I saw something funny today

In 8th grade, older brother played me Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" for the first time. I thought I had FOUND MUSIC. It was pure genius. Important things I did not realize at the time:

1. I was about 10 years too late to be considered cool because I listened to DM (a pattern that defines my taste even now).
2. The music is actually quite terrible.

The man playing the electric violin at the Union Square subway station today didn't get the memo (or maybe his position on the cultural bell curve is even more regrettable than mine). Let me paint you a mental picture. The man had his violin plugged into a little violin amp. Who knew those even existed? Even better were the neon lights coming from within the violin, producing a laser light show of sorts in tandem with his jammin'. His long, gloriously feathered hair was tied in a low pony tail. Hey, violin man thought, if I grow a lot of hair in the back, no one will notice that I have none in the front! His blouse billowed around him as he worked his magic on that violin, his pointy faux-Italian shoes protruding from his too-tight Levis. And what was the gentleman playing? Why, Depeche Mode, of course! I didn't realize it at the time, but I was able to recall the lyrics in an instant. Bi-annual dentist appointments have paid off two-fold: clean teeth and the ability to recall the words to innumerable Kool Jazz/Easy Listening songs. I came home, looked it up, and the song was "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.

Needless to say, it was a spectacle. I laughed a lot. Then I ate a piece of cheese and watched the subway almost squish a rat and nearly barfed the cheese back up. While I cannot provide you with a reenactment of the show (my electric violin is in the shop), I can link you to the original video! May 1990 live on forever in our hearts...and subway stations.

Sometimes you feel like a nut (and by sometimes, I mean always)

I have a lot of theories living up in my little head, some of which I came up with, but most of which I did not. The one I think about the most (we'll save my original theories for another moon) is the chaos theory. You know, some butterfly flaps its wings and then there is a tornado in Texas. This is also called the "butterfly effect," which is not to be confused with that terrible movie starring Demi's son...er...husband and that faceless chick whose name I can never remember.

Anywho, I believe it, but probably to an absurd degree. Some things are just obvious. I left the water running in the sink and now my house is flooded! I didn't wait for my food to cool off before stuffing my face, and I burned my lip and got a herp-like blister (true story!). See? Obviously related.

Now, the correlation between some events is a little harder to see, but I choose to believe they are connected anyway. I forgot to return an important email and my eyeball swelled up. I told my mom I didn't want to have children and my computer denied me internet for a while (withholding children, withholding internet...so obviously connected!). The chaos theory is clearly at work here. To resolve this latter issue, I swore to the mighty Zeus (Mom) I will not only have kids, but I will raise them Jewish. I promptly got my internet back. And my period.

P.S.- I turned to my good academic resource, Wikipedia, to read about the actual chaos theory. There were lots of big words, one of which was four syllables! Yikes. But then I clapped out the syllables of my own name (yes, clapped. Even smart kids need help sometimes.) and realized that my name is also four syllables. Nevertheless, while this is not a list of proper examples of the real chaos theory, who wants to read all of those big words? Not me! So accept this as science and lets pretend like I am right about everything and the smartest person alive.

I am typing this from my bed, as I still don't have a desk. Frugality plus laziness equals computer on my lap and a bed full of crumbs (oh yeah, I don't have a kitchen table or a couch, either). Anyway, I just looked across the alley and saw straight into another apartment's living room. They have a couch. And they are sitting on it. Which means they spend time in that room. Which means they have seen me in various states of naked. Which makes me both happy and slightly embarrassed.

I watched one of my least favorite shows while eating dinner on my tabledeskbed tonight. It's that one where they make over the houses of people who have endured some sort of trauma. I cried like a little bitch, as I am unmedicated and pms-ing. Damn you, family entertainment for tugging on my heart strings. Damn you, ice heart, for melting a little. Sometimes, the show is a little too Jesus-y for my taste. A hot carpenter leads his minions in the construction of a new shelter, whose inhabitants promise to spread the good word about charity. Ring ANY bells? Still, I suppose it's nice to see something that encourages faith in humanity's benevolence and the goodwill of others. I can't watch more than once a month, though. I cry too much and being dehydrated is annoying.

