Off Topic: PSA

I wasn’t going to recount this little incident, but apparently I’m not the only one who has had a tense few minutes wondering if she was going to cause a terrorism alert just  because she wanted to eat lunch.

You know those self-heating kosher meals they sell in the supermarket? They show this really delicious looking meal on the cover and on the back it says that everything you need is right inside the box; you just take it and go. A brilliant little innovation for people who find themselves in random locations at random times.

Hey, that’s me!

I bought one ages ago and waited for the right opportunity to try it. A six-hour bus ride seemed right.

Yeah, so this is why you test-drive things before actually using them.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a gentle but persistent heating pad that would, after an interminable amount of time, provide a lukewarm meal.

Well, I’m happy – if rather scarred – to report that you get a piping hot meal for your money, no kidding!

Everything is enclosed. Fork, knife, spoon, napkin. Cookies for dessert (I had them as an appetizer while waiting for the food to heat). And a plastic bag with a heating pad, and a small packet of water to activate the pad.

“Exothermic reaction,” I thought vaguely.

Boy, I had no idea.

I poured the water into the bag, slid the sealed food container into the bag, rolled the bag shut, stuck it into the original box, and put it on top of my laptop case which was on top of my laptop, which was on top of my lap. There was a chemically odor as the reaction started.

After a few seconds it occurred to me that I ought to put it inside the laptop case. The heater could probably use the help of the insulation.

So I grabbed the box.

And dropped it.

OUCH! That was hot.

I felt underneath the box. Considerable quantities of heat were passing through to my laptop. So with tapdancing fingers, I managed to shove the super-hot box into the laptop case. Then I lifted the case by the edges and held it suspended over my lap.

Problem temporarily solved.

Cripes it smelled chemically.

I surreptitiously peek at my seatmate to see what she’s making of this. She’s texting. Phew.

Now what?

As I sat there dangling the case by its edges there was a new development: a pillar of steam rising from the opening of the laptop case. It rose straight and true in the still air of the bus. My eyes grew wide. Uh oh.

Another peek at the seatmate. Still texting. So was most of the bus, actually. But someone was bound to turn around and see this demonstration of the Heavenly Glory by Day, outlined by the dim green lights of the bus.

So I stuck it on my suitcase, which was under my feet.

Now the Pillar of Steam rose straight from (its choice) the aisle side of the case, slid happily up the slant of the seat in front, and spread above the headrest, for all the world like a smoke signal. It was completely unperturbed by the chaos theory that predicts its breakup and dissipation.

I nonchalantly pretend it’s not there and gaze about the bus for primary witnesses.

Girl across the aisle is sleeping. That’s okay. Girl diagonally forward is texting too. Oh wait, she’s done… she’s waiting for an answer… she’s spacing out… her vacant gaze registers something odd… she notices the steam pillowing against the luggage rack… she’s following it down…

Texting Girl gave my steam-spewing laptop case a vague, spaced-out gaze and lapsed back into full spaced-out-ness. Ah well, she does look the fatalistic type. Black clothes, dark makeup, multiple piercings. Maybe she’s even suicidal. Doesn’t even bother to text “tell mom i luv her”. What a sad case.

Or maybe I’m the sad case. Maybe it’s totally normal for clouds of gray stuff to come out of the people’s suitcases on the bus. Maybe I’m overly self-conscious because I don’t ride buses often enough to see other people with smoking suitcases.

When is it going to run out of steam already?! There wasn’t that much water.

Why doesn’t the box say, “Warning, will get burning hot” or “Do not use in very enclosed, crowded areas”? If this weren’t a Jewish company they’d be sued to the seat of their pants.

Texting Girl went back to texting.  Sleeping Girl woke up, gazed sleepily about, and shut her eyes again. After all, what is “to die” but “to sleep,” as Hamlet not-so-succinctly put it? And sleep is the picture of death, points out John Donne. Seatmate is the only one to consider my pillar of steam worthy of a wrinkled brow.

She wrinkled her brow at it. Perhaps she was thinking that I’d been mixing things from strange packets just a few minutes ago. Then, not wanting to be nosy, she went back to texting. Maybe she calculated that the MegaBus from Boston isn’t a likely terrorist target.

Okay, I’m not going to be collared for setting off a chemical bomb. Good news! Let’s celebrate! Let’s eat.

OUCH! This thing is hot.

Oh, and the flavor? Just like anything that gets heated up in a sealed container. My chicken noodle dinner tasted just like airline food.

The Modern Man

“…and when you’ve scrubbed the toilet and expressed your feelings and whatever else the modern man is supposed to do…”

That’s a line from this weekend’s reading material, part of a guy’s world-weary description of what it takes to get a girl these days. It made me laugh, because he makes it sound like it’s all fake, guys just do what girls like, just like they’ve always done what girls like, way back to when girls liked them to drag around big clubs and wear shaggy loincloths – anything to make ‘em happy and agree to marry you, whatever it takes.

And of course that’s not true. Right? I mean, guys are very happy to pitch in at home and really are in touch with their feelings… right? And we like ‘em that way… right?

Which is to say, the question of the day:

Men – Do you say and do stuff strictly to impress the woman you’re after? (And would you scrub toilets and cry at the sad ending to a movie?)

Women – Would you like  a husband who is thoughtful around the house and had a deep, emotional streak? Or are they there strictly to hug you when you’re being emotional, not breaking down themselves?

Good Wholesome Advice

This dating advice kept me in stitches… My mother noted that the husband was drying dishes. I can’t believe this was called acting  circa 1949 (or were children really that charming and innocent back then?). Enjoy. Hat tip to Stupid Inventor.

Thank You For Not Being *This* Embarrassing

Yes, they have tried to strong-arm me into going places and doing things in the hope of “being seen,” but I’m glad to say that neither of them has gone so far as to make a public announcement about it on national television. Hat tip to The Apple’s status.

Is This Really a Problem?

Although I’m in the shidduch scene thing, I’m obviously somewhat more familiar with the female half of things. So this article on Washington Heights, which has been circulating like a piece of profundity, raised a few questions.

1 – Why is the magazine called Guernica? Okay, I get the “arts and politics” thing, but isn’t there a more cheerful confluence of art and politics? (or do they never come together in a cheerful way?) A more American one, at least? I guess not.

2 – How do you lose blond hair? Like by forgetting it on a park bench? I find it hard to believe NYC hasn’t got enough sun to bleach the bleachable type of hair in the summertime.

3 – Is there really a difference between what guys are “taught” the woman’s role is and what the girls are “taught” to do?

This is the second time I’ve seen that listed as a reason for the so-called “shidduch crisis.” That girls – women – want to have a career, and guys think they ought to be in the kitchen changing diapers.

I have, once or twice, seen a guy make a face when I said I wasn’t likely to consider dropping work completely. I consider that to be a matter of practicality, and anyway, in this age of modern convenience, you really don’t need to be home all day to get the housework done (assuming that the wife is the only one doing housework).

I mean, I did get week and a half’s worth of experience recently, and it definitely did not take up a full day, even when I pulled a six-pot dinner.

So, once you’ve redecorated the living room, mastered the art of fruit-glazed chicken and souffles, packed enough stuff into the freezer to last til Pesach (which you don’t need because you’re making everything fresh every day), made thematic succah decorations, and completed the Purim costumes from scratch, and updated your family blog with photos of your adorable children and your latest toilet-scrubbing technique, what is left to do?  Become a gym rat? Go out for lunch with your friends? Volunteer for every organization under the sun? Visit traveling exhibits?

You’re going to wind up out of the house anyway (if only for the sake of your sanity) – why not get paid for it?  Yes, the thematic succah will have to go and the souffles will probably fall by the wayside, but most people survive without them anyway.

Besides, there is a growing trend (and don’t deny it, guys) that women are outpacing men in the workplace. Since it makes sense for the higher earner to be the breadwinner, there are higher rates of housekeeping husbands (hat tip to BiggestFish [I know who you are]) than ever before.

Sure, the household is the center of the Jewish solar system. But who says it’s got to be the woman doing the tightest orbiting?

All that was just for the sake of argument – and the controversy-lovers may begin shouting right now.

But it’s completely beside the point. It makes no difference to the question of: are guys “taught” that women should be in the home orbital? Exactly how is this taught? Do rabbeim give classes on these things? ‘What to look for in a wife’ or ‘Who’s place is in the kitchen (hint: not yours)’?

For the guys to whom this applies: how do you/they reconcile this with their plans to learn for several years and then go into a low-paying, late-if-ever paying ‘klei kodesh’ job? Do they also want their wives at home? (I get if a big-time lawyer who is never at home anyway wants his wife there feathering the nest, but if you’re small-time or average-time stuff…?)

What People Read

I noticed that there’s one post that seems to get a trickle of visitors on a regular basis, despite being buried in the past without much to recommend it. So, in a fit of procrastination, I dropped in on the Blog Stat section of my dashboard to check out the most popular posts of all time.

To my surprise, the #1 most popular post (after The Best roundup, not recently updated) is What Seminary Says About You (Behind Your Back).  Has someone been emailing that one around?

