things i like and things i don't like lately

I thought I'd just make myself clear once and for all.

so, here you go.

things I don't like: messy rooms (seriously boyfriend, stop it because messy rooms are the reason for gray hairs), cold weather (at least not in March okay), hangovers, shitty runs, ingrown fingernails (yes, FINGER nails...what is wrong with me? It's probably because I cut them too short but they gross me out otherwise...), being sick with the plague (or the flu or whatever...same thing), people that give me attitude for no reason, burning my tongue with my coffee, low-fat peanut butter (seriously what the heck is that crap boyfriend?), people that don't understand the concept of "me time," missing my puppy, my dad texting me pictures of sunny Israel when I'm freezing over here in Antarctica, not speaking Arabic in a room full of Egyptians (I know how to say "dog," does that count?), almost having a heart attack because I was stupid and turned in all my assignments for this class in the wrong place and therefore had a zero for the semester (it's fixed now thank God), Syracuse University basketball as of late especially when I decide to wear a Syracuse sweatshirt in UConn territory, being in serious need of a haircut because the ends of my hair look like an old broomstick right now, 50 Shades of Gray...

things I like: this store called Blue Moon because they sell pretty elephants and rings and evil eyes and hamsas, good writing days, good runs, Starbucks, cancer packets also known as Splenda (SORRY SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHY SPLENDA TASTES SO GOOD TO ME...help me quit...one time my dad told me I was going to grow a third leg or something), goat cheese, discovering that I can eat spinach so yay I can have salads (if you're new around these parts, it turns out that I'm allergic to lettuce which is the strangest thing ever), cute sweaters for more than 50 percent off, pedicures, massages, Long Island iced teas, my boyfriend's sister (and my boyfriend too I guess), my sister when she texts me back, St. Patrick's Day parades, reading a book in like two days, clean rooms, my new watch, naps...oh and Alyssa Arminio.

obviously I need to work on my life since my "things I don't like" list seems longer.

but in any case, that was really cathartic. You should do it too.

stupid things people said to me this past weekend

my sister: "Happy happy birthday! 22! You can't shop at Forever 21 anymore."

my dad: "you're turning two ducks."
me: "what the hell are you talking about?"
my dad: "two ducks. Twos look like ducks. You're no longer a duck and a stick."
me: "there is nothing about twos that looks like a duck."
(this went on for several hours actually. Seriously, twos don't look like ducks. I'm not sure what this man is smoking exactly but when I find out I'll be sure to let you know)

me: "ugh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
my dad: "and all of the heavenly court."

my friend, at a sushi restaurant (which my other friend calls "the conveyor belt sushi restaurant"): "I'd like a shrimp roll six please."
my boyfriend: "you're not supposed to say the six part..."

my friend: "Simba's my nephew. Did you know Simba's my nephew? He's a cat."
everyone: "Simba's not a cat."
my friend: "he is a cat!"
everyone: "you're so drunk."
my friend: "that's the funny part, you guys think I'm drunk but I'm actually not."

p.s. my right wrist is famous! Hopefully someday I manage to make my face famous too (it is my life goal to have a Wikipedia entry written about me, you know) but for now my wrist will do.

thank you, zoe

here's a little story for you.

when I was little I wanted to be a writer. I mean at one point I wanted to be a gymnastics coach but I think that's just because I liked practicing with my sister and bossing her around. But anyway I wanted to be a writer. It all started with J.K. Rowling, really. I love that woman. I'm actually kind of sad I didn't come up with Harry Potter myself, but that's another story for another day.

so I wanted to be a writer and I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I wrote all kinds of stories, set in all kinds of places, like Hogwarts because back then I didn't understand what copyright meant (I was young, sorry). I even finished one novel once when I was 12. I only ever showed my sister the stuff I wrote and she said she liked it but obviously I forced her to say that, so who really knows.

then some really bad stuff happened when I was 14 and I lost every last bit of confidence I had, which wasn't much in the first place. So I stopped writing.

