I wish I had a hit man doing my bidding

Because if I did, I knew who (or what, rather) I'd have him take out.

You see, I just got bit by a dog about 20 minutes ago. I was walking this evening, in my rather nice neighborhood, to a co-workers to pick up a charger for the cell phone the embassy is giving me for emergencies. I am going to the Galilee by bus tomorrow alone and I'm 90% sure I'm going to get horribly lost. So I wanted to be sure the cell phone worked. So I'm in the neighborhood, walking on a sidewalk when an insane dog jumps out of nowhere and bites into my rather formidible calve. I ran away yelping like a freak as the dog bit at my heels. The jerk ripped my pants (my favorite short pants) and left me with a puncture wound.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't. When I got back home, I called my co-worker who then warns me of rabies. Great. Rabies. 

me=loser

I feel really pathetic. The reason being that I have no real clue what I'm doing with my life and it seems to be dramatically rubbed in my face just about everyday.

Everyday, I meet new people who work at the embassy. Luckily, I've become really good at pretending a) to act important and b) that I know what I'm doing and that I'm aware of what's going on around me.  However, inevitably, if I speak to the person long enough, the questions start to go like, "So how long is your tour? Two or 3 years?" And inevitably it comes out. Intern. Such a dirty word. Thanks Monica.

Then the questions start in on my unplanned-out life,"So you've just finished school. What now?" 

Good question.  

I start in about planning on starting law school Fall 2009, taking a year off in the meantime to work in D.C. while eventually planning to be an FSO (Foreign Service Officer) with the State Dept. Then come the questions to which my answers brand me a complete screw-up and leave them wondering how I got the internship in the first place. 

Well, no, actually. I don't know where I will be working in D.C. Well, no, I don't know where I'll go to law school. Nope, haven't taken the LSAT yet. I, uh, just recently decided to go to law school. How did I decide? I guess I just sorta decided one day, I dunno. By this time, I sound as if it was lucky that I had even finished my undergrad.

And, of course, if the questions keep coming, I usually have to give up the fact that I live with a senior officer at the embassy who has been friends with my father since he was 19. Understanding lights up their faces. Right. Nepotism. That's why you are here. 

At this point I want to shake them and assure them that I am smart and capable and that taking advantage of nepotism is a prime example of said intelligence. And furthermore, in 9th grade I got a perfect score on a geography exam where we had to label every country IN THE WHOLE WORLD which led me to winning a dollar in a bet last year when a guy bet I didn't know where Estonia was. And I am really good at pinball. Take that.

Update

I'm sure you've been unable to sleep, eat etc. until you've heard the update on the happenings in my life, so here goes:

1) I'm neither sick nor hating my lonely miserable life. Other than a slight cough and allergies that are causing my eyes to fuse shut while I sleep and be red and irritable during the day--I'm just fine. 

2) I was caught drinking tap water and have been banned from the practice. Experiment over. Apparently, the embassy has issued a strong warning against drinking the water because there are high levels of chemicals in it. Maybe that's why my eyes have been fusing shut...

  
3) So this is the beautiful Lido. Physical proof of how amazingly good-looking Israeli men in uniform really are. And this picture is nothing compared to the real thing.  I've really turned a new leaf when it comes to Israeli men and my approach to being social. I smile sweetly and wave every time I pass the Israeli guards outside the embassy. I have a pass a good three or four to get in and I've started picking out my favorites. Pin-pointing my prey, if you will. I even flirted with the guy driving the shuttle on my way home from work. These guys love American girls.

Dying of thirst

I'm trying a new little experiment, so if I die, you know why.

When I arrived here in Israel, my hosts told me that I could definitely NOT drink the tap water. This, I've been told many times before. In France, in NYC, and a handful of other places inhabited by snobs who don't like a residue in their mouth after taking a sip of their city's finest. The problem is I drink my weight in water and it's a serious drain on resources to be drinking only bottled. Plus, I grew up drinking Arizona tap water. So I usually listen to these suggestions, thank them, then proceed to chug the local tap. 

