Engagement Rings

I do not like mall dates.

I haven’t got a vast experience to draw from. Just one, in fact. But it did not go well.

Malls are noisy and crowded and littered with traps and pitfalls. And I’m not just talking about Victoria’s Secret, though that’s bad enough.

Actually, I think things went south around the jewelry display.

In general, a casual pass of the jewelry is, in my opinion, a strategic move. Let’s face it – if you marry the guy, he’s going to be buying you jewelry (probably), and you should know beforehand whether you can trust his taste. I’ve had dates I was reluctant to dump merely because of their saving grace of having better taste than mine. Meaning, not only could I trust him to pick out nice stuff, I’d actually want him to do my accessory shopping for me.

But it wasn’t the earrings that threw us into discord. It was the engagement rings.

Yes. There we were on a second date discussing engagement rings.

He said CZ ought to be fine.

I said absolutely not.

We then proceeded to not see eye to eye for about five solid minutes.

What exactly is an engagement ring? To him it was just an expense. Something you have to do when you decide to marry someone. A way of irretrievably consolidating a whole lot of handy green into a very small, shiny, and completely useless object.

I see his side of things. Diamonds are pricy. A young couple has enough expenses without throwing in a rather expensive rock.

I agree that frivolous expenses should be cut down. Skip the bracelet. Skip the necklace. Skip the atara for the tallis. Skip the gold watch. Skip the silver leichter tray (most are ostentatious and awkward anyway). You can skip every “required” gift on the planet and I wouldn’t object. But you can’t skip the engagement ring.

Because to me, the engagement ring symbolizes so much more than an expense.

This ring custom dates back hundreds of years before anyone thought to put an atara on their tallis or their leichter on a solid silver tray. It predates hot desserts at weddings and seven-man bands with singers.

The ring symbolizes a man’s intent to marry a woman, and also exactly how much he values that intent.

Chocolate, flowers, and love letters may also symbolize this, but they severely lack the value. Small gifts and sweet nothings are courtship rituals. A ring is an investment. Nothing says it like diamonds. Or any precious stone. Cubic zirconium, pretty as is it, completely misses the point. We don’t need something glittery to stick on our finger to dazzle passersby and make our friends jealous. Seriously – the very suggestion is insulting.

It’s a Torah concept that once you decide to do something you should perform a tangible action to solidify it for yourself. The ring symbolizes the engagement. There it is – yes – on her finger.

And don’t guys get some (any?) thrill at all from seeing their ring on their betrothed’s finger? Is the engagement not, somehow, more real?

After a bracelet engagement I can see to turning down the ring – might do it myself (those rings are a bit too bulky and flashy for my taste). But that’s the woman’s prerogative. And really, a bracelet doesn’t have the same solidity or cultural clout. No, really, there’s nothing quite like a ring.

So guys, don’t rock the boat.

(grooooaaaan)

Who Was That Masked Girl?

Someone who attended the last ice cream meet said she was on her way to a camping trip.

Someone else recently told me they were dying to go camping.

Same here.

Who were you people? Shoot me an email. Maybe we can plan something for the spring.

We [Heart] Married Friends

One great thing about getting married later is that you can learn from everyone else’s experiences. I have collected all sorts of wisdom from MFs over the years, and look forward to applying them in my own time.

For example, one NEF informed me that there’s some place in Brooklyn (I forget the location) where you can get high-heeled white sneakers for your wedding. (Say what?!) Apparently, these are important so you can dance, be comfortable, and not have an extra inch of gown dragging on the floor after you take off the heels you wore for the chupah (why you wore heels I have no idea).

I would never have heard anything about it if the NEF hadn’t dropped this information. Sure, I have a married older sister, but she got married in python-skin cowboy boots, and nobody would have been the wiser if she hadn’t hitched up her cupcake ballgown skirt to dance the mazurka at one point. So I never would have known about this subtle yet important matter of high-heel sneakers. Thank goodness I didn’t get married before this NEF.

Some other gems I’d like to share for public benefit:

“Don’t have a long engagement like I did! You’ll go crazy! Like me!” ~ Someone engaged for five months.

“Don’t be engaged for so long! It’s not fun!” ~ Someone who dated for longer than she was engaged.

“Get your gown fitted last thing. Otherwise you’re so worried you won’t fit into it that you start nervous eating.” ~ Someone who doesn’t tip the scale at 100 lb.

“Get your gown fitted while bloated. Then you won’t have to worry.” ~ Someone who really doesn’t need to worry anyway.

“Yes this hoop is heavy. Don’t let them bully you into wearing one in  your gown.” ~ Someone who danced like she didn’t have an extra five pounds sewn into the bottom of her gown in addition to about 10 pounds of petticoats.

“Wear your shaitel before you get married. You need to get used to it or else you look like you’re wearing something on your head.” ~ Someone who wore a sheitel every Shabbos before she had a wedding band on her finger.

“Get a good photographer. Ours was lousy.” ~ Someone who doesn’t like it when visitors look at her album.

“Your photographer doesn’t matter. By the time you get the album you’re already too busy with a kid to care.” ~ Someone who never opened her album until I showed up for Shabbos.

“Don’t get engaged during midterms.” ~ Someone who received her first ‘C’ the day after her vort.

“Don’t worry about things. They’ll get done if they have to.” ~ Someone who didn’t receive a grade below A- through her engagement and marriage.

“Get a thick veil. That way nobody can see if you’re crying or laughing at your chupah.” ~ Someone who really needed two mothers to guide her down the aisle.

So, there you are. No engagement can be too short. No gown will ever fit. No photographer will ever satisfy.

Do you have any pearls of wisdom of your own to share on marriage, weddings, and so on? Jewish Wedding Info wants them here.

But for the here and now, what’s the greatest gem of advice you’ve ever gotten from an Engaged Humanoid?

Erroneous Mental Calculation

I often go on dates with men who confess that they’re not good at math.

I consider that a silly statement; there’s no such thing as good or bad at math. It’s a matter of practicing until you get used to the concept. Technically, I was pretty rotten at math in high school – I generally did the right thing, but rarely got the right answer. However, this was usually a function of my being bad at arithmetic. I was lousy at math because I rarely understood why I was doing what I was doing.

If I’m exponentially better at math now, it’s because I’ve spent two-and-half years studying and practicing it. I guess if I worked at it for 2.5 years and hadn’t made any progress then I’d be really bad at math. I’d probably also be mentally deficient.

The people who are “good at math” are usually the obsessive nerds who read mathematical theory for fun and enjoy a lazy afternoon deriving equations. They’re good because they practice so often, not the reverse. Maybe work and aptitude aren’t always linear, but they’re certainly positively correlated.

Anyway, every now and then I go out with a man who is taking a math course and is struggling. Well, don’t we all (excepting the obsessive nerds)? But, not having spent extra years in yeshiva, I’m usually a year ahead of my dates in the math courses and already have a more developed perspective on what they’re learning. My instinct, upon hearing them complain about what they don’t get, is to grab a paper napkin and pen and start explaining. We have all evening to discuss what we worked at in summer camp ten years ago, why not spend fifteen minutes on how to use an integrating factor? It’s of mutual interest, and if the date flops, at least he’ll have gotten something out of it.

Well, that’s what I thought. But my impression, many dates but very few matrices later, is that men don’t want to think about their homework on a date. I find that odd.

Homework and dating are both chores that need doing in a quest for something larger. Accomplishing both in one shot is a beautiful piece of efficiency.  And haven’t people married the people they used to study with?

You can plot important points about a person based on how patiently they explain a gradient. There is a high probability of bonding over a Bernoulli distribution. Finding a determinant may help you determine if you’re linearly dependent multiples of each other. And come on… can you think of anything more “awww…how cute” than “they spent the evening taking the triple integral of her water bottle to evaluate the volume”?

If you can think of many answers to that question, then you don’t have fun with math often enough and probably don’t think you’re good at it. Who knows – maybe we’ve gone out. Was our mathematical chat the absolute max point where the function of our relationship turned negative?

FOP and EE

I’ve been informed: the female pays for most of the wedding. The guy takes care of the flowers, orchestra, and photography, and the gal pays for everything else. (Hall? Food? What else is there, exactly?)

Exactly where did this distribution come from, and what if you don’t want to split it that way because you (female) have a photographer you like and you (male) have a hall you prefer?

