Lucky Mojo

I have had this niggling feeling that I have lost something. You know the feeling when you pack your bags, walk out of the door, get in the car on the way to the airport and remember that you have forgotten your toothbrush. This is where Boots comes in handy as you rush through duty free.

Anyway, I know that I have lost something, but surely it cannot be something so important to me. My view has always been that you only lose the things you don’t really care that much for; the ring you haven’t worn in weeks and just left on the side of the sink, the extra mosquito repellent you bought but did not need at the time. Of course I acknowledge that there are people in this world who lose their most treasured items, and for these people I have a mixture of pity and ridicule… How can you really lose something you care so much about! Surely if you cared so much for it you would never let it out of your sight. Or so I thought.

TP: So how have you been?
ME: I think I lost my Mojo.
TP: How can you lose your Mojo? You are Mojolicious!
ME: I am sure it was here somewhere
TP: You checked your pockets
ME: First place I looked!

The truth is I looked in every pocket I own. I searched at the back of my draws, in my cupboards, under my bed. I know I had it somewhere…

TP: Ok I will find it!
ME: How?
TP: I am not sure… Let me have a think and I will come up with a plan.
ME: Ok I leave locating my Mojo in your hands
TP: Phew! That is a big responsibility.

When was the last time I had it? It is hard to tell, as it was always there whether I used it or not… Ok when was the last time I used my Mojo?

It was not that long ago was it? I remember that it was around the time my hair grew a personality of its own… Did I leave it in the hotel? I can hardly walk back in there and ask for it back. Did I give it away? Can you give your Mojo away without knowing it? No! Although, it might have been stolen! Oh that dirty rotten…

While TP continues his search I approached the only person I knew with Mojo to spare to see if I could borrow some to keep me going.

JO: You’ll have to ask the Bitch herself. But I warn you. She is not a sharer.
ME: Lucky can I borrow some of yours for the time being?
LM: Er… I don’t think so!
JO: I told you.
ME: Yup. Bitch!

BE RIGHT BACK

Please be patient with me... I have a Mojo deficiency

Sleep Studies

This week I found that I could not sleep. So exhausted from all the running around I have been doing lately, I found myself in a trance-like-state where although I could not sleep, I could not wake up enough to uncover the reason for my sleepless nights. The only constant was at one point in the night I would find myself scratching my right foot against my left ankle. Even Nooman commented on my lack of sleep and being able to hear me toss and turn throughout the night! Who needs a sleep study?

So I decided that one night I will consciously rise above my exhaustion and attempt to undercover the reason my covers were off my bed every morning. I lay in bed, hearing The Gossip’s “Standing in the Way of Control” pump out in my brain and despite my best efforts I fell into a deep deep sleep. I dreamt that I was walking through a forest, meandering between bending birch trees with soft curtain like branches whose material was the finest green leaf that allowed the sun to shine through and yet act as sunglasses for my eyes. I was in a white dress and my hair had become fair and was tied half up with a braid running through it. I looked at my hands as they pushed through the foliage and noticed a dark brown leather strap running from my finger up my right arm. It was then that I heard the voice.

Channah I love you…

Awake, I could still here the soft high pitched voice brush against my ear.

Channah I love you…

Now fully awake, I look to my side and I see him hovering about my ear whispering softly words of love. We decided then and there we were getting married. I mean he clearly has a thing for my ankles.

The next night the same thing, and despite swatting him away; telling him to leave me be; even hiding myself under the covers, somehow I could not escape from the now high pitched screeching of his voice.

Channah you are soooooo tasty… I love to suck on your ankles…No one loves you as much as me!

I could see this going on forever, I could see me letting him take his bite out of me bit by bit and leaving me punctured, swollen and itching all over. So I smiled and wished him goodnight… and the next day I did what any girl would do. I killed him.

Lily of the flood

Last week seemed to go on for a century and I was struggling to keep my head above the water when suddenly Thursday appeared. I had plans of Tika Masala, Dorothy Gale and a whole weekend hanging with the Maximus to look forward to, and how I needed it! Work has had my head spinning around and yet I have been standing still for almost two years, so the dizziness churns my stomach all the more and I am left feeling light headed and wobbly on my feet. Why as children did we spin and spin around? I now understand. Boredom.

I have to find a new response to the old question “How you doing?” “All good”, is also pretty boring. But I guess when nothing is bad, but nothing is particularly great, you are left with Parve. On top of that I feel myself loosing my voice more and more. I hear myself and I am bored. I find something interesting to say and I am shushed. I see me, age 5, shrinking in my big chair, under the faces of my family telling me not to be such a drama queen or that I remind them of Sarah Bernhardt. I know that in part neither insult nor intentional injury, and I do not repeat this to feel pity, a fool can pity themselves. I say it to point out a pattern that has encroached upon my life without me realizing it. Have I really taken on the same role among my friends as I have within my family?

All these things swirl around my mind as I lay down for my Thursday afternoon nap before a long and rewarding night ahead. After I awoke I attempted to shower and change for my evening, only to find that the bath would not drain and was full of dirty water. I tried to unclog the drain, but no use. With only half an hour left before I was supposed to meet the girls out I began to stress before regaining my head and deciding that the bath could wait and proceeded to whore wash myself over the sink.

