Lack

When night comes and I'm alone, I dream of you.

but it's the mornings when I miss you most.

remember those early summer mornings we had?

lazy and warm

My head in the crook of your arm and our legs intertwined.

Dawn streamed through the south east window

pure radiance.

I want that back.

No oceans and no continents between us

Just you and me,

wrapped in ribbons of light.

Sin

Peaches are sensual.

There was cult in the early 1900's from my hometown.

The Brides of Eden or the Holy Rollers or what have you. They changed their name all the time. The leader had a peach orchard. He convinced all of these women that they were the virgin mother if they slept with him. He was Jesus Christ risen again. Or so they thought.

Kiger Island was the name of their spot. The brides of Eden is the most fitting name though. So many peaches. Peaches are sexual. They have the mysterious stone in the middle. Crumpled and hard with the blood red flesh surrounding it. The yellow flesh itself is juicy and sweet. A ripe peach is a mess. It drips down your lips and always ends up all over the face and hands and shirt. The peach requires a napkin. It makes more sense that the apple in the garden of Eden would be a peach.

Apples are clean. They're not juicy, they're not colorful. They're flesh isn't soft. They're hard, crisp with a clean center. Puritan.

There are those that believe that the apple in the garden of Eden was really a pomegranate. It also makes sense. Pomegranates are also sensual. You have to rip them open to reveal hundreds of red seeds. Fertility is obvious. They're also sacred. In Judaism, there are 613 rules to follow in the Tenakh. It's said that pomegranates have 613 seeds. Also, the French word for Apple is Pomme. Coincidence? I think not.

Choice

At the brink

of wonder or disaster

we lie

with minds touching

We didn't move

We didn't dare cross that inch between our lips

So we breathed

together,

Terrified.

a crevice

stretches deep

Sound disappears

sight remains.

I held your hand,

you asked me if I liked the Leonard Cohen song,

I do, even though it's about a prostitute.

You said "Yeah, but it's sweet."

You meant sweet like peaches,

not like a new guitar.

Moving On

I'm heading back to Thailand in the morning and I will be continuing my blog. The topic will change (THANK GOD) and I'll be exploring more interesting territories. Namely, Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia.

I don't want to say goodbye

I just said goodbye to my man in the cave. I can't think. I can't write. I haven't been writing because I haven't wanted to add validity to what I was feeling. I didn't want it to be real. If it was real, then my pain was real and then I would have to acknowledge it. I don't like getting hurt. I'm not much of a masochist. I joke that I only have month long relationships or that I used to only date men with "expiration dates." That meant that one of us was leaving in a set amount of time. It kept things light. It kept things easy. Nobody got hurt or at least, I didn't.

Now, my eyes are swollen from crying. I dated a guy with an expiration date and we both ended up hurt. He leaves tomorrow morning to go back to France and I leave on Saturday to go back to Thailand. For his last night in town, he took me out to a small reservation only restaurant. We walked along the riverfront and then he drove me home. We sat in his car for an hour. We didn't know what to say to each other. Goodbye sounded too harsh. "See you next year" was too casual. "I love you" was too much. Instead he said, "I never expected you." I never expected him either. I can't put words down or else I will start to cry again.

We only knew each other for six weeks. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. He made me feel beautiful and he made me feel strong. He said he could see my fairy wings. He told me I was beautiful in the morning when I had morning breath and messy hair. He would sneak up behind me and kiss the nape of my neck in the kitchen, at my house, around his friends, in alleyways downtown: everywhere. Last night we were sitting on the couch and he held my hands up to the light and asked me how even my hands could be adorable. We talked about our scars and how we ended up with each one. I told him about the tiny scar right underneath my chin. He held my chin, tilted it, and then kissed the scar. I didn't want to fall for him, but how could I keep myself from jumping? I thought I was only flying. Oh god, this sound like a teeny boppers angsty diary entry. This isn't me.

But this what he said to me:

"I don't want you to forget me."

"Life is all about pleasure and I want to share it with you."

"Your the best person I've met in a long time."

"Why are you so beautiful even in the morning?"

"You're really something special."

" What do you mean 'You thought you were a fairy when you were little' You're still a fairy. I can see your wings right now."

"You're magical."

"You're queen of the fairies."

"Even your hands are adorable."

"Come on a roadtrip with me."

" You made me better."

"I'm so glad I met you."

"I'll miss you more than you know."

" We didn't even have time to learn any of each other's faults."

