Passing Over During Passover

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Daybreaker Comes To Tel Aviv

The Tel Aviv venue was so much dingier than this bright sparkly one.

There's not a lot that can get me out of bed in the morning before I really really have to.  An early morning flight, an unexpected case of diarrhoea, my kid vomiting in my bed or on the floor of my room ......I wear earplugs nightly for the very purpose of not being disturbed by anything during my morning slumber.  So then, who would have thought I would drag my sorry arse out of my warm soft beddie at 5.30am to get ready to attend the first Daybreaker party in Tel Aviv - http://dybrkr.com/  a stone-cold sober rave -  held in an underground nightclub, called The Breakfast Club, in a lively part of the city.

Ooooh fancy

Surprisingly, lots of people are doing it all over the show, and not just in Tel Aviv.  The Daybreaker movement was started a couple of years back by two twenty somethings in Williamsburg Brooklyn - the Hipster Capital of the World (Of course it bloody was wasn't it?).
http://twintravelling.blogspot.co.il/2013/05/its-square-to-be-hip.html
Apparently they thought that the daytime morning routine is pretty lame (I hear you dudes, I hear you), and wouldn't it be fun to rock out on the dance floor before work (I know we've all pondered that from time to time.....).  Just good old alcohol free, drug free, cutting sick kind of shiz.  It's a novelty alright.

You gotta get yourself to school today sweetie

Trepidation at this stage

The day kicked off with a pre-dance session of yoga. I have to admit it felt pretty funny dressing up in an slightly odd outfit, and lugging your yoga mat across town, and then going into a nightclub to get your downward dog on.  There were a few people in animal hats standing outside the nightclub door welcoming us in.  They looked fresh, I looked fresh - it was all wrong - like an alternate reality. I had my doubts.  Nightclubs in the day generally suck.  They look as seedy as fuck, and you can almost feel the stories of desperation the walls could tell, as much as you can smell the stale beer and the light odour of vomit covered up by cleaning products.  But they'd done a good job in the The Breakfast Club on Rothchild - 150 sticks of incense can drown out all kinds of whiffs of despair, ciggies, and the stench of wasted lives.

We set up our yoga mats on the dance floor - well at least tried to....when I asked 3 yoga bitches if they'd mind moving their mats just a touch, they looked at me like I just asked them to eat a fresh piece of dog shit I was carrying in my hand.  Needless to say they didn't oblige.  I then had to skulk up the back with my other mate.  However, one of my dear friends visiting from Canada scored a place right at the front that I set up for her nicely (I hate the front anyway - I'd rather be up the back hanging shit on the yoga princesses and trying not to fart).  My other chum whispered in my ear "I'm not sure I want to dance with these people" - she's right Yoga Bitches are the worst - with their fancy leggings, their light tans, and their bouncy pony tails.  Best costume on the yoga floor was a dude in a red cape and crown.  I was a bit jealous of his look, but ultimately glad I decided not to go for my initial fancy costume idea (nerdy school girl with glasses and a 'Kick Me' sign on my back) - doing tree posture with a mini skirt would have been brutal for those around me....and I don't even want to think what the girl behind me would have suffered during the bend overs.

Damn you and your outlandish cape you funky kinglike man

In the final 2 minutes of the class however, there came an event that basically traumatised the shit out of my Canadian friend at the front.  Right in the middle of some crouching pose, the giant bloody disco ball hanging right above her head suddenly fell off the roof and landed with an almighty thud on her yoga mat.  Basically it missed landing on her head by about 5 cm.  And this was no pissy little thing either.  It was the big boy, the motherload of sparkles - Big Bad Bertha.  Very very nasty indeed......Death By Mirrorball - I never considered that as a way to go before.  You've got to admit it's got a certain kind of style to it - but people would laugh as well - you don't want your death to be laughed about.  Tears only, all the way.

