Archive | August, 2013

BuzzFeed, Brainiacs and Bread

29 Aug

Oh, hello friends. I didn’t see you there. I was just sitting here eating chili at 1:47 p.m. watching Sex and the City (why is it that the episode about Miranda’s abortion is ALWAYS on E!) I’m supposed to be calling someone about renter’s insurance but I can’t because it’s not the last minute and I don’t know how to do things at the second-to-last minute. Because of Generation X or journalism majors or whatever something BuzzFeed told me yesterday when it was explaining to me things I like and things I hate.


Sums it up pretty nice.

I hope you all are having fun buying back-to-school clothes or back-to-work alcohol. Since I am still trying hard not to buy any unnecessary clothing I envy you. However yesterday I went to Modell’s to get some new sneakers for my friend Mel’s 5K race she asked me to join her team, the Brainiacs. It’s the Color Run in New York City and she’s raising money to cure AVMs and I donated because an AVM attacked my friend Mel and even though we got to use her handicapped sticker for like 6 months, it was still very uncool of it to do that.

The last run I did was the Mud Run in DC. After the race they asked if anyone wanted to donate their disgusting muddy shoes and since mine were pretty beat up I threw them in the pile with my grody muddy socks as well. I forgot that I still had to cross a large parking lot made of shmoiling hot tar to get to my car though. This meant that I had to hop-hop-hop-rest when I got to a car’s shadow, hop-hop-rest, hop-hop-rest like I was some sort of Hannah Barbera cartoon tip-toeing around. This made me look extremely suspicious to all the normal people walking to their cars who kind of pulled their children closer to them.

We’ve been looking for halls recently for the big W (I usually don’t say the W word – instead refer to it like “I’m worried that at some day in the near future I will be the center of attention and people will actually notice how I really dance!”


Pictured: What I usually end up doing at other people’s weddings.

We went to a place in Brooklyn last week that was way more religious than I wanted it to be, separate entrances, not even for the ceremony but just to get into the building.  The man in charge showed us around while I zoned out because I knew it wasn’t the place for me, even though it was actually beautiful I felt like Anastasia pre-murdered family.

He took us to a closet and pulled out a giant orange fabric that I realized was the Chuppah.

“We DON’T have a white chuppah,” He said.

“Um…Ok,” I answered.

“White chuppahs get dirty, they stain. We only have orange.”

“…sure,” I was wondering if someone had called him telling him I had desperately wanted a white chuppah.

“So if you always wanted a white chuppah. We. Don’t. Have. One.”


“Now, here’s the runner to the chupah. It’s red. We don’t have white.”

I looked around to see if anyone was going to save me from this conversation.

“White ones get stained. They cost money to clean. We have red.”

OMG I would’ve taken no chuppah and no carpet if he would just stop talking to me about colors. Luckily, instead we all went to his back office and he started talking about the food for the W. Including the fact that with separate seating for the day (also not on my wish-list) , men would be getting big Challah rolls while women would get mini-rolls. I asked why and he responded that women don’t eat as much bread.

WELL, I wasn’t going to stand for bread-sexism! We immediately left (after we sampled all the food from the shmorg obviously, I mean we shlepped out to Brooklyn for Pete’s sake.)

Also, I just tried to Google a picture of girl with bread and this is what Google thought I wanted to look at. Not cool Google,


Anyways – off to not do any of the things on my to-do list except maybe nap.

Mermaid Whores and Goth Ballerinas

21 Aug

I have finally finished the business class I was taking this summer – so now it’s time to finally focus on the important things in my life now, like what dress am I gonna wear in 6 months? Questions women have been pondering for ages.


Last time I went wedding dress shopping was with my friend Shira, back in January or so. First we went to a gamach which is a sort of center where Jewish brides either donate their gowns for other brides or it lends dresses to brides at zero costs. We had gone to one in Lakewood, NJ, an area known for some pretty religious families. The one we went to was being run out of this very pregnant lady’s basement of her pretty fancy house. Shira was trying on all these intense looking behemoth layered dresses when I mentioned that one particular dress was nice because it was kind of plain up top so she could wear a necklace on it. Shira replied that she wasn’t planning on wearing jewelry on her wedding day. The preggo lady gasped, “Nothing?! You’re not getting anything in the Yichud* room?”

