Choose Life

It’s the end of an era. As I near the end of the semester and the end of my degree, I have received an email reminding me that I am to move out of the dorms by February 20th. Apparently, dorms are only for students.

Change is scary. Especially when it all happens at once. Suddenly I have to leave the dorms. What do I do with myself? Find an apartment? Find a job? It all bears down on me like a heavy load… too big to carry alone, yet here I am, having to deal with it all at once. If it were one thing at a time it would be easier, bearable. But noooo….

After much hunting, I’ve found an apartment. It’s at the top of the price range I’m willing to fork over on a monthly basis, especially since I don’t have a steady (or any!) salary yet. It’s a nice place, close to campus. Why do I choose to remain close to campus if I’ve finished my studies? Most people run as far away from school as they can. I can’t explain it. There’s a certain pull keeping me close by. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want this all to end. My happy, carefree days as a student, where my biggest worries were a 70 on an exam and not having what to eat in the fridge. Now I have to worry about finding a job, paying rent and bills. I have to plan out my future. Choose a 401 plan. Choose dental plans and health plans and eating healthy and low cholesterol and I’m flooded with the memory of a certain “Trainspotting” poster telling us to choose life. Yes, choose life.

Now that I have an apartment, I have to find a job…

Time Flies

Oh how the time does fly! I suddenly realize it’s been too long since my last post. I’m so sorry. And while I know that I don’t have a myriad of readers following my posts, waiting for the next one, eager to see what I’ve written, I would like to know that there are a few people out there who are happy to read what I write and look forward to new posts every now and again.

As for excuses, they are pointless. Regardless, here goes…

As a student, the worst time of the semester is exams. Suddenly weeks of catching up to do are crammed into a few sleepless nights as we try to remember all the minor details the professors said between bad jokes and even more home work assignments. I am no exception to the rule. I procrastinate most of the semester and then, as exams are upon me, I realize what a pickle I’m in. Especially when I’ve got three exams in one week – Sunday, Tuesday and Friday!

So, before I go back to studying, I once again offer my most sincere apologies in hopes that you will return and keep reading. (And I promise to blog on Friday, after my exam!)

Love Is In The Little Things

Some times love is in the little things.

We went on another date on Saturday. He took me to a restaurant. We had pasta and good conversation with quiet intervals of staring into each others’ eyes. Not those awkward pauses where you think of something witty or interesting to say, but the ones where you can stare into your partner’s eyes and get lost in their depth and not even mind.

After we finished, the waiter came out with a delicious array of deserts  and we couldn’t help but split a chocolate nougat bar. When we had finished polishing it off, we held hands, lost in each other’s eyes. Everything around us seemed to disappear and just as I was thinking that things couldn’t get better, he took his eyes off me, picked up his spoon and drew a heart in my direction in the cocoa powder on our desert plate. At that instant, my heart melted and I looked at him, longing to kiss him, but gave his hand a squeeze instead.

On our way out, I stopped by the restroom and he waited for me outside. When I came out, he was talking to some woman. We wished her a nice day and were off. In the car, he told me she had inquired to  whether it was our second date. He laughed and told her a bit more. She said that she and her husband couldn’t help but notice what a cute couple we are and how we looked into each other’s eye with a naïve and fresh love that she thought was only existed  in movies.  It made us both happy to hear her wonderful compliments.

Before dropping me home, we stopped by the beach to watch the sunset. Sitting on the grass, wrapped in his arms, I closed my eyes, happy to have him holding me. As he looked down and noticed my eyes closed he asked me how I was. I told him I was wonderful and it was nice being wrapped in his arms. He kissed me and replied that while we were on the beach, looking at one of the most beautiful sunsets he’s ever seen, here I am, enjoying being in his arms and he doesn’t know who is focusing on the really important thing. I whispered “I am” in his ear and he held me tighter.

Unfortunately, the sun sets and night falls and he had to go home to do homework and work on his projects. I had to go home and tend to my own errands, as well. Now, I’m just waiting for our next date…

Second And Third Dates

It’s been ages since I’ve had a half decent first date, not to mention a second or third date. Lately, that’s changed, and I’m happy to say, that I’ve even made it to a forth date. So far things are good, but for some reason, I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just don’t feel at ease. I can’t describe it, but there’s something missing. I wish he were a bit more romantic. I wish he’d whisper how sexy he thinks I look or send me cute text messages reminding me how much he misses me. I wish he’d offer to take me out to dinner or buy me flowers. When did romance die? And why wasn’t I updated or informed?

