It's Not Only Jews Who Get Lonely

A couple of years ago, a local bookstore was going out of business. This is before Borders died, and they couldn't slash prices low enough. I wandered through the store, picking books up and putting them down, trying to figure out how I could incorporate an 18-foot rolling ladder into my shoebox of an apartment. After a while I stumbled across a slew of stationery and cards, and as I dug through, found a bunch of Hanukah stuff. A boxed set of cards, a group of gift cards, and I haggled the price down and then bought it all up.

I think of sending out holiday cards as something families do, not single people. What would I do, send a card with a photo montage of me all over it? Write a little blurb about how I vacationed above the Castro a few times, and in Spring took a trip out to the Mission?

But I'm sitting on these Hanukah cards. What am I supposed to do with them? Take them out of the drawer, admire them, then put them back until the next time? Except I don't live in New York anymore, Land of All People Jewish. I live in a world full of people who celebrate Christmas now. Is it rude or disrespectful to send a Hanukah card to someone you know for a fact doesn't celebrate it?

So today I was deliberating buying some less ... denominational cards, more winter-themed, for the non-Jews. The WASP and I were chatting about cards. Obviously, she's not a MOT. She told me something surprising - that she has a few Jewish friends (that's not the surprising part), but they never send her Hanukah cards, and she'd love to get some. Her whole face lit up telling me this. ORLY?! Well, it won't be a miracle on 34th Street, but it will be a miracle near 3rd and 4th Streets and that counts, right?

She's got a couple of little kids, so I am thinking some Hanukah gelt taped to her Hanukah card might be the way to go. It truly never occurred to me that the Christmases might want to receive Hanukah cards. Is the WASP the only one who feels this way? If you're a Christmas, please let me know what your feelings are on this.

Why Couldn't I Have a Boyfriend?

At the place where I'm temping, the lawyer rents out space to other lawyers, which makes them sub-tenants. There are some former sub-tenants who still receive mail here, which means someone has to come by on a semi-regular basis to fetch said mail. One of the people who is a fetcher is a bald, corpulent man. He's probably in his late 30's or early 40's. He walks with a cane. I temped at this place last year, and I remember this guy from then. He'd come up the stairs, ask if he had any mail, and I'd hand it to him. After a while I got busy and told him he could just help himself to the folder where it's kept.
I started temping here again a few weeks ago, and the second day I was here, when he saw me he asked what my plans were for lunch. I was planning to run a bunch of errands I hadn't gotten done before starting to temp, and told him that. When I heard his response of, "Maybe some other time then?" I realized he'd been trying to ask me out. Oh.

Yes. So. The truth is, I had zero interest in going out with him. Even aside from not being physically attracted to him (and it's not because he's bald - there are plenty of hot, bald guys), there are other issues. I'm attracted to people who are smart. Nothing in our brief chats ever led me to believe he's smart. I'm attracted to people who are funny. To people who are the slightest bit extra nice. He did not seem to be any of these things. Plus, every day when I see this guy, he is wearing sweatpants. Not even just regular sweatpants, as if those aren't bad enough. No, he wears sweatpants with elastic around the ankles. Also, he tucks his t-shirts into the sweatpants. To say it's not a good look is a severe understatement. I never really liked the show Seinfeld, but sure did appreciate when Jerry spread the word that it's unacceptable to wear sweatpants in public.

Anyway. If you feel that I must be a snob for not liking this guy, and not wanting to go on a date with him, then so be it. You're attracted to whomever you're attracted to, and I'm not attracted to this guy on any level. I mentioned this asking-out to two people - my friend, and an associate who works here part-time. My friend told me, "Just tell him you have a boyfriend. You have to lie; it's the most humane thing to do." I agree with her. Any other reason I'd give for why I won't go to lunch will just translate to, "I don't like you." And even though I don't, he's not a bad person, just a bad dresser. No reason to make him feel badly.

The associate also told me to lie and tell him I have a boyfriend. But here's the reason it bothered me that she said that: she assumed I don't have one! My friend is my friend - she knows my life. The associate doesn't know I don't have a boyfriend! Why would she assume? Do I in some way LOOK unboyfriendable? I wanted to attack this point and force her to feel as badly as she'd (inadvertently) made me feel. I dug deep down, realized I felt nothing, and borrowed maturity from someone else in order to keep my mouth shut.

But it really hurt my feelings. And every time I think about it, it hurts my feelings all over again.

