(Firstly, a note. The following woman's name is not actually Mrs. Huffenmyer, but that's my family's generic name for a person who's real name we can't mention - read: guys/girls family members date - and obviously I can't mention her real name, which is definitely rather unusual.)
A professional shadchan called a woman I know, Mrs. Huffenmyer. She launched right into it:
"With a name like Huffenmyer, you'll have to compromise on something for your daughter's shidduch. What will you give up on?"
Mrs Huffenmyer, a very wise woman, answered this Professional Shadchan without missing a beat. "I guess we'll have to give up on the privilage of having you as my daughter's shadchan."
Don't you just love a wise mother?
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Happiest Day of My Life
Only people very close to me know that my life has been very rough over the last six months. Well, I don't know that anyone knows this, but now that the issues have been resolved let me tell you what happened.
"M"y gum is yellow (lemonade flavor) orbit sugar-free gum. For ages, I wouldn't go anywhere without a spare pack of "my" gum. Erev Pesach, I depleted my stocks, figuring that I would suffer through a week without "my" gum, but after a week I would stock up again and not have to go without "my" gum for another 51 weeks.
I don't think any words can properly convey the shock, horror and disappointment I felt when I went to the local grocery store and didn't see my gum. I figured that the shipment was delayed or something, but I'd have it in another few days. Some days later and I still was without gum. Again and again, no gum.
At some point, my desperation reached obsession levels. I began going into every grocery store, conveniance store, even frum gas station in every frum community I passed through, in the hopes of finding "'my" gum somewhere.
This went on for months. More than six to be precise. And as long as my gum was not in my hands, no happiness could have ever been complete.
And that, my friends, is why I am here to tell you that yesterday was the happiest day of my life. No I didn't get engaged, no it wasn't even because of the first birthday of my blog, but you see, today is when I walked into a candy store, having given up hopes of ever being re-united with my long lost gum, and there, right next to me was a package of MY GUM! Not just one package, there were about twenty packages of it!
And I bought all twenty.
The lady looked at me weird, and made a comment about having enough gum for a while. But I didn't care. Me and my gum are together again! My happiness is back!
"M"y gum is yellow (lemonade flavor) orbit sugar-free gum. For ages, I wouldn't go anywhere without a spare pack of "my" gum. Erev Pesach, I depleted my stocks, figuring that I would suffer through a week without "my" gum, but after a week I would stock up again and not have to go without "my" gum for another 51 weeks.
I don't think any words can properly convey the shock, horror and disappointment I felt when I went to the local grocery store and didn't see my gum. I figured that the shipment was delayed or something, but I'd have it in another few days. Some days later and I still was without gum. Again and again, no gum.
At some point, my desperation reached obsession levels. I began going into every grocery store, conveniance store, even frum gas station in every frum community I passed through, in the hopes of finding "'my" gum somewhere.
This went on for months. More than six to be precise. And as long as my gum was not in my hands, no happiness could have ever been complete.
And that, my friends, is why I am here to tell you that yesterday was the happiest day of my life. No I didn't get engaged, no it wasn't even because of the first birthday of my blog, but you see, today is when I walked into a candy store, having given up hopes of ever being re-united with my long lost gum, and there, right next to me was a package of MY GUM! Not just one package, there were about twenty packages of it!
And I bought all twenty.
The lady looked at me weird, and made a comment about having enough gum for a while. But I didn't care. Me and my gum are together again! My happiness is back!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
BOSD Turns 1!
"A cute little blog with six posts, four comments, two readers, and eleven and a half months since it has last seen a post."
That's probably how I would have described the way BOSD would look on November 25, 2009...back when I started it, on November 25, 2008.
But now it actually is November 25, 2009. It's been a full year since I started this blog.
It's hard to believe that BOSD is a year old. It's hard to believe that in the past year, I posted 183 times. It's hard to believe that in the past year this blog has received 2,313 comments. It's hard to believe that in the past year this blog has seen over 20000 hits, 34 followers, and close to a hundred subscribers on google reader.
Blogging has been one of the most fascinating things I've ever done. It's rekindled my love for writing, it's reminded me that people enjoy reading what I have to say, and mostly, it's made me some excellent friends.
And now, as payback for being a devoted reader, (if you aren't a devoted reader you might want to stop reading now;) I'll share the most fascinating (in my mind) reason that this blog is actually a year old.
Throughout my life, I've written, or rather, shall I say, attempted to write, in numerous journals, diaries, and other forms of self-chronicling. None of them ever succeeded.
In fact, none of them ever survived my next pesach cleaning-turned-dejunking, when I would read the two entries I had written, decide that I've matured and changed since then, and that I don't need or want to remember what I had written, nor do I want to risk having my journal found by a curious and unscrupulous individual who would ignore my dire warnings about anyone turning that first page without permission. And thus, inevitably, my entries were torn out and shredded, and the now-empty journal was returned to its place on the top of my closet, not to be seen for another year or so, when the next unsuccessful attempt at diary-keeping would start. In a way, I really regret having torn those pages up as a child. It would be great to go back, now, as an adult (well, I'm not REALLY an adult, but I play one on TV) and read those top secret thoughts I had deemed worthy of recording for posterity. Either way, you can sleep easily tonight because you aren't missing out, as I'm certain I wouldn't have shared them with you either way.
