Kosher krazy

The other day, I read this article. I know you won't click on that link, so I'll summarize it.

Non-Jewish woman starts work at a religious Jewish institution. She is told that she cannot use their microwave because the kitchen is kosher and she is not. Woman complains. Woman gets fired.

Now here's the disclaimer before I get into my point. I don't think this woman should have been fired. No one should be fired for complaining.

The thing is, I don't think this woman should have complained in the first place. I would hope that before she was hired, someone would have informed her about any relevant Jewish laws and customs, particularly about the kitchen. If she wasn't warned, this is her employer's fault.

Orthodox Jews don't mess around with their kashrut (the act of keeping kosher), friends. Examples:

1. "Oh, but it's just a microwave, let the woman heat up her bacon cheeseburger in it because no one cares about a microwave." NO.

2. "Alright, well maybe she can bring something that doesn't involve pigs or meat + cheese and heat it up." NO.

3. "What if she cooks something entirely from certified kosher ingredients and we mean REAL kosher like the O U, not that bogus star-K crap (see pictures below)." NO.


Non-kosher food is not kosher. Food that is not blatantly non-kosher is not kosher. Kosher food prepared in a non-kosher kitchen is not kosher.

People who keep kosher keep two sets of silverware, dishes, etc - one for meat, one for dairy. You wash your dishes with different sponges and, in some households, even different sinks. Now that it's Passover and there's a whole array of food you can't eat for 8 days, if you mean business, you have 2 additional sets of silverware and whatnot because your Passover dishes are free from ever touching leavened products and everything else you can't eat on Passover (full explanation for another day). And this is only the tip of the kosher iceberg.

The point is, I understand that it's annoying for this woman to not be able to heat up her leftovers or whatever in the microwave at her job, and as ludicrous as these laws may seem, they still mean a lot to the people who observe them. People take religion pretty damn seriously, don't mess around.

I wouldn't go into a church dying of thirst and then complain that no one let me drink the holy water, would I? No. (You..can't drink the holy water, right? And what makes it holy? Is it blessed? Does it come straight from God's water fountain? I don't get it).

That's all for today's Jewtastic lesson.

Why I hate Twitter

Yes, I'm on Twitter. I don't know why, though, because I don't tweet that often and I get annoyed by at least 90% of tweets. I guess I stick with it so I can stalk the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck. Which I only visited about 6 times last summer.

Here are some specific types of tweets that drive me nuts:

1) FUCKING FOUR SQUARE. Full disclosure: if I had a smartphone, I probably would have joined it. However, I haven't, and I DO NOT GIVE A RAT'S ASS WHERE YOU ARE. I don't care what dumb place you're the mayor of or what you're doing there or anything of the sort. Didn't anyone read about that website that's something like pleaserobme.com that utilizes stuff like Four Square to know when you're not home so they can STEAL YOUR CRAP? Doesn't that worry anyone? Obviously not.

2) Tweeting to tell me you blogged. Newsflash: if I wanted to read your blog (and if I follow you on Twitter, I do), I WOULD SUBSCRIBE TO YOUR BLOG. I don't need you to tweet me a link to your newest post. I HAVE IT.

3) Too many back and forths between the same 2 people. If you want to have a conversation, I should let you know about this great invention called calling/texting/gchatting/whatevering. If it only concerns the 2 of you and you're going to go back and forth "@"ing each other, please understand that I will want to taser you.

4) Excessive tweeting about niche subjects I don't care about. I know I can't really stop this one because people get involved in whatever they get involved in and you want to tweet 100 times an hour with the same hashtag that I don't even understand. You're free to do what you want, but after awhile I will unfollow you. Sorry.

5) Telling a story through multiple tweets. Hi, it's called microblogging for a reason. You get 140 characters. If you have something lengthier to say, take it to your blog (just don't tweet to tell me you took it to your blog, mmkay?).