"I love that you're so strong and you know what you want."

"I feel like I only met you a few days ago but I wish I met you at the beginning of the year."

Blech. I hate that I'm so sentimental. It took an hour for us to say goodbye. The kisses tasted of the salt of our tears. We hugged each other and sobbed. I forced myself to leave the car and he walked me to the doorway. We stood on the steps outside of my house, each of us afraid to break away. We were both a mess. He walked away and I stood on the steps. I walked in my house when he opened the car door. I stood and watched as he sat in the car for a while. I cried from behind the window and I know he was crying in his car. I say that I will visit him but I know that in a year, we'll both be different. We didn't even get a picture of the two of us together. That's how intangible our relationship was. Did we even date? It was so short. I need to wake up. A handsome french man that always know exactly what to say and do is a dream. A handsome french man that accepts that behind the 5 ft 10, blond and busty appearance of me is a quirky, nerdy girl that just wants to have adventures is a dream. He is a dream. I'm clenching my jaw right now to keep from crying again.

My friend Breanna is supposed to be here. I called her, told her she needed to come and bring a gallon of ice-cream. I don't know why she is so late.

Small Town Girl

I had a love/hate relationship with my town. I loved it. I loved the coffeeshops and the summers but I never wanted to stay here forever. I hated some of the memories I had around the town. New places were for new memories and I wanted as many new memories as possible. I left town fairly young. I went on exchange in high school and even though I did not want to come home, I did. Now though, I love my life here.

I love that I work in a homey breakfast place/ coffeeshop literally four blocks from my house. I love that I'm also four blocks from the synagogue. I like that I can run into my dad on campus. I don't see him often because our schedules are so different but I've started placing notes on the windshield of his car like parking tickets.

I run into professors that have known me since I was a year old when I am on my way to classes. My forestry professors say hi to me on the street and just earlier today, the Rabbi said " Hey Suzanne! How's it going?" as he biked past me.

Small towns are wonderful. Sometimes it's a bit like Stepford but overall I'm healthy, happy and glad that I know everyone around me. My hometown feels more like home now that I live on my own.

No means no and guys are douches.

No should mean no. It causes problems when culturally, no does not mean no. It is hard to know and understand every culture's view of sex and all the cultural mores, stigmas and practices that go along with it. When dating internationally, this is important.

Most men have been taught to be gentlemen. No, said in any way, means no to them but there are always a few that push the boundaries. My first kiss was also the first time I was molested. Alcohol was involved. It was a party on the beach. It wasn't a huge group but out of the twelve of us, there were two girls. I was naive. My friend didn't watch out for me. It was a bad situation. I was sixteen. How was I to know? I had never had a guy force himself on me. I grew up with boys that were scared of me or idolized me. My hometown was small enough that if anything ever happened, their mothers would hear about it. Here I was, on the beach in Thailand with ten guys and twelve bottles of johnny walker. It wasn't supposed to be that way.

After drinking, dancing, messing with the phosphorescent bacteria in the sand, we all crashed. We pushed three beds together. I lay down next to the youngest guy. He was passed out. Suddenly, Sid jumped in between. Now, I'm a cuddly person. I like human touch as much as anybody else. My friends in my hometown would have 'cuddle puddles.' Twenty of us would sprawl all over each other. Boys, Girls, Gay, Straight, innocent or very experienced. It didn't matter. I asked Sid to spoon with me. Bad idea.

We were talking with his arms around me. I turned my head to say something and his tongue came down my throat. I remember thinking "Is this happening? What is this? Why did he do this?" Then I wasn't sure what to do. Should I have called out? Should I have woken everybody up? In my haze, I thought that if I hugged him, he wouldn't be able to kiss me. That didn't work. Then I thought that I would just turn my back to him. I turned on my side and he kissed up and down my neck for what felt like hours. The whole time, he tried to squeeze his legs between mine. He fell asleep with his face buried in the back of my neck and I lied awake for the entire night and pretended that none of it was happening. I didn't want to "Make a Scene." I was terrified of bothering the others.

That was my first kiss. I pretended that it never happened. It didn't count. I didn't want it so therefore it never happened. It happened though and it did change me. I remember thinking, "well, it can only go up from here. I might as well kiss everyone in sight."

One of my friends had a bad experience last night. It was a beach party. Alcohol was involved. I could tell that something wasn't right. The rest of the group kept saying " She's a big girl. She can handle herself. She knows what she's doing." I knew though. She was in the same situation I had been in two years ago. The guy was a lecher and she was in trouble. Moreso than I had been in on the beach because this guy was much older than 18 and he would try to go much farther.

