Mi ani?

Why is it that every single day at work I feel like I’m up to my neck in other people’s underwear? Oh yeah, maybe it’s because the sealed mesh bags people are supposed to put their underwear in when they wash it never actually do get sealed by said people. Fucking a….

Today I got called out of work to come talk to the ulpan director about the Misrad Hapnim experience. And it turns out he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know I had to apply for an oleh visa first--he thought I could just jump in and immediately get an identity card. Which is fine, I don’t blame him for not knowing. Hell, if I were still in the U.S. and some potential immigrant asked me to help them through the immigration process, I’d be fucked. I have no fucking clue how one immigrates to the U.S. because I’ve never had to do it. I was simply born there. So of course I don’t blame the ulpan director for not knowing how to immigrate to Israel, because he was born here. But the difference is that I would IMMEDIATELY tell the immigrant to the U.S, “Look, I don’t know ANYTHING about this….but I’ll try to find you someone who does.” Instead, the ulpan director knew 100 percent that he had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and yet he chose to act like the expert and insist that I trust him. That is what pisses me off.

Today there was very little to be folded. It got to the point where there was only one more cart of things to fold, so I took it. And suddenly Charades Bitch yells out in Hebrew to the woman in charge, “She’s going to fold [Astrology Bitch]’s work!” Like she were a four year old shrieking, “Teacher! Teacher! Sammy pulled Astrology Bitch’s hair!!!” All the women do this, where they are basically like, “I’m telllinggggggg! I’m tellingggggg!!!!!!” except they think that I don’t realize that they are acting like little four year olds because they STILL don’t believe I know a bit of Hebrew.
What’s there to tell anyway? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I don’t fucking understand this kibbutz. They were angry that I was going to fold the last of the laundry before Astrology Bitch arrived for work. What’s the problem with me folding the last of the laundry before Astrology Bitch arrives? Isn’t that a good thing? “Oh, well then Astrology Bitch won’t have anything to fold!”
Well good for fucking Astrology Bitch then! She can go the fuck home then! I mean, I really don’t understand what the problem is. Are they angry at me for doing TOO MUCH work? Jesus Christ, this kibbutz is so fucked up.

It’s small shit like that that makes me question Zionism. I mean, I realize there’s probably an enormous number of incredibly intelligent people in Israel, but for some reason so far I’ve only come into contact with the complete fucktards. Maybe the kibbutz lifestyle is a fucktard-magnet.

So for once in my life there was a moment in the laundry room where there was absolutely. Not. A. single. Thing. To. Fold.
Nothing. Nothing to fold. So I sat patiently for the next load of laundry to come….
And Ayin Bitch started yelling at me for not doing anything. I was like, what CAN I do??? And she couldn’t answer that. All she knew was that she was angry I wasn’t doing anything. WELL WHAT THE FUCK CAN I DO? I mean, first I get in trouble for keeping myself busy at work by finishing the last of the laundry, and then I get in trouble for NOT keeping busy even when it would be impossible for me to do so. I fucking hate this place…

I love that my roommate complains all day about how she doesn’t like her job….but her bosses took her out horseback riding. Today during lunch she was like, “Why don’t you just ask to get out early today? I do it all the time.” And I’m like, have you not been listening??? All day they yell at me or talk about me as if I’m not there—I’m not sure which is worse. I’m pretty sure I ain’t gettin a horseback riding invite from them anytime soon! What the hell does she mean, “Why don’t you just ask to get out early today?”

I have to introduce you to another bitch: Sherlock Holmes Bitch. From time to time I fold sheets with her, and she examines each piece of laundry for the TINIEST pieces of lint or dirt. Like Sherlock Holmes looking for a clue.

You know what I think my problem is? Maybe I’m not Jewish enough to live in the Jewish State. I mean, I can’t think of anything about me that’s Jewish. I mean, besides Me. My problem is that physically, mentally, emotionally, politically and basically in any way you can possibly be, I am nothing like the Jewish side of my family, yet I resemble my Christian side of my family almost exactly—except I don’t believe in Jesus. I mean, the only thing that’s really “Jewish” about me is that I’m stingy. But I’m only stingy when it comes to parking my car, otherwise I’m not stingy in the least. See, I don’t believe in paying for parking, and I’ve been known to park a mile or two away just so that I wouldn’t have to pay for parking. But that’s not some Jewish trait to be proud of, that’s just a nasty stereotype.
My point in all this is that the Jewish Agency will tell you that if you’re Jewish you can come to Israel and immediately feel at home. Which is true to a certain extent. But they forget that you can be Jewish according to halakha, like me, and yet have very little in common with other Jews.

Oh Goodness. Enough of this complaining. I just put on “Oh What A Night.” Things just got better.

Sing it, Frankie!!!!