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Of Apples and Oranges

Česky: Jablka jsou všeamericky úspěšná potravi...

Her tongue darted around the crevices of her mouth trying to dislodge the almonds that got wedged between gaped teeth. A finger finished off the last remnants; she looked at the morsel, and popped it back into her mouth. I thought she was totally gross for doing that, but then I caught myself doing the same thing last night – just with potato chips.

Please tell me potato chips are worthier for such treatment than almonds. Because I can’t be like her, can’t have the same mannerisms and rationale. It’s a good thing it wasn’t apples either of us were eating, because then even I’d feel the irony of “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2012 in Parenting, Uncategorized

 

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Behind the Blog

I know a few bloggers

Some I knew before, some I got to know, some I’m a bit creepy, and I figured out who they were, so well, I know them too, they just don’t necessarily know that I know it’s them when I read their blog, (I don’t do it on purpose, it just hits me and all the pieces click – this happened with at least three blogs!)

Regardless, it’s always more interesting to read the blog of someone you know. You know their background, the people in their life, their personalities. Very often you know the other side of the story, the personalities involved, and how a story or piece came to be.

There are times where I get upset, because I’m featured in blog post, and think I’m being misrepresented. Or other times, other people I know are being roasted, and I don’t think it’s validated. But most of the time, it’s just fun to get a glimpse into the lives and thoughts of people you know, but they would never share these tidbits with you regularly, because you just don’t have that relationship. Or my friends that know I have a blog, enjoy reading it, as a way of keeping in touch with me, because I don’t call or speak to anyone.

I any case, today, I cried, like really cried from a blog post. There is a blogger that I don’t know per se, but we have mutual acquaintances (my sister and her sister), for once I wish I didn’t know who she was. If I didn’t know who she was I could read her post today and think, “Oh, that’s really sad, some people have really difficult and sad aspects in their lives”. It would give me some perspective, I’d count my blessings and move on.

But I know these people. I know who this situation is affecting. I see if in front of me, when I talk to my sister, I can feel the manifestation. When I text her friend, I feel the tension. And I’m not counting my blessings today, I’m just crying, because it hurts and it’s scary, and the inevitable is approaching.

Sometimes, knowing too much isn’t a good thing.

 
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Posted by on September 21, 2011 in Musings, Writing

 

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Information Overload

Matt.Scott Thinking

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It’s a phenomena no one has ever been able to explain to me, but everyone believes it.

You know when you learn a new concept you never heard of before, then all of a sudden it keeps popping up in different areas in your life…where was it before?

Or you haven’t thought about, or heard from someone in ages, and then wham, the next few days they seem to crop up in surprising places, and you’re suddenly on overload from this person.

I can recall the first happening many times, just can’t remember any specific example other than one in 4th grade. Our teacher taught us that bon appétit meant good appetite, or enjoy your food. I was fascinated by the French words, and wanted to impress my family with my newfound sophistication. I was disappointed though because as my mother served supper that night, she said something she never did before – ingenious guess on your part in you thought she said “bon appétit”. So that was the phenomena presenting itself as a concept.

But I had the latter situation, with a person just over Shabbos and Sunday. A friend, we’ll call her Shprintzy, that I haven’t heard from or thought about in eons, came up by the Shabbos table. Or actually her brother did, apparently he’s friends with my brother in laws friend and my brother in law mentioned something that my friend’s brother did, which reminded me of my friend (hope you’re not getting too confused with the friend’s of friend’s).

Then on Sunday this friend actually called me.

And then later Sunday night, I was talking to a different friend, and she randomly asks me,

“Have you spoken to Shprintzy lately?”

Seriously, what is up?

Have you ever experienced this?

 
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Posted by on June 21, 2011 in Musings

 

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Blasphemous Brilliance

I always wanted to meet someone brilliant. I want to talk to them, hear them, see what it means to be brilliant and not just average, or above average, or bright, or smart, or even very smart. I want to meet brilliant, genius. I think it would be fascinating, insightful, entertaining.

All my friends seem to know brilliant people. They’ll mention a friend’s, co-worker’s, associate’s name and add on, “Oh, s/he is brilliant, you have to hear him/her talk; you should meet him/her 2yng2tch.”

I wondered why I was surrounded by mediocrity. I mean I know a lot of smart people, a lot of very smart people, but no one brilliant. Maybe I was hanging out in the wrong library.

Then one day I discovered people are liars, well, not liars, but they exaggerate an awful lot. You see, I found out that I am one of those brilliant friends, co-workers, cousins, teachers – whatever relationship someone might have to me. (long story how I found out) People call me brilliant, and I’m not.

Really not, not humbly not.

People think I’m smart because I use big words and know the most useless things about everything. I also stress my T’s which gives me an accent and makes me sound smart (almost like the English accent means instant sophistication)

It’s such a disappointment.

If you think you’re brilliant, or know someone who’s really brilliant, contact me so I can cross something off my life-goals to-do list.

 
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Posted by on July 1, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

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Pity Pretty People

You know what, I feel bad for pretty people.

 

Say what you want, but it’s very hard to be pretty, or handsome, or gorgeous or insert adjective here.

 

I’m sure there are many of you out there pulling facing, shouting What?!?, and dismissing me as certifiably insane.

 

“It’s so easy to be pretty, you always look good”

“People like pretty people, ergo they’ll like you faster.”

“Pretty people are statistically paid better, and are more successful.”

And “Hey, it’s nice to be nice.”