Back to my blog and it's (relative) longevity, perhaps you are now capable of understanding why I am so shocked, amazed, and pleasantly surprised at this turn of events. This blog, if one would call it a personal journal, has beaten my previous record by about 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days.
(Here is where this blogger turns mushy.) It's really thanks to you. As you know, I love the feedback I get from all of you, but I don't think that even I realized until now just how much your comments keep me writing.
And so, as I hand over the mike to the next speaker at this grand birthday bash, I want to conclude with a thank you to my amazing readership. Here's to the next year of posts, hopefully with a few new characters this year!
(Anyone who wants to give me a birthday present should feel free to leave a glowing comment filled with praise or some warm reminiscing about their favorite BOSD moments over the last year.)
That's probably how I would have described the way BOSD would look on November 25, 2009...back when I started it, on November 25, 2008.
But now it actually is November 25, 2009. It's been a full year since I started this blog.
It's hard to believe that BOSD is a year old. It's hard to believe that in the past year, I posted 183 times. It's hard to believe that in the past year this blog has received 2,313 comments. It's hard to believe that in the past year this blog has seen over 20000 hits, 34 followers, and close to a hundred subscribers on google reader.
Blogging has been one of the most fascinating things I've ever done. It's rekindled my love for writing, it's reminded me that people enjoy reading what I have to say, and mostly, it's made me some excellent friends.
And now, as payback for being a devoted reader, (if you aren't a devoted reader you might want to stop reading now;) I'll share the most fascinating (in my mind) reason that this blog is actually a year old.
Throughout my life, I've written, or rather, shall I say, attempted to write, in numerous journals, diaries, and other forms of self-chronicling. None of them ever succeeded.
In fact, none of them ever survived my next pesach cleaning-turned-dejunking, when I would read the two entries I had written, decide that I've matured and changed since then, and that I don't need or want to remember what I had written, nor do I want to risk having my journal found by a curious and unscrupulous individual who would ignore my dire warnings about anyone turning that first page without permission. And thus, inevitably, my entries were torn out and shredded, and the now-empty journal was returned to its place on the top of my closet, not to be seen for another year or so, when the next unsuccessful attempt at diary-keeping would start. In a way, I really regret having torn those pages up as a child. It would be great to go back, now, as an adult (well, I'm not REALLY an adult, but I play one on TV) and read those top secret thoughts I had deemed worthy of recording for posterity. Either way, you can sleep easily tonight because you aren't missing out, as I'm certain I wouldn't have shared them with you either way.
Back to my blog and it's (relative) longevity, perhaps you are now capable of understanding why I am so shocked, amazed, and pleasantly surprised at this turn of events. This blog, if one would call it a personal journal, has beaten my previous record by about 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days.
(Here is where this blogger turns mushy.) It's really thanks to you. As you know, I love the feedback I get from all of you, but I don't think that even I realized until now just how much your comments keep me writing.
And so, as I hand over the mike to the next speaker at this grand birthday bash, I want to conclude with a thank you to my amazing readership. Here's to the next year of posts, hopefully with a few new characters this year!
(Anyone who wants to give me a birthday present should feel free to leave a glowing comment filled with praise or some warm reminiscing about their favorite BOSD moments over the last year.)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Top Ten Posts You May Have Missed
It's been almost a year since this blog began, and I know that many of you have only been reading recently. Therefore, for this week's Top Ten Tuesday I decided to point out some of my old posts that you may have missed. Here goes:
10) A Blob of Something Different - This was the first post ever, and it explains why this blog got its, er, creative name.
9) The Big BUT - Why I cringe when someone says they have a shidduch for me.
8) The other meaning of TBB - TBB is an acronym with a dual meaning. Read about it here.
7) MP...Kinda HTBT - If you want to understand what I mean when I say "MP" you should probably read this post.
6) Golda Perel Schwartz - Chazal say k'ney lecha chaver, and I did just that.
5) Free Fun In NYC - The only thing that would have made this day more fun is if MP had been there to be embarrassed of me.
4) My Shidduch Plan of "Attack" - This post is one of my personal favorites because I got it back on my IRL email address as an email forward. Sweeeet.
3) Developing Normalcy? - People are just weird.
2) A Comment About Comments - Don't make me say this again. I love comments.
1) The Legacy of Lot's Wife - Don't ask me why this is my favorite post, but it is. It's SD style philosophy I guess, with an explanation of why I shouldn't sit in traffic too long.
Enoy all of these posts, and comment on them (even if they are almost a year old!).
Monday, November 23, 2009
Shidduch Suicide
Let's set the stage.