Or because you want to do something really drastic and innovative, like decide these things together?

I was informed of this little tidbit after I made the suggestion that all the funds each side is willing to spend on the wedding be deposited into a joint account and expenditures approved by all as part of the overall budget. In total, it would probably reduce the payout, though increase the awkwardness.

So, who says the guy is a FOP? And why?

Link: Letter to the Neighbors

Oh I wish we could really send such letters… I have quite a lot to explain.

What is Being Said Here?

Pop quiz: what is being said here?

Girl #1: I’m so tired of dating! I wish I were married already!

Girl #2: Yeah, I’m really tired of spending nights at the Marriott Hotel with guys I really don’t want to be there with.

Girl #1: But if you don’t go to a hotel what else is there to do on a date?

Okay, how would it sound if you weren’t an orthodox Jew?

Pop over to Conversations in Klal for the details.

What a Flirt

“You can’t say that on a date, it’s flirting!” that’s a paraphrase of a quote. The context was a female who said that she’d hate a Barnes and Noble date because she’d want to curl up with the books and be forced to talk to this guy instead. But she wouldn’t ask the guy to change the dating venue because then she’d have to explain why, and that would be flirting.

Now, I’m not the world’s foremost expert on flirting, what with having a sheltered youth and spending most of my adult life with people who don’t know how to flirt and  don’t have anyone to flirt with. (Kind of like me, actually. There are spectacular similarities between nerds and religious people.)

But I always thought it was a drop more obvious than just being cute or clever or quick with the repartee in a way that demonstrates friendliness toward the other party. I mean, isn’t there something about flipping your hair and batting your eyelashes and looking coyly over your shoulder with a small smile playing about the lips and so on? And aren’t personal and insinuating comments involved?

If not, then I’ve been flirting for years with goodness knows how many people, most of them female. How utterly embarrassing.  You see, this is where an unsheltered youth would come in handy. At least I’d know when I’m flirting.

But anyway, if flirting consists of being cute or clever or quick with the repartee in a friendly way, then aren’t you allowed to flirt on a shidduch date? I mean, according to Google, flirting is a sign that you’re interested in the person. It would be a heads-up that the shadchan is going to contact you with a “yes.” At the very least, flirting (if that’s all there is to flirting) is entertaining, which is more than you can say about the lounge you’re doing it in.

And hey, aren’t we dating? If you can’t flirt when you’re dating, when can you? After engagement? Isn’t half the point of flirting the fact that you haven’t yet got the person?

Now, I’m not recommending eyelash batting. Personally, I couldn’t manage that anyway. I read somewhere that women can bat their eyelashes something like 30 times a second (don’t quote me, I couldn’t google up the exact number), but I can’t. Okay, yes, I’ve tried. (Well if you heard that women can bat their eyelashes 30 times a second wouldn’t you try? C’mon – admit it – you’re trying right now.) But standard verbal fencing, on the other hand, I can do. So please tell me flirting is okay!

Illogical?

Quote of the week:

“It’s not like there’s anything profoundly wrong with us. Why aren’t we married yet?”

Okay, I confess. I said that. Long ago, and I forgot all about it until a friend said it made such an impression on her that she still laughs when she thinks about it.

See, that’s where I begin to doubt. If one innocent line can keep a not-profoundly-wrong friend in stitches for months, maybe there is something profoundly wrong with me, and I just don’t know it. After all, studies show that most people have no idea how wrong they are. Well, obviously I’m incompetent at getting married, but there must be some underlying reason that I don’t get because I think I’m so competent…

This logic is too circular for me. Is that where people get so dizzy that they run off to a counselor for help, and wind up finding their story written up with changed names on the Dating Page in the Jewish Press?

Bad Date Stories: The Forum

Hat tip to MF#1 who sent me this site: Holy Shidduch! Bad date stories are always good for a waste of time and an ego boost. “Phew! At least that never happened to me!”

The Bartender

I propped my elbows on the bar and nursed my drink and poured out my woes to the bartender.

(At this point my father, if he were reading this, would sigh, “So this is why you marry them off at 19. Why didn’t anyone explain it to us?”)

Okay, that’s not exactly what happened, but wouldn’t that be a great ending to a bad date?

No?

Hasn’t the idea ever occurred to you? It hadn’t to me. Truth is, I never really noticed the bartender much. He is the guy who fills the glasses with drinks, who you thank, and who you then promptly forget. I don’t even always see him, because sometimes I’m seated first and the guy fetches the beverages.

But it now occurs to me that the bartender at the Marriott must see an awful lot of shidduch dating. Moreover, he probably finds it about as exciting as a Quaker sweet sixteen.

I know this because I had the privilege, one dull dating evening, of livening up his night just a tad.

It started when my date asked, “Would you like a drink?”

Okay, so I tend to get hung up on semantics. If he would have said “would you like something to drink” I would have asked for the usual water. But he asked about “a drink” which has slightly alcoholic connotations.

“Like a scotch?” I asked.

We’d known each other for a grand total of 20 minutes. Otherwise he probably would have known enough to just shrug and say, “If you’d like.” Instead, he said, “I won’t call your bluff.”

“You think I’m bluffing?”

“Like I said, I’m not calling your bluff.”

So I turned to the bartender and asked for a beer.

Now, I know this raises many questions that will haunt you and disturb your reading, eating, and sleeping for weeks on end unless I answer them.

So, to address the most important question first: Sam Adams, of course. You don’t seriously think I’d order Miller Lite on a date? Or at all, ever?

Second, if I was permanently x’d out by any women in black for this behavior, they haven’t told me about it.

Third, yes, we went out again. (And I had a fruit juice Snapple.)

But anyway, my point was, the bartender raised an eyebrow, turned to my date, and said, “You got a live one.”

Now, I was in the Marriott last night, wearing a suit, for an event down the hall in the back where dates never venture. But I took the time to drop in on the lounge before leaving to smirk at the daters. It is a pretty dead scene. I nearly fell asleep watching.

I glanced in at the bar and sure enough, same bartender there. One day I’m going to interview him for a tell-all about the Marriott dating scene. I’m just afraid it won’t be much of a tell-all. He’ll shrug and say, “They get coke. They sit. They talk.They leave and come back next week with someone else. It’s like watching icicles melt. Oh, wait, actually, there was one time when one of them ordered a beer…”

Another Reason to Get Married

I don’t know if I’d give this #1, but it’s certainly high up. One must accommodate the younger generation (in this case, certainly), because if you don’t, they’ll be the ones choosing your nursing home.

Why Live in Washington Heights When There’s

the Jeanne D’Arc Residence on West 24th Street? And it’s only $500 a month.

Seriously, these things were made for us. Are there any other aging singles who would be interested in colonizing one in about two years (assuming we’re all still single, of course)?

Trying to Get the Entire Picture

Someone called my mother about setting me up and mentioned that the guy required a picture.

I wasn’t listening in on the line. I knew this because my mother replied, “No problem, but we’ll need a picture of him and his suit size, first.”

Quite frankly, I don’t care what the guy looks like or his suit size. Well, actually, I do. But first I’d like to meet him so I can find out about his personality at the same time, to see if it can make up for any deficiency in suit size. Or excess. As the case might be. (I f ind the skeletal types equally unpleasant.) Point being, it’s not the make-it-or-break-it point about him. If this guy coughed up a photo for me, I would look at it, but then I’d feel bad about being so unfair and go out with him  even he looked like the Phantom of the Opera.

So why do guys ask for photos? Do girls ask too? Is there something I’m missing?

Shidduch Spiel

JA(C)P wrote this shidduch spiel eons ago. It starts off pretty standard, but I love the ending…

Yet Another Question

From anon:

I have another question for the gallery: Guys ages.

With all the talk around about guys looking for girls much younger, what do the girls say about going out with older guys? Whats your age limit- both on the upper end and the lower end? Whats ideal? Does this change as you get older? Im very curious.

I was once turned down  by a guy for being too young. He figured there were plenty of women closer to his age who could use getting married. Generous of him, and it made me wonder if I shouldn’t be picky for the same reasons. Why should a guy seven years older than me  go out with me instead of with someone his own age? But then again, not wanting to go out with “old” men seems like a frivolous restriction. And then, yet again, maybe it’s not so frivolous. Or, even if it is frivolous, isn’t one permitted a bit of frivolity in their life?

