Catty Katty Katamon.

I’m beginning to appreciate how fortunate I am. In one respect, I’m really really appreciative by now:
That I am not single in catty katty Katamon.
Katamon: my first stop in Israel, courtesy of a tour guide who meant me no harm; was only out to show me the ropes. And the ropes I’ve seen: being pulled into a cliquey society, skimmed from the places from whence they came: New York, J-burg, London, Sydney… Katamon, the place where everyone knows you and you’ve been judged even before you’ve opened your mouth.
Jerusalem’s very own little Upper West Side.
So, for what am I appreciative? That I haven’t been single long enough here to get eaten up alive. I’m not bragging, and part of me is slightly sad that I didn’t have a chance to chew it out, tell it off, and vomit it up. But that’s really OK.
I left New York because I never really fit in with those catty Jewish single crowds. I didn’t come here to get pulled into one – and the fact is, being who I am, I could never be pulled into it anyway…

…not to mention, I’m moving to Katamonim, Jerusalem’s own Brooklyn!






Whadya got: