Uber Therapy

It's embarrassing how many Ubers I've taken since the app has been introduced. There are the daily Ubers I take home from work and then the occasional ride to run errands or a night out. And then in the winter months, when it's too cold for life outside, I have to admit to taking cabs to and from the gym four days a week. (Yes, I go to the gym four days a week. This is the new and improved me.)

And with each vehicle I've taken comes driven by a new special driver. Sometimes we sit in silence, sometimes we get in a heated conversation long after I've arrived at my destination and sometimes they tell me their whole life story while I sit there nodding, preferring the silence.

I've had one driver share his tale of coming to this country from Egypt five years ago to go to school and falling in love with an American girl who he then married after a long courtship. It had been his new wife who suggested he apply for citizenship and who also then became distant once she decided he had married her for the wrong reasons. He got teary eyed telling me how it tore them apart until they eventually divorced. He was now driving for Uber to save up enough money to bring over his parents.

Then there was the driver who decided that he knew better directions than the passenger who took the same route every day for over a year (me). It has recently snowed and the streets had limited access and increased traffic. We got stuck in a stand-still for 30 minutes which he took as an opportunity to ask me on a date. Nothing worse than being stuck in non-moving traffic with a man you have just rejected.

I've heard every horror story from drunken vomit to domestic abuse in the back seat. It's interesting how much information gets shared in a 15 minute ride with a stranger.

But then there was the time my driver mentioned how he had been released from prison that morning. I don't know if that is something he should have been sharing but it didn't end there. I was lucky enough to hear the whole story of how he ended up there! There was a lot of mumbling and bits of the story that I missed but the part I got was that his girl friend of 4 years had hit him numerous times in the face after a minor dispute and he called the cops on her. She wasn't too thrilled about that and retaliated by calling the cops herself and telling them that he had hit her. He told me how he has spent the night in a holding cell and I tried my best to sympathize.

I'm well aware that I bring these conversations upon myself by being personable and so darn cute but I should really start charging for my services.

New Fridge, New Year, New Life

Anyone who has stepped foot into my house within the past two years has met my fridge. And by "fridge" I mean my actual refrigerator and not some cute little house pet I've named "fridge."

My fridge is one of the more unique fridges in that every time it would re-cool itself (roughly every 20 minutes), it would make a loud rumbling sound similar to the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine (except that "motorcycle" would be in the middle of my kitchen.)

But after a short amount of time, we managed to get used to the noises and it became an almost soothing background sound. Our house guests however, never seemed to get used to it.

The noises made it difficult to hear conversations happening 3 feet away. It turned casual dinner parties into screaming fests. It may have increased the overall tension in the household because we were constantly yelling at each other.

During this time, we had an electrician inspect the fridge and determined that it would cost more to fix it than to replace it. We also has a few cocky friends who decided to disregard that professional opinion and attempted to fix it themselves. They tried stuffing the motor with tin foil, they tried kicking the fridge, all with unsuccessful results because abuse is not the answer.

So we gave up and accept the fridge for who he was.

Until one day, we came up with the most brilliant idea: we would buy a NEW one (which the landlord would obviously pay for).

The new fridge was finally ordered but after three failed delivery attempts, I gave up. This was a sign that we weren't supposed to have a quiet house. (In hindsight, it may have just been a sign to never purchase appliances from The Home Depot).

With our last strand of patience, we attempted the purchase from Best Buy and miracle of miracles, they actually came through. They showed up at the crack of down with a few strong men who had to take the front door off the hinges to make room for the new fridge to come through. They may have also broken a few minor household objects but at least we finally had a brand spankin-new refrigerator.

It's shiny and spacious and everything one could look for in a fridge. They may have installed it with the doors on the wrong side but the silence has finally been restored to my house.

The Husband Next Door

My neighbor asked me to marry him the other day.

Just to give some background, he is a middle-aged man standing a few inches below my eye-level and lives in the basement of the brownstone next door to mine.

I often find him in my front yard raking the leaves or shoveling my snow (which is a little beyond the normal neighborly civil duties, but who would complain about that?). In the warmer summer days he spends an exceptional amount of time outdoors cat-calling (he literally meows/purrs/both), which I assume is his friendly way of saying "hello."

Though all my housemates have equally as frequent encounters with the neighbor, none of us ever managed to find out his name. He's been calling all of us "Queen" for years (we assume because he doesn't know who is who) and we have begun using the same name when referring to him. Being that he is topic of so many discussions, we have all gotten so comfortable with calling him "Queen" that there have been numerous occasions when we have almost called it to his face.

