Aleph Institute, a branch of Chabad is kind to outreach to Jews in confinement. This is important work, can you imagine? Jews, living in confinement. Jews in the military, state hospitals, prisons and a host of other hidden places that can be tough to locate even if in words.
They offer one service in particular that speaks to me, connecting free world Yids with Jews in prison, nu? I requested a pen pal. Gevalt already, I am now in touch with a Jewish guy who is in a privatized unit in
It helps to note that I am not new to prison either and so requesting a pen pal makes sense to me. I left "corrections" after four years. I was employed as a counselor. I was approached twice to interview for a security position, ah no! They said I had the sense of humor and the no monkey business mind set. One time, they gave me an application. I am not capable of what it takes, to control others; what were they thinking? As it was, I was an oxymoron, a counselor in corrections. Like two angry lovers of the same unavailable man, they don't fit well together. I came to terms with much during my short stint inside. I saw how deprivation works wonders to starve us out of our minds.
As a professional (staff member), I was starved out of my mind. "Were all in this together," I would be told time and again. We were the same as they were, the inmates. I was hungry for intellectual peer support while in the face of so much emotional strife. I was denied basic professionalism that is critical to the helping professions. Imagine what the inmate faces when confronted with this double luck, isolation and time. I know, you don't care, you insist, they are Pariahs. You aren't thinking, really. I'll make it quick: they all get out one day. When they roll up, they are gone into the abyss of this free world, perhaps, even in your neighborhood. Everyone gets out in due time, that's why so many believe that crime pays.
As I became more secure in my work, I would tell my nay saying friends, hey Missy, whoa Buddy, don't panic but one of my clients can become your kid's husband, wife, partner, yes. Love, kids, tattoos (spider webs on elbows, a tear from the eye), all this and more. We are all finding our way in this new world where more of us are in than outside. Everyone gets out, to make room for the new ones, the young ones, coming up in this modern time where dental floss and batteries in a sock become weapons.
Being a creature unlike any other, I have been proclaiming in community that I have this new pen pal. We were in the kitchen were great conversations begin. The Rabbi was the one to ask if they pair us according to our gender. He doesn't want me to meet and marry the criminal. Write to him, maybe, look him in the eyes, not a chance. I sense that the Rabbi likes me and he wants me to find my match. Not in prison though, gevalt already, nu, can you see it? My response was swift, no they don't. I guess you can request a same sex pen pal, but who the "H" would? The Rabbi and the others who can have assumptions about gender asked me from what seemed like fear. They are afraid for me, that I could fall in love with him. They can imagine that he will be released and that he will come for me and kill me even if he is not in for murder.
He would bind me to him in some fantastic and anti social way, that would compel me to transfer all of my debt into his name and steal his heart away in my confused and upset state, in my alone-ness. Would that be so bad, I joked. I mean, transfer my debt into his name, now there is an opportunity in where I could beat the odds. I want to transfer my debt into some thing.
When I insisted that I could not fall for such grace, these friends all with raised eyebrows, begged me to say more. Like a good prison movie, people crave knowing about what can't been seen otherwise. Well, I began, in the free world, our gender roles are set amass in stone. Men either adopt patriarchy or are viewed as sensitive, weak, Gay and unmotivated. Women must act tame, coy, pleasing and can be labeled harsh, manly, power hungry and Gay when they are not preoccupied with meeting the needs of others, men, yet are focused. In prison, it's opposite. Everything is in reverse of how it is outside. In the free world, we are led to believe that we are free, that the world is a place of limitless bounds. I n prison, we are tied to a structured course in time.
Inside, gender roles are opposite, not confused. Men present weak, emotional and needy. Women are experienced as strong, unaffected and want less. The images can be compared: men will piss and moan about one thing or another, a privilege revoked can cause a man to cry. A woman in the same situation will fill that new empty space with the company of her prison family. She will focus on getting stronger for it. By going into her family of sisters, she will thrive in spite of the authority that revoked her privilege by denying her the opportunity to be other. She can be seen smiling and glowing, arms around her sisters, smug. The differences in the two worlds doesn't stop with gender. Race too does time. In prison, they pity the white man. Oh, are you white? You poor man you. Race is an issue in prison, only because it is in the free world. The opposite world of race inside is more compelling though. No doubt, Blacks are on top. From there stems a mirror image of what we live in the free world only turned on its head. Prison life is much like the real world only in opposite fashion with color leading the run. Black then Brown skin inmates take command. Asians are next and the lowly White man is albeit alive on the bottom, he is the foundation on which all others stand. Like pay back time, Mr. White Man has got to watch his back, because it isn't worth much inside.
Don't get me wrong, a white guy can move up on this ladder of discontent and he does it through his opposite gender role, not his race. He has to become submissive and he must please who ever wants him and for keeps. This mixes race and gender while it keeps slavery alive in our lives. It is really something to sit with such a man and provide an ounce of care and concern for him, for his well being and growth.
When I worked with women, I wanted to be reassigned. I recall thinking, I'm only doing this for the money, the money, the money. I need the money, my mind would not stop justifying my being there. My fears were personal, I wondered if I could cross over and "be a man" if ever I had to. During those times, I did well to learn what I could to understand my own gender, my sex and if I had a place in my race; what it meant to be in the spot meant for me. Oh, don't get me wrong, I can think mean and nasty, but could I do more.
Could I protect myself from a vicious and hardened hand? Could my hair really be yanked from my head, exposing my skull, yes I agree, it could. During the conversations at shul with the Rabbi and teachers, I explained how it can happen that the same experience and treatment can have such polar opposite affects on the genders due in part to the way we thrive as individuals and as members of a group. Men in not refusing patriarchy are hell bent on material wealth and consumptions of goods and services. Women know to depend on each other, to build community and to foster close emotional bonds. We could care less for stuff if given no choice because we know that men as a commodity can come and go. Terrified of divorce as it reeks of failure not to say that a really good divorce can separate men from their identity as providers, of what; we can never be sure. As long as we continue to democratize male privilege, we can't wonder why Johnny and Mr. Smith aren't happy. In prison, there is no privilege for men unless you consider traffic and trading the opportunity, a good prison rape is now a love affair too. I want to say, geez, fellas, will ya, make nice. For once, please just make nice and I don't. Talking about invisible violence is like begging to taste one's own blood, it's not kosher.