I am thinking of legally changing my name to Debbie Downer. Whenever I say or do anything, all I hear is that "womp wooomp" sound from the SNL skit. I can't break free from my past, and it is most certainly killing my desire to be in the present and furthermore, to create a future. On that note, I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving and enjoyed themselves and actually GAVE thanks for their life.

See?? WOMP WOMP.

List-o-mania

I am a big fan of lists these days, mainly because:

1. I am lazy
2. They are easy to read
3. They are exactly how I would like my life to be - lovely things with no bullshit in between.

Hence, I present to you a multitude of lists for your personal edification and enjoyment.

Things in my life right now that I enjoy and think everyone else should indulge in:
1. Christmas/holiday spirit
2. 30 Rock, Arrested Development's bastard child.
3. Good Earth tea

Things I would like to have in my life right now, but appear to have left me forever:
1. The pinky toenail on my left foot
2. Good luck
3. Anything resembling a dating life

Things that are out of my life and should stay that way:
1. Mice/creatures on my bed and in my living space/Chinatown
2. Split ends
3. Seafood

Last three things I looked up on Wikipedia:
1. Neuroblastoma
2. Iron Chef America
3. Pineapple

If I held
my breath
like I said
I would
have died
a long time ago
waiting
for you

I suddenly feel cool

I am simple. Which is why this video kept me laughing for far too long. (Lovingly plucked from Gawker, which lovingly plucked it from BWE.) Enjoy.

Why don't I just make the check payable to YOU?!

I am moving again. Not like you care, but listen to me whine about it anyway. I thought I found a great place. Turns out the mice and roaches think it's great, too. I am not such a JAP that a few bugs would cause me to pack up again, but there is also a total lack of heat in this place. Like, what? Is that legal? I don't care if you still think I am being JAP-y about living here. Heat is heat. I need it, end of story. I have to draw the line somewhere. This brings me to my next point. Another one of my roommates (there are five of us) just moved out and Nerd Kid moved in. I tried not to judge him. I failed.

His dad and his brother helped him move in. Nerd's brother looks like a model and, for a brief moment, I got really excited at the idea of living with a male model. Welcome home! Those hopes were dashed when I saw his nerdy little sibling, my actual roommate. Minus ten cool points. Then Nerd , being surprisingly stupid for someone who has so little else going for himself, unpacked onto his bed. Leaving him nowhere to sleep. So he slept on the couch, setting his alarm at 4:30 am so he could unpack and "not disturb us." I can think of very few things that are more disturbing than listening to someone try to assemble an electric tie rack in the hallway at 4:30 am. I guess he went back to bed after a while. I went to work.

Flash forward to just now, when Nerd wanted to talk about manufacturing in post-war America. Except he didn't say it like that. "You know, lotsa factories and stuff you know like closed in cities like Houston and New York and you know places like Cleveland." He taught me all about our rich capitalist history. The whole time, I debated whether or not to be an asshole once he finally shut his yap (about 20 minutes after his riveting introduction on urban theory).

I, of course, decided to be an asshole.

I tried to engage him in a conversation about post-Fordist deindustrialization within the context of fleeting modernist values and the push toward socio-spatial differentiation within urban centers. Is he familiar with the works of David Harvey? Because Harvey's theories on capitalism are simply fascinating, as he makes very strong arguments toward the growth of the built environment aroud the commodification of capital. Although, marxist geography must be countered with a well-though deconstruction of someone like Burgess. You would like that Nerd, as you work within the capital market. Which as you so articulately noted was the cause behind the decline of textile manufacturing in urban areas such as Houston and New York. We should discuss this at length another time. I am sure you have some wonderful insights, especially on Burgess and the Chicago School.

