A day in the life of

When you happen to be at the butcher's you ask if they have one of these:

Guess who has a Bones exam in September?

Now, before you can use it to study, before you can write the names of all accidents on it, you need to do this:

Nothing like a juicy cow bone when you wake up from a surprise nap

For a veeeery looooong time. You need to boil it till everything that isn't bone is cooked, so you can remove it. And even then the bone will always stink a bit - of old bones, as it were. There's a distinct boney pong that adheres to your hands after you've manipulated them for a while. Mind you, the cooking of the bone itself stinks too. And vile bone smells wafting from the pot or the studying table never fail to attract these:

Oh the horror! What has she gone and got - again??

J.I.P. wasn't happy, and proceeded to back off hastily and then jump off the counter. Which was ok bcs little cats do not belong on kitchen counters. Not that Hum-Hum ["H" pronnounced like the Spanish "J", "U" pronounced as "oo", means Brown-Brown in Hebrew] cares about that, she wasn't fazed much:

I wish she'd pass the stupid exam already, this isn't dignified.

But then, her new idea of good, clean fun is throwing IKEA-bought bedside table lamps to the ground and then be very annoyed bcs the noise of glass shattering gives her a fright. How dare they.

A cow was actually harmed before the making of this post but, for once, I didn't have a thing to do with it.

I don't know what to say

I am having a very hard time writing this post. I truly don't know what to say, or how to say it, bcs I will never do IT justice.

Sometimes, sometimes horrendous things happen.

Sometimes, sometimes the extraordinary beauty that arises [last paragraph] from it is more than what is bearable.

Sometimes, sometimes the numinous can be almost touched.

And sometimes, sometimes someone will understand the touch of the numinous and actually take the time out of a busy life w a husband, two boys and a new, nauseous pregnancy, to do something like this - for me:

And my broken heart breaks anew but in a wondrous, grateful way, and I still truly don't know what to say, or how to say it, bcs I will never do IT justice.

Kristin, thank you. So, so very much. For the butterfly, yes, but above all, for understanding it so well.

[And thank you lot, again. As always. You may remember, but I don't forget.]

Tchanam tchanam, tchanam, tchanam tchanam tchanam...

Here you go, my dahlings, I am as stubborn as a mule, possibly even more, and therefore able to present:

The glorious, the one and only, the nearly iridiscent

Oooh, sexy little tune! Long live the skin.

[Check the category if you're puzzled. God bless if you are.]

Their twisted little minds

There are posts that are virtually left untouched. Mind you, posts where I've actually said SOMETHING. Not necessarily interesting, but at least there's something in there. Then there are void posts like my last one, asking for comments to see if they're working, and SPECIFICALLY asking that comments NOT be funny so I can delete said post.

What do I get? A commie fest, minus the parade in matching red scarves.

They are witty, they de-lurk, they're multi-lingual, multi-faith, they *GASP* abandon bloglines to comment, they crack themselves up, they crack me up - but did they do as I SPECIFICALLY asked? Of course not.

Oh, you've earned this. No need to thank me.

Testing - Oh no, now it's a fixture!

Comments aren't working but I don't know if it's me or blogger. Does anyone have the same problem? Could someone try and comment please, to see if it works? Don't be funny, I want to delete this.

Thank you.

------------------------------
Update: FIXED IT!!! I'm the coolest nerd in all of Southern Europe!

-----------------------------
Re-Update: I asked you NOT to be funny! Now I can't delete the post! Oy, bad bad bloggers.

-----------------------------
QUESTION: how can I possibly upload a stupid music file without losing my mind?? I have the most brilliant little thing for you!

Note to Self

If you've been feeling poorly all day, revising following terms:

1. Coprostasis
2. Gagging
3. Vagotonia
4. Hypersialisis
5. Intestinal auto-intoxication
6. Halitosis
7. Bloating
8. Faecal impaction
9. Faecaloid vomit
10. Tenesmus
11. Squirt diarrhoea

will help you none. Move on to fever or urinalysis or something equally nausea-friendlier.

Memeshead Revisited

Ed from Perfect Marriage has tagged me. It's rather funny because I've recently been tagged for pretty much the same meme, with the exception of the first question. So thus I find out that Ed, Welsh Ed, does NOT read me. Ach, for shame!

It's actually ok bcs, er, I don't know quite how to say this except I have already, sort of [#156][*cringe and squirm*]: I don't read him all that thoroughly either. Their love story is rather amazing though, that's what keeps me going back. We should all be so lucky to have Fate look down on us this fondly for nearly 30 years now, great sex and all. That reinforces my belief that perfect love stories DO happen if we are willing not to accept anything less than that.

The sun'll come out
Tomorrow

So ya gotta hang on
'Til tomorrow
Come what may
Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
I love ya, tomorrow!
You're always
A day away!

Sorry, got a bit distracted there.

Anyway, meme, yes. I'll cheat - again. You can't stop me and I need to get back to studying vomit. Vomit AND constipation, to be precise. And the best part? I'm loving it - I kid you not.