I raised my eyebrows suggestively, “Oh, she’s getting somethin’ in the Yichud room all right.” The woman shot me a dirty look.

Shira looked confused, “What do you mean? I’ve never heard of getting jewelry in the Yichud room?”

The woman put a hand protectively on her clavicle, “Well, I don’t know what circles you run in but around here he gives you something in the Yichud room, usually it’s a pearl necklace.”

I had to leave to keep from laughing. I’m probably going to hell.

Anyways, I went wedding dress shopping today. I wasn’t super into it at first. I remember when I went prom dress shopping with my mom in 12th grade. That seemed like a bigger deal. But maybe that’s because I was allowed to wear whatever revealing dress I could dream up and now I have to comply with some rules (i.e. please don’t ever look like a gothic ballerina this time.)


Black Swan meets omg-were-you-drunk-is-that-a-fake-tattoo-on-your-chest-yes-it-is.

Black Swan meets omg-were-you-drunk-is-that-a-fake-tattoo-on-your-chest-yes-it-is.


Macy’s was stop one. The woman helping us was like 9 months pregnant and she seemed in no mood to help me in to 5 different dresses just to hear me say, “I look like a mermaid whore.” They also had about like 12 dresses so we cut our visit pretty short. Next stop was a place next door called Bridal Salon. This place was like some magical fairy-tale land of white dresses just begging me to accidently step on them. There were floor to ceiling windows and everything was covered in lace and tulle. I just wanted to curl up in basket of veils and fall asleep, knowing that everything was going to be nice and clean forever.

We explained to the woman helping us that we were looking for a dress that could accommodate sleeves to be built on (why are wedding dresses all strapless and sleeveless? I mean, people get married in the winter too right? And I’m sorry, there’s no strapless bra in the world that will convince me that I can pull off a strapless dress. There are just some things I know, OK? And if I was Randy on Say Yes to the Dress I would tell that to a LOT of people as well).

They brought out some dresses that had lace sleeves on them. I went into the dressing room to try it on and a few others. Here’s something I didn’t know: You can’t put on a wedding dress alone. A stranger has to help you. And sometimes that stranger will say “You’re not wearing the right bra. Take it off and let’s put it on and see how that looks with no straps showing through the lace.” And sometimes you will have to stand there topless while a stranger dresses you. Sometimes that has to happen through 5 different dresses while you try to carry on a normal conversation about Oh-your-son-goes-to-Binghamton-that’s-so-funny-my-brother-goes-there-how-nice while you’re nonchalantly pretending like you’re wearing something in between getting in and out of mounds of crinoline.

My friend Liana pointed out that it’s not normal how many times I find myself topless in front of people BUT it’s not as it sounds. Sometimes it’s the fitting ladies at Linda’s Bras telling me they need to get a better fit. Sometimes it’s the Russian spa lady in San Diego telling me  in broken English that I can’t wear clothes during the personal spray tan session (yes, I got a spray tan once – WHILST on vacation in San Diego. Deal with it. I was coming home with a tan EVEN if it was January and I spent most of the time crying hysterically in the lobby over a break-up. What I’m trying to say is that it was a good 21st birthday weekend)

Back to today – the first dress I had tried on was actually perfect. We decided on it. Then the woman who was helping called over a different woman to take my measurements. This woman, a thin put-together lady with an impossibly high pony-tail, came over and said “You look gorgeous, now let’s get you in the dressing room and get you naked.” At least when she took my measurements she let me keep my bra on so that was nice.

I still felt like some weird impostor trying on dresses. Especially I could tell the fitting woman was searching for the non-existent ring.  It feels like it’s some weird ridiculous joke I’m playing on these people – I guess it doesn’t feel *real* yet. But either way, it’s another thing I can cross off my list before school starts in a couple of weeks.

Other things I have to do before school starts: e-mail my professor and tell him I’m going to be missing like 34 days because all the High Holidays this year fall on the most inconvenient days for me (thanks a lot God),  get the window in my apartment fixed because I’m on the first floor and it doesn’t close/lock and I will definitely be murdered probably soon.


Hope your August is winding down nicely!