She seems happy - escaping death will have that effect

Well, that little incident only broke the party up for a few minutes, the mirror bits were swept up, the final pose finished and the DJs kicked it all off properly.  My friend went into the next room in search of coffee and came back to report that it was absolutely packed.  And it was.  Who knew so many people were also prepared to get out of bed far earlier than usual.  There were pole dancers (copped a fanny in the face at 7am - no worries), jugglers that sucked (go back to clown school buddy), break dancers wearing tuxedos, people playing saxophone and trumpets in the middle of the dance floor, a hipster dude writing personal poems for people on his old fashioned typewriter and crowd surfing chicks wearing gold lame.  I'm a bastard in crowd surfing type situations, I always drop the person or flee the scene.....this time I opted for flee and she was dropped anyway - not my fault.....

Whatcha got to say Buddy?

I'm just not participating

Who doesn't love a pole dancer? Well, maybe Mormans...

Not even a drop bar keep???

There was plenty of alcohol on display (it was a night club after all), but all of it was totally off limits.  What you could get though was all free - free fresh juices, free coffee, free water, free smoothies and free nut butters.  The nut butter was being handed out on the dance floor - it seemed popular so I took a plastic spoon and had a go.  Bad bad mistake,  this kind of thing needs to be accompanied with a drink. Nut butter in a dry mouth on a sweaty dancefloor? - I don't care how good it tastes when you can't get your tongue off the roof of your mouth....There were dudes in suits there, and one with a tie - I've never even seen an Israeli wearing a tie in any situation - ever.  Even the politicians don't wear them in parliament, so of course I had to comment - he said he had a huge meeting at work that day - and yet, there he was on the dance floor in a night club at 8am.

See - told you there was freshness - compare this to me in a nightclub at 6am any other morning

The whole thing wound up at 9, and then everybody just went off into the day, doing their regular thing - just like I did.....but we were all carrying around the memories of the morning activities inside - a nice kind of secret, like you'd done something really out there, and totally random.  Something you'd never done before.  I liked it.

Why didn't we get a robot?  Fuck the yanks they get everything....

It was certainly a novelty being completely sober and rocking out to some pretty hard core tunes first thing in the morning.  It was also confusing, but it felt good too. And more to the point, I felt good for the rest of the day - trashing yourself is not essential -  This is an outstanding revelation for me.  Alcohol and drugs really take away your social inhibitions in these type of situations, but you actually can do it without them.

This, like all the good photos, I stole from the NYC Daybreaker series

However, as we walked out into a beautiful Tel Aviv morning, I felt really happy that I made the effort to do it - and happy for the organisers that it was such a success - completely sold out, and packed to the rafters (literally - the pole dancer was right up at roof level).  But as I was revelling in the buzz of the morning activities, there was something that felt uneasy, something in the back of my mind, something not quite right.  My friend put it best as we walked out the door....."Dancing is heaps more fun when you're on drugs". 

Fucken oath it is love, let's face it everything is more fun when you're on drugs.  But in the words of Louis C.K; I never ever do drugs anymore.  Never.  Ever.  Therefore, when I do do drugs they work really really well.  But, my advice in between benders?? -  Get up at sunrise, grab your yoga mats, stick your mouth together with almond butter, view a vagina or two, drop a crowd surfer, chat to a business man, stay away from killer disco balls - and get your arses to the next Daybreaker when it comes to your city.  I fully recommend it. 

Yo!  Man In Blue - I wouldn't not be dancing under that instrument of death if I was you

A Kick In The Teeth

I'm made of plastic - it's fantastic!