There is Another Option

Having decided that we were too nasty to ever get married, a friend and I spent some time planning our bitter old age. We’d be too crabby to share a house, but we’d buy adjacent property and put an alarm on the lawns so we could run out waving our canes and shouting at children who dare to disturb our grass. We’d keep multiple cats each, and spend long afternoons in rockers on our porches complaining about children, married people, anyone under the age of 50, bus drivers, Things These Days, anyone over the age of 50, all men, dogs, children, people who have children, the government, how we would do things better, children,  The Way Things Are Going and, of course, how much better things (and children) were Back When We Were Young.

It sounded nice and cozy, if not exactly optimal. We’d have each other between fights, and between making up we’d have our cats, and for entertainment there would be crosswords and children to scare and neighbors to call the police about.

But then I met a couple of gently aged spinsters. They were charming, well coiffed and immaculately turned  out,  knowledgeable about current events and technology, and amazingly… normal.

These were not women who hated the world. They didn’t complain once about anything. They didn’t have lawns, but even if they had, they didn’t strike me as the type to guard them like military property. But most of all, they didn’t have cats.

This opened new vistas to me. It is evidently possible to collect your AARP card while single and still not be a Crazy Cat Lady. This is like a whole new world of possibility! It makes me want to go out and do something that’s badforshidduchim.

Note: I haven’t yet met an old bachelor who breaks the stereotype of the nutty old man (then again, I haven’t either met one who conformed; which is to say, I’ve met nutty old men but didn’t know their marital statuses), but do let us know if you do.

And One Last Musical (6)

This one isn’t written. Just a suggestion from  ProfK that There Is Nothin Like A Dame from South Pacific might cover the male angle better. The costumes would need serious fixing. And I have a question: is this really how men view women?

The part that creeps me out is the way they seem to think women are the panacea to everything that’s wrong with themselves. Seems a bit demanding, no? I mean, imagine if us women married men to fix everything that’s wrong with ourselves.

*peels self off floor after a good laugh*

I know, right? Like there’s anything wrong with us to begin with!

But seriously, would that be grounds for divorce? “I married her and she didn’t improve me. And she nags and cries and bullies.” (Here is where the married people jump in with “but that’s not how you do it!” yes, we know. So, how do you change a man? Since, apparently, they expect to be changed.)

Don’t get me wrong – I believe that marriage is a character building experience. But character doesn’t just spontaneously get built post-nuptials. Before you start you have to have a character that’s willing to be put under construction.

I once read an article about Why Women are Attracted to Jerks. I think it was one of those hyperlinks WordPress automatically generates at the bottom of each post. Before I saw that link I wasn’t aware that women are attracted to jerks. I mean, yes, some people are, but maybe they’re psychological self-flagellants. It takes all types to make a world.

Anyway, the article posited that there are two reasons women like jerks. First, they’re attracted to the idea of someone being so in love with them that they treat them better than everyone else, and also, they enjoy the idea of reforming a “bad boy.”

Well, that could never be a problem with shidduch dating. Few people are oblivious enough to be jerks on blind dates, and of course, nobody will ever tell you that a guy is a jerk, no matter how attractive that would make him. They always describe him in boring, glowing terms: “The best boy in the yeshiva.” “The best boy in front of the yeshiva.” “The best boy on the street corner.” “The best boy in his gang… er, I mean his chevra.”

I did have one guy who was an outright jerk on a date, but not to me. For the most part, when people err on dates it’s more likely to be to the side of rudeness than jerkishness. Conversely, you know it’s purely manners and not love that makes them act nicely on a first or even third date. So shidduch dating protects us from attraction to jerks.

Anyway, the article doesn’t hold high hopes for women reforming jerks. Don’t be fooled, it warns. Once the romance wears off he’ll treat you just like he treats everyone else. Meaning, like a jerk. Which, I guess, gives you a window of about 4 months engagement plus maybe (if you’re good) 6 months of marriage to reform your man.

Doable? For a woman? Indubitably. After all, there’s nothing like a dame.

 

edit: I’d like to append this brilliant little piece on training spouses, hat tip to JPS.

Does This Not Exist?

Wanted: A used up sister/mother-of-the-bride gown. Stains, tears, broken zippers… all okay.

Preferably a slim size.

Must be full length.

Must not be over 20 years old and exceedingly stylish in its time.  (No, I refuse to dress a defenseless dear in 5 yards of sequins.)

Doesn’t need to be located in Brooklyn or Manhattan; I can probably find a ride for it from Lakewood, Far Rockaway, Teaneck, Elizabeth, or Baltimore.

And please don’t say “call a gemach.” I did that already and only got one size 18, pregnancy gown, which I cut down to size and is now doing its duty. However, I need one more.

So basically: do you know of a gown I can have?

What’s this for? Yoish. How to describe. Two young ladies, Miriam and Ezevel, who dance at weddings. In between weddings they enter a comatose state in the corner of my room. I attribute to them most of the invitations I get to weddings (seeing as the first thing I  get asked when I arrive is “did you bring the girls?”). But they’re actually v. 2.0 because some unimaginative people at a local wedding hall threw out Tova and Chana. And they have nothing to wear. Please help, as I am getting tired of disappointing brides who, apparently, don’t particularly care if I show up at their wedding.

A Resume by Any Other Name Would Smell Much Sweeter

This is sort of off topic, but it bears mentioning.
People: think twice about how you present Judaism to non-Jews. It’s common enough for an ethnicity or cultural group to lovingly mock its foibles, but outsiders don’t always get the “lovingly” part.

I was sitting in the lounge reviewing polymer synthesis with a couple of classmates when one of them, from Guyana, says suddenly, “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure, but I don’t guarantee an answer,” I said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be married by now?”

I laughed.

But then she continued to say that some Jewish guy had told her that all religious Jewish girls are supposed to be married by the time they’re 21, that they have resumes for the process, and that they’re looked down upon for being older than that and still single.

“Um…” I started. “It’s not quite like that.” And I explained that religious Jews get serious about marriage younger and therefore tend to get married younger, but it isn’t required to be married by any certain age, people marry at all ages, and if anyone was looking down on me for being single, I hadn’t noticed it.

Shidduch resumes… I decided not to touch those. “Shidduch resume” is the sort of cynical nickname that people would give when they are gently mocking their own practice. But it sounds perfectly awful and I refuse to call them by that. Profile, people, it’s a profile!

The definition of resume: “A résumé is a document that contains a summary or listing of relevant job experience and education.”

We are not apply for jobs. We are simply exchanging information to facilitate matchmaking.

Can we please start a campaign to call them profiles? I call upon all of you to refuse to call them shidduch resumes from now on.

Take that scrap of paper and print “Personal Profile” in big letters across the top.

When a shadchan asks you for your resume, give her a blank look, and then with dawning understanding, ask, “Do you mean my profile?”

When you’re asking about a potential date, ask for their profile.

Whenever you hear someone mention a shidduch resume, correct them. It’s a profile.

If you’re a shadchan, make sure to correct any usage of “resume” that you hear. Definitely don’t use it yourself.

Let us rid the world of this semantic scourge. Let us eliminate this shameful, job-market reference from our personal interactions.  Forward this post to ten friends and your zivug will find you in the right time, and if you don’t then a huge pimple will grow on the tip of your nose before your next date.

One More Follow Up

So, as a single, do you feel at all left out? Basically a yes-or-no question with an explanation requested.

Even One More Shidduch Musical Song

Freeda has taken up the challenge of the second Improv Everywhere musical. You can see the video and her lyrics on her blog, and if you’re curious about exactly how improv it was (not very) you can check out the IE blog for details.

Question for the Peanut Gallery

Someone recently commented to me that the frum lifestyle is geared toward families. Single people are kind of left out of the structure. Do singles not feel alienated?

I puzzled this a bit. It’s true that Judaism is all about families. But what community connection does a married person have that I don’t? We can both go to shul, n’shei lectures, and so on. We can both participate in chesed and community activities. Okay, granted, I don’t. But that’s more to do with my personal choice than my marriage status.

Or does it?

NMF#7 recently wrote about a whole lot of community work she took on for this week. [edit: link fixed] Would anyone have asked her if she were single? Why or why not?

Really, single people, in theory, should have more time to contribute to the community. Why don’t we?

That was part 1. Part 2 is about avodas Hashem. I’m not sure I get this question. To quote:  “How should [a single] view his/her avodas Hashem and contribution towards this world?  [How should they] view their own strengths and weaknesses in  their own contribution towards creating something out of their own lives?”

