Day 0: A Slice of Paradise

Dear Readers:

Thank you for following along with me on this roller coaster of a mish-moshy blog.  Today, I have reached the end of my countdown.  Yes, that’s right.  It’s my birthday!  And all is well.  I’m having a wonderful day.

What I am a bit misty over is the fact that this blogging journey has come to an end.  At least in this capacity.  This year this blog has been a saving grace.  I hadn’t realized it at the time, but the blog was so much a part of the process — the aging, reflection, creative, destructive, manic, depressive whirlwind that is my life process — that turning 30 was for me.  I’m going to miss it.

The party, in brief

At the party last night, which was fabulous (lots of people, all the people I had really wanted to come, realistically speaking, came — we had bbq chicken and sausages, quinoa salad, guac, hummus, tahini, salads galore, funky organic chips, four French cheeses and grapes and crackers, soooo much wine it was coming out of everyone’s ears, add sangria to that and add vodka-fresh watermelon punch to that, and then a gorgeous hazelnut chocolate mousse cake at midnight with champagne popping…ahhh…it was perfect), a few people came up to me and said that after turning 30 they realized how much of a relief it was.  A real load off.  The anxiety gone.  Another perfect decade to have fun and create and build and enjoy and grow and transform in.  It’s cliche, but yes, life is indeed beginning at 30 these days.

And today?  Oh, today.

Morning

I awoke and immediately opened my presents.  A modest yet touching collection of trinkets.  Lots of books and interesting design-y elements.  Then my sister and 2 friends and I went to have brunch at the most wonderful restaurant called Manta Ray, right on the beach in southern Tel Aviv, very close to the border with Jaffa.  I had a “Mr Crunchy” – a very croque monsieur-esque cooked sandwich with an Israeli touch — grilled eggplant — to go along with the crunchy ham and the heavenly melted cheese on eggy sweet challah bread, all topped with Rocket salad and cherry tomatoes.  My sister had the pancakes, a rarity here in Israel, cooked American-style, with lovely sweet peach slices on top and a dollop of creme fraiche.  My friends had salads (very Israeli), and scrambled eggs, and we all shared some trout ceviche and freshly baked breads and bagels with a seletion of jams, compotes, cheeses, olives, and whipped butter.  Ah, heaven.

Afternoon…

…was spent shopping at only one store, and thank goodness for that.  I had wanted to wander Tel Aviv, but I hadn’t anticipated the fatigue from last night (we went to bed after 4 am), and the slight hangover (I’m seriously surprised it wasn’t infinitely worse, quite frankly), along with the unbearable mid-day heat.  So we went to the one place I love to shop: Liligrace.  It’s small boutique with just gorgeous, unique, special clothes at very reasonable prices.  A very mini-H&M, homestyle, run by the two sweetest ladies.  See, my sister and I discovered this shop on her birthday, almost 6 months ago to the day.  AND it just happened to be only the 2nd day that this store was in business.  We were some of their very first customers.  So, we kept coming back.  The prices and the styles are just too good to be true.  AND every time I went back, I brought new friends.  It’s a loyalty thing.  I feel special regarding our little coincidence with the birthdays and the store opening and them being so nice and all, you know.  So, of course, of course, this was the only place I would consider going to, if I could only pick one store to shop at on my birthday.  Period.  AND I came out with some excellent loot, at a kind discount as well, for being the birthday girl.  Two dresses, one of them quite dressy and very funky indeed (Japanese meets European), and two very unique shirts.  I feel like a princess when I come out of Liligrace.  I really do.  Visit, if you’re ever in Tel Aviv.  On Dizingof between Ben Gurion and Arlozorov on the eastern side of the street.

