Hot or cold?

Its one of those unanswerable questions that can land you in the looney bin if you ponder it too long. Being a kid who grew up on sunny Huntington Beach, CA, which has a yearly median temperature somewhere around 74 degrees, I never had to think about it. That was until my family began to make our (at least) biyearly pilgrimages to Sin City, Las Vegas, NV. You go in June and you will encounter temps of 110+ degrees. This is hot but Las Vegans counter that its "Dry Heat" so its not so bad. Basically its fricken hotter than hell, but you don't feel like you are swimming down the street like I've been doing the past couple weeks in NYC. Hot with no humidity= Dry heat. You decide that there is nothing worse in life than being hot and would do anything for it to be freezing instead.

That is, until you visit Las Vegas in January. You're going to the desert. Deserts generally are known for their extreme temperatures. I always figured extreme temperatures meant really hot. Little did I know that it really means that while its 100+ degrees in the summer, their winters are bitter cold. You could be outdoors on a January evening wearing your windbreaker, cause hell, you're in the desert afterall and who brings a heavy coat to the desert, and you're freezing your ass off in 40 degree weather. 40 degrees isn't cold you're saying. It is when you only packed SHORTS! Its nights like this that you are praying for the beautiful warmth of the "dry heat"

Basically when you are cold you wish it were hot and vice versa. I was thinking about this this evening as I ran my cold shower. I know what you're thinking. Sicko. Cold showers generally have, um, kind of, inappropriate connotations. Like in the movies when a guy is feeling, um, overly frisky, someone will tell him to take a cold shower. Now I remember coming home on some of the bitter cold days in the winter and jumping in a piping hot shower to unfreeze my poor frostbitten toes and thinking, man, there is nothing better than a hot shower on a cold day. That was until I got home tonight dripping sweat, and admittedly, smelling to high heaven, and I couldn't even think straight until I jumped into a cold shower. This was cold to the point of actually hurting. It was delightful. I didn't want to get out. But then I got the idea to write this blog and it forced me to exit. My toes are still a little bit pruny. Anyway, hope y'all are dealing okay with the heat. Its unbearable I know, but lets all power through it! Peace!

My mom and the plastic surgeon

Wow, it sounds like the title of a romance novel. But it isn't. My mom went in yesterday to have plastic surgery done. Now my mom is not a vain person whatsoever. Personally I think she's gorgeous and always has been. Two summers ago she had gastric bypass surgery and lost around 100 pounds. She looks great and the best part is she feels healthy, b"H. When you lose such a substantial amount of weight you are left with A LOT of extra skin. This is where the plastic surgery comes in. Most plastic surgeons nowadays are making loads of money performing POST-BARIATRIC SURGERY. Basically they help remove the excess skin and help lift the parts that need lifting.

So the doc my mom went to was Dr. Jay Calvert, Plastic Surgeon of the stars. In case you are the one person who tunes into Tyra Banks talk show (they probably average one viewer) you may have seen him as the Beverly Hills (with offices in Newport Beach, home of the newly deceased Marissa Cooper of The O.C.) doctor who performs all the shows' makeovers. Yup, thats him.

So my mom had her surgery yesterday morning. Thank God everything went well and she's recovering comfortably. But considering the kind of clientele this doctor has on his patient roster everything was on the DL. Instead of doing his surgeries in-patient, to avoid his celeb clients having to be admitted to a hospital and having paparazzi waiting for them, he checks them into a deluxe Los Angeles area hotel (not sure I'm allowed to even mention which one) the night before their schedule surgery and has all post-surgery check ups take place in their private suites (God Forbid they trek out in public with stitch marks). When they arrived at the hotel they claimed not to have a reservation for my Mom. My Mom was like, but my doctor's office was supposed to arrange everything with you. The hotel receptionist voice lowered and she whispered that they never use the customer's real name when they are one of Dr. Calvert's patients. Yup, I also rolled my eyes after hearing that one.

After the surgery the patient is escorted from his office operating room to their hotel suite in a limo with blacked out windows and they arrive at a private entrance. The room is now decorated with candles and light music to relax the patient and make the suite as comfortable as possible. I warned my dad that no matter how romantic the room was he wasn't getting any. Yeah, I said that. My mom has a nurse on call waiting on her hand and foot. She fluffs pillows, brings food, and most importantly drugs. I told my mom she should ask for a manicure while shes at it. Get her monies worth.

All this secrecy pisses me off. It gives pseudo-celebs like Ashlee Simpson the ability to have a weekend rhinoplasty and try to deny it to the press on Monday. Yeah, she almost pulled that one off as successfully as she denied lip synching on SNL. Can you tell the difference?



