Berkeley hates Israel

Horrible news out of Berkeley: Palestinians and alleged Palestinians in a violent confrontation with pro-Israel students last Thursday evening.

What the articles don't say is that Students for Justice in Palestine set a trap.


http://www.dailycal.org/article/103609/plans_made_in_effort_to_recall_asuc_senator


SJP wants to boot student senator Moghtader out of the student council and off the campus. Yaman Salahi, who is known for his personal vendettas and his lies, has targeted the pro-Israel students.
There is more to come, the Berkeley Pallies won't stop.

What disturbs me perhaps more than the attempt to silence the pro-Israel voice on campus is that they (SJP) want to allow electronic signatures on the recall petition. Any signature campaign on the UC campus is fraught with the possibility of fraud - how much more so an internet campaign by savy Arab-Americans? If this is allowed, the anti-Semites will have learned ONE MORE dirty trick. Cheats!

Really, these people make me so sick. And no one in the Bay Area seems to care about Israel. There is just loads of hate here.
I want to call Yossi, but it's too late at night. I so want someone to talk to!

Crash fumble clatter

I'm worried about him. This was supposed to be our third date, but it seemed more like a car-wreck. In addition to stuttering much more than usual, he also knocked over his water glass, spilt his co-cola, and stabbed himself in the cheek with the fork. Plus stumbling, and dropping his car keys.
Is this normal? I mean, I know he's clumsy when nervous or out in public, but IS THIS REALLY NORMAL?!?


On the plus side, we spent two hours in his car talking about the east-coast. At least we didn't talk about the pallies this time; after what happened in Berkeley last Thursday, I don't think I could've taken it. I'm so upset! And yes I know that the Jewish students were stupid not to tape everything that happened and take the names of all witnesses not likely to lie through their slimy green pro-Palestinian teeth, but still. WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?!?! Running into a trap just isn't a good thing. What if the pro-Pallies had had bats or chains? Or knives?

But really, they should thrash those bigots sometime. Anybody walking across the Berkeley campus, even before this happened, could feel the hate when going by SJP activists. This is not a part of the world where you are safe wearing a star of David, and the area near the Berkeley campus is even riskier. West-Coast people are insane.


Well, not all of them. But lots.


Back to our date. He's got relatives in BP, of all places. And they're not even black hats. I would've thought maybe Massachusetts, or even New Jersey (shudder), but Boro Park?!?! Good heavens! He's planning to fly back for thksgvg, and will return the first week of December. I wish I could go home too, but even with both jobs, the money is tight. He'll e-mail and call me. I wonder if I should have him meet Abba? And is he maybe tooooo frum? Is that even possible in the Bay Area?


Still, he's very VERY sweet. We're going to a movie after next shabbat. He's a gentleman in the dark.

No no, the coffee goes into the FACE, the pastry goes into the lap

It's all my fault. I shouldn't have let him go one so about Israel and the Pallies. He got excited and started quivering. It was rather like watching a chihuahua.

Except frantic dogs do not try to co-ordinate cup, saucer, and a plate of cake while they talk, wiggle, and blink. If they did, the result would, predictably, be the same.

Once the porcelain finished flying, I felt so sorry for him. He looked so forlorn, and the remnants of whipped cream in his crotch looked so......, well, I won't say what it looked like. But those were nice pants. If we had been anywhere near my apartment (and if I knew for certain that my room mate wasn't humping Abdul the sweaty Greek wrestler at that moment), I would've invited him over so that I could try to scrub out the stain. It looked SO incriminating.


When he blushes, he looks embarassingly guilty, that sure doesn't help. Carrying the newspaper in front of his crotch made it look like had something to hide.
I popped him into a cab, and took the bus.


Miss Thang on the other side of the wall is wild tonight. That buzzing is loud enough to hear from the hallway. I wonder if the neighbors have a clue. Get a room, bitch.

He stutters, and his hands are sweaty

But at least he isn't a groper, and he has the most charming blinkiness of any academic. And unlike the big goyish date, he didn't insist on Chinese food.

Family in Israel, That's a plus, who'd want to have his mom any closer. And he's rather tasty, especially if viewed from the rear. Not big, but oh man, that tight little.....