Yeah that's right. I may be paying 200k for a degree that won't give me shit in the real world. In the academic world, though, my degree is in Taking Names and Kicking Ass. Don't even try to impress me. The chances of that went out the door right along with your change sorter, which I watched you knock over with your lava lamp when you moved in (one of the most gratifying moments of my life to-date). You have no idea what you are talking about. I have earned the right to SCHOOL you in the art of rhetoric on urban spaces.

Please remember that when tipping your Starbucks barista, which is what I will be doing after I graduate, trying to earn enough to qualify for food stamps and government cheese.

A Small Thought

I read the "Missed Connections" on craigslist in an effort to remind myself that romance, by way of complete happenstance, is still a possibility.

Then I click over to "Miscellaneous Romance" to remind myself that there are so many goddamn freaks out there, I don't want to talk to anyone I don't already know, let alone date them.

I'll pass on that breast massage, sir. Thanks anyway.

odds and ends

Thanks to that nifty SiteMeter at the bottom of this page, I can stalk those who choose to waste their life reading this thing. I saw that someone from Tennessee was recently reading my insightful and well-crafted thoughts. I don't have any friends in Tennessee, so I looked to see who this young chap was. Turns out they found my blog by Google searching the phrase "I had a gigantic wedgie." Needless to say, I am pretty proud of myself.

I am finally settled in my new apartment...minus the bags and boxes of crap I am just too damn lazy to unpack. I am sure I will get to it eventually. Maybe. The place itself is decent, albeit a far cry from the lap of luxury. I have a nice kitchen, for all of the cooking I don't do. I also have some fun roommates, one of whom caught me standing half-naked (read: all-naked) in front of the a/c yesterday. He looked a little scared, which made me laugh. I feel like I should have warned them about my nudist habits when I moved in. That would have totally killed the surprise, though, inevitably killing my joy.

I think I am going to go introduce myself to the people that live above me at some point. That way, I can ask them why they feel the need to rearrange their furniture at 6 a.m. EVERY GODDAMN DAY. Also, I don't think pets are allowed in this building. That elephant stomping around up there needs to go. Oh, that's your girlfriend? Sad. She still needs to leave. Well...bye.

It's free, but...

There is always a catch.

I need a place to live. I see a craigslist post offering free room in a sweet apartment for a girl. The catch? I would have to rub moisturizer on the owner of the place after he lays out in the sun all day. I would be lying if I said I didn't respond to the ad. When staring poverty in the face, one considers extreme measures in order to ensure survival. I eventually decided against the idea (of course), but that idea of free rent is still so tempting.

I need to exercise. I go to the lovely free yoga studio near me for some relaxation and movement. It is packed, and I am stuffed in a corner next to a woman whose physical build reminds me of a ball of dough, with a leotard acting as the saran wrap keeping it all together. She laughs a lot, as I, Bi-polar Betty, sob hysterically. Then she coughs in my mouth. She is obviously a smoker, because my mouth suddenly tastes of nicotine. I gag in between sobs (it's been a long week). Free yoga? Awesome. Fat chick coughing smoker filth IN MY MOUTH? Hardly awesome.

I need to eat. I go meet a friend for $3 margs, and eat the chips and salsa they bring to the table as dinner. Cheapest dinner ever (free!). I wake up this morning to stomach cramps, and have been in and out of the bathroom all morning. I think the salsa was made by Ex-Lax.

Choose your free carefully.

Wise Words

Wisdom I would like to share:
1. Never jump up to bat at a leaf, no matter how dangly and fun it looks. Your flip-flop will bend when you land, you will tear the top of your toe off, it will bleed a lot and then get infected, and you will be in pain. Toes don't like to heal properly, despite being given the tools to do so. Rebellious little fuckers.

2. Running across a linoleum floor stark naked and soaking wet is a bad idea. A very bad idea. You will crash into things, crack your kneecap, and be rendered speechless due to the pain. Then, after improperly caring for said knee, it will feel like flames are shooting through the joint with even the slightest movement. Much like toes, knees don't enjoy healing. Unlike toes, you only have two.

