Thursday, December 31, 2009

Top Five things about 2009

I've had blogger-block for the last couple weeks. Today, I really wanted to share something insightful for 2010. But no- the only thing i could think of that has occured in the last couple weeks are the following:
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1. The days are SUPER short
2. The dogs have diarrhea
3. I've been getting pimples on the side of my head from my hats
4. I think about cleaning the floors every night but quench the desire.
5. P Bonez was virual in the last week and we both have coughing contests upon slumber.

See? If that's not writable awesomness, I don't know what is.
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Happy 2010 Bitches!!

Monday, December 28, 2009

Phone cam


Stop this tel aviv fashion now!

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Photo cam


A blurry fashion no no called shit in pants.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Phone cam


My husband loves me. A lot.

A Letter to my Co-worker upon his departure

Dear xx,

I could not wait for this moment soon enough. After the nightmares I had of you and that you were a serial killer- I understand now that these thoughts could be G-d himself speaking to me.
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Your impending departure has not only saved my own life, but the lives of all future UoPeople employees. Hashem works in mysterious ways AS we all know. From the small moment of gas- inspired discomfort in my belly to know it's functioning, to the UN's decision to give us this desert filled with Milk and Honey.

Alas, despite you being a serial killer I am sure there is some part of me that will miss your filthy humor and your murderous comments when I reach your fake-wooden desk. You are in luck, I actually stay in Tel Aviv on Tuesday nights because I am in therapy because of you. However, I am only available for alcohol consumption in celebration after 9pm.

Ta Ta for Now.
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The Sooz.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Phone cam


When goliath and henk play. Part 1.

Monday, December 07, 2009

Phone cam


A rainy day in the middle east. Tel aviv.

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

Remembering Tsiki

Dearest Tsiki,
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Today you would have been 28- years old. When I met you, you were an Israeli 22 year-old. What do I mean by Israeli 22? The only way one that lives in this country can be 22. Fresh-faced out of the army, with a heightened sense of fraternization with your friends than any other culture I’ve witnessed. I suppose when I met you, the relief of you and all the boys leaving the army was reflected in the passion when you all traveled: the jokes on lawn chairs at midnight, and heckling laughter with every step you took and the incessant back slapping. You all carried the excitement of exploring the entire world for the first time- spending the fruits of your labor, one dollar at a time- and enjoying them- for weeks at a time.
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I often seek you in the faces of strangers. The tall gentlemen at the shop next door has your complexion. The café steps from my work- he has your eyes, the little boy at the playground- he must have been you when you were a child. In my mind I put these attributes together and age you in my mind. It’s my way of finding you in this world.
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But I cannot age you, because each year I grow older and my body has become that of a 29 year old and in my dreams you are still 23. My mind has grown confused with the more I know and in my memories of you, you will never have one more wrinkle or read the latest pulitzer prize winning book.
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A few days ago, a comrade of yours in the army wrote to me, to extend his hand in communication and I believe, to tell me he thinks of you. These forms of contacts are few and far between and I know this is your way of speaking to me, to tell me in the form of a caring thought that you still exist in our lives.
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That you hear us and you want us to hear you.
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Although my life has moved forward and I can walk with my own two feet from the devastation I experienced in losing you, I think about you every day because you have become a part of me.
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Tuesday, December 01, 2009

My desk at work.


Go asian.