*In Jewish weddings, a “Yichud room” is where a bride and groom go right after the ceremony for a bit. Traditionally it’s for couples who don’t touch before marriage to like shake hands or something (I’m clearly well versed in my religion) but mostly it’s for brides and grooms to eat from the smorgasbord that gets delivered to their room. And then they can eat and I guess talk shit about people’s outfits without them hearing.

Stanford Wedding Experiment

14 Aug

Everyone gather around, actor announcement. Well two.

1. I haven’t kept y’all updated on my no-buying pledge I impulsively took last month. I have really tried to not buy useless clothing, or shop when I’m bored or sad and so far that has been working pretty well. I bought leggings yesterday because all of mine are getting worn-in from me wearing them all winter (and get that judgmental look off your face because leggings as pants are HELLA comfortable)  and I also bought a new dress for my engagement party. But that’s IT.

2. Huh? Engagement party? Whose? Well mine ding-dongs. I finished work and now my work blog is a wedding blog. Feminism!

Well, it’s a little hard to jam-pack into this blog about who/what/where/when/why because I need something to talk about when I am in real life and start stories just to have the other person go “Yeah, I know. I read it on your blog.” Very sad for Real Life Aviva. But anyways, I knew it was going to happen some time after my internship ended and school started. Since I have one more semester at UMD and I am a Jewess whose parents don’t believe in shacking up before marriage, I am getting hitched (I make it sound so romantic right?) But no, I’m really happy if a little overwhelmed. This week has been at least very interesting.

Firstly, I realized just how uncomfortable I am when good things happen to me. Not in a Ray Romano something-bad-is-going-to-happen-now kind of way but a I-would-rather-everyone-have-the-exact-amount-of-happiness-as-me-or-I-don’t-know-how-to-process kind of way. Love is so arbitrary and I feel so lucky but I wish I could be happy without feeling guilty. I like when awkward and/or terrible things happen to me because those are more interesting than a wonderful perfect proposal, no one wants to hear about how great everything is with you. I mean, my Bubby does but everyone else wants dirt on how hilariously hard things are, I’ve learned in my short time on this planet.

Secondly, you’re all familiar with the Stanford Prison experiment right? (You are if you took Psych100 – also know as WakeMeUpWhenIStartSnoringMollie101, it was at 3 p.m.) It basically explores what happens when you give people too much power and how fast they become sadistic dictators. I think that’s what happens with weddings and why we have the term Bridezilla.

I never was the girl who planned her wedding or liked Bride Wars or 27 Dresses. I watched TLC’s Four Weddings because it was so ridiculous. I am the Miranda of my group, cynically making fun of over the top affairs, secretly wishing to get married in some backyard in a white romper.


I didn’t know this was a thing until I Googled it but shut up and take my money.

I had planned on being a benevolent bride, letting people do whatever they want. But something’s happened in the past 7 days. I mentioned before that I don’t feel comfortable with too much power. I stress out when I have to choose what movie we’re all going to watch. But people (my mom) are now constantly telling me “This is YOUR special day” “Everything is up to YOU” “We will do whatever YOU want.” And I found myself saying things like “Well, if your sister doesn’t want to use the designer I choose then she doesn’t have to be a bridesmaid” or “Why do my color choices have to revolve around the fact that everyone in my party is a redhead?!”



Even as I was saying them, I was like that seems a little dramatic. It’s the most interesting/crazy feeling to simultaneously care so much  yet  so little about something. I am definitely seeing how those guards got used to so much power. I hope no one ever puts me in charge of anything real. I need someone to walk around with me all day like “Stop being a Bridetator”

Another interesting side point from all these shenanigans is that I didn’t want a ring. So my fiance got me a necklace. When I mentioned this a few weeks ago to a friend’s sister, she was like “But….all girls want a ring. You’re supposed to get a ring,” as she flashed her own giant finger bling. Well no, not all girls want rings for a variety of reasons. Mine are: rings get caught in my clothes, I sleep with my hands under my face, my fingers swell in the summer and also I would take it off all the time and definitely lose it in 5 seconds. A couple of people have given me side glances like “What a freak – she doesn’t wanna wear a lower/middle-class person year’s salary on her hand to show people she’s betrothed. Weirdo.”  Engagement rings have an interesting history, did you know in Colonial times, men gave women thimbles as a “symbol of undying companionship?” (And also a not-so-subtle hint that she’s gonna be pretty busy sewing up some socks and pants forevz) Don’t even get me started on diamonds. That being said, if you have a diamond ring I’m sure it is beautiful  and amazing and I’m going to stop talking about them in front of you now…

So to sum up, I am much better at talking about my internship than this impending wedding thing. I don’t really know what will happen with this blog. Will I get a handle on it all? Will I pass my on-line business class final next week?  What’s going to happen on Orange is the new Black?!?!