1) Total number of books I’ve owned: Oy, I lost track long ago. But I have maybe 1500 in my flat, abt 300 in storage, abt 100 that I want to sell (so I can buy more), and those still at my parents. Doesn't seem like much does it. I now have this compulsion to go out and get more. And I MUSTN'T.

2) Last Book I Bought: see here

3) Last Book I Read: see #2. I have actually been reading Piers Anthony's Crewel Lye for - *gasp* - over a week! A WEEK! And it's a tiny book! The world must be coming to an end.

4) Five Books That Mean Something to Me: see #2

5) 5 people to tag: I'm not so fond of tagging people so let's do it like this, tell me if you want me to pass this on to you and I'll update the post. [Tagging: Lorem Ipsum; Serialangel]

Good Night.

Surrendering humanity

I've just seen on the news that a British tabloid [The Sun] published pictures of Saddam Hussein wearing nothing but big, white briefs.

Frankly, I'm thoroughly disgusted.

Saddam Hussein was a dictator, responsible for thousands of deaths, for misery and thirst, for hunger and disease, for cold and fear. He broke his people's spirits and doomed them to a life of utter desperation. Were he to drop dead of a stroke, I promise you I would shed no tears and would probably feel a lifting in the earth's force field. Extremely bad people taint us all, irrespective of distance.

Regardless of my personal opinion of the war in Iraq, dictators belong in jail. Jails we help pay for, where they eat food we pay for, wear clothes we pay for, watch the TV we pay for. And all this with good reason. We owe it to them, it is our duty, from the moment they take on prisoner status. And that duty, make no mistake, is a rather sacred one.

Everyone has the right to be respected as a prisoner, that is a fundamental right. We agreed it was a fundamental right. And we did so bcs there needs to be a supra-entity in the shape of a body of rules that ensures, or tries to, that we do not become blinded by our own emotions and inevitable hatred. Because, who decides that it is all right to bend the rules THIS TIME bcs THIS TIME it’s different? Who will ensure that YOU are given proper treatment should it happen to YOU? Who will watch the watchers when it becomes personal? We define ourselves in a very explicit way through how we treat the underdog.

Every prisoner has a right to be respected as such - even more so when, by our standards, they have never shown much respect for anything to begin with.

Murderers, pedophiles, wife- and child-beaters, rapists are despicable. They have a right to be treated with dignity. Not appreciation, not affection, not understanding. DIGNITY.

When they are not, we lose ours. We lose face. We mock that which gave us the right to imprison them.

When they are not, we blur the dividing line.

When they are not, it tolls for us - and it’s a requiem really.

Escapism

This, and this.

V., this one and this one are for you. And this is my favourite Uli Stein cartoon(© Uli Stein):

It loses a lot in the translation but here goes:

'I know education isn't everything, Heinz, it's simply that...'

'But I loves you...'

And this one just in from Lorem Ipsum, probably my fave so far (© Robert Thompson):

Woke up feeling rebellious today

In a post-apocalyptic sort of way. 

One can dream. Shabbat shalom!