 

But look…most of the advantages of being pretty are dependent on someone else and their actions towards you because of your looks, which you were luckily born with.

 

And that’s just it. People have expectations of pretty people.

 

People expect pretty people to be better conversationalist, better dressers, have more friends, know what to say, know how to act, what to do…because they’re pretty. And when they don’t regular folks look down upon them…like “what’s wrong with you, why can’t you, you’re pretty!”

 

There is a certain awe and disdain regular have towards pretty people.

 

And well, pretty people are regular people, they just happen to be, well, pretty.

 

They have bad hair days, foot in mouth disease, trip over their shoes, and can be incredibly shy (except when they are shy they are cast off as snobs.)

 

I think it’s time for everyone, out of the pure goodness of their heart, to adopt a pretty person.

 

Who wants me?

 

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2009 in Uncategorized

 

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Normal is…

I was speaking to my friend, and I can’t remember the course of the conversation, but I ended up mentioning something I had heard on John Schaefer’s “New Sounds” podcast. It was at this point that my friend told me that I needed new pastimes, normal ones. No podcasts, no blogging, mo more drawing on my walls, or researching random topics, like the origin of tea bags. She then laid out a week’s pastime schedule that a normal person has, challenging me to follow it, for just the one week. I politely declined (well not so politely, I laughed hysterically and snorted profusely).

 

I figured though that the rest of you would be curious as to what is expected of the “normal” ones out there, so I’m posting her weekly schedule as dictated.

 

Sunday- Wake up late and go to the city. You have to go to the conventional stores, H&M, Gap, Banana, Zara’s, Ann Taylor Loft, Macy’s Daffy’s and if you can afford it, Bloomingdale’s, Saks, Barney’s, Bergdorf Goodman’s. No boutiques in the MeatPacking district or thrift shops in the village.

 

Monday – Call two friends, One married, one single, and talk to each of them for two hours

 

Tuesday – College night: So during class, text every third person in your contacts. This must be done very “subtly” with you sitting in the first seat right in front of the professor, your cell-phone hidden covertly on top of your desk. You must then glance furtively around the class, ascertain that no one is paying you any attention, surreptitiously slide your phone into your sleeve and urgently exit for the bathroom. Stay there for the next 15 minutes. (My friend couldn’t tell me how to occupy the 15 minutes, just that that was the required timeframe to be considered normal)

 

Wednesday – Go useless shopping with a friend for stuff like, shells, nail polish remover, and toothbrushes.

 

Thursday – In a public place, like the library, computer lab, or the kitchen of your house, log onto ABC, NBC, CBS, or any other network that let’s you watch previous show episodes, and watch a show. The catch being, you have to shut down the site anytime anyone gets within viewing range and open up something kosher, like OnlySimchas. My friend says this can take up to two hours.

 

Friday – Get your nails done. Wait the full 15 minutes for them to dry.

 

Motziah Shabbos – Get together with friends. Either go out to eat by Café K, Sunflower, or like establishments. Or sit in your car, outside her house for two hours talking and then go home.

 

Wow, I’m so envious of normal people!

 

What are your pastimes?

 

Do you qualify as normal?

 
24 Comments

Posted by on November 19, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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Flawed Perspective

I rip people apart.

 

I dissect their face, their body, their wardrobe, their personality.

 

Not to be mean, not to gossip, just out of plain old curiosity.

 

Very often, I’ll look at someone, and very rudely in my head go,

 

“I’d never be able to live with her nose/calves/teeth/stomach etc., how do they deal with it?”

 

And then I realized, I live just fine with my own flaws: my thin hair, my weird nose profile, my short legs, my bad skin, my tiny stick-straight eyelashes. I don’t deny their existence, but I focus on my assets, like my eyes, and tiny waist, thin ankles, straight teeth, and pray that other people do the same (apparently not, considering that I don’t).

 

I’m sure that there are other people looking at me with thoughts similar to mine, that they’d die before they have my ______, but you know what, I’m happy with my looks. Sure, there are days when I feel like moldy bread is more appealing than I am, but I’m ok with my flaws.

 

No, I’m not all free-spirited, and liberated, claiming I love my flaws, I don’t.  I said I’m ok with them, I know how to deal with them. I know how to add volume to hair, dab pimple cream on, curl my eyelashes, wear really high heels, or ignore them.

 

So, While I may understand that we each have our own little package of flaws to deal with, and that I’m dealing with mine…and that if I had someone else’s, I’d probably be dealing with it too……..I’m still going to dissect you, take you apart, analyze your every move, and thank G-d that I’m me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on July 10, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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Ride to Beauty

You know there are those days where you just feel ugly. Your skin is blotchy, and makes your nose look bigger. Your hair seems to have been inspired by a peacock; your eyes are drooping because you haven’t slept in three days. You’re feeling fat and your shoes are hurting you…forget about the fact that all these symptoms may be in your head, as long as you feel that way, you are that way…

 

Today, I have discovered a lovely remedy to this malady. Ride the train.

 

People who ride trains are much uglier than me. Their fat rolls are more pronounced. Their balk spot is bigger. Their legs are hairier.  Their figure: lopsided, eyes: lazy, lips: thin…anything you have wrong, they have it worse.

 

And besides, they have terrible taste in clothing.

 

I don’t know if it’s just the trains in New York, the lines I ride, or the time of day I’m riding (or maybe I’m just so gorgeous that even on my ugly days I can still be vain), but it works.

 

So, if you’re ever having one of THOSE days…ride the train and get back on track to the rail of sanity.

 
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Posted by on July 7, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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