Aren't I afraid that he will get out and come find me, no. "What's he in there for, a white collar crime, let's hope," the teachers are so kind. I appreciate their willingness to accommodate, to want to see that things are not as bad as they actually are. These educators can teach me a thing or two about faith. My idea of faith is a good outpatient surgery, a procedure. Some Jews, many religious Yids appear to believe that there is a difference between white collar and other crimes. I hear it often in my meanderings. I inside, there is no difference, except of course, child molestation and child rape. It's common knowledge, right? Oh, you didn't know that, sorry.
The bottom line came when I explained why a male pen pal was a better fit for me, how I wasn't preoccupied with fear of his release and his locating me once out if he in fact rolled up. I mentioned again, the dynamics in the opposite world and how in life, I prefer the emotional responses from women than non communicative commitment that men can maintain beyond years. If I had to choose in life, in my free world existence, to support a female friend through a tough time, tears a river and struggle with a man as he confronts the patriarchy that he dreads, I would drown in her tears. In prison, I repeated, a man is more female in his coping. A woman is most masculine in her surviving. Remember, a man will cry at the drop of a hat, a woman can pull the teeth right out of your head and enjoy them as sprinkles on her ice cream cone. You can sit there and watch her as she bites down and you may wonder about the cone, sugar or wafer. Given such subtleties, which would you prefer to get mail from, to write to and to think about, a man who is scared of life or a woman is scary? Thanks, I'll keep the pen pal that was assigned to me.
Now that I am no longer working in the system, I am reading more prison writing then ever. Prison writing is different than most in its sense of finality. There is a reporter who asked the officials at Sing Sing if he could shadow a guard for a day or so, to write an article. They said, "No." This mild mannered reporter had it in him. He applied for the position of Correctional Officer and went to work inside Sing Sing to get the information that he was hoping to find in a two day visit inside. For a year, went to work at Sing Sing as a Corrections Officer. His writing does more to document our failure as a society than it does to seek prison reform. We cannot address prison reform until we reform our free world. This is why I look to prison, it is a closed cell, a mirror of what we live in daily, save the small spaces and the Johnny Sacks. My prison pen pal helps me remember my humanity and he can recommend a good book now and again as he too is an avid reader. He reminded me of Thomas Friedman who wrote From Beirut to
In this season, my mental health is not what I wish it were. I feel trapped in a sense and as a result, it has become hard to correspond with him, my pen pal. In his third letter, he wrote out his daily schedule. At times the activity was in 15 minute segments. I would not know what to say about what I do in a 15 minute block of time. I would not know what to say about a fifteen minute block of time in my day. Yesterday, I had a panic attack married to rage and as a result, I was frozen stiff in tears. I left work, the external factor. I fled to higher ground. I went to a place one can go while preparing to be unemployed again. I knew I would have to quit the job.
At his job, he is a house keeper. He mops floors per his assignment inside. I could use a floor mopping and as I consider that, I walk past the kitchen and look at the curtains. Ah, they are so unlike the floor. They just hang there, moving slightly as the air pushes through the space. The floor needs something that I won't give it today as I think about work and my pen pal. He mops floors, day in and day out.
There are no subtleties in my view, only dramatic over tones, hues of colorless shade. What makes us do what we do? How is that I am slowly going nuts? If the crime was mine and I was down for hard and long would I write to me? I sent a note to the Rabbi asking him for help. I was feeling very alone and depressed, in shock and unable to stop the internal voices. I asked him for a referral. He referred me to a PhD he knows. She got me in the next morning, as a favor to him. I am now in touch with the State's Mental Health Department and in
My pen pal does not get visits. He said he doesn't want to be observed by security, put other people through that. I have sent him a few birthday cards, like cake, more than once piece. I wanted him to see
I wonder if he has gotten the envelopes. There can be such delays in prison mail delivery. One good lock down and the whole place goes bust. Lock downs are akin to our natural disasters, just stay home, don't leave and be quiet, wait and wait some more. Eventually, The Warden gets it out of his system and bango, we can all go back to our lives, living in fifteen minute intervals. When I toss it out there, I got a letter from my pen pal, people say, "I don't want to hear anything about it." I try again, I say, he recommended a book that you are reading, he plays chess! Friends will actually ask me to be quiet about my postal niche in letters.
In my
When you want to remove the pit inside an avocado and get to the meat, you have to use a sharp knife. It is best to steady your hand and look into the center of the seed, see into the core and slam the blade down. In this culinary dream, who among us would not wish to be both seed and the meat, the knife and the core? Getting past what needs doing is itself a chore. Time will tell which of us can make it through with out damaging the blade of our lives. For me, the pen pal and the Rabbi with the teachers are essential when I begin to feel like salad again. I can recall so much with so little and am alive. In reaching out to him, my Jewish pen pal, I have returned in part to myself and the relationship between the two is closer than you think.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
My Jewish Inmate Pen Pal
Saturday, April 08, 2006
His Other Jewish Mother
When he told me that he was glad to know that he had another Jewish mother that he could rely on, I knew I was sunk. Since fantasy is all it is cracked up to be, I imagine much. It's ok now, breathe. I am on the inside track, closer than ever to the core of knowing. It is good to take risks, emotional risks, I wonder that he agrees.
Our communicator is more fluid now that I have moved away. Don't kid yourself, distance matters in these explosive times. I was thinking, what changed? He loves e-mail, being in touch, getting notes and messages in bits and time. I see now how he feels, somewhat attached. There is no medicine for this should any be sought. I can feel his caring for us, fresh like rain, fluid like a stream rushing through my mind, spilling over.
When he mentioned the vacation to Hawaii, like a good Jewish mother, I got concerned. I begged him to be sure and wear his boxers when he dances in that grass skirt of his. He reported that no, he would not be wearing boxers. I was encouraged in my anticipating, mail of some kind from his camp, I learned. He send word, Native Law states, on the matter of wearing grass skirts, boxers are prohibited. Thongs alone are permissible. To be a decent person, do I have to beg him not to send me pictures even if....?
Our communicator is more fluid now that I have moved away. Don't kid yourself, distance matters in these explosive times. I was thinking, what changed? He loves e-mail, being in touch, getting notes and messages in bits and time. I see now how he feels, somewhat attached. There is no medicine for this should any be sought. I can feel his caring for us, fresh like rain, fluid like a stream rushing through my mind, spilling over.
