Quick Bit of Irony

Am I the only one who finds it ironic that Toyota's motto is "moving forward"?

Thou Shalt Not Wear Black?

The store is a small one, but it's close to my house, conveniant, and just my style. The clothing they sell is expensive, but if you shop at the right times, you can get $80 dollar sweaters for ten dollars. And, while it's not a company who's merchandise any MP would admit ownership of, it is a well known brand. That means the quality is good, which is the factor I care about. See, the better the quality the less frequently I need to shop.

Anyhow, I discovered this store a couple of years ago, and have shopped there for the majority of my warsdrobe ever since. I've also brought a number of friends there. You can therefore imagine that the night time manager knows me pretty well.

The manager in question is a proud, though unaffiliated Jew, and loves to discuss her Jewish background with me. It was probably my second visit to the store when I learned that her grandmother was orthodox, her mother was conservative, and she is just not religious.

We've discussed many things, though theology is not often on the list of topics...until my most recent visit.

I was shopping with my mother, and, in a desperate attempt to find something and be done with it, I walked into the dressing room with a huge pile of sweaters. Almost all of them were black.

I stepped out of the dressing room to display the first sweater, when I heard my friendly manager shmoozing with my mother. "I'm nervous to ask, but I just have to..." My mother nodded, urging her to go ahead. She looked hesitant, but continued. My ears perked up, as she said, "does Judaism have a rule about ladies wearing black?"

My mother looked down at her green sweater and cringed. I looked down at my black sweater and grinned. Our friend wasn't finished though. "I mean," she continued, "I don't know...maybe only the girls have that rule?"

At that point, I couldn't control myself. I burst out laughing. She looked confused, but then again, so is my mother. "Black and black," mom always proclaims "looks awful." But there we are, her very own daughters, looking awful. Day after day after day.

I pointed triumphantly to a sweater I had tried. "Look! Grey!" But then I took pity on her; I attempted to explain. And that is when I really started to sound stupid. After vehemently denying a law about "thou shalt wear black," I started mumbling about styles and conformity, weddings and flattering colors, and I sounded dumber and more confused as the minutes went by.

And the friendly manager still had questions. "But when my grandmother was orthodox, they didn't have this law yet, did they?"

Top Ten Types of Guests

This week, in honor of Top Ten Tuesday, we are going to venture over to G6's blog to read about Top Ten Types of Guests. I haven't been a guest (yet!) at G6's house, but last week's meeting with her makes me pretty sure she is a really good hostess.

Did you write a Top Ten list that you'd like to have featured here on BOSD as part of Top Ten Tuesday? Do you have an idea that you'd like me to write? Email me, just a blob at gmail dot com.

I, On The Other Hand, Can Complain

I'm writing this post in a state of extraordinary nausea. And, believe it or not, I'm thrilled to be writing this.

See, it all started a couple of nights ago, during a discussion with a newly married friend. "I don't know what's wrong with me!" she lamented. "I woke up so nauseous today!"

Immediately, I started to wonder. Is she trying to tell me something? Or was her statement a matter of extreme naïveté?

"Uh, Esther, are you trying to tell me something?" For a minute there was confused silence, and then- "Omg, SD! I thought that of all people YOU were safe to complain to."

"Listen Esther, I'm not examining your stomache every time we meet, but complaints like that kind of warrant the question..."

She sounded sad. "You mean there is nobody I can complain to about my stomach virus?"

And sadly, thus is the state of our society. Newly married women are subject to inquiring stares, and those married for a little longer get the pitying glances. Anyone in between? Well, suffice it to say, they can't complain.

And I can. So...

I AM SO FLIPPIN NAUSEOUS RIGHT NOW!

Ahhh... Complaining is better than husbands, right?

(And, btw, this is going in parenthases on the bottom of a post to reduce the risk of appearing to be a shnorrer, but due to popular request, these is now a paypal "tip jar" on my blog, in case anyone wants to show appreciation for this blogger, especially in the wake of her new computer purchase.)

I Didn't Go To Dinner... (oh, and I need your help)

When meeting fellow bloggers, a few minutes can mean two hours. Take last night for example. G6 is awesome to shmooze with, and she beat me to post about it:

http://guesswhoscoming2dinner.blogspot.com/2010/03/are-you-sure-you-know-where-this-is.html


On an unrelated note, I'm looking to buy an HP tm2t laptop. If anyone knows of a good coupon code, or any other place where I can get a good deal on it, or if you'd like to sponsor it, please let me know in the comments or email me, just a blob at gmail dot com.

