Dude I am fine!!

I never thought that the last blog would cause such controversy. To be honest I never thought that people really cared that much, but from the time I posted my last blog, I have received the same, “Is everything ok with you?” question and pitying look from near and far. I was a little taken a back to be honest. Sometimes I forget that people are reading. No that sounds dumb. Of course I know people are reading… I have a site meter. What I mean is that although when I write a blog I am very conscious about who the blog relates to and whether they will be reading and I always think about what my family will think should they be reading, I never really think about everyone else… the public, and how they may see me.

Random: Hey… so how are things with you? You seemed blue last week.

Me: No not really. I just had to rant about something. I hadn’t written in ages, I have been overworked and on my period for like forever! I am fine (big cheesy grin)

Random: Err… ok

Hmmmm… Perhaps a little too much information.

Yag: Hey doll, is everything ok? What Sagas? Anything I should know about?

Me: Dude I am fine!

Yag: You missing Nooman?

Me: Dude I am fine!

Nooman (my roommate) has gone to England for a week and pretty much straight after that will be going into the army. So for the next 6 months it looks like I will be living alone. Something I am looking a lot more forward to now that the rapist (Benny Boy – Not Nooman) has been caught. Also we have a new neighbour. A cute old homeless man stands outside my apartment day and night, guarding his wheelie dustbin (trash can) that he has claimed as his home. He asks for money in English. I don’t know what it is about him, but I am always grateful to see him standing there protecting my entrance way when I come home late from a night out a little worse for wear. I want to speak to him, to find out his story, but something stops me from approaching him… perhaps my English reserve, perhaps my own shyness that I cover over with my own self confidence. Either way I am glad he is there… and I lovingly have started to refer to him as Albert…. There is something about the long white hair…

This weekend I spent a night in Jerusalem, joining Lexus Maximus’ festivities for her birthday and then letting friends I have not seen for a while drag me to different parties around the area. In the back streets around Yaffo, all nations spent their evening partying in the spirit of their countries. The Brazilian boys were dancing wildly, drinking heavily and, luring women into their little shack… After we made the great escape we were promised a good time from the Americans… yeah nothing new there.

I walked into a Hebrew Uni frat party and immediately felt at home. The Greek style Karma Sutra playing cards were a fun icebreaker and soon I found myself in the kitchen talking to the tallest guys I have ever met. Mike (6”5) and Brian (6”10)… I kid you not! I stood and talked to them about nothing more than how intimidated I was standing next to them and where the mixers where for the vodka. After I realised that I was going have to drink citron vodka straight, I went to find the girls I had come in with and found them in the corridor with the only Israeli’s in the party. Oh how I love some harmless flirting and a charade!

The next day I enjoyed taking part in the Jerusalem tradition of Tal Bagels for breakfast. However, for me Tal bagels is never as simple as going for a brunch at a café in Tel Aviv. In Tel Aviv, brunch is a quiet, civilised experience with a few friends preferably at The Brassiere. In Jerusalem brunch with your friends means turning up at Tal Bagels and standing around the table your friend has reserved while a million of the people they know from Katamon/ the shul/ the supermarket/ the old country, turn up and sit in your seats! However, as I categorically told my friend that should that happen I would go and eat on my own at Burger Ranch instead, this week was far more civilised. That is until I got passed the salt.

Half way through my brunch and I decided to add a little salt to the egg… big mistake! The cap had not been put back on properly and there I was with a snowfall of salt all over my plate, lap and in my handbag. It was actually pretty hilarious although I am gutted that Sabra did not have her camera to hand as it would have made a good shot for this blog, plus I got a new breakfast so it was all good. The only thing that bothered me somewhat was its meaning… There is always meaning in everything.

They say that salt over the left shoulder is good luck, so what does it mean when it lands in your lap?

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About channahboo

I was once a Yorkshire lass, I guess I still am, but after moving to London and then on to Tel Aviv, New York and then back to Tel Aviv again, I wonder how much of the Yorkshire lass is left. The adventure continues and although many see my life as an extended episode of Seinfeld (you are free to laugh), I can also empathise with the Buddhist thought of life as our punishment. I guess the important part is the love that you carry with you through life’s journey and my back often feels the joyous strain of the weight of the love I carry.
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