Next in line is Another Broken Engagement.  Heavy stuff. Whodathunk?

Then come some that I know are google results: men’s clothing sizes, reasons not to get married, etc. Those google searches always seem to land people here. Not much content, unless you want to know men’s clothing sizes, and so on.

For some reason my first blogoversary post also rates high, despite having zero content worth reading. There’s no accounting for taste, I guess.

There does seem to be a preference for bad dating stories (here too), weird date stories, dating gaffes, and snarky items. Now we’re on ground I understand.

At the very bottom, there were a couple of pages with only 1 or 2 hits, most of them from the very beginning of the blog. Aw c’mon: I thought this one was good.

Probably I should use this data to update the Best Of Bad4 list, but I’m running out of time to procrastinate, so I guess I’ll do that a different time.

I Am NOT Going to Go Out Tonight!

Yesterday’s post, combined with the question, “So can we move on to the next guy yet?” inspired this stab at literature, a la Dr. Seuss’s “I Am Not Going to Get Up Today.” I have taken the liberty of illustrating it, but as I am not James Stevenson, those with sensitive eyes need not look.

Please let me be.

And shut the light.

I am NOT going to go out tonight!

The phone can ring.

The shadchan weep.

My bed is warm.

My pillow’s deep.

Tonight’s the night I’m going to sleep.

I don’t care if girls are going out

From Detroit to Dublin.

I’m the girl who ISN’T going out

I’m staying in.

All around the world they’re going on dates

And that’s okay with me.

Let couples date in Miami, or in Memphis, Tennessee.

Let them go out in Waterbury,

And in Monsey – I don’t care.

And let girls and boys in LA

Date however they date out there.

Let them meet in Israeli lobbies,

And discuss each other’s hobbies.

Let couples go out in London

And in Paris and Berlin.

Let them date all they want to.

But not me.

I’m staying in.

I’ve never felt less social

Since I can’t remember when.

And there’s nothing I would rather see less

Then a male specimen.

No one’s gonna get me out,

No matter what you try.

No matter how the shadchan raves

About this perfect guy.

You can try segulos

To get me wed

You get a doctor to examine my head

But you’re wasting your time

So go, alright?

I am NOT going to go out tonight!

At home is where I’m going to stay.

And I don’t care what the neighbors say!

I never liked them anyway.

Let them tell me chizuk stories.

Let them whisper, murmur, yelp.

Let them recite Shir Hashirim

But it isn’t going to help.

My bed is warm.

My pillow’s deep.

Tonight’s the night I’m going to sleep.

I don’t choose to be out walking.

I don’t choose to be out talking.

The only thing I’m choosing

Is to lie here snuggly snoozing.

So won’t you please send him away?

I am NOT going to go out, okay?

You won’t get me out with a restaurant date,

You won’t get me out with great conversation,

Or a walk through the mall

Or an evening of games!

My brain is asleep

Not considering names.

You can try with shadchanim and rabbis

You can try with rebbetzins and friends

You can try with all the best bochurim,

But right here is where it ends.

You can lament it in the papers.

Spread my tale all over town.

But nothing’s going to get me out.

Tonight I’m lying down.

You can threaten me with crisis stats!

You can bring in guys with big black hats!

You can put it up on Yeshiva World News!

And let every idiot share his views!

Nothing is going to get me out!

Why can’t you understand?

You’ll only waste your money

If you hire a wedding band.

That’s why I say “Please go, alright?

I am NOT going to go out tonight!”

I guess she means it.

So you can have her guy.

Reaching New Heights

It’s like climbing a mountain.

You hike and hike and you reach a point and you look down and there’s the valley spread below you and you think, “Wow, I’m high.” And then you hike some more and you hike and hike and you reach a rocky lookout point and you look down and you go, “Whoa…. This is high.” And you look down on your first lookout and you smile to yourself and say, “And I thought that was high…” And then you look up the trail and wonder what the height is like up there, what the view will be, how the vista will spread and what it will feel like.

It’s like climbing a mountain, only the scenery isn’t as good.

I have reached the point where I can look back and my younger self and think, “Ha, I thought that was jaded?” Back then I was just sick of dating a guy once or twice with no progress. Now I feel  revolted by the idea of going on another date. How do people sustain this kind of pace perpetually?

I don’t want to hear about one more perfect guy. I don’t want to hope one more time that this might be the one. I don’t want to dress up. I don’t want to wait neatly in my room for the doorbell. I don’t want to smile and be pleasant and go to another lounge and order another water and deal with another lemon. I don’t want to explain my field. I don’t want to describe my ideal future. I don’t want to answer more awkward standard dating questions while pretending that they’re not awkward and standard, that they’re normal things for total strangers meeting for the first time to ask each other. I don’t want a single other waitress to throw me a sympathetic smile ever again forever.   I don’t want to listen to one more out-of-towner who professes to hate the tri-state area go on about how much he loves his tri-state area yeshiva which means that he’s going to want to spend the rest of his life in the tri-state area complaining about how much he hates it here. I don’t want to talk about my siblings or my job. I don’t want to spend an evening trying to figure out what to ask a learning guy about himself after he answers “nothing” or “basketball” to “what do you do for fun?” I don’t want to see another stranger’s GPS with my address in it. I don’t want to be at the mercy of another maniac’s driving. I don’t want to wonder if I should get out of the car right away or not when he pulls up in front of my house. I don’t want to feel his eyes on my back as I open the door to my house. And I don’t want to suddenly find myself very tired and very dressed and two flights down from my bed.

I don’t want to go out.

I don’t don’t don’t want to go out.

And I’m only 23. I wonder what new heights of jadedness await up there?

Question of the Week: Nice Family?

Caller: “I’m looking into Bad4 as a potential shidduch for my son. Can you tell me – does she come from a nice family?”

Answer: “Bad4’s family? You won’t find a nicer family anywhere. So normal and even-keeled. They’re so close. So… nice.  They beat each other up in the most friendly way. And they have these adorable affectionate nicknames for each other and greet each other so fondly – Fatface, Dodobrain, Jellosnot, Hippiehair…

“I remember the day Good4 got her acceptance letter for seminary. They always have breakfast together and Good4 was so excited that she greeted Bad4 by flinging a spoonful of oatmeal at her.

“’I guess someone took you after all, huh?’ she said, licking the oatmeal off her shoulder. (You see how close they are. Bad4 can practically read Good4’s mind.) ‘Pity acceptance for sure. They got sick of your principal begging them in advance because she knew nobody would want you.’

“Good4 flung another spoonful.

“’Well I thust wan’ oo oo know,’ Bad4 had caught this spoonful in her mouth (she had practice; Good4 is very demonstrative in her love), ‘That I was davening for you the whole time. I can’t wait for you to be gone for a whole year. And maybe you’ll decide to stay for shana bet and get married and never come back.’ (You see how close the two of them are? It’s adorable to see.)

“’Two more years of moronic school counselors?’ Mr. Shidduchim protested. ‘I don’t know if I can handle it.’ (He does like to shelter the family a bit from external influence.)

“‘That was a misunderstanding!’ Good4 protested. ‘It’s not my fault stupid Mrs. Moonshineberg didn’t believe me when I said I got that bruise because Ima was so excited to have me back after Shabbaton. She thought I walked into a door or something. You notice she never has any bruises at all. I bet her family hates her.’ (Such a respectful pupil… Really it fills a neighbor with nachas.)

“‘I really missed you that weekend,’ Mrs. Shidduchim leaned over and gave Good4 bonk on the head so affectionate that it raised a swollen bump. ‘I really don’t know how I’m going to manage with you away a whole year. Maybe I’ll inject you with a slow, deteriorating disease so you’ll have to stay home for treatment.’ (They’re really quite attached, you see.)

“‘If you do, I’ll burn down the house and tell the insurance people that you did it for the money,’ Good4 replied lovingly.

“Then breakfast was over and everyone shoved their plates and bowls at Bad4 while Mr. Shidduchim reminded her that if she didn’t do the dishes he would break them over her head. And they all went their own ways until dinner, which you may rest assured was as close-knit and adoring as breakfast.

“So you see how nice they are. You know, I can’t think of another family that really shares in other people’s simcha with as much enthusiasm. They had a cousin who got married as an older single – she was 21 – at Bais Faiga. And you know how they stop the music so early there, 11 I think. Well, the Shidduchim family was so excited, so after the music ended they danced up and down the street singing Od Yeshama at the top of their lungs, to share the simcha with the neighbors. And people did, you know. They shouted charming epithets out their windows and threatened to call the police, so the family knew they were excited too.

“You know, they say Mrs. Shidduchim’s kugels are a segula. She bakes for the local bikur cholim, and it’s said that shortly after having her food for Shabbos, a patient will be leaving the hospital – through one exit or another. So you can see that they’re really special – and very nice.”

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-

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…Seriously. Are we a “nice family”? What kind of question is that? What kind of answer do they expect? What family isn’t nice?

Off Topic: For the Lawyers

Wiley and other textbook publishers publish cheaper copies of the same books for India and Bangladesh and always write a threatening message on the cover to the tune that you can’t sell those copies out of Southeast Asia.