Evening…

That’s broaching on right now.  We’ve been napping for a couple hours.  Thank goodness.  We’ll probably have some leftovers for dinner… I can’t believe how much food is left.  Maybe we’ll even bbq again.  Afterward, the plan is to meet up with my family for the “family birthday event.”  You know, obligatory time with grandma, potentially awkward moments with teenage cousins, the works.  I’ve decided to minimize the potential weirdness by opting out of a typical dinner…and just doing dessert and drinks…at a fabulous cafe, 10 Idelson.  I’m expecting world-class cake.  And no more than an hour with my crazy grandma.  And I’m bringing a friend as well which should act as a buffer against potential explosions.  Yes, it should be great.  Tonight?  No idea.  Tel Aviv has crazy parties and night clubs and the like, but I’m so not into that.  I’d rather take in a movie at home.  Hang out.  Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  Yes I think so.

The future

You will still find me editing my novel (will be sent to agents and publishers by the end of summer, I declare!), job hunting (or working at a new job very soon I hope…touch wood), pondering the meaning of life and breathing through countless existential dilemmas, enjoying Tel Aviv, debating living in Israel, analysing oddities, watching Star Trek, traveling the world, writing, thinking, examining, dreaming, breathing, being, and of course cooking a ton and drinking a lot of wine.

I will be starting a new blog very soon.  I have captured some good domain names, and I’ll let you know here how to find me.

Thank you so much for coming along on this ride.  I will miss it.  And I will miss you.

3 Days: Hair stressed

I’m getting my hair cut in about an hour and a half.  Good to do before a birthday.  New look.  Lose some weight.  And, I know why I’m going, in general terms.  I’m again suffocating under heavy curls, although my bob is considered fairly short. Thing is, I always get a bit freaked out about my “look.”  When curls are cut well, hair really rocks out.  When not, you’re a frizzy nightmare.  So much of everyday confidence comes from looking decent. I really like my hairdresser, but I’m often at a loss of what to tell her…”um, uh, please make me feel like a goddess every morning when I wake up and run my fingers through my hair…”? Right.

Let me take you through a little gallery of cuts I’ve had and mostly enjoyed.  I love the internet.  This was so not possible a few years ago.

An approximate look of a cut that I sported, off and on, from age 25-27.  Edgy, chic, very “I’m young and artistic and work in PR”:

This is what I tend to look like today, on a very very good day. A bit fluffier and full on the cheeks:

Now, I’d love to go for something like this…and you’re probably saying that this looks just like the others and pretty standard, but to us curly heads, it’s different enough.  Then again, I’ll let you in on a secret: this style would never work on a daily basis.  Why?  First, the obvious, I’m not a luscious blond.  Second, her hair does not look naturally all that curly, and I see evidence of a curling iron…oh well.  Here’s to hoping:

Lastly, I think this is what I want.  I loved this cut.  I can certainly pull it off.  I think.  Perfect layers.  I think I may be ready to get rid of the “much shorter in back, much longer in front” thing, and go for something a little more cohesive.  If there was a celebrity whose hair was similar to mine, it might very well be Sarah Jessica Parker.  Even though I’m a brunette.  She’s got thick hair, messy curls that are sometimes more wavy, depending on length.

Now, here’s hoping my stylist has internet at her salon…

8 Days: Infinity on end

Funny how the symbol for infinity is an eight turned on its side.  Or maybe I should ask why an eight is an infinity symbol standing on end.   In any case, it’s almost a week until my 30th, and it might as well be an eternity away for how much a have to accomplish  by that date…

Being an avid book lover and having to move apartments to a fourth floor walkup without any cash or much help is a nightmare.  Having to do this in the middle of summer in Tel Aviv with a twenty year-old borrowed car (without AC) on its very last leg made this hell on earth.

But I survived.  Every muscle shaking.  So wet from sweat, it was like I’d jumped in the sea with all my clothes on.

And here I sit.  In the gorgeous new place.  No idea how I will be paying for it.  Not at all unpacked.  And with a couple more loads of stuff to bring over from my old place.

I did have a short interview today.  For what could be the answer to my prayers.  A work from home job that could pay exceptionally well to basically be a long-distance secretary. But the chances are low, and the interview process long.  Which means the resumes still keep going out.

And I’m going to turn in.  I can actually get about 8 hours sleep tonight…a far cry from the 3-4 hours I’ve been getting because of the move.  Tomorrow is another wine tasting.  My feet hurt.  And a word to the wise:

NEVER mix Moscato with Arak.

