Reasons I’m Single But Awesome #4 Accounting Pickup Lines

Okay, so here’s a quick update on my life. I am 3 weeks away from being halfway done with grad school (can I get a Woot Woot!?!?). And as any grad student living in a quasi-college town needs to do, I recently joined the tinder, bumble, and jswipe communities. [Stop judging me.] AND I will have you know that despite my frequent – but not desperate – efforts of swiping right, I have had ZERO matches on all 3 of these apps. As a result, I considered making a dating app designed specifically for my needs as a graduate accounting student majoring in financial transaction services. Naturally this made me think about what kind of pickup lines I would used in such a setting….and this train of thought provided me with hours worth of entertainment as I came up with cheesy pickup lines for accounting and finance grad students. And here they are –

“Girl, are you costing inventory right now? Cause you are the LIFO da Party!”.

“Dat Asset thou”.

“Girl you must be an accountant, cause when it comes to figures, you’z great!”.

“Hey girl, are you having an IPO? Cause I’d love to have stock in you!”.

“Girl if you were a bond, I’d hold you to maturity”.

“My love for you is like a balance sheet account: permanent”.

“Debits to left, credits to the right. When I first looked at you, t’was love at first sight”.

“Hello, the names Bond…Municipal Bond”.

“You got a nice pair of W-2’s”.

“You can’t go out with me on April 15th? That’s okay, we can push it back to Sept 15th.”.

“Girl my life just don’t balance without you”.

“Damn girl, I’d love to discount your cash flows to present value”.

“Girl are you a corporate bond? Cause I’m accruing interest in you!”.

“Hey girl, how about I take you for a drink so we can put the ‘Pub” in “Public Accounting?”.

“Yo girl, you must be an accounting major…cause you got a lot of class”.

“Hey girl, how about we perform a tax-free merger tonight?”

“Girl if you held my equity, you’d be my preferred shareholder”.

“Boo, you don’t need no Bridge Loan to close the GAAP between us”.

“I promise not to be Moody when I rate you”.

“I’d like to own some equity on those assets.”

“Bae, I’m the option that will put you in-the-money”.

“Boo I hope you are an available for sale security, cause I’d love to fair value you!”.

“You must be a Note Receivable, because I’ve got you as “Long Term” on my books!”

“Yo girl is you’re name Equity? Cause you’z all assets without dem liabilities.”

“You can balance my sheets”.

“If you were an income item, you’d be an “extraordinary gain”.

“Can I capitalize you? Cause I’m fixed on your assets”.

“You must be managing inventory, because you came into my life Just-in-Time”.

“You remind me of my journal entries…cause you an I just add up”.

“Do you have any stocks? Because you are OUTSTANDING!”.

“Let’s change our relationship from Work-in-Process to Finished Goods inventory”.

“I’ll show you dividends in arrears”. (that one just sounds dirty)

“Babe, my only ‘Going Concern’ is how to know you better.”

“Let’s get fiscal”.

“I bet you’re like most of my 1040 filings: EZ”.

“For you boo, I’d drop the first “n” in my finance just to be your fiancé”.

“Babe, you SUTA my needs”.

“Are a revenue? Because without you I’m a loss”.

“My love for you has an estimated useful life of forever”.


I’m all about that Grad Life

Grad school. Just when you thought you were smart and generally successful as a person you get slapped into a reality in which you don’t know shit aka: a Masters in Accounntancy Program at a prestigious Private University on a full-ride scholarship. I’m pretty self destructive as a person but I never thought my end would come from studying to hard. But seriously guys, I already have 2 undergrads degrees, a killer resume, and sole tripped out experience but this a whole freakin different ball game of business. 

To get an idea of grad school for accountants, imagine you’re drowning…and then someone hands you a tax exam…and that’s it. But seriously though, this stuff is freaking hard. 

So long story short. my life sucks right now. Not that I don’t like learning or even taking classes for that matter. It’s just that to the point of death is a little exubirent don’t you think?

