Sunday, July 31, 2005

Can't I Bitch

Sunday - the first day of the working week in Israel. Feh. They should just do away with Sundays and Mondays and just have us working 10 hour days Tuesday Wednesday and Thursdays. That's enough for me.

One nice thing about work today was that the Spring Water guys came in today. They carried those giant bottles of water like I carry cups of water. Not a problem lifting those weights. My God. Why couldn't I have dreamed about those guys. No. Instead I dream about bugs. Locusts. What is going on? At least I'm better off than the girls at work who dream about our bosses.

The bank's online site was messed up. I called up and explained my problem in Hebrew. It took about 1/2 hour for him to get me a new password, after asking me a zillion personal questions about me - what is your birthday, what are your parents' names - to make sure it was really me. He stopped short of asking my bra size. I got so frustrated I began swearing in English which made him laugh. Everyone understands what the word "fuck" means. I guess you can be anywhere in the world and make people laugh with this magic word.

My Ex-Criminal daughter is out of her reformatory today for a 2-day respite. She was ordered not to sleep anywhere but home, but then she decided she'd rather be by her boyfriend tonight. He came over for the first time in 1 1/2 years to be with her at OUR house for a change. We tried to convince her not to go over to his house tonight, and then she looked at us angry and complained.

"You're freaking him out with your yelling. That's why he's leaving. He's feeling very uncomfortable."

First of all, we weren't yelling. We were just talking loudly. And what kind of Moroccan is he? Uncomfortable when we talk loudly? They don't yell? Since when? Now there's a culture of yelling and screaming and eating - even more than ex-pat Yanks and Canucks. Gimme a break.

2 comments:

Sparkling said...

Your bank knows your Bra size? They really do take security serious!

Unknown said...

They would probably like to know my bra size. They pretty much know every "bleepin'" thing else.