Aside from the typical cat-calling/meowing, he'll often stop me on my way home for a quick chat which usually go something like this:

Queen: Hi, my queen! How are you?
Me: A little tired, how are you?
Queen: I'm better now that I see you! Would you like a massage?
Me: Oh no thank you.
Queen: Are you sure? I can come in your house and give you a massage.
Me: No no, I don't think that will be necessary. But I appreciate the gesture. Gottarunbye.

We've come to the conclusion that he is the creepiest person we know but you can't not love him.

So the other day as I was leaving the house, I got a phone call from a lady name Laura asking if I was still interested in donating my kidney just as I bumped into Queen waiting for me on the sidewalk. He interrupted my kidney donation conversation with a "Can I ask you a question?"

It seemed urgent and important (though now that I think about it, so was my confused conversation with a stranger requesting my kidney that I had completely forgotten I had ever signed up to donate). But being that I was no longer as interested in donating my organs as I apparently had been a few years back, I used this as an excuse to quickly end my call with Laura. "Can you email me this information and I'll think about it?" I asked Laura as Queen patiently waited for his turn to speak.

"Sorry about that. What was your question?"

"Oh. I just wanted to ask you if you would marry me?"

He was as serious as one should be when asking someone to marry them. He had great eye contact but no ring.

This was right about when I started to panic and wished I was still on the phone with the lady who wanted my kidney.

I was not prepared for this and I couldn't come up with a rejection that wouldn't insult him. I stumbled over my words, started mumbling something about marriage not being my thing and then ran. And as I power walked away from him, he kept yelling down the block, "I think it's a really good idea!"

I'm usually better with my responses but I believe the kidney lady threw me off my game. It was too much fluster for me to handle on a Sunday afternoon on my way to brunch.

Next week I'm ordering delivery.

Uber Kidnap

With a new job in the middle of nowhere-Brooklyn comes a new necessary mode of transportation. In this case, that mode of transport would be in the form of daily Ubers. (Because I refuse to take a train to a bus to then walk half a mile to get to work and because my work loves me enough to compensate me for my high maintenance demands).

For those of you who don't know what Uber is, you either live in the suburbs where everyone needs their own car to survive or you live in a 3rd World Country.

But for those of us living within the 5 Boroughs of New York City, Uber is our other half, our soulmate, our best friend.

With the push of a button he picks you up, drops you off and charges everything directly to your credit card. It's the the best for when you have no cash and your flight leaves in an hour and half or when you go for a run without your wallet and then realize you're too lazy to walk home.

Once your Uber is requested, you are assigned a car within a few seconds. And I, like most eager people, watch the little car icon as it drives through the map approaching your pick up location.

You even get a head-shot photo of your driver (so there are no surprises) and the type of car that awaits you.

So then on a random Tuesday at 5pm I went through my usual routine and called for my Uber chauffeur. I glanced over at the soon-arriving vehicle, read that it would be a Toyota Rav-4 and I continued finishing up my work before he would arrive.

As I walked out of the office, I approached the Rav-4 parked right outside. Something felt a little weird about the pick up so as I opened the back door I asked the confused looking driver if he was in fact my Uber. But nope. He wasn't. He was just a confused gentleman who should've been way more alarmed by the fact that a strange female was entering his vehicle.

Turns out my actual non-kidnapper Uber ride was the Rav-4 across the street. He also had a difficult time concealing his smirk as he most likely recalled watching me as I walked into the wrong car before realizing my error. He didn't think that maybe he should have called or sent a warning text like "Hey Maam, That's not your Uber. The car you are entering may actually kidnap you and leave you in a field instead of delivering you to your destination safely."

But no. There was no call or text of that sort. He just watched in amusement as he witnessed a potential kidnapping of an innocent Uber rider.

This is how people get kidnapped in 2015. By willingly walking into vehicles they think are their Ubers. Bribing with candy is so 2010.

Spreading Christmas Cheer One Doughnut At A Time

Christmas is the most over-hyped holiday of all time. Macy's starts playing "Jingle Bells" in October, there's a Santa takeover in every mall across America, clothing sales are shoved down your face, the lights, the trees, Ellen's 10-Day-Giveaway... It's this HUGE lead up to one day. 

And although I do not celebrate Christmas, I do enjoy the Christmas spirit. It the only time of year when everyone seems so cheerful. Neighbors wave to one another, strangers become uncomfortably friendly, the grocery clerk will even sneak in half a smile. It's hard to not be happy when everyone around you is so happy.