When he mentioned the vacation to Hawaii, like a good Jewish mother, I got concerned. I begged him to be sure and wear his boxers when he dances in that grass skirt of his. He reported that no, he would not be wearing boxers. I was encouraged in my anticipating, mail of some kind from his camp, I learned. He send word, Native Law states, on the matter of wearing grass skirts, boxers are prohibited. Thongs alone are permissible. To be a decent person, do I have to beg him not to send me pictures even if....?
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Seasons in My Rain Storms
Like a big fat baby, I expect to get what I want when I want it and still, enjoy myself. I'm no different than anybody else who lives like this, except I will say so. I will admit that being a brat feels good when the appeal works and those who surrender to me do so as if I am the novel idea they always dreamed of and on second thought they come to desire my fortitude with a grace all their own. I endure much to improve upon myself in the name of unmet need. I long for interconnectedness like others long for isolation, a sunfish sail boat for one, a fog banked lake and one good breeze to push them off and into the abyss of their own best selves. I want to press my hand firmly into the crest of their lower back, I never do though.
The individual emerges from my life and without knowing anything about them, I decide to care for them regardless of what I lack in trusting them. I imagine that I am their friend because in fact, I am. Until it is mutual, it is hard to get my mind around. My heart forges on and the bond is made strong in time when something new grows between us. The authentic article, the friendship, deep and true feels so good to know. They can't imagine how I would lay down my life for them and until I do they can just wish what it means to have me in their camp. My loyalty is steadfast. Like a good orphan, I make people feel kindly welcome. As it turns around, I become to them the friend that I knew they would be to me when the time was right. Today is such a time and I am happy in a new old feeling.
It has happened three times like this in the course of my life and I have been and feel so lucky to find my place in his life. Like a blessing, I have so much to be thankful for when I think and feel how it is. He let me know that he wants me to care for him in any way I can. I see that it is also futile to do so, to strike a balance. I am happiest when the relationship takes a long time to emerge even years become a comfort to me. Even though I am a brat about it, I don't ever want to be spoiled. I know I have to work for what I have in this life and my friendships are no different than let's say, my hooey, my false pretense of worth in stuff, things acquired then lost or used up.
It seems he adores my affections, he is so desirable. I love so much about him, his tread lightly mode, his simple complexities, fascinate me to no end. I am not distracted by other longings who's complete satisfactions I understand will never come my way. In sum, there have been 3 of these relationships and in each one the other person has never said a word about it. I assume that they are happy with me in their lives as I am. Fresh like rain, I am stead fast and they let me know how they enjoy my persistence. He has recently asked me to do what I can to accept him as he is and is not available. I wish and can at times insist he be other, I am not without my power struggles. He tries not to step out of his role as a professional. I cannot peel away layers more than he sheds. Nakedness would destroy this ambiguity and we would all suffer. Best to imagine other eyes looking into my heart, his reflect back and I can see myself in the thought. We are both allot to manage, in common, we are opposites.
I have waited years for the risks to be returned and then for the bond to form. My attention span is long when the challenge is love. I can wait through the longest seasons, the rain most of all forces me to go inward, where my waiting is done best. When he seeks an ear to absorb his whispering thoughts, his quiet and unexpected needs, I wish to be there, to listen to his every breath. I am not sure how we get thrown together in this fast moving world, a willingness to have him imagine that it was his idea to love me too.
The individual emerges from my life and without knowing anything about them, I decide to care for them regardless of what I lack in trusting them. I imagine that I am their friend because in fact, I am. Until it is mutual, it is hard to get my mind around. My heart forges on and the bond is made strong in time when something new grows between us. The authentic article, the friendship, deep and true feels so good to know. They can't imagine how I would lay down my life for them and until I do they can just wish what it means to have me in their camp. My loyalty is steadfast. Like a good orphan, I make people feel kindly welcome. As it turns around, I become to them the friend that I knew they would be to me when the time was right. Today is such a time and I am happy in a new old feeling.
It has happened three times like this in the course of my life and I have been and feel so lucky to find my place in his life. Like a blessing, I have so much to be thankful for when I think and feel how it is. He let me know that he wants me to care for him in any way I can. I see that it is also futile to do so, to strike a balance. I am happiest when the relationship takes a long time to emerge even years become a comfort to me. Even though I am a brat about it, I don't ever want to be spoiled. I know I have to work for what I have in this life and my friendships are no different than let's say, my hooey, my false pretense of worth in stuff, things acquired then lost or used up.
It seems he adores my affections, he is so desirable. I love so much about him, his tread lightly mode, his simple complexities, fascinate me to no end. I am not distracted by other longings who's complete satisfactions I understand will never come my way. In sum, there have been 3 of these relationships and in each one the other person has never said a word about it. I assume that they are happy with me in their lives as I am. Fresh like rain, I am stead fast and they let me know how they enjoy my persistence. He has recently asked me to do what I can to accept him as he is and is not available. I wish and can at times insist he be other, I am not without my power struggles. He tries not to step out of his role as a professional. I cannot peel away layers more than he sheds. Nakedness would destroy this ambiguity and we would all suffer. Best to imagine other eyes looking into my heart, his reflect back and I can see myself in the thought. We are both allot to manage, in common, we are opposites.
I have waited years for the risks to be returned and then for the bond to form. My attention span is long when the challenge is love. I can wait through the longest seasons, the rain most of all forces me to go inward, where my waiting is done best. When he seeks an ear to absorb his whispering thoughts, his quiet and unexpected needs, I wish to be there, to listen to his every breath. I am not sure how we get thrown together in this fast moving world, a willingness to have him imagine that it was his idea to love me too.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Sephardi Me Tonight
I confess, I like to look olive skin men in the eyes, for long periods of time. I have tried to hook up with Sephardi guys.....it never works out. They all share a fear in common when they think of me, together with them. They are afraid that my friends and family will think they are from Gaza, like we don't know the difference. There was one from Gaza once....boy that was a disaster.
Mr. I need a Green Card would always tell my friends (in Hebrew) that he was from Palestine. They took on worried poses, he looked barely old enough to have lived in Pre 1967 Israel. I would correct him only to defend my people, my homeland. We would argue then in Hebrew and if I was really in a colorful mood, I would toss in my Yiddish. I would say things like, "go, go in good health, G-D Bless you, here today gone tomorrow, nu,? such a face." That was all I know from when my parents would speak in Yiddish to secure their autonomy. Instead of teaching it to us, to preserve our mother tongue, we would know to leave the space as we learned that all Yiddish was defined by our parent's need for privacy.