Yeah, I can. The same way that Star Jones denies having weight loss surgery even after dropping 100+ pounds like my Mom did. This surgery changed my Mom's life, and Star's too. The denial by Star cost her her job. The acceptance by my Mom gave her a new lease on life. I love you Mom! You're gorgeous and always have been!

That shuir last night ruled!

Yeah, thats a statement I never pictured hearing myself saying.

Listen to the shuir here!

Last night my temple Mt. Sinai Jewish Center hosted Rabbi Benzion Wosner shlit"a the Rav Hamachshir on the Washingon Heights Eruv and an internationally recognized expert on eruvin. He was this old Hasidic man who I was scared wouldn't speak a word of English. But he was good about translating most things and I was able to follow. As I've mentioned in a previous post, an "eruv" refers to a fence -- either real or symbolic -- that surrounds a Jewish neighborhood, permitting carrying within its boundaries.

There has been great debate today on our community message board www.MaalotWashington.com. I think the eruv is a great thing that will benefit this community for years to come. I absolutely love the fact that I can sit in the park on Shabbos afternoon and read a book, or the newspaper, or the Chumash. I never liked being trapped indoors all day. I think this fact had been detrimental to my Shabbos enjoyment. This is a large part of why this Rabbi found it neccesary to help us set up the eruv. He sincerely believes that an eruv enhances Oneg Shabbat, the Joy of the Sabbath. He gave a couple examples of this by saying that there are some people who need to carry medicine on Shabbos. Why should they have to perform a melacha or prohibition just to keep themselves safe and healthy? That shouldn't be something a person in their position needs to worry about. The other example he has is for mothers to be able to leave their homes. Why should a woman be trapped in her apartment because she has a baby at home? Why should she not have the opportunity to share a Shabbos meal with a friend who lives across the street? She should be able to take her children outside. He also added that even if you live in a community in which you do not approve of their eruv, you should still give money toward the eruv. Why? Because you are helping people avoid desecrating the Sabbath and you are enhancing Oneg Shabbos. That is something all communities should hope to attain.

My favorite part of the shuir is when someone asks about the idea that if the majority holds one way according to halacha then that should be the accepted decision of all in the community. Rabbi Schnaidman our shul's Rabbi quickly pointed out that he believed this is no longer the case. Rabbi Wosner quickly added (and I'm paraphrasing here, this is around minute 50 if you are listening to the shuir), if you are counting the majority of the people, you cannot count only the Orthodox Jews in the community who hold by our eruv. A yid is a yid. There are plenty of non-observant Jews who live in this neighborhood who carry on Shabbat and go about as though Saturday is just another day. We build an eruv to prevent people from doing a melacha or prohibition on Shabbat. Sure a non-observant Jew is driving a car on Shabbos but at least they are not sinning when they carry the keys to the car. If you're listening to the shuir I'm the one giggling when he mentions this. Rav Wosner rules!

This has become a big, almost scandalous, issue in my community. Basically (and this is truly the basics, I don't need twenty people lambasting me that that isn't the true issue), my unYeshivaeducated understanding is that some Rabbis in our community are not happy that our shul consulted a Rabbi from another community to help set up our eruv. Forgetting the fact that its logistically a kosher eruv that is checked each week prior to Shabbat, a lot of people have ill feelings and have chosen not to hold by the ruling. I say fine. I don't tell them how to live their lives the same way they have no right to tell me how to live mine. But theres more to it than that.

As my friend MSW pointed out on the Maalot site:

"When you disagree with people (and thanks to R' Feinstein zt"l, there will always be disagreement over any eiruv in Manhattan) there is a right way and a wrong way to go about it.

Stop for a minute and think about the difficulties that machlokes (disagreement in regards of Jewish law) has caused Jewish communities over the centuries. Think about whether what you are saying to each other is going to help build achdus (unity) in our community, or just add more bricks to the wall separating the different demographics in Washington Heights."

I agree with her wholeheartedly. I know I'm a good yid. If I choose to carry within our community eruv on Shabbos I don't think anyone should think badly of me. Hell, its better than me driving in a car on Saturday which I've done many times in my life before I discovered the joys of Shabbat. Plus in this neighborhood, if I did choose to drive, I won't be penalized for carrying my stuff to the car. I love this eruv! I Love This Country! Peace y'all!

The A train pisses me off...