Can you do that? I mean, can a publisher really say that it’s illegal to sell a book across country lines?  Or are they just posturing in the hope that we in the USA will never find out how badly they’re  cheating us on books?

The List

There’s been some chatter about keeping lists of people one has dated. I expect this is common enough. On the most basic level, it’s to ensure that you don’t go out with someone twice. On a different plane, there’s a need to keep track of one’s experiences. The latter is the one that drives me. I want to know how many guys I’ve gone out with, what they were like, and how many times we went out. So my list doesn’t even have names.

There are two reasons I don’t use names. The first reason is simply that I don’t know them. I hardly ever bother to get a guy’s name for the first date. I never bother to listen to any information about him for a first date. It is invariably wrong misleading.  I know that the guy who’s been described as a doctor who wants to live out of town is going to turn out to be a PhD in ornithology who wants to live in Greenland to study the arctic tern. Moreover, it will probably be a One ‘n Done and I’ll have memorized his name in vain.

If we get to a second date, though, I’ll make some space in the ol’ brain for him.

Parent: So, how was the date?

Me: Not bad. What’s his name?

The second reason is that I’m squeamish about keeping a list of men’s names along with personal data lying about. I think it’s nobody’s business, including my own. They’re gone from my life; let them go in peace. I can malign the memory of Six-Block-Hike-in-Hail Male, or roll my eyes over No-Mashed-Food Dude, but would feel pretty rotten defacing the memory of Jonathan Doe or Ploni Schwartz.

So the List looks like this –

First comes the number. Meaning, what number guy was he? Not that my First Date was anything to brag about, but numbering is orderly.

Then where he’s from/living. At least, I started it this way. Recently I see I haven’t even bothered finding out where he’s from. So I think I only dated two guys from Brooklyn, but it’s possible there was another and I didn’t jot it down.

Next comes what he’s doing – eg, learning, studying something in college, working, or a mix.

Then, the most impressive items from the date – the things that bring back the memories. In other words – the events that give the guy his reference label: Sixteen-Passenger Van Man, or Pink Tie Guy.

Afterwards I put down how many dates we went on, and finish with who ended it – him, me, or mutual. Though Harryer records them as wins and losses, I don’t really consider them that way. I give almost every guy a second chance, so a guy can get a point just for pulling a 1DD after a blah date. There are a few O’nDs that do puzzle me, but there are only a few real losses up there, and I don’t need a List to remember them.

So that’s my List. How do you keep yours? And why?

Seeing the Lights

Tonight I’m sitting down to watch Happily Eva After for the second of four times.

I know, I know, don’t I have homework? Yes, but this is part of it, I guess. First, for those who don’t know, Happily Eva After is this year’s Regal Production, the Ramat Beit Shemesh theatrical group that usually puts on the Zir Chemed benefit play. (My favorites were Oliver with a Twist and Annie.)

Well, they’re coming to New York and playing to benefit Rachel’s Place, a shelter for homeless teens, a cause I support. And while I’m plugging it, might I mention that I did most of the writing and some of the editing for the video on their site? Yes, go ahead and watch it.

Anyway, so why am I mentioning this, and why am I watching this play on DVD multiple times? Simply: because when they play in Brooklyn they’re going to be short a lights person, and I have gallantly volunteered to fill the gap. So why don’t you come to watch and see how awesome I am at pressing buttons and moving spotlights? An extra bonus – you’ll also get to watch a play.

Details:

When:

Motzei Shabbos, Feb 20 8:30 pm

Sunday, Feb 21 2:00 pm & 8:00 pm

Where:

The Atlantic Millenium Hall

1029 Brighton Beach Avenue • Brooklyn, NY 11235

How Much:

Tickets : VIP includes DVD & Meet the Cast

$200, $100, $75, $60, $50, $45, $36, $25

How:

Transportation available from Boro Park,

Williamsburg, Lakewood, Monsey & Monroe

provided by Monsey Tours

Valet Parking Available • Near B & Q Trains

Still Questions?

For ticket and bus information contact 917.676.5760

Tickets available at Mostly Music: 4815 13th Avenue

Reference Rotation

I was recently chatting with a friend when she suddenly asked me, “So is anything happening with all those boys?”

I started. Then I realized that she’s one of my references and is well aware of every guy who’s ever considered taking me out. (There’s no privacy in our modern era, etc.)

“There were so many recently, like half a dozen,” she said. I thought that number sounded a bit steep, but it was true; after several months of fallow, I was having a month of plenty.

Poor girl. Imagine answering all those calls, returning all those messages, repeating again and again that, deep down, I’m really not that bad…

“Would you like me to take you off the list for now?” I asked.

“No, no, it’s fine, really, I’m happy to do it for you,” she assured me. I assume she was lying. Some people you can trust to be honest about these things; not her. However, I decided to leave the status quo because  people ought to live with the consequences of their lies. And I’m too lazy to think up a replacement. But now I’m beginning to wonder – is there such a thing as Reference Fatigue?

My references are not, on average, overworked. But there are those frequent daters who seem to go out with a new person every week – sometimes twice a week. What do their references have to put up with? Nebach, the only roommate that liked them must, very slowly, be beginning to hate them. Should we be rotating our references to keep them from being overworked?

Rights for References!

Monday Melancholy

This one from BoSD. Well put.

Reason #8 for Getting Married – Revisited

I’m not a big believer in waiting to get married to enjoy all the privileges of marriage. Okay, some, obviously, but not all. For example, why wait for marriage to wear diamonds? Not that I can afford diamonds, but I don’t see why you have to wait until you’ve got a guy on the other side of the mechitzah to walk about dripping in gems. So I have to say I’m a bit put out that married folks have this cop-out option that I don’t. And by “this option” I mean the “My spouse doesn’t let” line.

So I decided to give it a swing one fine motzai Shabbos when the parentals tell me to do the dishes.

“I can’t, my husband doesn’t let.”

Just imagine the reaction.

“You have a husband? Why didn’t you tell us until now?”

“That’s so nice, can we meet him?”

“I haven’t married him yet, but he’s out there somewhere, and I’m sure he doesn’t let me get dishpan hands.”

“Oh I’m sure he’d rather you than him. Wear gloves.”

Okay, maybe that one only works once you’re married. I guess it really is Reason #8 for getting married.

WARNING WARNING WARNING New ID Theft Scheme – Protect Yourself!

>>JUST AFTER I GOT THIS EMAIL SOMEONE CALLED ME ABOUT MY NIECE AND I KNEW NOT TO GIVE THEM INFORMATION ABOUT HER!!! Thank goodness I got this email when I did! Read it all the way through – and then read it again!!!

>>> This email comes from the Pope so you know it’s reliable. Very important!

>>>>FORWARD THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW AND LOVE!!! WARN THEM ABOUT THIS SCHEME THAT COULD STRIP THEM OF THEIR IDENTITY BY USING THEIR SHIDDUCH REFERENCES!!! THIS IS A TRUE STORY CONFIRMED BY SNOPES!!

>>>>Last week in Brooklyn a woman took a shidduch call for a neighbor of hers. The caller didn’t identify himself but said he was investigating the girl for a potential shidduch date. The woman was eager to be helpful and didn’t ask the caller his name.

>>>>The caller was interested in the girl’s family background, particularly the mother’s, so the woman told him all about the mother’s family, impressing the caller with the girl’s yichus from her mother’s family, the rabbinic dynasty of the Uber family.

>>>>Afterwards, the caller asked about the girl’s interests, especially animals, as his son had always wanted a dog ever since he was a boy and had been told he could do whatever he wanted when he grew up and moved out, so he was. The woman assured the caller that the girl had had several pets over the course of her life, ranging from a chicken to a miniature giraffe to the most adorable little goliath beetle. She even remembered the names of all the pets, and provided them – Henny Penny, Rubbernecker, and Golias.

>>>>The caller, of course, was interested in the girl’s schooling – where she attended, what year she’d graduated, and where she’d grown up. He also confirmed the girl’s address, which he’d gotten from the shadchan.

>>>>The woman tried her best to be helpful, because the girl was a very special girl, and she wanted to help her get married. After covering a few other subjects, the caller thanked the woman and hung up.

>>>>TWO DAYS LATER THE GIRL FOUND HER BANK ACCOUNT EMPTIED VIA AN ONLINE BALANCE TRANSFER AND HER EMAIL ADDRESS PASSWORD WAS CHANGED AND HER ACCOUNT WAS BEING USED TO SEND OUT SPAM!!!

>>>>BEWARE THIS LATEST PLOT TO STEAL YOUR IDENTITY! NEVER GIVE IDENTIFYING INFORMATION TO STRANGERS, ESPECIALLY INFORMATION COMMONLY USED FOR SECURITY QUESTIONS!!!

>>>>FORWARD THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW SO THEY DON’T HELP IDENTITY THIEVES HARM THEIR LOVED ONES.

Okay, a little extreme, yes, but this popped into my head after having the following conversation:

“Someone called me about you yesterday!”