In these rare and good moments, Mr. I Need a Green Card would look like he understood me and then he would slam some Arabic with Spanish my way and when no one was looking, he would slide his new English over to me and that would do it. My friends called us the deluxe combo, the International House of Freak. I loved our debates, so often and so complex, five languages, one issue, communication. We couldn't do it.
Sephardim have different sorts of egos than Ashkenazim. You can look a Sephardi in the eyes and it becomes a match of whits, they won't look away. It's a challenge to take a gander. Eastern European men on the other hand ask what your looking at, as if you lost something along the way and think they may have it. It seems that romance is not defined with these men. Romance may be procured among the Ashkenazim, I wouldn't know. I can't fall for one of them to save my life. It's a power struggle of some unearthly type. I don't ever understand it and so I step back and yield to the culture. Nebishy is how I refer to these sort of men. I know a Jewish mechanic, he says their not men. He won't even call them Nebishy, he refers to them simply as Nebs. He understands me and he has encouraged me to stay clear of such guys. "Find a man for goodness sakes. You'd do better with a non Jewish guy then with a Neb, a Jewish mamma's boy." The search has dropped off into the back drop of my life. I am no longer on line looking at profiles. I am not shul hopping. I am not suggesting much to friends, except that I would baby sit while they go out for an evening, leave the DVD to me and the Leggos. Lately, I have seen my fair share of family rated movies, I hated Bewitched.
The Sephardim are not easily offended when I look into their eyes. Their eyes speak to me. My eyes widen and accept the view that is projected onto my mind. With this to consider, I wonder often if I am in the wrong culture, in an opposite world. Maybe inside me is an olive skin toned Goat Herder wanting to come out. Maybe I am the mistress of a dark Arabian yid who like me could care less of what people see when they realize that he is for real. Regardless, I want to go to Israel now. I can find other eyes. I would look long and hard, knowing that he might be from Palestine, raised up in the boldness of the War of Independence. He may have fought in the Six Day War. When we would meet, he would look and see me, not his mother who may have smothered him in false hopes, that he is the only fish in the sea. My dreams whould unfold too.
My friends and family would in fact not trust him as I would grow to love him. In Hebrew and English, he would help me learn Yiddish so that I could go back in time and have words with my parents that linger on my mind, like the pictures that form there yet remain speechless. The new Mr. I Need a Green Card would get one by me as he would need it, to come and meet the kin folk.
Mr. I need a Green Card would always tell my friends (in Hebrew) that he was from Palestine. They took on worried poses, he looked barely old enough to have lived in Pre 1967 Israel. I would correct him only to defend my people, my homeland. We would argue then in Hebrew and if I was really in a colorful mood, I would toss in my Yiddish. I would say things like, "go, go in good health, G-D Bless you, here today gone tomorrow, nu,? such a face." That was all I know from when my parents would speak in Yiddish to secure their autonomy. Instead of teaching it to us, to preserve our mother tongue, we would know to leave the space as we learned that all Yiddish was defined by our parent's need for privacy.
In these rare and good moments, Mr. I Need a Green Card would look like he understood me and then he would slam some Arabic with Spanish my way and when no one was looking, he would slide his new English over to me and that would do it. My friends called us the deluxe combo, the International House of Freak. I loved our debates, so often and so complex, five languages, one issue, communication. We couldn't do it.
Sephardim have different sorts of egos than Ashkenazim. You can look a Sephardi in the eyes and it becomes a match of whits, they won't look away. It's a challenge to take a gander. Eastern European men on the other hand ask what your looking at, as if you lost something along the way and think they may have it. It seems that romance is not defined with these men. Romance may be procured among the Ashkenazim, I wouldn't know. I can't fall for one of them to save my life. It's a power struggle of some unearthly type. I don't ever understand it and so I step back and yield to the culture. Nebishy is how I refer to these sort of men. I know a Jewish mechanic, he says their not men. He won't even call them Nebishy, he refers to them simply as Nebs. He understands me and he has encouraged me to stay clear of such guys. "Find a man for goodness sakes. You'd do better with a non Jewish guy then with a Neb, a Jewish mamma's boy." The search has dropped off into the back drop of my life. I am no longer on line looking at profiles. I am not shul hopping. I am not suggesting much to friends, except that I would baby sit while they go out for an evening, leave the DVD to me and the Leggos. Lately, I have seen my fair share of family rated movies, I hated Bewitched.
The Sephardim are not easily offended when I look into their eyes. Their eyes speak to me. My eyes widen and accept the view that is projected onto my mind. With this to consider, I wonder often if I am in the wrong culture, in an opposite world. Maybe inside me is an olive skin toned Goat Herder wanting to come out. Maybe I am the mistress of a dark Arabian yid who like me could care less of what people see when they realize that he is for real. Regardless, I want to go to Israel now. I can find other eyes. I would look long and hard, knowing that he might be from Palestine, raised up in the boldness of the War of Independence. He may have fought in the Six Day War. When we would meet, he would look and see me, not his mother who may have smothered him in false hopes, that he is the only fish in the sea. My dreams whould unfold too.
My friends and family would in fact not trust him as I would grow to love him. In Hebrew and English, he would help me learn Yiddish so that I could go back in time and have words with my parents that linger on my mind, like the pictures that form there yet remain speechless. The new Mr. I Need a Green Card would get one by me as he would need it, to come and meet the kin folk.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Young and Old Alike
It was such a week for romance! I was at Shul(again...)and because Matisyahu was booked for a gig at a famous Austin hot spot, he was spending Shobbas with the Rabbi. As a result, the place was packed with tons of students, fans. At dinner, I sat with my friends and their perfectly cooing baby on one side, on the other were some university students. There was one in particular, he looked young yet he came across wise like the sages. I must have confused myself, I was distracted. Was he so young or so wise? He was darling to look at, should have been my cue. He was the second child I always wanted. It's always bad news when a woman wants to mother a man, regardless of the circumstances, it's a wrong turn.
He was sitting across the table and two people over, it was a reach. Before I knew it, one thing led to another and when I found out that he had never been to a Chabad Purim Party, I suggested that he come this year. In the end, I agreed to pick him up at his COOP and take him with me to yee ole festive occasion. Purim is always fun by this Rabbi! In Texas, it seems that they really know how to party. Typically, there is a keg of Shiner just to wet your whistle. The fresh good food keeps coming out of the kitchen until the wee hours and the garage band improves with each Migillah reading, thank G-D. This year, they were as hot as a SXSW showcase. I love Chag Purim at the Rabbi's and I assured him he would too. Aside from Simchat Torah, Purim rocked the life force.