Christmas Time Randoms

1. The place I'm temping at keeps getting all these holiday cards. One has a picture of a red bird on the front, and underneath it says "Red bird" and another has a winter motif and underneath it says "Winter." So when one came in with a green dragon on the front I couldn't resist and took a little post-it, wrote "Green dragon" and put that on the card. Everyone who's noticed has laughed.

2. I had a lovely chat with my friend Nina the other night, and it turned out to be fascinating. She had a different perspective on something that happened in both our childhoods that blew my mind.

3. I've been reading the books The Highly Sensitive Person and The Highly Sensitive Child, by Elaine Aron. More blowing of the mind.

4. In trying to mail a package today, I found a post office near work, in Chinatown. When I got there, a sign was on the door saying they would reopen at 1:45pm. I waited until 1:55 before deciding the guy was not coming back in a timely fashion and practically speed-walked back to work. Decided I would go to the post office near my house on the way home. Walked there in the rain only to find they'd closed. Foiled again! So I'm pretty sure unless I priority overnight via FedEx, my package will not arrive on the East Coast until several days after Christmas, when I mail it tomorrow. Whoops. Hopefully the thought really does count.

5. During the course of each day I distribute files to paralegals and attorneys, and re-file files they're finished with, all via a file cart. The cart has one wonky wheel though, so the cart is always pulling to one side. That wouldn't be so hard to manage if I weren't also trying to keep piles of files from sliding off the cart. The office manager heard me mumble, "Slippery little fuckers" last week and giggled at me.

Today, when I was hauling a cartful of files towards the filing cabinets, as I walked past the Christmas tree the cart pulled to one side as usual, but with the momentum it pulled a bit harder than usual, and knocked into the tree. The tree started to tip. My first thought was how this was going to look to the employees, that they would think "That jew ruined Christmas!" So I lunged to catch the tree before it hit the ground. I caught it in a bear hug and leaned it back towards the center. As I was doing this a partner walked by, stopped, and asked what I was doing. I didn't want to admit to having not been as careful of the tree as I should have, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "I just love Christmas SO MUCH!" The partner smiled and told me it's her favorite holiday as well before walking off. I don't know why my gut instinct was to lie.

6. A woman who works at the temp agency that placed me at this law firm showed up at the firm today. There is no nice way to say this, but she looks horrible. So horrible that I didn't even recognize her until she spoke. I was really shocked and hope everything is okay in her life. Anyway, I know that sometimes when the agency doesn't have anyone they can send on an assignment she sometimes fills in, and I immediately worried that she was there because the firm had complained about me and was going to step in to cover the position. Turned out she was just dropping off a present for the firm. Then this afternoon the office manager asked me to pop into her office and again, I assumed the worst - that I was being fired and the temp agency worker convinced the firm to let me finish out the day.

Turned out I was wrong, mostly. The office manager told me that Wednesday will be the last day that they need me to work. The office is closed Thursday and Friday, and they anticipate business being very slow next week. So despite all the bitching I've done about how difficult the job has been, of course I am sad. Both about the loss of income and the loss of structure to my days.

7. In case you are not aware, it's been raining a lot in California. Like, many days and many inches of rain. People are all in a tizzy about this. Aside from the frizzball my hair becomes in the rain, I don't really mind it. A few years ago, I wandered through the Lands End section of Sears, and bought a lightweight rain jacket. Turns out it keeps me perfectly warm (enough for San Francisco, probably wouldn't keep me warm in the Northeast), and totally dry.

It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas (At the End of Chanukah)

Several months ago, I was asked to go temp at a law firm I'd been to previously. But they didn't have me working with the same two partners I'd worked with in the past. Instead, they had me working with another legal secretary who was covering half a dozen attorneys (this is a lot). It didn't go well. She had me and two other people helping her with a project - each of us worked on a different aspect of it, and she was the only one who had the full picture of what was going on.

The simple explanation is that some guy was supposed to create a list of contacts, then I was supposed to print out a slew of shit, and send it to each person on the list. This other secretary found that someone who was supposed to get a packet, didn't. She told the office manager, and they wound up essentially firing me. To say I was crushed doesn't even cover it. I was sure the temp agency that sent me there would never send me anywhere else again.

Luckily I was wrong. To me it seemed like a huge, huge deal. But Monday morning I got a frantic call from the same agency saying they'd been trying to reach me since Friday and wanted me to go to an immigration law firm. The guy said he had someone else there, but if I was available, he'd pull that person and send me because he felt I'd be a better fit.