Stay tuned.

Last Day (Last Week)

13 Aug

Good morning campers, I hope you all had a nice shark week.


If you didn’t watch, here’s all the facts you need to know. You’re welcome.

Wednesday was my last day of my summer internship. I was literally counting down the seconds until 5 p.m. when I could leave. I had my evaluation by my supervisor and even though I got a 90 on it, I got a bulk of my points off because of the whole John-Waters-Might-Be-Dead Fiasco. Rude, it’s not like I said Woody Allen. Calm down Baltimore.

Saying good-bye was kind of awkward because even though some parts of the internship were valuable and people were genuinely nice to me, I’m almost 100% positive that if I have to work in a cubicle in an office 5 days a week I will probably kill myself in some DaVinci Code way to give them interesting news (a perfect gift to leave your editors in MY opinion). I wish them all the luck in the world. Saying goodbye was tricky, everyone pouting and saying “Oh you’re leeeaavvinngg? Okay well it was soooooo nice having you here. Good luck Okaayyyyyyy?” and I tilt my head and say “It was reeeallly nice working here, Thank you guys for eveerryttthiinngg.”

And then I literally ran to my car. (Or I would have if my supervisor hadn’t called me on my cell phone 4 minutes later to tell me I had to give in my work ID. Even though my work ID is what lets me out of the building. And into the garage. And out of the garage. I had to wait 15 min for the guard to figure out how to process this, how could I have been the ONLY one to ever encounter this problem?? “Well, usually the supervisors escort you to the car on the last day.” Oh.

Trials and Tribulations

7 Aug

What if I just never continued this blog and everyone just thought I was homeless forever and like, got hit by a train or something? (the logical conclusion I always come to when I never see people again.)  But yes, since we last spoke, I was offered a place to stay by my lovely friend Danielle so currently I am staying at her abode until my internship ends.

Well, not currently. Currently, I am on a computer at McKeldin library at University of Maryland. I swung by to drop off some stuff at my new apartment on Knox (tiny apartments in square buildings called “Knox Boxes” or more appropriately “Hot Knox Boxes”) and decided to do some work in the library.

Walking around campus during the summer is the oddest thing. It’s like 90% empty. During the year it’s like Time Square on New Years Eve but during the summer it’s like Ghost Town USA. Coming back to campus is weird as well since I only have one semester left and nostalgia is already kicking in. 

When you walk around campus, you’re not really looking at the buildings and benches you see. You’re thinking “This is the building I took nutrition freshman year and failed because I got drunk the night before the final and slept through it” or “This is where I had that deep heart2heart with my roommate about her dad junior year” or “This is where a bike ran me down and now I’m a cyborg.” You are literally walking through a maze of memories and no matter how many times I try to pretend like I’m seeing something for the first time, I can’t get away from those powerful images. But oddly enough, I wouldn’t recall most of these memories on my own without being promoted by the sight of say, the fountain on the mall in which I have spent many a night happily splashing in (Until more than one person pointed out what exactly goes on in those waters sometimes. Gross you guys. Please stop.) 

Also walking around campus I’ve noticed that they’ve cleaned up the old journalism building and actually put a new name on it. I assume they were looking for something really easy to pronounce, maybe giving a break to the poor poor freshman who pronounce Taliaferro and Worcester every which way. (I even got someone looking for MACK-el-din once.) 



No? Something insanely annoying? Ok then. 

Anyways, I realize that I haven’t written about work in a while. And that’s because it’s been awful. It’s so immensely boring I take about 45 bathroom breaks a day because the 1 min walk to the restroom is 500 times more interesting than whatever I’m doing.  Which is summarizing events and putting them into a database. You definitely need a journalism major for it. Not EVERYONE can write “Fall Arts Guide” 205 times AND ALSO SPELL IT RIGHT. So stay in school kids.