I spent shabbos at my married brother's house, but he had a number of other guests, and he didn't have room in his house for me, so I slept at a neighbor. After the meal, and the requisite polite chit chat with my family, I was glad to escape to the neighbor. I smiled smugly as I looked at my watch. I was mentally calculating what 12 hours of sleep would do to my energy level the next day.
Turns out I was a little hasty. I knocked on the door of the neighbor's house, and she came to the door. It was obvious that she felt pretty awkward at that point. I'm not sure why people always feel compelled to strike up conversations out of politeness, but that's precisely what she did.
There isn't much you can ask a frum single girl, especially one you don't really know, so she started with a quick "what do you do?" And that is how I came to be speaking to one of the world's most Perfect people. When I say perfect, I mean one of those sickening species who manage to look like a model in a shabbos robe and a pre-tied tichel.
When I found out that she was a sheitel macher, things got even more interesting. We started discussing my hair, which is, as you may recall, one of my favorite features. She must have been one of those girls who got married straight out of seminary, because she was overly concerned about my hair-ironing habits. If I thought she was concerned when I said I've never used bio-silk- EVER, that was NOTHING compared to our next exchange.
"Well, I don't have to worry about it too much, I rarely ever iron my hair." She wasn't convinced. "But even just for weddings and things, your hair could get ruined from the iron." I smiled smugly back at her, "yeah, but I only wear my hair down to weddings if it's a really close friend. If not, I just wear it in a pony."
That's the point at which I was very happy that she was sitting throughout our conversation, as falling flat on the floor from shock would have probably been pretty bad for her Perfection. It took her a minute to recompose herself and answer. "But you can't! That goes against ALL the rules!" She saw I wasn't convinced, so she went on. "Seriously, you aren't allowed to wear a pony to weddings, you are in shidduchim!"
I have to say I pitied her at that point. She didn't know that she was talking to SD, a cruel and heartless blogger who not only prides herself on breaking rules, but also plans posts in which she bashes the person she is talking to - even as they are talking! And so as she went on, and I wrote my post in my head, we discussed the rules, and which are the worst to break.
And because Mrs. Rule-Follower is a Perfect hostess, and I got a great night's sleep in an awesome bed, I now have a moment to think about this rule-breaking, something the Perfect People would probably call "Shidduch Suicide", otherwise known rather proudly, (by weird Internet folks,) as Bad For Shidduchim. Call it club initiation, call it embarrassing, but either way, I'm wondering; what rules do you consider "unbreakable"?
I spent shabbos at my married brother's house, but he had a number of other guests, and he didn't have room in his house for me, so I slept at a neighbor. After the meal, and the requisite polite chit chat with my family, I was glad to escape to the neighbor. I smiled smugly as I looked at my watch. I was mentally calculating what 12 hours of sleep would do to my energy level the next day.
Turns out I was a little hasty. I knocked on the door of the neighbor's house, and she came to the door. It was obvious that she felt pretty awkward at that point. I'm not sure why people always feel compelled to strike up conversations out of politeness, but that's precisely what she did.
There isn't much you can ask a frum single girl, especially one you don't really know, so she started with a quick "what do you do?" And that is how I came to be speaking to one of the world's most Perfect people. When I say perfect, I mean one of those sickening species who manage to look like a model in a shabbos robe and a pre-tied tichel.
When I found out that she was a sheitel macher, things got even more interesting. We started discussing my hair, which is, as you may recall, one of my favorite features. She must have been one of those girls who got married straight out of seminary, because she was overly concerned about my hair-ironing habits. If I thought she was concerned when I said I've never used bio-silk- EVER, that was NOTHING compared to our next exchange.
"Well, I don't have to worry about it too much, I rarely ever iron my hair." She wasn't convinced. "But even just for weddings and things, your hair could get ruined from the iron." I smiled smugly back at her, "yeah, but I only wear my hair down to weddings if it's a really close friend. If not, I just wear it in a pony."
That's the point at which I was very happy that she was sitting throughout our conversation, as falling flat on the floor from shock would have probably been pretty bad for her Perfection. It took her a minute to recompose herself and answer. "But you can't! That goes against ALL the rules!" She saw I wasn't convinced, so she went on. "Seriously, you aren't allowed to wear a pony to weddings, you are in shidduchim!"
I have to say I pitied her at that point. She didn't know that she was talking to SD, a cruel and heartless blogger who not only prides herself on breaking rules, but also plans posts in which she bashes the person she is talking to - even as they are talking! And so as she went on, and I wrote my post in my head, we discussed the rules, and which are the worst to break.
And because Mrs. Rule-Follower is a Perfect hostess, and I got a great night's sleep in an awesome bed, I now have a moment to think about this rule-breaking, something the Perfect People would probably call "Shidduch Suicide", otherwise known rather proudly, (by weird Internet folks,) as Bad For Shidduchim. Call it club initiation, call it embarrassing, but either way, I'm wondering; what rules do you consider "unbreakable"?
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Open Letter To A Fellow Yid
To my fellow yid,
I am writing this letter to you with a big smile on my face. I feel that I have to tell you what happened, what an amazing event your actions orchestrated.