Before we took off for the party, we visited for a spell. He wanted to know more about me. I insisted that surely I was not half as interesting as he was and so I counter requested that he tell me who he was, what motivated him in life, I needed to know. There was a chemistry there and I refused to entertain the notion of combustion without more, info. The bottom line came fast, he was 21. That was all I needed to know. He said it with a shy questioning tone, as if to suggest that he was still in the running , wasn't he? Ah, no. I kept my cool though. I looked away, slightly to the left, the side of us Jews where it is believed that judgment works from and I exhaled ever so slowly, softly. He could not read me. Son of a B, a dear sweet soul.
So young and vulnerable, so much yearning, he held out for, he was a virgin. The embrace, the smoothness of skin combined, slinking through his fingers, his soft soft beard,dripping with his desires met and moist, wanting to absorb so much. I was infuriated now. There was no telling how I would choose to control myself. In real time, it is tough for me. I have no self control. In nature, I am impulsive and uninhibited, a lethal combination of para normal traits for this modern world.
Now that I am not living La Vida Torah and am a bad bad Jew, I wondered if there was a mitzvah, a good deed that I could to do to quell my urge. My urges are enormous by hormonal standards, it is a crime. For example, I never get head aches, understand what I mean? There was no anecdote for my suffering, that the plastic surgeon in my life could repair. I would have to dream of letting this sweet bundle of lust go, go away and fast. It was going to hurt him, his manhood falling to the floor in defeat, he was so dramatic and did I mention tight and clear.
At the Purim Party, we took our nosh outside and sat together in the dark. We could see a tired and frustrated parent try and discipline his son in the cool of the evening. He worked me away from the upset with a glance into his own childhood. I cannot say more now. In just he was setting up the scene for the end of the night, where I guess he imagined me parking my car and entering his space again, this time with my hand in his. Little did we know that at the end of the evening, as we were leaving the party, I was following after him.....the Rabbi's wife(a very powerful woman) pulled my ear hard to her mouth, "don't you dare touch him, he is too young for you." I did not need this harsh Torah.
I sent him a thank you note, for sharing Purim with me at Chabad. It fell on silence. My magic wore off of him. Respect a person, a man for where he is and what do I get, gornished , nothing. Just like Sal in the Yiddish version of Fun with Dick and Jane( litvids.com), he gets gornished all the time. It was something to talk about for a time. My Austin girl friends all gave me high marks for driving off that night, getting away from such youth. I am middle aged.
This young buck was not my first offer in that week of Purim. There was another man. This one flirted with me for few weeks before I caught on and made the decision to play. I liked his background, in education no less and we had that in common. We both worked with inmates, Texas inmates to be accurate. There are no finer inmates than Texas inmates. In Texas, prison is our largest hotel chain, like some old retired white man warden claims in a book. As a result, I percieve Texas inmates to be in flux, always dreaming of the next better road trip.
I was chewing well again, on the notion of sharing space. I figured we would start with a walk, a coffee at the local bleeding heart liberal coffee house in town. We would have such things to talk about, a good lock down, the infamous law suit brought by a Texas inmate, Ruiz Vs. Estelle where inmates now had rights in Texas. We would discuss much. We would discover how we chose to leave the prison system and how lucky we are to have worked there. He worked in Huntsville, I was not as lucky as he and so we would confess and share envy. He is not Jewish, by the by and so, my rich fantasy life was soring out of this world. How would I explain this I thought, as done in prison, with concrete thinking, man woman need want, dosen't sound Jewish.
It went along this way. We talked about going on a road trip to Huntsville to visit the Prison Museum there. He lives right by me and made mention of dinner, neighborhood gatherings, lawn sits. I could walk over, he would walk me back. See, how well it fits. I knew he was older than me. His white hair held so much color inside my mind. I love older people in general. In specific, I can often imagine the dynamic, smarter than me for the years, richer and sweeter than me for the seasons. I like to learn and I tire from teaching, it would be a delight. I would have to train him hard in other areas, he could take it.
He called me, left a message. His new neighbor opened up a shop in town, I should pay her a visit, welcome her to town. She sells lingerie he mentioned, I should check out her inventory. I emailed him, could we do that together. On second thought, I went ahead and stepped inside the new store, alone. I visited the new neighbor in our small town manner and when she said that yes, he was a great guy, he had brought his girl friend, his finance in to buy her an outfit, take her to dinner and a concert in her new clothes....I had to agree. He was some guy, a real piece of art. I wondered if his girlfriend, I mean fiance felt the same way he acted. Was he the subject of beauty in that relationship or the switch whizzing through the air smacking me on the back of the neck in our's, a sound in other dreams. How did I become captivated by his attentions?
Normally, I am so off the chart that I cannot tell when they are flirting with me. In this picture, I at least knew that he was tempting my attentions. If I could dominate a cream puff, I would will him to me and teach him a lesson in longing. I would shake him down like they do on the inside and I would feed him Johnny Sacks for days and Texas Food Loaf, special for him. I would nurture him with a Brillo Pad, dripping with olive oil, hot from the fire place.
To go from 21 to 61 in less than a week was enough excitement for me. I am not capable of dominating a cream puff and so even my fantasies fall short for my liking. I asked a friend what she thought. She mentioned her son's Cub Scout leader, a real mench. His wife lost 120 lbs. with surgery and divorced him. He is looking, she assured me. I am keen on Cub Scouts, they know from knots and first aid.
He was sitting across the table and two people over, it was a reach. Before I knew it, one thing led to another and when I found out that he had never been to a Chabad Purim Party, I suggested that he come this year. In the end, I agreed to pick him up at his COOP and take him with me to yee ole festive occasion. Purim is always fun by this Rabbi! In Texas, it seems that they really know how to party. Typically, there is a keg of Shiner just to wet your whistle. The fresh good food keeps coming out of the kitchen until the wee hours and the garage band improves with each Migillah reading, thank G-D. This year, they were as hot as a SXSW showcase. I love Chag Purim at the Rabbi's and I assured him he would too. Aside from Simchat Torah, Purim rocked the life force.