At one point, I made a blanket fort. My friend escaped for long enough to crawl under the blanket and put her head on my knee. Still with a smile on her face, she looked up at me and whispered "Rescue me." Ten seconds later, the creep grabbed her legs and pulled her out of the fort. "No" I said. "She's staying here."

My guy and I took her into a bedroom and set her up with blankets and a pillow and said "You can stay here." "Thank you."

It sucks. Guys can be awful. But after going through it once, you learn that when bad situations happen, "Making a scene" doesn't matter. You stand up, you slap him. You say "NO means NO!! And I am NOT doing this with you. Especially since you didn't stop when I told you the first time."

Top ten favorite relationship songs for right now, in no particular order.

It Ain't Me, Babe --------Bob Dylan

Islands--------------------The XX

Heart Skipped a Beat----The XX

The Cave------------------Mumford and Sons

I Gave You All-----------Mumford and Sons

Five Years Time---------Noah and The Whale

I Stand Corrected-------Vampire Weekend

Ship Out on the Sea-----The Be Good Tanyas

Young Folks-------------Peter, Bjorn and John

Gray or Blue-------------Jaymay

Exes....Part 2

I'm having a fling with a Frenchman. He's only in town for five more weeks. I'm only in town for five more weeks. He is handsome. Strong jawline, straight nose, high cheekbones, dimples... the works. This guy could be a model. He's also very bright, driven and all in all wonderful. He's close to perfect. We went out for coffee after grabbing lunch together and we walked into a coffeeshop. He put his arm around me and said "I'm treating you because you paid for tea last time." I told him he was too sweet and kissed his cheek. We stood in line, ordered at the counter and walked around the coffeeshop for a while before deciding to take our coffees outside. As we turned to walk through the door, I realized that sitting by the counter was my ex. The same one that ended it with me because he needed to be more focused on school, because he was still in love with his ex, because he got scared. The same one that ignored me last week at a different coffeeshop. I didn't recognize him because he cut his hair really short. It used to be a mass of curls. Anyway, I felt awful because we were right next to him. He probably thinks I was rubbing it in his face. Honestly, I wasn't! I didn't see him! By the time we left, the damage was done and I couldn't decide whether or not I should have gone back to say hi. So I didn't, and we left. It's eating me up and I just have to move on and realize that there is nothing I can do.

Exes

We all have that moment. We're on the street, we're in a coffee shop, we're here, we're there and we run into..... The Ex.

It can be great. "Oh hey! Long time no see! How is everything? You know, we could be friends now. I'm having a party at my house at this time. You should come! I'd love to catch up."

Or it can be AWKWARD. You sit in the coffeeshop, with your latte and your computer. He walks in, he walks to the counter, he gets his coffee, he turns around and walks out. You sit there, the whole time thinking "should I say hi? Nah... I'm on my computer. He can say hi... right?" Then he doesn't say hi. He walks right past you, right out the door. You sit there, stunned. "but... he didn't say hi.......... what the f*ck?" Then you wonder "Is he blind? How can he not see me sitting there? I was right in front of him. I had an excuse, I was typing, but he didn't."

That's when you text your friends and all they say back is "Ouch."

"This one's on me."

Times men have bought me drinks:

{In the U.S.} I went to a crepe party with a bunch of international students. It was my first time meeting any of them. We bonded over exchange and told each other stories about language mistakes; like the time I told my host mom that I really had to go pee when I thought I was saying that I wanted to spend time as a buddhist nun, or the time the armenian girl thought that focus was pronounced "Fuckus." Eventually the party was going to move to a bar. "I'm underage" I said. "So this is when I head home." "No, No, this bar doesn't card. Come with us!"

It didn't take much convincing.

I walked straight through the "No Minors Allowed" sign and sat down at their table. I was sitting with my roommate C and maybe four or five European men. As we sat, drinking some beer and chatting, a man came over, plopped a beer down in front of me said "This one's on me" and walked away so fast I didn't even see his face. We stared at the pale ale in front of me. A business card was hanging magically to the outside of the glass. The guys looked at me, at the beer and in the direction the man came from, and then back at me. The guy on my left said "I've been coming to this bar at least once a week this whole year and I've never seen that happen." The guy on my right said "I'm from France and I've never actually seen that happen anywhere" and my roommate looked at me, looked at them, laughed and said "Oh, men lose their minds around her. I wouldn't worry about it."