“Really? Who?”

“Not sure. Maybe a Schwartz? Or was it Cohn?”

Why don’t people ask and remember who’s calling? If a stranger randomly calls up and starts asking for personal information about someone you know, shouldn’t it raise a few red flags? At least you should wonder what their names are. Usually I have a vague notion of who should be checking me out and can match your caller with one of my potential suitors.

And why do I really care? It’s good to be able to keep track of who is investigating you. I mean, if someone called a string of six people and then you never hear from him again, wouldn’t you want to know who the last reference was? Or, more seriously, when all your friends, neighbors, and relatives have been throwing suggestions at you regularly, it’s kind of nice to have a heads up on which ones are actually actualizing.

So c’mon folks. Ask who it is and who they’re calling for. That’s a lot more useful than just “Somebody’s calling.”

How to Get a Second Date

From the All-Seeing and All-Finding ‘O’ we bring you:

The Ladies Home Journal (1950) on How to Rate a Second Date.

Probably, not much has changed. But there are a few I don’t understand:

“Did you go home without parking anywhere”… what? Dare I ask? And isn’t he the one who decides on the driving meneuvers?

“Did you give other  girls a break with him”… meaning, did you hog him the whole night or not? I think I mess up on that one every time…

“Did you produce an idea for your second date” – hm. I don’t see that going over so well. I mean, what if he’s about to pull a 1DD? (1-date dump). That could be mega awkward.

Gee, Thanks

Setting: Erachet and Bad4 are at the Discovery da Vinci exhibit gazing at Leonardo’s paddle-boat.

Bad4: I like this one – and it actually works. If I were a rich old eccentric, I would build one for my lake.

Erachet: Well, when you get rich and old you can build one.

So, I’ve got one qualification pinned down easy, and another will come with time. After that, it’s a choice – become a gazillionaire and go the rich old eccentric route, or start keeping strays and become a crazy cat lady?

Food Foibles (part 1)

I like food.

I mean, I like almost all food. I like fish. I like chicken. I like spinach. I like brussel sprouts.

And even when I don’t like something, I don’t write it off and refuse to touch it forever after. That’s just so impractical. I’m the person who always take chopped liver, in the weary hope that I might like it this time. Sometimes I do. See? Tolerance is rewarding.

But guys – or at least the ones I date – seem to have massive food issues.

The most common is the “Water? You drink that?” crowd. Hello, yeah. Water is God’s beverage of choice. It’s delicious, refreshing, mostly clean, good for your body, and, when you get it from the tap, good for your teeth. And Brooklyn has the best tasting tap water outside of Alaska, so what’s not to like? Lack of sugar? C’mon. Lollipops are for kids. Adults learn to appreciate the finer, less sweet things in life – coffee, tea, whiskey, employment, dark chocolate, caviar… and yes, water. Go on – try some, instead of that eternal diet coke with the lemon.

But that’s just soda. No biggy. Slightly worse is the meat & potatoes crowd. These ‘Real Men’ are proud of the fact that they never consider anything a meal unless there’s a terrified piece of quivering red flesh on their plate. And they will never ever touch anything green.

“No cucumbers?”

“No.”

“Peeled?”

“Still greenish.”

“Green ketchup?”

“Gross.”

“Pistachio ice cream?”

“Yick.”

“Pickles?”

“Pickles are okay.”

So if you marry one of these, you got to figure you’ll be making two dinners – one for you and the kids, who can still develop healthy habits, and one for him. Also, I would definitely insist that I be the main breadwinner in the family. He can be the stay-at-home dad. It’s not feminism, it’s just practicality. If you know that your husband is going to drop dead of a heart attack around age 45, you need to be prepared to support the family. Running a household for 20 years isn’t exactly the best resume-booster.

But the worst are the ones who make it complicated. They don’t stick to a few easy-to-remember food groups. Instead, they pick a little of this and that.

Only chicken on the bone, no fish except takeout tuna and sushi, only frozen spinach not fresh,  no hard-boiled eggs in any form, barbecue sauce yes duck sauce no… and so on. You’d have to keep a reference list on the fridge. How do these guys get married? How do their wives manage?

There was one guy who tried to make it simple for me to understand. He explained that he just doesn’t eat anything if he can’t see the original item in it.

“So… french fries are okay, mashed potatoes are not?”

“Exactly.”

“And… apple kugel works, but not applesauce?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, what about potato kugel?”

“I don’t eat it.”

“You don’t eat potato kugel?!” Oh the horror! I was ready to ask him to take me home right then. No potato kugel? Is his life worth living?

“But… what about things like cake? There’s lots of stuff mushed up in there. You don’t see the original wheat or the sugar or the egg or the chocolate bean…”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “No, no, cake is fine…” he stammered slowly, his theory clearly needing an explanatory subclause. Of course. Surely a person can’t live without cake. Especially if you’re already living without potato kugel. I mean, seriously. What’s left to live for?

I decided not to ask about things like banana cake or zucchini cake. It would probably confuse him more, and honestly? I didn’t want to hear about it.

I went home and asked if you could ditch a guy for being a picky eater. He went home and saved me the trouble of making the decision, by saying no first.

Good luck to whoever lands that one.

Quote of the Week

“You know those weddings where everyone’s wearing black, the groom looks so solemn you’d think he was going to be executed, and both parents are bawling? And you’re like, ‘Is this a wedding or did I walk into the wrong building?’”

Resume Booster

Every now and then I get asked “Do you bake?” or “Do you cook?”

First off, these questions confuse me. What does “do you” mean? Meaning, is it something I do constantly, or meaning is it something I am capable of doing?

Because I can. But I don’t usually.

I know practice makes perfect, so technically if I did bake/cook often, I’d probably be better, but more often then not I get complimented on my efforts, and since they’re usually surprised compliments I know they’re sincere.

I could give all sorts of reasons why I don’t putter about in the kitchen more often, but the simplest is that I don’t need to: I’ve got a mother who does a more than adequate job without me sticking my wooden spoon into the pot.

So why mention this here? Because the question makes me nervous. Somehow I always feel like my answer is being filed away for shidduch query purposes.

“Bad4? She’s a a wonderful girl, really special, but not really big with the frequent fryer miles, if you know what I mean.”

I know I sound a little paranoid, but just earlier today I mentioned to a neighbor that since my mother was off spoiling the kinfaun this week, I was making Shabbos, and she answered, “Oh, it’ll be good practice!” So really, that’s what it all comes back to, if you’re single.

Correction: if you’re a single woman.

Anyway, as I mentioned, the mother was off visiting the kinfaun, leaving me to hold the fort. This had two positive side effects:

1 – I got lots of kitchen practice, so I can, for the moment, answer “Yes, I cook and bake.”

2 – I developed a sudden interest in dinner menus.

I would say that of the two, the second is the most life changing. I mean, you know those people it’s so difficult to speak to because they seem to be in a different world? Yeah, I’m referring to married people. Who else?

You know how you call them or IM them and they’re always in middle of making dinner? And you go “mhm” while they describe in gory detail the chicken they’re in middle of making, or this great way of making rice?

Well now I’m actually listening.  Even taking notes. It’s a little weird – almost like being married, but without the $3,000 hairdo.  Or the basement apartment. Or the ring. Or the husband.  Or pretty much anything except the housekeeping, actually. But still.

If I had a shidduch resume (wash mouth out with soap) – which of course I don’t – this would surely go down as relevant experience, no?

Decisions in the Downpour

As usual, a downpour of suggestions descended on my head around finals time. But one problem with going out with the same guy for a while: the stream of names piles up like a river behind a dam.

Of course, this leaves one with the pleasant sensation of being in high demand. If only briefly, and due to artificial manipulation of market conditions, I can wave a hand airily and say “Shidduch crisis? I’ve got guys lined up around the block.” It’ll be a sensation worth remembering during months of drought.

“Okay,” I rubbed my hands together, after the dam broke up and dispersed downriver. “Let’s deal with the queue.”

Now, I’m not really familiar with lists. I don’t usually have a list. So I haven’t got a clue how to deal with them. How do guys do it? Do you go out in chronological order of suggestion, or do you jump to the ones who sound more interesting?

Neither worked for me, in this case. I had two potentials who had been suggested within hours of each other, and whose background checks were completed simultaneously. Moreover, there were pros and cons unearthed for both.

“So,” I asked the parental units, “Which one should I go out with?”

They weren’t sure either. I mean, as the female half of the shidduch system, we’re used to having these kinds of decisions made by the other party. Getting wait-listed or rejected is the state of being. And while it’s never fun to be rejected, there’s some comfort in not having to make important decisions.

“I dunno,” my father sighed. “I have no feelings one way or another. Might as well flip a coin.”

“Hey, why not?”

“Flip a coin?”

“Exactly.”

Uneasy exchange of glances. Is this ethical? Shrugs all around. Nobody can think of a compelling reason not to, aside from a general uneasiness at the idea of being, as my father put it, so flippant.

So we flipped.

“Right, so heads is Guy 1 and tails is Guy 2.”