in high school I stressed about the future way sooner than I should've. I didn't know what I could be now that I thought I'd never be good enough to be a writer. At one point I thought of studying psychology and becoming a therapist but then I realized I couldn't even deal with my own damn problems (and there were plenty, let me tell you) so really I had no time or patience for anyone else's (but that's not true because I think I'm a pretty decent listener).

then I joined the high school newspaper and decided I could be a journalist because I'd still be writing, which is my favorite thing to do ever ever ever, even though it was real stories, not stories I made up in my head. But it didn't matter because writing real stories was fine too. Also, I was deluded and thought being a journalist would be a more, you know, "stable" job than being a "novelist." Clearly I wasn't paying attention because the internet happened and now no one really cares about magazines and newspapers anymore. Oh and also the economy jumped off a bridge and all that. So getting a job as a journalist wouldn't be that easy or anything.

but whatever. I came to college and took my journalism classes and learned how to write better articles. Then this past summer I had an early quarter-life crisis (I say early because I'm not even a quarter of a century old yet) and it was just like, is this all I have to look forward to in my life?

and my dad whispered, "Novels. Your real passion was writing novels."

I was all like nah nah nah nah because nothing sounds scarier than trying to become a book writer, especially when you just don't think you're good enough (I always think my sister is so brave for following her dreams of becoming an artist or a yoga instructor or whatever she's up to these days. But then again she says she's a Jew-Buddhist so it's not like this is her last chance at life. So if she messes this one up real bad she'll have plenty of other incarnations to make up for it, right?).

but my dad kept insisting.

so I tried. And good God my stuff was so terrible. I got really discouraged.

but then Zoe said to me that just like anything I needed to get back into practice. Keep writing fiction. Keep trying.

and by some miracle I listened (I'm usually really stubborn, ask my boyfriend) and kept practicing even though I wrote some crap that almost made me cry, it was so bad. I even signed up for a fiction writing class this semester.

and I wrote and wrote and wrote every single day.

this week I even submitted a few short stories to writing contests. Which I won't win. Because unlike Alyssa I never win anything (obviously I secretly hate her). But hey.

anyway, I can sort of half get behind my writing now. I kind of like it, almost? I'm no Kurt Vonnegut, obviously. And I never will be.

but maybe there's something to following this crazy dream after all.

or at least I hope there is.

a message to my dad:

we love you!
lo queremos mucho!
!אנחנו אוהבות אותך

love,

Debbie & Ariela

colorado

our trip to Colorado is over. And I miss my sister, a lot, a lot.

I wish all the people I love could be in one place. But they're scattered, all over the world.

a list, because i haven't blogged in forever

forever being, you know, nine days.

{1} like so many around me, I'm absolutely devastated about the Sandy Hook shooting last week. I cannot think of anything sadder or more gut wrenching. This needs to stop. Gun control, now (I mean, how is it that you are not psychiatrically evaluated before purchasing a gun?). Better mental healthcare, now.

I'm not going to lie -- as a foreigner, "the right to bear arms" sounds straight up stupid to me. But hey! That's just me. What do I know?

anyway -- here's how to help.

{2} I'm in Colorado at the moment, and I swear to you I have never smelled so much weed just by walking down the street. More power to them, I guess.

{3} my throat is killing me, and I'm pretty peeved about it. I don't want to feel too sick to ski tomorrow (major #firstworldproblem, I know, but sports-wise, to me, it goes: (1) gymnastics, (2) skiing, (3) running).

{4} my sister pointed out to me today how ironic it is that she is dating a German and I am dating an Arab. I bet we're a disappointment to Jews worldwide.

HEY, why can't everyone just love each other? WHY? If we can do it, so can everybody else, I'd say.