In France, my companions assured me that drinking the tap was like begging for intestinal problems bringing pain worse that kidney stones. I drank away. In NY, Sheryl watched me with a look of absolute disgust as I drank the "flavorful" water of her current home. 

When I say I drink a lot of water, I mean I can really put it away. In high school I entertained friends by drinking a whole gallon of water in under a minute. I always carried a massive water bottle that I was constantly filling and emptying in order to fill my insatiable thirst. Once as a chemistry TA in high school (I know, hard to believe) I showcased my skills to the chemistry teaching staff. One former-frat boy in the bunch exclaimed "Add some alcohol to that and, girl, you could make some serious money!" That got my wheels turning. Alcohol, never, but putting my skills to work in my favor.

One time, I was at a friends house and we were playing UNO. I had just finished my Taco Bell and decided we should make the game more interesting in way that I could use my skills t my advantage. We decided that the biggest loser in each round had to drink a quarter of a gallon of water.  I was confident the others would fold long before I. However, I forgotto take into account that while I was pro at drinking water, I suck at about every game known to man. I've learned to hate them and stay away, but I was in high school and didn't know how bad I was. That being said, I ended up the loser 4 times out of the first 5 rounds. This time, things didn't sit well. I blame Taco Bell. Five minutes later I was in the bathroom barfing up my soft taco and burrito supreme. I felt horribly so I just threw in the towel and went home completely dejected and queasy. Upon entering the house, my parents acted with concern, seeing that I didn't look so great. I told them what happened, the whole story--Taco Bell, Uno, lots of water, and the violent up-chucking--and they just sort of stared at me, shocked into silence, perhaps. I had just ralphed my intestines and they just stared.  My mom started in with a skeptical look.

"Let me get this straight. You ate a bunch of Taco Bell, then, for kicks, drank a gallon of water? Are you an idiot?" My father just looked at me with a pain in his eyes as he realized that his smart, outgoing daughter was, in fact, a complete moron. If sympathy was what I had expected, I was sorely disappointed.

Anyways, I've always drank a lot of water, and with that one exception, I could really hold my H2O. 

Which brings me to Israel. My hosts were adamant that the water was undrinkable. Probably just a bad taste, I  thought. But then I go on-line and find articles about serious issues with dangerously high ammonia levels in Tel-Aviv's tap water. The government issued a statement strongly urging citizens to not even cook with the tap water. The water was declared "unfit for human consumption."

So I've been drinking bottled, needless to say, that is, until I read some other things online that insinuated that the problem was temporary and that it was to be remedied within 6 months of the local water scare. That was a year ago, so I'm fine right? 

I just drank 32 oz of the tap, so if it's unfit, I guess we'll know soon, eh? 

If only my father knew. It'd be just like high school again with me walking in after the UNO experience to his pained eyes, looking on at his defective offspring and wondering where he went wrong. 

Someone, anyone, give that girl a drink

I'm sick and it's making me testy. I even swore today. 

I woke up for the fifth day in a row feeling like my throat was covered in ant bites. But I got up, took a really hot shower and got ready for work. At the embassy, despite being cranky and feeling like I was hit by a dump truck, I resumed recruiting top Israeli financial institutions to attend this event at the ambassador's residence about boring things like "asset recovery." So basically, I was on the phone all day trying to 1) act like I know what I'm talking about and 2) feign enthusiasm for this seminar and 3) not tell everyone to "go to hell." 

I think the hardest part about being ill in my situation (very far from family and friends), is that no one really cares that I'm sick. I mean, sure you have the necessary cordialities by co-workers and such, but I'm no sucker. People are just being polite. I guess I just feel like people have to actually know me to care about me. Like when a person emotionally tells a large group of people "I may not know each of you personally...but I love each of you," I roll my eyes a bit and sort of feel sorry for the person (this usually happens in sacrament meeting when teary-eyed people take the stand). 

Now I understand that these people are trying to be sincere, but I really don't buy it for one second. Call me a pessimist or other cruel names, but I really don't. They may think that they love everyone, but I think that love is more than a passing emotion. They just happen to be experiencing strong emotions, yea, even love, but just because you feel a lot of love does not mean you love EVERYONE.  You may wonder if I have a point to my rambling, and I do. Sort of.