3.Yelling at people on the street is often a wonderful way to boost endorphins and relieve stress. However, looking at who you are yelling at before unleashing a verbal tirade is a great idea. The gentleman blocking the sidewalk with his GIANT FUCKING UMBRELLA may happen to be the same 44 year-old you went on a pity date with. Having him turn around to see you barking obscenities at him can be really awkward (and almost as uncomfortable as the date itself).

4. Brown noodle mush will always taste exactly how you would expect brown noodle mush to taste. And it won't change forms before it exits the system.

I think this sums it up

ariella820: so i was reading in union square park on Sunday, started talking with the guy next to me, we ended up seeing a movie together and i gave him my phone number. he's not particularly attractive, but not hideous
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: ok, go on
ariella820: I kept ignoring him, but finally talked to him last night, and agreed to get dinner on thursday. at the end of the convo i ask him how old he is
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: well, he's either 40 or...
ariella820: older
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: NONONONONONONONO
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: CANCEL
ariella820: 44
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL
ariella820: he is 44
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: wait...is he jewish?
ariella820: DOES IT MATTER?!
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: yes, for your mother
ariella820: he could date my mother! fuck it, with some creative surgery, he could be my mother.
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: so... you canceled right?
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: please tell me you're NOT going to go through with this
ariella820: first I screamed and gagged. then I called a bunch of people to laugh and gag more. then i called him back and was like "about dinner, i already have plans HA-HA silly me..how about coffee" and it is then that i am going to tell him he's a creep
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: he may just think you're older. you could pass for 30-a very young looking 30
ariella820: TODD!
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: i mean it in the least offensive way possible. i PERSONALLY wouldn't think you were 30 if i met you
ariella820: way to dig yourself out of that hole
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: just make sure he doesn't pull the sugar daddy attempt
ariella820: while that would be nice, he is more than twice my age. i bet he has kids and divorces
SyphiLiTiCdRUid: lol, i love how we put divorce in the plural
ariella820: i am on a roll. first, the nasty college reject/bass player/waiter. then a french dude with a mullet (thank you, mace) and now this.

Behold the power of sleaze!

OuchMyHeadHurts (dot com)

Here's something new and different: I have a headache from talking with my mom on the phone.

It's now quite clear where I learned my phone-yelling habits. (I didn't even know I was a phone-yeller until an ex pointed it out to me through his scared wince, as my screaming reverberated off the car interior.) Holy hell, though. I don't know what was louder, my mother yelling at me from Colorado, or my own echo off the walls of my bedroom. Either way, my ears are ringing and there is a significant pounding behind my temples. Plus, my contacts have gone all dry and blurry, so I can't see a thing. Helen Keller lives!

Life is pretty decent otherwise. I am working at a huge corporation this summer, and the office environment is keeping me moderately amused. What I don't understand is humor in the corporate workplace.

Officemate 1: "Dean and I played golf on Sunday. He shot an 81. I told him to remember to bring his skirt next time!"
Officemate 2: "That Nancy!"
In unison: "HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR!"

That's all for now. I think it's time for a special nightcap: 10mg of Ambien and a doubledose of the happy pills. You know how I feel about Tuesdays...

I HATE TUESDAYS

Subway rides to and from Astoria: $4
Cab from one Subway stop to where I should have been, after taking the wrong train and getting hopelessly lost: $6
Coffee for me and The Latest Boy: $6
Food to replace feelings after dragging my ass to Queens so that The Latest Boy could end our non-committed, non-relationship* (all the while begging me to "please dear God Ariella show some sort of emotion"): $8.50

Understanding the consequences of ignoring all of those red flags: $24.50, not including all of the shit I bought him, plus the cost of the Plan B (thank you again for that one, assface). So it's at least $150, easy. I bet you thought I was going to say "priceless!" Nope! This one cost me!

*Who knew that could happen??

I am a delicate flower

What up, party people? Apologies for the long hiatus. I finished yet another mediocre school year, and then spent some quality time in Israel. A fun place, but holyfuckisithotthere. I still recommend that everyone pay a visit there, though.