Dear Diary

7.50 - Rise amidst much cursingness and grogginess.
8.30 - Drive to the airport
9.00 - Drive back home, open Immunology book highly reluctantly. Buck up already.
9.45 - Surprise yourself by actually beginning to find it interesting. You don’t care much for it still but find it rather brill to be able to understand, say, why mumps and measles vaccines are only given to babies after they turn one - oh you sexy IgG! Freund’s adjuvant will give you solace now. Freund’s adjuvant will be your freund now (got it?)[Give a shout out to Diana and your friend G. and Kristin who have got to be the only readers who will have a clue as to what the hell I'm going on abt.]
12.15 - Letters start swimming before your eyes in pretty unfocused patterns, decide to have a lie down on the sofa for a bit and rest before re-visiting your other good friend, the phormol.
13.15 - Entertain vague thoughts along the lines of Should get up now, class at 14.00
13.51 - Hmmmm…. *yawn, stretch, crack* Wha?? What tim…? OH FUCK!!
14.08 - Provide theatrical entertainment for colleagues upon entering lab boisterously albeit plans to the contrary, lab coat still askew. Today’s menu: kidneys and bladders. Position stool immediately by the open door, hope to evade the worst of the vapours.
14.17 - Entertain startingly concrete thoughts of throwing yourself into the river you can see from the windows.
14.21 - Only 17 jars left
14.25 - Sigh deeply, give up, don a latex glove to touch specimens and notice how hard/soft/rubbery/fibrous they are.
14.35 - Polycystic kidneys blablabla pielonephritis blablabla can you tell the diff btwn polycystic and blablabla, right, cysts are DISORGANISED
14.42 - Start crying and sneezing oh what took you so long
14.47 - Cover half of your face w lab coat and breathe through it. Notice new fashion trend throughout part of the class. Notice how some blissful souls seem to have no airways whatsoever. Marvel at that.
15.10 - Can you tell the diff btwn cat kidneys and dog kidneys? Right, stellate veins blabla, is this one a dog’s or a pig’s? Right, dog, both bean-shaped but pig’s is flat blablabla
15.12 - Be joined by the door by an alarming number of students on stools
15.28 - Still 13 jars left
15. 29 - HELP!
15.31 - Go get a coke to help w burning, scratchy and surely reddish throat. Use the chance to wash burning, scratchy and definitely reddish skin, and watery and definitely reddish eyes.
15.35 - Chuckle when colleague says “I think I’m developing a glottis oedema!" - then ask your constricted throat what the hell you’re laughing abt.
15.38 - Still 10 jars left
15.45 - Stick your head fully out of the room for the 114th time, use the chance to chat briefly w a colleague who’s graduated already and is walking by.
15.53 - Stand by the door and smoke a ciggie you bummed in the hopes of vasoconstriction being of some help, body against the doorway, arm sticking back along the wall. Realise there’s a group of students smoking in the hallway already, all a bit green in the face. And reddish.
15.59 - Tic toc tic toc tic toc…
16.12 - 8 jars left. Retrieve hope.
16.20 - 2 jars left!!
16.28 - HURRAH!
16.32 - Fill Class Evaluation Questionnaire. Give professor outstanding grades bcs really, he is very competent and a nice, funny man.
16.34 - Ask teacher as you wipe the remaining tears off your burning, reddish face if next class is a necropsy or phormol organs again, cringe as he says “organs”, tell him that you have a strong suspicion you’ll be ill that day, hear him say “Yes, who could blame you”. Feel even more righteous abt having given him good grades.
16.35 - Sign your name and flee.
17.02 - Make it finally home and throw yourself onto couch, firmly vowing never to get up again.
17.05 - Answer mother’s phone call reminding you you are to pick up parents NOW to drive to cousin’s birthday dinner outside of Lisbon in the middle of rush hour.
17.07 - Leave house groggily and cursingly.
17.16 - Drive through the inner outskirts of Lisbon hoping to evade the humungous traffic jam dreaming of MEAT, MEAT, MEAT.
18.00 - Make it to cousin’s house half-starved and nursing the beginnings of a suspiciously familiar toxic migraine.
18.15 - Convince cousin’s daughter NOT to go to a Chinese restaurant or you’ll puke your guts out, the thought alone makes you want to gag. Dream of MEAT, MEAT, MEAT.
18.17 - Curse the Portie lifestyle bcs no one and you mean NO ONE will feed you dinner before 19.00 anywhere in the country, convince family to go for a snack before dinner.
18.20 - Start annoying said family by asking every few minutes what the time is.
18.23 - What’s the time? Oh shut up. No really, what’s the time? Oh please be quiet!
18.27 - Continue to annoy said family w time question AND repeated utterances of “I really need MEAT now, I really do. Meaty, meaty, meaty, MEATY!”
18.31 - What’s the time? Please stop it.
18.33 - What’s the time? [Meaty, meaty, meaty] Oh PLEASE stop it.
18.36 - What’s the time? Oh this is just like when you were little and we’d barely entered the car!
18.39 - What’s the time? [Meaty, meaty, meaty] *groan*
18.43 - What’s the time? PLEASE STOP IT.
18.46 - What’s the tim - I mean, we could get moving now couldn’t we, NO WE COULDN’T, it’s too early.
18.49 - Meat….
18.53 - MEAAAAAAT….
18.56 - Let’s go now, please please pleaaaaase!
19.30 - Realise you’re being served half a dose comprised of a gigantic platter of rice, a mound of salad and 4 - four - FOUR - veal steaks. Feel happy at the thought of the doggy bad which will provide you with food for at least wto more meals bcs you couldn’t possibly eat all that, yey.
20.00 - Realise you just did.
20.05 - Feel very very full and annoy family by complaining abt it every few minutes.
20.08 - Very very full…
20.13 - Very very fuuuuuuull…
20.30 - Drive everyone home, drive yourself home, throw yourself on the sofa again and vow not to undertake anything tonight other than CSI-watching.
22.27 - Realise you’ve struggled with post for almost an hour bcs you can barely string two sentences together.
22.31 - Very very full….

So you see I still can

I know that many of you worry abt me. As Z. would say, frankly, I do too. You see mostly the bad and the ugly bcs that's what I mostly blog about. And you see mostly the bad and the ugly bcs that's what my life is comprised of mostly, these days.

I tell you often that I'll be be ok eventually but I wanted to show you as well. I wanted to show you that I think, even when I feel absolutely desperate and wonder how to make it another day, that I have every reason to celebrate, if simply bcs I met him. I KNOW him, see, I heard him, I smelt him, I know how he moved and sounded, I know what made him sad, what made him happy. I am so very fortunate.

I've changed my profile picture, it's the only one I have scanned where I am smiling. [It was actually taken very shortly after Uzi and I got together in 98] So you see I could, and can. Not like that just yet, but I can still smile. And very often I smile when I think abt him, even as I cry. And very often I smile when I read your comments, even as I cry. I couldn't possibly have Uzi in my life, and your always humbling and accurate understanding of him, and not want to smile because blessings, like mitzvot and true prayers, are far and few between and Uzi - Uzi is a permanent one, as is your kindness. And I owed it to all of you who commented to show my face, to let you see me, to say This is me, This is as close as I can come to showing you how grateful I am, This is how you help me, This is how you make me feel even when my muscles refuse to obey. I may not smile like this nowadays but you lot have allowed me over and over again to be so much closer to it.

