Red Light Green Light....Oh. My. Gosh.

It seems like my identity has been stolen. No, nobody stole my credit and made a huge number of purchases. Nor did anybody make any kind of changes to my credit score as far as I know.I mean my identity as a person. It used to be like: "Hi my name is SD and I am 20 years old and I have an older sister so I am not in shidduchim yet."
Not anymore. Apparently, MP has gone behind my back and robbed me of my identity. She has told my parents that she does not want me to wait for her any longer.
I officially have the green light. I am officially in shidduchim. Yikes.I wasn't home last night, when my mother called me at 10:30 to let me know. I texted a few friends to let them know, ya know, spread the word kinda thing. By 11:30 I was getting very depressed. "I can't believe this!" I told my friend. "It's already been an hour since I officially started shidduchim and not a single phone call yet!"
Uh, no. I wasn't serious. I wasn't expecting to get many phone calls. Not in the first hour, day, week, or even month. In fact, I'm not very sure how my status is really changed. I guess it all becomes more real now. SD in shidduchim? Yikes...what a thought. And here I was, coming to terms with the whole waiting for a red light business.
Oh well..
I always imagined waiting until MP got engaged, in which case I'd have a bit of warning. I must admit this is all pretty shocking...
And once again, I'd like to publicly note MP's strength of character. I am sure this decision was a really difficult one for her to make, but she did, and that impresses me.

So bring on TBB people! ;)

The Truth Hurts

My friends and I were playing an awesome game on motzei shabbos. It's called Loaded Questions, and the object is to see how well you know each other. So you take a group like the five of us, where we all know each other really well, and you have a great time. Basically, the game goes like this: one person asks a question, and the others answer. Then the person who was 'it' hears someone read all the answers and has to guess which one was written by who(m?). It was really funny, and had all of us laughing really hard at times. There was one question, that was actually totally serious, that really got me thinking.

"What is the most hurtful thing you can say to a person?"

After we established that SD had not been the one who wrote "there is a booger hanging out of your nose", we came to the definitive conclusion that SD's answer was the best. (No, I'm not bragging. Just need to report the facts as they are.)
My answer: "The (hurtful) truth"

This is a theory I have; the truth hurts. If you want to insult someone, don't tell them they look like a frog. They don't and it won't hurt them. Tell them that the only reason people are friends with them is because they pity them. Or tell them that they shouldn't bother trying to dress up so much, that she's ugly anyway. Or tell them that all the makeup in the world can't cover up those awful pimples. Or whatever other dart you can find to throw and pierce them in the most painful part of their heart.

We can also turn this around, use it the other way. If someone tells you something, makes a comment, and it hurts, you can learn something about yourself. That comment, at the very least grazed the truth. "You're fat!" did that hurt? Maybe because you wish you were skinnier but can't seem to figure out how to get there. If someone tells you that you sing really badly, and that hurts, wouldn't it stand to reason that you feel a truth in this? That you really wish you could sing better than you do?
So when someone makes a hurtful comment to you, look yourself in the eye, take a serious look, and ask yourself why that hurts so much.
Chances are, you have a lot to learn.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly!