This past Christmas Eve, while on a 7-11 run, a friend and I noticed all the policemen and policewomen that were on duty instead of being home with their families. And with all the cop-hate in the news lately, we felt that we wanted to do something to show our appreciation. 

And what better way to show that appreciation than with two dozen doughnuts?

We had to make numerous stops because we kept clearing out every Dunkin Donuts (and there were only so many of them open at 2am on Christmas Eve.) But five Dunkins, 24 Christmas-decorated doughnuts, and 45 minutes later, we rocked up to our local 71st Precinct.

Photo Courtesy of Google Images

When people say that cops don't actually like doughnuts as much as everyone thinks they do, they're lying. Not only do they like them but they were on first-name basis with every variety of doughnut that Dunkin Donuts sells. 

I'm not going to tell you that they weren't surprised/confused/suspicious of us (because they were. Including the one lady standing there in handcuffs). But who's going to refuse a girl holding two large boxes of free doughnuts? 

I may not celebrate Christmas, but I'm all for spreading a little cheer. Especially to those in bullet-proof vests, protecting and serving instead of being with their own families. A few doughnuts were my small way of saying "Thank you."

Bear Hunting On The Delaware

Sometimes you come back from bear hunts wounded and sometimes you come back dead. Luckily I didn't die, but I came pretty close.

To be honest, I wasn't even aware that I was on a bear hunt until I actually saw a bear but then I went right into hunting mode. And by "hunting mode" I mean I sang the Bear Hunt Song and then kayaked away. (See how I just casually informed you that I was on a kayak during this bear hunt?)

But here is the documented proof of the bear:

And here is the proof that I was actually on a kayak:

And my new-found muscles are proof that I put in more effort on this 7 mile kayak trip than my sister did.

We Almost Bought A Penguin

You know those normal offices that are calm and orderly, where the work is routine and everyone stays in their cubicle? Well that's not where I work. My office is one tiny room with three normal size desks but that's the only normal about it. My hours are not normal (though I won't be complaining about showing up at 2pm), my clients are not normal (don't get mad if you're one of them), my work environment is not normal (there is a bottle of vodka on my desk to maintain sanity) and my boss is the least normal of all.

There was the office pet turtle (of the Thomas the Stupid Turtle saga) where I didn't think things could get any weirder...but then they did.

I made a sarcastic joke about buying a penguin to replace the turtle, but it became a lot less funny when my boss started doing serious research on how one can go about purchasing a penguin. He found a shady website with penguins available for purchase where they would give the animal a "subtle sedative" to slow their heart rate so they could be shipped via UPS without food for 5 days. I don't know if it's worse that this website actually exists or that my boss was seriously considering BUYING A PENGUIN! 

And just when I thought he had come to his senses, I show up to work only to discover that he had bought the one thing more random than a penguin: Seahorses. The man bought seahorses. And not just one, he bought two of them:

He also special-ordered salt water and fresh algae but when I suggested we buy a killer whale next, I was the weird one...

Broken Phones & Broken Hearts

Breaking your phone is a humbling experience. It's also a terrible experience which I'd only wish to happen to terrible people. 

One second you're life is normal and the next second all the pictures, text messages and screenshots of other people's embarrassing photos are gone. Completely unexpected without any warning or time for mental preparations.

My experience went a little something like this: Denial -> Avoidance -> Acceptance -> Panic -> and then Mourning. So many cute selfies lost forver. (Just kidding there weren't actually that many.)

But as terrible and heartbreaking of an experience as it may have been, it has taught me a number of great life lessons:

1) Always back up your photos. Even if you just got a new phone 4 months ago. Because sometimes you break your new phone and then you're only stuck with the old pictures that were saved on your memory card which you never cared for to begin with. 

2) I'm never to be trusted with breakable things.

3) That Sprint is the worst. And insurance that covers everything BUT screen cracks and water damage is not worth your time because they'll make you pay a million dollar deductible for a new phone anyways. 

4) That switching to T-Mobile may have been the best decision of my life thus far. Turns out you don't need to verbally abuse customer service for 3 hours a day 4 days a week to get your phone number changed. 

If I was smart, I would've gotten a Nokia phone and gone back to the days of T9 and playing snake. Because when those things break (if you're talented enough to figure out HOW to break them), your whole life doesn't shatter before your eyes. You may lose your high scores of snake, but if that's my biggest worry I think I'll be okay.