Before we took off for the party, we visited for a spell. He wanted to know more about me. I insisted that surely I was not half as interesting as he was and so I counter requested that he tell me who he was, what motivated him in life, I needed to know. There was a chemistry there and I refused to entertain the notion of combustion without more, info. The bottom line came fast, he was 21. That was all I needed to know. He said it with a shy questioning tone, as if to suggest that he was still in the running , wasn't he? Ah, no. I kept my cool though. I looked away, slightly to the left, the side of us Jews where it is believed that judgment works from and I exhaled ever so slowly, softly. He could not read me. Son of a B, a dear sweet soul.
So young and vulnerable, so much yearning, he held out for, he was a virgin. The embrace, the smoothness of skin combined, slinking through his fingers, his soft soft beard,dripping with his desires met and moist, wanting to absorb so much. I was infuriated now. There was no telling how I would choose to control myself. In real time, it is tough for me. I have no self control. In nature, I am impulsive and uninhibited, a lethal combination of para normal traits for this modern world.
Now that I am not living La Vida Torah and am a bad bad Jew, I wondered if there was a mitzvah, a good deed that I could to do to quell my urge. My urges are enormous by hormonal standards, it is a crime. For example, I never get head aches, understand what I mean? There was no anecdote for my suffering, that the plastic surgeon in my life could repair. I would have to dream of letting this sweet bundle of lust go, go away and fast. It was going to hurt him, his manhood falling to the floor in defeat, he was so dramatic and did I mention tight and clear.
At the Purim Party, we took our nosh outside and sat together in the dark. We could see a tired and frustrated parent try and discipline his son in the cool of the evening. He worked me away from the upset with a glance into his own childhood. I cannot say more now. In just he was setting up the scene for the end of the night, where I guess he imagined me parking my car and entering his space again, this time with my hand in his. Little did we know that at the end of the evening, as we were leaving the party, I was following after him.....the Rabbi's wife(a very powerful woman) pulled my ear hard to her mouth, "don't you dare touch him, he is too young for you." I did not need this harsh Torah.
I sent him a thank you note, for sharing Purim with me at Chabad. It fell on silence. My magic wore off of him. Respect a person, a man for where he is and what do I get, gornished , nothing. Just like Sal in the Yiddish version of Fun with Dick and Jane( litvids.com), he gets gornished all the time. It was something to talk about for a time. My Austin girl friends all gave me high marks for driving off that night, getting away from such youth. I am middle aged.
This young buck was not my first offer in that week of Purim. There was another man. This one flirted with me for few weeks before I caught on and made the decision to play. I liked his background, in education no less and we had that in common. We both worked with inmates, Texas inmates to be accurate. There are no finer inmates than Texas inmates. In Texas, prison is our largest hotel chain, like some old retired white man warden claims in a book. As a result, I percieve Texas inmates to be in flux, always dreaming of the next better road trip.
I was chewing well again, on the notion of sharing space. I figured we would start with a walk, a coffee at the local bleeding heart liberal coffee house in town. We would have such things to talk about, a good lock down, the infamous law suit brought by a Texas inmate, Ruiz Vs. Estelle where inmates now had rights in Texas. We would discuss much. We would discover how we chose to leave the prison system and how lucky we are to have worked there. He worked in Huntsville, I was not as lucky as he and so we would confess and share envy. He is not Jewish, by the by and so, my rich fantasy life was soring out of this world. How would I explain this I thought, as done in prison, with concrete thinking, man woman need want, dosen't sound Jewish.
It went along this way. We talked about going on a road trip to Huntsville to visit the Prison Museum there. He lives right by me and made mention of dinner, neighborhood gatherings, lawn sits. I could walk over, he would walk me back. See, how well it fits. I knew he was older than me. His white hair held so much color inside my mind. I love older people in general. In specific, I can often imagine the dynamic, smarter than me for the years, richer and sweeter than me for the seasons. I like to learn and I tire from teaching, it would be a delight. I would have to train him hard in other areas, he could take it.
He called me, left a message. His new neighbor opened up a shop in town, I should pay her a visit, welcome her to town. She sells lingerie he mentioned, I should check out her inventory. I emailed him, could we do that together. On second thought, I went ahead and stepped inside the new store, alone. I visited the new neighbor in our small town manner and when she said that yes, he was a great guy, he had brought his girl friend, his finance in to buy her an outfit, take her to dinner and a concert in her new clothes....I had to agree. He was some guy, a real piece of art. I wondered if his girlfriend, I mean fiance felt the same way he acted. Was he the subject of beauty in that relationship or the switch whizzing through the air smacking me on the back of the neck in our's, a sound in other dreams. How did I become captivated by his attentions?
Normally, I am so off the chart that I cannot tell when they are flirting with me. In this picture, I at least knew that he was tempting my attentions. If I could dominate a cream puff, I would will him to me and teach him a lesson in longing. I would shake him down like they do on the inside and I would feed him Johnny Sacks for days and Texas Food Loaf, special for him. I would nurture him with a Brillo Pad, dripping with olive oil, hot from the fire place.
To go from 21 to 61 in less than a week was enough excitement for me. I am not capable of dominating a cream puff and so even my fantasies fall short for my liking. I asked a friend what she thought. She mentioned her son's Cub Scout leader, a real mench. His wife lost 120 lbs. with surgery and divorced him. He is looking, she assured me. I am keen on Cub Scouts, they know from knots and first aid.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
But it Feels So Good
We were talking about feeling better in general. In specific, we were getting to know each other, peeling away another layer on our big onion of life. I take time to get to the point. In this story, it took longer than forever for me to make mention. Based on our conversation, Ear Candleing falls into the proven and unproven catagories of efficacy. I know because I get it done and my Boss tells me that "they" have proven that the matter that I mistake for ear wax in the parafin tube is but the material that the candle itself is made of. The candle is white, the refuse that we find in it after the flame is blown out can range from orange, to yellow, to amber and sometimes little shades of brown and red appear. I want to touch it, smell it, make nice with it, regardless of what my Boss reads and what they say in articles, I believe that it comes from me. My ear candle practitioner discourages me from getting that deep into the process. She is Texan and she says, "we just don't do that."
I go in for ear candling because it feels great! efficacy aside, I love the feeling of the sounds, the smell of the lavender oil, massageing into my skin. I love the touch of the practioner, as she draws me out and deeper into myself as I listen to my inside comeing out of me. I answer her questions, I breathe more evenly and when I slide off of the table, colors appear more vibrant than ever. It is then that I see into things best and not as often as I wish.