It’s a nasty combination.

10 Days: Giving myself a break…

…is much harder than it seems.

I’m exhausted.  Didn’t edit today.  I did, however, apply to six jobs.  Six jobs I will probably not hear back from because as I become more and more aware of, it’s all about who you know in Israel, not how qualified you are, because I am overqualified for everything I’ve submitted to and I’m tired of it.  And that is exhausting.  Add to this that I started out the day pretty damned exhausted…and will continue to be for the next few days…I’m a bit out of it and emotional.  See, I get to go back home (!!!) to my new apartment tomorrow morning.  BUT I have to be there at 6:20 am to pick up the keys from the lady evacuating the place who’s headed to the airport.  Oh well.  Figuring out how to actually move all of my possessions and two cats to a fourth floor walk up in the middle of July heat without a car is going to be fun.  C’est la vie.  Gotta figure out how to make lemonade, folks.

So…giving myself a break this week as my therapist suggested?  Ya, great idea.  But not so easy.  I’m trying, though, I’m trying.  I’m eating well (scrummy hummus and pita and veg), I’m thinking about a glass of Scotch (a treat and a tasty one at that), and watching some sci fi. Eureka is back on…a show I adore but I don’t actually think is very good…and I haven’t the tiniest inkling why the episodes started back up in July after months in the dark…

Friends on facebook were very kind to me in their response to my mini status-rant: “headache. sick of applying to jobs. want to sleep. and finally move into my apartment. which will only happen at 6:25 am tomorrow. pooh. perhaps a glass of scotch will make the situation seem more humorous.” And suggested I read this wonderful article about the health benefits of Bourbon and aspirin intake.

And I highly recommend watching this interesting video clip.  Can’t understand most of it, but that’s completely OK.

And the real highlight of my day has been perusing McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, a literary website unlike any other, and of which I am extremely fond.  Go on, give yourself a thrill –  read some juicy tidbits and chuckle for a while.  It’s such a tonic.

Signing off…giving myself as much of a break as I’m able.

11 Days: The Conversations That Matter

Eleven pipers piping.

Eleven stars in Joseph’s dream.

And eleven little days until my 30th.

Today was a good day.  Productive enough, but not stellar.  Scheduled some things, raised my sister’s spirits, edited a bit, and saw the new Harry Potter.  But beyond these normal things, it was still really really good.  Why?  A great conversation.  A conversation about important things, trivial trifles, the past, the future, culture, current events, family, art, life…in short, a long long chummy chat about everything and nothing at all.  And at the end, I got a tarot reading!

A friend long ago remarked to me that he could measure the quality of his day by the quality of the conversations had in it.  Following this line, life could be judged by the content of our communication more than by, say, achievements.  And it makes sense, doesn’t it?  Our lives are a collection of moments and what we choose to fill them with.  Who we choose to share rooms with.  It’s incredible to think about the power a conversation has.  In basic terms, it’s just communication of facts, opinions, emotions, and responding in kind.  Most conversations are a matter of mundane necessity.  So why, when everything goes right,  can they be so damned fulfilling?  So…essential, so thrilling, so nurturing it feels almost like it’s feeding some deep part of you that didn’t know it was hungry?  Well, it seems to me that it’s exactly the conversations we don’t need to have that we really do need to have.  An excellent conversation is our unique elegant refined human ability to achieve perhaps the highest level of intimacy.  Albeit different than the physical, a conversation has the potential to connect people and create bonds between people, if only momentarily, in stronger ways.

I used to consider myself a “gourmet conversationalist” and even used that phrase (yes, haughtily so)  in some online dating ads.  And in the last couple years, I haven’t had too many.  Until now.  An old friend who recently appeared in my life has proven on every occasion an absolute elixir of delightfully deliciously complex ideas and thoughts.  And a new friend has provided some simply delightful afternoons full of musings on contemporary dance, art, Israel.  With both of these people, I have had several hours-long talks that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, leaving me feeling on cloud 9.  And I think the feeling was mutual.  It leaves me wondering what I was doing all this time…how did I exist without conversations like these before?  This must be what having a really strong community feels like.