Now with these fancy smartphones we get so attached because our whole life is on this incredibly fragile piece of plastic. When your phone breaks, not only do you lose your stats on your 10 thousand games of freecell or your photo diary of your life, but you also lose connection to the outside world through 8 different social apps. 

I can go years with the same phone but I've managed to have 3 different phones in the past 5 months (I only broke one. Don't judge me.) And with each phone I go though a mourning process for everything that got lost in the transfer of devices. And each time I'm forced to become less attached to this expensive piece of plastic. 

Maybe it won't take a 4th phone for me to realize that it's just a phone. It's not my whole world and it won't be the end of the world if it breaks.

Why Do I Ever Leave My House?

Ever since my last trip I've become a little over paranoid with traveling. It's not the flying or the turbulence that scares me, it's the fear of getting stuck in a foreign country, losing my bags, getting mugged or kidnapped that concerns me.

My trip yesterday hadn't even BEGUN before my travel luck started kicking in.

So...I happened to lose my house keys a few weeks ago and haven't had a chance to get new ones (Roommate Sarah's loving being my personal doorman.) But before my afternoon flight to Tel Aviv, I needed to run a few errands so I had left my front door unlocked. When I returned home 15 minutes later (just as my cab was pulling up), I found that a responsible tenant had re-LOCKED the door on their way out.

So there I was, locked out of my house, without my suitcase, with an international flight leaving in 2 hours and started panicking. Luckily, I remembered about someone who happens to have a copy of my front door key (from the last time I got locked out) and then went on a full-fledged scavenger hunt in my cab to pick up the keys from said stranger, then back to my house to pick up my suitcase, then back to drop the keys back off & then headed to the airport.

Thankfully there was a delay so I miraculously made my flight, but if my trip continues with this trend I may never leave my house again.

Cab Drivers

I could start a new blog titled "My Encounters with Cab Drivers," but I feel like that blog already exists.

While sitting in a car with a complete stranger you can either choose to sit in awkward silence for the duration of your drive or you can use it as an opportunity to meet someone new.

During the 3 1/2 years I've been living in New York, I've taken more cabs than I can remember. It's a safer travel option in the middle of the night and it's the only travel option when late for work or when carrying a ridiculous amount of groceries.

I gave out latkes once on my way to a Chanukah party when the cab driver complimented me on my "amazing smelling food." (Compliments are the easiest way to getting free food from me.) We then continued to have a whole discussion on the stories and customs of Chanukah and how they were similar to some of the customs and traditions of his own culture.

A few weeks later, on my way to a birthday party, my cab driver started telling me about his wife and children. And how his wife loves to dance. And how he thinks shes cheating on him.

He spent the next 20 minutes telling me about how she's also a cab driver and how her phone has been busy every time he tries to call her during the day. When he confronted her about his suspicions, she denied it and told him she was talking to her friends. He stole her phone from her and every time he answered to the unknown or blocked incoming call, the person on the other line immediately hung up the phone.

He asked me if I was aware of another way to trace the call or to find out who it was without going to the phone company with a warrant. I gave a few suggestions but I realized that I'm just not private detective material.

So I tried the therapist approach:

I asked him what it was about their marriage that made him think she'd cheat on him. Or if maybe he was just being paranoid. Or if there was something else going on that would make him think there was someone else.

Turns out I'm not therapist material either.

But then he handed me two phone numbers which he believe to be connected to the mystery caller. I had failed at being a detective and I had failed at being a therapist so I thought it couldn't hurt to try calling the numbers for some sort of clues.

Both numbers hit an automated message usually used for computer-based phone numbers. I didn't think this type of stuff actually happened in real life to real people. I mean I knew it happened, but I had never been in the middle of it. All I wanted was a drama free ride to a birthday party and I somehow got myself involved in a heartbroken cab driver's family drama.

I felt helpless knowing I couldn't help him. I couldn't give him advice as I had never been a situation even close to the one he was currently in. And I couldn't help him track the person on the other line because I lack the skills of a private investigator. I couldn't help him and it felt terrible.

All I could do was pay my cab fare, wish him well and go on my way.

It's these moments that make me grateful for the city I live in. So many strangers and stories and lives I have yet to encounter. And though I know I can't always help everyone, maybe it helps to just listen.

Thomas The Stupid Turtle

I wouldn't call myself "an animal person," not because I hate animals but because I don't particularly care for them.