Yep - I've been working out

As everyone knows, your Facebook list of "friends" accounts for scores of people, some of whom you don't know from a bar of red leather imperial .  I have a vague recollection of 'friending' a bunch of people in my vicinity while sitting at a bar at 4am in some random nightclub in Tel Aviv 10 months ago that keep getting in my face.  Also, there are people who you have had a connection with at some point in your life, but it is possible that you will never see them again.  And these people's likes, political affiliations and interests show up in your life every time you open your phone.  This, my dears is how I have been exposed to the concept of Vaginal Yogurt.  Yes - some people are into Pussy Yoplait, and writing in brackets: "It's Not as Gross As It Sounds" after the article heading is bullshit.  It is as gross as it sounds.  In fact it is grosser because once you have read a description of the taste using words such as such as "tangy" and "chunky" and "sour" you can not unread it.  The closest I ever got  to vaginal yogurt was sticking my tampon in some Natural Greek after a particularly showerless camping trip and no access to a chemist.  But at no point did I consider making it part of my breakfast.

*Update; a friend of mine admitted to me today that she had to educate another friend of hers who thought that vag secretions actually came from her bum.  How is that possible not to have cottoned on sooner?  And wouldn't bum secretions be brown anyway? The whole concept is going to keep me up tonight.    So there you go, there is someone dumber than you on the face of this bonny green earth.

If you feel like going there;

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/11/vagina-yogurt_n_6661792.html

It takes more than a cheap wig and some sequins love

This kind of thing is in the same vein as the "breastmilk' flavoured ice cream an ice cream maker from London started whipping up for public consumption.  The booby juice was sourced from willing donors, paid a few quid, and apparently the resulting icy delight was a best seller - the flavour itself was called "Baby Gaga" and served up by some chick in a Lady Gaga outfit .    Again - it's an interesting idea but keep it in the family - or your pants, or wherever.  Listen - there's nothing wrong with our delightful bodies - breastfeeding, vagines, periods it's all natural and not offensive in the least - but do you have to incorporate it into food products and chow down?  That's all I'm asking? 

Again - the choice is yours; http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1360225/Shop-sells-breast-milk-ice-cream-London-restaurant-Icecreamists-Baby-Gaga.html   

Unfortunately dear readers (or what remains of you), I have some rather disturbing news  -  (brace yourselves) - good old Probiotic Yogurt - the one that sits in the supermarket looking so innocent and so healthy, is perhaps not what you think it is.  Ever wonder about the source of the bacteria?  Well the probiotics added to this kind of yogurt, and I am totally serious here, is actually originally sourced from shit.  Human feces.  Yes, you have been eating stranger's poo particles on your muesli and banana for quite some time now.  The same show that provided this disturbing information, also showed what crab sticks are made of (you don't want to know), how they get every skerrick of pith off the segments of tinned mandarins (2 lethal chemicals that 'apparently cancel each other out), and that packaged ham is made from hundreds of little dead piggies, all mixed up together. I thought it was one pig, I really did. Also explained, was how they make olives (the ones they use on pizzas) jet black, and how store bought ice cream is actually made from saturated oil and has no cream in it (breast milk could be an ingredient though so check the list on the back).

It was a bit of a kick in the teeth about the ice cream having no cream in it.  I love ice cream, it's my favourite go to when I want to get really tubby - get it, tubby - tub of ice cream ba boom!! - Granted, that was a pathetic and uncool joke but it's 2am and the satellite lost the plot in a really annoying way right while I was catching up on a bit of G.O.T Season 4 before the new one kicks off....(I just miss those guys so much).  Talking of kicks in the teeth, I am now going to address the shitful paper palace our beloved niece gave Vali and Cordi a week or so ago. May this serve as a warning to all you innocents out there.  It looked so innocuous on the box, so fun, such a good time gift.  It was instead a present of satanic proportions that has scarred us to the point of no return.  Between that, the fanny based dairy products  and the adult breastfeeding I've got nothing left.  My stores are empty.  My coping mechanisms have wound to a standstill.