You probably didn't notice me. We were both in a local non-jewish store on erev shabbos, close to shabbos. Because we live in a predominantly Orthodox Jewish neighborhood, people like us are surely a common sight in that store. I assume you were there for the same reason as me; it was close to shabbos and you needed a few quick things before shabbos. I was behind you in line. I watched as you payed for your groceries, and then I watched you take your bags from the bagger. I don't think you expected anyone to notice what you did next, but I did. I saw how, just as you took the bags from the young man, you handed him a dollar. I don't either think that you expected the following scene to take place.
You picked up your bags and left, but I was still there, watching the scene unfold. The happy man looked at that dollar, then looked back at your retreating figure, exiting the store, and a huge smile lit up his face. He called out to the cashier, "Hey, dude! Look what I got! That man just gave me a dollar!" The cashier wanted to know which man it was, so the bagger clarified. "That Jew who just left the store, he gave me a dollar! Isn't that nice of him?"
It was so nice to watch, but the bagger wasn't even finished. He called over to his friend one register over, and proudly showed him the dollar. Soon the cashiers and baggers were all discussing the nice Jewish man that gave his bagger a dollar.
I was so impressed by the newfound respect these non-Jewish men had for myself, as well as the other Jews in line. It started to hit me that the actions of one man can influence many. Because of you, Reb Yid, a bunch of non-Jews will go home with a better perspective on Jews. And who knows what the future will bring? Who knows what decisions these men might make, and how one simple dollar might have affected those decisions. And it's your zechus, and I thank you.
With respect,
a proud Yid,
SD
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Not Funny At All
Being sick is not funny.
Trust me. It's not funny callng your boss to say you are sick. Nor is it funny to hear your British supervisor chirp back at you that she will cover for you as long as you go and get yourself a hot cup of tea and get into bed.
Nor is there anything remotely funny about calling for an emergency appointment...at the dermatologist's office. And it's not either very funny to sit in a waiting room with eleven people ahead of you, fighting the urge to punch their pimply faces and rush ahead of them screaming "I'm the only one in here who is actually SICK! All of your acne treatments can wait!" And it's really unfunny watching those eleven people stare at you because you actually look sick. IS THIS A DOCTOR'S OFFICE OR WHAT???
It's not funny to hear the doctor tell you that you need to see another specialist. Nor is it funny to have that chirpy receptionist tell you that you have a $40 copayment for specialists. And it's least funny when you realize that you are gonna have to fork over that same $40 the next day.
It's not really funny to spend an entire day in bed. Nor is it funny to get up out of bed just so you can "go to bed." And it's not funny to get out of bed and discover that you can't really be out of bed after all.
It's not either funny when you realize that the "sick day thrill" of our youth is completely gone. Nor is it funny to realize that you just got hungry for the first time in days but you are too sick to get up and get food. And it's certainly not funny to find yourself bored out of your wits because you can't get up for your computer, and you can't sleep cuz you are in too much pain.
I'll tell you what is funny. The wifi that usually stops about five feet short of my bed was picked up on my iPod. That's funny! And comments from people who feel bad for me and want to entertain me might be very funny! ;-)
Trust me. It's not funny callng your boss to say you are sick. Nor is it funny to hear your British supervisor chirp back at you that she will cover for you as long as you go and get yourself a hot cup of tea and get into bed.
Nor is there anything remotely funny about calling for an emergency appointment...at the dermatologist's office. And it's not either very funny to sit in a waiting room with eleven people ahead of you, fighting the urge to punch their pimply faces and rush ahead of them screaming "I'm the only one in here who is actually SICK! All of your acne treatments can wait!" And it's really unfunny watching those eleven people stare at you because you actually look sick. IS THIS A DOCTOR'S OFFICE OR WHAT???
It's not funny to hear the doctor tell you that you need to see another specialist. Nor is it funny to have that chirpy receptionist tell you that you have a $40 copayment for specialists. And it's least funny when you realize that you are gonna have to fork over that same $40 the next day.
It's not really funny to spend an entire day in bed. Nor is it funny to get up out of bed just so you can "go to bed." And it's not funny to get out of bed and discover that you can't really be out of bed after all.
It's not either funny when you realize that the "sick day thrill" of our youth is completely gone. Nor is it funny to realize that you just got hungry for the first time in days but you are too sick to get up and get food. And it's certainly not funny to find yourself bored out of your wits because you can't get up for your computer, and you can't sleep cuz you are in too much pain.
I'll tell you what is funny. The wifi that usually stops about five feet short of my bed was picked up on my iPod. That's funny! And comments from people who feel bad for me and want to entertain me might be very funny! ;-)
Monday, November 16, 2009
What Does an MP Do On a Frizzy-Hair Weather Day?
I have a confession to make.
I am a sneak. Yep, you heard right. I am a horrible sneak.
I wish I could tell you just how sneaky I am, but I can't, so I'll just give you a sneak (get the pun?) preview into my life as a sneak.