Well, he IS nice. But I don't think this will work out. A week ago he managed to break his glasses holding the door for me. And this evening he stumbled over his coat. He had draped it over the chair when he sat down, it slipped, and when he got up he tripped over it and nearly careened into a waiter.

He's fun to watch, and he's funny. But clutzy much. I don't think this is going to work.

Besides, he doesn't quite seem to understand the anti-Israel dynamic in the Bay Area. He thinks that if we all just act mellow and ignore it, the nuts will go away. He just doesn't get that Californians have internalized the fantasy victim-hood of the Palestinians, and think of Jews as big bad muscle bound hulks kicking sand into the eyes of their victims.

We'll see what happens. I've never dated a man who is shorter than me before.

Yay! Obama!

Tall dark and handsome next president! This is what I've been waiting for since I was a freshman - a leader who is spoonable!

It was all over by eight o'clock. Except for the drinking and weeping. Sorry boys, I have no sympathy. Take your old macho looser and go home.

I'm feeling good right now. If I had stayed at the bar I might be feeling better, but I would wonder what to do with him tomorrow morning. Can't really have mister F. Better waking up in a strange place with two lonely girls, one of whom is a man-shark (that would be the 'other' resident of this apartment).

I'm kidding, of course. I don't have what it takes to pick up men in bars.


But tonight I do feel like I struck it lucky. Warm and tingly all over. I'm gonna see if 'Thang' has left any vodka in the fridge and go to bed. Sleeping will be hard, I'm just so excited.

Seven years of college for that?

I grew up to be a princess. No, not one of those spoiled whiny ones, like the girls on Friends. Nor the archtype daddy's little precious. I grew up to be Boudicca (Boadicea). I dreamt of cutting Roman throats while leading my hairy savages towards Londinium.

Alas! It was not to be. Boudicca is not short, and does not put tissues in her bra.

Nor, as it happens, does Boudicca have a degree in philosophy. Try getting a decent job with that, why don't you? A philosphy degree is about as useful as a flat chest if you want to be noticed, but at least they take you serious when you're applying for a job.

I could have stayed back east and married Avi. My dad always said I could do anything when I grew up. So I grew up to be a second rate Boudicca, but I will not settle for a second rate King, even if he is small dark and handsome. I am looking for someone who wears tweeds well instead.

Rule number one: steal the fork

So my big goyish date and I are at the restaurant, and when he jostled the table the salad fork fell into my handbag. I didn't notice, entranced as I was with his long disquisition about the Sharks. My eyes always glaze over like that when I'm thrilled. I may snore from joy too. Please ignore it.

He had too many mojitos. Bad move, dude, women do not like men who smell of rum. And the mint thing is just nasty. I am suprised at how sober he acts when we leave for the movie.

I should've known better than to let him choose the movie, but I thought it would keep his mind off manhandling me and his hands in his lap. I was wrong. Even the big monster truck could not prevent him trying to put his arm over my shoulders. I squirmed and growled. His arm was still there. I growled loud enough to make people turn around. His arm disappeared.

Five minutes later his hand covered mine. Let it stay, at least I know where it is. Fifteen minutes later, while I'm rooting in my purse for tissues (saddest part of the movie: big monster truck bursting into flames. Dammit, I liked that truck!), his hand starts moving.

Instead of tissues, I found the fork. His hand found my inner thigh and squeezed.


I let him have it with all three tines. Hard.



When I got home I could hear my room mate waging world whore three with her ape-like beau in her room. I went to bed alone.

My room mate the sex gargoyle

It's too hard to sleep around here with that woman in the other room. She's nice, a loving warm person, and great to be around (and I really admire her tits). Problem is that I'm not the only one who thinks so. Every red-blooded American male for miles around just lights up when they see her.

She's got something red blooded in her room right now, and it sounds like they're trying to drill through the floor, both of them. My room mate, and today's prime cut of beef.

Abba was so pleased when I told him I was moving in with another woman - he's been worried about me ever since I went to college - so the idea of his little muffin ever living with a man gave him hives. He was relieved when I told him about "miss Thang".
He thinks that two girls living together can't get into any trouble, seeing as we're too busy having tea and moddifying our pretty dresses.

Hah!