There's not much I can give you. You've given me so much more than I'll ever be able to repay and I can only hope you know it. So if you worry about me, please don't. This picture is how I want me back, for me, for him, for everyone who loves me, for every single one of you who grew to care. There is hope in laughter, there will always be hope in laughter.

Lila, this is for you

Someone found me through this search, bless them. Please read the text for the first entry and notice the name. Oops. And now listen to this (our version is much prettier though).

And to the person who found me by looking for this, I can only say I hope they do, peacefully.

Where it all boils down to Love and Israel despite the cat detour

I need a light post now, I need a light post. I can't think of anything.

Everything in my life is heavy now, heavy tremendously good and heavy tremendously bad. Angels and demons perusing the world from my shoulders. Angels are winning, as they are wont to. Luckily for me, angels always win.

I fell asleep astonishingly early (before midnight) and woke up at 6.30.Not enough sleep though. Went out to buy ciggies [já, já fumei] and as I walked into the flat J.I.P. flew down the stairs. I flew down after her, mewoing back and trying to make her come to me. It always scares me bcs she's very attracted to the window ledge and there's a big empty space in between it and the landing and if she misses the jump it will be a six-storey fall and we've been there, done that, had a few surgeries, lost a leg. I caught up w her on the 4th floor, she had suddenly decided she was scared of all this freedom and was trying to convince my neighbours to open the door. Shortly before 7 am I could only expect them to be happy to oblige. We rode the lift back up and I wondered what that noise was. When I reached my floor I realised I'd left the door open - so Tripod, of course, had run up the stairs and was trapped there (she thought) and was making the most heartbreaking sounds of abandonment. I ran up the stairs carrying a very annoyed and vocal JIP and scooped up a very relieved and vocal Hum-Hum and then realised that this time the dog had got lost somewhere in the building. So I marched down the stairs whistling (how dense can a dog be, sometimes I'm convinced she doesn't smell things at all), carrying two by this time very annoyed, vocal cats. Finally dog figured out I'd probably be where my voice was coming from (she gets confused that way) and flew up the stairs barking joyfully into the wee hours of morning. [Funny how I first mispelled this by adding an extra U. He'd laugh at it.] I should be shunned soon. Hum-hum is now sleeping in the sun w all [three] paws in the air. I want to eat her.

Lovely post abt Yom haHatzmaut here. I am actually homesick now to my great surprise. I miss Israel terribly right now. Nothing says LOVE like a bunch of kids in uniform. I talked to his mum yesterday, very painful conversation. More painful than usual bcs we actually talked for a good while. It was so bad, I didn't know what to do w myself during or after. She wants me to stay over next time I come. Next time I come. Sleeping where he used to sleep growing up. Seems impossible that I ever will, seems impossible not to. I know I will. I know I'll be fragmented and it will hurt impossibly. I will have to find a way to reconcile being in Israel where everything is Uzi w being in an Israel where Uzi no longer is the way I need him to be. Maybe Jerusalem and the North would feel different, we were never there together.

Israel is preying on my thoughts a lot these days and not just bcs of him. There are things I'd love to see through another pair of eyes, things I'd love to be able to show. Petach Tikvah and especially Kfar Sava are too close to home, literally, but maybe: this is where Rabin was shot. This is where I shopped for books in Tel Aviv, this is Basel, where we sometimes sat on Fridays. This is the Children's Memorial, please make it all better. This is my desert, isn't it awe-inspiring? This is our kibbutz, this will always be my kibbutz. This is the refet, where I worked - the cow that broke my wrist has been long gone but I always think of 602 when I come here. This is the Hadar-ochel, it used to come alive w conversations and loud kibbutznik slurping sounds. This was my room when I was a volunteer here. My South-African roommate used to drive me batty and we never had a moment's privacy. See the tree outside the window? That tree has the most gorgeous flowers and a kingfisher used to perch on that phone line. I wonder if he's still alive, I looked for him the day of the funeral. This is where we stood waiting for the ambulance to bring his coffin, this is where Z. told me "I come for you instead of him now because he would want to, he would come for you if he could." This is where Lila's parents live, her mother made all that. Isn't it pretty? This is where Uzi's parents live. This wooden box in the garden was mine, it's an old amunnition box from the army, I painted it blue and used it to store my tapes. I had to leave it behind when I came back to Portugal. We celebrated Yom haHatzmaut here and laughter resonated throughout the garden, Z. and Uzi cracking each other up and us in the process. That big flat rock is where Lila and I sat side by side the night I arrived for the funeral, talking and not talking. That rock is where I quietly sat alone late into the night every night talking to him, staring out into the dark fields. That rock is where I could cry, where I went to say hallo, goodnight. Because if Uzi is somewhere it's surely by his parents' house, trying to dull the pain.