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace

You, you may say 
I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world

You, you may say 
I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will live as one -- John Lennon*

{5} you know how you hear of how the Harry Potter series came about to J.K. Rowling, randomly while on a train and in such obsessive detail? I think I may just have experienced the same thing (not that I could ever come up with something as brilliant as Harry Potter, but you know). I've been working on a novel for months now, but this new idea came to me so suddenly and unexpectedly that I've spent the past two days writing and researching feverishly, nearly completing my first chapter and creating an outline for the whole thing. I even have a name for it! Maybe this will be the one for me? I really do hope so! It's historical fiction, also, which is absolutely my favorite genre.

seriously guys? I'd love to be a writer more than anything in the world.

{6} I really, really love my family. My family being, you know, my sister (she is looking so gorgeous these days!) and my dad. And my boyfriend, Mike, because at this point I really do consider him family.

{7} yesterday a young girl (10, maybe?) asked me if my dad and I were married. UM. No. Does he look young or do I look old?

{8} I've taken to calling my dad Shlomi, because that was his nickname when he was in the Israeli army, and I think it's cute.

{9} I'm forgetting my Spanish. And my Hebrew. It's serious. I mean, I always thought the coolest thing about me is that I am trilingual.

{10} I miss Simba so much I can't even bear to think about him right now. I hope he's having a blast at his doggie hotel and that I am worrying over nothing.

*in case anyone is interested, Simba's middle name is Lennon.

what's in a name?

"Debbie! Wow, that is such a pretty name," the curly-haired Starbucks barista said as she took my order.

no one has ever said that about my name before.

I couldn't take the compliment. I just couldn't. I hate my name. I always have (sorry, Debbie. You know I love you. We've talked about this. The name, you know).

for one thing, it's ridiculously old-fashioned. Other than the Debbie linked to above, I do not know any fellow Debbies in their 20s. I know plenty of nurse Debbies. And cafeteria lady Debbies. And while they are all (mostly) lovely people, they are in their 40s, 50s, 60s. So being a 21-year-old Debbie just feels plain...out of place.

I feel that, with my background, I am entitled to a cooler name...you know, something more ethnic. Or whatever. But maybe I'm just a brat.

I always thought the name Debbie belonged to an early '80s high school cheerleader. One with purple mascara and a really dreadful perm. Preferably with a mullet.

and then there's high school, when all the awkward, oh-hello-my-voice-is-cracking-and-I'm-growing-an-ugly-mustache-just-because-I'm-finally-hitting-PUBERTY boys concluded that old pornos were, like, the best thing since bra straps, or something.

"oh hey, Debbie! Debbie does Dallas!" they'd yell down the hallway and explode in a fit of ridiculous guffaws. And I was like, what? So one day I enlisted the help of my trusty old friend, Google, and then it was, like, OH. I see.

don't even get me started on Little Debbies. Yeah, I'm short. No, I don't like Little Debbies, even though, hardy-har-har, my name is Debbie and I am little.

and "Debbie downer"? Please. It's as if I was never even given a chance (Negative Nancy, I feel your pain).

I always felt bad admitting to my intense dislike for my name for fear of upsetting my dad (my mom, not so much. She's done enough harm for me to consider sparing her feelings on the matter). But then, a year or so ago, my dad told me that he didn't really have a say in my name. "I wanted something more Israeli," he said.

FIGURES.

{can we pause for a second to discuss the fact that my sister, Ariela, got the pretty name? What is that nonsense about? Ariela. Ugh, such a beautiful name. And Debbie? Blergh}

let me explain my life story. Or, like, my pre-life story. I was born in February of 1991. During the Gulf War. When Saddam Hussein thought it might be fun and games to shoot Scud missiles Israel's way, unprovoked.

anyway. My parents lived in Haifa at the time, spending many a night in a bomb shelter with gas masks strapped to their faces (there was a fear of biochemical warfare, or something. I don't know. I need to brush up on my history). My mother was pregnant. Her father, a Polish Holocaust survivor living in Costa Rica, freaked out. So my mother flew to him, at least until things settled down in Israel.

my father had just been called on reserve duty, in case Israel decided to retaliate (it didn't).

