin it again before it was ever given a chance to dry. One hour and 3 smudges later, my arm now says, "orange chicken," (which must be only a few smudges off from "happiness.")

I should probably stick to the lick-on tattoos in the future cuz those things don't require dry-time or commitments.

Throwback Thursday to an Hour Ago

So then there was the time where my coworker tried drugging me. Twenty minutes ago.

This blog post is actually being written while I'm half passed out on the floor of my office.

All I ever wanted was an Advil for my headache, but my coworker gave me 2 tiny white pills which she promised, 'worked way better.'

I have trust issues because of people like her.

She seemed trustworthy enough, and I was pretty sure she wouldn't want to kill me, but no. Twenty minutes after popping those little harmless things, my head started spinning, my arms went weak and I got super nauseous. I passed out on the bathroom floor for a good amount of time and the lady never even came looking for me. I could've been a missing person for a few days before she'd even realize that I was gone. (Note to self: only hire people who don't want to kill me.)

I really try to be a good person. I swear. I don't go around drugging good people. Because it's wrong and I was pretty sure this was one of those golden rules. Like an unspoken-because-I-was-pretty-sure-it-was-common-freakin-sense type of rules.

But instead of being on the beach having a relaxing July 4th BBQ, I'm on the verge of a midlife crisis, having some sort of allergic reaction and chilling in the ER waiting room. But hey, at least I figured out how to get out of having to work on the 4th of July...

I'm Still Not Dead

Panic attack: (verb) when you think you are going to die and you start hyperventilating and shaking and sometimes your hands get all prickly and the paramedics need to be called.

So far, I've had 3 major panic attacks (minor ones happen on the daily.) The first time I ever experienced one, I was in the back row of a 15-passenger van, going 80mph on the highway, when a car stopped short in front of us. I saw my 16-years of life flash before my eyes and I was pretty sure I saw the light. Crying, hyperventilating and freaking out followed shortly after.

The second time didn't happen for about another year or so. I was sitting on the porch of my dorm, reading a really great Nicolas Sparks book (don't judge me,) the sun was setting and I couldn't have been more in my happy place. Until I looked down and saw a man standing in my backyard who had been staring through the windows. He looked up right at me and then ran for his life. I freaked. We always knew we had a Peeping Tom, but this was the first time I saw him with my very own eyes. A police report and short panic attack later, I was alright.

But the most severe panic attack I've ever had happened a few years later, when I got stuck in a stampede in Jerusalem at the Jerusalem Day Parade. I was immobilized on the stairs going from the Western Wall up to the Old City, smushed into a few thousand people who were robbing me of my well-deserved oxygen. I gasped for air, started hyperventilating, some kids magically got me to the top of the steps, people were pouring water on me, then someone called the paramedics.. It was great fun.

Either I've become a much calmer person in the past few years, or I've somehow managed to avoid overcrowded, overly dangerous, and overly reckless situations. I'd call that Progress-Without-Prozac.

A Summer Day

Park benches are great places to make friends. They're also great places to get mugged and kidnapped (especially when you are alone and it's 2am.) But luckily, I didn't get mugged OR kidnapped while I sat on a bench on Eastern Parkway last night. I did, however, make a new friend.

I was listening to music, while staring at the pedestrians, and avoiding eye contact with the sketchy folk, when a stranger approached and asked if he could tell me a poem. It was called "Summer Day" and had nothing to  with the Summer..or a day..or a day in the Summer. I think it was more about looking at yourself from the outside->in as opposed to from the inside->out. I always thought it should be the reverse, but he used lots of reasons to confuse me and think that I was told to think the wrong thing my whole life. I was pretty sure that when you look from the inside->out that you were finding the truth inside a person, as opposed to taking them for how they look on the outside. But apparently he was talking more about your outlook on life and less about external looks. So then I just got more confused.

Two hours later I figured out he was saying that someone can look happy on the outside but actually be broken inside and that if they go from the outside->in they can internalize their external happiness. Still with me? Cuz I'm pretty sure I just lost myself while trying to explain that. But either way, he also taught me about seeing the art and beauty in the world around me. Though his main focus was the beauty in cars, calling the sound of the engine "a symphony," he was also referring to the way the tree trunk curved, the way the light shone through the branches, the people walking along the parkway. Emphasizing that the world is full of art and beauty and you just need to be aware of it to recognize it in everything.

But then he asked for my number and then things got weird cuz nobody will recognize the beauty in rejection.

I should probably start looking for friends elsewhere..

The Day My Life Became Public

I'm not sure why anyone would want to know all the juicy details of my life, but for the few people in my fanclub-this is for you. 

I think I have a problem where I feel the need to document my life. I started journaling 4 years ago cuz I thought I would want to remember my last year of highschool (I was wrong. No one wants to remember that.) And then I moved to Israel for a year and was scared I would forget what I ate for dinner every night. And then I moved to NY. And at that point I just couldn't stop documenting every field trip, interesting conversation, and awkward encounter that I had every. single. day. Don't get me wrong, it's cool being able to look back and read how weird I was a year ago, or what I thought about people when I first met them, or how terrible my past 4 birthdays have been, but it was starting to get annoying. I was always terrified that if I forgot to document one day that that day wouldn't be remembered and if it wasn't remembered then it was a wasted day and if it was a wasted day then my life was over. And anytime I told new people that they would be in the journal they would usually avoid me. Which is maybe why I made so many new friends since I stopped.

But now I'm BACKKK! So I guess there goes my social scene... Except blogs aren't exactly the venue for detailing every phone convo and meal I've ever had so I'm going to have to narrow it down to the random stories of my life. The stories that involve strangers on the train confessing to me how they recently ate a flower. Or the time where a homeless man asked politely if he could bite me. These are things that happen to me on the daily. But unfortunately strangers only find me to be approachable and trustworthy when I'm alone so my friends don't always believe that these things really happen. But even though I would lie to them, I wouldn't lie to you (except for the occasional over-exaggeration which is bound to happen.) 

So don't go getting overly enthusiastic about witnessing the rollercoaster called my life. Cuz it's more like one of those wooden rides that are all bumpy, super uncomfortable and you think you are gonna die. Don't say I didn't warn you.