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.