I was standing in the hallway that separates my bedroom from MP's. From the noises coming from her room, it was clear that MP either, a) had a friend over, or b) is practicing voice overs for a future career in radio advertising. Considering that MP is an aidel maidel who doesn't even listen to the radio, I figured it was the former. I could have barged in to say hi, but I decided to live up to my sneakiness. I stood behind the slightly ajar door to listen to what two MP's talk about in their leisure time.
Well, I wasn't TRYING to eavesdrop. I was waiting for an invitation. I'm not much of a barging-in type...
So anyway, the voices came wafting through the door. "Oh hey! Look at this juicy! It's nicer than the one I usually wear, no?" "Oh, yeah, hey, I like it! And look, it's only $98!"
At that point, I was laughing to myself, so it was hard to make out the conversation going on. I strained my ears and heard and indignant MP associate complain. "I can't believe they're selling this Juicy for 130 dollars! I just paid $158 for it!"
Aha, I thought to myself. Online shopping. It's what MP's do in frizzy-hair weather. I decided not to wait for an invitation any longer. I knocked and walked in. Sitting at the desk in MP's room was a friend of hers, who, to put it succinctly, makes MP look less-than-perfect.
I peered at the screen, though I'm not sure I had to at that point. Neiman Markus. Niiiiiice. They continued shopping for a minute, and then they noticed me. "Oh, SD!" said the highly Perfect Person. "I'm so happy to see you!" [Ed. note: ?!] "I need help putting songs onto the mp3 player on my phone." [Ed. note: oh.] And then she went on, "I wish I could get an iPod. I can't afford one." She chuckled, I snickered. I wanted to tell her that she should skip the "Juicy" and buy an $8 sweatshirt like the one I always wear, and then she could afford an iPod. But she must have a bit of a propensity towards ADD, cuz she went right on as if she hadn't asked me anything. "MP, I can't decide where I'm going for Chanukah vacation. I'm debating between LA and Florida. Wanna come?"
My ADD side kicked in too. I started looking around the Perfection Den. "MP, what's this?" I held up an odd looking water bottle. She snatched the bottle away, muttering "its just a water bottle." I held it just long enough to catch a glimpse of the printing on the side. Nordstrom. "Where'd you get it?" I wanted to know. She was slightly embarrassed. "Oh, some store...I don't really remember which."
Musta been a remnant from a non-frizzy-hair weather day expedition...
I am a sneak. Yep, you heard right. I am a horrible sneak.
I wish I could tell you just how sneaky I am, but I can't, so I'll just give you a sneak (get the pun?) preview into my life as a sneak.
I was standing in the hallway that separates my bedroom from MP's. From the noises coming from her room, it was clear that MP either, a) had a friend over, or b) is practicing voice overs for a future career in radio advertising. Considering that MP is an aidel maidel who doesn't even listen to the radio, I figured it was the former. I could have barged in to say hi, but I decided to live up to my sneakiness. I stood behind the slightly ajar door to listen to what two MP's talk about in their leisure time.
Well, I wasn't TRYING to eavesdrop. I was waiting for an invitation. I'm not much of a barging-in type...
So anyway, the voices came wafting through the door. "Oh hey! Look at this juicy! It's nicer than the one I usually wear, no?" "Oh, yeah, hey, I like it! And look, it's only $98!"
At that point, I was laughing to myself, so it was hard to make out the conversation going on. I strained my ears and heard and indignant MP associate complain. "I can't believe they're selling this Juicy for 130 dollars! I just paid $158 for it!"
Aha, I thought to myself. Online shopping. It's what MP's do in frizzy-hair weather. I decided not to wait for an invitation any longer. I knocked and walked in. Sitting at the desk in MP's room was a friend of hers, who, to put it succinctly, makes MP look less-than-perfect.
I peered at the screen, though I'm not sure I had to at that point. Neiman Markus. Niiiiiice. They continued shopping for a minute, and then they noticed me. "Oh, SD!" said the highly Perfect Person. "I'm so happy to see you!" [Ed. note: ?!] "I need help putting songs onto the mp3 player on my phone." [Ed. note: oh.] And then she went on, "I wish I could get an iPod. I can't afford one." She chuckled, I snickered. I wanted to tell her that she should skip the "Juicy" and buy an $8 sweatshirt like the one I always wear, and then she could afford an iPod. But she must have a bit of a propensity towards ADD, cuz she went right on as if she hadn't asked me anything. "MP, I can't decide where I'm going for Chanukah vacation. I'm debating between LA and Florida. Wanna come?"
My ADD side kicked in too. I started looking around the Perfection Den. "MP, what's this?" I held up an odd looking water bottle. She snatched the bottle away, muttering "its just a water bottle." I held it just long enough to catch a glimpse of the printing on the side. Nordstrom. "Where'd you get it?" I wanted to know. She was slightly embarrassed. "Oh, some store...I don't really remember which."