Is it by chance that we find these mutually-fulfilling gourmet conversationalists?  Is this real friendship?  If you don’t have these essential talks with the friends you have, does it mean they’re not the very best of friends?  Or only that you’ve been so busy, depressed, distracted by the sadness and chaos that often consumes us in life?  Does every friend have to be able to have these soul rocking sessions?  I don’t think so.  But it would be preferable.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have one juicy idea-packed gab-session every day?  Wouldn’t we all be the happier and probably the healthier for it?  Yes.  Yes, indeed, indeed, and of course.

When I have one of these excited lingering talks, about god knows what — wine, art, makeup, aging, Chekhov, etiquette, Arabic, emotions, sex, books, movies, madness, and more — I know, I know, I know in my heart of hearts that life is good, that life is special, and in whatever sense, be it religious, spiritual, scientific, agnostic, or merely optimistically atheistic, an undeniable blessing.  A great conversation is our humanity in action.

May you all communicate deliciously as often as you can!

12 Days: Not noticed

Funny how I no longer have to think about how many days until my birthday. It’s incredibly close.

A free pass…
My therapist recommended I give myself a free pass these coming two weeks. This blog has in many ways helped quell my anxiety over turning 30 (which is really about the larger issues confronting the fear I encounter daily, confronting the expectations I have for myself compared to what I have actually accomplished, etc). I fully expect to feel either a complete “let down” at this build up, or on the other hand, feel exhilarated and liberated over turning 30. I don’t expect to feel sad or especially depressed on the day of my birthday or the day after. I know I will be fine. On the other hand, I have artificially built up this day. Counting down to something highlights it in a way that it would not have been before. And a 30th birthday highlight enough in anyone’s life. So…I’m to give myself a break…I may feel worthless, depressed, anxious, scared, and who knows…maybe even some overinflated good things…in the 12 days I have left. And that’s OK. Wow, 12 days “I have left.” Dead man walking, indeed.

Community – the clincher
Whether it be Ross, Rachel, Chandler, and Monica at the Central Perk, the office mates by the coffee machine, your college sorority, your band camp buddies, or (gasp) even your tiny dysfunctional nuclear family – community is everything. Everything. And I know I’ve lacked it in a substantial way since moving to Israel. However, what I didn’t know is how strong an effect this has had on the fabric of my life. When we don’t have a routine (work = the same people depending on you doing a task every day; family = washing dishes and laundry and helping each other with essential basics; friends: comfort and support from ordinary things like a weekly cup a joe) it’s very difficult, and for me nearly impossible, to get anything done. I am terrible at self discipline, as you would know if you’ve read any of my past posts here. This is a sort of catch 22 situation, as this is almost impossible to achieve without help…but I can’t get the everyday help of a support system without working at it… All in all, the longer you are alone, the harder it is to find and “fit into” a group. And the longer you are alone, the more difficult everything is in life.

Being seen
What is that crucial element of being in an integral group? It doesn’t matter if it’s work or friends or family or a social niche of some sort. What all of these things have in common is that each member is required to notice the others and be noticed in exchange. It lends itself to caring for others, and in turn being cared for. It’s why the word network is so appropriate. A web, with one strand connected to many others, supporting many others, while being supported by many others. The fewer strands, the weaker the web. The more strands, the stronger everyone is.

Being alone means that on a regular basis there are many fewer people noticing me, caring about me, depending on me, than ever before. When I had an interesting and fairly important job, I was needed on many levels and many people needed me. The more friends I had, the more natural it became to see them regularly, to depend on them regularly, and for them to depend on me.

And the fact that I am now aware that I am not being thought about, that I am not being seen, kind of really hurts. It’s another perspective to the shape of my life. It makes me want to create community, and create one in a hurry. Applying to a doctoral program sounds pretty darned great. Not necessarily for the career or interest motivations. But for there being a lot of the kind of people I tend to gravitate towards, around me a lot. I don’t know if this is a good answer. But seeing my situation in this light…feels funny. I know I have friends all over the world. Some of them great friends. Really great friends. But the fact that we have no common routine, no common rituals, means that we do not spend much of any time thinking about each other with any regularity. And that sucks.