Who cares if articles are written claiming that it does no good, pulls nothing out, that it can't do what I believe it does, who cares. The entire process is like getting ready for a date with a favorite man. The drive into the Hill Country is always flawless in nature. The wide open Texas sky peaking out in between enormous rolling hills. Getting into town is always ritual like. I stop at the whole foods grocery, say howdy and get a bottle of water and a bar of Bluebonnet soap made Texan proud. Down the road, I pull over under a tree and wait for the moment to arrive. On the porch, I reach for the door and am invited in by the warmest person I know. She hugs me and I am gone.
I go in for ear candling because it feels great! efficacy aside, I love the feeling of the sounds, the smell of the lavender oil, massageing into my skin. I love the touch of the practioner, as she draws me out and deeper into myself as I listen to my inside comeing out of me. I answer her questions, I breathe more evenly and when I slide off of the table, colors appear more vibrant than ever. It is then that I see into things best and not as often as I wish.
Who cares if articles are written claiming that it does no good, pulls nothing out, that it can't do what I believe it does, who cares. The entire process is like getting ready for a date with a favorite man. The drive into the Hill Country is always flawless in nature. The wide open Texas sky peaking out in between enormous rolling hills. Getting into town is always ritual like. I stop at the whole foods grocery, say howdy and get a bottle of water and a bar of Bluebonnet soap made Texan proud. Down the road, I pull over under a tree and wait for the moment to arrive. On the porch, I reach for the door and am invited in by the warmest person I know. She hugs me and I am gone.
Monday, February 27, 2006
It Could Have Been Me
Friday night I drove into South Austin to visit friends for Shabbat. She married him and it was his parents who where in from out of state. With the lively conversation and the cooing over the baby, our evening stretched out and before it hit me, we were talking about love, Jewish love as observed in this home. My friend and her husband are luckier than most. They both embrace the same ancient structure. Torah life never looked so good as it does with these two. When he said it, "it is such a shame Saprkey, that you don't have your match(yet)." I figured that I was out of my league now. "You are so great Sparkey," he continues, "you are one of the greatest women I know, You are dynamic, you are intelligent,you are so yourself." I felt awash in a sea of appreciation and understanding, when his mom asked what happened, as if I had a terrible accident. I confessed to missing the mark, making enough and the right kind of mistakes to not see my way clear out of my oneness.
I felt like "Her," a woman from Israel who had a Blog that was called: The Unbroken Glass: The Worst Shidduch Disasters Ever. "Her,"(that was her screen name)openly discussed the odd and whacked dates that she went on, were set up with and where let down by. I felt that she was all of the things that my friends were saying that I was and more. She was living in Israel! She had a strong sense of Jewish self. She was determined to live a Jewish life. Unlike me, she knew there was a Jewish guy out there for her, her Beshert, her soul mate was busy too, searching. He was looking for her. I always doubt myself and G-d that there is a Jewish man for me in the world.
I wished I had thought of the idea, "the worst shidduch disasters ever. I was so intrigued with all of her good fortune in summing up her loss and regret, that I wrote to her. I complimented her on her down turns, well written and with pause. She caused me to think, rethink and think some more. She inspired me to consider that the shidduch crisis in the world's Jewish community was not my problem alone. She eventually met her guy, married and stopped writing that Blog of old world tragic humor laced in our modern time.
I brought up the Russian. He was a man who came to our town for a job in a Kosher dining establishment. I heard from 3 other yids that there was a new bachelor in town and that I could be the one for him. It was thought that there were just 2 of us, women, in the community to appeal to a man's wish for a wife. He was looking, they assured me. I had to see this.
As we were retelling the story now, my friend's husband and I, we are laughing hysterically. If anyone could have imagined that it could be me, it was not one of us. Before he was engaged to marry my friend, he was "helping" out at the place to see that it thrived. He loved the food, eats only Glatt Kosher and was at the time single with plenty of time that was his own. He saw me come in that day when I went to check out the new guy.
Back in the living room, we are screaming now, over the laughter as I am telling my version and in between thoughts, breaking for air. I whispered the part that stirred me most and in so doing, was now compelled to say it again, they needed to know as I was blushing a gavalt.
What I got from my visit with the new guy: he was Russian from Russia by way of LA. He was here to help the community. He was religious as early as not so long ago, had a few grown sons, hated his ex wife and hold on to your mitzvahs, he was circumcised just five years prior to our meeting. That was the clincher.
I am not a religious role model of a modest woman, I am not a woman of valor as I am often encouraged to become. I stared straight ahead and then looked down, thank G-d the table he was sitting at was blocking my view. I wanted to see his crotch. I was beginning to imagine the ritual,as it is done with the new born, with the Rabbi, the whole migillah, even the kiddish, the nosh would be plentiful. Tevyeh the Dairy Man would be there from Shalom Alechiem's Anatefkah. The Fiddler on the Roof too, would be singing our songs-- mazel tov, mazel tov!
What my friend never knew was this part, I was abrupt in telling the new guy that I had to go and fast. I flew down town and met the Rabbi at his office. Rabbi I started, You've got a new guy up at the place telling people, like me, that he was just snipped five years ago. You've got do something! He is going to alienate people, women. Rabbi, people are going to freak out. I am freaking out Rabbi. People suggested he was looking for a match, "nu, he is..." I went to have a look and I get an entire vision of what, the snip, Rabbi, the snip. "You shouldn't have gone, nu?" Give me a break, I shouldn't have gone. I had a need to know. "What need was that, he told you what he wanted you should know." Alright already!
After the laughing dimmed down and we could catch each other's breathing as we settled down, my friend really got busy now. "Sparkey, it could have been you, He was flirting with you. That was his way of flirting with you. He liked that you came to meet him, he wanted to tell you a little bit about himself," I can't even comment on that last remark, it is too easy. I don't want to be or appear rude, after all, it is a mitzvah and at any age--mazel tov.
Right? I am thinking, I need better, different, right? Then, I was asking as if I needed friends to tell me it was ok to avoid Mishuga, crazy. Now I am asking as if I don't know. When my friend's husband chimed in he would use the accent, the Russian accent was the end of the line. "The snip, only five years ago. The snip, the snip, the snip...." It could have been me and I am glad it wasn't. I ran fast, cut it to the quick and for lack of a better picture, I nipped it in the bud.