My hair washed and feeling relieved I turned to walk out of the bathroom only to be greeted by water gushing out of the old unused shower and under the door. I was shocked at the amount of water… the noise sounded like a river running down my hallway and I leapt to my feet to try and soak up as much as possible before anything of worth was damaged.

It was not quite too late. The water was using the Twins old technique of when there is only one person to deal with you, separate into two different directions. So I was stood in my hallway naked, because I used my towel to try and stop the water going out of the bathroom, faced with the decision of saving my room or Nooman’s room. I leapt into action throwing on some clothes in case anyone came to my rescue only to find me dancing around in my birthday suit. I then ran, as fast as I could in 3 inches of water without falling on my ass, and grabbed the mop and began the work of saving Nooman’s computer. The water was already halfway to its target, soaking his checkbook and papers left on the floor, taking a bite out of the rug before deciding to snake under the bed, covering his shoes and out towards his study and his massive collection of discs and his new computer. I tried to save as much as I could as I ran towards the head of the flood to stop it in its tracks. As I did I called Nooman… COME HOME NOW!!! YOUR ROOM IS UNDER ATTACK! WE HAVE A FLOOD!!!

Three hours later; after forcing my landlord to do something for the money we pay him each month; crying; taking out all the water; crying; manually moping up the water that had got into the basement; crying; helping the plumber release more water; crying; clearing up more water… Nooman and I eventually collapsed, our Thursday evening sodden. Feeling too sorry for ourselves to give sympathy to the other, Nooman went to bed, leaving me to cry some more alone. A pathetic sight until a friend came baring the curry I had not been able to eat and another with Vodka to drown out the flood and dry away my tears. “You cannot end your bad day this way. We are going out.”

After a night of dancing, drinking and hiding from slimy Israelis, I collapsed into my bed. Unable to sleep I thought about the evening. At least the apartment was clean. A year of dirt never touched under certain beds was washed away and I began to think of the symbolic relevance of the flood. Like for Noah the flood washed away the dirt of our apartment and so too I felt it washed away the stale cobwebs for me, leaving behind a blank canvas to start again. What do I do with this canvas? I think I will paint a picture of what I would like my life to be, but without the high expectations. Instead I will step away in order to come back and be able to look fresh-faced and appreciate the wonderful family, friends and life I have around me.

I have been thinking… If you were to change your name you would be a Lily to me… The Lily is not a dramatic flower like the rose, the Lily is not overly dramatic although it has the ability to be so… It does not demand attention… Its symbolism is both good and evil… it has both capabilities… but for the most part it prefers to not stand out like the rose… It is funny how you fit into the same mould as you do within your family… The one capable of being dramatic, yet never demanding attention when none is willingly give… And then there is Lily Allen.

A Candle in the Wind

This weekend was a big old funky foo faa for Purim. We all put on our glad rags, in the form of wigs, costumes, funny outfits and ridiculously long fake eyelashes and headed to the roof top of Tel Aviv to party the night away. At least that was the plan…

After deciding that I could be sexy any day of the week, I decided to go for the funny option and went as an over the top Elton John. Now although I had thought a great deal about the costume, the hair, the make-up, the glasses involved in being Elton, I did not really think a lot about what it would really mean to be him… No the men in tight t-shirts were not my biggest worry… I could not remember his songs. All I could think of was Rocket Man.

Now I know that I risk my ‘cool’ status by saying this, but I like Elton John. I think he is one of the best singer songwriters of our time, at least he is high on the list. And no his work may no longer be ground breaking, but it is solid… So why could I not remember any of his songs? Now sat at my desk I can think of at least 50 off the top of my head… On Thursday night however, I struggled to remember that he had written the music to the Lion King! But then I remember that on Thursday night, after 2 glasses of wine with sushi, 2 large glasses of Vodka red bull as I got dressed and the rest of the bar I drank at the party, I actually struggled to remember who I was dressing up as in the first place.

This is not a good place to be and generally I know how to ensure that I finish the night still standing straight, but not this time. This time I was head bent over toilet wondering what the black bits were. It has been a long time since I have done something so stupid, but as I have cut down on my drinking and this was a one off bit of stupidity I will try not to be so hard on myself… we have our reasons… there are always reasons.

Talking to a friend today I find myself thinking more and more about running away. I like the idea of just disappearing. Walking into the sunset and not telling anyone around where I am going… A nice idea… in theory.

Creating Chemistry?

A couple of weeks ago I was at a close family friend's wedding, just minding my own business, dancing with my dad, when a young man took the initiative to get my attention by asking my mother to dance with him...

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I guess that is one way to create some Chemistry... But for you all you boys out there... You want the girl to fall for you? Or at least her parents to fall for you... shmooze the Mama!!

A Long-term Investment

Last night I went home. Not the home I grew up in and not the home that I currently share with Nooman and his computer, but my home… or should I say where my parents’ live. This should not be such a bold statement to make, but as I admit I am not the best daughter/ sister/ aunt in the world, so when I do step out of my Tel Aviv bubble I try to appreciate my time spent with the people I appreciate most and who probably realise it the least.