I missed out on the worst of the castle construction.  By the time I dragged myself out of bed mid-morning on the weekend, my husband was up to his nutsack in craft glue, paper turrets, and fucking cardboard cut-outs of Rapunzel.  This is what I got when I asked him if he was having fun;

Look what he's become - a shell of a human

Sadly he'd awoken bright and early for an early morning football session to be streamed through his computer onto the flat screen TV.  Add a couple of vapourisers, and old Stone-io was was drifting into heaven.  But then he was interrupted by the cutest voice known to mankind, and a face to match "Daddy will you help me with my castle".  Not knowing what was inside, he offered the following words which sealed his fate for the next two hours "Yes Darling".  Poor, stupid, foolish, fucker.  What came next was piles and piles of cardboard that had to be folded in certain ways and stuck together with glue, and stuck to other bits, and then attached in some stupid configuration with nothing but a couple of pictures to help.  There were no written instructions.  And if there had been, they would have been in Hebrew which would have been a mission in itself.  It was like origami.  And fuck origami.  Good on the Japanese, they do it so well - but there's a reason why it didn't take off in any other countries.  It sux.  It's annoying and it's difficult and the end result isn't that great.  So we all like a paper crane - but are you willing to spend an hour on getting to that point?  Just find a Japanese friend and pay them to make one for you.  Everyone wins.

Today a cardboard castle, in 10 years the entire contents of his wallet....

I don't blame him for buckling - this little dolly could ask me to stick a red hot poker in my eye and I'd at the very least pretend to do it to please her.

Porcelain doll (strangely there does not seem to be a neck)

Cut to more than two hours later - the football was over, the pot had worn off and the poor bastard had almost finally finished.  It couldn't have been more complicated to construct.  It was like the IKEA of Disney Castles.  In fact, it made building an IKEA shelving set look like working out the words to Kumbaya.  The kids had abandoned their father long ago - they were off having fun with things you didn't need an engineer to complete.  Basically, having a life.  He could see the end in sight, it was all nearly over.  However, sadly, when it came to the final step - to attach the tower bits to the main castle with Velcro circles - well this is where it really showed itself to be Israeli made.  The twisted freaks did not include them in the box.  After all that work, and the final step is not only not completed, it is completely impossible to complete.  Typical Israeli crap.  It's their signature move.  Do the job, yet fuck it up right at the end.  Everything in this country is always incomplete.  People just get to that last tiny detail and say "Fuck it - Who Cares?".  Well I care. I care.  There would have been one dude that had to do that.  It was his only job.  Just get the god forsaken bits of Velcro and shove them in the Princess Box you moron - that's all you had to do.  He was probably outside having a ciggie when our box rolled past on the conveyor belt.  We ended up sticking the turrets on with sticky tape - which ended up ripping the outer layer of pretty pink paper off.  Damn you Velcro Guy, damn you.  

You pretty pink princessy prick

At this stage, as I congratulated my husband on not blowing his brains out, I was still ignorant as to what fate had in store for me.  After we returned from the park hours later, the piper demanded to be paid, or played a tune, or whatever the fuck he usually wants.  My life on easy street was grinding to a halt. 

I have three spine chilling words to impart. The. Castle. Furniture.  Approximately 35 shitty little pieces of princess furniture had to be constructed from 4 large sheets of ply wood.  Each crappy bit had, at the least 4 separate bits to slot together.  The worst one had 17 tiny pieces, the average was about 8.  First I had to punch out the bits of wood from the sheet.  Then I had to match up what pieces went together, and then slot them together.  Again there was no instructions.  The whole exercise was pure torture, and my fingers hurt.  Coinciding with my grief at the wasteland of hell my life had become, was the nerve grating whining of my kids harassing me "Build it faster Mummy, Vali's got a chair, I want the baby's crib, Muuuuuummmmmy hurry up!".  They were painting the finished bits with metallic gold and purple, as provided in the kit. A normal sane human would have left the house and gone to the bottle shop, but I just couldn't let myself stop.  This low-grade prick of a gift was not going to finish me off.  I would rise triumphant - I "wood" (again, pathetic - forgive me).  The toilet was a pretty shitty undertaking (hee hee), but the bath was worse.  However, the crowing Lord of Cuntery was the kitchen cupboard/sink/stove unit, that I saved right to the very end.  I then spent the rest of the evening tweezering splinters out of the ends of my fingers from attaching the minuscule wooden hot plates.