The guy on my left looked at me again. His brow furrowed and he said, "You're eighteen. This is the first time a guy has bought you a drink... right?"

I smiled." Well... no. It isn't."

"But, but where?"

"In Thailand" I paused "... and Israel."

{In Thailand} I went to a rock concert at a bar spur of the moment. I sat in the front row and I remember making eyes at the drummer (he was pretty cute, not so great of a musician). After the show ended, he showed up at the table with the rest of his band and bought us whiskey and soda. Turns out his brother owned the bar but it was still a nice gesture. He also bought me a rose from one of the girls on the street and his friend, the guitarist, was pissed because he was going to buy me a rose, but the drummer got there first.

{In Israel} I was in Tel Aviv with a bunch of American Jews on a Sunday night. We figured that the bars would be lame but it didn't matter because there were so many of us. We could bring a party anywhere we went. So we headed down the street from our hotel to a bar and invaded. The bar was packed with americans. I sat at one end with a couple of my israeli friends and down at the other end of a bar, a man was sitting having a cigarette. I smiled at him and ten minutes later, I turned around and he was right next to me. " What's your drink of choice?" He asked. "Arak and Grapefruit juice." I answered. It's an Israeli favorite and absolutely delicious. He was impressed that I knew it. "I'll buy you one."

His roommate was the bartender and they both had the same name. We joked and drank. I learned that he was in law school and he had served his military duty already. Everyone was dancing and singing Karaoke and so I said "Come dance with me! Come dance with me, please?"

He said "Not yet, not yet. Let me finish my drink first."

He finished his drink and I said "Now will you come dance with me?"

He flashed me a smile and said "....I will if you kiss me first."

I had had a more than a couple drinks and I thought to myself "One kiss? What's the harm. He's cute, and smart and I just want to dance."

I leaned in and kissed him. I looked at him, "Now will you dance?"

I stood up. Then he stood up. He only came up to my chest.

Apology

I want to apologize to all the men I've dated this past nine months. I realized today that I have dated fifteen men, kissed eleven, and kind of/sort of been a couple with four, all within the last eight months. I have ruined friendships that might have been and friendships that should have been. I have been broken hearted and broken twice my share of hearts. Of the thirteen men I have dated, I have ditched eight, considered relationships with two and had long distance flings with three. I am sorry for having dated and ditched.

As a woman, there are stereotypes that I do not fall under. Women are supposed to want commitment. Women are supposed to be considerate of others feelings. Women are supposed to wait for men to come to them.

Apparently, I am yet unable to commit. My relationships have yet to last longer than a month unless the men I am interested in live far away. It is easier when they live far away. They come into my life for a moment, a wonderful, perfect moment. Then they leave to do whatever it is they do and I continue living my life. Only this time, I have one more friend to keep tabs on. Then, we'll talk , text, e-mail about life and our interests and it makes it more interesting. I can't talk about mundane things with men across the continent. There are no "So... that hail was weird today, wasn't it?" conversations. The relationship doesn't limit my exploration of other "options" at home. It simply adds to my life. I feel enriched by them.

They're doing things over the summer like working at the New York Times, interning with the Peace Corps, working with the Department of Justice. These are driven, intellectual young men and I like having them in my life.

I also like kissing. I like kissing a LOT. Over the past year, I have kissed in the forest, at the beach, on benches, in bars, in beds, against walls, against doors, in kitchens, on floors, at night, during the day, in computer labs, on the street, in coffee shops and on rooftops. It's been great but it's been too many.

Chemistry is hard to find. Sometimes I force myself into thinking that I have it only to realize a month later that it was entirely in my head. I only date great guys. I'm serious. Every single one of them is sweet, intelligent, motivated, idealistic and kind. I feel bad that I've hurt them but really, what can I say? "You're great, really you are but I'm just don't have butterflies?"

Should I say instead "You're cute but you're too metrosexual?" or "I like you, I do but you didn't know who Pablo Neruda was and you couldn't tell me the name of any foreign presidents"? I try to make a point of being upfront and honest but I think I've been failing at that lately. I've been hoping that they'll just disappear into the background and I'll never have to see them again or that when I do, they'll be ready to be friends. But that isn't realistic. It isn't realistic to date and ditch without explanations. Instead, it is cruel. And so I am sorry.