“Heads is Guy 1 and tails is Guy 2.”

“I haven’t done this in years…” my father pulled out a quarter and positioned it on his thumb. Despite being rusty, he managed a snappy little flip, and there was George Washington, staring studiously ahead.

“Guy 1?”

“Guy 1.”

Sheepish glances all around. Everyone is thinking, ‘This is weird, right?’ But seriously, is there a better way to do it?

Thank goodness they hadn’t checked out a third potential – we would have been reduced to eenie meenie miney mo.

Excerpt of the Week

This one from FnF:

Karen wanted to scream. Ima knew she hated talking to matchmakers directly. That’s what parents were for.

Exactly my line of thinking. I go on the dates. The parents arrange them. Division of labor. Very pleasant.

So There

A quote following a shidduch-related rant:

“…and if this appears on your blog I will kill you.”

As if. I have some discretion. But I can’t resist the excitement of having to dodge a hit-man for the rest of my life (may it be long and fruitful), so here you go.

Reason #8 for Getting Married: Man of the House

You know one of those parenting refrains meant to put off your kvetching as a child? “When you’re an adult you can do what you want…” or something similar. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it – I earned the right to not hear it several years ago, and it’s been quite a pleasant ride.

Which is why it always bothers me when I hear a particular phrase from married friends. And that phrase is (all together now):

“My husband doesn’t let.”

Pardon me a sec while I release some feeling:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

I really don’t like it. Quite frankly, it creeps me out.

I mean, when was the last time you ever said anything similar? Probably when you were a teenager. “My mother  doesn’t let.” or “my father doesn’t let” or “the principal doesn’t let” or something like that. It’s the complaint of the minor – the youngster who is helplessly restrained by the power wielded over him/her by  authority figures.

That is not how I visualize my relationship with my husband.

I always thought of marriage as a partnership. And by definition, that’s a union of equals. Yes, halachically, the husband gets to call the shots. But that’s a last-resort thing, in my little idealistic view.  Pulling rank, so to speak. Until then, you compromise. I mean, most things are not really important, and it’s just a matter of  gauging who it’s less important to. And the big stuff you’ve hopefully discussed already. I mean, that’s what dating is for, right?

So, I really don’t mind lines like “I’d rather not, it bothers my husband” or “It would make my husband nervous and he did the dishes last night.” You’re looking out for him. Sounds right to me.

And it’s not like it’s only the pushovers who suddenly start ending every conversation with “My husband doesn’t let.” Often I’m quite surprised by the ones who happily leap into matrimonial bondage. However, I never said anything until one particular friend played the line after a fairly innocuous request.

Me:  So, are you up for a day trip to Mogadishu?

Her:  Sorry, my husband doesn’t let.

Me: What? You too?!

At which point she bursts out laughing for a good three minutes.

Her: Bad4, that’s half the reason to get married!

Me: What? So you can miss day-tripping in Somalia?

Her: No, so you can blame everything on your husband, and nobody can say anything!

Me: What?

Her: It’s just an excuse.

Me: Really?

Her: YES!

Me: So what you’re saying is that you really don’t feel like going to Mogadishu with me, but instead of just telling me straight out, you’re blaming your poor spouse?

Her: Hello, yes! That’s what I’ve been saying.

Me: O-o-oh… But… everyone? I mean, is this something they teach you in kallah classes?

Her: Just about!

Me: Okay, I’ll go find someone single to go to Mogadishu with.

But apparently not all NMFs use supposedly totalitarian husbands as excuses. Just yesterday one informed me, in all seriousness, that she knew of one other person who believed that marriage was about compromise, rather than one dominant partner, and that both of us are single.

Now, that is certainly true. I am single. That is why I am not, among other things, writing dating handbooks or offering marriage counseling services. But that doesn’t mean that everything I  believe are the beliefs of the non-marriageable.

So, are there any married people out there who believe that you can have two equal partners who work things out together, rather than one who tells the other what to do?

Guess Who Came for Dinner?

It was Blobby’s idea and Scraps’s execution and I just came along for the ride. Or the food. Good food, I should mention. If you are ever in Washington Heights, I cannot recommend enough that you drop in on G6 for a bite.

G6 is  one of the few people you can describe as ebullient; she was positively aflutter with excitement when an unexpected party dropped in around dessert time and she had made an extra dessert!!! (I’ve only ever seen one other person actually flutter in excitement.) So, if you want to make her happy, I recommend you drop in around dessert time. It will make you happy too.

‘Course, it ain’t all about the food. The company and conversation were good, and we were loath to leave, and I might have consequently conked out on their table (my bedtime is 10:15 pm and we definitely passed it) if Scraps hadn’t been perceptive enough to excuse us.

Til next time!

Congrats NMF #15

Mindy got married last week! Wish I could have been there. This is the closest I can get.  Mazal tov Mindy! May you live happily ever after.

I Screme You Screme

So, the latest gossip for those who want to know:

This past Wednesday, six weird internet people of the female persuasion descended upon Screme in midtown Manhattan to consume ice cream and be single together.  (Something G6 is incapable of managing, no matter how much she sulks.)

In order of appearance:

Scraps, who was early, and waited outside in the cold for everyone else.

Bad4, who was prompt, and stood staring at the pictures of gelato and drooling slightly.

Princess Lea, who really is tall, and who gave me the idea to try out Screme.

The threesome went in and did some sampling. Soon they were joined by Tembow and a mysterious, unnamed reader. The last to arrive was REDTred, who was very delayed.

In spite of the fact that we leak membership like… well… like an orthodox Jewish single women’s club, I think this was our largest meet yet, matching or surpassing the Ice Cream House one in the fall. Being one of those quiet types who get quieter as you add people to the crowd, I didn’t get to yak up everyone there as much as I would have liked, but there will be future meets to remedy that.

Storytelling

People talk about experiences they have in common. That’s why it’s so hard to talk to friends you haven’t seen in ages, or people you’ve never met at all.

Or maybe it’s just if you haven’t much in common or aren’t ready to move on to the bigger stuff? I don’t know, exactly, but with one recent fellow the conversation always seemed to come around to the subject of dating.

Somehow I find that no matter what, we wound up talking about dating on dates. Often enough it turned to bad dates, because those are the most interesting kind. But there’s always something awkward about it. Like, “If we’re talking about bad dates, does that mean I’m not a bad date? Phew.” You also have to avoid mentioning any bad date stories that remotely resemble anything he’s done with you.

It strikes me as strange that, essentially, we were talking about all the other people we’ve gone out with. “I got pretty far with that girl.” Or, sheepishly after reciting a mess-up: “I think that’s why she dumped me.” It feels like there ought to be dating etiquette rules against it. Not that I mind, really, but it seems like there ought to be.

However, for me, the biggest problem is a moral conundrum: is it ethically okay to use your date’s dating stories in a blog post?

Shidduch Lit?

Okay, this isn’t really an addition to the shidduch reading list since it isn’t actually about shidduchim. But All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot contains a series of the most harrowing dating stories I’ve ever come across. Thanks to Apple for recommending it.

Quote of the Week

“One nice thing about being single – you can say that you’re nauseous without everyone looking at your stomach.”

Annoying Quote of Last Week

“Did you hear? Miss Single is engaged to the grandson of Rabbi Bigname!”

Now, I confess, I usually forget the name of whoever a friend is engaged to within split seconds of having heard it. I know that there is almost never going to be a time when I need to know it, and generally it’s perfectly meaningless to me. As far as I’m concerned, the sentence can end with “Friend is engaged!” and not continue on to “To Bachelor from Jackson Hole!” I mean, the first half is the important part. I assume there’s a bachelor involved, and I hope he’s a nice one, but honestly, knowing his last name is about as far as I’ll ever need to go.

Still, my friend is marrying the guy, so grant him a little respect! What kind of nonsense is this, “the grandson of Rabbi Bigname”? Doesn’t he have a name? Doesn’t he have any significance in life on his own? Is he so pathetic that he must be cast in the frame of his antecedents to impress?

I should hope not, seeing as my friend is marrying him. At least, I hope she didn’t pick him out strictly because he’s the grandson of Rabbi Bigname. My friends have better judgement then that. There’s an awful lot that can happen in two generations, you know.

Random Notes on Rest of Weekend

After a couple of days and retrospective,  I think I can definitely say that I don’t recommend weekends with SD unless you have a very high sugar tolerance level. By the time I left on motzai Shabbos I think it’s safe to say that I ingested about a dozen cookies and half a bundt cake. I think if I hadn’t, the girl would have had a meltdown.

It was fun meeting FrumCollegeGirl, who stopped in while passing through, though, I should mention,  she was not permitted to leave until she had finished a cookie.

Our snowman died Friday morning during a warm snap. First his cell phone slipped, then he toppled backwards off his rock, knocking his beer bottle over on the way. An autopsy suggested that the cause was not alcohol poisoning, but rather melting of the posterior. I munched his chocolate coin eyes and observed that perhaps we hadn’t been so clever by drawing a mouth on with ketchup – the salty condiment had eaten into his face, giving him a jack-o-lantern’s leer.

