Night Out in Town

[Warning: This post rated R. If you're under 18, click here.]

First, thank you to all my well wishers. I've been through a rough week. I had surgery last week and recovery wasn't as swift as I was hoping. Originally I was going to write something funny about the surgery, but I tell you, it's not easy coming up with something funny when you're in freaking pain.

Anyway, after this tough week, I needed a blow job.

So I had a Blow Job with a friend tonight.

If you've read my last post you already know I don't do alcohol. Well, that was going to change today. I've had enough of not being invited out for a drink with friends, just because people perceive me as a serious person who doesn't drink or a person who doesn't know how to have fun (oh what do they know anyway?!).

So I made a call to a friend and today was D Day. And my first alcoholic drink was...a Blow Job.

3/4 oz Bailey's Irish Cream
3/4 oz. Kahlua
Whipped cream

Glass to Use: Shot glass

Mixing Instructions:
This drink is strictly for the ladies! Combine Kahlua and Bailey's in a shot glass, and top with a puff of whipped cream. It must be drunk without using your hands!

And yes, my friend took photos of the look on my face trying to get past the creamy part of the Blow Job. I managed to consume half of it before choking (maybe the image of this creamy leaning pyramid was too much for my brain to overcome). My friend finished the rest. Thank dog for drinking friends!

I've come to the conclusion that I'd rather drink the real thing over the alcoholic version. Though I imagine it'd be hard to find those bars. (Did I just come across a brilliant business idea targeting women consumers? Oh heck, sure why not, let's include the male consumers, too!)

So as we sat there having a great time, my friend asked for another drink, the look on my face prompted my friend to react with: "I can't handle you sober, I gotta have another drink! You're killing me."

Watch out world, I'm an alcohol virgin and in desperate need of a change. I'm determined to try every drink I can get past my smell senses, until I force my taste buds to accept alcohol, dammit! Here's to a fruitful search of the perfect alcoholic drink for me.

I wonder if there are non-alcoholics anonymous that I could join. I feel so embarrassed about going through this change at this age. I need help. I really do.


Morning after: The alarm went off and in a sleepy state of mind I told my husband: "Blow Jobs suck!" Without hesitation he answers, "I thought that was the point?"

One more drink

The company's holiday party was wonderful as usual, with dancing, food and plenty of alcohol. While I don't like the taste of alcohol it's been a rather convenient excuse for me not to drink. Thing is, even if I did like it, I wouldn't touch it. I'm too scared of getting drunk enough where I'd say something that I'll end up regretting later (as if I don't already engage in this risky behaviour...).

But eventhough I don't drink myself, I get pretty "high" on just being around people. And sometimes with the right mix of people I end up making a fool of myself just as much as any other drunk in the room. Thankfully, by then everyone else is so drunk they don't notice me.

For some strange reason people perceive me as someone naive or not much of a party person, just because I don't drink alcohol, smoke, or swear. So it came as a complete surprise to the three drunks in my car on Saturday night that this was not my first time driving a bunch of drunks around, and that for seven years I drove drunks in my car almost every single week. Why? Because I love partying and every chance I got I was out at a bar or a club with the sailors who visited Israel on their med cruise. If I had a choice, I'd be going out to a bar every weekend, to enjoy the music and company of other fascinating people. I honestly don't need a drink to have fun, laugh, and enjoy life.

Sure, sometimes I'm at a disadvantage because I find discussions about favourite drinks as boring as discussions about sporting events. But it's rare to come across a fanatic who can discuss only alcohol for an entire evening. Typically, a good drunk changes topic once every two minutes, which makes for a very interesting discussion and quite a few laughs for those of us who are completely sober. Then there are those drunks who go in cycles. Once in ten minutes, they repeat the same story again. With every repetition the story evolves further (and for some strange reason it receives more laughs from other drunks with each iteration). This often turns out to be a hilarious way of spending an evening. And as the evening progresses, there's an increase in vocal volume, because apparently drunk people lose their capability to use the inside-voice, or maybe they just don't hear as well. This turns out particularly funny when they attempt to whisper a secret and people across the room can hear it.

