"Well, it's Definitely not Sukkot!!!"

So, for the third week in a row I'm working only two-and-a-half days, with the rest of the week off. This is because it's been very holiday-ey, Judaism-wise. it's not always like this, being as it runs on it's own calendar (hands up all Jewish people who can keep track of the holidays without a calendar... alright Rabbi, you made your point, you can put your hand down now). In any case, all this free time has inspired much jealousy*, and the inevitable question: "so what holiday is it, anyway?".

Well, Rosh Hashanah was easy. Jewish New Year. Simple. Sukkot was a little harder to explain. The festival of... Lemons? harvesty....something? shaking palm fronds and lemons at the compass points? I asked around the office, and nobody had paid attention in jewish studies that day. See, the thing is... some of the festivals are a little... obscure for most of us. We have a sort of a vague, fuzzy idea of what they do. Mostly, give a day off, and if you're a good jew**, and not agnostic, you go to shul extra.

This next one coming up, though.. Shemini Atzeret. Nobody had even the foggiest. Wikipedia clarified that it is not Sukkot, but you can still sit in the Sukkah***. As far as I can tell it's a holiday that "the Creator" gave to Jewish people as a special bonus day off****. Seriously. No fasting, no feasting, and you can tear toilet paper*****. Generic Holiday, then.


*although it's the one perk of my job, which is stressful (you've read my blog before, right?), sometimes direly boring and not very well-paid. So stop whining.
** ie you don't eat pork chops, lovely pork chops with a lil' bit 'o paprika and lemon juice and 'taters. Mmmm.
*** Oh, just google it.
**** Because btw, you guys are totally meant to be getting Sukkot too. It says. On the interweb. I mean, I don't know!
**** Shabbat. long story.

A Very Brave Girl.

Yesterday was my first beach day of the season, and a very exciting one it was. You see, I had resolved that ennough was enough, no more would I suffer the tyranny and shame of the two white triangles of dead-looking white flesh! No more would I have to photoshop self-portraits to even out skin tone on my chestal region! Yes, people, I this is the year...for toplessness!

Seriously.

I'm not one for exposing myself in public. But, honestly, it's practically become de rigeur these days to go about like a three-year-old*. And for a while I've been gazing jealously at the bronzed noombies of the beach girls**, who have no top-half tan lines, and can ear low-cut tops, and don't look weird naked. Well, unless they just look weird naked naturally, but that's another topic for another time.

So, I decided to gird my loins and stop being such a big baby. It wasn't easy though. I got to the beach, ready for my quest. I scanned the few people on the beach: nice, not too few for me to stand out, not so many that it would be intimidating. Mostly girl, and families with naked children. Good, nakedness of children helps my cause. There were some fully-dressed beach-watchers, which was totally creeping me out, because I just knew they were dirty perverts waiting for my boobies. Beaches= beachwear, it's a dress code, and people who don't respect that... perverts!

Anyway, finally the time came, and I whipped of my top and lay down like a little person trying to be unobtrusive. Nobody jeered, pointed or giggled. In fact, very few noticed, possibly. As I've mentioned, my ta-tas*** are not that big. So, I passed my first tan time without event, enjoying the cool breeze on my skin. and I think it'll be a little easier next time.

I feel very brave, and accomplished, like I climbed a mountain or something. Only without the physical exertion part, which would suck. Score one for the half-naked lady!

*but with boobs.
** well, until they noticed and then suddenly it got all weird.
*** starting to run out of synonyms for breasticles.

Your Schadenfreude is my inconvenience.

damn you sea water!

yesterday was a day of reckoning. Well, no, not really. It was more a day of...cleaning. And Laundry. I went to the laundrymat and gave my stuff to the lady with the strange nose (it's squashed, bulbous and asymmetrical, and doesn't really fit in with the rest if her face, yet it gives her a somehow pleasant, garden-gnomish sort of appearance), bought a floor-cleaning-spongy thing, swept and cleaned the floor, and finally threw out the last of the cardboard, boxes, plastic and polystyrene that have been hulking next to the tv since I moved. it's amazing how much more space you have when your flat isn't overwhelmed by crap.

So, at about 2pm I realised that there would be nothing better on tv than cricket (ugh...zzzzzzzzzzzzz) and Mr Deeds (not my favouite Sandler movie), and the women's world cup of golf (help me I think I'm going to wee in my boyshorts from excitement, oh yes). So I decided, hey, I live 5 minutes from the beach and I haven't been in... weeks, and I can sit in the sun and tan. So I packed a little bag (blackberry mineral water and Mini heart biscuits, SPF, my library book and a towel), and marched over to Queen's beach.

all went well, and I was enjoying the sun, surf, and even the screaming fishwife who was calling for her son at full decibelness rather than, you know, moving closer to him ("Derryn! Come heeeeeeeeeeere!!! DEEEEEEEEEEEE-RRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYNNNN!!!). Then the freak wave hit. the freak wave that moved past where the tide had been gently hitting the shore (ten feet away from me), and thoroughly soaked me, my towel, and my library book.

cue me running home to attempt rescue of the novel through judicious sand removal, blow drying and clamping of book to prevent warping.

I'll let you know if it works.

But seriously. these things only ever happen to me..... I mean, I was nowhere near the sea! and the sea came and attacked me without provocation!!! And hurt my library book!

also, the people behind me laughed at my predicament. I hate them now.