Earlier in the day I had a meeting with a financial adviser to discuss how I was going to invest my Pension fund that I (a year too late) have received from my work. I remember back in England, meeting with a financial advisor and gazing over is head wistfully as he droned on and on about high risk and low risk investments, while I contemplated how I was going to spend my money and promptly told him “Just give me the cash”. This time around, a little more mature, and a little more paranoid about the future, I asked him in depth questions about how I could get the highest growth out of my savings, the best way to invest it for the long term, and what other options I had to be a millionaire by the time I retire. In turn he, amazed that someone was actually interested in how their money was going to grow, talked about stocks and bonds, interest rates and the ever unstable market. He asked me questions about my health, lifestyle, family and finally came around to the most difficult part of the process…. What if I die?

Being young, and not having a husband or children of my own to consider if and when I leave this world, I had never really considered what would happen to my ‘things’. I mean I have never really owned anything of great worth… a car… a wardrobe full of clothes… There is nothing that anyone would really want. If I died tomorrow my family would more likely be cursing me for the inheritance of clearing out my draws, jammed full with crap that I have just thrown in over the years, forgotten about and have been too lazy to sort through and throw away. Perhaps that is something I should consider when I next get the cleaning bug.

So I am sat in the main meeting room, looking at the financial advisor with a thick Scottish accent and a large jovial grin on his face and my gut reaction is, “My father, I would like my father to be the beneficiary.” I think it was the right thing to do. I would never want to take favourites amongst my siblings. The advisor continues to look at me and I feel the heat rising to my face, my eyes watering slightly and I flush red. “Does he know how much you love him?” he says winking at me. I say, “Probably not”, and nervously laugh.

Sleeping last night in my parents’ house, in the only single bed in the house, I felt so strangely safe. There is a different feeling you feel sleeping under the comfort blanket of your parents building. I may prefer my bed in my apartment, I may find the mattress hard and unforgiving, but the sleep I have is like the sleep of my youth. It is like the rest of the world is really cut off. My eyes shut, relaxed… no monsters will come out of the wardrobe to get me, no-one is going to break in tonight. In the middle of the night I woke up and heard my father snoring across the hall.

It's funny... the things that guys do to f**k with us

3 ways to break up

A Clarification

In light of my blog last year about this wonderful day that, thanks to Ginrod, I will forever refer to as VD, I thought I should clarify all I feel about this day...



Please! I am a woman after all! I wish you all a lot of VD! Peace be with you. x

Taking the Mic

I got into work late for me today, although at 9AM it would be the standard time to arrive into work for most. Me on the other hand I like to get in early and escape not long after the part timers leave. This way I miss the traffic in the morning, miss the traffic in the afternoon, and get to be home in time to go to the gym and still have a full night ahead of me to hang with my friends. This morning however there was no getting me to work on time.

A night with Ginrod turned into two bottles of wine followed by an excursion to a little blue door in the wall Jazz bar with the girls. This is the kind of bar I like. A small place, with an understated charm that draws your vision to the large black and white stills hanging on the brick wall of musicians looking down at a large, black, grand piano and double base waiting to be played. It is the sort of place I go to dream of being a Jazz singer, “doo doo wa” doing next to a piano man who I slide up to as I sing my song about whoopee, not too dissimilar from Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. In an ideal world where I did not have to consider where my rent was coming from each month, that is where you would find me at night… propping myself up against a grand piano, singing in dulcet tones to an audience who would lap up every drop.

I remember going to see my friend Corinne, many years ago, when she was working in a Jazz bar, go up on the stage and sing amongst the musicians. I would watch her with an even mixture of admiration, pride and a dash of envy. Although I had sung a great deal when I was younger, by the time I finished my teens I left behind singing in favour of finding a ‘career’. It never occurred to me that I could ever find a career with my voice, no matter how many people said I had talent, my view was there is more to being an artist than holding a note. An entertainer can sing a tune, but he is no artist. An artist writes the tune he sings. In my opinion unless you have nurtured the song from just an idea to fruition you may as well be creating the Mona Lisa painting with numbers. I guess this is why I envied her, because when she stood on that stage just singing into the mic, she belonged there. Surrounded by instruments that she could play, singing with musicians who admired her talent as a musician and a singer songwriter. I knew my place. I was and am nothing more than an entertainer, a self loathing entertainer longing to be an artist, and not just a singer.

When you are just a singer it is hard to stand up with the giants and claim that the voice you have is an instrument too. The difference here is I do not have to practice my instrument every day, although there was a time that I did much to the annoyance of my family. I think the issue has always been that I have always held truly talented musicians in some form of reverence. They had the raw talent, the determination and the passion for their art to keep on practising; even when their fingers were bleeding; or when they had failed to get it the first 10 times, but were determined to get it this time; or just even though their favourite TV programme was on and they could not be bothered to concentrate. They carried on in a way that I never could with the many instruments I had longed to play, but never managed more than London Bridge before quitting.