Does Judaism have room for singles? Or does our religion discriminate in favor of married people? I know in bais yaakov high school they kept telling us that our share in heaven is through a husband who’s learning, but I still don’t buy that. I can’t believe that God wouldn’t give women their own independent route to heaven. I mean, what if their husband is stupid or dies young or never materializes? Go to wherever, go directly to wherever, do not pass heaven, do not collect your spiritual reward? And by “wherever” I’m not avoiding use of “hell” because obviously she’s not going there (if it exists; not a discussion for now) - but I seriously don’t know where a good woman without a scholarly husband would wind up, according to this theory.

But what about the rest of it? Are we religiously left out? Is there anything we can’t do, shouldn’t do, are discouraged from doing because we’re single?

How do we contribute and make something from our lives?

That’s a vague question, but I don’t want vague answers. Yes I know there’s stuff we could do. But does anyone do it? If not, why not? If yes, why yes? And how?

Please limit the diatribes and try to stay concrete. I appreciate your input.

Yet Another Shidduch Musical Suggestion (5)

They just keep coming. This one is based on Newsies. I never saw that musical, and I have to say, I find the dancing a tad anachronistic, but that’s not important. This is supposed to represent the getupandgo and Iwannagetmarriedalready attitude that guys have.

SHLOIME:
Open the freezer and shidduch date
Don’t be afraid and don’t delay
Staying single can break us
The right girl can make us
Give ourselves away
Arise and shidduch date!

SHLOIME AND BOCHURIM:
Now is the time to shidduch date
(Now is the time to shidduch date)
Go to the Marriot and talk away
(Go to the Marriot and talk away)

SHLOIME:
Yichus and finance
If we’re united

SHLOIME AND BOCHURIM:
Let us shidduch date!
Guys in the freezer shidduch date
(Guys in the freezer shidduch date)
Go to the Marriot and talk away
(Go to the Marriot and talk away)
Proud and confident
We’ll get our desires
Let us shidduch date
Neighbor for cousin
Friend’s daughter for son
One for all and one for one!
Open the freezer and shidduch date
(Open the freezer and shidduch date)
Don’t be afraid and don’t delay
(don’t be afraid and don’t delay)
Staying single can break us
The right girl can make us
Give ourselves away
Neighbor for cousin
Friend’s daughter for son!
One for all and one for one!

Nice Jewish Guy Calendar

Okay, so you can only be grateful that none of them take off their shirt. As the compiler, Adam Cohen,  says in a Haaretz interview: “We may not always [be] the best-looking guys, but we have jobs.”

What does it take to be cast as the quintessential nice Jewish guy for a calendar?

• non-threatening appearance
• you can tell you can trust him
• he’s not a stud but… he will be to someone
• he’s got a nice job
• he’s good to his parents

Most importantly, they’re all single.

Reviews of the calendar?

“These are the guys you can take home to mom,” – Denise Rabinowitz, NYC

Order your Nice Jewish Guy Calendar or your I Love Nice Jewish Guys t-shirt at the Nice Jewish Guys website.

[edit] …and just as a counterpoint, a link at the bottom of the Haaretz article is to another article about how there are “no good Jewish (wo)men”…

Hat tip for the article to NJG.

Exclusive Interview (Contains Photos)

There are not too many people who can successfully court a woman even when she’s unconscious. Probably none, which is why we had to go to a robot for expert dating advice. Here’s the word from the 28th-century Casanova on how to date to get the girl.

Or ‘bot.

Whatever.

(Note: interview translated from various electronic beeps, whistles, and gestures.)

Wall-E shows Eve Bubblewrap

Keep it interesting. Don’t let her get bored when she’s around you. Show her fun stuff like bubble wrap, eggbeaters, and light bulbs.

Wall-E does the dance from Hello Dolly

Don’t be afraid to let your fun side show. Go ahead: do a little dance with a hubcap boater. Chances are she’ll try to join in.

Wall-E holds umbrella over Eve

Be considerate at all times. The fair sex appreciates being well taken care of. Chivalry shouldn’t be dead, even if all carbon-based life is.

Wall-E takes Eve out in a "gondola"

There’s nothing like a date  on the water. (Or on…liquid. A fluid, anyway. Whatever it is. The boat is the important part.) It’s very romantic.

Wall-E and Eve enjoy sunset

So are sunsets and beautiful natural phenomena. Share the beauty in your life.

Wall-E plays computer ping-pong with unresponsive Eve

Note: She probably will not be interested in video games and arcades as much as you are.

Wall-E gives Eve The Plant

Share her interests and help her pursue her objectives. Two beings with one goal are one.

Wall-E climbs up garbage chute to follow Eve

Be persistent. And call her by her name a lot. (Proper pronunciation not necessary.) All sentient beings have been shown to appreciate being addressed by name.

Eve carries injured Wall-E out of trash disposal

Being cute, sad-eyed, and vulnerable turns the mothering instincts on full gush. (Editor’s note: we do not recommend getting your motherboard fried, being crushed by heavy machinery, or otherwise injuring yourself for the sake of dating.)

May you all be zocheh to find your “Eve” in less than 700 years.

Just a Note for Those Who Love Life…

Whoever tries to coerce me into holding maypole umbrella while standing on a table at my wedding is going to find that they have to move very rapidly indeed to avoid having said umbrella stuck straight through them.

No offense, but it’s the dumbest piece of wedding shtick ever invented. I think very few people actually enjoy it. Why must we be at the mercy of the few feeble-minded who think it’s “cute”?

We already torture the bride enough, starting the whole business by making her run the gauntlet, an ancient and widespread form of punishment. Then we throw her around in the air on a chair that is in constant danger of being dropped, and occasionally is. We then force her to fail to jump a  rope of napkins while wearing two-dozen crinoline petticoats. All while she’s dancing in those said petticoats after having her first meal in 18 hours.

Really, when you think about it, a wedding is a massive endurance feat. If you can survive your wedding, you’re just about ready for life.

Even More Shidduch Musical (4)

This one from Erachet, inspired by the Impromptu Anywhere Food Court Musical.

Girl 1: Awkward dates spoiling all my Thursday nights
I have to see them everywhere ’cause
I’m living in the Heights

Can I get a good date please?
When you set me up, I hope that he’s
Funny and tall and is courteous to all
Can I get a good date please?

Boy 1: Can I get a good date too, by chance?
Even though I might wear denim pants?
What a pain, it’s a shame, I will prob’ly go insane if I don’t get a good date–!

Girl 1: We both need good dates, that’s a fact.
Boy 1: That’s true! It’s good dates that we lack.
Girl 1 & Boy 1: We’re agreed, we’re in need, in our prayers we humbly plead
Can we get a good date please?!

Can I get a good date please?
I promise I’ll make him/her feel at ease
I’ll behave my best
I just simply cannot rest
Can I get a good date please?

Girl 2: I need a good date!
I’ve got a bad date in that chair
He’s really getting in my hair
Wish I could find the door, I can’t sit here anymore!
Oh, can I get a good date–?!
Guy Who’s Friends With Girls: I’m the friendly guy!
The one who sees girls and says hi!
But you always pass me by
I talk to girls, so it’s goodbye
And I just want to be the kind of guy who’s qualityyyy

All: Can we get a good date please?

Security Guard/Shadchan: What on earth is going on here?!

All: We need more good dates!

SG/S: I’m on it.

Send me some good dates up here, stat.
The lower lobby’s where I’m at
Listen up, girls and guys, I am authorized
To pair you with good dates!

All: Can we get a good, can we get a good, can we get a good date please…?

We promise we’ll make him/her feel at ease…

This girl over here needs assistance, that is clear…

Can she get a good date…

SG/S: Here’s a good date! (points to boy 1)

Please…?

Mazal Tov NMF #13

Who was  lately married. (And “late” is meant in all possible ways.  I arrived two hours after the chupa was scheduled and the bride and groom didn’t mosey in for another half hour at least.)

Anyway, I did check my placecard, but it wasn’t necessary. I knew exactly which table I belonged at. She might as well have dropped the “##” and just written “Bloggers” on it. It would have been simpler, and it would also have saved us the trouble of explaining our presence to mutual acquaintances who knew her from more legitimate venues.