All my non grad school friends be like, “hang in there you can do it!” and they be sayin “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. Ha! I’m sorry but what you failed to emphasize is that is almost KILLS YOU

So that’s why you haven’t heard from me lately. I’m like 3 countries behind on my travel blogging so assuming I don’t die before winter break I will try and get on that. 

Sefaradi Time | How I almost died in Morocco

Don’t be Late for a Minyan in Merraksh

As you can see from my recent travel blog postings, I just returned from a kick-ass tour of Morocco. Absolutely loved the experience and if you haven’t gone yet; go! But like most interesting things in my life there was a catch to it. The background is that I was going to be in Morocco for 1 Saturday, which is the Shabbath. Although I am not really religious, I try and go out of my way to keep the Shabbat (Saturday) more unique and set apart; one thing in particular not spending money (plus I had like zero money to spend at the time so it wasn’t really that hard I guess). I’ve kept Shabbat like that for 5-6 years now and when planning my trip to Morocco I had only 2 goals for the entire trip which was 1) not to spend any dough on Shabbat and 2) to attend a service or at least pray in one the synagogues in Marrakesh. In case you didn’t know, Muslims and Jews lived together in Morocco for a long time with almost no issues. Up until the 1970’s, there was a big population of Moroccan Jews located all over Moroccan cities, but now most have migrated to Israel or Montreal, Canada leaving behind a Jewish void in the nation. While there are still some fascinating synagogues in Morocco, the amount of Jews still living in the country is incredibly small. Being the stupid American that I am, I thought attending a synagogue service in Morocco would be just as easy as here in America. Go to their website, find the address, get there a fashionably late since its your first time, and stay for a little nosh after the service. That’s the way its supposed to work! Here’s the story –

The city of Marrakesh is large and spread out. The oldest part of the city, called the Medina, is always in the city center surrounded by some sort of ancient city wall from the middle-ages. In fact the entire Medina is literally an extension of middle-aged architecture and civil engineering. Imagine REALLY narrow streets and SUPER old buildings that people have lived in for hundreds of years, literally. Combine that with dusty hot air and filth covered alleyways and your in the Medina. The twisty & narrow alleyways measure less than 4 feet wide (some places less than that) and they’re dirty, smelly, and a little bit creepy, and often times packed with people, pack mules, donkeys, and an occasional motorbike. Don’t get me wrong! I spent hours walking through the Medina of Fez and Marrakesh and totally loved it, but lets just say its a more exotic experience. Feels like you stepped into a time machine and went back a millennia or two. So long story short, the old Jewish Quarter in all Moroccan cities is always located in or near the Medina. Historically people called the Jewish Quarters “The Mallah” which means salt in Arabic because most Jews were salt merchants back in the day. (Talk about a great business to be in before refrigeration!) Anyways, today zero Jews live in the Mallah of Marrakesh and instead its totally inhabited by Berber Arabs.

So using all this information I gathered from my tour guide that morning, I set out on the 45 min walk from my hotel to the old Jewish Mallah portion of Marrakesh. (And that’s 45 mins one way). From my research before my trip, I knew there was an old synagogue in Marrakesh that looks amazing, so I was determined to davin in this synagogue! After a LONG walk/navigation nightmare of trying to find the Mallah, I finally found the correct alleyway. Keep in mind that while I don’t quite look like a Berber Arab, I could totally fit in with my looks. In fact many times Moroccans would come up and ask me for directions(!). Even the other people on the tour said all I needed was a turban and I could look the part. While that last part is up for debate, my point is that I felt comfortable walking through the streets of Marrakesh. The only thing I had against me is that I speak basically ZERO Arabic and ZERO French which are the 2 national languages of Morocco. So in terms of communication, consider me useless.