So on the way home, as I drove three drunks in my car, I dealt with "oops, I spilled my coffee on my white coat and now it's a dalmatian" through "I need to go pee behind your car" (while I'm driving!). Within the half hour drive my head was exploding with two devout Catholics in the backseat trying to talk to me about the 12 apostles, racism in America, and BJ's, while my husband picks up on one word from their sentences and begins singing "we all live in a yellow submarine" and "Benny and the Jets." Sometime when they're all sober, I'd like to ask them how the 12 apostles turned out in the same sentence with BJ's and the Beatles.

Apparently, the fact that I don't drink makes me not only the designated driver, but the designated conscience. After this weekend's holiday party my friends called to apologise for their behaviour, or to ask if they said or did anything socially unacceptable. Thing is that as far as I know, I was the only one not drinking - therefore everyone else were equally drunk to notice other people's behaviour and no one is going to remember.

Another good reason not to drink - I'd rather remember when I have a good time. So here's to future good times and remembering them all. And here's to all of you who enjoy drinking and provide us sober people with hours of entertainment and laughs to last forever. You guys rock!

Foot in Mouth Disease

I believe the President of Iran is very ill. Unfortunately, it's not a fatal disease. Although it does seem like a very serious illness, considering the symptoms he's displaying. Hallucinations, talking nonsense [click here to read the article], angering friends. Almost sounds like he's bi-polar or possibly showing early signs of senility.

It amazes me that doctors worldwide have to complete long years of med school, tough exams, internships, and continuous professional development; Lawyers have to go through bar exams and in order to maintain professional membership they are required to prove they are competent; Architects and Engineers have to go through licensing exams; Each of these professionals is responsible for a few hundreds of lives in any given year.

YET...people who are responsible for MILLIONS of lives in any given year, are not required to go through any formal schooling, pass exams, or undergo a licensing procedure. There is no association or body that ensures the competency of World Leaders and their adherence to some code of law. It's not like we don't have an entity that could govern this specialised body of a couple of hundreds active professionals and several thousands retired or in-training professionals. Why do we have the U.N.?! Why can't we create a body that will impose strict requirements on all leaders who are members of the U.N. to prove their competency in being leaders of millions of people responsibly.

This body will have tough exams to measure the potential leader's knowledge of world politics, world events, and history. This body will also need to conduct psychological exams on all world leaders to ensure they don't suffer from some form of dissillusioned psychosis (e.g. Saddam Hussein, and many others whose names I cannot spell). Continued membership in this body should be on a bi-annual basis (every two years). Aging dictators who are losing touch with reality should be dismembered! (hey, neat idea, doncha think?).

Who's going to pay for the salaries of the committee and the cost of taking exams? The people on earth. One cent from every person on earth should be more than sufficient. Any extra money left over, should be used to identify future potential leaders around the world and train them to pass the leadership board exams.

I think this will definitely resolve the issue of bird-flu stricken Iranian president, and would possibly resolve issues of many future leaders who should be locked up with keys thrown away, rather than allow them to continue ruining our world.

< /rant >

Victoria's Secret

Sunday morning I woke up a bit worried about what I'll wear this coming weekend to the holiday party. So I decided to try on the newly taylored pants and the new jacket I bought over Thanksgiving. Yes, you read right, just the pants and the jacket. I decided that for the purpose of testing size I didn't need a shirt. My husband, still in bed, watched me and with much enthusiasm commented, "the pants and the jacket are one shade off." By now you should realise that I married a very practical husband and not one to fall for a free striptease show.

In an effort to add some excitement to our morning I announced that this year I will not be wearing a blouse to the party and it's just the jacket over my bare skin. He looked amused and a laugh escaped his mouth. Ever so stubborn, I declared - "Scars are in! After 27 years I'm going to expose them and feel proud!" Be damned all you good looking b*tches, I'm going to show my battle scars. I've lived in embarrassment for too long.

I think I managed to stay bold for another five minutes, before heading back to my wardrobe to check on my options for shirts. I found a new shirt I bought two years ago for the holiday party and haven't worn yet - red, thin and semi-transparent. This called for drastic measures. I forced my husband to go shopping again.

I needed a red bra.

I think only those who know me, will fully understand the implications of this decision.