I wish he'd been honest and just flat-out told me it's doing reception work. It's pretty easy to figure out within two seconds of being shown to your (reception) desk, but I'd just appreciate the honesty. It sure explains why it pays $10 an hour less than what I normally get. Ego is not an issue with me - if I were offered a permanent reception position I'd take it in a heartbeat. Sure, I can't make coffee and hate cleaning my own dishes let alone cleaning other people's dishes, but whatever - a job would be divine.

But whatever. The worst thing you can do as a receptionist is to drop phone calls, and make mistakes in transferring people to the wrong attorneys. It's harder than you'd think when five or more lines are ringing at once, someone's standing at your desk talking to you, and two people are having a loud conversation nearby making it hard to hear the person on the phone. So I'm pleased that two days in I haven't dropped any calls, though I do seem to spend a lot of time saying, "I'm sorry, would you mind repeating your name? And you were calling to speak with Carrie? Carly? Oh, you're not sure?"

All the people there are super friendly, which is nice. They thank me every day, as if I'm showing up to help out of the goodness of my heart rather than because they're paying me.

This afternoon they put up a fake Christmas tree right in front of my desk. It was an hour-long procedure, complete with someone tipping over a coffee table when they were standing on it to hang something. One of the attorneys even asked someone to get fake pine spray. Somebody already wears patchouli so I'll be loading up on Advil because holy shit.

Maybe I'm a Bitchy Jew

But I don't understand why the Obamas were having a Passover seder in the White House. They're not jewish. I heard that one of them has a relative who is a rabbi, but everything I've read on the O's seder fails to mention that rabbi hosting or attending.

Judiasm is a religion. A real one, with beliefs and everything. It's not a lifestyle to try on. It's not a club to join just because you like the uniform (or the food, in this case). My parents have hosted seders for years, and invited nonjews. There was the Italian couple whose husband worked with my dad. My mom packed up the extra hard boiled eggs and gave them to the wife as she was leaving, to use for Easter. In high school my Italian friend came to a seder. My brother's indian friend came to one. When I first moved out to San Francisco I hosted a Rosh Hashanah dinner and invited my Irish Catholic roommate.

So it's not that non-jews should be shunned from celebrating jewish holidays. It just strikes me as really fucking weird for a bunch of non-jews to get together to do something jewy. Yes, matzah ball soup is awesome, but you don't have to do a seder to eat some, you can just get it at the nearest kosher deli or make it yourself.

I'd be more impressed with the Obamas if they cut out the White House Easter Egg Hunt. But I won't hold my breath, since we all know separation of church and state doesn't really exist.

Oh, the Crushing Awkwardness

A couple of weeks ago, I dogsat for Crazy Girl and Golden Boy while they went to NY and Crazy Girl had her final dress fitting and they saw family and stuff.

Pretty much nothing makes me happier than playing with a dog, especially one as happy and friendly as Le Pooch. Seriously. I can't express how happy it makes me that I am their number one go-to person when they need their dog watched. So I love it, and am totally happy to watch her any time. They know this. We always have these funny conversations of "Thanks for watching Le Pooch" and me saying, "Oh you're welcome and thanks for LETTING me watch Le Pooch" and we go back and forth a bit.

I've told my brother repeatedly, that even though theoretically I'm doing them a favor by dogsitting, the reality is they are doing me a favor. It's unconditional love, helps with depression tremendously, it's forced exercise, etc. Plus it's nice to be at their house, somewhere that's a change of scenery yet somewhere I'm very comfortable.

Passover is coming and they invited me to their potluck seder. At first I said I'd go, and make this dish that I make really well. Then I realized how much it would cost, and called my brother and said "Look, the truth is there's no way I can afford to make this to bring, I'm so sorry, I have to bow out. I got carried away b/c Passover is my favorite holiday."

He said of course I should come anyway, because they're nice like that. I thought maybe (wrongly) I could scrounge up the money for a can of macaroons or something, because how awkward if somebody would turn to me to ask what I brought and I had to say "My good cheer for this happy holiday!" or something. Then Golden Boy suggested he and Crazy Girl buy the ingredients for the dish and I make and bring it. I said, that's really nice, but are you doing this just so I can come and save face? He insisted he wasn't, that I'd be doing them a favor because if I didn't make it, they'd have to make it, so it would help them be less busy when they're preparing for 62 people to arrive.

So today we're supposed to get together and go buy all the ingredients for this Passover dish. Then a few days ago, it was suggested they take me to breakfast before going food shopping, as a thank you for watching Le Pooch.