They say the best way to get a date is to get a date. Once you have that first date with some random guy, suddenly, guys tend to find you more attractive and date worthy and the offers keep spilling in. That’s how things are now. Suddenly, within a week of our first date, some guy started hitting on me in one of my classes. Another found me in a common interest group on Facebook and asked me out. Someone from game night said he’s got to take me out for a drink sometime and the offers just keep pouring in. I have to admit, it’s nice. I know it’s shallow, but there’s some sort of validation in it all that gives a boost of self confidence, which is much needed in my paranoid situation. Yes, I’m the paranoid type. The fact that we’ve been on a few dates and he offers to meet again doesn’t mean he wants me. I still feel insecure. When he calls prior to a set date, I’m fearful he’s calling to cancel. When he comes late, I’m fearful he isn’t coming at all. When he leaves, a little piece of my heart aches, as I wonder if I’ll see him again or get dumped first.

I know that the way he acts, I shouldn’t feel insecure. Or at least not as insecure as I feel. I know I’m being overly paranoid and that there’s nothing to worry about. Besides, I’ve had my heart broken before and I’ve survived… In the end, I’m a survivor and I will overcome, if the need arises. In the meantime, I have to learn to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.

So much easier said than done!

The Year Of Abstinence

It’s been over a year since the last time I had sex. 13 months and four days to be exact, but who’s counting? The last person I was with was a two month boyfriend. One morning I decided to take three buses and a train to surprise him before his first class. It was he who surprised me. As I called from outside his door, he didn’t answer. By the 14th call, he finally picked up. Reluctant to let me in, I pushed my way in (Four and a half hours on public transportation and I really needed the bathroom!). Lo and behold, there, in his bed, was his ex girlfriend, naked and smiling. Heartbroken, I left in a hurry, wanting no explanation for what was quite obvious. (I later gave him the benefit of the doubt and offered to let him redeem himself. The jerk said that he doesn’t owe me an explanation and that I should have been more trusting. Trusting my ass.)

It’s not that there weren’t numerous opportunities during the past year and a bit. There were. Some of the guys were even interesting and/or good looking. I just wasn’t into it. Despite really enjoying sex, I don’t consider myself the one-night-stand type. I don’t want someone who is going to leave right after they have been satisfied. I want someone who cares about my own satisfaction, as well.

Actually, at one point, sexual frustration drove me to new places and having toyed with the idea, I decided to go for it. I figured I’d pick a cute guy who seems like he’s been around a few times and knows what he’s doing, with hopes he knows how to please. Eventually, I was at a friend’s party when she introduced me to an old friend of hers. He fit the bill and I decided that I’d accept his flirting and even played along. At the end of the party, he asked if I wanted to come over. Excited that it would happen, I went. In his room, he put on some music, held me tight and kissed the top of my head. He began peeling off my clothes, starting with my shirt. I reciprocated, getting him out of his, as well. He was already hard and as I gently approached, barely touching him. I ran my finger tips up and down, caressing, gently teasing. His body shuddered, from cold or excitement, I’m still unsure, but before I could go any further, he came. He came and he smiled as he excused himself to get some toilet paper to clean up. As I sat on his bed thinking to myself that this is the beginning and now we can focus on me, he said “It’s getting late and I have an early class tomorrow. I think I should drive you home.” I realized I wasn’t going to get my fill that night and agreed with him. He drove me home and I felt dirty, cheap. Used and thrown out. Even a boiling shower couldn’t make me feel clean again. I went to sleep that night and vowed never to do that again. I’m not built for it. I want to feel that the person with me cares about me and my satisfaction and doesn’t only care about their own instant gratification.

Time keeps rolling on and maybe soon I’ll find someone I can share some time with, some space in bed with and hopefully some good sex. Here’s to 2010!

One Night Stand

“Do You Want A Snake?”

Dad speak: “Do you want a snake? How about a sneakers?”
Translation: “Do you want a snack? How about a Snickers?”