• I never owned a red bra in my life.
• I never dragged my husband from bed to go shopping with me for a bra.
• I've never been to Victoria's Secret (not for moral reasons, but simply because whenever we'd pass by the store I'd ask my husband, "What would you have liked me to wear tonight?" and his answer has always been "Nothing." Did I mention he's the practical type?)
• And here's the shocker - I'm 36 years old and don't know my bra size! (Considering I've been "blessed" with a pettite body, sports bras have been sufficient for the purpose of showing gossipers in the office that I do indeed wear a bra underneath my shirt. Of course, in the winter, it's a totally useless piece of extra clothing.)

We enter Victoria's Secret, and this very helpful lady comes over with a measuring tape all eager to "help" asking me what's my size. My husband trying to be helpful raises both his hands up and cups them slightly as he says, "this size." After one look from the lady, he determines he does not need to be part of this and does an about-face and says, "I'll be over at Sharper Image." I am fairly certain the lady saw my confusion at what just happened as she shouted back at him, "You need to stay for this!" [Side question to the men amongst you: is there something sexier about Sharper Image than Victoria's Secret?]

So I'm now hooked on this store. I just love the way they measure for a bra size. I had a loose long sleeve t-shirt and a sweater on - she just put the tape over it, and voila I'm a 36C. Of course once I had to actually try some bras on, I've managed to lose a couple of inches and become a 34C. Which is quite awesome considering I've lived my life in the impression that I'm an AA or an Almost AA or a Barely AA. Pretty cool figuring out after 36 years that it's not all that bad.

...and then my husband walks back in the store. As I'm trying on more sizes in the changing rooms, I hear him talking out loud for all to hear, "So what's her size? 34A?" She admonishes him and fibs on my behalf telling him, "Oh, no, you're way off. She's definitely 36D."

As I pay for the bra, the seller asks me, "No red panties to match?" I considered replying with, "Lady, I'm going to a holiday party, not starting a striptease career. One day at a time!"

I love Victoria's Secret! They definitely know how to enhance a marriage.

Anyway, for all your clueless men who don't know bra sizes, here's a link for your enjoyment. I warn you ahead of time, don't open this link if your wife/girlfriend/boss/co-worker are nearby. It's not R rated, but the sound track will get heads turning. Guess her bra size.

How long before the neighbours call the cops?

Ok, you MUST turn on the volume before clicking on these links.

If you cannot listen to this at work, then wait 'til you can.

Well worth watching, listening and sharing with friends, family, and kids!!!

Christmas Lights

Christmas Lights, too

For those amongst you who have doubts about this being real, check out snopes.com and look at the television interview with the family.

If you're having trouble seeing the videos on the links, there are instructions at the bottom of the links explaining how to save the videos to your hard drive.

Shopping at the Mall

My husband and I went shopping today at an outlet mall for something for him to wear at next week's holiday party. $600 later I'm ready to call it quits on this crazy shopping season. I cannot for the life of me understand the outrageous prices on suits for men.

Last year I wore something worth maybe $70 all together to the company holiday party and I heard no bad comments about my outfit. (And to be honest, I don't really care if it was out of pity for my poor selection of clothes). For the past six years my husband has been showing up to the company's holiday parties with dockers, no-collar shirt, and a sweater. He's the only man out of 200+ guests every year who was not wearing a tie. I don't really mind it too much, because both of us have stuck out like sore thumbs at these parties, with me being the only woman not wearing a dress and him being the only man without a tie. Not only that, but I've stayed away from wearing black like all other women at these parties, while my husband has been more colourful than I.

I pick my battles with my husband and clothes has been pushed to the bottom of the priorities scale considering I'm the one who's most picky about what I wear. So he can wear what he wants to for every occasion. It's very seldom that I ask him not to wear jeans. I may have done it one time.

This year I was informed in our company's kitchen that my boss will be reviewing photos from last year's holiday party (taken by yours truly) to ensure that I don't wear the same suit this year. In a quick poll of four women and one pregnant lady, a consensus was reached that black is once again "in." Since everyone knows I don't wear dresses or skirts, someone recommended that I look into tuxedos for women. I would have LOVED to wear a tuxedo, but I'm too lazy to go searching where they sell those.