Last night we were trying to iron out details of what time, and where, and things never fully got resolved. Mostly because of me - we were doing this all by e-mail, and I was not home to read e-mail. So we got as far as a time but not as far as a place.

I am low on toothpaste. While I appreciate people trying to do nice things like taking me out places that I can't afford right now (I say this like it's temporary), the reality is, I'm running out of toothpaste. The reality is, I already used up my last kitchen garbage bag.

Sure it's fun to eat pancakes, something I never make at home, but some of that fun is diluted when you realize the cost of those pancakes could pay for a tube of toothpaste that would last you a couple of months. It's hard to be properly appreciative in this situation.

I know everyone expresses their gratitude in different ways. Everyone wants gratitude expressed to them in different ways. Expressing thanks (beyond saying 'thank you') can be really easy or really difficult. My mother used to like to send me flowers on my birthday. I love flowers. Except it's really hard to look at flowers these days, knowing they could pay for a week's worth of food, or the PG&E bill for a month. To me, I truly feel thanked for watching Le Pooch when I get asked to do it again next time. That's all I need, and it's plenty.

That's how Golden Boy and I came to have the most awkward conversation ever this morning, with him saying "We just want to show you our appreciation," and me responding, "Yes, and I appreciate that, it's just hard to happily eat breakfast out when I know that money could pay for half a week's food or whatever." It got to the point where Golden Boy said if their appreciation would best be expressed by purchasing me some toothpaste, then they're happy to do that. So that's what's going to happen.

I'm going to make some oatmeal for breakfast here. Then I'm going food shopping with Golden Boy and Crazy Girl so they can buy ingredients in order for me to bring something to their potluck seder, and there'll be toothpaste buying.

I cried when Golden Boy and I got off the phone. I'll probably cry again when I get home from food shopping. It's so embarrassing. So frustrating. I'm not one of those welfare bitches whose life ambition is to get everyone else to pay for things. I want to work. I like being a contributing member of society. Nobody seems to want my contributions though. Even the place I signed up to volunteer at took all my information and then never called, after saying repeatedly how busy and swamped they are.

I'm such a fuckup that I can't even get hit by a truck and die, because I always forget in order to do that, one has to leave their house.

This Pretty Much Sums Me Up

Years ago, when I was a little girl, my mother made some comment about me going to Israel some day. We're jewish, and jews are supposed to want to go to Israel.

I confessed to my parents that I wasn't really interested in Israel. No, what passionately fascinated me was Russia. That's where I wanted to go.

My mother didn't understand. Why? Why would I want to go there? My parents tried to explain how miserable it was there. The long lines, the weather, the lack of privacy and freedom. All of it.

But I was intrigued by all that. Convinced. That's where I wanted to go. Dark and depressing? Sign. Me. Up.

Today I spoke with someone visiting Israel. Are you going to float in the Dead Sea*? Are you going to the Wall?

It's only because of hebrew school that I know of these places. I still have no interest, no desire, in going there. And I'm still intrigued by Russia.

*I think I may have accidentally called the Dead Sea the Red Sea.

Waiting

Everyone is so busy with holidays, but not me. I am basically killing time until the holidays are over and people go back to their regular lives. For now, everyone is away on vacation, entertaining guests who are visiting them on their vacations, keeping an eye on the storms, rushing around making pies, delivering said pies as presents, all that stuff.

Yesterday I donated some books to the library. Made a great dinner. I read a book today. Went to get milk. Wrote a couple of thank you notes. Looked for jobs.

9am is going to visit his parents for a week or so. Me? I'm just waiting. I'll be relieved when it's all over. That's the hard thing about being jewish in a society that celebrates Christmas. There's so much build-up to Christmas. You can't avoid it. The decorations, the sales, the random bits of conversation you overhear. The consumerism is beyond rampant. Even the people who like to say they're making all their presents still have to buy the yarn to knit or buy the chocolate to make the brownies.

I'm sitting it all out. Most years I buy presents well before Hanukah (except for that year that I couldn't pull it together in time and my brother and I agreed to postpone the holiday until March, which I highly recommend, by the way), and take advantage of all the sales. Not this year. Not last week, but the week before I bought a hot chocolate. Each time I want to buy something I remind myself of that hot chocolate. That was it for this month. Good thing it was a tasty hot chocolate, huh?

So all the signs are around that Christmas is coming. The lights. The commercials urging you to run out and buy, reminding you how many more days you have. Then Christmas comes but nothing happens, because you're jewish. There's build-up, but no climax before the let-down.

Give the jew girl toys.