Otherwise, the weekend was tasty but uneventful. The whole purpose of the weekend, btw, was not to hang with SD but rather to meet the infamous MP, and this was accomplished thoroughly. She is a charming young lady, if enormously boring. We couldn’t convince her to join us for a motzai Shabbos ice cream debauch. However, she makes a killer potato kugel and is as generous with it as SD is with her cookies, and I can warm to a girl who is generous with good potato kugel.

Motzai Shabbos somehow became an ad hoc bloggers meetup. Five internet acquaintances of the unmarried, female persuasion met for a game of Loaded Questions and noshing. Not a BadforShidduchim Club meet, though there was ice cream and brief stops were made to visit alumnuses Corner Point and Bas~Melech. (They were tethered to their apartments and could only walk as far as the front door before the choke collar yanked them back.) It couldn’t be a club meeting; there were simply too many short skirts, patchke’d hairdos, and mascara’d eyes around, and our standards have not dropped that much.

Which reminds me – last call for attendees at a Manhattan meet this Wednesday. Single, unattached women only.

Blobbish Hospitality

It was supposed to be a quiet weekend retreat at Chez Blobby, but somehow it wound up including:

A lot of feeding me. SD seems to get a joy out of stuffing her guests. The cookies and cappuccino were only the start. (Can you imagine her cappuccino machine didn’t have a name? It does now.)

Forays into the Men’s Only Midnight Chulent Clubs located around town to get me a taste of the local color and flavor. Ye gods. I can’t believe so many pay so much so regularly for such mush.

An early morning snowball fight. MP came out to take pictures and lament the fact that she was too cold to join.

A slightly later morning snowman building event, punctuated only by a short break to empty the beer bottle (eg: taste some of it, make a face, and spill out the rest).  A photo of the result is up at BOSD.

Which means it’s about five hours past my bedtime and I just thought I’d mention that I recommend the Blobbish hospitality so far. It’s quite exciting. And for anyone who knows where this is, feel free to drop by. We’re going to spend tomorrow sitting by the window drinking hot cocoa and waiting for you. (Sort of the way we spent tonight making potato kugel as planned. What happened with that? Maybe tomorrow. That no-potato-kugel threat isn’t very threatening when there’s no potato kugel to be had.)

Apologies if I lack coherence. I’m generally not coherent at this hour, usually because I’m asleep, but that isn’t necessarily necessary. However, this seems like the kind of thing you need to get your 2cents in about before the other blogger does. it’s truly awful when you have two bloggers, two laptops, and open wireless… And exactly why we’re IMing across the room instead of just speaking I couldn’t explain. Force of habit? Who knows.

Celestial Practical Joke

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth and saw that it was good.

And  God created lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth. And He saw that it was good.

And so God said, let the waters bring forth moving creatures that have life, and He created every living creature that moveth; and God saw that it was good.

And God and the angels gazed down and behold! The earth was a blue and green gem wrapped in white clouds and they agreed that it was good, nay, beautiful. And God rubbed his hands together and said, “Now for the crowning glory.” And the angels said, “Perhaps it would be wise to stop while ahead.”

But God said unto the angels, “Let us make Man in our image, after our likeness,” and the angels were not happy, for though they thought God comely, they did not like the idea of a crowning glory that was not themselves.

And God created man in his own image, in the image of God He created him, and God said unto the angels, “Come look at what I made.”

And the angels said, “Do we haaave to?”

And God said, “Yes.”

And so the angels crowded around the Man and it did not find favor in their eyes, for they could see that Man was spiritually deficient and destined to stray. Also, he didn’t have even a single pair of wings.

But one young angel was eager to please and he said unto God, in an interested, friendly way, “What is that coconut on a thick stalk?”

And the Lord answered: “That is Man’s Head, and inside I have put my most amazing creation.” And the angels looked inside and lo! There was—

“Hey, didn’t I designeth those for coral reefs?” quothe an angel. “Only a nic—er different color.” And the angel poked the coral that was in the head and the coral did wobble and the angel was dismayed. “It’s gone bad!” declared the angel.

“Nay,” spake God, “For that is man’s brain, the most powerful organ I did bequeath him. Not literally the most powerful,” God explained, as the angel gazed doubtfully at the quivering gray lump. “Metaphorically.”

Quothe the angel: “Oh.”

And the young angel did seek to smooth over this unpleasantness so he said, “And what is that red gash near the bottom of the Head?” (It looked like the pogonophora he’d arranged around hydrothermal vents.)

“That is the Mouth,” said the Lord. “It permits the Man to take in food and air.” And the angels were disgusted, for they found the need for external fuel and the resulting exhaust messy.

And then God fastened the finishing touch, a pointy piece of flesh, onto the Head above the Mouth and lo! it was a Nose.

And the angels thought it looked silly.

Then the young angel bent down to peer up the nose, for it was deep and dark and reminded him of caves he had designed on the face of the earth.

“The nose permits the Man to breath and eat at the same time,” God said, “So that he will not be forced to eat with his mouth open.”

And the angels trembled mightily at the thought and were happy in God’s great wisdom.

“Any questions?” asked the Lord.

And one angel spoke with great hope: “Is this the beta version?”

“Nay, for I shall deploy this Man today, yea, I shall even give to him and his progeny my Torah.”

And the angels were wroth, for they did see that Man was destined to distort the law and it would be a great disrespect to God, the Lord.

But the young angel looked up from the Nose and did ask: “Behold, the Nose is open to the elements. Peradventure some dust should enter, what would occur?”

And the Lord said, “If some dust should enter, the Nose will produce a coating and stick it to the hairs.” And the angel who had designed the oyster was greatly affronted.

And the young angel spake again, “Peradventure there be much dust, and the coating grow thick and the cavern tunnel be obstructed, how shall the obstruction be removed?”

And the Lord said, “He has fingers.”

And the angels were grievously disturbed, for they said, “How shall he learn Torah, with his fingers up his nose?” And God saw that it was true.

And God said to the young angel, “Make thee for the Man an automated mechanism whereby he may remove obstructions from his nose without fingers. But mind that thou does it soon, for the day is passing and I must place the Man upon the earth.” And the Lord went unto His drawing board to design the Sabbath, and the angels were left with the Man. And they gazed upon the Man and despised him greatly.

And the young angel said: “Man is but a collection of our best natural designs. Let us choose another to clear his nasal caverns.”

And another angel said to him, “Let it be something that will give us joy when we see Man in his perversion destroying the earth.”

And a second angel spake against him and said, “Let it be something that reminds him of his purpose on earth and the God who made him.”

And the angels thought hard and were conscientious, and created two ways for the nose to clear itself.

The first was to remind Man of God’s bounty, the blessings He does pour down upon those who obey him and walk in his way, and it was modeled after the waterfall.

The second was to remind Man of God’s wrath, the punishment to be meted out, measure for measure, upon those who disregard his creed. It was modeled after the volcano.

And the angel who did program the sensitivity level for these mechanisms was conscientious indeed, and set them to the highest, that they might be activated, yea, even by the smallest pollen.

And the young angel who was so fascinated by noses was later elevated to the position of Angel of Rhinoviruses, where he spends his time designing new lines for each season.

And it was evening and it was morning, and there were colds upon the earth.

Surrounded!

Note: I found this in my “drafts” folder. I thought I had published it long ago, but I’m too lazy to try to find it among the published posts. So if it’s a rep, accept my apologies. At any rate, Bas~Melech has since become an NMF.

I had the good fortune to find myself in my living room with three MFs one recent Day of Rest, and there would have been a fourth but for a misunderstanding.

Nyah nyah to all those who say their friends dump them upon marriage. I am clearly favorably endowed in that area.

OK, granted, I hadn’t heard from any of them for… [counts on fingers...gives up] a big number of months before that. But no matter. We managed fine. We even made up to take a little trip together this coming week. (Being MFs, they had few qualms about abandoning their husbands for a night. Try getting an NMF to do that!)

The truth is, what with school and work, I hardly see my unmarried friends for almost equally large stretches of time. Any reduced interaction has mostly to do with them moving off to some Godforsaken city.  (Or, for that matter,  one of the small number of cities that boast of being quite the opposite of Godforsaken.)

Anyway, one of the things they yakked about in the course of the afternoon was how they all would never have gotten married if it had been up to the traditional shidduch system.

One of them met her hubby in a kitchen; one of them was set up by a close family friend; and one of them was set up by a seminary madricha’s sister-in-law. (Or something like that.)

Now, I would have thought that the second two fell into the “traditional shidduch system” parameters. After all, what is a shidduch date, exactly? Two people on a blind date set up by a third party. Right?

But, these two friends were thinking that the shidduch system requires a shadchan, and both totally failed to make the shadchan’s books.

I was reminded of this by Bas Melech’s most recent blog post, where she begins to doubt that shadchanim exist, due to her inability to find any that are interested in setting people up. (Question: has anyone gotten a response from a shadchan? Has anyone been set up by a shadchan? Or are these people really a myth perpetuated by Yiddish theater?) (The grand total of my personal experiences with shadchanim.)