I left for work early this morning. On Fridays we close at 3 so ideally everyone should arrive at 9 am. I left for work at 8:40 which normally would have gotten me to my office a little after 9. As I left my apartment the raindrops were just coming down. I hurried to the subway and almost tripped going down my steps since I'm trying to get used to walking without my cast. Its not easy and my foot hurts. As I got down into my A train station I saw a bunch of people standing around. A cop was there to tell everyone that the train was broken and we needed to walk all the way across town to the 1 train. Great just what I need with my broken ankle. I limped over there and met up with a couple cool peeps ZK (my hero) and TE. We pushed ourselves into a crowded subway car even though the conductor insisted there was another train directly behind. Never believe them. They are full of crap. Promise. My little buddy TG was on the train with us. TG is my buddy MGR's little sister and the twin of RG. As ZK correctly pointed out, new cutesy 22 year olds in our neighborhood are good for the boys and bad for the girls. Boys like the younger ones and the girls just get annoyed watching the boys drool. This happens in all communities. All single 26 year olds hate the cute blond 22 year olds who move into their neighborhood. Its a fact. TE tried to point out that not all pretty girls get married young...but I interupted her and said she doesn't get to state her opinion because she already won, ie is engaged to her guy SR.

Anyway, when the 1 train finally pulled into 59th street I switched to get to the B train since it was still pouring out and the shorter walk to my office the better. So I stepped down to the platform and whats the first train to pull into the station you might ask?.....the A train. If we'd waited for another 20 minutes we probably could have taken the A train straight from 181st street and not been molested on the crowded 1 train. Of course, I'm pretty positive it was ZK touching my butt, you never can be too sure. Shabbat Shalom!

ZK is my hero

Sorry to group you into the unlikely grouping of Hillary, Bill, Mitch Hedberg, and Maureen Dowd, but anyone who comments on almost every one of my posts deserves the ultimate shout out. You rule man!

Cast is off!

The doctor told me today that I no longer need to wear my AirCast for my broken foot. He poked and pushed and decided that it is healing well and I can just wear tennis shoes. I then asked him, um, Doc, is it normal to have that bone sticking out of my foot there, since like it didn't look like that before the accident? He convinced me its totally normal. He probably got his medical degree in Guatemala. No offense to my Guatemalans readers, but I think hes on crack.

Here's the problem. Sure, it doesn't really hurt anymore. The only time I am nervous about it hurting is when I'm on the subway and the car is jerking around on the track and NYC shmucks don't get up to give a person in a cast a seat. Occassionally I get up the courage to ask someone for their seat and usually the 3 people in the vicinity of where I asked stare down each other until one of them finally shrugs and gets up off of his fat ass. When I had crutches I usually didn't have too much trouble getting offered seats. When I used the cane, I had to do some acting, you know, like coughing and making sure all seated subway riders saw me leaning heavily on my cane. When I stopped using the cane my acting was Oscar worthy, balancing unsteadily on one foot until people saw me nearly falling over at every stop. This only worked twice at getting offered a seat. Once the offerer was an older lady and by the looks of it, I was in better shape than she was. So I turned it down. The other a frum married fella who I recognized from my neighborhood offered his seat. The problem was I was standing next to a visibly pregnant girl from the neighborhood. I'm not sure exactly who he was offering it to, she or I, but I said thank you and sat down. The whole way from 59th street to 125th street I was kicking myself for not saying, "yes, but only if someone will offer a seat to pregnant chick as well." Thank goodness she got a seat at 125th street. My conscience was killing me.

So now I'm worried about taking off the cast completely. If I'm really in pain, people probably won't get up even if I ask. I am considering keeping on the Ace bandage I've been wearing under the cast just in case. That way I can just fake a bad limp and keep falling into someone's lap until they get up. Hopefully he'll be cute! :)

Subway riders really have chutzpah! All I know is that as soon as I am fully recovered, I am going to offer my seat to everyone who looks like they can use it and I hope that each of you will as well. You might be tired or just lazy, but most of the time the people who really need the seats are too embarrassed to ask. Offer it to the older lady. Get up for a person with a cane. But watch out for the pregnant women. You can't be sure nowadays if they really are pregnant or just carrying an extra tire. Just a warning I learned from the movie Two Weeks Notice. Cute movie. You should rent it. Peace.

If they can do it....

This is what an Israeli artillery crew in Southern Lebanon does
during a lull in the fighting - אלה ברכב ואלה בסוסים, אבל אנחנו בשם ה' נזכיר

If they can find time in the day to pray for peace then we should as well. God Willing the fighting in the Holy Land will come to an end speedily.