Too Insane To Make Up

ring, ring

Me: Hello?

Church of Scientology:  Hi, can I speak with [name of family dog]?

Me: Who's calling?

CoS: Melissa from the Church of Scientology, is this [name of family dog]?

Me: No.

Melissa: Well, could I speak with her?

Me: No.

Melissa: Ummm.... may I ask why?

Me: Two reasons.  First, she's a dog, and secondly, she's been dead for over a decade.

Melissa: ...

Me: Okay, so bye.

ring, ring

Me: Hello?

Melissa: Hi, may I speak with [name of family dog]?

Me: Melissa, I already told you no and explained why not.

Melissa: Yes, but why would you say that?

head explodes

Me: Because Jesus instructs me to always tell the truth.  Don't call back. Bye.

Myriad of Stuff

*Today on the walk to work I saw a bald guy wearing a mezuzah. This is worth mentioning simply because it's so unusual here.

*Next week I have to sit at a different desk every day. Yes, I know that's exactly what I signed up for when I agreed to be a floater, but it's like being a mail-order bride. It'll be a better life than what you previously had, but there'll still be complaining to do.

*The attorney I'm working for this week has the strangest way of wording her instructions. It frustrates me. And you may have noticed, this is not my best week. "I need one copy of this, front and back." Any normal person would think that means to copy the front and back of whatever she just handed you. But what about when the back is blank? When you review the instructions you were given, she clarifies that what she meant was, it's currently a one-sided document, but when you make the copy, make it two-sided.

*During July I've been finding a slew of new blogs to read and that really excites me. Keep writing, people - I have 7.5 hours of downtime each day and reading your blogs gets me through the workweek. One of you people wrote something about liking the = sign, so I've included it in this post for you. You're welcome. Now update your blog again.

*9am and I were having a discussion last night about the people who grade bar exams. He told me sometimes they are given actual bar questions to practice their grading capabilities. To which I said, "Yeah, from prior years" but 9am insisted sometimes it's questions from upcoming exams. (I discussed this with Golden Boy - 9am is wrong, and it's prior tests.) 9am then went on to say if I know anyone who'll be grading the bar and thus, has access to what questions will be on it, perhaps I could just jot those down on a post-it, and maybe leave it laying around where he might see it... Lovely. I would like to think he's just going slightly crazy from the stress of such an important test in the near future.

*There was something I was going to say about how I viewed my father's shoelaces when I was little, but can't recall the details or the point.

*I have been a bit out of sorts since late last week, when some basic things I thought were a very obvious given were not only questioned, but argued against, vehemently. The thing about getting into a bad mood over one thing is, then you start viewing every other little thing as a terrible disaster. Everyone around you looks at a baby and agrees he looks just like his father. I think he looks like a meatloaf, and want to cry. Turns out the socks I wanted to wear are dirty? Shit, why does life have to be so cruel? Me + upset = ridiculously dramatic Green.

*The water at home is no longer cloudy and can now get hot.

Things Bothering Me Now

1. I realized today on the way home that nobody has called me since Sunday.
2. 9am mis-pronounced my last name.
3. Accidentally burnt popcorn and now the house smells bad.
4. Next week for two days I do not have a desk to sit at.
5. My yoga ends at the end of the month.
6. Tomorrow I am working for the partner who asked me to fetch her coffee last time we worked together.

All I Wanna Do

I failed out of college. I failed hard, and it's interesting simply because it's not for any of the following reasons:

1. A boy
2. Partying too much
3. Mono

Those are three most common reasons freshman fail out of college. Not me though. No, I failed out for a more unique reason. Not a good reason, but better one than one of those three.

So I went crawling home, and not so promptly got a job, which I promptly got fired from (the mountain - if only I'd made it through college, perhaps I wouldn't end so many sentences with these damn prepositions).

Then I screwed around doing nothing and being sick. That took up the bulk of 1995. You were partying. I was taking steroids and having a physical therapist come to my house three times each week to help me re-learn how to walk. Good times.

Eventually I started easing back into life, and in 1996 I decided to start slow with an English course. It was a composition class at the local community college, and this kid Andy from high school was in it. We hadn't been friends in school, but we got along and talked sometimes during class breaks. One day Andy came to class and told me he'd just found out he had a tumor in his mouth, and then he never came back after that. This is the point in my blogging when I normally go Google someone, but I can't remember Andy's last name. It wasn't Rubin or Goldstein or Levy, the main last names of everyone in the jewish towns on Long Island. I think it started with a P, and ended with a "ski" or "sky" but I can't be sure.