I'm going back to Thailand this summer and I can't help but hope that I will meet a hot Israeli, fall madly in love and travel the world with him. I shouldn't feel this way, considering that I'm kind of, sort of dating someone. He's great. He is. And it is nice. really nice but..... there's a but. I can't put my figure on to what the but leads yet it still exists. I'm also leaving in seven weeks and I don't feel pangs at all when I think about leaving him behind. That's a problem. I should feel pangs. Right?

Apparently, I'm terrible at apologies. Basically, I should be more considerate and I want to apologize to each man individually. Not today, or this week but someday. Someday I'll apologize to the Indonesian, the Czech, the model, the weed dealer, the home schooled boy, the ROTC guy, the computer science major, the debate team champion, the law student, the bartender's roommate, the pre-med kid,the alaskan, the would-be fashion designer, the PhD student and the Master's student. To all of you, I am sorry that you fell for a maneating bitch that dates and ditches.

It's official...

I'm headed back to South East Asia this summer! I was wondering what I was going to do the whole time. All my friends will be in the middle of their college term and Home Sweet Home Nakhon Phanom won't be the same without my canadian partner in crime. Then it hit me. I can do all of the things I wanted to do when I was sixteen but didn't have quite enough freedom or time to do. For example, take the train from bangkok all the way down to Bali. I'm not joking. As a U.S. citizen, I don't need a visa to go to any of the countries in SE asia for shorter periods of time. I can take the train and get off along the way at different beaches, take a few ferries out to the islands and then return back on the train down to Bali and back!

Just imagine it. Monsoon season. Spicy noodle soup. Teal waters. White beaches. The full moon party on Ko Phang Ngan, venturing farther and farther south where the Wats (buddhist temples) give way to mosques, The Perhentian islands, Climbing Mount Kinabalu, Trekking through the Mangrove swamps and seeing the giant fireflies light up the rivers, dancing in Kuala Lumphur, and heading farther and farther south.

Borneo, Singapore and finally Indonesia! I'll try and meet up with an Indonesian I knew 4 years ago and then I'll head back up the way I came. Stopping at the andaman sea, making doing some rock climbing on the cliffs there, farther and farther north, back to bangkok.

The 2nd class train ticket from Bangkok to Bali is roughly $50. At least, that's what I've seen so far.

All I need now is a buddy to go with me. I was thinking about maybe meeting up with some Israelis. My summer should be incredible.

Connections and Impression

My mother always said that there comes a point in time when everyone looks familiar. I never believed her. New faces are new faces, right? At least, new to me. However, people also look like people. There are common qualities no matter where in the world you go. I met Asians that looked like Caucasians and Africans that looked like South Americans. Similar qualities and facial features exist regardless of skin color, eye shape, hair color. Everything that we use to describe can be irrelevant. Faces look like faces that remind me of times past.

I'm sitting in a computer lab across from an arab that simultaneously looks like an Israel, an American and an Asian that I know from completely different places. It makes me a little sad to think that I will meet people and instantly judge them on whomever they look like. It's not fair and it isn't ethical but I know that my first impressions of any new person will immediately place them alongside whomever they look like from my past.

There was a girl in Israel that looked exactly like my sister. I treated her like my older sister. We weren't very close but I didn't consciously make an effort to get to know her because I felt like I already did. She and I semi-planned a backpacking trip over the summer but since I'm going back to Thailand, it won't happen. Maybe next year?

Sheets

I iron when I'm stressed. I iron late at night in a tank top and underwear. I iron when I can't sleep. I tear all the sheets from my bed, grab fresh sheets out of the cupboard and flip down my ironing board from the back of my bedroom door.

Most women hate ironing. It's a vestige of male dominance and typically female housework. There's the possibility of getting burned and really, who minds a few wrinkles? I don't care though. I don't care if ironing is a throwback to June Cleaver and chauvinism.

When I iron, I'm thrown back to my year in Thailand. As I stand in my tank top and underwear, with my iron in hand, everything stops. It's warm and humid. The steam curls around my hand. There are palm trees outside the window of my mind. The air hangs heavy and I can hear cows in the streets, roosters outside my door and dogs howling. A pink gecko stares at me from the wall.

Suddenly,

I can breathe again.

I'm ironing the flat sheet now. I told myself that I would only iron the first foot and a half of fabric. It's the part that peeks over the blanket. The only part that matters, aesthetically. I was lying to myself. Smoothing out the wrinkles is addictive and I know that I'll end up ironing the entire sheet. Every inch will be smooth and soft. 400 thread count, egyptian cotton. I love my sheets. I used to dream about having sheets like these.