Self Psychological Diagnosis

I suffer from SNA. SNA is also referred to as Severe Netflix Anxiety. You can learn more about this in the wonderful Brad Stone article The Netflix Hangover. Basically this is a syndrone caused by my paying $19.50 a month and watching the 3 Netflix movies sit atop my TV. Not in my DVD player, but atop the TV in their cute little red Netflix postage paid envelopes. Not only is it a waste of money when I don't go through my movies quickly but I truly feel the guilt when I've received a movie that has a long wait listed next to the title on the Netflix website. Its people like me cause undue anguish to that teenage girl who waited anxiously for her copy of Pride & Prejudice while it sat in my living room from 04/26/06 to 07/05/06. Sure I watched it like 5 times cause the movie rocks and even a chick can admit that Keira Knightly is hot, but I guess two months really was pushing the envelope. But most upsetting is the fact that sometimes movies arrive in my mailbox that I just can't get into the mood for. The best examples are a couple recent rentals The History of Violence which I had for 6 weeks and Good Night, and Good Luck which I had for 9 weeks. Hell, if I got American Pie's Band Camp in the mail today I would find a way to squeeze 90 minutes out of my evening to fit that in. But something like Good Night, and Good Luck, thats some heavy stuff. I mean, come on, its in black and white for goodness sake. And they dehotted George Clooney. Whats the point?! Finally I forced myself to sit down and watch it and was pretty satified. The acting was good, the story had historical importance and I'll admit, I don't think I remembered that Senator McCarthy was from Wisconsin. The guy probably owned a cow and we let him scare the hell out of a good portion of America's power players. What a country?!!

Anyway, its my goal in the coming month to be a good Jew and get my monies worth by renting and returning as many movies as humanly possible. I will make Erika and Roger proud of me. Shabbat Shalom everyone!

The Transitive Property

Today is a Fast day to commemorate several different historic events in Jewish History. Its called Shiv'ah Asar B'Tammuz, or the 17th of the month Tammuz. For more info visit NJOP's Holiday site. Unlike other religions, on fast days Jews do not consume food or drink the entire day. Tonight's fast ends at 9:03 pm. During Ramadan I believe Muslims are allowed to drink when they are thirsty. Jews just run around all day parched with little white crusties developing at the corners of their mouths. The worst part is....no coffee. I need coffee to survive. First thing I do when I get to the office is make a huge pot of coffee. Not because its part of my job description or anything. No, jobs like that are thanks goodness in my past. I make coffee, because until the moment I down a cup or two I am scarily unapproachable. Safely at least.

Here comes the part of the blog post that I get to test your 9th grade math skills.
Fast Day= No Coffee and No Coffee=Susanne in Bad Mood
Therefore Fast Day= Susanne in Bad Mood
Thats the Transitive Property. I am the Queen of Algebraic Postulates.

Around the 14th hour of the fast (today's 14th hour for me was around 12 noon) you develop a searing headache. But of course you can't take an Aleve. Why? Because you want to tough it out. Make it all the way to 9:03 pm. And thats just what I plan to do. Leave work nowish, around 5:30. Hobble home. Pass out on the couch for the remaining 3 hours. At precisely 9:03 pm, eat everything in site. And then at 9:06 be horrifically disgusted by how much food I've consumed. Fast days rule! Peace.

Seriously peeps

Seriously, when I ask for comments I expect more people than just Elana to heed my requests. Afterall, she and I have a pact to recipricate each others blog comments. Oy, was I not supposed to tell people about that?

And I thought my dates were stalkers...

You've got to see this. We have all had bad dates (ask me sometime about the guy whos name I forgot while on the date). This is the ultimate stalker story. Definitely gives Jews a bad name.

Darren the Stalker!

This is how I feel

You guys need to comment more. I mean my stuff is gold. Show me some love.

Surprise, surprise...

You Have A Type A- Personality

You are one of the most balanced people around Motivated and focused, you are good at getting what you want You rule at success, but success doesn't rule you. When it's playtime, you really know how to kick back Whether it's hanging out with friends or doing something you love! You live life to the fullest - encorporating the best of both worlds

Do You Have a Type A Personality?

Google

I love Google. I must run searches 20 or 30 times a day. But nothing is more fun to search than yours truly. I know you do it too so I'm not embarrassed to own up to it. What I am embarrassed to own up to is how many hits I have. And I know what you're thinking, surely not all of the hits are really you. But they are. All 672 of them. Try it now. Go to Google and search "Susanne Goldstone". Each and every result is me. Okay, I'll admit, at least 500 of them are posts that I've made on OnlySimchas.com. But each and every one of those people deserved a Mazel Tov gosh darn it! My name at first glance doesn't seem unique. But few people spell Susanne with an Sus. They prefer the more common Suz spelling. And Goldstone is much less common than Goldstein. If you Google Suzanne Goldstein you would find 1,100 hits, each seems to be a totally different individual. I used to hate that my name was different. Whenever we were on vacation there was never a cute key chain with Susanne on it. Only Suzanne, Susan, and Susie. I always had to settle with one of those choices.