The way I see it is that in order to love someone, you must know that person for both the good and the bad. For me to believe that someone loves me, they have to know I can be a royal jerk sometimes and that I can be caddy and selfish. I can be a downright brat, and it's disgusting to see. They have to know that sometimes I have an unfortunately colorful vocabulary (despite my best efforts) and that I am one of the least thoughtful people I know of. They have to know these things and still love me. Sure, I'm not completely hopeless and have a positive attribute or two (I'm not looking for validation or a self-esteem boost), but if one doesn't know what a complete moron I am, they can't love me. At least I wont believe it.

So that being said, I miss being around people who love me. I miss my family that loves me because they have to. I miss people like Kwaw, who when I was suddenly overcome with the most insanely painful menstrual cramps in history (that made walking nearly impossible and left me bed-ridden for the rest of the day), drove his car right up to the door of the JFSB (yes, on the sidewalk) to take me home. Or like Kelly, who the minute she finds out I have had a semi-upsetting experience will drop everything she's doing, look me in the eyes while grabbing my hands and say slowly in her social worker voice "Erin, let's talk about this." Good crap, there are just so many stellar people in my life who mean so much to me. Chances are, if you are reading this, I probably miss you. 

In fact, I'd bet on it. 

The beauty I see

These are just a few photos that I've taken since I've been here in various places.

The top photo (and the third, as well) is of the aquaducts near Cesarea and the photo below was taken at the Western Wall. Sunday is the day that the Israeli soldiers get to tour around a bit, apparently. My feelings about the Israeli military aside, it was very touching to see these women praying at the Wall.

This is a shot I got of Tel-Aviv proper from Yafo, the old port city. The embassy is in there somewhere. It's right on the beach.

This is a door in Yafo. It was the happiest door I have ever seen.

I bet they know how to party in Dublin

Last night we went to a St. Patrick's day party at the Irish ambassador's residence. I was decked in my very green dress and was ready to party. I was fully prepared to find a large group of drunk Irish, full off corned beef and cabbage, arm in arm singing "Danny Boy." I was ready to jump right in there, next to the the Jonathan Rhys Meyers look-alike, and sing my guts out while raising my mug of lightly carbonated water.

I was sorely disappointed, however. I arrived to find nothing more than a cocktail party set to Irish music. No merry drunk people. No corned beef and cabbage and no Jonathan Rhys Meyers. And, I was one of the only people wearing something other than black, not to mention a loud emerald-colored dress. Let's just say I stood out just a tad. 

Pimpin' it ain't easy

The word for pimp in Hebrew, just in case you were wondering is "sarsoor," or at least that's my best transliterated version of it. It looks like this:  סרסור 

Speechless

Living in a foreign country, even with a decent grasp of the language is difficult because of an inability to fully communicate. I wouldn't go so far as to say I have a decent grasp of Hebrew, but I can order my falafel and comment on the weather. But even if I knew more, I still would be so limited. No funny comments. No snappy comebacks. No clever retorts. No sounding semi-intelligent. Instead one is forced to sound like some idiot. I want falafel. There hot sun today. Big wind. I like go beach today, but I work hard.  

The inability to completely express myself in the moment in a bit frustrating. I find myself searching for words and wishing I'd paid more attention in Hebrew class and less time being annoyed with the Ukrainian male chauvinist pig who always seemed to ruin my day. I felt that frustration at times while a missionary in Switzerland. 

One time in particular I was on a tram riding through Geneva looking as dorky as ever. My hair looked like crap, I'm sure (apparently my hair looked bad for most of the mission, according to one Elder), and I'm pretty sure my clothes were both geeky and not matching. 