However, last night, when my friend grabbed the dude who had brought the musicians together and said, “You looking for a singer?” while pointing in my direction, I was amazed by how welcome I felt. Arms outstretched he welcomed me to join the musicians on stage… any time… now? No I could not go up. Nothing to do with nerves. Although now the thought of getting back on stage is filling me with an excited fear and loathing, I was just not prepared to sing at that moment. Well after two bottles of wine I stumbled over telling him my name, never mind trying to remember the lyrics to songs I have not sung fully for years. “Anytime you wanna sing, come find me.” And with a wink and a smile I felt so at ease that despite not knowing what I would sing or the words to the songs I almost floated on after him as he walked back onto the stage and lifted the sax to his lips and played. “I will…”

My head heavy I woke sideways this morning, bumping into Nooman in the bathroom and swearing at him, at myself and then clamouring back into bed and switching my alarm off. My excuse for not singing last night was because I had to get home to bed for work. The guy had said that he too had to get up for work, but that was not what was important “This is what counts. Not work.” I definitely could understand what he was saying, although I think Mr. Graham would not quite agree with the sentiment. “When are you going to start earning some decent money?” I did… remember… in England. “Maybe you should think about going back.” I do… and then I decide that it just is not an option. “Oh you could have had so much by now!” I do… I have more.

Mushy Muesli

Once there was a Cornflake girl, who thought it was a good solution hanging with the Raisin girl, well they needed to talk and so as they lay with nothing to do in the cereal box, only waiting to be opened up and covered in milk, they talked.

Raisin Girl: I think I need to go on a date, get out there and meet someone.
Cornflake Girl: But I thought you wanted to be with him, to give it a go.
Raisin Girl: Yes, but I cannot force someone to be with me who does not want to be with me.
Cornflake Girl: Did you ask him?
Raisin Girl: Yup
Cornflake Girl: And?
Raisin Girl: Something about the time passing by… I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
Cornflake Girl: Ok, so move on, meet someone new, bring in new energy… someone hotter.
Raisin Girl: The only thing I want is one last time with him… you know so we can end this well and I don’t have to hate him
Cornflake Girl: Step away from that idea

I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music

And it breaks my heart

Cornflake Girl: You know I miss the little fucker
Raisin Girl: Who?
Cornflake Girl: You know who… I told my friend last night that I'll be upset if he contacts me tomorrow, but I'll be even more upset if he doesn't.
Raisin Girl: Yeah I hear you… In my head it goes “if he calls I am ignoring it”, but the fact that he hasn’t called just makes me want to call him.
Cornflake Girl: We’re not pathetic right?
Raisin Girl: I hope not!
Cornflake Girl: No! We are desirable!
Raisin Girl: I hope we are!
Cornflake Girl: And deserve to be with nice men.

And suppose I never met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall

And it breaks my heart

Cornflake Girl: Every time I see his name I want to vomit… and smoke
Raisin Girl: Yup I know what you mean… Is it a sign of weakness?
Cornflake Girl: No! It’s a sign of emotion. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!
Raisin Girl: Why do you hate him?
Cornflake Girl: Because it is easier to be angry
Raisin Girl: Yeah I guess it is. Why can it not just be easy? Why can it not be simple? You like each other, you like hanging out together, make each other laugh, have good chemistry, fantastic sex and you love each other. How does that not equal a relationship?
Cornflake Girl: It does. Just without the title I guess.
Raisin Girl: Ok so why does it mean a relationship without a future?
Cornflake Girl: Because someone is scared of the future or doesn't want a relationship, or has it set his mind to not have one.
Raisin Girl: Or just not to have one with me!
Cornflake Girl: That does not make sense to me.
Raisin Girl: Me neither!

All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better

And it breaks my heart

Cornflake Girl: Ok I am doing the worst thing possible now.
Raisin Girl: What?
Cornflake Girl: I am reading through old conversations I had with him.
Raisin Girl: Oh my god! I am doing the same thing.
Cornflake Girl: Are we the same person?

The Golden Pig

Today was definitely a new day for me. I went to sleep early and woke up before dawn refreshed and ready to start a new day, with a new attitude. I got in the first boiling hot shower I have had all winter and remembered that the hot water was always more efficient in the mornings. After I steamed my self out I walked around my apartment, got dressed, dried my hair and listened to the sound of rain outside my window. I remember this time of year from last year. It has to get worse before it can get better, and now is the countdown to the end of the storm. In the meantime we have a storm to live through. I thought about this and I smiled.

I did not even mind the fact that my car was parked a block away and that the downpour clearly meant that drying my hair straight would be pretty much a waste of time. Dressed and ready to leave the house I took another look around the place, checked myself in the mirror and decided that although I was still early for work, there was no need to put on make-up. I walked through the streets to my car and I did not even mind when I stood in a puddle, soaking my foot in the process. In fact I laughed.

I arrived to work, the only person in the office apart from one Lawyer who it would seem had pulled an all-nighter. My happy mood followed me all the way to my desk, through most of my emails until one particularly obnoxious lawyer’s rant of an email really wound me up. Now I am gritting my teeth and wishing the little runt was here so I could give the ignorant piece of shit a piece of my mind! I grit my teeth. Something I have been doing a lot lately which explains the headaches I keep getting.