My parents, born and raised outside of the US, learned English as a second or third language. My father, born in Argentina and raised in Israel is a polyglot, speaking many languages with the oddest of accents. He doesn’t distinguish between snake and snack.  As a snake breeder, he would scare the bejeezus out of my friends, offering then a snake, as he held a real one in his arms. When friends came to sleep over, he would put shits on the bed. Toilet papers were used to clean up messes. I remember growing up, ashamed of his accent. My friends and classmates laughed at him. They laughed at me.

My mother wasn’t much better. Her thick Hebrew accent penetrated every word and every syllable. Her business English didn’t cut it when talking to children. She’d be lacking the most basic of words, reverting to Hebrew, making her incomprehensible to my childhood friends. Children are a cruel race and the fact that my parents were alien to them made me an easy target.

It’s been years since I’ve last been ashamed at my parents. I love them for who they are and for the work they’ve put into raising my brother and me, despite their mistakes, as well as because of them.

Now, living in Israel, I’m the one with an accent. Most times, it’s so slight most people don’t even realize I was raised abroad, but every now and then I’ll get some one who claims that it’s obvious that I’ve got a very American accent. I cringe when people tell me that. Not because I’m ashamed. Quite the contrary. Because of love. Because I love Israel and it’s my home and more than anything, I want to belong. I don’t want to be tagged as an outsider because of silly matters such as how I pronounce my r’s or g’s.

Broken Resolutions

It’s a quarter to midnight and as if there’s nothing better that I could do, I’m sitting home alone in my mom’s house (without a sweater, despite the cold, in the dark – just like a good Polish woman would do!), and playing on the computer. By playing I mean messing around with Photoshop, doodling, drawing, hoping the computer won’t freeze every few minutes. It does. And I’m starting to resent it. Wish I owned a Mac. In my next life, when I’ll have money, I’ll buy a Mac. In the meantime, I’ll pretend.

I could be making a list of new year’s resolutions and promises. I could be reading my diary entry from last January 1st. It seems pointless. I remember my list of resolutions. I wanted to get into better shape. Lose some more weight. Gain confidence. I wanted to be more friendly. Nicer to my brother. Try harder in my school work. Find a job. Find a partner. Maintain a relationship. Try to be more normal. Smile. Love myself.

The list is pretty much invariant of previous years. Probably similar to your own. Especially the get in shape and lose weight part. I remember when I used to work at a gym December-January and May-June were the months with the most new subscribers. The end/start of the year was when people realized it’s time to get in shape, as they’ve been delaying it all year or plan on getting in shape for the upcoming year. May and June are when the clothing shops start selling summer wear and swimsuits and suddenly people realize that they’ve put on a few winter pounds they have to shed before they’ll feel comfortable in a teeny tiny polka dot bikini. These are usually the exact same people who will use their gym membership for less than a month before finding a long list of excuses why there’s no time to work out. Belonging to a gym and going to the gym are two totally different things. One will get you in shape, the other…

I’ve tried to be nicer to my family and friends. I’ve tried not to get mad at people. I’ve tried to see things from their point of view and be fair. I think I’ve really gotten closer to my brother this year. And I’m constantly growing closer to my mother, so that’s another achievement for 2009. I’ve made many more friends. I’ve tried to retain all of the old ones, but it’s difficult, especially when we all lead such different, separate lives.

There are those resolutions which I couldn’t fulfill. I don’t have a partner (if I did, I probably wouldn’t be here, on my computer, alone, in the cold, dark, without a sweater…). I’m not in a relationship and I haven’t been able to maintain one for durations longer than a single date, two at best. Not have I actually put any additional effort into my school work. On the contrary, as I feel myself nearing the end, I feel myself letting go more and more. I cut myself a lot of slack and have low expectations.

Last, but not least, are those abstract promises. Love myself. I do. Most days. But then again, how do you measure. Or smile. I try. As much as I can without looking like a grinning fool or a brainless idiot.

So this year, instead of starting with a list of promises and resolutions, I’m abandoning the thought. Instead, I’m going to wish myself the discipline to strive to be a better person. Period. And I’m smiling. Which is already a good start to this year.

To all of you, reading this or not, I wish you a wonderful new year, new decade, new beginning. Or maybe it’s just a continuation. Either way, work hard, succeed and prosper. May you strive to be better with each passing day, smile more, love more, and live more.  Happy New Year!

