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…”

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.

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)?

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?

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

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.