Funny story about the name Susie. I was kind of a trouble child. Got kicked out of the Hebrew Academy Lubavitch in Westminster at age 4. Something about not wanting to recite the Aleph Bet. They used to make me rake leaves as punishment. At age 4! Don't worry avid readers, that evil principal was later fired. I transferred to my local public school the following year for kindergarten. I was an Eader Beaver! That mascot was later changed for obvious reasons not understood by the average 5 year old. If you haven't figured it out, say Eader Beaver 10 times fast. Yup, not very child friendly. Anyhoo, back to Susie. There is a kind of untold requirement for passing kindergarten which requires the kid to be able to spell their name. I wasn't the most intelligent child back then (for proof stop by my apartment for a viewing of my 3rd and 4th birthday parties, oy, I was such a dork). But I did have street smarts. I had a LOT of trouble learning to write. I was totally unable to write the letter N. Sucks when my first name has to Ns in it. So little Susanne at the age of 4 had a brilliant idea. I decided to change my name. I came in one day and decided to have a meeting with Mrs. Broccolo. Mrs. Broccolo was the greatest teacher ever, I liked her so much I was held back in kindergarten an extra year! :) Okay, that and I was an idiot. So anyway, I walked in one day and told my teacher that my parents had decided to change my name to Susie. I figured if it were Susie I would avoid ever having to learn how to write the letter N. She believed me I guess because she called my mom that afternoon. The conversation went like this:

Mrs. B: "Um, Mrs. Goldstone, this is Mrs. Broccolo."

Mom: "What did she do this time?!"

Mrs. B: "Oh, no, nothing like that. Your daughter informed us today that you and Dr. Goldstone changed her name to Susie"

LONG PAUSE

Mom: "What did she tell you??"

Mrs. B: "That you've changed her name to Susie, I'm just calling to ask you to send the legal documents concerning her name change so we can update her file"

LONG PAUSE

Mom: "Do you really think we'd change her name?! That idiot kid just doesn't know how to write Ns. My 4 year old just duped you!"

I was sent to our principal Mr. Conniff's office where I proceeded to kick him in the groin. Or so my mom claims. I don't know logistically how a 3 foot, 4 year old could kick a standing adult male in the groin. I must have been a little kung fu fighter. He then attempted to throw me out of school. It didn't work. He left Eader that year and was never an elementary school principal again. I wonder if I had anything to do with that?

The next year was exactly the same. I had Mrs. Broccolo again. We still raised live chicks in our classroom. The only difference was that the school had a new principal Mrs. Yonts, and Eader changed its mascot to the Eagle. Eader Beavers was no more.

Week in Review

Sorry for the delayed post. A lots been going on but I haven't felt compelled to write until now so I'll cram in a week's worth of info in one shot. Bear with me.

Mom was here last week to help me since I'm not fully functional with my broken foot. I'm much more mobile now that I'm in a walking cast but the fact that I'm not playing softball is still adding a little sorrow to my limp. My nearly undefeated team has now lost their second straight game without me. I'm not saying I was the good luck charm, I'm just saying our once 4th place team just lost to the 14th place team in my absence. Coincidence? I think not. Go Bearcats!

Mom was a big help. Not only did she attempt to clean my disaster zone of a bedroom she also spent hours scrubbing our disgusting soap scum filled shower. And they say Marines are brave. She also helped me in my time of need. My roommate is getting married tomorrow and her entire fan club of family, friends, and shomeret were stationed in my apartment. If I were alone I may not have gotten out alive. Mom, you were quite the trooper!! You deserve the Medal of Honor. And I deserve a Purple Heart.

I saw Tim McGraw last week. The show was incredible as usual and my seats were unbelieveble. Too good to be true? You got that right. The second I got out my camera to take a picture (and video, shhhh, don't tell Madison Square Garden) my battery died. I've never had such awesome seats for his show and I couldn't even record it to prove the verity of my seat assignment. Taping the concert would have been perfect. I could have fast forwarded his snooze of a wife's entire performance. Faith Hill, you are cute, but you should have ended after your opening performance. The crowd was there solely to see your husband. Sorry honey, but its the truth. The day you look that hot in tight jeans and a cowboy hat maybe we'll allow you to add a song or two. Since I didn't take pics I pleaded to my Tim Fan Clubs for photos and videos they took at the MSG concert. Finally Brendan from MySpace stepped up and led me to his incredible pics and video from the concert. Two pics are shown below. Thanks Brendan!





Tomorrow I have work. Ridiculous but true. My entire job is about calling people in their offices. It will be tough when no one in their right mind is going to be working on Monday, July 3rd. Except me and the rest of the NJOP staff of course. I think I might actually take a lunch break tomorrow. I know, unthinkable huh? I haven't really since Megabite closed. In protest of course. Nowhere yummy to go so why bother to leave? If you want to join me I'll be in Bryant Park at 1 pm. I'll be the one taking off her cast to prevent getting the most heinous farmer's tan ever in the history of the world. Seriously, a tan from the midshin down? Yeah, that'll get the boys running...away from me. Peace.