So I bought black pants, black jacket (that doesn't match the pants, but who the #*@& cares when they're so drunk), will accessorize with a colourful shirt, and I'm good to go!

But if I have to suffer the hardship of society's fashion, then so does my husband. We got him a suit, and tomorrow I'll investigate his shirt and tie options before forcing him to buy something without moth holes.

When people find out I'm not from the U.S. they always ask me, "So do you like it here?" OK, here's my answer, and don't look so shocked when I tell you the truth - NO! I don't like it here! I can't stand the fashion police. I can't stand the society judging people for what they wear. I can't stand the lack of freedom to wear what I freaking feel comfortable in. I can't stand the parties where all women wear black dresses with spaghetti straps on below zero temperatures. I can't stand having to wear something different every day to work. I can't stand wearing tight clothes to make me look more feminine. I can't stand to wear the fancy clothes made from itchy materials. I can't stand not being able to wear jeans and a t-shirt to work. I can't stand having to match colours just to satisfy the fashionazis.

I miss my country where people wear jeans and t-shirt to work and no one could care what you wear as long as you do a good job. There's no section in your performance evaluation that deals with how you dress up for work, because that has NOTHING to do with your peformance at work!!! (Do you guys honestly believe I'm more motivated to work and do a good job when wearing tight clothes, or when comfortable in jeans?!). I miss the country where you attend meetings with clients who, like you, are wearing jeans and a t-shirt. And you feel so comfortable in your clothes at work that you honestly don't mind staying a bit late every day, since you're not feeling all choked up in tight clothes. I miss my country where you go shopping for clothes and don't have to come across bright-shiny-huge dresses made for proms that are absolutely disgusting! I miss my informal country. A place where money is spent on food, mortgage and cultural events, and not clothes, plastic surgery and makeup.

And now I will go and contemplate what shoes to wear to the party, considering I don't do high heels and other womanly looking sandals.

One more week.

Instead of a comment

I'm having trouble posting comments today on ANY blog, so instead of responding to the comments on a previous post with my comment, I'm forced to put up a new post. When blogger fixes the comments issue and stops giving me the same "smenita" word verification for every single comment on any blog, I'll remove this to the proper place.

Aftab: If you mention the word antibiotics on my blog again I'm going to ban you from my blog...[I've launched a crusade against doctors over-prescribing antibiotics and causing more damage to our health than good. Check out the recent outbreak of C-Diff deaths resulting from over-prescribing antibiotics.] A cold can be cured with medications within 1 week, or without medications within 7 days.

Madman: There's a very good reason why your wife and I are so similar. And I'm willing to bet I can point a whole series of things we have in common that would floor you.

ZS: English spelling - I'm Israeli, and our country's education system is British. As for wearing body condoms - Sounds kinky... But I'll consider it for my next visit.

'Tis the season

My family-in-law has a new holiday tradition. Every holiday when we visit, my mother-in-law hugs me and tells me I'm her favourite daughter-in-law, and in return I catch her cold. This has been an ongoing tradition for the past five years. I'm beginning to wish I wasn't her favourite daughter-in-law. There's just too much responsibility involved.

I cannot stand catching a cold. It'd be fine if it was short-lived like most people, but living with an auto-immune disease means that every cold takes me three to four weeks recovery. I cannot recall ever making someone else sick, seems that I'm always the last on the totem-pole to catch it from others. So maybe by the time the virus strain gets to me it figures how to remain active for a longer period. The other option is that my body is so friendly to viruses that it builds a settlement and feels at home and only a full scale military invasion could get rid of it.

So I engaged in an all-out war on it yesterday and did the unthinkable - I mixed medications. Started out with one brand in the morning and proceeded with another. I can excuse this lapse of judgement by saying I was drugged. Well apparently, mixing medications plus a measure of added stress caused me an internal bleeding. I'm fine now, just a little shocked at how fast my immune system gets out of whack. As much as I "love" that spacy feeling after taking medication (I suppose that's what alcohol does to a person), and as much as I hate coughing, I think I'll have to stop my all-out war and engage in mini-battles instead.

The good news - I'm past my first week with this cold (two more to go!) and today is Friday!

Toda la'el hayom yom shishi.