Anyway, It is funny that; the fact that the email got me so angry. I mean most people I know when they don’t really care about something they don’t let the things around it annoy them. Take my younger sister for example. In general she just does not give a shit, unlike her twin who takes offence quickly, she does not really care what happens around her. I on the other hand do care very much… even when I don’t. What do I mean? Well, my job is hardly my career. It is not the job I was trained in, nor the job I choose to have for the rest of my life. I am neither passionate nor inspired by it… and before you ask, yes I have been passionate and inspired by previous jobs which were in fact a career. However, when I made Aliyah there were things I gave up to live in the country of my choosing, and my previous career was one. Nevertheless, if I do not care about what I am doing then why should I care if someone criticizes my work? It makes no sense. So too, if I am emotionally detached then why do I care if I feel like others are emotionally detached from me. I cannot expect someone to show me the love if I keep mine close to my own chest. Yeah well… a nice thought in theory, but when it comes to the workings of this heart I have always been ‘show me a little and I will give it all’, so I guess the fact that I feel at times like I am getting nothing shows me that keeping my heart closed is not necessarily a bad thing… protect yourself boo.

I then come to an email from a Chinese associate informing the office about their forthcoming national holidays due to the New Year. It got me thinking. Now would be a good time to have a New Year. Now when the skies are falling down upon us, it would be good to have a time to celebrate a new year, as if all the problems of last year are being washed away and we will be left with a clean slate and a whole new year ahead of us. This year is the year of the pig, and not just any pig, but the Golden Pig. The pig as an animal is considered “playful, honest, forthright and one who enjoys instant gratification and all life has to offer”. Therefore, the year of the Golden Pig is supposed to be a fun year, “a time to get your sense of humour back”. I could really do with getting that back asap!
According to Chinese belief it is also a good year for children to be born as these children will be destined to lead carefree lives. It then comes as no surprise that condom sales in China, and neighbouring countries who also follow the Chinese zodiac, have fallen dramatically since the new year as couples are eager to conceive so their child can be born in the year of the Golden Pig. However, the flip side is that the year of the pig is, according to many Buddhists and followers of the Chinese Zodiac, also known as the “Year of the Widow”, which as it sounds is a bad time for women hoping to marry. Just a note to all single women out there; if you thought this was your year… forget it! However, on a brighter note, it is the year of the GOLDEN pig don’t forget, so that could mean a whole new spin on the issue… but either way it promises to be a year of fun and frolicking in the mud.

The mud tonight being a meeting with my personal trainer followed by an evening of Karaoke... Dazed Glonut I hope you have been warming up your voice!!

Start Again

Well the weekend began with migraines and tears, a dangerous cycle that could not be stopped with all the drugs I was popping into my system. I lay for a whole day in the dark, tears rolling down my face, waiting for the pain to subside. I drifted in and out of sleep, and as I did I felt all the weight on my mind ease off. Not literally of course, the pain was still there, but I began to feel the things that were bothering me ease up somewhat… And then last night they all came crashing down on me again.

Last night I was relieved to see Fit Joel. We have always been close and although we have recently both been distracted and neglected our friendship, it was so good to spend some time with him, even if the only alone time we got was parked outside my apartment. It would seem that I am not alone. We have all been through those complicated situations where lines are blurred, where the space between black and white is a sea of grey. As we sat and talked, I remembered all the times we spent together during university and how easy it was to not date anyone during that time. As I poured out my heart to my dear old friend I realised that I had not felt so safe in so long. The advice he gave me was nothing I did not already know, nothing new and profound, but it touched me and I found myself only hoping that one day I could repay him with similar words of support. His advice was clear;

Channah you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. You are great and if they cannot get that then they just don’t get that… move on. But in the meantime I get how easy it is to not.

After we agreed that a weekend up North was what we both needed, I got out of the car, my head a whirl with his advice and I could not help but think about all the little niggles in my life that I would like to be ironed out. No matter, be it the issues with work, my family, my friends, or the men that come and go, they are all in my control and I have the power to manoeuvre my life in the direction I would like it to go. I also have the power to deflect the control I see others having on me… No one can tell me what to do. As he once said so many years to me:

Channah, you have a knack for asking for advice. You ask and ask and ask from everyone everywhere. But you only ever take the advice of yourself. That is a good thing… I just don’t get why you feel need to ask. You need to bypass that and just trust in your own instincts.

I figure that the issue with that has always been that I have been brought up to think in a very logical manner. From a young age the wild impulses of the ‘born actress’ were kicked out of me and I realised that logic was the only way I was going to find my path through life. The only problem is that when you are trying to find a new path and you have so many options in front of you it is usually your natural impulses or instincts which help you find the right way. My issue is that my logical brain blocks the instinctual voice in my head and no matter how much I try to hear it, my ears are blocked… for the exception of purchasing shoes. In that case my instincts take control and my logic is bound and gagged. How does this happen? Who knows, but at least I know it is still there… waiting for me to channel it somehow.

Lately I have found strangers shocking me into déjà vu with words I have not heard since my youth. At a Friday night dinner a couple of weeks ago a film director at the table turned to my roommate as I was in the middle of one of my stories and said, “That Channah is something! She is a great Actress… Wow!” My ears were burning as I tried to continue my story without being put off by the commentary going on stage left. However the flush was in my cheeks and I could not accept the compliment for what it was. Nor could I when I was having a rant about the ignorant new waitress in Arcafe who refused to give me my frequent customer discount because I did not have my card… Girl there is no frequent customer discount card!! They just give it to me because every other waiter knows me! During this rant I naturally and unknowingly began to imitate the annoying voice of the waitress. Mid speech I suddenly opened my ears to my audience and saw them laughing their asses off… “Channah seriously you are in the wrong profession! You should have been an actress!”