I did have a minor snag last week. The newspaper I’m with made some sort of interactive choose-your-own-adventure article in which John Waters (famous Baltimore director) has been kidnapped and you have to make your way through Baltimore landmarks in order to find him (spoiler alert, John Travolta did it. Something about how doing drag ruined his career. NBD) I had to Tweet about it and in order to drum up some excitement I stated “Breaking News: John Waters has been kidnapped. Only you can save him {link here}” 

Now OBVIOUSLY I knew it was a little sensationalism but when the most exciting part of your day is making sure the photo-galleries you made for the site are still there, sometimes you need a little thrill. However, I also assumed that people would know it was a joke since why would our readers even be able  to participate in a search-and-rescue in the event that John Waters was actually kidnapped? It didn’t matter, my editor still took me into the “disappointment zone” near the stairs and told me she had to delete it since the Tweet had been picked up and people were ReTweeting it without the link. I hadn’t meant to create a War of the World type sitch but I have since learned my lessons. Don’t ever joke on someone else’s Twitter. Or that people actually care about John Waters safety. Or something.

Tomorrow is my last day. I had a conference with my internship supervisor last week about what I had thought of the experience. I told her that I thought the experience had been valuable in the sense that I know for a 100% fact that I can’t sit in a giant office all day stressing about the radius around me in which I can say “bless you” when someone sneeze (FYI 2 cubicles over is definitely out-of-bounds). I don’t think I can be a stay-in-bed-blogger (because I like money) either. So I had four years to think about it and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. 

At least I still have one more semester. 



Joy and Happiness

2 Aug

Good morning campers!

For those actively concerned as to my homelessness situation – I guess I am still homeless because I have one week left at the newspaper but don’t know where I’m sleeping but WHATEVER because I WAS A BRIDESMAID LAST NIGHT.

I have never been a bridesmaid before. I mean, I saw the movie and I know it’s a lot of crying and dress-fitting and complaining to other bridesmaids about doing shit but it was actually pretty fun. Also interesting because even though I’ve been to LITERALLY half a dozen weddings (please control your jealousy at expertise and popularity) I’ve never been behind the scenes. So I’m going to tell you exactly what it was like being a bridesmaid for my friend Joy’s beautiful wedding.


This is literally the only way I know how to pose. It's an illness.

This is literally the only way I know how to pose. It’s an illness.


January: Last January, Joy, her six bridesmaids and future mother-in-law  all went to a place in the city called Here Comes The Bridesmaid. It was really super cold and we stopped in Starbucks next door to get some coffee. Then, as soon we got to the store the lady informed us that we were not allowed to bring in drinks forcing me to gulp down my scalding machiatto because I felt uncomfortable standing in the hallway with Joy’s fiance’s mom. Not because she’s not lovely and sweet but because I’m awful at small talk and just wanted to try on these damn dresses. A slight snag with this dress appt is that I had just surgery on my stupid arm literally the week before and was wearing maybe the BIGGEST conglomeration of bandages. I couldn’t even get my arm through some sleeves and when I did I couldn’t zip them up. Having your dominant arm swathed in 4 lbs of ace bandages for a few weeks is a DRAG and I don’t recommend it. Anyways, I found a dress.


"Oh my gosh with the right necklace you won't even NOTICE your arm!"

“Oh my gosh with the right necklace you won’t even NOTICE your arm!”


May: Joy’s bridal shower was in May and it was 100 trillion degrees outside. I decided to wear a long sleeved dress because a lot of my brain cells have been destroyed in various College Park activities. Liana and I collaborated on games for the shower which included a Panty Line, Bridal Shower Bingo and a Newlywed-esque game in which Joy had to put a piece of gum in her mouth for every question she got wrong. Being MC was fun until Joy’s little toddler cousin came over and placed his tiny hand on my knee to balance himself and I stopped talking to be like “errrrrr this baby is touchinggg meeeeee get it offffffff,” because I’m really adept and dealing with children. Then we watched Joy unwrap like 34 kitchen appliances and lingerie in front of her grandma and future grandma-in-law. It was normal.

August: Yesterday I got my hair did (63 bobby pins, my head kept tilting backwards under the sheer weight of metal forced onto my scalp) and ALSO got my manbrows taken care of by an extremely harsh Asian lady who did not understand that my face has feeling and is capable of pain and maybe she should stop jabbing her fingers into my eye sockets (#society). 

