Picture Perfect

I love the market. I've just been there again today. I love the hustle and bustle of the place, the large numbers of people all pushing and shoving and the art of pushing and shoving yourself between the small open spaces between that fat man with the box of smelly fish, and that good looking girl who's wearing shoes not fit for the market.

Ok, there was no good looking girl. I made that up. But then again, neither was there any fat man, with a smelly box of fish. But you get the imagery? Good.

And then there's the smells. The produce there is so very fresh, and every stand has a pleasant aroma of food coming from it. So fresh, in fact, that in teh case of fish, it's usually still jumping up and down in the crate. I like to watch that too, although I think it odd and somewhat off that they simply don't bash it over the head.

I like people attempting to rip me off, because they mistake me for an American (unfortunately, yes, I am identified as American, simply because I do not wear the universal uniform of biblical college students when I go out: white shirt, with black trousers. Today, my haggling skills got me nowhere. I did, however, buy a cap which the shop keeper attempted to sell me for 15 shekel, for 10 shekel: although this is mainly due to the fact that (1) his religious looking  son immedietaly protested that this was not, in fact, the price and (2) I knew the price was in fact 10 shekel.

Close, but no cigar.

And talking of cigars, I smoked my pipe yesterday, for the first time. It was amazingly cool. Of course, it's less cool when you think that every puff brings you closer to lip, tongue, jaw or cheek cancer. The only thing immune to the pipe smoke are your teeth, and those are bits of bone anyway. Captain Black cherry tobacco happened to be the favourite tobacco of the other two pipe smokers, and I cut a tobacco deal with one of them. He will supply me with his tobacco when needed, as well as the fact that he gave me lessons on how to light and use the pipe, tips, and a place to actually smoke it. I keep it in his room too, away from my room mate: as well as supplying stirct instructions not to tell anyone - especially him - that it's my pipe.

Due to unforseen circustmances, however, later in the evening, he found out anyway. It wasn't my fault! I know I told him, but, still. He weedled it out of me. I swear.

I told him I'm moving rooms. Everything is not fine and dandy with us anymore. I don't know why. He claims it's something to do with that Thursday night when I had a wee bit much to drink on purpose. I must have scared him somewhat, along with two other people, as they wrsetled me to the ground and called up the head of the acadamy. Whilst I'm pleased to report that my height and working out stood me in good stead (I got the other dude to the floor, meh heh heh) I am aghast to report the sad results of this act of stupidity. I suppose it was just a little shocking seeing me like that. To say the least. In my opinion, they all over reacted. Wrestling someone who's slightly more than tipsy to the ground?! for what? I suppose sitting atop a wall with a large drop (about 15-18 feet) wasn't the best place for them to find me.

So, I've had another discussion with him, and told him that I too suffer dissapointments, experience emotions such as sadness, and I too can drink and get drunk. I asked him, true 12-year-old-girl style if he actually wanted to be my friend. "I think so" was the reply. 8 years of knowing this guy, and he comes out with "I think so." Yes, I didn't like that. I didn't say a thing though.

I was very nice, I must say. I told him I always wanted him to be the best man at my wedding. I also said that if he didn't want to do it, for whatever reason, there would be no best man at my wedding, because he is the best man.

He laughed, which is, by the way, a good sign.
He also asked me not to move rooms after that.

Oh. one last thing. I bought a leather belt for $6 at market.
I'm having the time of my life here, though my mentors have asked me to take lectures a little more seriously. I have little attention of heeding their words. I've been learning all-out for 7 months. Now's the time to enjoy stuff a bit.

And away with me!!

Take care, all.

No, I am not the man with no eyes, though some would say this is a totally appropriate description of me, just as the appropriate description of England would be "Mary Poppins, bad food, worse weather" (stolen, of course, from the lovely "Snatch" production). I just couldn't think of a better way to put the following incident in the title, and so "the man with no mind" it remains.

He was lying on the floor in the central bus station. Not odd, really, if you're living in Israel. Things like that happen all the time. You could be driving along the highway, and see things which may shock you in other countries, but not in Israel. You grow accustomed to the weirdness, and take it all for granted. "Look, a 'plane!" could easily be substituted for, "look, a flying donkey!" without anyone batting an eyelid as to the impossibility of this great feat of flight the donkey has allegedly experienced. A native would probably just assume some kids stuck jet engines to the poor beast to get to the market quicker. But what of the man with no mind?

What made his lying on the floor unsual, is that there were about 5 medical personnel around him. Poor fellow. Shifty eyes and computers also come into the title. This is because I just succesfully fled the shifty eyes of not one, not two, but FOUR girls. It was just too much for me. Really. I was sorely tempted to wink at one whose gaze I held for about 4 seconds, but that would be as appropriate as winking to a nun, so I made the wise choice, and controlled any otherwise uncontrolable bodily movements, and successfully fled the scene to write upon my trusty blog.

