Monday, March 26, 2007

Conversation #1

Hi, how're you doing?
Not good. Do you have time to talk?
Can I call you back in ten minutes. I'm outside now. Gotta go to someplace private.
Sure. Bye.

Ok, I'm alone now. What's up?
I don't know.
Come on, talk to me. What's going on? How's everything going?
Everything's fine. I mean, it isn't, but it's sort of better than it used to be. It's just that so many changes happened in such a short time, and I just can't deal with them all.
Can't deal? Why not?
I'm not in my home, nothing's the same. Ok, so nobody's yelling at me to get out of the house. So I don't have to deal with my stepsisters, or try to talk to my mom when she doesn't even want to be mine. Still, it's not my place. I feel like everyone's pitying me.
Are they?
I don't know. They're talking about me. My cousins talk to their friends, my aunt to hers. My uncle doesn't talk much, but he never does.
Everybody likes talking about everyone. People like to talk. I'm not going to tell you it's easy, or that it feels good, but in the world we live in, people talk. They talk about me, they talk about you, they talk about whatever strikes their fancy at that moment. What do you want to do about it?
Do? There's not much I can do.
Well, you can't tell anyone else what to do, but you can tell yourself.
But that's the problem. I'm falling apart. I'm going crazy. Sometimes, I think of doing something really bad, just to get back at G-d. I don't know of a single other teenager who's going through all that I am.
Maybe there isn't anyone. After all, each person is different than the other. Even if you would be going through the same as another, you would experience it differently.
That doesn't make me feel better.
It's not supposed to.
But tell me, WHY am I going through all this? I really can't take it anymore.
I can't tell you why, because I really don't know. Tell you what, though. Are you getting back at G-d when you do something bad?
Well, not really. But I just don't know why He's making me go through all this.
Neither do I. But you've been this strong till now. And doing the wrong thing won't help you cope any better.
K, I hear what you're saying. But.... Woops, gotta go. My dad's coming to take me out to eat.
Bye. I'll speak to you.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Coming Home

For those of you who saw the original pic posted, sorry. Though it was funny, I decided that it wasn't giving the message I wanted.

This was written a while ago and published in a Jewish magazine under a pseudonym.

I felt this was an appropriate time of year to post it.


All I saw were the eyes.
Staring eyes.
Scrutinizing eyes.
Looking at me.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Coming home after sem is not easy.
Those eyes could drive you crazy.
Tearing you apart.
Examining each piece.
Piece by piece.
Piece by piece.
A fresh piece of merchandise.
New on the shelf.
So I dress the part.
I look the part.
I act the part.
But just know,
I’m me.

Friday, March 16, 2007


Here's to the end of one of my procrastinations!

I finally finished something that I started a number of months ago.
Though some of the delaying had nothing to do with me, much of it stemmed from pure laziness.

I'm glad I'm finally through with this.
Though now, I've got a whole bunch of related projects heaved upon my shoulder.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Two Choices

Listen, my friend.
You've got two choices.
You can see what is happening
Feel the pain in this world
Hear the tragedies
Listen to the cries

And you can say
"Oh, I just saw him yesterday!"
"What a terrible thing to happen."
"She was so young."
"What a tzaddik."

Or you can do.

Which do you choose?

Friday, March 9, 2007


David-on-the-Lake has put up a post elevating the dot.
I'd like to point out some inconsistencies in his post, and then do my own variation.

1) He claims that the dot is perfectly round. Look at your screens, guys and gals. Many times, it is perfectly square. Perhaps his vision needs checking.

2) Not all the heavenly spheres are perfectly round. The stars and sun are in the plasma state, and as such, are quite different than a solid.

3) Yes, a dot signals finality, but multiple dots indicate lack of words on the part of the writer. (Yes, I'm to blame for this, too.)

4) Why would one want to bring long, awesome, beautiful words to a halt? Continue on, I say!

And with that, I bring you...



