Midnight Witticisms

Some Israel-related ranting:

1.   I went to the post office today.  They have the whole “take a number” system.  Unfortunately, people here are retarded.  Actually, it was mostly the foreigners who were the problem (and, shockingly, the tellers).  These foreigners wouldn’t take a number, and would waltz right up to the counter (with a thousand Israelis shouting obscenities in the background), and they were dealt with.  The tellers were all very busy.  On their cellphones.  For whatever reason, they refused to click the numbers, and we were all like, “Hello?  Numbers, move them. It’s your job.”  And they were like, fuckyoubye.  I was there for almost an hour.  Seriously.  I went to investigate about packages that Matt’s mom sent and that have been sitting at the post office for a few weeks.  We’ve never received word that they arrived. When I explained the situation, the woman behind the counter started looking at packages, and immediately found ours.  PS - you couldn’t miss them, one of them can fit an NBA player.  And she comments that “oh, I found them by chance”.  Seriously.

2.   I want to know why important university offices are only open for two and a half hours three days a week.  I have to go show them my high school and university grades, to prove that they’re equivalent to grades here, or something.  I’ve met students who’ve gone to high school here.  I learned more my freshman year than they did throughout their whole high school “career”.  Clearly, my grades are equivalent.  But this office, who will be determining whether I need to take a preparatory year (I better not!), is only open on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays from nine-thirty to noon.  What is this nonsense?  Don’t people apply to school?  These aren’t even summer hours; these are all the time hours.  I mean, Jesus Christ!  How does anyone get anything done around here?!

3.  Websites here are horrendous.  They are impossible to navigate, both in English and in Hebrew.  Information is completely unavailable.  It took me 45 minutes (swear to G slash d) to find what the hours are for the office I need.  And the only way I managed to find that was by putting the office’s phone number into the search field.  They don’t even tell you how to get there.  So now I have to navigate yet another impossible website (the Dan buses) to figure out how to get there.  Although first I’m asking a few friends about the best way to get there.  Short of shooting myself and avoiding the whole thing altogether.

Living in this country has convinced me that there’s a Big (Wo)Man in the Sky.  Because there is no other way we’d still be here otherwise.

Seriously.

I thought last night would be a quiet night in, as is sometimes the case since Sunday morning is a work day.  Luckily, my friend Rose works for the UN, so she is on an American work schedule.  She made the “schlepp” from J-town to the T.A. so that we could go out for drinks.  We did a half -assed pub crawl, and hit up these two lovely bars.  When we had our fill (which, admittedly, was not much), we went to a sushi bar kiosk.  It’s kind of cool - it’s on a major street corner, and reminds me of the hot dog stands in NYC or Ralph Ices on Long Island.  This is a few steps up, with wait staff and seating around the outside.  It was delicious.  I love good sushi.

It’s still weird to adjust to the Israeli schedule, although it’s busier here on a night before work than it would be in the States.  And later, too.  We left just before midnight, but people were poring out of every city orifice and into bars, pubs, and restaurants.

It makes me happy I’m here.

So, I came back to Jerusalem from moving into Tel Aviv.  As I was approaching my apartment, the Creepy Guy Who Steals Internet was sitting on the bench, and said, “Hey, some sort of creature just walked by and turned the corner, did you see it?” I responded in the negative, and went to check it out. There was nothing there, so I walked back around, and informed him that there was nothing there.  He looked relieved, got up off of the bench, and started walking back to his apartment.

And I wanted to be like, are you kidding me?  I am five foot two, one hundred and thirty pounds.  You are six foot three, and two hundred and something pounds.  And you need me to make sure there is no bogey monster?

These religious guys…I’m telling you…

Last night Joel and I went to a wine tasting at the Jerusalem Museum’s Sculpture Garden.  It.Was.Beautiful.  It was a lovely evening, with a cool breeze that laps at your skin.   There was soft jazz music in the background.  You could see all of Jerusalem from the edge of the garden; it was lit up like a thousand diamonds.  It was the first time I realized that I will really miss Jerusalem.  It has a majestic splendor that is missing from most other cities.  It had a perfect atmosphere.  The wine was splendid.

It was a perfect evening.

Further research demonstrates that it is in fact the Deathstalker that is also commonly known around these parts as the Yellow Scorpion.  PS - that nomenclature is scary as hell.  Sounds like some evil villain from a really bad  SciFi movie…

Who said the suburbs couldn’t be exciting?