This where I lived and I want you [tu] to know it, this should be my gift to you. This is my land, and this is part of why I cannot stay just yet.

Birds are chirping outside - and did you know that baby birds are born quite often these days? Well they are, miraculously often. No demons in that, none whatsoever. Only gratitude. Takes my breath away too.

Ein li milim

I have no words. How can I tell you how much it meant to me? Please know that I am, and will forever be, profoundly grateful to you. Please KNOW this. This has been the most enormous gift. Lila has shown my blog to his mum and his aunt. She thinks the comments may have helped a bit, as much as anything can these days. In your generosity you've helped me too, w every new comment I realised I needed to be reminded myself. This is my Tig:

My Tig will be remembered, he will. You will remember as well. These are all good tears now, I promise you.

4-Leaf Clover, thank you for this. I keep going back to read it.

BZ, thank you for the butterflies you've given me. For saying you love how I talk abt him and I can, always. For noticing the radiance in his smile. For the shoulder of Orion.

[V., happy birthday sweetie. Thank you too for everything.]

Help me tell his Mum

Lila told me his mum is worried that people have forgotten about him bcs they don't mention him much anymore. I know why, I'm guilty of doing it. When my friend Steffen killed himself (he was 18) it didn't arise bcs I spent loads of time at his parents' with a girfriend who'd known him really well and all we did was talk abt him and try to understand why. I'm guilty of doing it when Yanniv, a good friend of Uzi from the kibbutz, died in a motorcycle accident. I didn't want to cause his mother further pain. And then one day I realised how abysmally stupid that was, she'd already lost pretty much all there was to loose, my talking abt couldn't possibly hurt her. On the contrary. And I was right and have been talking to her abt him and everything ever since.

I wrote abt what you should and shouldn't do when someone loses someone or facing that possibility, and I mention wanting people to remember him. I blog mostly bcs I can't help myself, I cannot not write abt him, I need to do it for my sanity. I also do it bcs I can't talk to his family (still guilty of the same, I know, and if I am at a loss of what to say to her and Z, I can only imagine how the others feel). If I hand't discovered the blogosphere I'd be writing for my laptop, but I'd be writing. That is how I make the world recede. But the blogosphere is far more gratifying, in ways I never dreamt possible, bcs there is feedback you see.

I have said this before, I'll say it again: your comments have been the thing keeping me afloat at times and I cannot thank you enough. Many, many times. Not bcs I don't have my support network here whom I can call at 4 am if I need to, I do have it. But you are strangers in the computer, most of you, I don't even know what most of you look like, your real names at times. And yet you care, and you show me you care, and by commenting you have assured me that he will be remembered further than I ever thought possible, you tell me you wish you could have met him - do you know how much this means to me?

Lila will give her mum my URL so she can pass it on. Please, PLEASE, help me do this for her. Comment for her. Even if you usually email me abt it, please leave a comment this time, TELL HER. If you know me personally and usually only talk to me abt it, this is for her, TELL HER. If you are my friend and met him and only talk to me abt it, TELL HER. If you've never met him or me it doesn't matter, not if you think you will remember him in any way, TELL HER, if my posts abt him have touched you in some way, TELL HER. Do it anonymously if you want, do it repeatedly, if you feel your English is not good enough do it in German, in French, in Spanish, in Italian, in Portuguese, even in Dutch, I will translate it, just TELL HER. I know it's asking a lot, I'd be horrified at the prospect of talking directly to the mother. But seriously, you CANNOT hurt her. She has lost her son already, now she has the extra heartache of thinking people will forget abt him. You do have the power to tell her it is not so. TELL HER. You may also feel you have no right words, nothing you can say will help. This is not true. Sometimes on other blogs all I can write is "I'm sorry" bcs it's too sad and I don't know the person well and I feel absolutely inadequate. But I have been on the receiving end and not only has a comment never hurt or feel inadequate but also EVERY LITTLE THING HELPS, if for only a few seconds at times. IT HELPS. Please believe me. Help me do this for her, this is all I can do. Today is Yom haZikaron, Memorial Day. TELL HER. I'll go first:

Iris, it's Johnny in Portugal, and you know I will never forget. And one day, one day I will write a book about him. This is my promise.

My troll is a Goldstein

I must have arrived.

I suppose I have, only I've arrived in a place where the only emotion available to me is not one I care much for. What lives some people must lead, full of written desperation... I've just received an email from a character called Orli/Nancy Goldstein.

Orli/Nancy Goldstein is not happy. No, she's not happy AT ALL. Orli/Nancy Goldstein had this to say to me (copy-pasted verbatim so no need to correct MY English):

.

From: Nancy Goldstein xxxxx@sbcglobal.net
To: xxxxx@hotmail.com
Subject: miserable
Date: Mon, 9 May 2005 10:30:02 -0700 (PDT)

What pride?, you are the most miserable , demeaning, low self esteem female. I have ever encounter.

Good luck with your pitiful , wasted life.

orli

.