My English teacher's name was Eugene, and we all laughed when he told us that. Something else he told us is that the first sentence has to grab people, has to make them want to keep reading. Go on - I know you're all scrolling up to re-read my first sentence. I'll wait. Hi. Yeah I know - it's not great, but it's not awful.

Sometimes on the walk to work I write first sentences in my mind. Sometimes even entire first paragraphs. Every so often I go crazy and create the first 30 seconds to two minutes of a movie, complete with set design, main characters, wardrobe, and soundtrack. Why yes, I *am* that fucking awesome. And then I go sit at a desk for seven and a half hours and do mundane tasks like arranging someone's itinerary for a flight from Oakland to Denver or entering two weeks worth of time.

Those first sentences? Some of them are really good. So are some of those first 30 seconds of movies. I wish I could give those to someone else, someone who can write and direct and produce. I'd hand them over as if I were cupping a faberge egg, and in my mind, it's always winter, snow is on the ground and steadily falling, we're outside, and when we breathe we can see it in the exhale.

Define Me! DEFINE ME!

I like to know where I stand. With everything. Everyone. At all times. Maybe that's why I'm pretty straight-forward. Even though I've been told that life is not always going to be the way my mommy told me it would be. But she said to treat people the way I want to be treated. And so I do, hoping they'll take the hint.

If you think I may not like you, then there's a good chance I probably don't. I'm generally quite good at making my feelings clear to people. And I almost always have feelings about everything. It's a rare day that I reach right down to the bottom of my heart and feel nothing. But when that day comes around, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will sing all about it.

I wish everyone was as clear with me as I try to be with them. I don't do well with friendliness and indifference, all in the same person. I just want to know where I stand. Or more importantly, if when I'm ready to sit down, I can come sit at your lunch table.

Funk

I hate posts about why people aren't posting. Oh, but you know what I hate even more than that? Posts about how the blogger promises to start posting more often, every day even, very soon. It's always bullshit. So in relation to my blog, what I have to say about my posting is, I'll post sometimes. And some of those times? They will be more frequent than some other times.

I have been in a funk lately. I am not happy. I feel disorganized all the time. I feel, not only misunderstood, but like nobody cares to understand. I feel critiqued. I am not appreciative of what I have. I am jealous of everyone else.

Last night I had a dream my father died. And then I was supposed to go see my shrink who I hated (who hated me but liked the money) the next morning to talk about it, and my whole family was there. When we went to walk up the long staircase to the shrink's office my father tapped me on the shoulder to let me see everyone was gathering in a circle at the bottom of the stairs. Yes, even though he was dead. I was the last person to get down the stairs and when I got there, there were only the shitty, metal folding chairs left and I was pissed because *I* was the real patient so I felt one of the comfy chairs should have been left for me.

Everyone had notebooks on their laps and were taking notes. My grandparents were there. Even my grandmother who has been dead over a dozen years. And when my grandpa tried to say, "We miss him so much," I snorted and asked why he always treated him like such shit when he was alive. Then I walked out because this was not therapy the way it was supposed to be, and not the way I wanted to process my feelings surrounding my father's death.

So I went to take my biology final, but instead of sitting down to take the test, I walked up to the teacher and said, "Look, let's just save ourselves time. We both know I failed the class, and that I haven't understood a damn thing you've said all semester. I don't know any of the answers on your test. Just give me the F."

In real life, a friend told me that when I talk about my parents, I talk about them like they're dead. And that is a bit upsetting to me, and probably to them too (and that is reason 582 why parents should not read their children's blogs). I bet a shrink would have a field day with that.

And Then My Head Exploded. Excellent!

I am way behind on many things blog-related, and none of my excuses are good ones. However, if anyone can help me with providing some sort of format that's generally used for writing screenplays, please e-mail me. Wait, not that I was going to blog a screenplay. My point is, my creativity can only go in so many different directions before it shuts down, and that's what happened, and I'm blaming the screenplay. Why? Because I can.

Moving along. It's funny how people categorize. When I was growing up, everyone around me was middle-class, white, jewish, and decked out in a Champion sweatshirt, leggings, and baggy socks. When I moved to Florida, it was too hot for Champion sweatshirts, and ankle socks were in style. So I had to change what I gravitated towards, and found new similarities to bond over. I had a roommate named Anne from France and we spent many hours discussing the differences between our countries (Anne and I were roommates during the lame freedom fries period, when the U.S. was hating France) and popular tv shows we liked.