Top Ten Reasons To Laugh

Laughter is no joke! I did a paper on this for school one time, and I was pretty impressed with the number of clinical trials that proved the old adage: laughter is the best medicine!

(The idea for this week's Top Ten Tuesday goes to P, who I'm calling P simply because her name doesn't start with a P.)

10) "A clown is like an aspirin, only it works twice a fast." -Groucho Marx

9) Laughing's fun!

8) Laughter really IS the best medicine!

7) Laughter lowers a person's blood pressure.

6) Laughter has been proven to reduce blood sugar in people with type two diabetes.

5) Laughter elevates a person's mood.

4) Laughter is good for your heart.

3) Laughter stimulates production of endorphins, the body's natural pain killer.

2) Laughter has the same effect on the body as aerobic exercise.

1) Laughing burns calories!

Not a Blogger's Shabbos Indeed

"This won't be a blogger's shabbos," she warns me hastily. "Some of the girls coming don't even know that I HAVE a blog!"

I looked at Bad4 in shock. I had been pretty sure I was going to spend shabbos in company of fellow "Internet-weirdo-types." "I can't believe it! I wouldn't have come if I had known!"

Naturally, as a non-bloggers event, our shabbos doesn't warrant a recap post, which is a shame, because I would have loved to tell all of you about how bad4 and her college friends sent me into the best shabbos afternoon nap of my life when they started to discuss the finer details of their profession.

Instead, I'd like to tell you what happens when you put four bloggers and a blog-reader into a house with two non-bloggers and expect blog-discussion not to make it into the conversation.

It doesn't work.

I don't think we lasted an hour before the first hints of blog-yness crept into things. About half hour into the seuda, the cat, which had been threatening all along, got out of the bag. C, who I'm calling C simply because her name doesn't start with a C, was utterly confused. "Wait, so you don't really know Bad4 'through a friend?'" She turned to Bad4's neighbor and long time friend, "So do you not actually know Bad4 offline?"

Similar moments of confusion ensued when C asked our friendly blog reader, "So what is her blog?"
"It's Bad For Shidduchim."
"I'm sure it is. But what's it called?"

All in all, shabbos was nice, the food was great, company was even better, and best of all, conversation only flew miles over my head about 30% of the time, which is more than the non-blogger folks can say.

Keep On Smiling

It’s a good thing the hall wasn’t a couple of degrees colder, or my face would have frozen permanently into a huge, fake, cheesy smile.

It’s not my fault, I had to smile. I was at a wedding, and people were watching.

I refer not to the video being shot of all the guests politely picking at their wedding hall standard fare, where people attempt to conceal bulging cheeks as they mumble a quick mazel tov to the Choson and Kallah. Nor do I refer to the omnipresent photographer who’s photos, even the stellar shots, manage to incorporate obviously unsuspecting people with faces that shouldn’t have been recorded for posterity.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate the photographer. I hate the videographer. I don’t think I want either of those folks at my wedding. But neither of them are responsible for the Colgate smile I have pasted onto my face. No, it’s the Nosey Shadchan, hiding under the mask of the Chizuk Lady at fault here. As usual.

See, when you are at a wedding, and you are single, the NS’s and the CL’s of the world are pretty sure you are depressed. It can’t be anything other than tortuously difficult to attend a wedding with your ring finger still unadorned. Obviously, right? Here you are, watching as another friend floats away on the cloud of dreamy bliss called marriage, and you are still stuck in the daily grind of the rut called singlehood.

You poor thing.

Wipe that smile off your face for half a minute, and suddenly every NS/CL in the room will descend upon you. “Mamaleh, don’t worry, your day will come soon. I am telling you, it feels like it will never happen, but it will! Just keep smiling!”

And everyone knows, being depressed is bad for shidduchim.

Request For My Readers

About 15 months ago, when I started this blog, I was sure I'd never tell a soul in real life about it. I was the girl who'd blog under the thick, dark veil of anonymity. "That way," I reasoned, "I can write whatever I feel like."

As time went on, I started to realize that my shield of anonymity had two large cracks. The first was the other bloggers. At the beginning of this blog, it hadn't actually occured to me that I'd become friends with the other bloggers. About fifteen bloggers later, and I see how wrong I was. In fact, I LIKE the other bloggers.