This illustrates one of two things: I'm so sad that writing on my blog comes before chatting up girls, one of whom I thought was remotely pretty, and two, I don't like people watching me whilst I'm writing on my blog. Of course, it illustrates both points, but I'm trying to kid myself into accepting but one.

I have noticed that there is a large overtone of friendship issues in the speeches given to the college by the head of the institute. I have reason to believe this is because both my friend and I have spoken to this fellow, about each other. He alone knows the full story of everything; I for one don't even know half of it. And no, that's not my half.

Cat referenced some incidents. I don't believe my friend has ever cross-dressed. I believe I recently attempted to GET him to cross-dress. I also recall him looking quite like a girl at one point, though he didn't cross dress. He did, however, buy a cap declaring him a "princess." But then again, he also wore a fake beard. I suppose he was hinting at some subtle irony there. My reasoning for him to cross dress was so that he could sneak into a seminary around the block from us (the students of whom, by the way, I see little of, for some eerie reason, unbeknownst to those who walk not in their hallowed halls), thereby granting him every man's wish: stuck in a place with 100 girls, all aged between 17 and 19.

What WOULDN'T I give to have the ability to turn in to a woman and then back into a man at will? And this silly friend of mine refuses to recognise his glorious, though unfortunate, talent. My second suggestion, by the way, was to start smiling and winking at people from my college, and get them to buy him drinks.

There was another incident today. Two, in fact. 
I was minding my own business. Just standing in the hall, talking to someone. On his way past me, my friend slaps my bum. I kid you not.

Later that day, he took a shower. I now share a room alone with this fellow, as my other room mate left, claiming he wanted to get to sleep earlier. My own belief, however, is that my other room mate slipped him a few of the Queen's finest sterling, so he could be alone with me. Not really.
But listen to this: after his shower, he came into the room wearing but a towel around his waist. He looked at me. I looked at him. "Let's take of all our clothes and do something we'll regret later!" Of course, he was joking. I have little doubt. But that little doubt niggles away at me and grows and grows into a big cloud of uncertainty in view of such other incidents. I sort of managed nervous laughter, and mumbled something about women, after which I beat a hasty retreat to a lecture.

He did apologise for slapping my bum though.

I don't know if I encourage his behaviour. Maybe. It could very well be.
Earlier in the week at breakfast, I said the following: "I'm gay. But I just want to be your friend...." He told me to stick a pencil up my arse. I told him I wanted to stick it up his. Of course, I wasn't serious. We were discussing close friends who turn gay. Why were we discussing this? I really don't know. I think he fears me being gay. I care not.

Which brings me to Snow white. No, not the seven dwarves. You read it correctly. The number 7 bus. And no, I'm not re-writing it with modern overtones either, you'll be releaved to know.

I speak of the most beautiful girl, hair black as ebony, skin slightly tanned. If someone WAS doing a film of snow white, they would be a fool not to cast this girl. Anyway. No. I didn't appraoch her. Unfortunately, she was surrounded by friends, and I by mine. I was considering staying on the bus until her stop (the next one, the seminary) and if I somehow stumbled out the words, ask for just a fake number. I didn't, and got no number, real or fake. As it turned out, my friend also liked her. this is how our convresation went:

Me: Do you realise we could have both got up and asked her for her number at more or less the same time?
Friend: Yeah! I would have fought you in the aisle for her!
Me: Oh...Well, what would you have done if I stayed on the bus after you got off?
Friend: I would have banged on the windows shouting "he's gay! he's gay!" (I do not doubt this). What about if I had asked her first?
Me: Well...I would have been a little upset at first, but I would have thought "lucky guy, good for him" later...
*awkward silence*
Friend: Really?
Me: Umm. Yeah...I think...

Although now I'm not so sure. What an oddball this friend of mine is. He also mentioned not speaking to me for about a month. When it comes to girls, he is a danger to himself, and the society around him. He needs to be kept on a leash. I am personally in favour of just sedating him with a sedation gun I get to shoot him with, though I suspect it's the shooting him part which I favour rather than general sedation.

I have proposed to my parents two things:

1) To move to a flat upon my return to England
2) To get married.

Although my parents were in favour of the second (surprisingly) they were hesitant over the first. Of course, I always wanted to marry young. About a year ago, actually (that's long enough to be called "always" in my books). I suppose one appreciates their spouse more that way. But that's not my reason. The reason is, I live within a society who marry young. And I must blindly do the same.

Of course, I could also garble up the usual nonsense about emotional maturity, jobs, livlihood, wanting to raise a family and all, but I opted to tell you something you DIDN'T known: may take all that stuff for granted (when one refers to it as "that stuff" it's not so surprising the divorce rate is so high, is it? But not within my own community, muahahaha).

