Chichen Party

I really enjoyed the food we had at the hotels, but we couldn’t always definitively distinguish what we were eating. That’s why it was helpful that they had little nameplates telling us what was what. One night one of the plates was labeled Chichen. Yes, I knew exactly what it was, no big deal, but after saying chichen a couple times, especially after you’ve been on 3 hours of sleep a night for a week, it gets funny. You really got to prolong the n sound, “chichennnnn.” I loved it and we said it a lot. If someone did something good, it was followed with a chichen. We almost used it like a bitchen. This was right around the time I got introduced to the two cool Chasidim that I described in an earlier story. One of them talked with almost an Eastern European sheddle vibe and I think it was half his accent and half the chichen, which I combined into a sound of its own. I started talking weird. Real weird, for the next day or so. I can’t really explain it, but it also incorporated the use of the word chichen a lot.

In Tzfat, Noam and I bought hookahs. When I finally unpacked my hookah from its ultra swanky carrying case, I decided that I would name it Chichen, but with a Cheech sound, more like Cheechen to incorporate the lovable Cheech Martin into the mix. To celebrate we decided to throw a little party. It all started off very relaxed, but then something happened that broke the mellowness. After a couple people left, Noam lit up his hookah and Marina put some crazy Ukrainian dance music on and things started getting nasty. Next thing I know we are dancing on the beds and tearing the place up. If that’s not enough, Rebecca and Tova show up and Rebecca starts giving people haircuts in our room. Pure rediculom. Random people start popping in for hookah hits, but get scared away by the crazy antics.

I don’t remember Noam disappearing, but I guess he went somewhere because he comes back with two girls he’s met, one Israeli and one Arabic. Meanwhile people are doing upside down hookah hits, crazy bed jumps, pictures are coming off the wall and being used as dancing props. This goes on for a while until we crash. I’m lying on the bed and Phillip decides to write the story of the night in cartoon pictograph on one of my arms. On the other he drew all the secrets of the universe, which include the golden spiral, an arch, lines and a couple long formulas, which have to do something with infinity.

While this is happening Noam comes back in with the Arab girl and we start talking. Somehow we got in a conversation about how my water bottle was indestructible. She didn’t believe me so I dared her to throw it off the hotel balcony. At first she wouldn’t do it, but after calling her a baby she gave in. I don’t know what the big deal was, I had to walk my ass down and get it anyway, but at the time I was ecstatic and I was right, it didn’t break. When we went back in, I decided it would be an appropriate time to whip out my Arabic head covering, which I had recently bought at the hotel in Jerusalem. She showed me how to put in on, but unfortunately I don’t remember what she did. I do remember that I reminded her of her dog Blackie. Anyway, it was a good night for all.