It means I need to make a huge effort, perhaps a very difficult and un-fruitful effort at first, to surround myself, and to find a way to regularly include friends. Calling people every other week, getting together once or twice a month, is not going to cut it. Because I’m drowning here. I’m having trouble finding work, finishing my editing, even identifying who it is that I am anymore, with my being alone so much of the time. And I don’t want my 31st birthday to be spent wondering if anyone is going to show up at my party. I want to know it’s going to be great, whatever happens. I want to be such a good and dependable friend to others that I will have that support in turn.

Now if only I didn’t “like and enjoy” being alone so damned much…

16 Days: To Care or Not To Care

My birthday is fast approaching, and I only now, just now, like 5 minutes ago sent out an invitation online to my party. What am I thinking? I wanted paper invitations, a carefully planned event, something elegant, something I could really enjoy because it was so well planned, it had to go right. Right? Well, a bit over two weeks should still be enough to have a nice party. But still.

I still don’t know whether to care or not to care. It’s silly. It’s a stupid non-issue here. Of course I care…and of course, I don’t. Duh…

Like CARING so much it hurts…

So…there are moments during my day when it’s like, “holy shit, I’m going to be thirty…at my age my mother was 8 months pregnant with me…I have no life, no love life, no career, no routine, no schedule, I’m scared, I’m lost…shit, shit, shit…I’m going to be this 30 year old loser and nobody will come to my party!”

Like NOT CARING at all…(or much)

Hey, it’s another day on the calendar.  You will be the same exact person.  Your goals are the same.  If anything, let it motivate you.  Try harder.  If you’re feeling self-conscious, you don’t have to tell anyone your age.  Thank God for your common sense with SPF face creams daily from age 19 and thank God for Israelis (and much of the rest of the world) NOT being smart and allowing themselves to sizzle…so the glorious result is that many Israelis peg you at 25.  It’s awesome.  Sex and the City was all about women in their 30s and up, and they all got laid a lot.  Right?  They were still sexy cover girl-y awesome things with exciting careers and lives.  There is hope.  This could be the best thing that ever happened to you.  People will finally take you seriously just because of your age.  Hell, maybe you’ll ever start to take yourself seriously!  Right?  Right.

So…what?

According to Gretchen Rubin and her happiness project, one of the keys to happiness is…not to care.  An interesting article and a technique I have been aware of for some time.  I was the one who received her own copy of “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and it’s all small stuff” when I was about 16 years old.

But it’s much easier said than done.  I can easily tell myself, “don’t care, it’s just a birthday.”  And seriously, folks, it’s not like I’m having a coronary here.  I’m sure it will all be fine.  I’ll wake up the day after my birthday, and I will have survived.  I know that.  Oh shit, maybe I shouldn’t jinx myself here…you never know with the state the world is in…I should probably wake up, hopefully wake up, touch wood.    But really not caring…that takes some time and determination and perhaps a really good ability to ignore stuff, brush stuff off, etc.  And I’ve never been one of those people.  I hoped this blog would help.  And it has.  I’ve never had such a well-documented year.  It’s pretty awesome.  Still…

Letting the wish list be the motivator

Yup.  There it is.  I think a lot of people get a bit nervous or emotional at big birthdays.  It’s the insecurity coming through.  I look at other friends of mine and think, “it must have been so much easier for them…” thinking…this one is married and that one has kids and this one has a great career and that one is well placed financially…and so on and so on.  But everyone has the chinks in their armor.  Everyone.  Maybe there’s someone out there wishing they’d gone to India like me.  Or quit a job they hated, like I did.

And the things that I lack that bother me most?  What are they?

• Career versus loving what I do complicated by making money
• A home of my own
• A solid group of friends
• A beautiful relationship

I know these things.  I really do.  And if I’m aware of them, I can work on them and make some headway into eliminating the issues.  This blog helped me do just that.  The work isn’t over.

What can you do?