Frankenputer

“…once I falsely hoped to meet the beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding.”
— Mary Shelley (Frankenstein)

My laptop is a Frankenputer. Mary Shelley and Dr. Frankenstein would have been proud. The original Acer Aspire 1640Z has seen the technician multiple times over the three and a half years that I’ve owned it. Within my first year my lack of updated antivirus software got me infected with a Trojan horse that caused my computer to undergo a whole format. Two years ago the original 80GB hard disk died, only to be replaced by a 100GB hard drive, virtually partitioned to create Pinky and Brain. This summer, multiple systems have crashed and died and much work has been put into resuscitating the laptop. The original motherboard has been replaced. The new motherboard is slightly larger, causing it to be impossible to close the laptop’s casing. When picked up, the inner workings of the computer are held in place by the magical powers of duct tape. The fan no longer works and the entire contraption sits atop a USB powered cooling pad which is slightly too small to support such a big laptop. Brain, the master partition on my replacement hard disk is ridden with viruses and malicious things. It, too, has been replaced. An external hard drive, named SideKick, is connected with another USB cable, claiming my second – and last – USB port. If all of this isn’t enough, the battery no longer charges and the laptop must be plugged into a wall outlet in order to refrain from shutting down and loosing anything I might have been in the middle of. Additionally, if it does shut down, when restarted, the computer goes into an endless cycle of CHKDSK. It is only by pure miracle that I get it working again each time I have to turn the computer on. I have learned to pray to Haphaestus and Vulcan, the Greek and Roman G-ds of technology. No, this is no longer a laptop.

On the other hand, with a 15.4″ widescreen display, weighing in at just under 3 kilograms, it never really was portable. Although, once, I could have taken it home with me. Now, it’s just a desktop with an inconvenient key board and a touch pad mouse. It’s been pimped with a pretty WACOM, speakers, a webcam, a black and white laser printer and a scanner. It’s a pretty nice setup, although all these cables are constantly getting tangled despite being bundled nicely in larger cable organizers which collect dust and hair under my desk.

Last weekend, I decided it was time to put Frankenputer to the test. People around me keep raging about how great Windows 7 is and how it can bring life to old computers so I decided to give it a try. Three hours and forty two minutes of waiting, pushing “next” and more waiting, my old computer was running Windows 7. It was beyond miraculous. I started installing my old drivers: internet, printer, graphics card, speakers, etc. Something was wrong – terribly wrong. The drivers, which were compatible with WinXP, didn’t agree with my new operating system. I took over my mom’s computer in search for appropriate drivers, just to get discouraged time after time. Apparently, my computer is so old, there aren’t Vista drivers suitable, never mind Win7 drivers. I scanned forum after forum in hopes of finding a fix. It took me two days before I finally got my internet working, three more days to get my printer and scanner running along with the graphics card and sound and damn computer still wants to preform a never ending CHKDSK loop upon startup. I still pray every time I have to restart my computer, but so far, and I don’t want to ruin my good luck so far, he hasn’t needed to be restarted by force as he doesn’t tend to freeze over, frustrating me and making me pull the plug.

Despite this, my transfer to Chrome has been less successful. I feel that it keeps getting stuck and moves very slowly. Extremely slowly when I want it to load a new page and save me the embarrassment of others seeing my inbox or what-not. Next time I get a free day or two, I’ve got to revert back to my old, beloved, trustworthy Opera. (Yeah, never was a fan of the fox – too mainstream for my own personal tastes. If I could I’d probably be a Mac user, but it’s just currently out of my budget for now.)

The little clock in the bottom corner reads 12:34 am. It’s late and I have to be up in less than six hours. I have a seminar to give. My slides still aren’t ready. Open Office has been giving me problems. I miss my real Office. Still haven’t installed a legit version on my computer, yet. It’s all a matter of time. Time – the thing I lack most right now. What I wouldn’t do for a 25th hour each day…

But for now, I think I’m just going to call it a night.

Sweet dreams.

Merry Christmas To All

And to all a good night!

My parents raised my younger brother and me in a  reformed Jewish household. We celebrated holidays and acknowledged a few additional Jewish elements. But, growing up in a mixed neighborhood in suburbia, USA, we were bound to have friends from various backgrounds. Among them, we had many Christmas celebrators and there was never a year we weren’t invited to celebrate with some family and their towering, tinsel topped tree.