I found $500 on the street in New York this morning. I could have pocketed it. But that's just not me. In this case it was a check made out to Cash. This could have been taken and deposited by anyone. But since it had a way to track down the person who lost it, I did just that. On top of it all, it turned out it belonged to a store on my block that just went out of

I don't claim to be righteous. Heck, if it was an envelope full of cash with no name on it, I probably would have grabbed it and walked away, not looking back.

Gentile Jokes

Shout out to LZ one of my Top 25 Jews reading all the way from the Holy Land.

I needed a giggle so I found these jokes. I'll take these over blond jokes anyday. All we ever hear are Jewish jokes, so here are some gentile jokes.

**********************************************************

A gentile goes into a clothing store and says, "This is a very fine jacket. How much is it?"

The salesman says, "It's $500."

The gentile says, "OK, I'll take it."
*********************************************************

Two gentiles meet on the street. The first one says, "You own your own business, don't you? How's it going?"

The other gentile says, "Just great! Thanks for asking!"

**********************************************************

Two gentile mothers meet on the street and start talking about children. Gentile mother 1 (said with pride): "My son is a construction worker!"

Gentile mother 2 (said with more pride): "My son is a truck driver!"

**********************************************************

A man calls his mother and says, "Mother, I know you're expecting me for dinner this evening, but something important has come up and I can't make it."

His mother says, "OK."

**********************************************************

A gentile couple goes to a nice restaurant. The man says: "I'll have the steak and a baked potato, and my wife will have the julienne salad with house dressing. We'll both have coffee."

The waiter asks, "How would you like your steak and salad prepared?"

The man says," I'd like the steak medium...... the salad is fine as is."

The waiter says, "Thank you."

***********************************************************

A gentile man calls his elderly mother. He asks, "Mom, how are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

She says, "I'm feeling fine, and I don't need anything. Thanks for calling."

***********************************************************

Now you know why there are no gentile jokes.

I wish I thought of this...

After my 7 hour ER wait, this would have come in handy:

The other day, I had to go to the emergency room.
After sitting there for 4 hours, I went next door to an Army-Navy store and bought a couple of patches and attached one to each shoulder.

It was amazing how many people left as I walked back in.

I guess they suddenly decided they weren't that sick after all.

Here is the patch that you can sew on your clothing if you are in need of quicker emergency service.

Reasons my life Sucks....Part 2

So, just hours after Part 1 of this series on why my life sucks, I was on my way to synagogue, late of course, for Friday night Shabbat services. Being in a hurry I was rushing down the 100+ steps that connect Fort Washington Ave to Overlook Terrace. As I neared the second to last flight of steps I saw a bunch of neighborhood kids with their little mini-gang which consists of about 8 tiny Puerto Rican kids who enjoy wreaking havoc in the neighborhood. Yesterday they chose to steal some kids tricycle and were taking turns throwing it down the flights of stairs to see which 9-year-old could throw it furthest. I, trying to avoid being smacked by the flying tricycle, went to move to the other side of the stairs. As I did my ankle turned in my cute leather sandals and I heard a faint pop sound. I tried taking a step and realizd something was seriously amiss. The little kids surrounded me asking, "maam, are you okay?" "can we do anything?" So much for them trying to act all tough. They're still nice kids. I guess they'll have to wait until they are all sent to prison at 16 for Grand Theft Auto before they toughen up.