Once again instead of pride I felt embarrassed, and I could not understand why I would feel this from what was actually a complement. I then remembered all the times I had heard this before when I was a child and remembered how the words had been said mostly in the same way, but also enough times in scoff. Tears came to my eyes and I suddenly felt a rush of all the foolish feelings that had consumed me then; the feeling of being the court Jester rather than the entertainer; the feeling of being laughed at instead of laughed with. I guess every now and then the feeling that no-one around you takes you seriously comes back to me every now and then… it is my issue with myself. On the one hand I enjoy laughing at myself, on the other I often fear that I am being seen as just a joke. Perhaps this is my way of telling myself not to take Channah too seriously.

Looking back over all the blogs I have written over the last few weeks I see the little girl that I was, grappling to find her feet and establish herself again in this older more worldly body. As I said back then, this is not depression, I am not depressed. And no I am not in denial either! I think everyone at the moment is suffering the Seasonal Syndrome and feeling as grey and blustery as the weather and I think we are all waiting for the buds of spring to appear and the sun to shine again. I long to jump into the Mediterranean again after a long night partying with my girls.

In the short term I am starting another week, and I am already looking forward to the weekend. Perhaps there will come a time when I enjoy just standing still and watching the world around me move. However right now I am eager to jump back on the merry-go-round and feel the wind whip through my hair as life exhilarates me and makes my heart race… It has been too long since my heart raced. Ok maybe not as long as others, but long enough for me. So if the play is not panning out as planned, the actress has forgotten her lines and no longer cares about her role, she starts again from Scene One.

Dance dance dance

So just a little update on my evening last night... Ms Freeman misread the class timetable and despite telling me that the class was going to be Street dance, Noodles and I walked in to find that it was in fact Strip dance! You can only imagine...




Well I have been told that I look like Carmen.... Er ok.

Anyway, my boss is off work today. It would appear that her boyfriend late last night suprised her with a weekend trip to Paris. Where do guys like this hang out? Certainly not around me, any of my friends, or any guy I have as yet to meet. I can't even get a guy to commit to staying at his place for the weekend! But seriously I am happy for her... and as long as this only benefits my annual review which is next week I am all for her taking of a day or two to escape to Paris.

Meanwhile, with no-one in the office to check on me I am being suprisingly responsible and plan to leave only 2 hours early.

Be well, have a wonderful weekend, whatever it is that you are doing. I'm staying in Tel Aviv with the greatest people I know... well some of them ;)

Get Down on It

After spending the same amount I would spend if I were going to the Jerusalem Winter Ball last night on dinner (and Tequila!), I have come to the realisation that something has got to give. That or my money problems are going to become money catastrophes. And the apartment I dream of calling my own will forever be just a dream. Oh how I long to put my clothes away in my wardrobe knowing that the only reason I will be packing them in a suitcase is to go on holiday.

Oh a holiday! It is so sad to realise that the last holiday I went on was more of a rushed shopping excursion almost two years ago. Last night I talked late into the night about future holiday plans, London, Thailand… maybe one day I will actually see some of the world! It actually makes me cringe to think of all the cheap flights I could have taken advantage of living in England to fly to locations in Europe for a weekend break that I never did because of time/ money or effort constraints.

But now I am determined to look forward to something other than the weather changing. I am in a slump where I feel like I am not being heard, while at the same time I have nothing really to say. I feel like an empty shell, a vase that is just there for decoration but of no use. I have an urge to fight it, to smash it to a million pieces and to start again as me… Sounds a little like how I felt before I made Aliyah. I was sick of not being heard, sick of being someone I am not, and now I feel at times the same… How did this happen again? It is a shame when you feel like you have grown, moved on and improved yourself only to find yourself on the precipice of the same situation, with the same hang ups only this time you do not have a planned escape route. This time I’m going to have to actually tackle it head on and deal with it.

In the meantime though I am making plans to visit old friends and make a visit to the old country for some channahboo cuddles and a trip down the memory lane of a previous life. I am a good talker so when I told Mr. Javor that I might be paying him a visit near the summer he was full of plans for gigs and concerts. It would seem that there is a chance that my visit might coincide with one of my favourite bands playing.

Me: So can I see Bright Eyes?
Mr. Javor: No you are not allowed.
Me: What? I didn’t even ask for a backstage pass! Which I want by the way! Why?
Mr. Javor: Because I said so
Me: Boo you whore!
Mr. Javor: Actually you are, which is why you cannot come.
Me: Ha ha ha ok seriously MoFo sort me out or I will give you evils
Mr. Javor: I saw Lucy Lui backstage at the last Bright Eyes show. I stared at her and she gave me a dirty look. Was very cool!!!

For legal reasons I cannot repeat the rest of our conversation, but Mr. J… you are a rock star! I cannot wait to party with you!


So I have decided that if you cannot beat the funk you should just get down on it, which is exactly what I am doing tonight in the form of a Street dance Aerobics class. I expect that I will enter the class with my usual arrogance of wowing them with my dancing skills only to end the class falling on my ass… I cannot wait!