You would have expected people to be sitting there with their Blackberries and iPhones liveblogging the thing, but I kid you not – not a single one of the bunch of so-called writers had so much as a pen, except SD, and that was purely by accident. (She doesn’t use pens.) I don’t know what Erachet’s excuse was, but at least she got a meal into her that should last until she sells a piece. (Living from wedding to wedding is a classic “professional” writer means of getting sustenance.  James Thurber did it for almost a year. And he’d bring leftovers home with him for breakfast, too.)

I gotta say, it’s a good thing the bride was wearing a big puffy veil because otherwise it would have been hard to spot her.  Whatever happened to cupcake gowns so big the bride needs three feet of clearance? Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re unwieldy, but if you don’t take up much space on your own, how else are people supposed to find you?

Freeda gets BadforShidduchim club points for marching about the room in street clothes, and even accosting the bride in so mundane a habit. We shall have to discuss a meet so she can spend her points. Two Sundays from now, anyone?

NEF#14 injured me with her diamond ring. I just had to point that out. Those things are dangerous. They hurt. (No, not emotionally. Sheesh. If you can’t handle a ring on someone else’s finger you need to grow a skin.) They should be outlawed. Wait, noooo. Post on that coming up one day, actually. When I get around to writing it. The gemstone ring must stay. But can they do something to make them less hard and sharp?

THE MUSIC WAS TOO LOUD!!! And if you can hear me, you obviously weren’t at the wedding. Unless you are Bas~Melech, who came armed with earplugs and preserved her auditory senses. I know it’s usually a given that the music is too loud, and I don’t complain. But this was beyond. This was like a secret military weapon kind of loud. If this were a war, I’d run up the white flag and surrender to the band, no matter who the singer was.

Why is it that everyone is perfectly capable of recognizing a circle of camp friends or a circle of school friends and leaving them to dance alone with the bride, but you get a circle of bloggers in there and everyone thinks we’re just a random assortment of people and try to break in? Didn’t we exude a sinister internet miasma? Wasn’t it obvious that our fingertips meld naturally with a keyboard? Did we not look uniformly random? Do we really need URL necklaces to prove our illegitimacy?

As weddings go, it wasn’t the most funereal. There was a smattering of color around the room. Of course, record for most funereal goes to MF#9 (Shidduchville Correspondent) whose Monsey nuptials had a grand total of four non-black outfits at it.

Overall it was lovely. I still haven’t seen the groom. (I am willing to place a bet that he’s below 5′9″.)  I wish the young couple all the best and may they live happily ever after, Amen.

PS: It’s now 1:16 in the am, and everyone who was formerly seated at the blogger table is now showing up in my chat pane. People, we need to get a life.

Too Late to Shower?

Okay, the title is misleading.

I bought NEF #12 (I think it’s 12) a wedding gift. Then I sat back and waited to be invited to her shower.

I don’t know how other people do it, but in my circles, one of the bride’s friends contacts the parentals and gets the invitation list. Then she calls everyone to collect a donation from them, invite them to the party, and shop for some gifts.

If the friend is squeamish about asking for money sometimes she’ll send a letter instead, which I  think is an unnecessary expense, or an email, which is sensible enough.

I was pretty sure I was getting invited, so it seemed only a matter of time.

Well, I waited, and eventually the invitation arrived – the invitation to the wedding, I mean, not to any shower. Was I overlooked?

Naturally, I asked the bride. After all, every bride knows when her surprise shower is going to be. With a few minor exceptions. I can brag about having planned the party for two of those exceptions (if I may take a tangent to pat myself on the back). The trick was to make them plan the party themselves, under the misconception that it was for someone else.

In my best-ever surprise party, the NEF’s sister convinced her to throw a surprise party for me.  See, the way we figured it, we both stink at planning parties, but the NEF is really awesome. So if she planned it, it would come out better. The NEF was eager enough, but got cold feet about planning entertainment for me. So, secretly, she told me that she was planning a surprise party for me and could I please help her out but not tell her sister that she told me? I agreed, and told her that anything she’d like at a party she should include in mine. She went ahead on that suggestion and I  think she enjoyed the end result.

But this NEF #12 didn’t know anything about her shower. She suspected, she told me, that she wasn’t having one. “Why ever not?” I asked aghast. I think wedding showers are one of the perks of being engaged. They are totally Reason #24 for Getting Married.

“Because everyone else is already married and busy,” she explained.

That does not strike me as a very good excuse.

I contacted her mother and she didn’t either seem to know about a shower. So that was that.

First off, I’d like to inform everyone who has ever been on my Friend list past, present, or future, that I fully expect a wedding shower. Consult with my mother for a list of things I haven’t got yet. No teflon or plastic please, and I really would love a pet Roomba.

But now I have a problem. I don’t know how to give a wedding gift. Do people really give them at the wedding? Where do they put them? Or do you send them before or afterward? I can’t mail mine, though. My gift of a venus flytrap, thought undoubtedly a household necessity, is rather delicate. In fact, it’s so delicate that I’d better get it to the bride-to-be really soon, because I keep knocking it over, leaving it unwatered for a week while I go to Israel, and otherwise retarding its growth and development. My thumb is a shriveled grayish color. Hey, maybe I’ll be relieved of the trouble by the death of the gift.

Reason #2 (#11) for Getting Married

Somewhere, out in the wilds of The Big City, in a one-room studio apartment, curled up in bed feeling sick and feverish, is a lonely Young Lady who wants her mommy.

“This is why people have flatmates,” I suggested. “So they can serve you chicken soup.” Okay, maybe not. I’ve never actually heard of someone serving their roomie chicken soup. Or otherwise pampering them for being sick. (Then again, how would I?) Which may be why the YL replied, “Or get married.”

“Reason #11?” I asked.

“Reason #2,” she answered. I think the exigencies of her  condition may have contributed to an artificial inflation there. But it’s definitely on the list.

The Long and the Short of It

“Will Bad4 go out with a guy who’s on the short side?” queried my aunt.

“We’ll need some other information before making a decision,” my mother replied.

Okay, so it sounds silly. But  I feel like I get that question about once every three months. Will I  go out with a short guy?

Seriously, people, I ask you: if I wasn’t willing to go out with short men, who would I be able to go out with?

All around me, single girls are getting engaged to midgets. It’s like they raided some albino pygmy tribe for men. I think all of my friends’ husbands would have to put on their hats and stand on tip-toes to touch the 5′8″ mark (which is still below the 5′9.2″ national average). When they still have baby faces, I often have to double check that I’m following the pointing finger to the right body. “Did she rob the cradle? He looks about… 13.”

One thing I still haven’t gotten used to about non-Jewish men is the necessity of tipping one’s head back in order to make eye contact while speaking. My latest “do while bored” project involves deriving the equation for figuring out how much space to keep between you and the other guy to prevent your chin from having to tilt more than 30 degrees. It’s basic trig – see what you remember from high school. Use this diagram if necessary.

Anyway, the number of guys I’ve gone out with who could be described as “tall” (meaning, above the mean of 5′9″) is well within the counting ability of a toddler. (That would be two. They were 5′10″.)

I think it’s weird, quite frankly. Jews have such diversity of appearance, ranging from Eastern European to Arabian, yet almost uniformly, across the board, our men are short.

I have a classmate who informed me that if Jews wouldn’t hoard the smart gene by “marrying cousins” all the time, we would be far more impressive looking and have fewer “retards” among us. That’s her word choice, and upon elucidation, it turns out she’s referring to men who loiter outside yeshiva and “who look like there’s something wrong with them.” Anyway, I didn’t argue her point, though it seemed a tad illogical coming from a 4.0 student.  I did briefly wonder if she had something there, though. Is height maybe an X chromosone thing? Like those genetic diseases that only affect men because, nebach, they’re burdened with a Y?

It is only men, right? Or is it hard to tell because of the heels? I’m slightly above the national 50th percentile in height, and now that I think about it, more than half my friends are shorter than me. But then again, when they lined us up by height for graduation, I was somewhere in middle, not in the back. Maybe I’m just attracted to short people? (Would that explain all the short dates?)

The other theory is that guys who go off to yeshiva when they’re 13 and don’t have a mother stuffing vegetables down their throat on a regular basis will wind up shorter. But a completely unscientific sampling of relatives, courtesy of my mother, demonstrated that this was not necessarily the case. Feel free to do your own.