Truth be told, I think I know of only two people who were set up by a shadchan, but I’m a bit deficient at collecting material regarding engagements,  so I can’t say for certain that I don’t know any more. Those two were very active and energetic (read, persistent) in their pursuit of shadchanim. They also possessed all the typical characteristics/personality that shadchanim like to deal with.

Bas Melech wants to know what to do if friends and family can’t find her a guy.

Now, my question: how could such a scenario exist?

Most friends, seeing as they’re dating, hear of and date guys all the time. Therefore, they should be able to set her up. However, they’re leery of passing along gents because (1) it’s awkward (what if they bomb?) and (2) it’s awkward (pass along your rejects?).

My aunts and uncles are less embarassed, and pass along their children’s rejects all the time. And every now and then a married cousin will decide that his old pal might be the one.

Not, I might mention, that any of this matchmaking has been the faintest bit useful.

Other friends have been set up by friends of family, people in shul, etc.

Now, back to my two married friends: they weren’t either set up by friends or family. One of them had nobody to set her up; the other almost didn’t. One was randomly thought of by someone who knew someone who knew her, the other got friendly with her BFF in person.

Bas Melech should find this heartening.

Top Ten Tuesday

Blobby gives me more credit than I deserve over here; I have no expertise in rejecting guys. But it’s still interesting to read ten good reasons to say ‘no’ to a guy. What would your top ten be?

Saying It How It Is

This post by ProfK hit a sore nerve.

I have made many people aghast by answering “I guess so” to the question, “But don’t you want to get married?” It’s not that I’m disinterested in connubial bliss and all that. It’s just that I’m worried about a dearth of bliss if I were to marry at the moment.

I mean, c’mon. I can’t date during finals. Be married? You gotta be kidding. I doubt I could handle that during the academic semester, let alone finals. I mean, we all know what happens to people when they get married. They sort of disappear into this cacoon of obligation called “dinner,” “dishes,” “board games,” and “in-laws.” Nowadays, when I get home, I eat supper and disappear into an evening of equations, never to emerge until the next morning, when I’m off to work. Exactly where would I fit a hubby, let alone his mother? And dear God help me if a child should enter the equation before graduation!

I also know many people who didn’t manage it. Marriage left them stranded midway through their career plans, often in a weird town far from civilization as we know it – ie: over two hours from an institution of higher learning. My favorite story from this genre is the budding scientist who, after failing a midterm, had to explain to her yeshiva-guy husband the concept of “studying” for something called a “test.” Jigsaw puzzle evenings were canceled for the duration of the semester.

But it can be done. I know people who have. Generally very close couples willing to sacrafice for each other by doing things they never really planned on doing. Like – the dishes. Or working.  So if I got married now, it would have to be to a really sweet fellow.

So why am I dating now? All the comments to ProfK’s post assumed that people only date before they’re ready because they’re pressured into it. And there’s doubtless something to it. But at least I can lay claim to justification.

Family is the nucleus of Jewish practice. You can do without it, but it’s not the same. Oh, there are advantages to being single and unattached, but those who practice it claim it’s not worth it. And really… I think I’d like being a mother.

And you know, putting off marriage “until you’re ready” is a bit like putting off children until you can afford them; you never will. After college comes that first job, and then promotion, and then you’re 35 and single and the only guys who want to date you are close to 60 and think they’re 20.

Even if that’s not exactly how it goes, there are no guarantees. Because putting off marriage a lot less certain than putting off having kids. With kids it’s you vs nature, which is hardly an adversary these days. Bu with dating, it’s you and another human being, and God knows those are the most unpredictable things on the planet. Just ask an economist.

Even at this point, there’s a very large chance that I will graduate single. In which case, all this dating will have come to a small headache in the grand scheme of things. But there’s also a chance I could get married. Both of us would have to go into this “spouse in college” relationship with our eyes open, but it can work. It will be a year or two with a few extra hurdles, but what shana rishona isn’t rocky? And at the end of it, I’ll still be married.

The End is Nigh – Probably.

I just calculated that 48% of the dates I go on are last dates. That’s pretty nutty. That means that there’s nearly a 50% chance that my next date will be a failure. Or, there’s a 62% chance that another date will follow. Probably this is not nearly as interesting and profound as I think it must be, because I can’t figure out why it should be. But I find it an interesting number any way.

He’s a Friend and She’s a Friend

My neighbor is NMF#14’s uncle, so he attended the ufruf. Afterward he dropped in to inform my parents of a very important fact: Mr. NMF has a friend.

“That’s good,” I said, when my parents relayed this information. “Everyone should have at least one. Otherwise, they get lonely. And it’s important for newlyweds to KIT with their friends because—”

“He thinks this friend is single,” my father explained with the patience of a saint.

Slowly some concept of where he was going with this started to coalesce in my head.

I concentrated hard.It started to harden around the edges.

“So, you’re saying…” I started, slowly.

But it was gone.

“Well, if you’re like NMF#14, and this friend is anything like Mr. NMF, maybe you’d go together!” my father finished this triumph of logic.

“Aaaah. Now I get it!”

No, honest. I’m not ungrateful or anything. I think it’s a wonderful idea to pair up friends with friends. But I haven’t yet hit the point where “He has a friend” automatically registers as “You’ve got a date.” First off, I’m not that much like NMF #14. And quite frankly, I doubt Mr. NMF’s friend could be anything like him, if the reports of him that I’ve heard are true. Not because he’s unique, or anything, but because two people with similar extreme personalities don’t usually get along.

So as far as that logic goes, I’m dubious. However, people who hang out with NMF#14 and people who hang out with Mr. NMF might still be compatible. Obviously we like compatible people.

But I didn’t hold my breath, and for good reason. Nothing’s come of it. Perhaps Mr. NMF doesn’t have a friend after all. Or anymore. Or perhaps, like most shidduch ideas, it stayed an idea and never made it as far as the drawing board.

Self Description

Ladies and gentlemen, what I am about to say is profound and new, a thought that hasn’t been thought, an observation that will blow your mind away.

You shouldn’t be self-deprecating on a first or second date.

Seriously. This goes for interviews too. Or any new relationship where the other party is trying to figure out how much of a waste of space you are. It is okay to call yourself a klutz when you trip in the company of people who know you don’t usually do that. Or that, even if you do it constantly, you are great enough that nobody cares. But new acquaintances will assume that any self-deprecating joke has a firm basis somewhere, and they don’t know of any good reason to overlook it.

Don’t get me wrong, O Dates. I love listening to your tales of misadventure – like the time you almost blew up the kitchen or the time you broke the windows you were supposed to clean. They’re very entertaining. And it’s always nice to hear that I need not be ashamed to confess a ticket or two. But boy do you come off sounding like an expensive proposition.

I mean, window glass, parking tickets, and potentially remodeling the kitchen on an annual basis? Seriously, do you think I have time to mull over the latest in kitchen concepts every time you blowtorch the oven – and everything around it?

And no, I wouldn’t ban you from the kitchen. I know of women who were that easily fooled. Their husband burned dinner or jammed the dishwasher and these naïve wives sighed and told him not to bother any more. I’m sure he was laughing all the way to… wherever guys go when they’ve got time to kill.

I know these subterfuges are passed down from father to son. When a young man gets engaged, his father draws him to the side and imparts to him the wisdom of the age: “Make sure your wife gets the bed next to the door, so she has to deal with the kids who come whimpering through it in middle of the night, while you keep snoring.” Ladies, don’t fall for it.

Of course, if he’s bragging out how inept he is even before he’s had the Talk with his father, it’s a really bad sign. Seriously: chances are, I am never going to see you cook, clean, speed, or engage in any of these other activities before we marry. So please – at least try to give me a positive impression of how you perform in these areas.

Manhattan Meetup

Anyone (female, unclaimed) for an ice cream meet in Manhattan in the coming week or two? Shoot me an email.

Customary Confusion

Orthodox Jewish men should wear wedding bands.

Seriously. We could solve the shidduch crisis this way.

The world is full of men I might set up or conceivably go out with, but I haven’t a clue if they’re single or not. And short of asking them, I have no way of finding out. I can just see that one.

Setting: College. Hillel Meeting. There’s an oreo across the room. I approach.

Bad4: Hey, I was wondering…

Oreo: (confused. Why is BY maidel approaching oreo?) Yes?

Bad4: I was wondering what kind of girl you’re looking for.

Oreo: None. I found one a while back, and she’s a keeper.

Bad4: (blushing) Oh, just wondering. (fails to show up at any Hillel meetings for the rest of the semester, missing a lot of good kosher food, and eventually starves to death one day during fluid mechanics class, all because Mr. O wasn’t wearing a ring.)

Or what about these other situations? You know you’ve been in them. You blow a tire and call Chaverim. A cheerful young man arrives, changes your tire, and gives you directions to the nearest honest garage. As you drive off into the sunset and he drives off into the dusk, you turn to your friend while she turns to you and you both chorus, “Do you think he’s married?”

Honestly, why do you think we get rescued by Chaverim? It’s only so we can check out the local knights in shining armor, duh. They should come with tags, you know: “Hi, my name is: ______ and I’m (single/married).”

