 |
| Just getting a bit more mileage out of my glorious creation - behold I say, behold!! |
I was reading a few tips on how to get more blog traffic the other day (thinking I better step it up from the 2 people who read this ramble when it finally appears after weeks of procrastination). The first tip was "Don't make it about yourself, give advice, tips etc". Well right there I'm totally rooted. The whole thing is a little narcissistic excursion into my vanity. The second was "Make your posts short" - again totally screwed there. I waffle uncontrollably. The whole point of this is an outlet to share mundane observations with randoms who can't tell me to shut up, seeing as I don't have any real friends. And the third tip was "Make your posts consistent" - yep, there is more consistency in extra crunchy peanut butter than in the release dates for Twin Travelling. I stopped reading these suggestions after the first 3 ideas. They were probably along the lines of #4 'don't use 'cunt' in your posts ever', and #5 'don't be a show off'. Point 6 possibly could have been; 'don't degrade your spouse or children with mean comments and embarrassing photos. I guess I'll have to settle for obscurity after all.
 |
| He's asking for it really |
 |
| Noise pollution |
This is the time of year when things start amping up. Last year they amped up to a two month long war here in the old chilled out Middle East, so lets hope they don't amp up that much this summer. I feel all twitchy when I read things about 2 Israeli hikers being shot at close range in the West Bank last Friday, and coming fresh from this morning's paper - yesterday a 20 year old border policeman was stabbed a number of times in the upper body outside the Damascus gates in Jerusalem. There are rockets coming over from Gaza as well, although they are jihad groups and not Hamas - apparently this is a good thing. But over here, life in the bubble of Tel Aviv goes on pretty casually. And we live in a bubble inside a bubble as I've said many a times before. We kicked it off our summer season not with firing a few missiles, but with a party at our place just after we got back from the UK. We'd been meaning to have this particular party for 10 months, so it was long overdue. We definitely have the place for it. Rooftop apartments are made for parties. In fact I think having parties is a clause in every top floor apartment rental contract across the country. Maybe not on the evening before the sabbath though. I think loud electronic music pumping out on Friday night sort of ruffled a few neighbourly feathers, because the cops turned up at 1.30am, said there had been many complaints, and shut the whole thing down. We managed to talk them out of giving us a 1000 shekel fine, which was a good thing. And it made everyone go home so we could go to bed. Thanks Snorters. Thus I was so happy the police rolled up - usually we would be much too lame to draw the attention of the law. As my mother said "Well, over 40s parties don't usually have to be shut down, so you should be proud". I'm 29 Mummy - haven't you seen my Facebook profile lately?
 |
| Spent the whole looking for my phone and then took the world's crappiest photos |
 |
| Do you think I could have fitted a bit more in my glass? |
 |
| Blurry crap photo but almost the same costume |
I spent the next day watching ET and eating all the left over cakes with my kids. Has anyone seen that movie lately? It is brilliant (especially when you're stoned). It takes you on a roller coaster of emotions - wonder, excitement, fear, trepidation, happiness, uncertainty, despair, devastation, hope, joy, sadness and a sense of uplifting satisfaction at the end, coupled with a few more tears. Old Steve Spielberg - what a legend. I remember going to see it in the movies when I was about 8 and some old bald guy in front of howling his eyes out and choking out "ET!!!! Oh ET" really loud when ET appeared to snuff it. I'd never seen an adult cry before so I was fascinated. My brother didn't cope well with that bit either, and spent 3 hours under his bed bawling when we got home from the pictures (although he was 5 at the time not 45 like Old Baldy). One of my daughters was also hysterical in that scene - I had to console her by giving away the fact that he might not really be dead. Seriously, it breaks everyone's heart. During the ET madness of the 80s, my Auntie made this incredible ET costume for my brother, and he won every 1st prize at all the school dress up competitions. I'm waiting for my Mum to post the whole suit to us - although apparently it smells a bit musty, and the head wear is a little restrictive so it could be unpleasant to inhale mold spores.
 |
| Love |
Not long after our little soiree, was the wedding of the year. My husband's gorgeous niece married her darling by the sea in Jaffa. She looked amazing of course - but me, less so - initially anyway. My neighbour is on television here and she told me she had a friend who did make up. I thought it would be a fun experience to get mine done for the night. Unfortunately I didn't have a mirror on hand and she ran overtime, so I didn't see the tragic outcome until I was sprinting out the door to collect the girls from school. I was visibly shocked when I saw what I had become. I have never seen that much make-up on anything before - I looked like a cross between a tranny cabaret performer and a blind Russian prostitute. She drawn my lips on about half a centimetre wider than my actual lips. In bright red. And there was 2kg of eyeshadow and glitter all over my lids. School pick up was mortifying. Teamed with the issue of wearing a floaty dress in a stiff breeze - the car park crossing was also unpleasant. At least I was able to get 70% of the face paint off before the actual wedding. But even with the modifications I still looked like I was there to give half price blow-jobs out the back. And I told her I was after the 'natural' look. It looked like it had been applied in the dark. Can you imagine what would have happened if I had said "make me look like a prostitute with an OCD condition relating to the over application of make-up"? I shudder. But of course it wasn't about me......!!.....??? Of course it wasn't!!!..... much. It wasn't even about me styled as Khloe Kardashian circa 2014 - the old Khlozilla. I didn't realise until I looked at the photos later. Though I did have an inkling at the time that I was slightly on the passé side of life - like dreadlocks, microwave cookbooks, and drawn on eyebrows. Weddings are aces. Every time. Even if you go to a sucky one, you still get free food and booze so that's a win right there. And this was definitely not a sucky one.
