No, Mister Frodo!

This week I hiked Gamla with my classmates.  Normally it is very dry and brown, but luckily for us winter semester kids, it looked like something out of the Lord of the Rings (see the photos below for comparison).

                

Now the following is a very realistic rendition of one of the scenes in the Lord of the Rings in which Frodo, Sam, and Gollum are having a tussle.  I'm sure you can clearly tell who is what and what is going on, but just in case you left your glasses in the other room- I'm Sam, holding back Frodo, who is being attacked by Gollum.  All centered around... a Hebrew CTR ring.  I love my friends.
   

Ornithophobia

Everyone's afraid of something.  It's something I like to ask people to break the ice, because the things that scare you and how you react to them are indicative of personality.  In my discussions, I like to break things down in to three categories: mental, physical, and irrational.  As far as I can tell, I have more irrational fears than mental or physical.  Dolphins are the biggest-but that's a story for another time.  The most pressing fear at the time is my irrational fear of birds.

At the moment there are three pigeons nesting in the rafters of our patio.  I didn't realize they were there until yesterday morning when I was sitting, minding my own business, and one flew down and scared the spit out of me.  Now it's Saturday morning and I've been sitting on the couch for the last hour, catching up on things, watching the same one pigeon fly down, pick up the same thin piece of wood, fly up to the rafters and drop the wood.  Then repeat after a minute or two.

I thought it was the same few twigs... until I walked outside.  Our table is covered in twigs and wood.  These stupid sky rats are bringing in nest material and littering our patio with it.  I just chased them off, but they'll be back.  Bless their hearts, they won't let a giant with a broom get in the way of building a nest on a four inch wide slab of concrete.

Really, it's their beady little eyes that seem to follow me and their flappy little wings that send me into a frenzy.  I feel like they're watching me, waiting for the opportune moment to fly into my hair and carry me away to their nest where I'll be pecked to death.  Then I remember that I'm probably at least six times bigger than most birds.  And losing my composure in public because a bird startled me is just embarrassing at my age.  

Real life photos of bird induced panic
You can't fake this stuff.

Maybe it's because my ninth grade English teacher made us watch Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, and I still vividly remember how the birds pecked people's eyes out (mostly because the blood looked like ketchup).  Maybe it's because they really are mental bullies of the sky.  Either way, they give me the heebie jeebies and I'll be relieved to get back to my bird-less patio at the JC.

UPDATE: I swear the momma bird is STARING at me, challenging me.  If it came to a fight, I honestly think she'd win.  

Wait, This Again?

Clearly I have space dissociative problems or something.  This morning I came back in from the beach.  I popped in the bathroom, started brushing my hair, realized I was using someone else's brush and stopped.  I came out of the bathroom and went to the couch to grab my computer.  Alas, it wasn't there.  Nor was my iPad.  In fact, as I looked up, I realized that NONE of my things were there, namely because I was in someone else's room.  Without saying a thing or making a noise, I turned and walked out of the room.  Thankfully it was a bungalow housing my classmates, and even more thankfully, whoever was in the bedroom didn't notice me making myself at home.  They say the third time's the charm, but this is the third time this has happened this semester.  What does that mean?

My Mom Deserves the Praise on This Day (Not Me)

It's that time of year.  Time for me to write up a list, send out invitations, and buy a cake.  Yep, I'm talking about my birthday.  I didn't actually tell anyone because I get uncomfortable when people wish me happy birthday.  I don't know what it is- something about being the center of attention causes me to freeze like a deer in headlights.  It's the same awkwardness that overtakes me when people compliment me, and I almost always answer with "you too!" then uncomfortably walk away like an idiot.

Although only a small handful of people knew it was my special day, and the morning started with three solid hours of New Testament studies, my twentieth was the best birthday of my life.

I spent the afternoon swimming (read: burning on the beach like an albino in the midday July sun) in the Sea of Galilee.  I skyped my parents for the first time in months.  My classmates sang "Happy Birthday" to me in Hebrew.  I played night games at a bonfire on the beach.  I almost ruined my surprise birthday party, and was subsequently delighted by my surprise birthday party (no, but really- I love surprises).  Finally, I ended the night with sparklers on the beach.

I'm 100% freaked out that I'm not any kind of teenager anymore, but 100% excited to welcome in a new decade.

"Try to Get As Much of the Scenery in as Possible!"

Every week we see something important and experience something new.  Everything is different and exhilarating here, and we are eager to take it in.  We are even more eager to remember it.  And what better way to remember a moment than to photograph it?

Since there is a grand total of 81 students clamoring for individual photos on separate cameras, there is a lot of camera trading that goes on.  It’s the “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine” concept… JC style.  “Will you take a picture for me?  We can trade places afterward and I’ll take one of you!”

Of course things were only exacerbated in Turkey, where every moment became a Kodak moment and there was a lot of “will you take another, but long ways this time?” going on.  I wish I had kept count, because I’m sure there were days where I took more photos than I was in.