So I hobbled, painfully, the last block to get to shul. I knew once I got there I'd have help. Where better to find a doctor than a synagogue? I hoped Nurse Practitionor DT would be there but she wasn't. Thank goodness Estie (I'll share the name since she deserves full props) saw me and follwed me outside. She quickly hastened a friend of mine MA who is a member of Hatzolah. According to Wikipedia Hatzolah means "rescue" or "relief" in Hebrew and is a volunteer Emergency medical service (EMS) organization functioning in Israel and in many Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods in major cities of the United States, as well as in Australia, South Africa, Mexico, Belgium, Switzerland, Canada, Russia, and the United Kingdom. Hatzolah specializes in quick first response, aiming to have trained medical volunteers at the scene of an emergency call as quickly as possible. Plus, their help is free of charge. Woohoo! Another Hatzolah member YB who saw MA leave came out as well. They surmised that it most likely was a broken bone in my foot. It was starting to swell and just looked plain gross. They suggested taking me to the hospital. I was bummed out because I had planned to go to LZ for dinner and as mentioned before, she is a kick tush cook. I had been looking forward. But I couldn't walk on it so the hospital was the only option. According to Jewish law one is not supposed to drive a car on Shabbos. But if a person's life is at risk, or I learned, if a person is unable to walk, this is justification for someone to be driven to the hospital. YB ran to get the "bus" and we waited in shul for him to bring it. I prayed he would hurry as to avoid the embarrassment of everyone seeing me on a stretcher. But he arrived back just as everyone was exiting the sanctuary. So everyone was there to watch my fight with Hatzolah as I tried to convince them to let me walk out on my own. I lost and was loaded up onto the stretcher. Thank goodness I was wearing a longer skirt or everyone would have been looking up it. Estie graciously offered to accompany me which is great because although I was taking the break well, I was terrorized to be alone allnight in the ER. YB got called away to another trauma and another Hatzolah dude AF took over the driving of the ambulance. We got to Columbia-Presbyterian on 168th in no time and I was wheeled into the emergency room. Fact: Riding in an ambulance gets you places really fast. Ficion: Arriving in an ambulance does not get you faster treatment.

Estie and I were left in the ER by our excellent volunteer EMT's MA and AF at about 9:30. I immediately began to put on a show for all the other ER patients. We were situated in the section directly in front of Section D, the infamous Psych area. Who needs a TV when you have a woman with a mullet brought in with no apparent injuries who insists her name is John? Good times. So I was commentating for those lucky enough to have beds near mine. I was in the hallway next to the nurse's station since there were no available curtained areas. Not a prob, we got to listen to all the crazy stories from the nurses and doctors. After one dude was wheeled in after an obvious overdose (he was convulsing and snoring louder than I've ever heard before) we heard one nurse whisper to another "yeah he's taken everything tonight, E, crack, and plenty more". NYC. Good times.

Around 11:30 I had to pee. Couldn't just get up so I asked the doctor dude what I should do. He was like well what did the doctor tell you. I was like, um, no one has touched my foot yet. So he came over and felt my foot and verifed that it was indeed broken. So he told me he'd send a nurse over to help me get to a bathroom. No one came. Finally I asked this chick nurse to help me get to the bathroom and she looked all pissed and was like, so just go. I was like the doctor said I can't walk on it. So she pushed me AND my bed to the bathroom. Thanks for that. Estie who was on yet another search to find one of the 5 loose chairs in the ER saw me and came running. She quickly grabbed some gloves and cleaned the pee off the seat for me. Thanks buddy. I peed into a cup while I was in there because they wanted proof I wasn't pregnant before sending me to X Ray. Results were negative. What a surprise.

Finally I met my doc. She was sooooo awesome. I told Estie, she reminded me of the doctor from Father of the Bride 2. My female readers will know what I'm talking about. Of all the doctors we watched in the ER that night, Dr. NB was the only one who actually spoke and spent time with her patients. She wasn't the usual robotic ER doc. The best example is when Mullet lady John was being released, she let her give her a hug. I would have ran from mullet lady, if I didn't have a broken foot. The bitchy nurse from the bathroom incident was then assigned to me and took me to X-Ray bumping me and my bed into each doorway we went through. X-Ray confirmed the break known as a Jone's Fracture of the 5th Metatarsal. Dr. NB even pointed it out for us on the computer screen. Here's my X-ray. I circled the fracture.

Estie and I actually cheered the news because it finally justified us being in the ER for 4 hours. Bitchy nurse finally got around to bringing me my Vicodin over an hour after the doc asked her to. Then she made jokes asking me how high I was the rest of the night. It took Dr. NB another hour or so to get back to me to wrap my cast since, you know, she was the only doc there actually "caring" for patients. When that was finished bitchy nurse came back with my crutches and of course made fun of my height since she was taller and made jokes as she tried to show me how to use crutches. She couldn't help but do that. She's a bitch.

Estie and I finally left the hospital and had a car bring us back to her place. We went to sleep around 4:30 am. We were in the hospital over 7 hours. As I kept reiterating all night long, it sucked. We were awoken around noon by MA and YB from Hatzolah checking to make sure everything turned out well. Also LZ and her friend stopped by. I had MA run by LZ's meal last night to make sure she saved me some leftovers. She heated some up for lunch today. LZ food at last. Estie, LZ, and my buddy NW hung out with me while I ate and we all went to take naps. I slept all day long because of the Vicodin and trauma and got a lift back to my apt tonight.

Estie and I made lots of friends in the ER. Old Jewish guy who asked me if I prayed for him when he saw I had brought a prayerbook with me. Old dude with the cane who agreed with me when I commented that the little cups of cranberry juice should come with little bottles of vodka. Old smelly dude with walker who didn't really do much, but he was next to us, so we smelled him. And our favorites, the Spanish lady who helped look out for Estie's chair when she had to get up and our friend Ysidro who broke his finger and was getting casted by Dr. NB alongside us. We chatted until he was discharged.