After writing this, I feel like maybe I should delete my Twitter account. Except seriously, I do love following food trucks. Dilemma.

First time waitress at 25

Despite the fact that in an average week, I spend way more time at work than I do in class, I haven't talked much about my job here. I really should have, though, because, HELLO STORIES. Anyway, so I'm going to start writing some posts about catering, AKA what I've been doing to keep busy and, more importantly, to keep myself in school since I decided not to take out any additional loans this year.

I originally wanted to find a bartending job when I came back to Boston this school year, but I soon realized that with 100% late afternoon/night classes, that wasn't at all feasible. I somehow found my way into the world of catering and applied to be a bartender. I was accepted, and they asked me if I wanted to do waitstaff as well since there were far more waitstaff shifts than bartending shifts. I said I had zero experience as a waitress, but they offered to train me.

And here I am. As predicted, I wait far more often than I bartend. This involves everything from fancy-pants plated dinners to being one of those people that walks around passing hors d'oeuvres at cocktail parties to running back and forth replacing food trays as they run out on a buffet table.

Considering that I've always had office jobs (except babysitting and camp counseloring and tutoring and working at my temple and OKAY that sounds like a lot of non-office jobs but it's not), this is a crazy, crazy world that I've been exposed to.

To wrap up this first catering post, here is a list of useful life things I have learned on the job:

1) How to set a table. This is something I only half knew before (as in, fork on the left, knife on the right). Now I know EXACTLY where everything goes including dinner silverware, salad silverware, dessert silverware, water glass, wine glass, bread and butter plate, coffee cup and saucer. I will set the shit out of any table. My mom utilizes me for this purpose when I come home. You can bet I will be setting the table for the Passover seders.

2) How to open bottles of wine without one of those corkscrews with arms. This is also something a lot of people know how to do without being a waiter. I was not one of those people. The number of waiter's corkscrews (also called wine keys) that I've broken in my pre-catering life is absolutely obscene. Now I am supremely good at it. This is also apparently something bars will sometimes ask you to do if applying for a bartending job. If you can't use a corkscrew you are essentially saying "HELLO, I HAVE NO BARTENDING EXPERIENCE, PLEASE DO NOT HIRE ME."

3) General food knowledge. Still working on this one because I'm pretty much the anti-foodie, but in paying attention when chefs tell you what's what, you pick up on some things. I don't know a ton, but I know way more than I did 6 months ago.

There are a lot more things that I've learned from catering, though not necessarily general life lessons. Stay tuned for more catering craziness.

My new life goal

Being in wedding mode for all of last weekend meant that a lot of the conversation revolved around, well, weddings. And things related to weddings. We talked about how I hope to never catch a bouquet because, among other reasons, I don't want some random dude who was lucky enough to catch the garter sticking his hand up my dress. We talked about flowers and dresses and shoes and this, that and the other thing.

And then we talked about the changing of the last name.

I am personally in the "I don't want to change my name" camp, mostly because I like my name the way it is and seeing as a name is a pretty big part of an identity, I don't want to have to just readjust to something new (unless my new last name were something really awesome, but I can't think of any examples that would satisfy that).

The thing is, I don't want to give my unborn children (who will hopefully stay unborn for A LONG TIME) a hyphenated name, nor do I want to give them my husband's name and then have to deal with all the problems that come along with a mother having a completely different last name from her children (there are a lot of these problems, so I hear).

This may seem like somewhat of a conundrum, but I realized recently that there is a perfect solution to my problem. And I have made it my new goal in life.

Friends, I am going to marry someone who has the same last name as I do.

IT IS A PERFECT ASS PLAN.

No name change, no paperwork, no hyphenating and no different last name from the mini-Arielles.

Okay, I am anticipating your questions. Here we go.

Q: Do you think this is realistic?
A: I'm not saying it's definitely going to happen, but my last name is hardly obscure.