So when I finally found the correct alleyway, I was just about to turn into its narrow threshold when all of a sudden I hear someone yelling at me in Arabic and then French. I turned to see a teenage Berber running my direction waving his arms, motioning me to stop. He switched over to a heavy Arabic accented English and yelled out “Sir, I’m sorry but it iz forbeedden it iz forbeedden!” as he approached me. He then explained that the alleyway lead to the synagogue and this street was closed unless you had permission to enter. [I later found out his job was basically to protect foot traffic through this alleyway and keep the street clear until the Jews finished their Synagogue service.] I slowly looked at this young man and told him that I was looking for the synagogue and I wanted to pray there because I am a Jew. His faced light up and then he proceeded to tell me that I had to follow him to his shop; which was only a few feet away. When I kindly refused, he then insisted and eventually said that he would lead me to the synagogue after I see his shop. So not knowing what to expect, I follow this teenage Berber Arab kid to this little and literally hole-in-the-wall shop where he sold all the typical Berber cosmetic and medisonal products. He insistently took me inside his shop, sat me down, poured me a cup of Moroccan mint tea, and then launched into a 20 min shpeal about every single product he sold. Not knowing what to do I just sat there like a little kid staring up at him with wide eyes as he gave me the detiled history of Berber argon oil. Not knowing if this was his method of  stalling me so he could catch me off guard and then stab me, like an stupid American I just sat there in his dark little shop, sipping the lukewarm tea that tasted a little like dirty water. Eventually he abruptly finished his passionate explanations and smiled at me as he stood there with his hands behind is back gleaming with pride at his shop’s inventory. After a period of awkward silence during which he just stared and smiled at me, he then stuck out his hand and said, “You can to give me a uh, tip? Pleeze sirrr, you can for to give me a tip?”. I vainly tried to explain that it was Shabbat and Jews are not allowed enter transactions on the Shabbat. But he wasn’t buying it and instead asked with even more insistence that I could give him a tip. I didn’t want to piss him off, after all he did show he his Berber hospitality. I don’t normally carry money  with me on Shabbat but I was in a foreign country all alone and didn’t want to be stupid, so I reach into my pocket and pulled out a few coins – a mixture of Euros and Moroccan Dirhams – and as I started to fish through my coins for the proper amount to tip this kid, he actually reached over and scooped all the coins from my hands! Not cool; but whatever I was just ready to leave his shop. He then held up his part of the deal and lead me the rest of the way to the Synagogue. On our way there I noticed a small group of people walking towards us on the small street and this group of people were being escorted by a rather large and muscular Moroccan police officer. As they passed me I distinctly heard members of this group speaking in HEBREW! One of the men actually had a kippah on!!! MY PEOPLE!!! I DID IT. I made it to the Synagogue! About 20 feet later we came up to the entrance of the Synagogue and to my horror the big metal doors were closing. My “paid” guide exchanged a few words with the Arab who was closing the Shul doors and he then turned to me and said, “It iz closed’a for… because’a services are finished. You can exit you the way you came in.”. Shocked I looked around and noticed that the only people on this street were now Berber Arabs. The small Jewish crowd was now out of sight and I was stuck…alone…in the middle of the Medina surround by strange people. As my “guide” turned and left I heard someone yell out to me in English, “Sir the Synagogue is only for Jews”. I turned and saw a transitionally dressed Berber Arab man sitting outside a little shop adjacent to the Synagogue doors. He took a second look at me and then starting talking in Hebrew! I was like “Say What?!?! This dude speak da ‘Brew?”. As it turns out this man was the shomer (guardian of the Synagogue) and he even studied for a short while in Israel! I chatted with him for a little and then he told me that the Shul is closed now but I should come back for the next minyan at 4pm. Now I was a little disappointed that the service had finished so early and that I was so late. So as I slowly made my way back, the shomer called out and asked me to come into his shop. I was like, “Oh great here we go again!” but this guy was nice and even spoke a little Hebrew. The more I thought about it the more I realized how cool it would be to chill with a shomer in Morocco so I somewhat hesitantly entered his little shop while he proceeded in giving me the exact same Berber cosmetic explanations that I had just experienced moments before! I must admit the Shomer’s presentation contained more enthusiasm, his mint tea was very delicious,  and his hospitality struck me as quite genuine. This presentation lasted a bit longer until about 20 mins later when – once again – my Berber host ended quite abruptly – almost as if he he had reached his quota of English words – and then just awkwardly stood there and looked at me with a cheesy smile. He then pointed to himself and shyly asked “You can for to give me a tip?”. OMG! Here we go again. I set out that morning with a commitment to NOT spend any money and now for the 2nd time in 1 hour I’ve been placed in this weird situation. I tried explaining that today is Shabbat and that Jews cannot spend money on Shabbat. He nodded and said, “Of course I am Shomer, I know the traditions of the Jews…..but you can for to give me a tip?”. Gosh this guy was relentless. Around my 3rd time explaining that I could not pay him and he was still insistent; I started to feel like a nudnik. So reluctantly I reached into my pocket and pulled out a 100 Dirham note (about 10 bucks); which was the smallest I had and handed it to him. He then looked at it with disdain and said “Give to me at least 200 Dir’ham, what you give me now is nothing.” At this point I didn’t even care…so what the hell; I gave him the only other Dirham note I had and he took the 200 Dirhams, thanked me, told me to come back at 4pm for the next minyan, and then showed me the door.