Lots more cheerful than a simple dot.
Doesn't bring things to a grinding halt, but rather, keeps one going throughout the day.
Never final - it always suggests more.
Comes in many different varieties.
C'mon, who doesn't love a smile?
And best of all, it's perfectly round on the outside.
Most of the time.

Thursday, March 8, 2007

Calling for Info

I bumped into my high school principal recently.
She held my hand, drew me close, and whispered in my ear "Someone called me about you just two days ago."

That was it.
No inkling as to what she said about me. No nothing. Just trying to give me chizuk that shidduchim are being redt and that people are asking about me.

The only problem is this: I don't want people to call my principal for info about me. High school was a number of years ago. I've drastically changed since then. Old friends who meet me on the street or at a wedding constantly exclaim over how different I am. Aside from the fact that she didn't know me very well during high school, either.

When people ask me for references, I never give her name. When asked why, I simply explain that I've changed, and most are fine with that. So why are people still calling?

Now, don't get me wrong. This principal is a wonderful woman, truly caring and all the rest. But the truth remains that she doesn't know me at all. Never did and still doesn't.

I know this holds true for other girls as well. I understand calling the principal for info the first few years after high school. But unless one's from a small town, and the school is really tiny, after a prescribed amount of years, principals should not be called unless specifically given as a reference.

Just my opinion on the matter.

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Too Tired

You know when you've got a lot to do, all of a sudden, you're loaded with even more? And you feel like some wind up toy that keeps stopping but is then wound up again? That's the way I've felt these past few days. The planned busy days became infused with even more things to be busy with. Some happy things, others not so happy. All keeping me really busy and really tired.

And I'm losing my voice, which is not a good thing if one's a teacher.
I always lose my voice when I lack sleep.

And you know what the worst thing is?
When someone comes over to you and tells you "You look really tired."
Translation: You look terrible. It looks like someone punched you in the eyes and then drained them in alcohol.

That's when I know that I need to apply some eye brightener.

So to all of you still suffering from hangover, I'm with you on this one!

Friday, March 2, 2007

Purim Date - Going Out

Here's part two!

(Dad goes to answer the door.)