I give full props and shout outs to all who stopped by to visit (or tried to, thanks ZK and TI). And especially to Estie. The 20 minutes or so that she was kicked out of the ER when they were bringing in a crazy person to the Psycho area was the hardest I spent there. Without anything to do or anyone to talk to I caught myself breaking down and tearing up. The ER is no place to go alone, or without a good book. I'm not so sure I'm a big enough person to have done that for someone else. Her kindness really got me through the night. I owe her some chopped liver. And I want to write a thank you letter to Dr. NB. She was Canadian, but I'll let that slide. She was awesome. Peace out!

Reasons my life sucks

The last couple of days have totally sucked for me. I know what you're thinking, but its not all because of the closure of Megabite. Actually this month in general has pretty much blown but it has had a highlight or two, so other then those, its been pretty sucky.

Oh where to begin. How about June 1st. My new subletter had planned to move in her stuff before Shavuous which also coincided with the start of June. My roommate AS who just moved out since she got married and became AD made sure to have everything cleared out of the room to make sure this girl was able to move in on time. Needless to say, she didn't show. I figured she was busy prepping for the holiday and didn't have a chance to move before. It wasn't until the 5th that I started to go ape shit. She didn't return my calls or emails and then finally sent me an email claiming that I never officially gave her a go ahead on the apartment so thats why she never showed. I don't recall that being the case. I think it was just the opposite. On recall making the point that unless she heard otherwise from me that it was a go. On top of it all, in Jewish law a verbal agreement is considered as good as a written one. Even though she never signed anything she should be halachically responsible. End result is that my entire June paycheck is going toward my rent. So to all my "friends" who try to guilt me into coming to all their events that they are sponsoring, leave me the hell alone unless you are paying for me to get in. I'm not a trust fund kid. I work in kiruv.

Work has been overwhelming, but when isn't it? And I'm not stupid enough to rant about anything like that on a forum like this one. Did you read the article in the NY Times about recruiters checking potential employees' MySpace sites and finding out tons of dirt? Check it out: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/11/us/11recruit.html. Some kids are idiots. My MySpace page is totally clean. Hell, my parents read it. I love you dear blog, but not enough to be fired over. I can't afford my rent as is. Maybe I should just move back to Cali. I know a lot more people there that would be happy to see me come than those here who would be disappointed if I leave. Sad but true. I have to beg people to find a fricken Shabbos meal. Thats proposterous. Everyone should want a piece of Susanne Goldstone.

Last night I went to play a softball game with this girl's team. She told me they play in Harlem but not to worry, the field is just as I step off of the A train. I was like thats fine. I can hold my own. No idiot will mess with a chick like me carrying a softball bat bag. Granted, I left my bat at home yesterday...but they didn't know it. Turns out it wasn't right off of the A train. I stopped people on the street asking where the ballfields are. Finally a guy told me who knew the fields I was talking about. They are on 145th and Lenox. Um, I don't know about you but I read the NY Times. And I hear about many a murder that takes place on 145th St and Lenox in Harlem. Was not excited about this. Not only that but Lenox was like 6 LONG avenue blocks from where I was. And as the fields finally came into view, sure enough, the number 3 train was right next to them, not the A train. I got to the game 40 minutes late and as soon as I walked on to the field I was told to bat. Hell, I still had a skirt on. I was in my work clothes. I grounded into a fielder's choice (for you non-baseball people, not a very impressive play). The game got busted up after an hour when the lone white guy on my team got in a fight with the umpire and he called the game. It was nearing 8 pm and sundown at this point so I got my ass out of the neighborhood clutching my pepper spray in my hand armed and ready.

And to top off the week, this morning I received an email from Saw You At Sinai, a Orthodox Jewish dating site. My old roommate from college is a matchmaker on the site and had sent me a profile of a guy to look at. He is SSOOOOO not for me. He was a big guy with a big beard and no hair on his head. Seriously, the dude looked like a lumberjack. And I am not so into looks. I love the Pillsbury Doughboy look in my Jew Boys. But this was ridiculous. Seriously. Is this what I destined for? I'm not a 10, but seriously, don't be sending me 3s.

So thats where I'm at. Things are looking up in the couple hours it took me to finish this post. A) my new replacement iPod was delivered so I can listen to my beloved Dixie Chicks on the train once again. b"H. B) I finally scored a pity invite for my Shabbos meals. C) I'm leaving work and have approximately 67 hours to my leisure. Yay. Shabbat Shalom.