The other crack in my shield is a lot harder to gauge. As hard as I may try to conceal my identity, I write about my life on this blog; people are bound to read it. There is a part of me that still doesn't believe there are more people reading this than just the active commenters. But there's also the realistic side of me, the side that sees the sitemeter and analytics stats, the side that knows that hundreds of people visit this blog daily.

But both sides of me are in agreement to go into denial about the possibility of my aquaintances being among the many thousands of people who've read my blog since the day it began. But denial only takes you so far. At some point, the denial gets pushed to the side as I am forced to realize that of people I know are reading my blog, I need to know about it.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad you read it; please come back often. But if you know about me, it's only fair that I know about you, right? If you are reading this post, and you know me in real life, please consider this the cyber version of knee begging. Chose your method of disclosure. You can send an email to my real life address, to my blog address (justablobatgmaildotcom), send me a text, or even post a comment with a request not to publish it.

If you are reading this and thinking "I think I know who it is, but I'm not sure," trust me: you don't know who it is. Vehameivin yavin.

Oh, and once I'm begging, one last thing. I'm just dead curious about who is visiting my blog. Even if you don't generally comment, please just stop in and say hi, I won't publish your comment if you don't want me too.

Looming forward to hearing from you!

Top Ten Phases of Purim Drunkeness

A few notes about this post. Firstly, it's not a true Top Ten list, rather, it's a list. Being that it's Top Ten Tuesday and being that the list has ten items, the outcome was pretty obvious.
Also, this is by no means a general portrayal of drunk men on Purim. This is more of a recap of my family's Purim seudah.
Lastly, I may have portrayed this as an overly wild affair, but, rest assured, it was in good taste. Nobody get out of control, not even when we were down to the last bottle of "good wine."

Anyhow, here's the list, in order from one to ten, on purpose.

1) Faked jollyness- This is the phase where tipsyness is expected, as the Purim Seudah has already commenced, but the wine has not taken affect yet. This phase is represented by loud, but very coherant singing, among other things.

2) Lengthy, complicated, and overly enthusiastic divrei Torah- this is the phase where each man at the table gets up to give a devar Torah of extraordinary complexity. These are far lengthier than things the men would attempt without the wine, recited with overwhelming enthusiasm, and, surprisingly, fascinating.

3) Loud singing; minor dancing- This is the phase where the men start to sing pretty loudly. The dancing doesn't come in quite yet, unless someone finds himself passing the last bottle of dry white wine to someone across the table. These things shouldn't be trusted in the hands of sober women, you know. (Large quantities of food are digested at this phase.)

4) Louder singing; lots of dancing- the line between phase one and phase two is very fine. Sometime after the Kraut Lukshen is finished, before the Boston Cream Pie is brought out, the singing grows louder and the dancing more pronounced.

5) Disjointed, irrelevant and confused divrei torah- this is when the yeshiva bochurim get up to explain why haman will hang all those who don't contribute greatly to their yeshivah, and the part where the men get into complex tumulting about masechtas they haven't yet learned.

6) Disjointed, irrelevant and confused singing- this is the phase where songs like "layehudim haysa oirah" get combined with "salachti" from yom kippur davening. The main problem with this phase is that at this point, my tone deaf brother is drunk enough to think he sounds great. And the other men are drunk enough to agree with him.

7) Unseasonal singing- This is the phase were my brother will stand on his chair and sing the entire Chad gadya from beginning to end, complete with sound affects. Also included in this phase: opening the door and proclaiming shefoch chamascha, singing a yet-undiscocered tune for maoz tzur, and doing yom kippur style chazanus.

8) extreme tzidkus- this phase makes my mother proud, and the other women cry from laughter. This is the phase where my brother called his rosh yeshiva, leaving a ten minute message on his answering machine, crying as he thanked him for turning him into everything he has become today. (I am unsure how nachas inducing this is coming from a drunk boy but...). This is also the phase where loud, kavanadik brachos prevail, the phase where the boys promise everyone in sight that they will shteig in learning, and the phase where a twenty five minute benching occurs, complete with chazanus and shir hamaalos sung to the tune of "hatikva".

9) all of the above- this is the anything goes phase. It's the time when ladies desperately try to get the men out of the house, in case their alcohol makes a reappearance via reverse peristalsis. It's the phase when nothing really happens, but everyone makes a lot of noise. It's the waiting time before maariv, when the men are not fit to leave the house yet.

10) out for the count- this is the phase where the men slump onto the nearest chair and wonder if anyone wants to carry them to shul. It's on this quiet night that the Purim seudah ends, much to the relief of mothers of little children.

How was your Purim?