Okay, maybe not. The real reason we get rescued is because the car jacks don’t have long enough levers for soft feminine types to be able to use them with any measure of efficacy. But what if we wanted to meet our bashert on the side of a highway? It happens.

And then, you know, when a bais yaakov maidel becomes a bit of an old maid, they relax the restrictions on her. Indeed, if she happens to find herself in a mixed venue (Shabbos meal at the local rebbetzin, perhaps), she is almost certain to be asked afterward, “So, did you see anyone?” [nudge nudge wink wink]

“I saw loads of people.”

“I mean single guys.”

“I saw guys. I have no idea if they were single.” I mean, how are supposed to judge? The henpecked look? The shana-rishona potbelly? Can’t they just wear rings?

I understand that it was customary for men to wear engagement rings back in Europe… okay, back in Europe about 600 years ago. But still. I think it’s time we revived that ancient custom. We need some way to know if a guy is taken or not.

Quote of the Week: Men are More Than They Appear, Too?

“We think that guys are these really thick-skulled neanderthals?…It’s a ploy. They realize everything.”

Balanced Reporting

Reading is very mind-broadening.

But sometimes, once your mind has been broadened, you choose to narrow it again.

Case in point: my mother is reading this book about some journalist who, in an effort to gain the trust of the people she wants to stab in the – er, write about – sends them two references: one person who likes her, and one person who hates her.

“Isn’t that a great idea?” my mother asked, putting the book down as I came into the room. “Maybe we should do it for your shidduch res—um, profile.”

There was a thought.

I’d rather not consider.

I mean, I once made the mistake of asking my little sister to fill out the “self description” of me for one of these shadchan profile things.

Oooh, ouch. That hurt.

It strikes me as something like that interview question “What is your weakness?” You need to come up with someone who hates you for all the right reasons. Maybe…

“I hate that Bad4! She beat me out for the Biggest Gomel Chesed Girl Award!”

Except anyone who is in the running for a Biggest Gomel Chesed Girl Award can be counted on to be magnanimous enough to forgive you for winning. So, hm… how about…

“I hate that Bad4! I sat next to her by every test and she never let me cheat. And she never did my homework for me, either. She’s so selfish.”

Except that anyone who tried to pull shtick like that would present it somewhat differently:

“I hate that Bad4! She’s so selfish, she doesn’t help anyone. And we were so close – we even sat next to each other in class.”

So, skip that one. We’re running low here. Honestly, I think we’re left with people who hate me for legitimate reasons. Which doesn’t bear thinking about.

Okay, granted. There aren’t many people who actually hate me. It takes persistence to be hated, as apposed to detested or disliked.

No, we’re really just left with all those people who don’t really know me but simply don’t like me. You know like those high school teachers who would gently threaten you by saying, “I get called about shidduchim all the time. Just last night I got a call about a girl who did very well in my Tehillim class. I was able to say very nice things about her. But not always…” Which is a more circumspect way of saying “Sit straight, pay attention, and stop looking skeptical at me when I finish an inspiring story!”

Eugh.

Oh please! Not those.

No, on the whole, I think we’d better stick with people who like me.

Search Terms

Today I procrastinated by reading the search terms people use that land them at this blog. Sometimes they can be very entertaining. Like the time I got “Can you marry seals.” I mean, why a seal? Why not, at least, a capuchin? They’re better at doing the dishes.

Some make sense, if perversely:

all my friends are engaged

why not to get married young

bad time to get married

bad reasons to get married

reasons to never get married

You’d think we were discouraging marriage over here. Oh well. But not everyone gets here for the wrong reasons:

i’m jewish and desperate to get married

There we go! This person is on track to the right blog.

Some of the search terms I just don’t get. I mean, why me?

12th grade bais yaakov california

Some are mildly inaccurate:

we love stories first bad experience

That’s true, but we also love second bad experiences, third, fourth, ad infinitum. You got bad [dating] experiences, we love to hear about them.

Now some may be apt, but I  still don’t know why they brought up this blog:

confused jewish guy

Yep, we got ‘em. But how’d Google know?

Some are related… sort of.

is mens jeans 34r equivalent to medium size?

Anyone know the answer to that?

why dont shower late

Hm. That’s a toughie. I guess because you shouldn’t procrastinate doing important things, like getting clean.

body counting diagram

I’m afraid to ask. Neeeext!

michlala is my life

Is this Google the search engine, or Dr. Google the therapist? Why would you go around announcing that Michlala is your life? And why would that bring you to a blog where, I’m positive, the seminary was never mentioned?

glasses make you ugly

No! They make you look smart! How about this puzzler?

i love jews shirts

Are we talking the white button down? Or the white-on-white Shabbos shirt?

saying mazel tov to dead people

How, exactly, do you go about doing that, I wonder. I’m sure they appreciate it, though. But this blog deals strictly with the living.

When I saw this one, I realized that I’m obviously some kind of Dear Abby for the clueless:

can you wear suits all the time?

For whoever was wondering that one – yes of course you can! It’s a free country. But they’re a bit unwieldy in the shower, so I’d recommend removing at least the jacket and pants, even if you’re showering late and in a rush (not recommended, see above). Because otherwise you’ll have to iron the press line back into the pants after, and that’s difficult to do when they’re on you, unless you have flat legs.

Now, what on earth do you suppose this person was looking for? I can’t figure it out.

knight diagram 5 points courtly love

I googled it myself and it seems to have something to do with “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” one piece of literature I’m quite certain I never mentioned. It’s not a favorite of mine.

what suit is barney wearing

His birthday suit, I believe. Perhaps he showers too frequently to make it practical to get a tailored Italian one.

poverty putting gun to head

Don’t do it! Unless you’re single too. Then what’s life worth? No money, no spouse… even Dr. Google will have a hard time convincing you not to jump.

Reason #19 for Getting Married

A Colleague (non-Jewish) recently asked me if I have a boyfriend. Seeing as she knows I’m an orthodox Jew and also has some notion of what that means, I answered, puzzled, “No…” and then “What would I do with one?”

Now it was her turn to be puzzled. “I don’t know, be spoiled.”

When I tilted my head, quirked an eyebrow,and waited patiently, she explained, “When I had a boyfriend I didn’t need a car. He drove me everywhere. And bought me everything. Boyfriends spoil you. They’re useful to have.” She gave a pensive pause. “I need to get another one,” she sighed.

Oh.

I’d heard another colleague mention that her boyfriend had bought her an expensive swimsuit she’d had her eyes on, but I figured he had an ulterior motive for that one. I hadn’t realized it was part and parcel of ‘boyfriend’ status. Sounds pretty expensive, if you ask me. Yeshiva guys who complain about the price of dating have no idea how much they’re saving on swimsuits, car service duty, and Valentine’s Day gifts.

Okay, but that treatment isn’t restricted to boyfriends, I explained to Colleague. I can get a husband to fawn on me.

Colleague frowned. “But with husbands you need to be careful. They have to be more in love with you than you with them, because men are more prone to…” she paused tactfully, “Stray.”

I sighed. She’s right. Boyfriends have some advantages.  But I’m kinda hoping that having a God-fearing, loyal husband will protect me from that one.

I’m not the only one with the marriage idea. Only a few days later I found myself in an almost identical conversation with another Young Woman. YW was saying how she wanted to get married as soon as she finished her degree and maybe have about six children.

I did a double take. Then I realized that she’s probably Catholic.

For the sake of becoming more enlightened, I asked her why she wanted to get married.

“To be spoiled,” she said with a shy grin and a dreamy expression. “To get all those presents and have someone who adores me look after me.”

“That probably only lasts about the first six months,” I pointed out, playing the cynic.

“Hush!” she reprimanded me. “I can dream, can’t I?” And she lapsed back into her dreamy state.

And I suppose I’m right there with her.

Quote of the Week: Reverse Dating

“You can tell a lot about a person by the way he breaks up with you. In fact, I think it should be the first thing you do when you start dating. He shows up, you break up, if he’s really good about it, you go out again.”

Shidduch in a Box

This one just in. Not sure whether to laugh or not. It’s certainly a unique, possibly efficacious, idea.

The impractical part is getting all those boxes from the hall. I wonder how big they are? Really a tiny case is all that’s necessary. I don’t know about you, but my profile can fold up pretty small.

But read it yourself.

Shidduch in a Box

It’s That Time of Year Again…

The finals are coming, the finals are coming!

What does this mean?

1 – Bad4 would like to disappear into her room for the next two weeks with a barrel of hot cocoa, a truckful of wafers, and several pans of potato kugel. Oh, and her books, of course.

2 – Every young man who has ever, in the past six months, been asked to consider going out with Bad4 will suddenly realize that he’s dying to, and it must be right now even though he’s been dithering for months already.

So, if I’m infrequently around for the next two weeks, you may look me up in either of two places:

1 – My house receiving large deliveries of unhealthy food.

2 – The Marriott lounge.

And I’ve been properly taught not to try to combine the two by studying with my date. Alas.