Feeling a very irritated, I started the 45 mins walk back to my hotel. The entire walk back my attitude  seethed with disappointment and regret that had twice had to compromise on my Shabbat observance. However after a while, I started thinking about the positives. I had actually found the Synagogue which is a miracle in itself. I had meet the Shomer. I had learned more about Berber cosmetics then I thought I ever would. Moreover, I now knew the place and time for the next minyan! My desire of davining in the old Synagogue of Merrakesh would still come true! This thought uplifted my attitude as I entered my hotel room for a short rest. Now my plan was to rest for one hour and then walk the 45 mins back the direction I had just come and arrive at the Synagogue about 15 mins before 4pm for the next minyan. With renewed excitement and a lightness in my step I made it back to the same little alleyway and right as I turned into the narrow street, I heard the voice shout after me, “Sir! It is forbidden! It is forbidden!”. I turned towards to voice and instead of the young Berber Arab teenager I meet that afternoon it was an older, larger, rougher looking man with deep scares down his face which added to his natural look of ‘don’t-mess-with-me’. He didn’t speak any English but thankfully the words in Hebrew for I am Jewish and I am going to the Synagogue are quite similar in Arabic so I successfully got my point across. He then pass me along to another man who lead me to the same Synagogue doors which were still closed. This new guide also spoke zero English, Spanish, nor Hebrew but he motioned to the door and I nodded. My new guide was the most usefully out of them all, for he then opened the large metal doors to the Synagogue and entered them, stepped inside and motioned for me to follow. Excitement! Reverence! Finally I made it! Walking through the threshold I could see the main courtyard of the Synagogue. Beautiful tiled floors and walls. Modeled in a similar layout of a traditional mosque, it was lovely! But here’s the part where it gets crazy. I had only walked about 10 feet into the building when out of nowhere, a Moroccan National Police Officer turned a corner and began yelling at my guide and I! While I couldn’t understand it, I got the point that we were not welcome at the moment. The entire conversation escalated with the police officer telling us that the Synagogue was closed and that we need to leave immediately. Even when my guide tried explaining that I was a Jew, the officer still made a ‘shewing’ motion and again started yelling something in Arabic. Before I even knew what happened I found myself out in the narrow alleyway of the Malah with the metal doors of the Synagogue closing behind me. My guide nodded apologetically and went about his business. AH! Maybe I was just to early! After all it was now just about 4 o’clock so perhaps I just need to wait. Maybe these Moroccan Jews have a bad case of Sefaradi time and will be late. So for the next 15 minutes I stood outside the walls of the old Synagogue of Merrakesh. Alas, no to avail! 15 minutes passed and no sign of another Jew. A waited a little longer but I had experienced enough disappointment for one day. Maybe it was the 2 hours of walking in the heat of the day combined with the various let downs, but I felt terrible. With a head held low I made my way back through the alleyway and out onto the main road of the Medina. As soon as I crossed I heard more yelling behind me. I turned and who should I see but Mr. Scare Face from 30 mins before. I was gibbering in Arabic and French and of course I looked back with confusion until another Arabic man dressed in traditional Berber garb came up and said that Mr. Scare Face wanted a tip. You have got to be kidding me! No way! I refused and told the new translator that I wasn’t able to enter the Synagogue, but it didn’t mater both men were pointing at me and demanding tips. Out of nowhere who should join the party of the young Arab teen from later that day! He came into the mix and after exchanging a few words also insisted that I give a tip to the other 2 guys. ARGGH! I was in no mood so I started arguing with these guys staying no one was going to get a tip today. This went on for a few minutes when I noticed the seriousness of my situation. Here I was, a lone stupid American Jew with no language skills, arguing with 3 aggressively insistent Berber Arabs, with my back literally up against the Medina wall. For all I know they could be plotting my kidnapping as I stood there. Enough! I reached into my pocket for the last remaining bill I had (10 euro) and shoved it into Mr. Scare Face open hands and turned to walk away. Now the eyes of the other 2 guys widened like golf balls when the saw the amount and they then started following me and insisting that they deserved tips. I was mad, scared, and ready to get the hell out of there. Finally about 20 feet later all 3 men stopped following me and headed to their little alleyway entrance. The next 45 mins back to the hotel were filled with thoughts of despair, anger, frustration, and serious disappointment. The one thing, THE ONE THING I wanted to do failed. And the one thing I DIDN’T WANT to do happened.

