I'm not my own grandpa, but I am completely dysfunctional in my own way.

First off, today French Bitch was describing to Naomi Bitch how the Prophetic Bastard (our Arab co-worker) has a family in which everyone is intermarried/inter-related/whatever. And, I got to say….it sounded suspiciously like the song “I’m My Own Grandpa.”


(Admit it, you loved "The Stupids" movie....)


A word of advice to those considering moving to a different country: Don’t.

If Nike’s slogan is “Just Do It,” then let my slogan be: “Just DON’T Do It. Don’t even fucking think about it. Put down the brochure, and go the fuck home like right now. I’m like not even joking about this so—hey, are you listening?! You, with the hat. Yes. Fine, whatever, but it’s distracting. Could you like maybe do that AFTER I’m done talking? No? All right, just try to do it quietly. Anyway, just don’t do it!”
I don’t think it has the same ring as Nike’s, but I think it makes more sense.

What makes me say this? Today I was supposed to take the bus to the mall so that I could go to the market, the pharmacy, eat dinner, and go to the bank. I didn’t get any of this accomplished today. Why?

I feel like I’ve regressed into childhood again. Before I got here, I felt like I was a very responsible person—yeah, I’ve never been 100 percent independent, but while away at college for almost two years I had to run my own errands, deal with my own shit, etc etc etc. But I get here, and while I’m expected to be even more independent than I was at home since I can’t even call my parents for help since my parents have an even worse idea of how things work over here than I do, at the same time I feel like the world’s biggest baby. I feel like everything’s impossible to understand. Today. A couple weeks ago I remember feeling like I understood EVERYTHING. Well, today I feel like I don’t understand how to use the bus. Today I feel like I don’t know how to go to the market, or how to fill a prescription at the pharmacy, or how to order food (actually, even on a good day I don’t know how to do that in Hebrew. I just point…), or how to go to the bank. What do I mean? I feel like if I got on a bus in Israel today, I wouldn’t know to pay the driver, or to wait for a ticket, or to find myself a seat, or to get off at the right stop. Despite the fact that I’ve been on the bus here a million times, and specifically this line a billion times. Yet somehow I feel like today it’s impossible.

With the exception of going to the pharmacy, these are all things I’ve done a MILLION times in Israel. Yet today I feel like an idiotic baby/child/beagle puppy, and that I am completely incapable of doing these things. Back home, it would not have even occurred to me to ask my parents to come with me on these kinds of errands, but here I wish my mom and dad were here, and that they could deal with all the scary foreign people for me. And then I could just hide behind Mom’s skirt and suck my thumb while Dad chuckled with the Israeli man behind the counter at the pharmacy about how shy his little girl is. Except I’m 20, so this vision is a little disturbing.

Look, I don’t want a bunch of comments saying, “Sam/Sammy/SemenTAH!, are you crazy? Are you an idiot? What’s the matter with you??? Just go to the fucking mall and run your fucking errands!” Yes, I realize that on a rational level, my belief that I am incapable of functioning in Israel is irrational. Yeah, there might be a “slight” language barrier, but 1) I’ve done most of these things before in Israel and 2) even if I hadn’t, I’ve done them before in the US and on a basic level things are gonna be the same: in both the US and Israel, you use the bus to get somewhere. You shop for food in the market. You get medicine at the pharmacy. You order food by expressing what you want. The bank is for storing money.

Yeah, yeah, I get all that. I can’t really explain it because I realize that what I’m feeling is completely irrational, that somewhere deep down I know I am fully capable of going to the fucking market because it’s really not that difficult! You wouldn’t really understand it unless you too spent three months (and soon to be more) being completely alone and feeling like a total idiot all the time. It makes even the simplest errands ridiculously overwhelming.

I can’t stand feeling like such a moron all the time. Yeah, I recognize that this is the country of immigrants or whatever, like the Russian soldiers in that guy’s story said, but at the same time I can’t stand feeling like the idiotic immigrant who’s always confused or standing in the wrong place at the wrong time or not understanding what’s being said.



I think I’m just a little stressed. I’ve said it a million times before, no need to go into details: work stresses me just because it’s not a good environment. I’m also stressed because the army enlistment date is drawing nearer and 1) I’m freaked out about joining a foreign army, 2) I’m freaked out about telling my parents and 3) I’m freaked out that something’s going to happen and that I’m NOT gonna be able to do the army.

I’m also stressed because I feel like I’m back in fucking middle school again, because the French suicidal nutcase has been bothering me a lot lately. He’s crazy about some girl here, and he’s openly declared his love for her to her. He’s extremely obvious about it, and everyone knows that he is obsessed with her. However, besides the girl herself, the only person the French guy has told about his “secret” love is me. And despite the fact that he’s INCREDIBLY obvious and that everyone already knows, he tells me that I better not tell anyone. So I haven’t—besides on this blog, and even then you have no way of knowing which girl I’m talking about.

Well the problem is this: some time ago I was talking to the girl the guy is crazy about, and I started crying about something. The French guy walked in, saw me crying, and demanded to know what the problem was. And being the emotional idiot that I was then, I talked to him and in the process let slip a personal detail—even though it’s something in hindsight I would have preferred to keep to myself as it’s a personal issue.

Well, now the crazy Frenchman keeps threatening me—CONSTANTLY threatening me. At first I thought he didn’t really mean it, but he is telling me this every five minutes now--that if ANYONE besides “The Girl” finds out that he is crazy about her, then he’s going to tell anyone and everyone he can about “My Secret.” The problem is that everyone already knows that the French Guy is crazy about The Girl, the French Guy just doesn’t know it yet. I have not told and would not tell anyone on this kibbutz about French Guy’s obsession, but that doesn’t matter to the French Guy—if he finds out that anyone knows, he’s going to see it as my fault, and suddenly I’m going to have a lot less privacy.

What a fucking soap opera, eh?

I’m just pissed off because I’m basically being blackmailed with a piece of information that the guy obtained when I was sobbing and when I thought he was trying to comfort me by asking me questions.

You know how I’m going to deal with it? I remember in high school or middle school or something someone once made fun of me for being ugly, and I replied very matter-of-factly, “I’m also fat, stupid and gross.” The insulter had the most shocked and bewildered look on her face, so I made a sort of bring-it-on/”come-on” gesture with my hands and continued, “What else ya got?” And that person never fucked with me again, because they didn’t know how to handle my response. So I think if it comes down to it, and if I know the end is near and that the Frenchman is about to yell out “My Secret” in the middle of the hotel lobby or ulpan classroom, I’m just gonna cut him off and yell it first. And if I don’t manage to cut him off in time to yell it myself, I’ll just follow up his yelling by shouting out an even worse “secret” about myself. Why? Because this guy is going to try to hurt me for something that I haven’t even done and wouldn’t do, and I just can’t let him win.


Jesus Hank Christ though, are all immigrants this fucked up or is it just the ones who came to this kibbutz? And does love/lust make ALL people crazy or is it just the French?