Yes, I did this, I did it all....

I've never build a toilet out of wood before - scope the handle

It's still difficult to look at this

Were the kids grateful - after all we went through?  Of course not.  No fucking way.  I mean they loved the castle upon completion (hell, I think I even loved it - that  toilet looked cray-cray good next to the wooden sink in the downstairs paper bathroom), but they didn't recognise it's existence resulted from the enslavement and torture of their parents for the greater part of their weekend. 

Strangely Enticing

I did this while they were at school - and what's more to the point, I LOVED it

We all have our own personal experiences with Kick-In-The-Teeth Presents. Here is my list, please feel free to add to it.  The worst by a mile is any kind of musical presents most commonly gifted when your kids are babies.  Trumpets, drum sets, things that when you press a button sing a song or make any kind of noise.  Basically if it's got batteries you will want to destroy it.  And you can't take the batteries out either while they're asleep and have loosened their iron grip on it - those battery cases are screwed in mega tight with those teeny tiny screws that you need a special screwdriver that you of course you don't have.

See that thing on the floor?  I threw it off a balcony

Anything with glitter - we all know it.  We all hate it.  Glitter sucks, save it for kindergarten or other people's houses and/or kids.

LEGO can take it up the arse too.  I don't care about how much kids love it - it's a bitch when you tread on it, it's a bitch when you have to pack it up, it's a bitch when you kids witness you suck up a woman viking on purpose and you have to go through the vacuum cleaner bag to stop them from screaming, and it's bitch when you have to help them construct one of those fucking FRIENDS pool mini-bars with 200 pieces that are smaller than your pinky fingernail.

I still respect you Master Yoda, even if you are crafted from my enemy

  

Anything that a kid cannot take out of a box without your help, and various tools, is also a prick.  Why do they do it - why?  Today's toys are strapped into cardboard boxes like they're dangerous criminals.  Every part of their body, hair and clothing is restrained by an impenetrable piece of hard plastic.  Seriously, what is that?
Craft scissors that have to be cut out of the packet with scissors also make me want to axe something.  Sewing kits also suck, because you have to sew them. Not them - Mini humans cannot sew.  They can not thread a needle, they cannot keep the thread in a needle, and they cannot move a needle in and out of a piece of material.   They do however really want a cat, an elephant and a dog made out of red and purple felt.  Check your craft kits next gift time - make sure the parents don't have to get involved.  Go sticker books, they are usually adult free.  Usually.  I have had times when I've had to step in, but they are rare times.

It took me quite some time to sew 2 multi coloured felt dogs

Strangling toys does not help

I'm in two minds about play dough.  It's true, that you don't have to get involved - play time is typically enjoyable and lengthy.  Lengthy is a good quality in a child gift.  However, the mess at the end is completely fucked.  How can it spread so far?  It's like shit - a little bit goes a long, long, long way.  Plus, those colours are good for one time only.  They look so good when you take them out of the containers.  However, after the first go, you are left with an ugly greyish brown lump that is half dried out and flaking everywhere.  You can make your own of course - but I always fuck mine up - plus it is much harder to clean up.  The leftover scraps from homemade P.D. just don't dry out, instead they just squoosh into every fibre of the carpet and their clothes, and between the floorboards.  In the Caribbean there were no play dough shops, so I would have an attempt at homemade.  Unfortunately it was tricky to find any flour around town that wasn't teaming with weevils.  That put a whole new disgusting spin on things. 

Kneed those weevils girls

Back away from the playdough Cord....back away

So talking of presents, it's almost Passover time, and that means the kiddies usually get the odd gift or two.  You've seen the "No" list now people - don't fuck it up.  In the meantime I better go start hoarding loaves of bread and freezing them - carb starved week approaching, and it's time to break out one of my least favourite Jewish foods (can you call it food?  It's chemically closer to cardboard) - my nemesis - the matza.

It's such a shame phone games make you feel guilty