Ask me how I’m doing on my novel (the badgering helps).  Keep your eyes open for interesting journalism/writing/editing/wine/catering jobs.  And come to my party (if you know me apart from this anonymous blog).  Please come to my party…I promise I will try to make it fun!

And aside from the desperation…some links!

The Best Birthday Ever - courtesy of Improv Everywhere!

The Best Birthday Present Ever – courtesy of Metacafe (hilarious video!)

29 Days: Do one thing every day. Period.

Discipline.  Rather, self-discipline.  AND consistency.  Two very big issues of mine.  When I work for other people, or when I’m in a structured situation like in a university, I meet my deadlines.  I don’t let other people or myself down.  It’s hard.  I wait until the last minute a lot.  But I do it.  And I succeed.  Perhaps it’s why I have thrived in very deadline driven places and occupations.  I’m an excellent student and an excellent publicist.

On my own, however, I’m so crappy at self-discipline, I feel like I regularly fail myself.  Is it because I have nobody to “please,” nobody looking over my shoulder and judging me?  Am I incapable of function without external criticism and expectation?

What am I getting to here?  I don’t know the answers to why I am this way.  It relates to a lot of what I talk about with my therapist, of course.  What I do know is that this pattern of scary inactivity and shame has to stop.  Must.  I’m an adult.  I have so much going for me.  If I don’t want to tread water, I don’t have to.  I just have to make a decision, create a plan, and stick to it.  Even if nobody is watching.

So, what to do?  Where to start?  I think a good thing to begin with is to establish a routine.  Make sure there are things that I do every day.  Not once or twice per week.  Every day.  Why? Because you’re more likely to be successful if there’s no way to get out of it (i.e. oh, it’s my weekly task, but I’m so busy, I’ll do it tomorrow).  Sure, I’ve got some weekly things (primarily my therapist and some other semi-regular doctors’ appointments).  They help to keep me “human” and get me out of the house.  It’s a good start.  But it’s nowhere near enough.  Nowhere near enough.  This is an article from HuffPo on the topic.  It got me thinking, and I even bookmarked this specific page on my toolbar.  I look at it daily.

And now, I’ve got to implement some of this.  Now.  I want to be able to look back at this month and know that I work hard and achieved some results.  I want to be proud of myself on this big birthday.

To Do Every Day for 29 Days (and maybe much more…)

1. Write/edit my book for at least one hour, and preferable two or three.
2. Apply to three jobs/send three resumes to employment agencies.
3. Call at least two friends.
4. Get at least six hours of sleep every night and attempt to go to sleep before midnight.
5. Begin the above “work” in the morning hours (i.e. before 10 am).

I think these things are do-able.  It’s a short list.  Which is good.  Because it still looks daunting to me.  Imagine – the fact that going to bed at midnight and forcing myself to sleep six straight hours being “scary” to me.  However, everything on this list is easy as apple pie.  I am very capable.  I finished writing this book.  I did.  Yes, editing is hard.  Harder.  But I think I’ve reached a mountain peak in this process.  It’s hard to go down, sometimes harder than going up, sure.  But this time, I can clearly see where I’m going, right?  And the resume thing?  It has to be done.  I should perhaps add door-knocking or follow-up calling, etc, to the list, but I don’t think it’s realistic to do daily.  If I do three a day, that’s 15 per week.  And truth be told, once you apply to one or two jobs online, it’s just as easy to apply to five or ten.  It’s just time consuming.  Not “difficult.”  So if I can stick to my guns here, I’ll inevitably be applying to more than three per day.

Good plan.  Yes, good plan.  At the end of the month, I should have a far more solid draft of my book, ready to go out to agents and publishers.  And I may have a part time, full time, or contract kind of job.  And these are things I need.  I need them.  I want to be able to hold my head high come July 31.  I want to round off this decade in style.  With some dignity.

31 Days: Mourning. Birthday. Boobs.

It’s the FINAL COUNTDOWN!

My birthday is exactly a month away!