 |
| $20 bucks a hand job people - a kiss is $7.50 |
 |
| Khlozilla and friends |
 |
| They do |
 |
| Frighteningly Khlozilla |
 |
| That's my babies |
 |
| Penis Wear |
Although talking of sucks - for the bachelorette party we paid 1500 shekels to some repulsive woman to give us a laugh workshop. Ah Samira - if I ever see you again I will tell you exactly where to shove that squeaky plastic chicken you made me hold. I have never experienced such a humourless patronising dickhead in all my days. Thank goodness all the attendees were as funny as, so we had the best time laughing...... at Samira (behind her back) - although I was certainly not her favourite and kept getting in trouble for sneaking off to make cocktails. Then she helped herself to a giant plate of food to take home with her - it was the final insult. Give me back my lasagne bitch. She kept shushing us from laughing and talking so we could be involved in her unfunny activity designed to make us laugh and talk. Is that what an oxymoron is? I always want to use the expression but continuously fuck it up. Its like 'double entendre'. How should I use that? For an English teacher I really should know these things.
 |
| There's Samira!! - far left in the blue top with the lasagne gut |
Speaking of English teaching I had the shock of my life when I rolled up for a job interview last week at a well-known English school that also does in-company business English teaching. I had to get some use out of that working visa that took 18 months to wrangle from the immigration department. And with child care and roaming here and there and all, it's been a while since I went for a professional job. Might I just modestly add, they loved the shit out of my anus. Not literally, that would be disgusting. However, that being the case, they didn't see fit to pay me anymore than 32 shekels an hour and that was with an extra bonus. This is about $8 an hour. I got paid more than 12 times as much in Japan. The Australian starting salary is about 6 times that amount. And that rate is not even minimal wage here. Plus they wanted me to do some 10 day training course for the actual minimum wage (whatever abomination that may be), work between 5 - 9pm 3 nights a week (the only time of day when I actually have to do something for the care of my children), and sign a year long contract that I would have to pay mega bucks to get out of. Jesus. I understand two things clearly now;
1. What everyone is going on about when they bitch about the cost of living here.
2. I am a fucking Princess.
It was a hurtful realisation on both accounts. And I was of course, much too much of a Princess to take the job. The taxi home was almost 2 hours of salary. Jesus - cottage cheese is about 20 minutes of salary. By the way, the cottage cheese is amazing here - not at all like the bland crap they have in Australia. I'm telling you I'm obsessed with the shit. They must put 2kg of salt in it or something - who knows, but that stuff is the bomb. Although it's not worth 20 minutes of solid classroom work - I have my limits.
 |
| This was my $8 an hour face |
 |
| Oh Mr Sheen, dear Mr Sheen |
Plus the 10 day course would have overlapped with the wedding schedule. We have all been hanging out for this occasion and it's associated events for the last year. Although, a string of wedding related functions requires a lot of daytime drinking, and that never sits well with me. It took me 6 hours yesterday to finally get on top of all my washing and house duties and that was a week after it was all over. I also drank vodkas while I cleaned up my life - a first for me, I never normally drink and clean, I save that kind of behaviour for the roads.......But I think I could have a few issues letting go of the festivities there.....My altered sense of reality though made me wonder however, if Mr Sheen was such a successful product because it tapped into the fantasy that everyone secretly wants a little magic British man who pops out of a spray can and cleans up your entire house for you. Apparently Mr Sheen has the dubious honour of being the first aerosol product in the country (in the 1950s) - but I say big whoopy do about the depletion of ozone layer when your table can shimmer, and so did Mr Sheen (the nature-fucking little snotty prick). I still can't get a cleaner (a proper human one) - so I was just thinking, maybe I should become one myself. They charge 50 shekels an hour here - that 20 more per hour than the wage for a professional qualified position (like mine!!). Apparently even doctors only get 50 shekels per hour at the hospital. The logic of this country really eludes me sometimes.
 |
| 3 more sleeps cuties |
But all hope is not lost - another party looms on the horizon - a party that will require giant amounts of pre-drinking just to cope with the reality of the situation. My soon to be 6 year olds birthday party with 10 of their closest friends in our tiny apartment. Sometimes I really feel that I live out my fantasies through my children - and stuff I pretend is for them, is really for me (like the Friends Super-boat Lego set we got them for their birthday - it comes with mini cocktail glasses, a jet ski and a dolphin), and the Hello Kitty piñata I am about to buy and stuff with lollies and toys. All I can say is good luck to those little party pipsqueaks for getting the piñata bashing stick out of my vice like grip - those bitches are going to have to physically fight me for the Cinderella pens and the Rapunzel lip gloss when the mother-load spills it's booty as well. Let the games begin......