Ah, Orli/Nancy... I've emailed back asking if she was having a bad hair day. Some women do take those things rather seriously. I was briefly tempted to tell her, in the immortal words of Julie, to eat my fuck. But quite frankly, can't muster the energy, it'd be like taking the flu personally.

Can you imagine the pain of Being Orli/Nancy Goldstein? [Oh look, BONG!]

You've come across a blog where I talk about my best friend, killed in the tsunami. The way you react to it can only fill me with pity. I know that's not the emotion you wanted but it's all I have to offer you really. And I know that wasn't your intention either but it can't be helped, I have to thank you. I DO feel a bit chipper now. Thinking of BONG has made me really realise how fortunate I am in general, pain and all, and how incredibly lucky I was in particular - and if all this pain is the price I pay for having known him, so be it. My Tig is mine to remember.

Mind tall buildings and pianos now, Uzi DOES have a wicked sense of humour and I'm not sure how much restraint he has these days. Blame the wings, you know how that goes.

------------------------------------

[I finished writing the post and went to my bedroom. The door was closed bcs I'd left the windows open. I turned on the light and a dark butterfly started banging against the ceiling lamp. I closed the door quickly and it flew in my direction, landing on the closet door next to me. I took a good look at it - it wasn't a butterfly, it was a moth (TOLD you he had a wicked sense of humour!). A HUGE moth, the biggest I've ever seen. I turned off the light and turned on the nightstand one and stood by the window w it, holding the lamp on the outside to help guide it out. (I like the idea of me as The Leptidoptera Beacon.) Moth wouldn't budge. Still there, last time I checked. I LOVE it.]

I had to Google his name again didn't I - and it gets worse

I fucking had to google it, AGAIN, bcs I fucking hadn't done it to death [ha!] already, apparently. Maybe if I google it enough he'll be ressurrected. Tig Sematary, exactly what we all need. Don't know what the fuck i was thinking, don't know what i was thinking but i had never seen this link before, it's from an internship in switzerland, he was there for a few months, so i opened it:

.

hoizammen

i'll start with the usual stuff:tommorrow is my last working day in switzerland and i'll head back to israel after screwing around for a while in europe...thanks everyone for blabla bla nice time blablablabla great guys blablablablabla............

after the formalities to something more important:if either one of you/your friends/relatives wants to come to israel please don't hesitate to contact me for any help from lodging to just insider information and basic hebrew and arabic bad words:

E-mail: uzisaghi{at}hotmail{dot}com(don't use the EMPA mail any more, i'll not be able to get it as of tommorrow)

address:
uzi saghi
kibbutz horshim
45865 israel (of course)

tel: +972-3-9386### (it's my parents', they speak english and they're nice to anyone except to each other)

merry chritmas, new years eve and life

uzi

.

This was his humour, this was his humour EXACTLY, do you see how fucking brilliant he was? How fucking special? So Noorster, in reply to your question, it still doesn't seem like I'm doing so well, no. had me fooled for a while too. Do you know what absolutely, anihilatingly breaks my heart? The day after the funeral I taped his mobile and room messages, I'll always have his voice, for that I'll be forever grateful. On his mobile, do you know what he says? Do you fucking know what he says?? He says he will be going abroad for a few months, to Thailand and Nepal and India, and he finishes the message by saying, in this absolutely, heartbreakingly, anihilatingly happy voice KEF LI - What fun for me.

WHAT FUN FOR ME.

It breaks my heart so so so SO FUCKING MUCH.

---------------------

MORE: I'd never heard of Deepest Blue and hope I never will agaibn, they have a videoclip, "Shooting Star", I was zapping, saw ppeople on stage and a wave coming up behindf them, big wave, it washed over them, very very disturbing, actually felt weak butmy hands very heavy and my head swam a bit, had to put it down fopr a bit, trouble focusing and breathing very shallow, WTF, I never used to react like this to anything, hate the fucking band now, hate them w a passion, they cant help it but neither can i

My Hero

Before I got my Eilati residency card and got airfare discount I had to take the bus from Eilat to the kibbutz, or pay a small fortune. Whenever I travel by bus I feel rotten, it makes me seasick AND Israeli buses sadly have a definite arsey smell. Plus, Israelis are the loudest people on earth, making up for all those years spent wandering around in the desert without satellite connection.

They holler into their mobiles all the time and seem perfectly able and willing to not only be on the phone for the entire duration of the trip, but also to simultaneously conduct conversations w perfect strangers at the other end of the bus, who soon cease to be so bcs invariably they find some common acquaintance. This holds true for aeroplane travel as well, even more so bcs alas, no mobiles are allowed, so we must make friends even more determinedly, and stand in the aisle, and annoy the cabin crew and our fellow passangers - and why not park our buttocks, regardless of size or level of hygiene on some unsuspecting Portie’s armrest and act very outraged when she politely requests you to take your cloaca somewhere else. Must be the use of the obscure “Please” word that throws them every time.