Musta been a remnant from a non-frizzy-hair weather day expedition...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
My-Newest-Skill
This post is going to be one of those I-am-really-glad-my-mother-doesn't-read-my-blog-posts. It will also be one of those you-should-stop-right-now-if-you-are-a-mother-of-teenage-children-who-use-your-car posts. It will also be a you-shouldn't-be-reading-this-post-if-you-don't-like-self-glorification-by-bloggers kind of post.
The good news is, after the following line, it will not be one of those every-word-is-separated-with-a-dash-and-making-you-really-nervous-posts.
And so, with that glorious introduction, I invite my non-mom (oops! Did it again!) readers to read about my newest skill.
First, let me tell you how long its been since I first set my mind to learn it. I was in tenth grade, and my brother got engaged. One night, he had driven myself and a couple of siblings to a few stores. On the way home, we stopped for ice cream. ("Shhh, don't tell Mommy!") he sent us into the store, and we promptly came out with enough ice cream to make my mother wonder why we weren't touching her supper. My brother issued a command: all ice cream must be finished before we get home.
And so, we set our minds to the task at hand. For most of us, it was a pretty easy one. For my brother, it wasn't so simple. For starters, he had a newly transformed brido-sapien on his hands. Obviously, he had to continue texting her, lest she turn into a fearsome bridezilla. ("Why is my chosson ignoring me??? He probably doesn't like me!!!!) That occupied one hand. His other hand was busy with ice-cream eating endeavors. The problem is, he also had to drive, which takes at least one hand.
Do that math folks! 1+1+1=3 arms required to multi-task. To ordinary 2-armed people, this would be a monumental problem. My brother doesn't have a reputation as one of the brightest boys in his yeshivah for nothing. He texted with one hand, ate ice cream with the other, and steered with his knees.
Brilliant, huh? That was the first time I witnessed the amazing feat of knee-steering, and I haven't forgotten it since. Last night for the very first time, I achieved that lofty goal. I steered with my knees! It was such a liberating feeling! Here I was, driving, both hands free to do with them as I pleased. I still haven't figured out how to turn corners with my knees, but I'm totally proficient at bends in the road.
Anyone wanna go with me for a little drive?
The good news is, after the following line, it will not be one of those every-word-is-separated-with-a-dash-and-making-you-really-nervous-posts.
And so, with that glorious introduction, I invite my non-mom (oops! Did it again!) readers to read about my newest skill.
First, let me tell you how long its been since I first set my mind to learn it. I was in tenth grade, and my brother got engaged. One night, he had driven myself and a couple of siblings to a few stores. On the way home, we stopped for ice cream. ("Shhh, don't tell Mommy!") he sent us into the store, and we promptly came out with enough ice cream to make my mother wonder why we weren't touching her supper. My brother issued a command: all ice cream must be finished before we get home.
And so, we set our minds to the task at hand. For most of us, it was a pretty easy one. For my brother, it wasn't so simple. For starters, he had a newly transformed brido-sapien on his hands. Obviously, he had to continue texting her, lest she turn into a fearsome bridezilla. ("Why is my chosson ignoring me??? He probably doesn't like me!!!!) That occupied one hand. His other hand was busy with ice-cream eating endeavors. The problem is, he also had to drive, which takes at least one hand.
Do that math folks! 1+1+1=3 arms required to multi-task. To ordinary 2-armed people, this would be a monumental problem. My brother doesn't have a reputation as one of the brightest boys in his yeshivah for nothing. He texted with one hand, ate ice cream with the other, and steered with his knees.
Brilliant, huh? That was the first time I witnessed the amazing feat of knee-steering, and I haven't forgotten it since. Last night for the very first time, I achieved that lofty goal. I steered with my knees! It was such a liberating feeling! Here I was, driving, both hands free to do with them as I pleased. I still haven't figured out how to turn corners with my knees, but I'm totally proficient at bends in the road.
Anyone wanna go with me for a little drive?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Top Ten Tuesd- I mean Wednesday: A Glimpse into the Mind of a Brido-Sapien
I'm sorry this is late, as we all know that Top Ten Wednesday don't sound nearly as good as Top Ten Tuesday, and I should especially be ashamed of myself that my favorite BOS, Bas~Melech managed to get her post up in time and I, the ordinary Homo-Sapien didn't. But anyway, here are the Top Ten things on a Brido-Sapien's to do list.
If anyone wants a top ten list featured for Top Ten Tuesday (or Top Ten Wednesday, whatever the case may be) please email me.
Monday, November 9, 2009
A Noteworthy Event
I bought a new coat today.
Now, before anyone tries to tell me that my previous statement comes under the "nobody cares what you had for lunch" rule of blogging, let me explain something. That statement is a very noteworthy one, in that it affects each and every one of you.
No, it's not noteworthy that I got a wool coat for $60, though I think that's pretty cool. And it's not either so noteworthy that MP likes my coat. (Actually, I think that's something to be ashamed of!)