Of course now I know I’m  going to get a gazillion responses informing me about all the tall men out there who aren’t being redt to me. Okay fine – it’s heavenly vengeance for all those times I didn’t hold the havdalah candle high enough, despite my grandmother’s urging. Not interested in doing the Statue of Liberty imitation, I used to joke that I wanted to be able to glare down my nose at the guy.

Clearly, I am living to regret that line.

Shidduch Musical Submission (3)

This is actually a very old submission which I previously didn’t include because a few lines confused me. Also, I don’t really like the music from My Fair Lady. (Personal prejudice, but there you go.) But I figure if I’m going to let in the “I Gotta Feeling” song, which also needs tweaking, then this definitely deserves a spot. So please step over to SerandEz to view My Fair Shidduch, by G (who, it should be mentioned, was married off, though I don’t know if a shadchan was involved). The original song is over here (Youtube link).

Shidduch Musical Submission (2)

Well, the judges filtered out the truly horrific suggestions, and we’re left with a few songs for the shidduch musical.

The first is “I Gotta Feeling,” (warning: women singing) which aptly (if not verbosely) describes the high of hope you have when someone sounds perfect on paper and you’re not yet very jaded about paperly perfect matches.

Submission by JPS. I made some editorial changes in blue. (His original is over here.) The repetition of the main paragraph could be split between the guy, the girl, and her parents, while the chorus part could either go to the parents or to the friends of the couple. In other words, it has versatility and potential.

The Song:

I gotta feeling…
That tonight’s gonna be a good date

That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

I gotta feeling…
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

I gotta feeling… (Woohoo)
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

I gotta feeling… (Woohoo)
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

Tonight’s the night
Go live it up
Go get your date
And spend it up
Go out and enjoy it
Like Oh My G-d
Jump off that sofa
And pick her up!

We know that you’ll have a ball
If you get down
And go out
And just lose it all
If you feel stressed out
Then just let it go
Because going out
Is like losing all control

Go out with her

Mazel tov
Admire her chain
Just take in it all
Lets hit this lounge
We’ll drink it down
Talk JIFS or FISH
And then we’ll do it again (another date)

Lets do it (x4)
And do it (2x)
Let’s date it up
And do it (3x)
Do it, do it
Lets do it(3x)  (I think that means 12 dates)

Cause I gotta feeling… (WoooHooo)
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

I gotta feeling… (WoooHooo)
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

I gotta feeling
Tonight’s the night (HEY! )
Let’s chat it up (lets live it up)
I got her drink (I’m paid)
She’ll sip it up (Let‘s spend it up)
Go out and have some fun (some coffee)
Like Oh My G-d (Like Oh My G-d)
Jump out that chair (Come On!)
Lets kick it OFF

Fill up my cup (Drank) (I think it’s so good, we need a refill)
Mazel tov (La chaim) (hmm, whats in that cup again?)
Look at her talking (Talk it, Talk it)
Just take it… SLOW
Let‘s rock the lounge (or paint the town)
Go on the town (let’s go)
Let‘s talk and walk (Woooooo)
And then we’ll do it again

Lets do it (x4)
And do it (2x)
Let’s live it up
And do it (3x)
Do it, do it
Lets do it(3x)
Do it, do it, do it, do it

Here we come
Here we go
I got a date
Easy come
Easy go
Always, we never stop
Feel the shot
Dating shock
A shock that don’t stop
Round and round
Up and down
Around the clock

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday
Friday, Motzie Shabbos
Motzie Shabbos to Sunday

Get, get, get, get, get with her
You know what we say (say)
Date everyday (x2)

I gotta feeling (WooHooo)
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

I gotta feeling (WooHooo)
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good date
That tonight’s gonna be a good good date

Woohoo

Shidduch Musical Submission (1)

The most recent mention of the shidduch musical garnered quite a bit of response, not to mention some submissions. First mention will go to the submission that actually followed the guidelines of the request, namely, for a song that could be sung by a bunch of girls in a lounge when their dates go out to daven ma’ariv.

It was written by Scraps, who has previously written a Shidduch Musical song, and you can read this one at her blog over here.

Marathon Date?

So, I’m advertising for a cheering partner for the NYC Marathon, since there will be Team Lifeline runners, and I know how important it is to see people screaming encouragingly at you around mile 11.

Advertising in my gmail status, I mean.

So up pops Ezzie and suggests I take a date along.

Riiight. So, aside from the fact that I don’t have any dates lined up for November 1st, do I seriously want to spend a date jumping up and down and shouting?

Then again, as he pointed out, it would make for a refreshing change. And there not being a megadose of Team Lifeliners in the race, we could chat amiably enough between runners.

I am leery of things that sound alright in theory. I remember writing that mini golf sounded like a great date in theory. Then I went on one and found that it’s kind of limited. So in theory there’s nothing wrong with standing on a frigid street corner alternating between waving and chatting. It beats sitting in a warm lounge alternating between sipping and chatting. Right?

We-ell… I’m not convinced.

Maybe it’s the bais yaakov education, but the idea of making excessive noise on a date doesn’t strike me right. Definitely not a first date… or a second. Maybe not even a third. Heck, if I wanted to bring a guy to the marathon on a date, I’ve have to start going out with him right now, and be still going out with him by the time November 1st comes around.

Considering my track record, this is an amazingly hypothetical line of thought.

Reason #9 for Getting Married

So you have someone to leap onto his white charger and defend you against the persiflage of near relatives.

I learned about this one when visiting an MF at her parents’ house. She married an aidel fellow who doesn’t, as a rule, look at women, so I tend to ignore him.

Anyway, us girls – meaning me, the MF, and her sister – were off in the kitchen doing serving stuff. The MF mentioned having been unable to do something unimportant, and I joked that it demonstrated her complete incompetence.

Back in the dining room, her sister baited me to repeat the comment, which I did, with friendly insouciance, though it was completely out of context. I didn’t think anyone would take it as a serious offense. But no sooner had I spoken that the MF’s hubby turns a piercing gaze on me and asked, “Now why would you say that?”

It would  be nice to say that I comported myself with some manner of dignity or at least poise. But I had  been utterly unprepared for this turn of events, which included abruptly learning that he had freaky blue eyes. You know the type? The paranormal blue-eyed gaze. Like looking at a laser. I’d never actually seen his eyes before, so that was another thing I hadn’t brace myself for. Good thing I was sitting.

I gabbled a quick apology and turned what I hoped was a freaky hazel glare at the MF’s sister, who looked appropriately contrite. Meanwhile, MF sat next to her man looking positively smug.

This incident popped to mind while parrying and retreating from a bit of familial verbal fencing. “Now if I only had one of those Husband(tm) things,” I thought to myself, as I found my back to the wall, “He could rescue me from this persecution and we could ride off into the sunset on his white stallion.”

Instead, I sulked into the kitchen to get dessert.

Wanted: One knight in shining armor. Must be good rider and fencer. Freaky blue eyes optional. White horse preferred.

NEF #15 Just One Link Away

Well, there’s been a very exciting turn of events here in the blogosphere. The first (to my knowledge) blogosphere-caused engagement. My standard line for engagements is that “NEF#X went and got herself engaged.” But in the case of our very own Michelle, I think the grammatical voice in that sentence is too active. Seeing as it practically took a bulldozer and wild horses to get her to even meet the guy she’s engaged to.

Here’s what happened:

A Mysterious Stranger contacted me via email and said he had the perfect match for Michelle, of the Humble (and often not so humble) Jewish Opinion. I said that was nice, and forwarded her the email. Michelle thought it was a drop weird to go out with internet people, but I assured her that I’ve gone out with loads of ‘em and they’re amazingly normal – sometimes normaller than real people. She said to get back to her with more information; anyway, she’s busy.

The Mysterious Stranger got back with all the requested information promptly. Michelle was still busy. I asked her to get back to me when she ceased to be busy, which she conscientiously neglected to do.

MS, however, was on top of things, and he emailed me a few weeks later asking what was up with his match. I forwarded this to Michelle who said, oops, she’s busy with a different guy now, try again later.

MS did try again later, by which time she was busy with yet another guy. Or else she was pretending to be. I was beginning to get a little jealous, because it seemed like she was going out with a new guy every week.

