You click with a JDater, go out on a couple dates and a photo op presents itself. So you snap away and capture the moment on film, er, your iPhone. But what now? What do you do with said photo? It’s super cute, you look great, your date is hot, but who is going to see it? You’re not an official couple yet so you can’t post it on Facebook. So what do you with this symbol of, well, potential?
Many years ago pre-Mrs., I had my first Facebook break-up where I had to un-tag and remove photos of me and an ex. That wasn’t fun. And as quick as I was, and as Facebook-savvy as I was in deleting any News Feed items, I still wished I had kept that non-relationship under wraps a little while longer. I had learned my lesson. Until it was more serious I would not be publicizing any romantic endeavors.
When I met my husband we took photo after photo. And I stored each photo until we became official. First, I printed out the pictures and carried them around with me. I would sneak glances at them and smile, and when people would ask me why I was quitting my job and moving halfway around the world, I would proudly flash the 5x7s. Finally, we discussed becoming Facebook official (it was a quick conversation — the answer was yes from the both of us) and then I finally posted them on Facebook… and printed and framed them to display in our new shared apartment.
Take it slow. A simple act such as posting an innocent photo can start a conversation you may not be ready to have.
You know how people say that even non-observant Jews feel an indescribable connection to Israel once the plane touches down? Well, I did not.
Immediately when my plane touched down, I felt hungry. Hungry and tired. Hungry, tired and restless. I hadn’t slept for the entire flight and all I had eaten was what United Airlines claimed to be grilled chicken. I’m knocking airline food for no reason. I’m sorry, it was actually quite good.
I went to all of the holy sites and, though nice, they invoked no sense of sentimentality from me. Many to all of the sites memorialize some moment in history when a whole lot of Jews were killed. I felt really bad that these events happened and continue to happen but I couldn’t identify with them. I do not personally feel that my life is in any way in jeopardy because I am Jewish. I do not have to really fight for anything in my life and, if I did, I would not fight strongly for a faith I do not really know that much about. Also, I am not physically strong, so even if I did fight for my beliefs, I would lose. Maybe that is the plight of the Jewish person. Whether or not we fight, we still lose. In that sense, I do identify with my faith. Whether or not we believe in the things we’re supposed to believe in, we are still part of a larger group of people who would fight for us anyway.
under Date Night
I am starting to strongly believe that all food on earth tastes exactly like a turkey sandwich. This warped, yet understandable, view of reality has been provided to my brain by 22 straight days of eating nothing but turkey sandwiches (and one steak). Turkey sandwiches have permeated every part of my life. I dream about being forced to continuously eat turkey sandwiches a la Man v. Food. I think about turkey sandwiches constantly. Turkey sandwiches have become my currency, and I trade them for other turkey sandwiches. The only escape that I get from this grueling diet is the transitory pleasure of Diet Coke®.
My impending date is coming quickly. By Friday, I have to pick out the lucky girl. Right now, it looks like only one girl will actually be in the same city this weekend. I am also pretty sure that she still thinks that it’s a joke. I am sure I will have the last laugh as she sits across from me at a small table at a restaurant and sees that I am wearing a suit while the wait staff sings I Swear to her a cappella style. Hopefully, if things go well, I will ride that positive momentum and lose my final 20 pounds.
After that, I leave with my family to go to Israel to rescue my brother. He has been in Jerusalem for the past year studying to be a rabbi. I do not know where he gets his ultra-religious tendencies. Regardless, it gives me a free trip to Israel. Hopefully I will meet my wife there like that woman last month told me I would. Oh drunk woman, I hope your insight leads to the fulfillment of that prophecy.
The Israeli/Palestinian conflict can be condensed to a 12 by 16 foot room. You may imagine that if an Israeli and a Palestinian both shared the same space as their living quarters, things could get ugly. The Palestinian might claim that the sink on his side of the room is his ‘West Sink.’ The Israeli may claim the TV his Tel Avision. The Israeli may relegate the Palestinian to a back corner of the room. The Palestinian would retaliate by lighting his farts on fire, leaving the room smelling like butt-ane. The Palestinian would go to the guys next door to ensure their loyalty. In fact, he would get allegiance from virtually the entire floor. The Israeli’s closest ally would be across campus, yet able to send representatives to his room due to their affluence. By the end of the semester, both sides would be too tired to fight and eat a sandwich.
In reality, I know of an Israeli and a Palestinian who were college roommates for over two years. I not only know of them, I know them. I not only know them, but they are two of my best friends, as well as each other’s. They were relatively good friends in high school, but grew closer in college. From my experience being around them, the crisis in the Middle East rarely came up, if ever. They were just people. Though extremists on both sides might condemn this arrangement, it was a no-brainer for the two.
I am not completely sure, but I think they took a Middle Eastern Studies class together. They also co-founded a short-lived campus organization whose sole intent was to get money from the university in order to see what they could do with it. They both had many similar friends, including myself. Hopefully, I will be able to hang out with them later tonight.