So apparently there are yellow scorpions on the roof of the building of my parents apartment.  The apartment is  pentcottage (a penhouse duplex) aka we are the roof of the building.  What’s the problem, you say?  Well, I get to go outside and hang my laundry.  On the scorpion-ridden roof!  I’m totally going to die.  On the plus side, I won’t have to take that pesky exam…

I’ve been trying to find out which scorpion these babies are, to see if I’m going to die a horrible death or if I just get to experience Israeli hospitals from the wrong side.  Well, like everything else in this country, there’s no clear answer.  There are two scorpions that are yellow: the Israeli deathstalker and the Israeli gold scorpion.  I have no clue what I’m up against, as one could potentially kill me (and possibly cure any brain tumors I might have), and the otherone will just be a pain in the wherever-it-chooses-to-sting-me.  Thrilling…

It’s times like these when I get thinking.  I say to myself, “Self: is this really worth it?”  I mean, all this stress to pass a damn test.  Actually getting accepted (a process that can take years in this country) Seven years of skool.  Debt.  Endless years being someone’s residency bitch.  Followed by finally getting a job only to be yelled at by patients.  And if I know anything about the combination of health care and Israeli bureaucracy, hardly getting paid.  Barely having time for a familia.

Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.  Get a job in something easy that I love doing. Like sex.  I love sex.  What if I jut got paid for sex?  Not only do I love it but I’m good at it, too.  I could start a job like that right away.  No schooling necessary.  I don’t need training. Straight-up profit.  I figured, I’d go for all the politicians, make a nice load of money, learn all the inside secrets.  Then, I can run for some office or something.  I’d be the ex-hooker Knesset member.  That’s totally rockin’.  And that would totally fly in this country as well. seeing as our president is a rapist and our prime minister accepted countless monies in bribes.  My “misdeeds” would be like a drop in the bucket in comparison.

I clearly need more sleep…

So, I have to sit for two exams for university entrance: the Psychometric exam and the Yael Exam.  The latter is an exam to demonstrate my knowledge of Hebrew.  It’s on the sixth grade level, and I’m really not worried.

I opted to sit for both of these exams in the same testing period so that I can just get it over with.  I finally got my letters in the mail with my exam dates and location.  My Yael exam is on July 3rd, 12pm at the Tel Aviv University.  It will suck to be on a bus for an hour and a half each way, but I can deal with that.  My Psychometric exam is July 3rd, 3pm…in Jerusalem.  I’m not really sure what anyone was thinking when they did this, but now I have to track someone down (a project in and of itself), and get them to do something about their (avoidable) error (a second project).  I don’t have time for projects right now.  I also will not have time for both exams, so I guess the lesser of two evils prevails.

Damn bureaucracies.

I was downtown today meeting up with the love of my life, Matthew L. Schwartz, when I saw a family with a pet goat. On.A.Leash.

We were in Steve’s Packs, which is Matt’s substitute for his heroin addiction, and there was a girl with no shoes. It was clear that she’s been walking around ALL day sans footwear. Her feet were blacker than Dave Chappelle. Eww.

Online banking. Sucks. I registered for online banking, but then had to go BACK to my branch office to sign four pieces of paper so that I can do online transfers. I was under the (apparently mistaken) impression that said activities *constitute* online banking. I also learned quickly that nothing can be done in this country without signing three sheets of paper, fingerprints in blood, and a urine sample. Kidding. Sort of.

I was told that it is quite possible that I am incredibly self-centered, and might lack potential to be an interesting person that others can connect to. That here, unlike in North America, being “cool, distant, and a little mysterious” is not sexy. Personally, I think I’m pretty sexy. I just don’t show off to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. I like me knees to get to know each other. I was also told that I’m clearly not Israeli enough. People, I moved to a new country seven months ago! I didn’t have a lobotomy. It takes some time to adjust. Luckily, in those seven months I grew a very nice spine.

22:30 on a Sunday night.  A family decides that this is the *perfect* time to broadcast their fight to all of Jerusalem.  I don’t even know these people and I know what the deal is.  It’s white trash.  But in Israel.

In good news: I kicked major ASS this week in my practice exam. I am *so* getting into Medical School.

Dear Y-chromosome owners,

Please do not stare at me and make suggestive glances if you need to pop a blue one to get it up.  I am not interested.  Do not cat-call.  It’s really low-brow; and seriously?  I’m a bit more high class than that.   And oh, we’ re not in middle school anymore.  And if you wear a kippah and tzitzis, uhh….at least act like you believe in the laws you claim to follow, and stop staring at my chest.  Lastly, if I’m working out, and I’m all non-sex related sweaty, and focusing on not dropping my three kilo weights on my head, don’t try out all those famous one-liners (that never work): no I am not new here, and yes, I come here often.  That’s why I pay fifty dollars a month for this gym.  And don’t follow me from exercise to exercise ogling.  It’s really unattractive.

Yours truly,

Not Just a Piece of Meat.