Walk Out

It is funny how you can go to sleep with a smile on your face and wake up the next morning crying. I guess it means I am just not happy at the moment. It is the beginning of that feeling deep in my chest that I had living in London, when I knew that I was moving to Israel. But the difference is that I am not going anywhere. I am staying here… with this feeling that leaves me crying on the way to work, snapping at my boss and wanting to walk out and start the day again tomorrow.

The tips of my ears are constantly itching and red hot. The voices are all around me and they are all the saying the same things. I want to shout out and make myself heard but the looks say, “Be a good girl, play your part and try not to say something stupid.” There is no refuge. No home I have in this country where I do not feel this in some way and I try to understand what happened that made me the village idiot. My gut is to just walk away, start afresh and find something new. But I am getting to an age where that would just be foolish, and as I am in fact not the village idiot, I refuse to behave like one.

I try and think about all the good things currently in my life, and there are lots of those treasures around me that I love and adore and who I know respect me for the person they know I am. The ones who take the time to listen to my stories, the friends who walk me all the way home because they see I am too drunk to get there myself, those who know they can rely on me for anything and do, those who understand that when I am calling ‘just to say hey’ that is cue for them to make me laugh, the people who are always around, always there and always care what is going on in my life, not just when they want something in return.

There are enough people close around me that have no idea who I am or what I feel, for if they did they certainly would not take advantage of my kindness the way they do. I feel like I have ‘mug’ written on my forehead and with every smirk that it is sent my way, the lettering becomes darker and darker and is tattooed deeper into the creases. I try to wipe it off, but there on the other side is the word ‘nagger’ so it is either one or the other. So what do I do instead? Nothing. I shut my mouth, I don’t say a word. I pretend like everything is fine, that I am not hurt, disappointed or offended. I could pretend like this forever. I can be a good actress when need be. The only thing is that I am miserable.

(Sorry to be so morbid on my 100th posting... I swear it will get better)

Fox Skin

On the drive to work today I passed a dead fox in the road. Being brought up in the suburbs, close to the countryside, I was used to seeing foxes walking across my lawn, across my street, in my bins, laughing at my street cat that tried to stop it from entering her territory. The foxes of Leeds were actually beautiful to watch. I loved to see their rich and vibrant coats as they ran up my driveway towards their prize. I never thought of them as wild animals, they were the suburb’s pets… the ones we kept outdoors at all times and never tried to pet. However the fox this morning, despite being dead, was very different to the animals I was used to. This fox was truly a wild beast. Its coat was warn and dull in colour, with black strips throughout. In fact it looked more hyena than fox, with its fangs hanging out of the side of its wide slashed mouth. I stared at it for long as I dared without crashing into the car in front of me.

I have a real feeling at the moment that everything is changing while everything stays the same. New people are coming into our lives as old ones are fading out and for the first time in a long time I am wishing that we could spin back time a few months and hold it there just a little longer. But then I realise that I am a lunatic and that we cannot stop time, we cannot turn back time, we just have to move onwards and forwards. Yes it may seem that really nothing has changed since last year. It may seem that all the goals I set for myself throughout my Aliyah have not all come to fruition, but as long as I sit here and dwell on what never was, I will miss out on what could and should really be. I know what I want for myself and only I can achieve that, even though it would be nice to push the hassle every now and then onto someone else. But the one good thing about looking back is learning from what you left behind you and as someone who has had her fair share of crutches in the past I think the time has come to stand on my own two feet and kick those crutches to the side… ok maybe I will take it step by step.

Last week finished with sickness as opposed to the fun Thursday night I had in mind and this Thursday night looks to be one of those evenings where we are all doing our own thing. Long gone are the summer evenings at Clara’s, buying vodka by the bottle and dancing in the sea at the end of the night. It is like the winter is freezing every bit of fun out of my nights and the only parts of my days that I look forward to are the gym and my bed. Not even my living situation is what it was and it is a lonely existence. Usually it would be about now that I would grab a bottle of wine, grab my mobile and message an ex, but not even that appeals right now. I don’t think it is depression, because I am not depressed and in the wide scheme of things I have nothing to be depressed about. I think I am tired of being boxed up and wrapped in a ribbon. I think I am just bored. Well tough shit I guess. Because if I want to get where I am going then I am going to be boxed and bored for a while and if I don’t like it… well I will just have to keep looking to the future with one eye over my shoulder. At least my hair is looking great at the moment.

And no, I am not a scared bunny… I am a shark goddamnit!!

I'll take the beef with a side dish of guilt

I cannot believe it has been a week since I have written anything. I cannot believe that with all that has happened in that time that I have not even had the urge to write something down. That is until last night.

Yesterday, everything shut down and all that was left was the overwhelming feeling of guilt. Why guilt? What do I have to feel guilty about? I struggle to remember and then I wonder perhaps it is just hormones, but the timing for that is all wrong. I have the same feeling deep in my chest that I have when I know a family Yautzite is coming up. The feeling of doom; the feeling that any second the knife wielding monster is going to jump out of the closet, the shark is going to attack, and somehow with all this guilt I feel like I had it coming.

Last night with all this on my mind I decided to beat it out of my system with a full on work out at the gym, but after 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer the guilt was in my muscles and I could not go any further. Hearty soup that I had made the night before was home waiting for me and the idea of something beefy and fulfilling inside me seemed to ease my joints. I walked out of the Dizengoff centre and made my way home trying to switch off the little voice… and then I realised that the little voice was not in my head, but was the voice of a stranger trying to get my attention.