If he knew that the "Thang" was romping around with big muscle-bound meatballs in the room next door, and that I'm living with the sex goddess from hell, his skin wouldn't just erupt, but burst into steaming flames.
She could be a really bad influence on daddy's little cowgirl (yes, that's me - dad has 'issues'). He'd have conniptions.
That woman is just too ....... alive. Yes, that's what it is, """alive""".

Shit, I think the chair in her room just broke.
That's the fifth crash I've heard.

With all my heart, I want them to enjoy each other, and the energetic exploration of nooks and crannies that I can hear every detail of. I want them to have fun, especially because I like her, even though I am horribly envious of her chest.
I want both of them to come.
I just wish it were soon and in our days.
This is interminable.

BACKGROUND: OCTOBER 2008

Got back to SF halfway through the month. My room mate introduces me to the woman who will take over her half of the rent for the next year. The first thing I notice is the bra-size. I guess this one won't be borrowing any of my stuff.

In quick succession, middle aged woman moves out (going to Brasil for the next twelve months), new room mate moves in, new room mate's boy toy drops buy to "bless the bed".

I spent that evening in my room trying to drown out the sounds of savage rutting with a bottle of Jaegermeister.

The next morning, mister Fantastic is blazing around the kitchen in her! flimsy bathrobe preparing breakfast. If my stomach didn't feel like crap, I would've joined them for tofu-egg scramble and hashbrowns instead of just grabbing the coffee and heading back to my room. I fell asleep while they energetically "re-engaged".

If he wasn't such an evident male-slut, I might grab him. He's a good cook and he looks presentable. And I think he's circumcised.

BACKGROUND: SEPTEMBER 2008

High holy days, trip back east. Abba is getting stranger. Instead of looking for the trophy wife he's entitled to after mom left, he's going all religious. Or scholarly. I guess that's what you call it when you trip over a stack of seforim on the hallway floor when you're getting a glass of milk at three in the morning.

Those were his 'get-rid-ofs'. I told him that no one wants used artscroll, just donate them to the shul or the library. He thinks that if he sells them, someone who was looking all of their lives for some of those books will find them and be delighted.

Yeah. Right.


Went out with Jack's brother's room mate in the first week, before flying back. He's fun, and those eyes oh man! But if he thinks he's really straight, he's fooled himself. Still, I could get used to being a fag hag and squiring around a fay gallant. It keeps the local football fans from getting too close.

BACKGROUND: AUGUST 2008

So I finally moved. Jack's penchant for riffling through my box of lacy stuff got to me, it's just too creepy. I kept finding the nicest bras missing, and I suspect that he also "borrowed" some of my skirts. New room mate is a middle-aged woman who sleeps all the time. Normal, I think.

Reminder to self: don't live with perverts. Just date 'em.

Saw my first San Francisco woodie this month. It was like this: I was cutting across the park when a man jumped out holding his coat open. I thought that only happened in movies. When he got a good look at me, he said "oh I'm sorry, I thought you were a boy".

Reminder to self: wear skirts more, and carry the big handbag, so I can clobber people.


Applied for a real job, won't know till October.
Went out with two guys. The first one told me he's having foreskin restoration done next year. I so did not need to know that. The second one kept talking about his brother's ex. But it sounded like it was really his own.

Reminder to self: avoid guys with issues. I have more than enough for my own life, and if I need any extra I can just borrow them from family.

BACKGROUND: JULY 2008

I caught my room mate 'borrowing' my best bra! Nearly ripped it too! The only way I'm going to get to keep ones that fit are if I buy him something frilly. Or dry them on a hanger outside my bedroom window. The neighbors would like that.


Four dates in four weeks, four different men. Each and every one of them a stellar loser, each in his own unique way.

Number one: Saturnine proboscis, trim hips, lawyer. And a complete dick.

Number two: Blond hair (fake), rolex watch (fake), smooth tongue (false), and a clingy mom (very very real).

Number three: Adult men should not sound adenoidal. By the end of dinner you want to cream him with the dessert tray.

Number four: Eight arms, clumsy feet, and a smirk. Can't handle his whiskey. Jerk.


But hey, they were all Jewish. I must be narrowing the field here. And by throwing them back into the pool, maybe they'll distract the other girls.

Jack says he can find me a nice sensitive man who is artistic and kind, after all, he knows all of them. I might get desperate enough.