Here is a story you might appreciate. Since I had absolutely no clean clothes upon my return from Israel, the first thing I had to do when I got back to the city was laundry. I emptied out my suitcase and realized that even my typical choices for laundry-day attire were dirty. I usually have the benefit of choosing between the gigantic, too-big for Rosie O'Donnell underwear or the fetus-sized underwear. I had already worn the giant pair, so I guess my choice was made for me. On went the tight ones. I gathered my clothes and schlepped them down the four flights of stairs to the laundry room, which would have been fine, except for my underwear was already causing a loss of blood flow to...vital...areas. By the time I made it to the washing machine, I had perhaps the worst wedgie ever.

The kind where you feel like picking your nose might help. The kind where once you take care of it, you are so happy, you feel the need to call someone and tell them. You get the idea.

There were two other guys in the laundry room, but there were standing next to me and appeared to be looking toward the opposite wall. I couldn't wait any longer, and decided that instead of losing my ability to bear children, fuck it. I was gonna solve this wedgie problem. So I did. I salvaged my underwear from the depths of my...oh, well you know. I even think leg bending was involved. I let out a nice sigh, and glanced over to make sure those guys were still looking at the other wall. They were not looking at the wall. They were looking at the VIDEO CAMERA in front of the wall. They were taping some sort of skit, and I had just unknowingly lent my skills as an extra.

Not only am I disgusting in person, there is now video proof of me acting like the most indelicate pig in the universe. "Where is Ariella's elbow?" Oh right. UP HER ASS, along with the rest of her arm, retrieving her underpants. I panicked, finishing my laundry as fast as humanly possible. Then, I ran out of there as fast as my constricting little underpants would let me go.

The video is probably on YouTube already. "FUNNY HAHA GIRLS PICKS ASS WATCH NOW XX69XX" or something like that.

There you have it.

When I wrote about the first fire alarm in my building, I didn't think things could get any more uncomfortable. Let's discuss Friday evening (why do these kids love fire?).

I was in the shower, absorbed in deep thought and deep conditioning, when I heard the familiar screeching of the fire alarm. I was not let a little smoke ruin a perfectly good shower, so I finished, put some clothes on (respectable clothes, this time) and went outside to wait for the fire department. They came. They left. It was nothing. Now here comes the fun part. It was Friday night dinner for the Jewish students, and as a Person Somewhat In Charge, I was asked to tell them to wait until everyone else went in the building before they could enter. As I shout this directive to the Chosen Children, a young man begins to argue with me. He said the food was getting cold. I told him I was sorry, but he would have to wait. He said that they were already running behind. Again, quite sorry, but tough break.

Then, he called me an anti-Semite.

Pardon?

Me, queen of the JAPs, eater of unleavened bread, an anti-Semite? Was this kid not wearing his glasses? Curly hair. Wide hips. Commanding ass. All signs point to JEW. I was so stunned that I couldn't even laugh until about twenty minutes afterwards. I had no idea postponing dinner for another three minutes would elicit this reaction. I can't even imagine the bloodshed that would have ensued had I tried to tell them to wait five minutes.

Apparently, God's Chosen People are not God's Patient People.

I don't do break-ups

After my most recent bout of crazy, my insurance company assigned me some sort of mental health case worker. I don't know what that means or how it happens, but gosh, do I feel special! I can only surmise that the cost of me offing myself is an expense Aetna would rather not incur. Anywho, "Brad" tells me I should be seeing a new shrink. Fine. The problem is, how do I break up with my old one?

I wish there was some sort of manual for break-ups. Do I have to call them and tell them it's over, or can I just cancel all of my appointments and never show up again? Am I supposed to apologize? Tell him it was good while it lasted? Do I still call on birthdays?! I just have no idea.

I thought about sending a card, because that's just what I do. I'm a card-sender. Unfortunately, Hallmark doesn't make a "parting ways with your mental health professional" greeting card. I thought about a singing telegram, but I don't think he would find it funny. Cookies? Flowers? Empty pill bottles filled with love notes? If someone would just write a book or something that tells me how to part ways, I would be really appreciative.