Anyways, this wind up is leading to a story, I promise.  Apparently my subconscious is through with taking pictures.  Last week I dreamed my classmates were asking me to take pictures for them.  They handed me their camera, and I backed up to try to get a better vantage point.  Apparently I was super serious about getting these pictures, because I woke myself up moving backwards, looked down at my empty hands and realized I was dreaming.  In my sleep deprived state, I wasn't sure if the camera was missing or just not real.  At that point, I went back to sleep and tried to explain to the subject of the photo how their camera was suddenly AWOL.

It would be funny if that happened to me once.   Unusual if it occurred twice.  But after a third time, it was just obnoxious.  I try to get the most out of the little sleep I get, and I don't appreciate dream shenanigans getting in the way of my REM cycle.  For sanity's sake, next time someone asks me to take a picture, the answer is going to be a sound "not for a million pitas."  

Purim... Israeli Fun!

Ok I just want to start by pointing out how clever my blog post title is.  Purim- isreally fun! Israeli fun!  Get it, get it?  I'm super proud of that, because I thought of it all by myself and I don't want anyone to miss how smart I can be sometimes.

Tonight was the best night of the semester- by far.  Tomorrow is Purim, a Jewish holiday where people get drunk and party.  Definitely my scene.  People get really into it, with costumes and parades and lots of parties.  We were invited to a Purim party hosted by the guy who led the Israeli folk dance class last week.  Sketchy dance party invite from a mid 40s dance teacher?  Heck. Yes.

The real party started in the van.  Our ride was a sketchy white van with tinted windows and blacklights.  Awwwwyeahh.

You know those movies where people dance and everyone knows the moves and dances in partnerships, perfectly in sync?  That happens in real life.  At least here, it does.

Super psyched to get our dance on

We only knew a few of the dances, but it was pretty easy to fake it.  Step ball change, grapevine, spin.  And repeat.  The other party guests were kind enough to lead me through several of the dances.  I think it was more for them than me, because if I didn't know the dance I made up my own moves and got in everyone's way.

In the room just outside the dance floor, there were three tables.  One was covered in masks, hats, wigs, and costume jewelry.  One was covered in candy, cookies, soda, and pastries.  One was covered in various bottles of beer, tequila, and other alcohol.  Guess which one we didn't empty?  The costume table.  Because we arrived in costume.

(Just kidding mom.)

You best believe our stereotypical Mormon selves hit up the refreshment table and emptied it out.  I wasn't even hungry, I was just eating because it was free food.  My friend Kara even snuck a bunch of candies out in her skirt.  Because three square meals each day just isn't cutting it.

Friends, it's official.  Purim is where it's at.  New favorite holiday, for sure.

Seriously, best night of my life.

Couch to 10K in Two Weeks

Welp.  I guess I'm gonna check #1 off the list on March 1st.  And then some.  I just paid $36 to do something I hate in the name of growth and personal pursuits (or something).  Running.  I honestly don't think I've ever run more than a mile in my life, and yet I just signed up to run six of them in a mere sixteen days.  I'm full of apprehension and anxiety, and of course I found out there's a 5K option within minutes of making the final payment... But that's ok.  This is a year of achievement.  Sixteen days and counting!

Jeru-Co

Today I went shopping with a few friends. Not clothes shopping, not souvenir shopping... grocery shopping. Kind of. My roommates and I were looking for some snack food to prevent death-by-hunger on the Sabbath and after early dinners. So we went to Costco. Jerusalem style.

Just down the road is a market that sells food stuffs in large bulk, hence the kindly inappropriate nickname "Costco." The bulk items is about where the similarities stop. The real Costco is clean, organized, full of helpful employees. Looks a little something like this:

The "Costco" here looks like this:

It's an open warehouse with uneven floors and dirty shelves.  Small children followed us at an uncomfortably close length and local men stared.  In Arab Costco there are no prices- you take the items in question to the counter and ask how much.  The men behind the counter appraise you, glance at the item, and bark out a price.  We're still trying to figure out when and where bartering is appropriate and how the prices are even decided (apparently blonde girls get lower offers).  Everything is already so cheap, it's hard to imagine driving the price down any further.

Basically it was a party.  The best part?  The room that is entirely devoted to Israeli sweets.  Seriously, does it get much better than a multi pack of chocolates for less than three dollars?  I think not.

Note the super fashionable fanny packs and matching lanyards...
I'm pretty sure I'm at EFY on steroids.  

Déjà Vu

Last night I couldn't get into my room.  The key wasn't working for some reason- it would go in and just not turn.  I spent about a minute shuffling the key, trying to get it to work.  I knew someone was up because I heard water running in the bathroom.  Right as I was about to knock, I realized I was at the wrong room.

Again.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the doorknob rustling, and I ran down the hall as fast as I could and prayed that no one would know it was me.

Nice To Meet You, I'm Crazy

Last Friday, a friend stopped by to talk to me and my roommate.  We got to reminiscing on the good times had at the beginning of the semester and I asked him what his first memory of me was.  He mentioned our first encounter, in which I was flustered and a little more crazed than usual and said "my first impression of you was 'Wow... she's crazy."

I asked him what he thinks of me now.  He stopped to think for a moment, then confidently answered "My second impression of you was 'Wow... she's crazy."

I wish I was surprised by this, but he is not the first guy to call me crazy.  At least I'm consistent, right?