Q: Aren't you afraid that you're going to end up marrying some long lost cousin or something?
A: No. My grandparents had their last name changed to my current last name when they came to the U.S. Thus we are well aware of who is in our family and who is not.

Q: What if you date someone with the same last name and you decide to be in a Facebook relationship and people who don't really know your situation either think that you're a) already married or b) dating a brother or cousin?
A: Fictitious person, you are weird for even thinking of these things.

Q: Arielle, you are ridiculous.
A: I prefer to call it awesome.

There you have it. My perfect plan. For those of you who know my last name (which I'm pretty sure is...most of you), if you find any single guys who fit this description, please pass them along.

Epic bus FAIL

After a fabulous and exhausting wedding weekend, I wanted to get my arse back to Boston to unpack, put up pictures and otherwise relax. I had booked a bus at 3:45 because I wasn't sure what time I was going to get back to Manhattan. And from here I will tell the story in a timeline fashion. It's long, but bear with me.

1:00 PM: I get back to NYC from the wedding, and I have nearly 3 hours to kill until my bus.

3:00 PM: I start heading to the bus. I see an email that my bus is delayed until 5:15. I briefly contemplate going to Port Authority to buy a Greyhound ticket because I just want to get back already, but decide to save the money and kill another 2 hours. Blarg.

5:40 PM: My bus finally leaves. I get out my laptop and start plugging away at some homework.

6:20 PM: Bus driver says, "We have some technical difficulties." We pull over on a highway entrance ramp.

6:30 PM: No progress has been made as to determining how we are eventually going to get out of this situation. I call work to tell them I can't work at 9:00 AM the next day, which seems premature but I decide is a good idea anyway.

7:00 PM: A mechanic is on the way. I am confused as to why they're sending a mechanic and not a replacement bus, but whatever. They put on Up and everyone is happy because that movie is awesome.

7:45 PM: Bus driver says, "The mechanic went looking for us in New Jersey. No idea why. He's on his way now."

8:15 PM: Mechanic is here! Fix this shit, please.

8:30 PM: Up is over. They put on another movie but I decide to go back to my homework. Thank the flying spaghetti monster (which I learned about over the weekend) for my computer.

8:45 PM: One passenger has called 911 and asked for a state trooper to come keep us company since we are horrifically unsafe as we are surrounded by highway on both sides. He comes and his truck with flashy lights makes us feel only marginally better.

9:00 PM: Driver says the mechanic is unable to fix the problem. "He did what he did before but it didn't work this time." Passengers: "What do you mean, did before?" Driver: "We had this same problem earlier today on the way down to New York, that's why we were delayed." Passengers: PUNCH KICK TASER HATE. They are going to find us a replacement bus.

9:30 PM: Management still has not located a bus for us. People begin calling cab companies to get quotes on cab rides to Boston.

9:45 PM: A bus should be here in an hour and 15 minutes. People begin jumping ship in taxis.

10:10 PM: 2 more cabs arrive. One is supposed to take some people to Framingham, the other is supposed to take me and 2 others to Boston for the lovely price of 300 or so dollars. One cab parks right in front of the bus, the other one in a pseudo median lane between two lanes of traffic.

10:15 PM: State trooper gives the cab parked in the median a ticket for being an idiot. Also says that if anyone crosses the highway to go get in the cab, we will be fined $50 - $75 dollars each. The cabbie who was smart enough to park by the bus has an expired license, but the state trooper lets him go with no ticket. He then says that as long as the first cab moves out of the median, both cabs are free to take people to Massachusetts. The Boston people choose the expired license cab, and as the Framingham people wait for the other cab to get over to us, the cabbie gets annoyed about his ticket and drives away.

10:30 PM: F the Framingham losers, we're off to Boston.

10:35 PM: I say, "We all have credit cards, can we pay with that?" Driver: "Cash is preferred." Another passenger: "If we paid in cash, how much would it be?" Driver calls his boss to discuss.