We played this little game for something like three months. Yes, folks. THREE MONTHS. Clearly, Michelle did not read “Green Eggs and Ham” often enough when she was young. Thankfully, the Mysterious Stranger had read “The Little Engine that Could” more than often enough. He had his match, he believed in it, and he gosh-darn-sure was going to push it through whether she liked it or not.

Which left me in the position of that little wedgey-metal thing between the mallet and the granite. And it wasn’t so comfortable, what with being banged on the head routinely, and not getting any give from the stone on the other side.

So finally, one fine summer’s day when I really had a project due for my boss, at the request of MS (who must have been in this for his friend because he surely was sick of Michelle by now), I took a two-hour lunch break to convince Michelle that she was being unreasonable and reactionary and this guy couldn’t be any worse than all these other guys she was going out with every two weeks, seriously, so could she please just give him a chance?

Of course, I didn’t say it like that.

I said that there was this guy who kept emailing me and seemed to think I could convince her to go out and since I was never going to convince him that I couldn’t, my only option was to could, so could she would she please go out with him?

Then it turned out she didn’t think he was quite her type, so I dredged up long-lost emails of information and resent them and she discovered that actually, he didn’t sound so bad.

I would say that the rest was history, but really, it was just regular life. Except every so often I’d bump into Michelle online and she’d mention that she was still going with this guy and really he wasn’t so bad. Actually, he was kind of good. In fact, surprisingly decent. In truth, he was the best thing she’d dated to date. To be honest, she didn’t know they made guys like that. And hey, could I clear time in my schedule for her L’chaim?
Whoohoo!

Whoever this Mysterious Stranger is, I gotta say, he’s good. I hope they reward him commensurate to his efforts.

As for me… I apparently get to lay claim to the title of shadchan as well, though I really don’t think I deserve it, seeing as I all did was twist an arm until it nearly popped from its socket in order to alleviate the twist on my own arm. However, I have long ago learned not to argue about receiving credit when it’s not due, so hey, I’m a shachan! And it’s kinda fun on this side of the l’chaim. But on the other side of things… seriously. Now I know why even God finds matchmaking difficult. These humans are just nuts.

You Know Your Parents are Old When…

They go on their own chol hamoed trip.

I mean, there are stages in life. You get married, and you go on trips like they’re dates. Very cute. Then you have little kids, and you take them places that are fun and educational. Then you have big kids, and they inform you where you’re taking them. Then you have teens, and they’re planning the trips, often leaving you behind. Then your kids are all out of the nest, and you get to sit at home sipping green tea and reading the Jewish Press Chol Hamoed Trip supplement, very happily enjoying not being at any of the places listed. And then when you’re really old you get nostalgic and bored and decide to go on a trip together. Like old times. Very cute.

[edited] So, with Good4 in seminary and Bad4 in college and all other siblings in their own homes, the parents flew the coop this chol hamoed. And when I came home from a thermodynamics test, tired and hungry, they were cheery and chirpy and eager to talk about their day. (A pleasant change from cranky kids, I suppose.) And the first thing they said was… [dum da dum dum dum...]

“We found a great place for an afternoon date!”

Yeah, I guess they’re not that old yet.

So here’s the details. Actually, it’s not an amazing place for a date due to the completely inconvenient hours. But you can work that out. They found it in the Hamodia chol hamoed trip supplement. They chose it because it was really close. It takes about 25 minutes driving through Brooklyn streets to get there.

It’s called the Wyckoff House, and it’s the oldest house in New York State. There’s a guided tour, so I’d recommend it for that third date, when you’ve run through all the superficial stuff, but don’t yet feel ready to get very personal. Aren’t all third dates horrible? Some say it’s the fourth.

Anyway, it’ll give you loads to talk about over coffee afterwards, because it started as a one-room house. (“No concept of privacy back then,” my father shakes his head. “It’s easier to heat,” the tour guide explained.) Another good way to gauge if your date is “high maintenance.” And it’s cheap – $5 for adults, $3 for students.

Anyway, that’s my Public Service Announcement for the holiday.

Reason #7 for Getting Married

It must be nice to have someone besides your parents who knows and understands you and loves you anyway.

Dating Games (& More Shidduch Musical)

It was an astoundingly crowded evening at the Brooklyn Marriott. I was the one facing the door, so I got to count the couples as they crossed the threshold. I’m afraid I wasn’t the most scintillating conversationalist – I kept interrupting with “Eight! Here’s the eighth couple. Oh, ah, what were you saying?”

When the ninth couple walked through, I remembered the tale of the guy who claimed to have collected a minyan at such a venue and suggested that my date could chap a ma’ariv when the tenth couple came.

“And what will you be doing while we’re davening?” he asked.

“Oh, we’ll hang out, talk, compare you guys behind your backs, maybe switch places if we think it would work better…”

He looked at me and I looked at him as the same thought occurred to both of us.

“We’ll all switch places!” I declared. “And see if you even know the difference when you come back.”

He loved the idea so much that I think if a tenth couple had arrived he would have collected a minyan. Sadly, we remained only nine in the lounge, and the plan was never executed. Disappointing, I know. I apologize, but there was nothing I could do about it. I did offer a brief prayer for a tenth man, but God must have been listening to the miserable-looking maidel in the opposite corner instead because that couple upped and left shortly after.

So why mention it? Well firstly, I’d like to encourage anyone who finds themselves in a similar position to give it a spin and let me know how it goes.

But the second and more important reason is that it fills a gap in the Shidduch Musical (scroll down right side bar for the current program). For two years now I’ve been grappling with the difficulty of the necessary Lounge Dance. Where does it come in? What is it about? And most importantly, how do we avoid mixed dancing?

Well the solution has arrived! So you see I got something out of that date aside from a drink and good conversation. In the Lounge Scene, all the men will troop out to Ma’ariv wearing bemused expressions, uncertain if they’re racking up Holiness Points for going to pray or losing Decency Points for abandoning their dates. As soon as they leave the girls shyly slide out of their chairs and congregate in the center. Soon enough they begin asking where they got that cute handbag, what number date everyone is up to, and naturally, comparing their dates. Eventually the sentences become rythmic and soon you have the whole pack of them moving in song and dance. It culminates with a lot of leaping about on couches and tap dancing on table tops when suddenly the men return. Room freezes. Pause. Mad scramble for seats – any seat. The men sit down and after an awkward pause one of each couple breaks the silence with, “So tell me about your siblings.”

(An aside here: don’t you love the way musicals handle the fact that everyone is acting amazingly unnatural during the musical part? Some just finish the song and everyone disperses like nothing happened. Others make it integral, like it’s totally normal for people to burst into song and dance at random moments of their lives. And some go a step further, bringing in third parties who eye the ensemble with astonishment and back away slowly. And suddenly you realize that, yeah, this should look weird, why doesn’t it? I should have been a film/theater major. Then I could have written a paper about it. Oh well. Where were we?)

Right – so that’s the scene. Now here’s an even harder part: the song. Do I see a raise of hands for song writers?

Seasonal Dating

Question: What do war, famine, competition, necessity, and dating have in common?

Answer: they are all mothers of invention.

This thought crossed my mind as I scanned my closet for the 7^th time, trying to figure out what to wear. By the time we hit date 3 in the summer time, I’m combining old outfits in news ways that I would never have considered before. It’s amazing how even a fashion klutz can mix and match with fair success when she’s got a date in 2 hours and nothing to wear.

Is it just me, or do other people have serious trouble with the sartorial side of summer dating? I really prefer warm weather dating because you’re not stuck indoors. But I gotta admit, finding clothing to suit the outdoor jaunting is daunting. Not too casual, but not too dressy, you need to be able to move, sit on potentially anything, maybe run, jump, or climb. And also look pretty.  You know, we women pull off some seriously supernatural things on a regular basis.  Let’s pause for a quick pat on our backs. You go girls!

I didn’t realize how serious the situation was until I finished a warm-weather dating streaks with less a feeling of regret and more a sigh of relief. “Phew. Glad that’s over. I was running out of things to wear.”

I mean, c’mon. Should that really be the first thought through my head? It doesn’t seem right.

So anyway, I’m glad to say, the weather is turning and it’s getting chillier. Now we can bring out those cute jackets and lightweight sweaters for a brief interim season before we get stuck again with strictly indoor entertainment. Yay!

Now I just need someone to go out with.

Random Differentness

This strikes me as looking suspiciously like a meme, but I feel like accepting an award, so here it is. Thank you, ProfK, for the nomination. (And thank you to my parents and grandparents and teachers and neighbors and pets who have made me who I am today.)

