I Still Don’t Like Purim

I’m sorry, I know purim is supposed to be the happiest day of the year and everyones favorite holiday, but it always ends up leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve recently realized that the only reason I ever did like purim was because in high school and younger you could start to slack off from rosh chodesh Adar and it was basically sanctioned. In fact, my very first purim post high school ended badly. I’d like to officially apologize to my roommate for the vomit, the plumber for the diarrhea and the rest of my roommates for the lack of clothes (all three are directly linked). I’m wondering if at this point someone just realized who I am.

This purim was no exception. As a sneak preview, I get sexually mauled by both sexes. But I wouldn’t have thought it would end that way considering I started the night shpieling in the old yeshivish fashion. Here’s a tip: Don’t shpiel with someone who knows every single family personally. Because you end up standing around the living room after your song and donation while he and the parents play catch-up and “who’s doing what now?”. At least at two of the houses I got to sit around refilling my shot glass while they kvetched, mamished and eppesed.

So after the shpiel route was done, I get a text to come to a shul party. It was fine, met some people I know, met some people I now know, and had some more l’chaims. Nothing wrong with that. For those of you who Facebook friended me, you’ll know it was my birthday that day as well (and for those of you who haven’t, why not, nu?). This is significant because I kept having to have drinks with people, more than I usually would. I’m a bit fuzzy here, but at some point I left that and was wandering the streets, possibly in search of someone, when I got a text to come to another party at someones house. (I never ignore a text telling me to go somewhere. It’s my weakness.)

I should have had a feeling of foreboding about this one, but I was too drunk to spell “foreboding” so that was right out. But I should have had a warning, when I passed a drunk frum guy in a superman outfit. As we pass he turns to look at me. Then he told me I was “f***ing hot” and attempted to kiss me. I was drunk, but lucid enough to turn my head just in time so he only got me on the cheek. That should have told me the fun part of the night was over. But no, I stumbled/ran away from his homoerotic advances in the general direction of the house. It wasn’t far. I was safe. As soon as I enter someone sees me and announces to all that it is my birthday. This led to me downing a table row of vodka shots. I’m a sucker for peer-pressure.

The announcement also got me the attention of a girl, who happily told me she was just back from sem. When it turned out we both go to the same college, we were apparently married, as she became the second person to hug me that night, though admittedly the more welcome of the two. Oh, and then she hung from my arm all night, refusing to leave. No big deal, until I decided to head home. As she had joined us at the hip, I agreed to walk her to her house since it was on the way to mine anyway. All was well until we got there, when she started violently vomiting. And as much as I keep shomer negiah, I figured some rules can be broken if it means avoiding a Jimi Hendrix-style death, so my purim night, which started off with such promise, ended up with me holding a girl up by her stomach as she spewed was looked like white rice all over the driveway. Now I was later told that being nice to a drunk girl is a no-no, as it sends the wrong message. I found that one out when she looked at me after she finished losing weight, smiled and suddenly tried to violently kiss me. That was my signal to head home, thankfully alone, as she proceeded to stumble inside and pass out.

Although she did text me the next day. But I weighed it, and figured I wouldn’t want to have to tell the story of how we met. So no.

…And We’re Back

It’s weird staring at a blank page when you haven’t written in so long. It’s like a chore to fill, and I have to say it’s been a breath of fresh air to get out of the habit of checking blog stats and comments several times a day. My popularity has obviously waned with the lack of new content, but after almost a month I was shocked to see I’m hovering around 100 hits a day. Sorry for letting all of you down day by day, or sorry to the one person who checks a hundred times a day for new content. I have no way of knowing which it is.

I did notice that during my absence blog buddies Frum Skeptic and Too Young To Teach got engaged! You know what that means? I think it means that me not posting is a segulah for girls with blogs to find their bashert. I suppose that would explain the fact that the shidduch crises has exploded since I started blogging. I’m sorry, really. Maybe someone can pay me not to blog ever again and end the crises once and for all?

So what have I been up to? Well firstly, I got that nose job that I’ve been promised ever since my sweet sixteen. Now I’m pretty at last. And my back no longer aches from carrying that thing around. While in the hospital, I had a lot of free time to play with my phone since ironically, I couldn’t find the charger for the battery pack I bought for my Zune for such a situation. Turns out my phone has a panorama option for the camera. I took a picture of my ward:

I also read some books that I’d been meaning to get to. “Yes Man” by Danny Wallace. (Better than the movie, but a bit slow to start). “How To Be Lost” by Amanda Eyre Ward. (Great, but I figured out the twist way too early, and the ending left me wanting), and also “The Runaway Jury” by John Grisham. (One of his best, mainly because he nails the ending for once. It’s also better than the movie, but the movie was pretty good).

After I recuperated, I flew to Senegal to help save the endangered lemur. That was until we got there and discovered that there are no lemurs in Senegal, and also, noone in the group was quite sure what exactly a lemur was, did, or looked like. Due to a series of freak accidents, we lost most of the group and all of our equipment, leaving me to crawl and beg my way back home on foot. Luckily, I managed to go back in time and publish a fictionalized version of my journey as a novel called “Hatchet“, the proceeds of which I used to pay for the rhinoplasty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a shower.

Stay tuned for a Purim Post.