10:40 PM: Driver's boss wants 3 dollars PER MILE, AKA around 600 dollars. We say no and try to bargain him down. Driver's boss won't back down, and so we tell the driver to take us back to the bus.

11:00 PM: We're back at the bus. As we pull up, the Framingham people, who had found a different cab company, ask why we're back. We tell them. They decide to use our experience as a lesson and ask about the price. Lo and behold, the driver wants more than they were quoted on the phone.

11:05 PM: The bus driver says the replacement bus is 30 minutes away even though it was supposed to be an hour and 15 minutes away....an hour and 15 minutes ago.

11:30 PM: After a fruitless bout of haggling, the Framingham people ditch their cab and return to the bus.

1:05 AM: The replacement bus arrives. We get on it and one woman starts screaming about how there is no bathroom or overheard lights or any amenities that our bus is supposed to have. Everyone else is too tired to care. We pass out.

4:10 AM: Bus arrives in Framingham to drop off passengers. One girl is supposed to have a taxi pick her up but her taxi isn't here yet and she insists that the bus wait with her instead of leaving her to wait alone in the middle of the night. I shoot her mental daggers for the entire 15 minutes until her cab comes.

4:50 AM: BOSTON. FINALLY. I briefly contemplate waiting for the T, realize it will be nearly an hour until the T opens, and get in a cab.

5:10 AM: Get home nearly 12 hours after leaving New York. Pass out and die.

My best friend's wedding

I'm sure everyone is dying to hear about Lacey's wedding and here is my best attempt at a recap. Lacey is probably still processing the fact that she's married and the blogworld deserves to hear about it sooner rather than later because it was a pretty kick ass wedding if I do say so myself. And I do.

Our weekend started off with mani/pedis, going out to lunch, checking into Lacey's suite at the hotel and then a lovely no-rehearsal-just-dinner (as you can see, I'm fast forwarding through some of the less important parts).

We woke up early on WEDDING DAYYYY to start hair and makeup. More and more people kept arriving and the suite was all abuzz with people ooh-ing and aah-ing and feasting on minieggs, AKA the best Easter candy of all time.


Eventually it was time to head over to the country club to start pictures. Lacey had to keep her gown safe in the car on the way there.

There were bridesmaid pictures and groomsmen pictures and family pictures and I don't have any of this documented since, you know, I wasn't the photographer. BUT, here is a pic of the super sexy non-family bridesmaids that was taken while the family pictures were going on.


Then all of a sudden it was WEDDING TIIIIIIIME. I obviously don't have any pictures of this either but the ceremony was super nice. We processed in to a band (comprised of Dave's friends) playing Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" which sounded absolutely amazing (video on Facebook), and while Lacey was coming down the aisle, the bridesmaids couldn't help but have a dance party in the front since the music was good and no one was looking at us anyway.

Cocktail hour was, you know, cocktail hour-y. And then we had to make our wedding party entrances for the reception, and me and my escort Joe decided that it was only appropriate to do the pound and super explode (you know, we pound but the force was SO STRONG that we both go flying backwards) and after we did it the bridesmaid who had gone ahead of us was all, "That was amazing."

After the first dance (during which 4 of us single bridesmaids sandwiched Lacey and Dave) we all sit down, and the DJ says it's time for speeches and I'm all, "HOLY CRAP PANIC." But then when it was my turn I stopped being nervous and was just like, "LET'S DO THIS THAAAANG" and my speech pretty much went about as well as I could have hoped for it to go. Which it to say it went exactly as I wanted it to. So, hooray. And then Dave sang a song he wrote for Lacey with the band and I couldn't hear the words to save my life but I'm sure it was very sweet and probably went something like "Lacey is awesome, she don't look like a possum." (I am obviously pursuing songwriting as a career). Seriously, I bet the song was great. Here is Lacey (doesn't she look awesome?) and my co-MOH Allison watching The Dave.