Almost every bus trip ended in misery. The bored soldiers at the receiving end always found me highly amusing and decided to wile away their duty hours by gabbing at me, green tinge and buckling legs and all, especially after they found out what I was doing in Eilat. Once Uzi almost had to forcibly pry me from the hands of one determined soul, who wanted my email address. (This is how techno-obsessed Israelis are, not my phone number, my email) I said “I don’t know you, I’m not going to give you my email address.” “Oh but you must, I need to have it.” “Whatever for? Look, I’ve been on the road for almost 6 hours, my boyfriend is picking me up, I need to go look for him.” “Your WHAT?!” “My.Boy.Friend, oh look,” right on cue, Uzi had shown up, towering over everyone else (1,87; 6’2’’), “there he is!” *Frantic waving and desperate TIG, OVER HERE!!! shouts* The little soldier, for tiny he was (he was literally looking up at me and I’m 1,73, almost 5’8’’) was very pissed off and looked absolutely incredulous when Uzi kissed me. ON THE MOUTH, for pity's sake! But that was but a minor setback. He stared at him army-like (i.e. fierce and proud) and petulantly complained “She won’t give me her email!”

Uzi looked at him, looked at me and raised an eyebrow (you never saw it and I don’t know if I have a pic but this was the most gorgeous thing on earth, he used to do it all the time when I was mad at him - and it mostly worked) and then looked at him again. “Oh?” “Yes, ma ze! (what’s up w that)” “I’ll see if I can convince her on our way out” Uzi said, picking up my bag, grabbing my hand firmly and whisking me away. And then he told me “Pip, you can never SIMPLY arrive can you. Always making friends in high places.” And then he laughed as I kicked his shin.

I truly was crazy about him.

Where one's imagination leads while watching CSI

[Site found here]

“How do I get him out of the living room?”

1 - *My friend Lila emailed me in a panic w astonishing news. She adopted a puppy! That is, a puppy adopted her! Half Labrador, half something. You don’t know her but I laughed hysterically for abt half an hour. Lila with a pet! Lila of the “Good God no, they NEED you, I wouldn’t know what to do, and then you get attached to them, THINGS may happen, I’d worry all the time, and what does one DO w a dog anyway??” THAT Lila. She sent me a second email entitled “Must he chew on everything though” (oh, the fun!) and left me with this small poem: “oh joy! he's eating and drinking a little.. I was worried the vet took out his will to live or something, he was just laying there all sleepy.” Sleepy puppy, hell, I’d worry too.

2 - DM has gone off the deep end and Beth is cheering her on. I’m supposed to take it seriously but I cannot, how could I possibly? And FIY, when I ask you to bring me books it’s under the assumption I am buying them, you bloody cow, or the list wouldn’t be as long as it was! V. did the same thing and it makes me feel horrible AND prevents me from ever asking again. See what you did?? I’ll be bookless! And I’m not against the idea bcs of the books, I’m against it bcs as we say here “he who has no money has no business having vices”! I embrace my poverty, I will visit when I can, but as much as I laugh every time you post abt it or I read a comment - stop turning this into a Live Aid! Repeat “No Money, No Vices” whenever you feel tempted.

3 - Special thanks to my Boredom Patrol from one post ago, I did laugh and it did help, and then I fell asleep. THANKS, dahlings! *smooch*

4 - I’m reading someone’s novel draft - and loving it! I’ll not link to him bcs I’m not sure he’d want that but I am reading a future-famous-writer draft - and he’s brill, really he is. And who knew abt -er, that? I had no idea. Oh, the heroine is part Portie, how cool is that? *Preens*

5 - My dog has finally learnt fear but she learnt it in a most traumatic way, she was attacked by a stupid German Shepherd bitch that is always unleashed and never fails to go straight for every dog on sight. I stood in front of her so she came for me instead and the owner thankfully arrived then (albeit leisurly-like) and grabbed her. I was mad as hell, just the day before I’d seen her attack a very tiny dog who nearly died of fright, the owner had to suspend her over a wall from the leash so she wouldn’t be bitten - and she’s an old, sick dog at that. I told the German Shepherd’s owner that she needed to do something abt her dog or next time I’d go straight for the police. Not that it will help, I don0t even know her name or where she lives but I’m fucking tired of this. The stupid cow didn’t even apologise! (((TIP: I learnt this from the police: if you’re walking your dog on a retractable leash like this and you think you’ll be attacked, grab a hold of the chord itself and swing the heavy bit fast in circles in front of you, this will provide you w a circle of protection bcs the dog knows it may get hurt and it buys you some time. Also, stand sideways to the dog and never look him in the eye, that’s a canine threat))) If I have to hurt her dog to save mine I will but it will kill me so I hope it will never come to that. THEN, as if that wasn’t enough, I was walking her in the afternoon and this monstruous St. Bernard was walking past and decided he didn’t much care for her either, I heard a noise like a freight train arriving and he lunged. Papoila was screaming even before he touched her, I stood in the middle again while visions of my mauled legs haunted me, we all became entangled, my purse flew away, I almost fell and the 14 yo who was holding him finally came to her senses and said “oh but he’s usually so friendly”. Amazingly none of us got bitten at all. Now my dog starts yelping if she so much as sees a bigger dog 5 metres away. It saddens me a bit but it’s better than “oh look a friendly, pilo-erected, growling male Rotweiler, let’s jump on him NOW.” That time we were on the beach and it took his owner to lie on him and wrap his arms around his throat to constrict it, practically riding him, to stop him from killing her. Where was I, meanwhile? Oh I was trying to get up after she dragged me across the sand, leash and all, and made me fall. She’s skinny but bloody strong.