So we get to the wedding and saw Joy and Sruli all dressed up like little cake toppers. It’s weird seeing your friends in wedding clothes because you wanna cry and say things like “You look radiant!” and at the same time say something like, “Remember a couple of days ago we watched Honey Boo Boo, got drunk and the next day you threw up at Raymour and Flannigan?” (HYPOTHETICAL question of course). Because it’s all a strange situation and then Kevin, the wedding coordinator tells you there’s champaign in the hall and you’re like “See ya suckas!” and go outside.


Also, I brought my own bouquet to walk down with

Also, I brought my own bouquet to walk down with


Then we had to practice walking down the aisle. I never practiced walking anywhere and it was more complicated then I thought. You have to start with the right foot and Alex has to hold your elbow, flowers are at tummy length, stop 3/4 way there and smile. Smile. Keep smiling. Get to the end and stand behind the chupah and then wait. Oh my God I was so excited to stand up there but being a bridesmaid SUCKS because you can’t see anything that’s going on. Instead of gazing at your friends getting married you’re looking out into the audience, mostly at the 3 year old sitting in front of you who keeps crumpling up the program. And people keep staring at YOU because you keep yawning into your bouquet and trying not to cry because then your make-up will run and you have to wait til photos are over before you can look like a hot mess. And then they break the glass and finally you can change into comfortable shoes that don’t feel like you’re walking on tiny needles.

Then, dancing. Normally at weddings, it’s not my best friend getting married and I can quietly go to the  bar and request my signature drink (“anything”). And no one bats an eye. But this is my best friend’s wedding and I’m wearing a shiny lavender dress that I immediately spill salad dressing on and stain. And I can’t sit in the corner and eat everyone’s breadrolls when they’re dancing. It’s not because I don’t love my friend and want to celebrate with her. I do! But I have a confession:

Jewish wedding dancing sucks.

Have you ever been to an orthodox (Or any denomination depending on preference I guess) Jewish wedding? At least in the beginning, everyone rushes in the bride and groom and swoops them into two circles. The bride dances with her mother/in-law/sister/friends in the middle and everyone kind of sways in the back. (the groom dances in his dude circle)

When I was in Israel I learned about how circle dancing is beautiful because it’s like the circle of life, or happiness and everyone can see each other blah blah blah. And that’s really nice to think about when you’re NOT holding Great Aunt Harriet’s sweaty hand while the bride’s cousin stabs a stiletto into your foot while everyone is trying to weave their way through a poorly made oval. And then someone decides that we’re not running in a circle anymore, we’re gonna stand and clap.

So you clap and clap and clap like you’re some sort of obedient seal while you look around to see if they’ve served the salmon course yet. Or some other circle starts and snakes their way through you and pushes you against the photographer who shoots you a dirty look. It’s a mess. We need to change it, you guys. Someone has to come up with a new Jewish traditional dance that promotes togetherness and community without making me dizzy. Line dancing? Hoedown? Some really complicated Bollywood ensemble? I’m open to suggestions.


"Kol chattan V'KOL KALLAH!"

“Kol chattan V’KOL KALLAH!”

Another interesting custom of some Jewish weddings is something called “shtick.” It’s kind of like a mini talent show in the middle of the wedding. The bride and groom sit in chairs in the middle of the dance floor while their friends dance or juggle or do this bull and matador dance (did you guys know that when actual bullfighting rounds are done they MURDER the bull? It’s true. We’re pretty sore winners I guess). Anyways, sometimes it’s a lot of personal jokes like people make signs or wear jerseys. And it’s ALWAYS the smallest circle ever. It’s always a 6 foot diameter around the bride and groom even if the dance floor is huge. I don’t know why we do this. So like 6% of the guests can see what’s happening and everyone else is straining over really tall uncles. Can we fix this as well Jews?

Besides for all my complaining, it was actually a really beautiful wedding and I’m glad I got to be a part of it. Joy and Sruli have been together for about 607 years, it’s about time they tied the knot (also did you know one reason that phrase exists because bed frames used to be made with rope so when couples got married they got a new bed – thereby tying a LOT of knots). (I’m pretty sure I didn’t make that up).

Now, it is Shabbat and I’m excited to get some well deserved sleep. Dancing and drinking all night is a hard job but someone has to do it.

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