I'm fine with looking at them and even sharing the occasional petting of random strangers' pets on the street, but I don't think I like them in close proximity to me and I definitely don't like when my boss surprises me with a REAL LIVE TURTLE. IN MY FACE. WHILE I'M ON THE PHONE TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Thomas the Turtle

When I told the guy to bring me back "a surprise," I was thinking more along the lines of bringing back a snack. Or a semi useful gift. I didn't think I had to specify because I didn't think a live animal was on the list of "Gifts Appropriate to Surprise Your Employee With."

I will be giving clearer instructions from now on.

But the weird part is that I'm not usually afraid of animals. I don't particularly want to be around them all the time, but I never thought looking at a turtle moving its creepy chubby legs would make me want to vomit. And I didn't either think that the sound of Thomas the Turtle making nose dives back into the water of his tiny aquarium would scare me to tears. (In my defense, I had briefly forgotten there was a live animal in the office with me.)

Miniature SeaWorld in the office

This might have something to do with my hamster I hid in the bathroom of my high school dorm for 4 months, which then died when I left him/her with someone for a weekend (we never knew if it was male or female. It's harder to tell on a hamster than you'd think). And then I cried like 4 tears mourning the only pet I'd ever had*.

*Everyone knows that carnival goldfish don't count as real pets. They don't do any tricks and have a lifespan of 2 days.

Maybe I distance myself from them so I don't get too attached and then heartbroken when they die or go missing for extended periods of time.

Or maybe I'm just more of a human person. I'd prefer spending quality time with beings that can actually TALK to me. I don't appreciate one-sided conversations with creatures that won't be able to give me advice on my life. Or tell me when they're hungry or when they want to go for a walk on their tiny turtle-leashes.

How am I expected to care for a turtle when I can barely remember to eat my own lunch?! I am not cut out for this!

My Conversation with G-d

Whenever I travel, something always goes wrong. It's like G-d tests me to see just how much He can push me until I forfeit. The cycle of events looks something like this: I plan, anything and everything goes wrong, I cry, things miraculously work themselves out.

But it has never actually happened where I get a clear sign/message letting me know that He actually heard me. Until 3 weeks ago.

I arrived into Israel on Monday evening and took a shairut (carpool cab service) from the airport to my hotel. I was the last one dropped off and when I opened the trunk, I was surprised to see that the only suitcase in the trunk did not belong to me. I started to panic but the cab driver reassured me that when the other person realized they had the wrong suitcase, they would call the cab company and the switch would be made. He told me to come back to the cab office in about an hour or so and my suitcase should be returned by then.

I went to my hotel and returned back to the cab office an hour later only to be told that my suitcase had still not been located. As it was getting later and my jet lag was kicking in, I went to check one more time and still it had not shown up.

So back to my hotel I went, suitcase-less and full of disappointment.

The next morning, I hurried over to the cab office, sure that all my belongings would have turned up by now. But no.

That was it. I came to the conclusion that the person who had my suitcase thought my clothes were cuter than theirs and they weren't planning on ever returning it.

So off I went to buy new clothes, new toiletries, and Advil for my stress-induced migraine.

It was then that I decided that I should gather all my belongings (aka my purse and another big plastic bag), walk to the Old City, and pray at the Western Wall for my suitcase.

I hadn't been to The Wall in 3 years and tend to get emotional whenever I'm there. But this time, I was the most emotional I've been in awhile.

I found a chair, sat down, and prayed my heart out (not just for my suitcase, but for everything that was going on at the moment.) Being in a different country. Alone. No belongings. I prayed for my family. I prayed for the sick people. I prayed for clarity. I prayed for my friends. I prayed for my future. I prayed for my health.. I was having an open and honest conversation with G-d. More open and honest than I've ever had. Each word took on a new meaning that I never realized was there before. And with each prayer, I sobbed. I was crying so hard my eyes were fogging up and I couldn't read the words in front of me. I read each word and I meant each word. And when I was done praying, I breathed a sign of relief.

That was the best chat of my life.

From there, I went to find the closest restroom to wash off the mascara that had rolled down my face. As I'm washing my face, I look over at the sink next to me and recognized the girl washing her hands.

"Hey! Weren't you on my [cab] yesterday?"

She paused. Then smiled as she asked, "Are you the one missing your suitcase?!"

Turns out, there had been a 3-way suitcase swap involving 2 other girls who happened to be friends. They figured out late at night that there was a mix-up but didn't know what number to call or where to go to locate the missing suitcase.

I informed them where their suitcase currently was and they organized to have mine returned there as soon as possible.


Moral of the story: Miracles do happen.

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??