Yes, "my community" is a little strange, and does things a little differently. But then, this is what it's been doing for 3,318 years, and we're still here, so...why change if it works?

Oh. And the queerest thing of all, is that due to non-procrastination views on life, one often doesn't end up with a guy/girl s/he has personally met. Instead, friends tend to mention to other friends someone is looking to get married. Of course, the people they mention that to are either looking to get married, or have a daughter/son who is also looking to get married. And such is the genius of the "I know someone" way of marriage. I like it more than the alternative: trafikeering marriage people.

What I mean by this, is, basically, people who make themselves a base to which all unmarried people gravitate towards. I sincerely dislike that.

Arty: By no means do I make a habbit of drinking alcohol, let alone to excess, so I'm really not into the degrees of drunkeness. I was drunk. Not very drunk, but drunk enough to do a few crazy things.

It was quite a nice feeling, actually. Everything was just so funny. I'm afraid it's not the first time. The last time was when I got a bit tipsy, and went to a lecture. That was my best lecture ever. I rebutted so many proposals from the lecturer. And everyone was quite impressed. It's a shame I can't remember what my questions were, or what half the lecture was about. I spent the duration of that lecture gettins someone to throw sweets to me from the other side of the room, and then happily eating them. Ah, the good days, eh?

Cat: Lovers? Pah! My agony-aunt/psychologist dude did say to me last night "there seems to be a lot more that you're not telling me. This friendship is a brighter flame than you're letting on." Of course, I'm not gay. Neither is my friend. And I don't care who believes me and who doesn't. I just know I'm marrying a very nice and pretty girl. That's all. But yes, I do love my friend a lot. I suppose the only other person I'll love more than him aside from my immediate family is my wife. He's become a lot more considerate towards me (and others) since last Thursday, and for this, I like him even more.

Gingery: I'm

Pull out the tissues! Get the chocolate! Get the Haagen-Dazs! This post's emotional. There could even be tears. Seriously...

On Thursday eve, I did something very out of character. I got a little drunk. I know, I know. It's not such a bad thing, but very surprising to those who know me. I was sitting on a wall with a drop of about 15 or so feet, swinging my legs happily, and laughing away.

After I left the wall safely, I was eventually found by 3 friends, who decided it would be best if I wasn't walking around. It was about 2:00am when they found me. They wrestled me to the ground (a scuffle ensued, and, though I was drunk, I fought bravely!) and pinned me down whilst they proceeded to pour water on me. It was fun. But very shameful. Oh well.

On Friday eve, I broke up with my bestest-ever friend. He told me: "this is how I am. Take it or leave it." My reply? "I'm going to have to leave it." I always knew that would be my reply, and that's why I decided to crack open the bottle and see what the bottom looked like. The bottom, by the way, is wholly unremarkable. It's the stuff on the way which is of interest.

Yesterday, I almost made my ex-best friend cry. I know, another shameful act. But what could I do? I didn't mean it. And it's not as if I insulted him, or was mean or anything. And that made me feel really sorry for him. My heart bleeds for him, really, it does. I suppose I isolated him. It's not as if he can talk about his problems to anyone: he used to talk about them to me.

After several days, then, of feeling bad for him, I decided that we should try and make the friendship work. He has a good heart, and that's hard to find these days. I think I also may have underestimated his friendship towards me. To cut a long story short, we're both in "friendship counselling." Heh heh heh. He suggested I try and be more open about myself and my worries with people, and seemed to think that after listening to many other people's problems over the years, such as his own, it affected me somewhat (I doubt that very much. If that were true, every religious leader, psychologist and good friend would be insane by now). However. I took his words on board, and now have an allocated time to speak to someone about myself. That's right. Not only do I have a psychologist of sorts to go to, but I get to speak all about myself. Just me. For 30 minutes. 3 nights a week. Daunting, isn't it? I suppose it would be, when the most I've spoken about myself to someone who isn't my mother or father in 10 years is "I'm fine, thanks."

Anyway. Enough about this nonsense. At the end, when all's said and done, I am pleased to say that me and my friend are sticking it out. And he takes the position yet again, as bestest ever friend in the whole world. *sniff.*

Funny story:

When it was raining in Israel, I put my umbrella in the bathtub to dry off. Later that night, I returned to take a shower, forgetting my umbrella was inside. No problem. I took it out, and had the shower. On my way out, wearing only a towel, and umbrella in hand, I bumped into one of my floor-mates. He merely looked me up and down, eyebrows raised. My response? "It does get a little wet in there."

Conclusions:

I'm having the time of my life here. It's amazingly brilliant weather, and I'm re-united with my good friend. What more could I want? Aside from a girl, of course. But, she's out there somewhere. I just have to meet her. Gah.