When I moved to San Francisco, there were significantly fewer jewish people around to befriend, and now it's only popular to wear a Champion sweatshirt if you bought it at Buffalo Exchange or somewhere. Actually that's probably wrong - Champion is too current to be cool by hipster standards.

People bond over similarities, and when they meet, search for them. When I lived in New York, had I met someone from Dallas I would have felt that we had nothing in common. I'd have befriended them for their accent maybe. Living here in SF, I don't seek out people who are New York jews. I seek out people who are smart, nice, funny, and interesting, pretty much in that order.

I imagine that if I left the country, what I would seek out would change again. All this makes me wonder what people are seeking when they want to befriend me. Which criteria of theirs am I fitting into? In what order do they list it?

Touched does not begin to describe my feelings upon being informed, by someone IN EUROPE (shit, please hold while I go run to consult my shower curtain to confirm that yes, Europe is the right place) that I fit into whatever her criteria is. In fact, she said I'm excellent. Okay, actually, I think she said my blog is excellent. (But my blog is kind of all about me, so...)

The awesome thing about this is I think Jennie's excellent too (and I have really high standards - I don't go around just thinking everyone is excellent). She writes about all sorts of cool shit, even though some of it hurts my head. What I find interesting is that if we knew each other under different circumstances, we might think we had nothing in common and go about our lives ignoring each other. I love that there is this medium that connects people who otherwise might not take the opportunity to be connected.

Aaaaaaand, Scene!

Hanukah is over now, and for me, the last night of it was the best night of it. Golden Boy and Crazy Girl had invited me over for dinner, menorah-lighting, latkes and presents, and I almost didn't get to do Hanukah because a partner asked me to work late, but it all came together in the end.

While I was still at work last night, the other (jewish) partner I work with stopped by my desk to chat, and Hanukah came up. He asked how I made out. "Great! I got almost all my presents delivered on time, and just have one Christmas present to mail out." He smiled and said good for you, and we moved on.

It was only later that I realized he'd been asking if I got good presents. Guess I'm growing up.

Stressful Day, Anyone?

Today I went to work, where it's now been five weeks I've been temping, and they've still said nothing to me about becoming permanent.

While at work, I saw window-washers fall from their scaffolding and watched them dangling against a high-rise.

On my lunch hour I went to an interview that went well, where the founding partner implied she'd like to hire me, but didn't give any indication of what her salary range is.

In the afternoon I had to listen to people talk about tomorrow's holiday party, which I initially said I'd go to, thinking it'd be a good thing in my quest to become permanent. However, there'll be an open bar and I hate parties passionately, and have tons of shit to get done and wish I hadn't said I'd go. So my new plan is to show up and leave an hour later.

Then I dragged myself home through the rain to a cold, dark and messy apartment. Trixie and I have been talking about what to do about our living situation for the last month.

Two or three weeks ago Trixie talked to her father about buying a two-bedroom place in the city. Essentially, the thought was that we'd move there, and Trixie would be my landlord. Except, Trixie's dad said she couldn't afford to buy. She wanted to stay here for another six months. I was the one saying we should move somewhere cheaper, and Trixie was telling me she didn't want to move, she's had enough change in her life over the last year. Case closed, or so I thought.

Rent is going up here - it'll be over $3,000. I pay almost $600 for COBRA. My job situation is unstable, to say the least. If this continues, I'm in a world of financial trouble. Tonight Trixie tells me that she spoke with a loan advisor yesterday who said that she could afford a one-bedroom but not a two-bedroom. Trixie's considering it, but has decided she wants to "try" living on her own to make sure she likes it okay before investing in a one-bedroom.

Right. So that means Trixie may move out soon. We have to let the leasing office know on December 15th if we're staying here or moving. I can't really afford this rent increase (because of COBRA), but also can't afford to move. So I have to stay, and just learn to be satisfied eating a carrot for dinner every night. Hey, I wanted to lose weight anyway, right?

Tonight Trixie is putting up an ad for a new roommate - to replace herself here, in case she decides to try renting a one-bedroom. She's told me she'll decide by Sunday whether or not she wants to stay here another six months, and if she wants to stay after all, she'll just tell people the spot's been filled.

I am not accepting any more stress. Tomorrow I am going to the stupid holiday party for lunch, and leaving immediately after the lunch portion, not staying for the rest of the afternoon. It's not like I get paid for that time anyway.

Then I am going to come home and close my eyes and hope that when I open them, a magical fairy will have cleaned the apartment, and fixed all my problems for me. Happy fucking Hanukah.