What lessons did I take from this experience? Well first off Jews in America have it good. We have huge Synagogues with friendly greeters and websites with service hours. Visitors can easily find a Temple and even stay later for a little kiddish and nosh. But in Morocco, national police officers have to guard the buildings during non-service times and even the Shomer will ask for a tip on Shabbat. I know that my case was  particularly bad because I didn’t speak the language and I didn’t understand the culture. So I guess the second thing I learned was how stupid I am! I should have been less confident and more thoughtful about how to spend my Shabbat. But I guess the biggest lesson here is DON’T BE LATE FOR THE MINYAN!

Reasons I’m Single But Awesome #3 The Car I Currently Drive

Again No one wants to car pool with me | I thought I would take a break from my travel blogging to bring the next post in the series of Reasons I’m Single But Awesome which has been long over due. In the previous post in this series, I explained how the old car I used to drive, effectively worked as an efficient anti-chick magnet and mode of transportation. Read about my old 1984 BMW 528e here. However, this post is dedicated to the car I am currently driving: a white 2004 Honda Civic DX with only power steering. I went from driving a super unique car to the most boring car ever. Going from 5-speed manual to a cheesy automatic transmission really throws out the cool factor.

When I bought this car, I was totally ecstatic that I could actually afford something constructed on this side of the millennium! Going from 1984 to 2004 is an improvement on the automobile timeline. Now I don’t mean to brag or anything but, my little civic has 3 whole cylinders of raw power! Which means I can go from 0 mph to 60 mph in….well,…eventually! If I can get the car up to about 65 mph, as soon as I turn the radio on I drop back down to 45 mph. :( Because the color of the car, it has been affectionately known as my White Lighting. A few months ago I drove back from a concert in uptown Charlotte with some friends of mine. They all piled into my White Lighting and I drove over to the pay stations on the way out of the parking garage. I pulled up to the pay machine, grabbed my credit card from my wallet, exhaled loudly, and firmly announced to the car’s entire population that it was time for my bicep workout. At which point I proceeded to turning the manual hand-crank to roll down the window. Everyone in the car began laughing hysterically.

I guess the real reason I’m writing about my car is because I had my first safety recall this week. Apparently my car’s airbag kills people…which is the opposite purpose of an airbag if you think about it. So not only is my car supper cheap, but even it’s safety features are basically trying to kill me.