Mom: Don't forget to hang up his coat.
(Dad opens door. Standing in the doorway is a tall, good looking, but kind of greenish stalk of celery.)
Dad: Sholom Aleichem, Mr. Celery. Come in.
(Dad takes coat and haphazardly hangs it in the closet)
Dad: Come, sit down. Do you want a drink?
Celery: Actually, a tissue would be nice. Coming in from the cold and all.
Dad: That's what I like. A man who shows his insides.
Celery: That's a nice screen you've got there. Kinda makes you look sort of glazed...
Dad: Well, I am tired. We have been waiting.
Celery: I'm really sorry. The shadchan gave me the wrong address. I actually knocked on the door to someone else's house. They thought I was a collector.
Dad: Well, now that you're here, we won't keep you waiting.
Mom: Dreamer, come down please.
(Dreamer quickly yet elegantly walks down the stairs)
Mom: This is Dreamer.
Dad: Ok, kids. Have a good time.
(He hands Celery his coat, while Dreamer scrambles to get hers out of the closet. Celery and Dreamer walk towards the car together.
Celery: Sorry I was late. The Shadchan gave me the wrong address. Boy, was that embarrassing!
Dreamer: You knocked on the wrong door?
Celery: Yeah. They thought I was a collector. They started dancing with me, and then gave me a nice check. Hey, at least this pays for the date!
Dreamer: That's a nice bonus.
(Celery opens the door to the car. Dreamer sits down. Celery closes the door, then scoots around the car to his side.)
Celery: (starting the car) So, why the tichel?
Dreamer: Well, you see, it's always been my dream to be married one day. It ain't been happening so fast, but I really think that this is the real me - married with a tichel on my head. So though my mom thought it wouldn't look right for a single girl to be wearing a tichel, I figured I'd let whoever my date was see what I really want in life.
Celery: Uuuummm... I would imagine that anyone dating you would know that you wanted to get married. Why else would you date?
Dreamer: Well, from the responses of the past few guys, it seems people DON'T know that. I wanted to make it nice and clear, right from the start.
Celery: Got it. So you want me to propose right now?
Dreamer: No! No! Wow, is that what it looks like? No, I don't even know you yet. As a matter of fact, why are YOU a celery today?
Celery: Well, you see, I could stand to lose a few pounds, but my inner self is quite thin, so that's one reason.
Dreamer: And...
Celery: And I love playing guitar.
Dreamer: And I like playing piano. What does that have to do with anything?
Celery: Well, the strings of the celery sorta remind me of the strings of my guitar.
Dreamer: Oh. Got it.
Celery: And I also wanted my future wife to realize that I've had enough veggies to last me a lifetime, so she shouldn't plan on making any once we get married.
Dreamer: Is that a proposal? (grins)
Celery: What? No. Just wanted to make things clear, just like you.
Dreamer: I really like this Purim date thing. I never got to know so much about someone only ten minutes into the date.
Celery: You did bring your license, right?
Dreamer: Actually, yeah. Why?
Celery: Well, it is Purim. I won't be able to drive soon. Check out the back seat.
(Dreamer peers into the back. Two large boxes of wine are resting on the seat.)
Dreamer: You really like performing Mitzvos to the fullest, don't you?
Celery: Especially this one. (grins) We're here.
(They walk out of the car and step into a beatiful hotel lobby.)
Celery: What do you like to drink?
Dreamer: I'm actually a water person, but I'm not sure about the filters in this place. So either it'll be bottled or a diet coke.
Celery: Comin' right up!
(He gets the drinks, and they sit in a quiet corner of the lobby.)
Dreamer: This is so much more fun than wearing a crazy suit for the first date. I mean, I knw you're supposed to look nice, but I always feel like I'm going to a wedding. Here, you get to see the true me right away.
Celery: I feel the same way. Except I'm normally not green.
(He takes out a bottle of wine, pours himself a cup, and starts drinking.)
Celery: Now, this is more like it. It's starting to feel like Purim.
Dreamer: So, what do you do in your leisure time?
Celery: Leisure time? Don't have much. I'm learning full time, though I do take a coffee break now and then. Gotta find out all the hock, you know. I play basketball on Friday afternoons. And I went to Camp Simcha for the past few summers, so I'll sometimes take my campers out for some fun. Or visit them in the hospital. What do you do?
Dreamer: Talk to my students. Read some books. Go on the computer. Go to a shiur or something.
Celery: That's leisure? Shiurim aren't exactly relaxing.
Dreamer: Yeah, well, you've never been at the ones I go too. When I'm there, I get the best sleep ever! Except for one. But that speaker's so entertaining, it's like watching a circus.
Celery: I see what you mean about the sleeping thing. I find it difficult to keep my eyes open during shiur sometimes as well. But I'm always thinking that maybe someone's checking me out in the bais medrash, so I better look like I'm paying attention.
Dreamer: Look like?
(Celery pours himself another glass of wine. Then another. And still another.)
(And another.)

Dreamer: So what do you really like doing?
Celery: Wha? Oh. Really? I like to eat. Cholent's my favorite. Ever been to Deli 52 on a Thursday night?
Dreamer: Nope. From the way my brothers describe it, I wouldn't want to. Besides, I don't like cholent.
Celery: Not like cholent? What's there not to like? Beans, barley, meat and potatoes. What more can a guy ask for?
Dreamer: A lot more. Anyway, if you haven't forgotten yet, I'm not a guy.
Celery: Right. Right. So nu, I'll make the cholent when we get married.
Dreamer: WHAT? Nobody's getting married yet!
Celery: I thought you said the tichel's a hint for marriage. Now that I know the true you, why go through the whole dating thing? I like you, so let's get married.
Dreamer: You forgot one part of the equation: I have to agree. And I don't know you well enough to say yes yet.
Celery: What's there to know? I'm a nice guy, intelligent, I'm learning, I make a good cholent - what more could you ask for?
Dreamer: I don't know. It's just... too fast.
Celery: What's wrong with fast?
Dreamer: I don't know. Give me the keys. I'll drive you home. I gotta think about this.
Celery: So we'll discuss it more when I pick up my car from your house tomorrow?
Dreamer: Yeah. I guess so. C'mon, let's go.
(Dreamer strolls to the car, while Celery stumbles along. He opens the back door, lays down across the back seat, and promptly falls asleep. Dreamer drives home, contemplating in solitude. She arrives at his house, blasts the music to wake him up, and says goodbye.)
Dreamer: (to herself) Gotta get used to this. Don't know if I like it so much.
(She pulls up in front of her home sweet home. The clown and computer are waiting at the window.)
Dad: Nu, so how was the date?
Mom: Where is he? Why are you driving? Why couldn't he be a mentch and drive you home?
Dreamer: Mom, it's Purim. He's drunk. He was being a mentch a letting me do the driving, so as to save our lives.
Dad: So, nu?
Dreamer: Well, he sorta.... proposed.
Mom: So, did you say yes?
Dreamer: Moooooooom... I told him we'l talk about it tomorrow.
Mom: You set up another date without the shadchan? How do you think you'll ever find a shidduch this way?
Dreamer: Mom, remember, I'm in middle of going out already. And he's got to come get his car.
Mom: Oh. So are you going to say yes?
Dreamer: Mom, I'll discuss it with you later. Oh, and Mom?
Mom: Yes, dear?
Dreamer: Your nose is falling off.

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Purim Date - pre-date jitters

On Purim, we're supposed to reveal our inner selves, right?
So what better day to go out on a date than Purim?
Part one is the Pre-date.
Part two will follow.

Here's how mine would go...

Mom: He said he'll be here at eight. Dreamer, are you ready?
Me: Of course. Ain't I always on time?
Mom: Yeah. Don't know what I was thinking. Is my nose okay? These clown noses never stay on.
Me: Yeah, yeah, it's fine. You look fine. How's my tichel?
Mom: You're wearing a TICHEL? And those EARRINGS? But it's a date! You can't wear that! Go change.
Me: It's Purim, Mom, remember? And my inner self is telling me to wear a tichel. You're wearing that clown costume...
Mom: Well, that's different. I always dress up when you have a date.
Me: (under my breath) Yeah, and I thought I was the one dating...
Mom: What'd you say?
Me: Nothing.
Mom: Okay. Do what you want. Where's Dad?
Me: On the computer.
Mom: Tell him to get downstairs right now! The Boy will be here any minute!
Me: Dad? Dad? You coming? Mom said to get downstairs.
Dad: (grunts) Just one minute, ok?
Me: Mom said now. What are you wearing?!?
Dad: Why? What's wrong? This is me, coming out into the open.
Me: Just come down and show Mom.
(Dad slumps downstairs)
Mom: What are you wearing?!?
Dad: What is it with you women? Don't you know how to say anything else?
Mom: Bu.. b.. but... A COMPUTER?!?
Me: Well, dad's always on it. Makes sense. Though I did think you'd be the clown, Dad. You know you're the funniest one in this family.
Dad: Well, I guess that's just not me. Come, let me see you... Good, good, you look beautiful. If I wouldn't be married yet, I would marry you myself.
Me: Daaaaaaaaaad....
Mom: Where's this date of yours already? It's 8:20.
Me: Must be that he's truly a late fellow. Purim's inner meaning, right? Guess he's not for me, then. I can't stand when people are not on time.
Mom: Come on, give it a chance. Don't label before you've even gone out. And remember what they say: opposites attract.
Me: Well, I'm not a magnet. I don't need someone to be the same person as me, but he's gotta show a little respect for my time.
Mom: You and your time...
(doorbell rings)

To be continued...