When I'm done ironing, I'll finish making my bed and then I'll gingerly climb between the sheets and try not to wrinkle them again

Craigslist Family

My housemates have become a loosely-connected family. It's wonderful. J and A (they're a couple) are like the parents. J is the dad. He takes out the trash and handles the plumbing, makes awkward jokes and generally teases everyone. A is sweet but with spunk. J makes fun of her but they're adorable together. Then there's Y (the asian grad-student). He's like a dorky older brother. I can poke fun at him but I really respect him. My friends come over to the house and he'll have us rolling on the floor in laughter. Last is C, we're closer to sisters. We each live our own lives but we have some good conversations and an adventure every now and then. It's amusing to me that the whole group found each other on craigslist.

The other day, I decided at 1 am that we should have a hot cocoa party. Y and C joined in and we invited fifteen people over to the house, lit a fire and had different kinds of hot chocolate. I stood in the kitchen over the hot cocoa and smiled at the scene. This is what a family should be like. This is what college should be.

Modern Gypsy Caravan of one

My dream house is roughly 100 sq. ft on wheels. http://www.tumbleweedhouses.com/houses/

It will have a front porch with a rocking chair (or possibly a swing) and potted plants. I'll have solar panels on the roof, a composting toilet and a rainwater collection system.

I'll have only the things I need and nothing more. People won't be able to give me gifts because I won't have any place to put them. I'll have a loft bed above the kitchen and a wet shower above the composting toilet. I've been wondering about the possibility of using the humus from the composting toilet as soil for my potted vegetable garden. Apparently "humanure" (if processed correctly) is safe for use as soil for edible plants. Who knew?

I'm thinking about adding a mifi to it so that I'll have internet wherever I go and then I can take my self-sustaining modern gypsy caravan of one with me wherever I decide to travel withing north america. I have a feeling I'd run into problems trying to drive all the way down to brazil with it behind my zap-truck.

Winks

They're strange. Winks can be overdone. Large facial movement. The eyelid closes and the mouth opens. Or, they can subtle. So fast and quick that one is left wondering if it even happened.

The short and quick winks are sneaky. They're flirtatious but not obviously so. Getting winked at is almost like having someone raise their eyebrows at you. You sit there, half-stunned. "Did they really just do that?" The answer is most likely, "Yes. Yes, they really did."

I always expect old men to wink and young men to thinking winking is old-fashioned and socially awkward. I'm taken aback every time a young man winks at me. It still happens though.

Restless

I'm getting restless.

Maybe it's because I just got back from Israel. Maybe it's because I'm not interested in any of my classes right now. Maybe it's because I'm hormonal or maybe it's the cold, clear skies. Regardless of the reason, I'm restless and my wanderlust is out of control.

I was just asked to become president of the jewish cultural group on my campus next year. I guess I could do it. I'm opinionated enough to make decisions (half the time). I care about maintaining the jewish heritage. I just recently got back from Israel so I guess I should have a renewed passion for everything.

I think maybe I just miss him. He's awfully cheesy and not the best guy but he's so honest with me. It's almost obscene.

He spent the night before his birthday with me at my house. We mostly just cuddled. I liked having him next to me in my bed. It's a larger bed and I only use up half of it. It feels right to have someone just an arm reach over. I've never felt that before.

I tried to get people to go to the beach with me the other night. Spontaneous roadtrip!! Let's rent a yurt! My friends wouldn't go for it. "In winter? We're sick... That doesn't sound like fun. The roads are icy right now." I decided that my friends are lame. They're wonderful and they care about me but they don't have the same spunk. And they say that I'm not adventurous. Why don't they understand the adventurous means having real adventures and spontaneous roadtrips and crazy spur of the moment urges? Adventurous does not mean taking magical mushrooms in someone's basement and pissing yourself because you're too scared to go to the bathroom or because you're hallucinating that you're melting.

I need new friends.

hmm...

I was in Israel. I met a guy, another american jew on my trip. He was from Philadelphia. He's in law school at Penn. Smart guy. He looked like woody allen but when he smiled, his whole face lit up and it was a beautiful smile. He didn't talk much; at least not to me. He had no problems speaking in front of a room, sharing his mind. He was articulate and well spoken. Entirely too conservative in his fiscal policies and he drank too much. But I liked him just the same.