As we neared my stop, I stood to prepare to exit. A woman stood to my right, also preparing to exit. Allow me to explain that some of the people of Europe tended to think we were some creepy cult members, brainwashed by our leaders and out for fresh blood. Let's just say that this woman clearly fell into that category of people. This Brittany Spears wannabe was decked in super slutty clothes and sported a busted lip with a rather unpleasant grimace to go with it. The skank took one look at me and made a face of complete disgust as though I was picking my nose with abandon and wiping it all over the support poles.  She acted visibly annoyed to the fact that I was alive and sharing the same air as she and impatiently scooted closer to the door. Not being one who enjoys public humiliation by people who really have no room to ridicule, I wanted to really zing this woman. I wanted so badly to say with the sweetest smile I could muster, "What happened to your lip, sweetheart? Did your pimp smack you for stealing his drug money?" Admittedly, not a very missionary-like thing to say, but that's the first thing that snapped into my brain.

However, I defeatedly realized that I didn't know the word for pimp in French. Not like I would have said it if I did, but I couldn't have, even if I had wanted to. I wasn't capable of completely expressing myself in the moment. I was caught powerless, the victim of my own ignorance.

The doors opened and we both got off, going our separate ways. 

The next chance I got I looked up the word for "pimp." Never again would I be caught in my ignorance. You know, I should look that one up in Hebrew. You know, don't want to be caught off guard.

It's not what you know, it's who you pretend to be

This I am learning to be quite true. It's all about owning it and people will take you seriously. If you act important and like you know what you are talking about, people will just believe you.

I've felt horribly inadequate the last week and a half. I felt like a 4th grader trying to fit in at the freshman dorms. I don't know the lingo, I feel so young, inexperienced and ignorant. I thought I knew bit of something, but apparently, I was horribly mistaken. I've been thrown into a world of incredibly accomplished, successful, and prominent people who seem to know everything. And then here I am, I just graduated from the couch to a real bed, I don't own a set of silverware or dishes, and I have no clue what people are saying half the time. I've felt out of place in my new settings.

But that all changed today. 

First off, it's been an intense day. I know I'm a pretty intense person, for the most part, but it was just a different ball game today. Little League to the Majors. I was on the phone with several of the CEOs of the top banks here in Israel recruiting for seminar at the ambassadors residence. I've learned how to call the main number of the bank and work my way up to talking to the CEO. Scary, but validating. And it's all about BSing and sounding important. Yes, I am with the US embassy and I am extending a special invitation to the US Ambassador's residence just for you Mr. Tennenbaum. Aren't you lucky. All true, really. He doesn't have to know I'm a lowly intern using the phone by a vacant desk. If I act important, I am important. Seriously, it's amazing. Say things like "Hi, this is Erin Thornhill from the US embassy and I need to speak with Mr. Feldman, the CEO" and people are pretty accomodating. And if they aren't, they clearly didn't understand me correctly. U-S E-M-B-A-S-S-Y. Sometimes their English isn't so great, but I forgive them.    

So tonight was the olympic event showcasing my ability to act like I know what I'm doing when I really have no idea. I attended my first reception at the US ambassador's residence. Delta added a new flight and it's been quite a publicity affair. The house was incredible. Did I say house? Mansion would better describe that place. John had wrangled me an invitation as part of my "education," so I got to accompany him (he's such an amazing man and he's really taken me under his wing--I really owe him big). But since he is a senior officer, he assured me that he would basically be ditching me but that Karen (his personal assistant) would tell me what to do. Well, Karen was ill and it was just Nitzan, the driver, and I. I'm getting strange vibes from him and I either needed to tell him that I just don't date white guys or get very busy mingling with other people. So I did, and it was liberating. I was talking to the heads of companies, the big wigs at the embassy, the ambassador himself...I liked to leave out the intern part and just leave it at "Erin Thornhill from the US embassy, commercial services." I acted like I knew what I was doing and people believed me. People will believe anything. 

So I basically feel like a young debutant who just came home from my first ball, all dreamy-eyed and optimistic. Except instead of dreaming about the handsome young men right now, I'm dreaming about how I can one day belong at such an event and know loads of people. I've had a piece of this life and I really like the taste of it. I feel much more confident in this world than I did before. I even think I got sorta picked up on by this good-looking executive. He was older, but a very Robert Redford kind of older. Say what you will--you may think that's gross--but that's fine by me. I have had crushes on professors at least as old as he was.