6 - Total strangers sometimes come in when there’s a bad post up [bad in a I See Dead People sort of way]. And they don’t always know what I’m talking abt, or what commenters are responding to. *Dons royally pissed-off educational hat*: if you go into a blog and find some perplexing bit of news that somehow does not bode well happiness-wise for the blogger, kindly refrain from ASKING what the fuck everyone is talking abt. Kindly move towards the archives or, better yet, the categories, and try and find out. Kindly take the time for a small search bcs the last thing that blogger needs is to have to spell it out. The blogosphere doesn’t preclude the need for a modicum of common sense. Do we not bleed?

[Oh and BTW. If you come in on the day I post that my best friend’s body has been found, let me boldify it, on the day I post that my best friend’s body has been found, have a care, re-acquaint yourself w your mother language and realise that BODY in this context doesn’t mean he was astral-projecting and has forgotten where he left it, could anyone please help, I’ll check the closet. It’s in poor form to leave a comment abt my Jewish roar on that very day - especially if said comment is a bit inane - and an extra slap I don’t need when I can barely breathe.]

7 - I just talked to Z, Uzi's brother, on MSN. He asked me directly if I “think abt Uzi a lot these days”. My heart became minute. I told him I do think abt him these days, the other days, all days. I also told him abt my Butterfly and asked him if he thought it was crazy. “No!!” Good. Maybe some day I’ll tell his mum as well. Z. says he’s seeing some improvement in her. I told him I worry abt her and him all the time. He says he worries abt her and himself all the time as well. No matter how I look at it, everything breaks my heart. It’s stupid to expect otherwise but all it takes is for him to mention Uzi and I start crying. Telling you it actually surprised me will show you how deeply into this denial thing I still am.

8 - Remember Lila’s puppy from up there? That is particularly heart-wrenching bcs see, in Uzi’s parents house no animals are allowed. His mum used to tease me abt the cats ALL THE TIME and say “Oh just throw them away, all that hair, jiffa!” [Jiffa means “something vile“ in Hebrew]. When I walked into the house before the funeral, the very first time I saw any of them after I left Israel, the thing that brought home the point that the world had indeed turned into something incomprehensible was having a ball of fur jump at my legs. There was an animal in the house. THERE WAS AN ANIMAL IN THE HOUSE. So Uzi might very well be dead bcs it’d indeed take nothing short of a cataclysm for that to be even remotely possible. It gave me a fright, I was still entertaining “He’s alive” thoughts. The dog belongs to his mum’s sister and is called Tzemer (wool) bcs she looks like a yarn on legs. She wasn’t merely tolerated, she actually played a big part in comforting those who needed it most while there were no news. That dog was a lifesaver. And then later on his older brother E. arrived w his girlfriend and their 2 dogs and I closed my eyes and sat down bcs the next ones in were bound to be Taz, The Swedish Cook and Jessica Rabbit. You already know the rest.

9 - Shabbat salom, lekulam. It helps so much to know you there.

I'm bored.

That's it. I'm bored. [Despite this - I'm beginning to suspect they ARE serious.]

Bored.

BORED.

BOOOOOOORED.

Help!

Please feed me any rubbish, any drivel that crosses your mind. ANYTHING!

Don't make me beg.

HELP!

And The Mare The Pong Rode In On

There should be a post here. A post sort of inspired by our resident doctor, abt:

.

How I Discovered The Secret To Perpetually and Fantastically Fresh-Smelling Closets

.

Bcs I did, I truly did [and do you even care? Seriously, do you?]. But blow me if I can write it. BLOW ME IF I CAN BLOODY WRITE IT! So I'll leave you w someting absolutely disgraceful, a conversation w a girlfriend (GF) on MSN just now, translated verbatim. My friends, do you remember them? Vastly entertaining.

.

GF diz:
I have booked raja yoga f me on sat afternoon, 14.30-17.30. Fancy coming?
Johnny diz:
Absolutely
GF diz:
This Sat and the next
Johnny diz:
Book me in please
GF diz:
I’ll do it tomorrow
Johnny diz:
Have you told B abt it?
GF diz:
I think she wants to come as well, I’ll ring her tonight
GF diz:
I’lm going to go defecate, brb

.

I ask you. I'm delighted we're so close.

And I'll have some of that narcolepsia, please

BBC Prime [*deeply reverential bow*] will be showing a program on - tcha nam! - Sleep Disorders! Isn't that kind of them? I love the Brits!

My category and I will surely be enthralled, curled up on the sofa drinking in every word, eyes wide w wonder and gratitude.

"So THAT's what's wrong w us!"