But in all seriousness.  I’m more busy and less busy than expected.  Very excited and brushing lethargy.  Is it where I expected to be this week?  More or less.  I accept the paradox that is my life.  I’m stressing, job hunting, being lazy, watching too much The Office, and not editing my book…but also spending quality time with my sister, networking, cooking, and not freaking out too terribly…that’s more than OK, right?  Right.

Potential Major Complication – I learned that my (secular calendar) birthday this year basically brushes the Jewish calendar’s Tisha B’Av.  It’s the “saddest day in Jewish history.” This sucks big time.  For Jews, of course, but practically speaking, for me and my party plans.  It’s a fast day.  And it doesn’t matter that I’ve planned to have a party on July 30th – the day before my actual birthday and a Thursday (so my religious friends can attend – they wouldn’t be able to on a Friday night).  They’ll be breaking a fast now.  And most likely wouldn’t be able to come to a party even if they did want to. Part of me thinks I should be glad.  My birthday this year falls immediately after Tisha B’Av — so it’s a good thing, right?  We can rejoice and be happy and be grateful for all we have instead of mournful for all we’ve lost.  But I’m prone to be childish about this, wanting to stomp my feet, pout, and curse the heavens for this dastardly coincidence.

Then again, then again…there’s the mystique of it all.  It is said that the Messiah, the real deal Messiah, would be born on Tisha B’Av (which means the 9th day of the month of Av).  I missed it by a mere two days.  I was born on Zayin B’Av, or the 7th of Av.  Still a pretty bad day historically.  It’s the day the walls of the city of Jerusalem were breached leading to the destruction of the temple two days later.  But not the worst of the worst of Jewish mourning.  There’s a stigma around it.  People do NOT want their kids born on this day.

Birthday Party Plans

I am probably going to throw a pretty standard party: invite everyone I know to my apartment on July 30th for a rooftop barbecue from the early evening until the wee hours.  With the exception of a handful of religious friends, I think this will still work.  Due to my current finances, I’m thinking of doing this BYOB or having a donation box for whatever alcohol I do have.  To make it run more smoothly, I’m considering getting friends to take turns being bartender in a clearly designated area.  I was also thinking of recruiting someone to DJ or at the very last assist with sound, something basic, like hooking up speakers that are better than the ones on my computer and connecting an ipod with a good mix to it.  I was also thinking of having this catered.  Now, I don’t think I can afford this really.  But I’m putting my foot down – I don’t want to cook on my own birthday, but I want the food to be good.  I have to be able to enjoy this party, not be running to the door to greet folks every few minutes, not feel obligated to refill glasses, run around like a madwoman in the kitchen, etc.

Week of B-day Fun to Counter the Anticlimax

I think I’m not alone in being a bit sensitive about birthdays.  Even though I plan so hard to prepare myself for anything, I usually end up a bit disappointed.  I can’t get it out of my head that amazing things are supposed to happen.  That on a birthday the truly miraculous can and should happen – a real prince charming to whisk me away, a dream job opportunity, winning the lottery, or just a really perfect day happening without feeling even slightly let down.

Does this make me a prima donna?  I don’t know.  I just don’t.  I guess it stems from the fact that I find life to be pretty hard.  Beautiful, often, but hard.  I don’t expect the miraculous every day.  If I can get out of bed and be even slightly productive, it’s a good day.  If I can get together with friends, it’s a a super day.  If I allow myself to be normal and try to have fun, try to date, try to dance, it’s an exceptional day.  So on my birthday, on my birthday, on that random anniversary that should just be any old day, I just always kind of believed that I should get some help.  That at least on one day of the year, I could and should have a perfect day.  I should look great, do fun things, have a great party, be surrounded by kind people, beautiful food, and have it be effortless.  That’s it.  The effortlessness of it.  Because life is anything but.

So to dull the perhaps inevitable disappointment or at least the anticlimax of the countdown to midnight, I was thinking of having a “week of fun and interesting events.”  With or without friends.  It’s more than healthy to do at least one thing that makes you happy every day.  But perhaps with the week leading up to my birthday, this big birthday, I’ll do extraordinary things that make me happy.  Go to the opera.  Go to a really fine restaurant or drink a really good bottle of wine.  Take a fun class or art workshop.  Spend a full day doing nothing but reading trashy books (or Harry Potter) on the beach, eating fries and drinking beer.  Go hiking and swimming in one of Israel’s many many national parks.  Go camping.  Do a lot of yoga.  Have a facial and a really good wax job.  Stuff like that.