Wutzupham Visits; Tangiers, Morocco

It’s Time for Africa! | This was my very first time on the African continent and let me tell you I really had no clue what to expect. My older sister spent a summer traveling through South Africa, Botswana, and Zambia doing an Aids Awareness program and she had a lot of interesting stories. However that […]

Wutzupham visits: Costa del Sol, Spain

Alright, I didn’t actually spend too much time around Costa del Sol but honestly, if you want nice beaches you don’t have to go far from North Carolina. Don’t get me wrong I love the Mediterranean Sea and its strikingly blue waters, but I’ve also been to the Bahamas, Florida, and Ameila Island and beach wise they are even better. The Spanish coast is more rocky than sandy which makes for a very uncomfortable frolicking in the water. The temperature, even in late May, was a little chilly but honestly I prefer my beach that way; Cool and refreshing. My biggest regret was not having a boggie-board! The surf was perfect for boogie-boarding.

The beaches of Málaga are heavily developed, which is great if you want to find a little cabana next to the beach, but bad if you are looking for a more natural beach front feel. There’s a lot more to see in Málaga – the birthplace of Pablo Picasso – such as museums, neat plazas, and some historical ruins. There’s also a cool looking bull fighting rink right in the middle of town. The crazy think about anywhere in Costa del Sol is you will meet a lot of other Europeans who are on holiday. Its was kind of strange finally seeing someone whiter than I was. Standing next to some of these Scandinavians people, I looked like an Arab!

Málaga feels like Florida sometimes.

Málaga feels like Florida sometimes.

Tons of great sea food in Costa del Sol.

Tons of great sea food in Costa del Sol.

I totally recommend chilling at a beachside restaurant in Málaga.

I totally recommend chilling at a beachside restaurant in Málaga.

I got to drive through Marbella for a little bit, which also has a nice views but more or less the same beaches. Probably the coolest landmark was seeing the Rock of Gibraltar on the South of Costa del Sol. Gibraltar at one point added to the British territories and I guess they just forgot they had it or something, cause now a days it’s just like little mountain island with 30,000 British peeps just chilling the Mediterranean. They totally got the upper hand of the British Commonwealth I tell you that. Screw the Island of Whales, if I was Price Charles I would make myself the Prince of Gibraltar!  The last stop I visited was the little port town of Tarifa which is nothing more than a view nice villas (probably owned by rich Germans) and then a ferry crossing/Spanish customs office. From the port of Tarifa, I took I 30-40 min fairy to Tangiers where I spent the next 7 days gallivanting across Morocco. :)

Rock of Gibraltar, apparently they have a unique mix of Spanish and British culture.

Rock of Gibraltar, apparently they have a unique mix of Spanish and British culture.

Only in Spain would you find an old abandoned sea side castle fort just chilling on the side of the road. No sign or nothing. And then 100 ft to the right is the modern day Spanish customs checkpoint for passengers going to/from Africa.

Only in Spain would you find an old abandoned sea side castle fort just chilling on the side of the road. No sign or nothing. And then 100 ft to the right is the modern day Spanish customs checkpoint for passengers going to/from Africa.

Boarding the fairy to cross over into Northern Africa. Morocco here I come!

Boarding the ferry to cross over into Northern Africa. Morocco here I come!

Wutzupham Visits: Granada, Spain

Please check out my photos at the bottom of this post! Talk about a College Town | Unfortunately, I only spent 1 day in Granada. After checking into my hotel, I went for an hour walk through the modern part of the city and I got some interesting vibes. First off, Granada appears to have a […]

Wutzupham visits: Toledo, Spain

My Favorite City | Of every town I visited in Spain, Toledo is hands down my personal favorite! Located about an hour south of Madrid, the ancient city of Toledo is in my opinion the cultural and historical heart of Spain. One of the former capitals cities, Toledo also served as the religious seat of […]

Wutzupham Visits: Segovia, Spain

Segovia: Romans, Jews, and Walt Disney. Here is a little post about the city of Segovia which was one of the highlights of my trip. In every corner of Segovia lies a piece of history or a piece of culture. Walking the streets under the shadows of its towering Cathedrals and Roman structures really pulls […]

Wutzupham Visits: Madrid, Spain

España: Overview & Heritage  One of my new favorite places on earth. I absolutely love the Spanish landscape, the Spanish language, historical significance, and of course the wine. I spent almost all of my time in the southern Andalusia region of Spain. And of course I was only in Spain for 2 weeks which is far to […]