My favorite!

It's impossible to be in a bad mood when you watch this.

Enjoy!

Captain Obvious strikes again!

Since I watch a lot of shitty "family programming" on tv, I see a lot of shitty ads for family-oriented products. This, good friends, is by far my favorite product ever marketed to the 2-kids-a-dog-and-a-white-picket-fence demographic:

I cannot imagine a product more suitable for the most stoned of stoners than this, the Glade light show. The commercials show little Timmy thanking his mom for buying him such a nifty toy! Now, if Glade actually wanted to make money, they would air commercials aimed at college kids. Covers the pot smell? Check. Endless fun and entertainment? Check. Consumers with disposable incomes that allow them to waste their money on such useless pieces of shit? CHECK!

I thought it was a pretty ridiculous concept when I thought it was dispensing pine cone smell. Not only is it making the room smell like fake forest, but now I have to watch the lights change too?

This particular one is "Vanilla & Cream" scented. My first instinct is to vomit. My second is to laugh. My third? Get stoned and take this puppy for a spin.

Captain Obvious, at your service

I would be such a productive member of society if the Internet didn't exist in my life. I would get my homework done! I would have time to see friends! I could (gasp) go outside! Imagine that...a life devoid of a keyboard. It would be strange, that's for sure.

Right now, I am supposed to be writing an essay. I decided to update my blog instead. Why complete something that I need to have done by tomorrow and get a good night's sleep when I can peck away at my keys until sunrise? I am so connected to my computer, I feel the need to name my first child Mozilla. I need computer detox: no emails, no AIM, and certainly no Facebook (the root of all evil in the world...such wonderful evil).

Before I forget, I want to pass on a little kernel of knowledge to you all: many airlines no longer stock barf bags (oh sorry, "air sickness receptacles"). I learned this the hard way. I didn't get sick, but the kid in the row in front of me certainly did. Homeslice started to yak, and with nothing to barf into, was resigned to throwing up on the seat and himself. I had the great fortune of not only listening to him heave, but then smelling vomit for the duration of the trip. I am pretty sure the kid ate a trash sandwich with a sewage milkshake for dinner. Foul. In conclusion, if you or someone you know is about to vomit on a plane, plan accordingly.

March Madness

I have a gift. When it comes to the opposite sex, I am able to ignore fatal flaws (red flags) obvious to the rest of the universe for the sake of getting whatever it is I am looking for.

Last night, while frequenting my favorite little corner-of-hell bar, I ran into a few corporate types. They were older than the guys I normally date by about 25 years. (Let's face it, some of these guys were old enough to be my dad.) Red flag number one was when Old Guy With Tie introduced himself to me by saying "Hi, I'm Old Guy with a Tie. I have been married for seven years and I am looking for an affair." Hmmm. I should have backed away slowly, as if I had just angered a large hippo. Instead, I told him to buy me a drink. Red flag number two came when he started hugging me. I like hugs, I thought. This is fine! Apparently, the drinks he bought me allowed me to forget that hugs from strangers with wandering hands who hang out in college bars playing Golden Tee are not ok. May I never have an old man's hands on my ass again. Amen.

Brain soup

I have nothing witty nor interesting to say. My apologies for blogging for the sake of blogging.

Nothing terribly new and exciting going on- just a lot of status quo bullshit. Hebrew still sucks, although I have recently deciding that intimidating other people in the class by snapping at them is a worthwhile and productive hobby. I may be mean, but at least they don't talk to me anymore. Small talk in one's native language is bad enough, thanks. Come to think about it, the misery that is Hebrew has cost me $16,000. Sixteen thousand motherfucking dollars to listen to some woman with sagging skin and kankles tell me that no, that is NOT the word for afternoon and why didn't I spend more time studying? Talk about a horrid revelation. I could have spent that money on so many better things! Vacations! 1.6 million rides on the penny-horse at the supermarket! Prostitutes! Oh, the possibilities...

