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.