Boobies on Parade!

Which leads me to something I really want to make happen on or around my birthday.  A very dear friend of mine is a conceptual artist who is building an ongoing installation which incorporates dozens and dozens (or hundreds or much more) of plaster-caster breasts.  That’s right.  She lubes up women’s breasts and places papier macher/plaster of paris type stuff over them…and ends up with perfect molds which she then uses for her work.  She’s done mine.  And it was a liberating experience.  Imagine a dozen or more ladies, real ladies, your friends, topless, waiting to have their boobies plastered for posterity.  And because I’m moving into an apartment with a private rooftop terrace, perfect at night for our sweltering Tel Aviv weather, I’ve asked her if we can do a plaster-caster session as part of my birthday festivities.  And I really want to make it happen.  But because of Tisha B’Av she can’t come on my birthday, and we’d have to do it a few days before or after.  Which might work well for my “b-day week of fun”.  I would absolutely die to have as many of my female friends as possible topless, drinking sangria, laughing, taking turns being molded and sculpted.  How much fun, how empowering, how sexy, how much I miss being around a lot of people I love doing something creative and silly and effortless.  You know?

185 Days: Dublin Bound!

Dublin's Temple Bar

I have great, great friends.  I do.  I’m maybe, potentially, perhaps warming up to the concept that I have really great friends who are my family.  It’s taken place, miraculously, since the summer.  But when the boy broke it off, I knew who to call, and she was there on the phone, and I cried, and it was OK.  And the next day another friend picked me up and took me on a short drive out of the city to a village that had an organic store and nursery where I bought a Melissa plant.  And that night, another friend took me out drinking, and the next night, yesterday, a good, good friend surprised me by showing up out of the blue from Haifa, and took me and another friend who had already planned on coming over to drink it up with me, to a brand new wine by where a vague acquaintance was having a birthday.  It was fantastic.  An accordion, a guitar, Georges Brassens music, practice at flirting, excellent wine (had a whole bottle of Flam), delicious food (lamb ravioli and sheep cheese gnocchi).  Good friends.

And today I bought a plane ticket to Dublin.  It’s my Irish friend’s 30th birthday bash.  And I cannot afford to go.  But the ticket was so cheap ($430 return, thank you British Midlands), it was a crime not to.  I mean, tickets to London are running upwards of $500, and I’m going to Ireland with a London stopover for significantly less?  So, I’m off for about 6 days.  It’s far too far a destination to go for simply a weekend.  And despite the fact that I’m unemployed or self-employed or “writing” full time, I can’t get out of the groove for that long.  The money is dwindling.  I need a plan.

But first, Dublin.  My plan for Dublin: have a brilliant time at my friend’s birthday festivities, totally pamper her the following day (her real birthday), see old friends (did I mention I lived in Dublin 1999-2000 for a year?…it’s the first time I’m going back), hopefully smooch a gorgeous Irishman in a dark pub corner (who knows, maybe a quaint little affair is in order), work on my writing (thank GOD for laptops), redesign my website, sight see, go to the theatre loads to see friends’ shows, and see the family I lived with 9 years ago.  I want to let loose and have fun.  And I think Dublin is the perfect destination.

But before…ah before…love, love, you need to work for it.  Indeed I do.  I have promised myself here and now, that my apartment must be as close to spotless as I can manage it before I leave.  This means significant work every day for the next four days.  It really does.  Perhaps a load of laundry.  Or five.  Dusting, sweeping, and mopping.  Rearranging books.  Shelf organization.  It all gets done.  And of course, I have to do my reading and critiquing for Friday’s workshop.  It’s a fun job.  Just one I’ve been procrastinating on.  Especially now, by writing about it instead of getting to it already.  There I have it.

I am Dublin bound.  Indeed I am.  Now go to it, boobie!

And just think, you’ll be here in just a few days…