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??