The Dome

Well, today was a pretty exciting day. I got to go on a very exclusive VIP tour of the Al-Aqsa mosque and the Dome of the Rock. Yes, I went INTO the Dome of the Rock. I've got some pictures. If I was a bit smarter, I would have made a little video, but that thought completely eluded me. Next time I'm in a world-famous landmark on a VIP tour I will try and remember. I took a whole lot of photos(none of which really captured how incredible it was) but I've only put up a few because it's taking seriously ages to download them to blogger. Lame. In any case, it was pretty cool. Oh, and I met my future husband.

This picture is pretty random. We started the tour in the Al-Aqsa mosque and it was being cleaned at the time. This guy is running a huge vacuum over the ground. To get in, we took our shoes off and I had to wear a veil (which I brought--just a pashmina I bought in SoHo with Sheryl) and I wore a skirt, but apparently mid calf was too revealing so I had to wear this really REALLY frumpy skirt they gave me. I look like a freak in all the full body shots, so you'll have to be contented with the one shot of me at the end. Trust me. It wasn't cute. They don't want women to be attractive to the men in the mosque and they succeeded with flying colors in my case.

So I really liked this image because this guy was cleaning his sacred building. To be honest, I couldn't understand a word the Palestinian guide said so I just wandered mentally and explored what caught my eye. So I can't really tell you much about the history of these places other than what I looked up online after we got back.
Okay, scratch that. I understood a bit. Or I think I understood. This stained glass was from the time of the crusades, apparently. The mosque must have been turned to a church and this glass must date from that. Details were sketchy. The picture doesn't do it justice. It was a really gorgeous, colorful piece of work.
This is a cool picture: that chip you see in the pillar was from the 1951 assassination of King Abdullah I of Jordan (who was one of the very few Arab leaders friendly with the West) while visiting the Al-Aqsa mosque.

This is just outside the Dome. I'm sure you missed that, but I figured I point it out to you. Just call me Captain Obvious.

This was just a really cool light fixture in the Dome. I was really taken by small details. Once again, couldn't understand a word of that guy's "english." Oh, by the way, the carpet was the most dreamy thing to have touched the soles of my feet. So soft and luxurious. Whoever was in charge of installing that was a genius. I was also very grateful to have had just gotten a pedicure so my feet looked very nice. It would have been mortifying to have looked frumpy as all heck AND to have had mingin' feet. Gross.
This was in this downstairs compartment of the Dome called "The Well of Souls" where apparently the souls of the dead mingle. That I got off a website. At the time, I was quite mesmerized my the man who was doing his prayers. The rock was just above our heads. There really was just a massive rock that they built a dome over. The name says it all, eh?

This is me looking like I belong in the Easter Pageant.

Jerusalem

This is a picture I took of Jerusalem from the BYU Jerusalem Center. It had a pretty smokin' view of the ville. 

The top picture is (from right to left) Assad, me, and Assad's pal who runs the BYU-J Center. So cool. Then the bottom picture is Nitzan, the karate champion driver. He was trying to look cool.

 
As I before mentioned, John woke me up and told me that I could accompany him to Jerusalem today. I was pretty excited. I really didn't want to just sit on the beach all day. I wanted to get started!

Okay, so Jerusalem was amazing. I love knowing that I am living here for a while. I can enjoy things and realize that this was just the first of several trips to that great city. I also LOVE wearing business clothes. I didn't stay with him once we got there. He had to go to to Ramallah for some meetings (accompanied by two armoured cars full of guys with guns). Nitzan, the driver, took me to the Jerusalem office where Assad, a really cool Palestinian guy with an MBA, taught me some things and I edited his reports. Then, I wrote my first report to send to Washington. It was a validating experience. Assad is quite articulate and really knows his Strunk and White, so I was pretty impressed. We got into some intense English grammar and punctuation discussions. I adore Strunk and White. Genius. Anyways, Assad speaks French pretty well so we conversed a fair bit in French. Really great guy. I hope to spend more time in the Jerusalem office.