It's noteworthy in the same sense as my carrying an umbrella in the same city as you is noteworthy. My umbrella, though a shlep for me, is an insurance policy for the rest of the town that no rain will fall, no hair will frizz, and no clothes will get soaked. No matter what the weather forecast is, no matter what the clouds look like, if someone nearby is holding an umbrella you simply won't get wet.
And that, my friends, is why my coat purchase is so monumental to all of you. I forked over $60 so the rest of the world won't have to suffer through cold winters, through snowstorms and sleet, through frost and wind. See, I bought a coat, it won't be cold. Trust me.
You may all say thank you now.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
On A Personal Note
Listening to the live broadcast from world-champion Yankee's locker room last night, I noticed something interesting.
(If you aren't a baseball fan, please bear with me, this isn't going to be a post about baseball, I promise. If you are a bitter Red Sox fan, you probably don't even want to read this blog, cuz I do root for the Yanks.)
So I was listening as the reporters were milling around the champagne soaked locker room, asking all of the various players how they felt, how happy they are to win, and a couple other typical questions. If you think about it, it's pretty dumb. If you ask a player who has just become a World Champion baseball player "how happy are you right now?" what do you expect them to say? "Not very"? Or perhaps "I'd rather be having my tooth pulled"?
But as there aren't many other questions one could ask, the players are all asked about their state of happiness and the like. So they interviewed Mark Texiera, and asked him what it feels like. His answer stunned me. I mean, it was simple, but fascinating.
"This is what you dream about ever since you are a kid." He went on to describe how this moment is a culmination of the dreams and hopes he'd had since early childhood. Now, I could go off on a tangent about "anu ameilim veheim ameilim," but I won't bother. Instead, I'll just point out how this whole thing takes on a totally different perspective when you think of it this way.
On the surface, the Yankee win meant a swarm of hugging men storming the pitchers mound. It meant 50 thousand fans all around the stadium cheering and screaming. It meant fans from all over streaming to their nearest Modell's to purchase "World Champion" tee-shirts, despite the clock striking midnight.
But it was so much more than that. It was also about one man by the name of Mark who toiled since the age of four to strengthen his game, to make the big leagues, to win games and ultimately, to win a championship.
It's like the time I was driving down the New Jersey Turnpike, alongside Newark Airport. A plane was coming in for a landing, and as I looked up through my sun roof, (to the backdrop of my mother screaming "eyes on the road!!") there was an enormous plane directly above me, not more than a few feet up onto the air.
On the surface, it was cool. A huge plane, so low I could practically touch it. But as I drove on past the airport, I got lost in some thoughts. Yeah, a plane that size holds a ton of passengers, but imagine what happens if we take it down to a personal level.
Coming in for a landing was, not a plane, but Kathy, an aspiring business woman who was headed to New York to meet with some people. The outcome of this meeting might jump start her career and launch her into stardom. Or this meeting might send it crashing down before it ever starts.
Landing at this moment in Newark airport is, not a plane, but Will, who's father is dying in a New York hospital. The fight was years ago, but Will hasn't spoken to his father since then. Now it's possibly his last chance, and Will is facing a battle against time. Will he make it to his father's bedside in time?
Suddenly, as I think of all the PEOPLE that are involved, life turns from a monotonous black and white into a wondrous display of color. Because I think to myself, I am here with my story, my history, my reason for being here, so must she. And he. And she. And he.
As Stalin said "when one man dies it's a tragedy, when a million men die it's a statistic." Each man has a story, yet when we come together we lose our individuality and our individual purpose. But If we stand back and remember that each and every person has their own unique story, their own wealth of experience that brought them to that point, the world is just more interesting.
We are all so busy trying to achieve our goals, we sometimes forget to notice that everyone else is too.
(If you aren't a baseball fan, please bear with me, this isn't going to be a post about baseball, I promise. If you are a bitter Red Sox fan, you probably don't even want to read this blog, cuz I do root for the Yanks.)
So I was listening as the reporters were milling around the champagne soaked locker room, asking all of the various players how they felt, how happy they are to win, and a couple other typical questions. If you think about it, it's pretty dumb. If you ask a player who has just become a World Champion baseball player "how happy are you right now?" what do you expect them to say? "Not very"? Or perhaps "I'd rather be having my tooth pulled"?
But as there aren't many other questions one could ask, the players are all asked about their state of happiness and the like. So they interviewed Mark Texiera, and asked him what it feels like. His answer stunned me. I mean, it was simple, but fascinating.
"This is what you dream about ever since you are a kid." He went on to describe how this moment is a culmination of the dreams and hopes he'd had since early childhood. Now, I could go off on a tangent about "anu ameilim veheim ameilim," but I won't bother. Instead, I'll just point out how this whole thing takes on a totally different perspective when you think of it this way.
On the surface, the Yankee win meant a swarm of hugging men storming the pitchers mound. It meant 50 thousand fans all around the stadium cheering and screaming. It meant fans from all over streaming to their nearest Modell's to purchase "World Champion" tee-shirts, despite the clock striking midnight.