Don't Lie You Christmas-Celebrating Bastards

From: SF Office
To: SF All
Subject: Holiday Tree Trimming

Body: Please come & join us for snacks & tree trimming.

Would anyone like to guess why this pisses me off? "Anyone? Anyone? ... Thank you, Simone."

It's not a fucking HOLIDAY TREE! What holiday does the tree represent? Christmas! Therefore, it's a fucking CHRISTMAS tree!

If you're going to exclude all religions that don't celebrate Christmas, just fucking admit that and don't try to cover it up by calling all your Christmas activities "holiday" activities.

This shit infuriates me. Today Golden Boy tried to tell me that he thinks it's a problem that I'm angry at the world. I'm not angry at the world (and I don't think there's anything wrong with the anger I have for all my issues and people I'm angry about/at) - I'm angry at people who try to pass things off as other things that they're not (the mountain).

I want a big fat mother fucking inflatable dreidel to put up at my work station. And maybe the menorah too - for my bus rides to and from work.

**For those of you who don't know any jewish people, and think I represent all of them, please know that I don't. Not all jewish people are this angry.

Think With Me

This morning I went to see the start of the Gay Pride Parade. This afternoon I went to see the movie A Mighty Heart, the true story of Danny and Marianne Pearl.

To be honest, I don't normally think about tolerance very much. It doesn't occur to me to dislike or distrust someone for their race, gender, religion or sexual orientation. I dislike people who are stupid, invade my space, are mean to others, and who smell badly.
But in San Francisco, people love to talk about tolerance almost as much as they love to talk about food. And just like discussions about food, discussions about tolerance eventually have an undercurrent of bragging. Oh, I guess I dislike when people brag, too. People brag about having friends over who smoke weed. So somebody else brags their friends growing weed in their house. A third person brags that their black friend grows weed in their house. The winner is friends with a black couple who is gay, adopted a Chinese baby, and grows weed in their house.

I can't stand it. The majority of my friends are white. So what? Trixie is Indian and the majority of her friends are Indian - yet I've been called racist but she hasn't. Why is that? How is that fair? Why is somebody even judging at all? I've heard people brag about having been one of the only or few white kids in their class one year. That's not an accomplishment. An oddity? Maybe, but not something worthy of bragging about.

People in the Bay Area brag about being tolerant of all kinds. I think that unless you're tolerant of people who are NOT tolerant, you're not all that tolerant. How hard is it to understand that not everyone is raised to seek out those unlike themselves? How hard is it to realize that not everyone is drawn to what is unfamiliar to them? Not everyone is like you. That goes both ways.

Sometimes it's hard for me to understand the Gay Pride Parade. Why are people proud of being gay? They were just born that way. I was born straight - it would never occur to me to have a parade to celebrate my straightness.

But then I watch movies like A Mighty Heart, and see that there were rumors Danny Pearl was killed for being jewish. And I realize how very spoiled I am. There is no place more jewish in the U.S. than New York. There were so many kids and teachers who were jewish in the town I grew up in, that schools are closed on Yom Kippur. Even the non-jewish kids brought their sandwiches on matzah during Passover.

So it's hard to fully understand a world that dislikes someone for something they were born into so deeply, something they can't change. How could I dislike all the people in Pakistan? I couldn't. All of those people didn't kill Danny Pearl. They just happened to be born in a place where many murders took place. Hell, many murders have taken place almost EVERYWHERE.

When Gavin Newsom slowly rolled by waving to the crowd this morning, a hot guy standing in front of me squealed like a girl, "Oh, he's so hot!" We all laughed. Maybe it's not pride that the Gay Pride Parade is celebrating. Maybe it's relief. Relief at being somewhere where it's okay for a guy (who had a girlfriend by the way, so maybe he's bi-sexual) to admire another guy's looks openly. Maybe I do understand after all?

Happy Early Purim!

Even though it's not Purim yet, I'm officially really excited about it. Why? Because today I got the most awesome e-mail from my aunt.

Months ago when she was in SF visiting, the subject of hamantashen came up and she mentioned that she makes them. I asked if I could sign up to get some, or if they don't travel well (I thought it'd be appropriate to give her an out if she didn't want to send me any). My aunt said of COURSE she'd send me some. I was partially excited, and partially thought she'd forget and it'd never happen. Imagine my excitement today to get an e-mail from her saying she had goodies to send me but had misplaced my new address, so could I resend it. YOU BET YOUR ASS I CAN!