And then it was PARTY TIME. We drank and ate and danced and took silly pictures in the super awesome photobooth and nonsense (of only the good variety) abounded. Here is an assortment of pictures from the rest of the night.

I took a ton of pictures so this is only a small sampling of what went on. But needless to say, everyone had a good time, Lacey and Dave were super happy, and WOOHOO, WEDDING!!!!

I was pretty ecstatic to be a part of the wedding for someone who I've known for 21 years (!), especially because she married someone so fabulous and great. I wanted to get a picture of the 3 of us but I guess I was too busy doing the running man, caring for my face after my lovely friend drunkenly BIT ME, and of course, ceeeeeelebrating good times (come on!). So here is one of me and the lovely bride.


YAYYYY.

My hair hides my horns

On Friday night, I went out for drinks with the lovely Maxie, Jenn, and Cavy.

We were eventually joined by some non-bloggers, and all was going well until at some point I said something about being Jewish and the following conversation ensued with the guy sitting next to me:

Dude: You are NOT Jewish.
Arielle: Yes I absolutely am.
Dude: Where'd the blond hair come from then?
Arielle: It's fake.
Dude: Oh, ok.

And that was the end of it. But the only reason that was the end of it was because we were at a bar having a good time and everyone was at least 4 drinks deep and I wasn't about to start shit with some guy I didn't know and make it all awkward for everyone.

In reality, I would have liked to ask this guy why he thinks Jewish people can't be blondes because let me tell you, I know an assload of Jews and lots of them have light hair (I'm naturally a dirty blonde, myself) and WHAT THE FUCK. He may as well have asked me why I don't have a huge crooked shnoz and horns (full disclosure: my normal-sized nose has led many others to believe that I wasn't Jewish and whatever, at least that's a popular stereotype). I will allow that the "quintessential" Jewish girl is MAYBE supposed to have a head full of dark curls but I mean, for someone who lives in Massachusetts which is hardly devoid of Chosen People, you should NOT BE SO FUCKING STUPID.

A lesson for everyone: Jews come in all shapes and colors and sizes! I know Jews that could have passed for Aryans and Jews that could pass for Irish and there are Asian Jews and African Jews and WE DON'T ALL HAVE BLACK HAIR AND BIG NOSES AND WE DON'T GET ANNOYED WHEN YOU TRY TO PISS US OFF BY SAYING WE KILLED JESUS CHRIST (which is what this guy said next. And I was all, "Whatever, Jesus was one of mine.").

End rant.

Live from the 82nd Academy Awards...

...are your ever-inebriated and awesome correspondents, myself and Dan. And by this I mean we had been scheming for weeks to liveblog (AKA gchat during) the Oscars. It was everything I expected and more - snarky comments, booze (Jack and DCs for me), and me discovering my magical ability to accurately predict winners at the very last second. You can read Dan's excellent recap, full of 100% new gchat quotes, here.

Oscar night proved to me a number of different things. First, that great minds really do think alike.

Dan: oh look at morgan freeman
Dan: he has a glove on his left hand
And then at the same time:
Dan: does this asshole think he's MJ?!
Arielle: tribute to MJ?

Second, that Dan is far more quick-witted than I am.
Arielle: is this the music from jurassic park?
Dan: haha its ET
Dan: who just happens to be hiding under her dress
(I really wish I remember who was on screen at the time)

Arielle: tom ford sort of looks like keanu reeves
Dan: he like, totally knows kung fu

Dan: and Precious wins one
Arielle: did this guy just run a marathon?
Arielle: why is he wheezing
Dan: he was probably on the can when they were announcing the nominees

I also learned, or rather reinforced, that I am heinously immature.

Arielle: did jlo just say butt sanders?
Arielle: as in that's someone's name?
Arielle: i guess ill never know

Talking about Gabourey Sidibe from Precious:
Arielle: it would suck if your name rhymed with "cabaret"
Arielle: come to the gabareeeeeey

Sometimes, alcohol causes you to be hilarious and/or ridiculous.