I carried on walking and ignored his attempts to get my attention. I snuck a peak under my cap to my side and there he was… still trying to get my attention. I was now feeling stalked. I turned into my road and looked around to see him walk away. Phew! I then walked into the gateway of my apartment to the front door and was suddenly amazed to hear him behind me again. I swung around and was faced with this guy who asked me if I recognised him. “Who the hell are you?” He told me his name and asked for mine and began to move in closer. All the guilt, all the fear and all the shock I was feeling suddenly bubbled over and as tears welled up in my eyes I told him to leave me alone, that approaching a girl in that way was not nice and to Fuck off!

His face dropped and it was then I realised what beautiful eyes he had. But it was my eyes that would not stop… I ran up the stairs to my apartment, opened and bolted the door shut behind me and wept. It took the soothing words of Eli to make me stop crying and once again feel guilt for going crazy at a guy who was probably not an axe murderer or serial rapist, but just a guy who has bad enough taste to ask me for my number as I walked home sweaty and dishevelled from the gym. More guilt!

Today I feel much better. I have been focussed on work and the other distractions have just been fleeting. Plans for the weekend and Thursday night are beginning to take shape and I am now going to have to let go of a very fun Thursday night and blissful Shabbat with the family and move on to a new weekend. Perhaps this weekend will help me purge the guilt and move on to a new week, with new adventures and distractions to tempt me. Not that all the ladies are so happy… now that I am discovering that dipping into their pool once in a while can be a surprisingly fun experience. Bring it on girls… bring it on!

QashQai Fun

I want to be this guy...

The Flying Fish:

The Flying Fat bloke:

The Flying Fuck:

Thank you Nissan for the amusement. Shame it didn't sell you more cars.

(nb Thanks israluv for forwarding this to me... My office loves it!)

What does the future hold?

After the thick fog of booze lifted from weighing down my duvet over my eyes, I awoke to a new year and found that I had a lot to look back on and think about. My head was a whirl with alcohol fuelled evenings that although have been a delightful addition to my social life, have done little for my worn down body. And now with the New Year my body is beginning to fight back… and not a moment too soon!

After a month of living without TV and loving the little joy of a laptop with endless episodes of my favourite shows (House MD, Studio 60, Entourage, and of course Grey’s Anatomy) I got a little ahead of myself and decided that I could live without TV full-stop and promptly told the bitch in the accounts department of YES where she could go stick her pompus attitude and if she didn’t want my ‘kind of business’ then I would quite happily take it elsewhere! Unfortunately the only other place to run is HOT. HOT the TV channel that has removed BBC Prime and replaced it with more Russia channels and Ethiopian TV programmes. Where are the British supposed to find refuge in this country that will not let us keep up to date with the goings on of Albert Square nor even provide our bills in another language other than Russian or Hebrew. So when the nice American guy who works for YES’s “get you back” department called and begged me for forgiveness, begged me to come back, promised me all the love, all the BBC Prime TV and all the service I got before at a reduced rate, I thought for a moment and reminded myself that the laptop was soon to be returned to its owner and my smugness at telling them where they could go stick it, would ultimately be stuck with me…. TVless!

YES-man: Please tell me what I can do to make you happy
ME: (Sidestage: Hmmmm find me a man that will say that and mean it)
Actually can you send me my bills in English?
YES-man: No
ME: Ok. So can you have it so my account can be seen on the Yesbox in English
YES-man: No
ME: (Sidestage: I am thinking this is a NO-man and not a YES-man)
Am I a second class citizen?
YES-man: Yes… sadly in the land of Israel there is no room for us Anlgos… I guess there just aren’t enough of us.
ME: Or maybe we just don’t complain enough… Want to start a Coup!?
YES-man: Err… no.

Ok so I am not starting a coup, but I do think it is ironic that both companies who refuse to provide service in the English Language both use English words as their name! YES and HOT…. Hmmmmmmm, I leave it with you to come up with the appropriate rhymes to go with those names. I have lots!

Anyway, moving on, I had a quick week last week due to days off from work to recover from New Years, which was made all the more fun by the presence of Mr. Javor. (Dude you may be gone, but you will never be forgotten… Come back soon!!) But as with all short weeks, the weekend was even shorter and half way through a very pleasant Friday night snuggled on the sofa of Ginrod with a glass of wine in one hand and the other under a blanket trying to find warmth, I realised that the weekend was very almost over. Saturday came too soon and after a festive rendition of Cinderella I contacted as many of the folk I had not sent seasons greetings to and had an early night.

I have never been one to make New Years Resoluations. I like to treat my life with constant assestments and reward reviews so that no year ends with too many nasty suprises. As far as the rest of my life? Well I can only focus on one thing at a time when it comes to my life and I have finally found that I am the most important thing in MY life, so that is what I am focusing on at the moment…. Everything else is frosting… and you know how partial I am to a bit of frosting!

I would like to wish you all a belated Happy New Years. May this year be the beginning of the rest of our lives, filled with joy and happiness, health, wealth and success! XXX

English girls can drink?

You people clearly haven't downed a shot with Ms Freeman...




Hmmmmm What was that comment about my eighth drink?!?!?!