Once I finished the tasks that John had given me, we took off to explore Jerusalem. Quite frankly, I felt rather important being escorted around in an armored car by an Israeli karate expert (Nitzan, who is incidentally [and randomly] a member of the French foreign legion and can seriously drive like Jason Bourne) and a genius Palestinian businessman (Assad).

We took the suped-up Land Cruiser through the Old City then we went and got the greatest falafels, ever (I love not buying my own lunch) and then headed for the BYU Jerusalem Center. Assad's school chum manages the joint so we got in and had a special tour. 

All-in-all, today rocked hardcore. Tomorrow, I will begin at the embassy here in Tel Aviv. Because Friday is not a normal Israeli work day, apparently, not much goes on  in the office, so my weekend will begin after a pretty short workday. 

Life is fantastic, my friends.

This Just in

So John just woke me up and told me that I get to start work today...in Jerusalem! Hey, maybe I'll meet Condi. I think she is actually a pretty rockin' lady. I mean, politics aside and the moron she works for, the woman has it going on. Okay, so what to wear on my first day? I am so incredibly thrilled to be going to Jerusalem. Once again, words: inadequate. 

Shalom!

So after a ten hour flight from Phoenix to London, a 20 hour layover in London, and a 5 hour flight London to Tel-Aviv, I am finally here. And frankly, it is perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

The journey was a bit crazy, however. The highlight was definitely chilling with my old mission companion Christina O'Dea in London. The low-point was a toss up between sleeping (or trying, rather) in the most uncomfortable position possible in Heathrow airport (while freezing to death) and sitting on the Tel-Aviv London flight next to quite possibly the smelliest person on the planet while getting my chair kicked by the little brat behind me.                            

I had a few hours to kill before we met up so I wandered around London. I had previously figured on shopping, and bee-lined for the H&M at Oxford Circus the minute I stepped off the plane. However, after spending the last week shopping like it was my job, I walked out just as I walked in to the store. Shopping was the last thing I felt like doing. So I aimlessly puttered about before deciding to head to St. Paul's. I was seriously surprised how well I got around. It was my third time to London and I guess my memory and sense of direction isn't as bad as I thought. I stopped by Westminster Abbey and Big Ben (behind my head in the photo I took of myself) and passed the London Eye (to the left in the photo). 

St. Paul's was great. They had a dress rehearsal going on for some BBC choral/orchestral thing and it was absolutely glorious. Honestly, music in a cathedral, especially one like St. Paul's, is just beyond words (well, "ethereal" might capture it a bit). So naturally I fell asleep, hunched over in an uncomfortable wooden chair until it was time to head to Leichester Square. Come to think of it, all my sleeping done during the two day period that I spent traveling was done hunched in a chair...

Chris and I met up and went to Mr. Wu's all-you-can-eat chinese food for 5 quid. It probably wasn't the greatest, but I was starved, it was cheap and the company was excellent, so I quite enjoyed myself. Plus, Chris paid. Nothing tastes better than free food. We then went and saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. It was a really great show. I only fell asleep two or three times...hunched in the chair.

Me & Chris at Mr. Wu's: funny story with this picture. The British are so reserved. I know that. I just forget it from time to time. So I ask this guy at a neighboring table to take our picture and he asks where I am from. Arizona, I say, and he then asks if there are snakes. So I, of course, proceed to tell an action-packed story of this time I was trail running in the desert and came one foot from a freaked out rattle snake. I screamed and my life flashed before my eyes. I think I may have started reciting the Lord's prayer or Pslams 23. Can't be sure. Then, I start to give them rattle snake victims statistics.  Suddenly, I come to and realize the entire restaurant is basically staring at me. I think I freaked the guy out. Scratch that--I'm SURE I freaked him out. Chris was just laughing. David Sedaris was right, we Americans are "the trumpeting elephants of the human race." 

In any case, after that, we said goodbye and I headed back to the airport. I was going to crash at her place, but there wouldn't have been trains to get me to the airport as early as I would have needed to be there the next morning so I had to try my luck fighting for the best benches at Heathrow. I happened to really stink at that battle (I wouldn't make a good homeless person in a park) and ended up on the most uncomfortable bench ever. It had the little arm rest railing things so I couldn't spread out. I leaned over it and tried to squeeze my feet through the rail on the opposite side. It was not cute, let's just leave it at that. I would look up every 15 minutes to see if anyone had vacated one of the nice, rail-less benches. But I had no such luck and basically didn't sleep hardly at all. That says a lot for me because I can pretty much sleep anywhere.