Arielle: helen mirren looks like an uppity bitch
Dan: damn helen mirren
Dan: I mean, dame
Dan: lolololol

Arielle: omg is that baby baldwin?

Dan: is that courtney love?!
Arielle: are you talking about michelle pfeiffer?
Dan: yeah at first her hair looked weird

The awesomeness abounded. But obviously I already knew we were awesome.

When James Taylor was about to perform:
Arielle: you've got a friend!
Dan: how sweet is to be loved byyyy youuu
Arielle: or you know, he can sing a beatles song, i guess
Arielle: on a scale of 1 to 10, how pissed would you be if you were james taylor and the producers were like "you're going to sing someone else's song"
Dan: 2 words: Hulk Smash

Dan: nice jacket streisand
Arielle: is she wearing a curtain around her neck?
Dan: ahaha
Dan: she wants to be a pirate
(a few minutes later)
Arielle: pirate is exiting stage right
Dan: shiver me timbers

In addition to my constant obsessing over how much I loved Inglourious Basterds was my constant obsessing over Ryan Reynolds.

Arielle: bradley cooper: the poor man's ryan reynolds
Dan: oh you'd still hook it up
Arielle: duh

The end. See you at the MTV Movie Awards, mayhaps?

Boston, I love thee

No, you read it correctly. I am writing a post about why I like Boston. I KNOW, who am I? But listen.

I've been unable to go to the gym recently since the death cold I got upon returning from New Orleans turned into bronchitis. As such, I've been trying to do a lot of walking to at least get some kind of exercise. A few days ago, I decided to go downtown to run some errands, stop at McDonald's to try my very first Shamrock Shake (thanks, Shamrock Shake finder), and then walk the 5 miles home. It was uncharacteristically gorgeous for a Boston winter day, and I was walking through the Common marveling at how pretty it was, and I realized that there was a time when I used to love it here. And, as much as I put Boston down every two seconds, there are STILL things I love about it. So here is a list of my favorite Bostony things.

- Hempfest. Every fall, a crapload of people descend upon the Boston Common and smoke weed all day. And no one stops them. Now, I have no present interest in going to this because I left weed behind when I graduated college, but I have fond (hazy) Hempfest memories. Plus, it's pretty damn cool in general that this happens. Goooo Boston!

- Smoken Joe's BBQ. This restaurant is to Boston (Brighton, actually) what Kashkaval is to New York, in that it is the restaurant that I try to take any and everyone to. And no one has ever been disappointed. Crapface is coming to Boston this weekend (YAY) and she asked if we could go there since we went back in November when she was here. Briscuit and mac and cheese and cornbread IN. MY. FACE. Yum.

- Boston Beer Works. Specifically, their blueberry beer. I am a blueberry beer fanatic and this beer is loaded with actual blueberries and you can watch them float up and down in your glass like a lava lamp. Some find this gross. I find it awesome.

- The 86 bus. This bus goes from Cleveland Circle to Harvard Square in 20 minutes, a trip that would otherwise take nearly an hour by train. Because I'm a transplanted New Yorker and thus I have no car, I am a public transportation fiend and I love this bus just like I used to love the M57 in NYC. Makes my life super duper convenient.

- Trader Joe's never has a line. NEVER. This might not be shocking to you if you aren't familiar with the Trader Joe's on 14th St. in New York, which always has a line half a mile long (no exaggeration, it wraps around the store). I can walk in there any time and stock up on Luna bars and honey wheat pretzels and not wait to pay for my things. I will miss this.

- TUFTS. Duh. The best university on the planet. Goooo Jumbos!

- Bleacher Bar. As the name suggests, this bar is right under the Fenway bleachers and looks right onto the field at ground level. It's P-I-M-P.

That's it for now. Oh Boston, you aren't always so bad.