But it was so much more than that. It was also about one man by the name of Mark who toiled since the age of four to strengthen his game, to make the big leagues, to win games and ultimately, to win a championship.
It's like the time I was driving down the New Jersey Turnpike, alongside Newark Airport. A plane was coming in for a landing, and as I looked up through my sun roof, (to the backdrop of my mother screaming "eyes on the road!!") there was an enormous plane directly above me, not more than a few feet up onto the air.
On the surface, it was cool. A huge plane, so low I could practically touch it. But as I drove on past the airport, I got lost in some thoughts. Yeah, a plane that size holds a ton of passengers, but imagine what happens if we take it down to a personal level.
Coming in for a landing was, not a plane, but Kathy, an aspiring business woman who was headed to New York to meet with some people. The outcome of this meeting might jump start her career and launch her into stardom. Or this meeting might send it crashing down before it ever starts.
Landing at this moment in Newark airport is, not a plane, but Will, who's father is dying in a New York hospital. The fight was years ago, but Will hasn't spoken to his father since then. Now it's possibly his last chance, and Will is facing a battle against time. Will he make it to his father's bedside in time?
Suddenly, as I think of all the PEOPLE that are involved, life turns from a monotonous black and white into a wondrous display of color. Because I think to myself, I am here with my story, my history, my reason for being here, so must she. And he. And she. And he.
As Stalin said "when one man dies it's a tragedy, when a million men die it's a statistic." Each man has a story, yet when we come together we lose our individuality and our individual purpose. But If we stand back and remember that each and every person has their own unique story, their own wealth of experience that brought them to that point, the world is just more interesting.
We are all so busy trying to achieve our goals, we sometimes forget to notice that everyone else is too.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Top Ten Blogs I Wouldn't Follow
(Though this week's Top Ten Tuesday post wasn't a reader's idea, I do appreciate all of your awesome ideas and hope to see 'em up on here pretty soon. I continue to seek Top Ten Lists, so please let me know if you have any ideas!)
10) I Date Too Much: the chronicles of a girl who dates The Best Boy every night
9) Ewww Gross: fascinating lessons culled from fifth grade science class, changing diapers and the dumpster
8) Ten Million Sheep: a peek into the mind of an insomniac
7) Hair Conditioner World: a blog dedicated to conditioners of all sorts, Including formulas and folklore!
6) Just Me and Myselves: a blog about schizophrenia, mental health, and why we don't want to get treated
5) Why People Call Me Boring: a journey of self discovery
4) Lessons From a Lamp Post: how an inanimate object provides me with daily inspiration
3) A Day In The Life of a JAP: I mean it when I say I've got nothing to wear!
2) My Kid Is So Cute: Adorable episodes from the life of my month-old baby
1) Adventures of a Nosy Shadchan: ruining girl's self-esteem for fun and profit
10) I Date Too Much: the chronicles of a girl who dates The Best Boy every night
9) Ewww Gross: fascinating lessons culled from fifth grade science class, changing diapers and the dumpster
8) Ten Million Sheep: a peek into the mind of an insomniac
7) Hair Conditioner World: a blog dedicated to conditioners of all sorts, Including formulas and folklore!
6) Just Me and Myselves: a blog about schizophrenia, mental health, and why we don't want to get treated
5) Why People Call Me Boring: a journey of self discovery
4) Lessons From a Lamp Post: how an inanimate object provides me with daily inspiration
3) A Day In The Life of a JAP: I mean it when I say I've got nothing to wear!
2) My Kid Is So Cute: Adorable episodes from the life of my month-old baby
1) Adventures of a Nosy Shadchan: ruining girl's self-esteem for fun and profit
Monday, November 2, 2009
Introducing: A New Species
I started discussing senior moments in my last post, but, surprisingly enough, I feel about a hundred years older now than I did then.
Firstly, I have to say that I find first time mommies adorable. Especially when they are your friends. I mean, we have already discussed the sequence of events that leads to a slow deterioration of the brain cells when a friend of yours undergoes that species change from homo-sapien to brido-sapien. Yesterday, I bore witness to an astonishing fact. The brido-sapien is nothing compared to the mama-sapien. I mean nothing.
Here sits a friend, who in recent months has shown signs of her complete re-entry into the human race, cooing at a little shriveled up Bundle of blankets as if the blanket actually knows what they are saying. Then she introduces me to the Bundle. I mean, this is a great friend, so by default I like her kid, but seriously. Do I need to be introduced to a one-week old baby?
Being introduced to my friend's five-month-old baby was weird enough. "Say hi, Yitzy!" But at least little Yitzy had the good grace to look up from the sock he was chewing and give me an adorable smile. The Bundle, on the other hand, went right on sleeping.
And then there was this whole method of introducing me. My friend cooed at her baby, "this is Mommy's friend!" I looked behind me, expecting to see my mother there. Mommy's friend? Me?How can it be? I'm just a kid!
Or am I?
Am I the only one who feels like the world is growing up too fast?
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