The reason it’s memish is because you’re then supposed to list seven things about yourself and link to seven other people who you think deserve it.

Not in the mood. I can’t think of anything of general interest at the moment. I have a better idea. How about you guys list one item each about yourselves? After all, it’s usually recognizable, repeating names who comment, so let’s have a two-way get-to-know session, instead of the usual one-way thing.

Go on… don’t be shy.

Quote of the Weekend

“Men don’t want to lose an argument with a woman until after they marry her!”

Finding a Place to Plunk Yourself

When guys get together for a lazy Shabbos afternoon, they naturally begin swapping dating venues and discussing the pros and cons of various places.
Or so I’ve heard. Maybe not, because it often seems like they’re perennially short of places to go. To the point where girl need to keep a list in her purse just in case.
It was this necessity that prompted one brother to assist his sister by creating an aggregate website of dating ideas. You create a login and you can add cities, venues, and ratings. Kinda like Mikomos (linked in the blogroll) but different format.
Ta da: Shidduch Date Guide. Check it out. Let us know what you think.

Warning: Will Not Help if You Also Need a Fairy Godmother

Some people need a total makeover. But if you’re halfway there anyway, these have been shown to drive men wild.
Hat tip to O.

What was that Poll About?

OK, so a week and a drop ago I asked women to list the traits they look for in a spouse using the list below, and adding any if they felt it warranted.

Facial Structure

Body Build

Politeness

Social Grace

Cleanliness

Kindness

Attitude

Intelligence

Affluence

Worldliness

Bravado

Height

I should mention, the list was compiled by JPS, a guy. That would explain the initial non-inclusion of height, the inclusion of cleanliness (seriously, that’s a prerequisite! Or did he mean “neatness”?), and the inclusion of the bemusing “bravado.” Only a guy who watches too many movies could possibly think bravado is appealing. Character was also left out, but I have a theory about that one.

So, we all know that guys, in general (due to internal wiring), go for looks. The theory is that women, in general (due to internal wiring), go for kindness. The purpose of the poll was to see how it would rank.

So, the results:

There were ten women who responded. Four rated kindness their #1 item.  Two rated it their #2 item. One rated it her #3 item. Only three didn’t rate kindness in their top 3 items.

Furthermore, except in one case, kindness was only bumped down from #1 to make way for intelligence. Now, shout out if you think I’m right or wrong (only if you participated in the rating), but when most people rate intelligence high, are they not really rating personality compatibility – meaning, someone you can communicate with and enjoy spending time with?

However, Mother in Israel has called upon her happily married friends to provide their perspective on the matter; feel free to check it out.

The other bump-downer was attitude.

My theory about character is that it was sort of melded in with kindness. Kind person has good character type of assumption. Correct me if I’m wrong about that too, people who made ratings.

To make the statistical leap, then, we can say that 70% of women rate kindness as one of the top three traits they look for in a mate.

So for all those guys who are trying to reinvent themselves in an appealing way: be nice.

Food, Glorious Food

Happy New Year!

First of all, for all victims of the date siman (“Make a yehi ratzon on the date so you should get many dates!” “Good dates!” “The right date!” “Any dates!”) a PTSD support group entitled “I eat my dates” is convening in the comment thread.

You know, it is a demonstration of the wisdom of God that He does not permit blogging on Rosh Hashana. We would have to spend the next ten days unsticking our keyboards instead of making New Year’s Resolutions.

It being a fast day, it only seems appropriate to discuss food. Since breakfast is of dubious popularity, I’m going to try a different, more rare, but equally important (according to 4 out of 5 American physicians, or was it shadchanim?) meal.

I’m talking, of course, about the post-date binge.

You know how it goes (because it can’t be only me): you come home from a date. It’s late. Probably later than when you usually start thinking about going to sleep. By any metric system you had a good time. But something wasn’t… quite right. Can’t exactly say what. Well maybe you could if you tried but you don’t really want to think about it right now. Or maybe you do. Truth is, the best antidote would be to crawl under the covers and black out for 8 hours or so. But that requires too much effort. Changing out of your best clothes, removing the makeup, brushing your teeth… it overwhelms the will. So instead, you decide to do the one thing that never requires too much effort: eat.

Now, it can’t be something that takes too long to prepare and it should taste good, so I personally tend to gravitate toward the leftovers. There’s always a certain amount that can disappear overnight without anyone noticing. But a little bit is never enough on post-date night.

Oh, I always start with just a teeny drop. But then I have a teeny drop more and then a little more than that. Upon occasions, I’ve paused to notice that I’m halfway through tomorrow night’s dinner, consumed in photon-sized portions. Oops. Nobody is happy when they discover that dinner has evaporated.

When my mother discovers the lack where once there was plenty, she will invariably say the same exact thing: “If you’re hungry, have some fruit!”

Hey, who said anything about being hungry? Besides, seriously: a post-date peach? Can I hear a chorus please of “Not happening”?
It’s not my fault. Well, not completely. But there’s really nothing else to eat. My mother’s idea of junk food is salted peanuts. My father keeps a stash of vanilla wafers in the cabinet, but they don’t do the trick for me. I need something amazingly unhealthy, like a big bag of potato chips.

So in order to render the dinners safe and the daters sane, here’s my proposal. I think every house with a dater ought to have a tub of ice cream labeled “For After Dates Only” (so that nobody else raids the contents, rendering it empty upon need). Ice cream is always good after a date, it’s never intended for any essential purpose, and when you’ve finished the tub you are usually so disgusted with yourself that you go straight to bed.

For those who want the dietetic option, there are two. The first is to keep a package of tea biscuits available to eat with the ice cream. They taste great together, but it takes extra time to slather the biscuit with the ice cream and the biscuit fills you with something that has a lower caloric density. Moreover, you will probably finish the package of biscuits before you finish the tub, so you’ll feel gross sooner and go to bed earlier.

For those who are on super-serious starvation diets, instead of buying half-gallon tubs, they should get pints of ice cream. I’d probably just go on to have multiple pints myself, but dieters have been known to have immense self control upon occasions. Rare occasions, to be sure, and probably not after dates, but hey, what’s life without optimism?

See you at the fridge at midnight!

Doubles, Anyone?

Remember when you were little and your morning cupidity drove you to pour four cereals into bowl at once and eat them all mixed up?

And all too often those cereals would add up to more than you could guzzle down and you’d try to sneak the bowl into the sink before your parents saw because otherwise they’d try to fly it down your throat (“Vrooom, vroom, the plane is coming in for a landing!”) or lament that your eyes are bigger than your stomach or discourse on the children starving in Africa or the evils of ba’al tashchis?

I was thinking about that as I sat down to document today’s breakfast because I mixed cereals. In specific, my favorite combo is shredded  wheat and honey nut cheerios. I’ve been combining the two from long before honey nut shredded wheat came out, and I continue to do so because I find that HNSW is very hard, unhospitable to milk, and doesn’t quite have the same flavor.

By this point I’ve got it down to a science. I pour a  half bowl of shredded wheat and cover it with milk. Then I go do something else like pack lunch for a few minutes. Not too long – just long enough so that the shredded wheat no longer resembles something you’d buy to feed the animals at the petting zoo. Then I pour on the cheerios and dig in.

And that’s what I had for breakfast this morning. Was that interesting?

Hey, anyone still there?

Hello?

Meme: Superpower Choice

The fellow with the Lemony Snicket complex tagged me to provide my superpower of choice.

Oh hey, why not, right?

If I could have any super power, I’d want to be able to understand and speak every and any language fluently, from Klingon to Swahili, and definitely Babytalk.

There is nothing as frustrating as being unable to communicate effectively with another intelligent human being. (OK, that might not apply to Klingon. [/meanness for the day]) Language, though beautiful as a representative of individual cultures, is a great barrier in our ever-shrinking world (etc etc) and a headache to many who would love to do good (or evil) far from home.

And if I could understand all languages, just think of all the travel opportunities that would open up!

OK, I’d still need to be able to afford the tickets, but as a person who is fluent in everything, I’d be in high demand by every international corporation/organization not to mention a whole lot of tired mothers, so I don’t think that would be a problem.

People to tag: hm…

NMF#7, ProfK, Mekubal, FnF, and de Blob (who, btw, has a cute post up about “finding” a girl)