Back in time, another Rabbi, the guy who in another story, taught me about inflexible ego, tried to show me how I did not owe anything to any man. A little fast kindness goes a long way. He would charge me with "being nice," when it was uncalled for and when in reality he said I was not nice. He wanted me to be myself. When I heard this not nice thing, I questioned him with a sharp tone. The Rabbi replied, "Sparkey, I don't think anyone would call you nice. They would say, your great but your not nice." Ok....NU, and hurry up, already, gavalt.
Here came the compliments again, "You have the most energy of anyone I know. You are up beat and funny, you are normal with no mask, no filter, no fear of humanity. If I have something I need or want help with, I would call you. You always offer what ever you can, to be helpful, but are you nice about it, not really. You are great, I can count on you." If I were to use the advice from this other Rabbi, I would have told the new single guy from Russia that it was nice to meet him, welcome to Texas and G-D Willing, you'll enjoy it here. And then, leave calmly. He would advice that I not discuss again the experience and if I did, it would not be from the point and perspective of the snip.
With my friends and their family, it was less honest than that. It went fast and furious, it was sharp and to the point. This, I told my friend's mother, is what happened to me and it seems to occur often, if it is not about the snip, then what, you tell me.
I felt like "Her," a woman from Israel who had a Blog that was called: The Unbroken Glass: The Worst Shidduch Disasters Ever. "Her,"(that was her screen name)openly discussed the odd and whacked dates that she went on, were set up with and where let down by. I felt that she was all of the things that my friends were saying that I was and more. She was living in Israel! She had a strong sense of Jewish self. She was determined to live a Jewish life. Unlike me, she knew there was a Jewish guy out there for her, her Beshert, her soul mate was busy too, searching. He was looking for her. I always doubt myself and G-d that there is a Jewish man for me in the world.
I wished I had thought of the idea, "the worst shidduch disasters ever. I was so intrigued with all of her good fortune in summing up her loss and regret, that I wrote to her. I complimented her on her down turns, well written and with pause. She caused me to think, rethink and think some more. She inspired me to consider that the shidduch crisis in the world's Jewish community was not my problem alone. She eventually met her guy, married and stopped writing that Blog of old world tragic humor laced in our modern time.
I brought up the Russian. He was a man who came to our town for a job in a Kosher dining establishment. I heard from 3 other yids that there was a new bachelor in town and that I could be the one for him. It was thought that there were just 2 of us, women, in the community to appeal to a man's wish for a wife. He was looking, they assured me. I had to see this.
As we were retelling the story now, my friend's husband and I, we are laughing hysterically. If anyone could have imagined that it could be me, it was not one of us. Before he was engaged to marry my friend, he was "helping" out at the place to see that it thrived. He loved the food, eats only Glatt Kosher and was at the time single with plenty of time that was his own. He saw me come in that day when I went to check out the new guy.
Back in the living room, we are screaming now, over the laughter as I am telling my version and in between thoughts, breaking for air. I whispered the part that stirred me most and in so doing, was now compelled to say it again, they needed to know as I was blushing a gavalt.
What I got from my visit with the new guy: he was Russian from Russia by way of LA. He was here to help the community. He was religious as early as not so long ago, had a few grown sons, hated his ex wife and hold on to your mitzvahs, he was circumcised just five years prior to our meeting. That was the clincher.
I am not a religious role model of a modest woman, I am not a woman of valor as I am often encouraged to become. I stared straight ahead and then looked down, thank G-d the table he was sitting at was blocking my view. I wanted to see his crotch. I was beginning to imagine the ritual,as it is done with the new born, with the Rabbi, the whole migillah, even the kiddish, the nosh would be plentiful. Tevyeh the Dairy Man would be there from Shalom Alechiem's Anatefkah. The Fiddler on the Roof too, would be singing our songs-- mazel tov, mazel tov!
What my friend never knew was this part, I was abrupt in telling the new guy that I had to go and fast. I flew down town and met the Rabbi at his office. Rabbi I started, You've got a new guy up at the place telling people, like me, that he was just snipped five years ago. You've got do something! He is going to alienate people, women. Rabbi, people are going to freak out. I am freaking out Rabbi. People suggested he was looking for a match, "nu, he is..." I went to have a look and I get an entire vision of what, the snip, Rabbi, the snip. "You shouldn't have gone, nu?" Give me a break, I shouldn't have gone. I had a need to know. "What need was that, he told you what he wanted you should know." Alright already!
After the laughing dimmed down and we could catch each other's breathing as we settled down, my friend really got busy now. "Sparkey, it could have been you, He was flirting with you. That was his way of flirting with you. He liked that you came to meet him, he wanted to tell you a little bit about himself," I can't even comment on that last remark, it is too easy. I don't want to be or appear rude, after all, it is a mitzvah and at any age--mazel tov.
Right? I am thinking, I need better, different, right? Then, I was asking as if I needed friends to tell me it was ok to avoid Mishuga, crazy. Now I am asking as if I don't know. When my friend's husband chimed in he would use the accent, the Russian accent was the end of the line. "The snip, only five years ago. The snip, the snip, the snip...." It could have been me and I am glad it wasn't. I ran fast, cut it to the quick and for lack of a better picture, I nipped it in the bud.
Back in time, another Rabbi, the guy who in another story, taught me about inflexible ego, tried to show me how I did not owe anything to any man. A little fast kindness goes a long way. He would charge me with "being nice," when it was uncalled for and when in reality he said I was not nice. He wanted me to be myself. When I heard this not nice thing, I questioned him with a sharp tone. The Rabbi replied, "Sparkey, I don't think anyone would call you nice. They would say, your great but your not nice." Ok....NU, and hurry up, already, gavalt.
Here came the compliments again, "You have the most energy of anyone I know. You are up beat and funny, you are normal with no mask, no filter, no fear of humanity. If I have something I need or want help with, I would call you. You always offer what ever you can, to be helpful, but are you nice about it, not really. You are great, I can count on you." If I were to use the advice from this other Rabbi, I would have told the new single guy from Russia that it was nice to meet him, welcome to Texas and G-D Willing, you'll enjoy it here. And then, leave calmly. He would advice that I not discuss again the experience and if I did, it would not be from the point and perspective of the snip.
With my friends and their family, it was less honest than that. It went fast and furious, it was sharp and to the point. This, I told my friend's mother, is what happened to me and it seems to occur often, if it is not about the snip, then what, you tell me.
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