We wont talk about the flight because it was awful. I'd like to put that memory behind me. I have an insanely sensitive nose and  bad smells are my cryptonite. This guy was downright putrid. I almost asked to be moved. In addition to "Smelly", they told me just before I boarded that my luggage was nowhere to found. Cross you fingers, the bloke said. Yeah, I'll do that buddy. Being the fatalist that I am I assumed my luggage was lost forever. In my minds eye I saw some airport workers in ill-fitting clothes picking through all my new banana republic business duds and eating all my gummy bears. Oh, how I hated them. I just prayed that my luggage would somehow miraculously show up in Tel-Aviv.

So flight happens, I sleep as much as possible to escape the stench of my fellow passenger. When I get off, before I hit passport control, I see a little guy with a sign that says "Erin Thornhill." Yeah, it was sweet. They got an embassy worker past all the security to pick me up and get me through all the passport and customs stuff quickly. The customs lady was a real wench and told me that I needed to have gotten a visa. I had already worked things out with the Israeli consulate in LA and they said I was fine. She was just ticked because I didn't want them to stamp my passport with her country's stamp. An Israeli stamp in your passport can really put a wrench in Middle Eastern travel being as how all their neighbors hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. And, naturally, I want to travel and explore. She interoggated me about where I was staying and why I was there and the second I said US Embassy and my little friend started talking to her, she shut up real quick and gave me the go-ahead. Nitzan, my friend, said that "US embassy" are the magic words around here. As luck would have it, my bags escaped the evil airport workers and made it on the plane at the last minute so I found them no problem. In fact, because they were the last on, they were the first off. 

After that I met Nydia and Sabriel Harris, the people I live with. John, Nydia's husband and Sabriel's Grandpa (and consequently my padre's old mission president) was in Jerusalem with Condi Rice and couldn't make it. 

Frankly, it has rocked from the moment I got off the plane. The Harris's live in a really really nice home and I have my own room and bathroom (BIG change from the couch...) and there is a maid who refills a pitcher of water for me everyday in my room. Yes, I have a maid. Life is pretty much a dream. I'll probably lose a limb any day now. It can't stay this good forever.

Because of Condi's visit, everyone is in Jerusalem so I wont start my internship till Friday. John invited me to Jerusalem for Thursday but Nydia is a bit mother hennish and flipped royally because they just got bombed. So I was then uninvited. I figure that because they just got bombed, it'd be a while before it happened again. Think of the odds, I say. It's safe now than ever...But anyway, we are going on Sunday to Jerusalem and one of John's Palestinian friends is hooking us up big time and taking us to the dome of the rock. I have to wear a veil and everything. I'll definitely take pictures. Being considered "family" by a senior diplomat is going to really have its benefits. Who am I kidding, it already has. Apparently we are partying at the Irish embassy for St. Patrick's Day. Looking forward to that...

The Harrises are AWESOME. Eighteen-year-old Sabriel and I are already like sisters. We had a pretty instant bond. It'll be fun to hang out and go to the Mediteranean with her. Speaking of the beach, I ran there this morning. So gorgeous. Man, life can only get worse from here on out, eh? 

Basically, all is well and I feel very much at home here. I'm understanding quite a bit of the Hebrew and I think it's going to come fast now that I'm immersed. I just really need some Israeli friends. Preferably, obscenely attractive male Israeli friends who own vespas. It'd be like the movies. I've seen it a million times. Right after the American girl gets to the foreign country, out pops a fine male product of that country to sweep the American girl off her feet and onto his Vespa. Maybe he'd fall into her while being punched in a bar fight and flying out into the streets where she'd be shopping, or he'd nearly hit her while she in wanders into the middle of the road, confused. I can totally see it. I'll just cross my fingers. Hey, it worked on my luggage...