I was born early, after my mother's water broke at a Chinese restaurant.

my mother's family called my father in Israel. "You have a daughter, and her name is Debbie."

and that was that. Cute turtle that he is (my dad is a turtle. I promise), he was too thrilled to have a child to even care what my name was.

so that makes me feel better. Because at least my horrific name is not exactly my dad's fault.

sometimes people ask me why I don't go by Hannah, which is my actual first name. I like Hannah better, after all. Well, nobody has ever called me Hannah. My parents always called me Debbie. And so if you were to go, "Hey, Hannah!" I'd be like, who are you even talking to? A ghost?

which is why I don't think I would ever change my name, whether it is to Hannah or anything else. How does one get used to a new name, anyway?

did anyone seriously just make it through this word vomit of a post?

p.s. NO OFFENSE IF YOUR NAME IS DEBBIE. Promise. I'm sure you're really nice.

a gift idea this holiday season

here's a disclaimer: I can't claim credit for this idea. It wasn't mine. It was my roommate's. But, hey, it's a great idea, so I thought I'd share it.

instead of dropping big bucks on clothes and movies for your friends and family this holiday season (let's face it -- clothes that they will probably never wear and movies they will never watch), I think we should all donate to a good cause in that person's name (e.g. my sister is passionate about ending world hunger, so Stop Hunger Now it was for her). After all, there are so many less fortunate than us, and to be honest, most of us already have every material possession we could ever possibly need. Or even want.

I know gifts are nice...but if you have a few dollars to spare, I really encourage you to do this.

I'd rather know someone gave in my name, really. I don't need any other presents.

the images above link to the charities that I donated to in honor of my loved ones.

lately {things that make me happy}

things have been pretty low-key around these parts lately, so I apologize for the silence from this end. I've been feeling a little meh physically, and I just had Simba neutered this week, so I've been taking care of my little guy that I love so much. But anyway, here are a few things that I am loving lately:

{1} I generally could not care less about politics (I know you're not supposed to admit to that, but seriously, I just don't care), but I am so relieved that Obama beat Romney in the election. Like my friend Alyssa said, "vote for your daughter, not for your dollar" (and also, can we not forget that it took this country 16 years to dig itself out of the Great Depression?). Americans, my uterus thanks you. And also, my student visa slash immigration status thanks you.

{2} fall is so beautiful lately! Although it is getting a teensy teeny too frigid outside...oh, Syracuse.

{3} my runs. I love running. Love love love it. And running to Beyonce? Totally a plus.

{4} overcoming anxiety and depression. I'm not perfect yet, and maybe I never will be, but I am -- dare I say it? -- so proud of myself.

{5} I signed up for a fiction writing workshop next semester. I'm so excited! So far throughout college, I've only taken nonfiction writing classes (which I have loved, of course, but there's something exciting about really truly pursuing this fiction thing).

{6} being in love.

{7} my little guy Simba! Even when he misbehaves, I just adore him so much. It's so great to get home to a happy dog, wagging his tail.

{8} my relationships with my dad and my sister make me so happy.

{9} oatmeal, peanut butter, coffee, tea. Never fails.

{10} as much as I am sad to leave Syracuse after four years, I am so excited for what is to come in my life. I couldn't be luckier.

{11} I really, really, really love my job.

happy birthday, little one

it's my little sister Ariela's birthday.
I love her more than anyone in the world.
we were born into a batshit crazy family, so I can't even imagine what I would've done if she wasn't my sister.
she's 19, so not so little anymore.

and also, I wanted to say: Ariela, I'm sorry I always forced you to be the maid when we played house as little girls. That was kind of mean. You should've gotten a few turns as the mom, too.

p.s. not to toot my own horn on my sister's birthday or anything, but I wrote this guest post for lovely Jenny, and yeah. You should read it! (If you want too much information about the inner workings of my brain, that is)