I remember red knit sweaters and getting flannel pajamas as gifts. Our neighbors, unlike my own mother, who was too worrisome to light our own fireplace, had a yule log burning in their living room fireplace. We exchanged gifts and sang songs. The adults drank eggnog and we children ate chestnuts. I love chestnuts. I can smell them now… (Yeah, I’m roasting a few in my microwave oven.)

As children we wished for a white Christmas. I look out my window now, open, to let the warm breeze into my dorm room. It’s 17 degrees Celsius outside. I wore a short sleeved shirt today. It’s too hot for snow. And I remember one Christmas day where my father woke me up and told me he had a surprise. I can see him opening my Venetian blinds, revealing a think layer of snow, covering our lawn, the streets, the entire neighborhood blanketed in white.

Nostalgia gently wafts over me, like a old blanket, wrapping itself around me, reminding me of the good old days.

It’s 2:30 am. I didn’t come home from any Christmas parties or celebrations. I haven’t seen anyone decked out in red and white or street corner Santas ringing their bells for charity. I’m sleepless. I know I should go to sleep. I have kayaking practice in the morning. I’m supposed to be up in less than four hours. There’s a part of me that’s sad. Despite it not being my holiday, its got a place in my heart. Memories of friends and family and happier, carefree times make me wish for the days when I was younger and socks were considered a “lousy” gift.

To those of you who are celebrating tonight, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year! Goodwill and peace on earth!

Pearl, You’ld Be Proud Of Me

Pearl, oh Pearl, you would have been so proud of me this morning. Really.

Pearl, the notorious roommate from my military days, was the reason I’ve decided to never live with friends. The experience of living with her was so traumatic, I learned that while flatmates may, on rare occasions, become friends, but friendship won’t outlast being flatmates.

Pearl was a neat freak, beyond belief. Not in the good way, that every roommate wants – the girl who cleans up and shuts up. She was fanatic and loud. With her fear of ants, insects, bugs and bacteria, she forbade us to bring food and drink into the room for fear we would attract unwanted, free loading roommates. Had she known I had stashed food in the trunk under my bed, she would have hung me, coating me with my own food, inviting the vultures to feast on my skin, barely gone cold.

With six girls in a four girl room, things were always messy, dirty, hair balling up under beds, sand coming in through the window. There was no way the room would ever stay clean, but once a week, on Monday nights we had to clean our room for inspections.

An hour and a half prior to inspections, Pearl was already in the room, pushing our bunk beds out of the way, lockers to one side, spilling buckets of soapy water and sponging it aside, moving all the furniture to the other side, more soapy water, more sponging. And then again. The first time was only to get all the dust and hair out. The second time was to clean. If we were running on schedule, she’d make us do it again, just to make sure. To make sure what?! Although it seemed utterly redundant and a waste of time, we played along, just to keep the peace. Everyone has those little things that drive them utterly mad and in order to live in peace with another person, you have to learn to respect those little things before it’s too late.

Today I cleaned my dorms, a ritual I reserve for special occasions and utter boredom. I moved all the furniture (ok, most of it…), swept, washed and washed again. And as I watched the hair balls reveal themselves from under my bed, I couldn’t help but think, “Pearl, you’d be proud of me!”

Then I moved on to do the kitchen, living room and bathrooms. It’s my turn to clean the common areas this week. I start from top to bottom, cleaning the stove top, microwave and toaster oven, brushing crumbs off the counter and finally getting around to washing the floor. I felt a heat flash as I saw the grease all over the stove top and as I sprayed the surface with some cleaner or other. I grabbed a cloth and started to clean up as I realized the gap between the bottom of the stove top and the rest of the counter. The sink, which was on the far side of the counter, seemed so far away and I brushed the grime into the gap. When it came time to washing the floors, instead of mopping up all the water that I spilled or sponging it to the bathroom, I discovered the gap under the fridge. Clean the toilet. No problem – just pour toilet cleaner, flush twice, smells clean. Windows. Spray with cleaner, wipe with yesterday’s newspaper. (Ok, I couldn’t find any short cuts for this one.) Within less than fifteen minutes, the apartment, at a glance, looked – and smelled – clean. Some things never change. So the common areas wouldn’t have passed Pearl’s inspection, but my room – well, you would have been proud, Pearl. I know I am.