I have to make a confession: I have been lying a lot lately. Telling more than just harmless white lies, to be specific. Most of it still lingers in the realm of harmless and ancillary, but nevertheless, I seem to have trouble producing true statements. For example, while filming in a place I should not have been, I told numerous people that I had permission to be there (I did not, nor will I ever). When asked if I would be willing to help with a friend's project, I replied, with great enthusiasm, that I would love nothing more (actually, I would love nothing more than to avoid helping). I lied about other things, too, but I don't want to get too specific. Anyway, I don't know what's going on. Sorry if I lied to you. I mean, I doubt you know whether or not it was a lie, but just in case, I'm very sorry.*

I should just quit dicking around and go do my homework. This was a completely worthless entry, a convergence of meaningless words aimed at entertaining the masses that read this (read: My mother and Sam Stone). Hearts and such. I will do better next time, I promise.

*That was a lie. I am not, in fact, sorry.

Just what it says

I am not at war.

Yet another poor choice

When deciding what language courses to take in college, I briefly flirted with the idea of rekindling my relationship with Spanish. I took three years in high school, so I thought that I ought to be able to jump right back in. I was thinking about how easy it would be, when I remembered a key fact: two years into high school Spanish, I was transferred into the remedial class after demonstrating reading and comprehension skills similar to those of a house plant. I walked away knowing just as much Spanish as one gets from reading a Taco Bell menu (Gordita!).

Thus, based on my past experience, I decided that Hebrew would be a mighty fine change of pace. A chance to start anew and embrace the language of my forefathers! I was enrolled in Hebrew school as a child, spending far too many years learning the alphabet from Mrs. Eidelman (a woman whose scent can only be described as the love child of death and fruit candy). "Hey self," I thought, "you are a Jew. You will be great at Hebrew. Manischewitz! Bagel! Woody Allen!" Only now do I see the flaws in my reasoning.

1st semester: I learned about colors and foods, animals and movies. I ate delicious candy. What a fun time for me!

2nd semester: A bit harder, but still tolerable. It was toward the end of this class that I realized that while everyone seemed to be learning more, my progress had come to an abrupt halt months ago. I could say my name and a few words relating to the post office, but that's about it. My professor pointed out that my stock answer, "I like books," no longer applied to our conversation (and furthermore, could I please stop sighing so loudly?). On the rare occasion I tried to speak, I sounded remarkably like a cross between Fran Drescher and Keanu Reeves. If it wasn't for my stupid requirement, I would have quit right there and then.

3rd semester: Shalom fun, Shalom pain and suffering. New professor, new class, same learning deficit. I should have known it was going to be a total shitshow when I noticed that my book had decidedly fewer pictures than the first one. All hope was officially lost when the professor asked me what my name was, and my response was "good." My classmates no longer attempted to hide their disdain for my presence and mocked me to my face using a funny tongue so I couldn't understand (later learned they were, in fact, speaking Hebrew).

4th semester: Although I have just begun the final installment of my Great Language Adventure, I know that this will be the worst four months yet. I had finally learned to muffle the sounds of my sobbing in class, only to go on winter break and forget how to sob quietly in shame. The SuperJews in the class dominate the conversation, relating all stories in the workbook back to stories in the Big Book. I have relegated myself to a back corner, and intend to stay there, mute and stupid, until May.

Lesson learned: Having a bat mitzvah seven years ago does not guarantee success in a language class.

This is what I think

I am not made of goddamn money.

2007 is code for AWESOME!

Why, it's 2007! Some things I think we can all look forward to:

A 6-point jump in Fox News' ratings following Pat Robertson's latest and greatest prophecy! (Don't worry, though- 'The Lord didn't say nuclear.')

I finally lose my shit at ppl who send me emails w/o spelling nething out! (U kno who u r.)

NYU contunues with their plans to block out the sun!

Victory in Iraq! ( I knew this war was worth it!)

Bye bye to bulky sweaters, slush rivers, and Uggs with leggings! (Hello, cancer!)

Let the new year begin.