No! Silly! Not THAT season! I'm talking 'bout the Jewish season of being merry!
So it's Rosh Chodesh Adar, and I'm trying to increase my joy. But how do I do that?
Well, in elementary school, we played "shtick" on our teachers. After the long process of getting the whole class to agree to one idea of "shtick" then the even longer process of getting the principal to agree to the "shtick", we would invariably bring in paper bags to put over our heads and baby pictures to place in front of us, and have the teacher guess who we are.
Then, high school came along. The "shtick"-approving process got longer, leading to some unapproved "shtick" which in turn led to detention. But as the years went on, and we grew tired of having a girl hide in the closet and pop out in middle of the lesson, the real reason behind "shtick" came to light.
All we needed was a break in routine. If the routine manner of coming to school was in black socks/tights, then doesn't it stand to reason that a great "shtick" would be to wear polka dotted socks, or socks with colorful stripes?
And so seminary passed, and I entertained thoughts of wearing beige tights with seams to class on Rosh Chodesh Adar. (I didn't, simply because I couldn't get passed the Chassidish secretary for approval;)
And now, here I am. &?@$ years post seminary. And I am DYING for some "shtick." Call it a break in routine. Call it an immature streak. Call it boredom. But I can't help but mourn the loss of my youth, where I got to do immature things and label it "shtick", whereas now, if I want to do immature things, I have to make sure I am far from the prying eyes of bloodthirsty shadchanim.
I had a brief thought of pranking my boss-oops- I meant doing "shtick" on my boss, but I like my job, so that's out. And I don't think that even the boss with the best sense of humor in the world would appreciate tasting their coffee and finding that someone replaced the sugar with salt.
So I was going to see if my mother wanted to bear the brunt of my desire to play "shtick". But somehow I don't think me and my mother share senses of humor, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't find it funny to turn on the kitchen sink in the morning and find that I'd duct-taped the dish washing hose thing down, so that instead of water coming out of the faucet it comes spraying from the thing on the side.
So here it is, Rosh Chodesh Adar, and I can't seem to figure out how to get a break in routine. Calling in to work dead might work, but they might find me a replacement before I can make a grand re-appearance. And cutting my hair into a bob might work too, but I wanted something without long term ramifications.
And so, I ask all post high school people out there......How are you celebrating Rosh Chodesh Adar? How will you increase your joy today? What will be your outlet for the inner child deep inside of you, longing to do "shtick"?

Ah gutten chodesh everyone, and remember- be happy!

Free Fun In NYC

I once saw an article entitled "10 free things to do in NYC." I'm not sure why my latest entertainment idea wasn't on their list.

I was in midtown Manhattan with my mother and sister, and somehow, got led into Saks Fifth Avenue. Now realize that I am a complete idiot, as I have absolutely no understanding of brand names. It whole idea completely escapes my brain's processing capabilities. Therefore, you can probably imagine my complete lack of interest in the brand-name wonderland we had stepped into. For those of you who have never been there, basically the store (or at least the part we were in) looks like this: there is an immense room, with the entire makeup/perfume inventory showcased by a very large number of very pushy salespeople.

Bordering the room, are little 'boutiques' from the various companies who's names nobody can pronounce. So while my mother had an excellent saleslady from clinique persuade her into sitting down for a "free" beauty consultation, I decided to entertain myself. So I headed for Louis Vuitton.

I picked up a small pocketbook, and looked for a price tag. None. If I had been looking seriously to purchase it, that would have sent alarm bells off in my head. But, obviously, I wasn't actually looking to purchase anything. So I approached the saleslady. "There is no price tag on this. Does that mean it's free?" She glowered at me and said "That bag costs $750" I dropped it like a hot coal. "That's not in my price range."

I scurried off, before I got myself kicked out of the store. I decided to try another tactic. I picked up a pair of shoes and walked over to the next saleslady. "I don't see a price on these." Being the very helpful saleslady that she was, she offered to look up the price. They were $650, but I wasn't finished. "I don't like the color, do you have any others?" She directed me over to a rack of the same shoes in patent leather. "I like the black ones, but I want them in the suede, do you have that?" The lady was regretful to inform me that she doesn't have them. And I was regretful to say goodbye.

Then I decided to escalate things a little. I walked into Tod's. I approached the saleslady, and began describing a Tod's bag I had seen in a different location. "It was probably a signature bag or something. It was black with large white letters saying Tod's across it. Do you carry that one" The woman was confused. "You saw it this season?" "Sure I did! I saw it this week, in the Tod's outlet in Woodbury Commons."

That is when the lady got insulted. "The outlet stores sell old merchandise. We don't sell that here." I apologized for my ignorance and looked around for a minute. "This bag is nice, how much is it?" She smiled at me. "That one is $1325." I flinched. "That is out of my price range. Do you have something on sale?" If she was insulted before, the lady was seriously offended now. "No, we don't have sale merchandise here." I thanked her and left. I met my mother and sister outside and burst out laughing. I couldn't let the fun stop there, so I headed into Salvatore Ferragamo.

I put my best acting skills to use, glad to have tried on some makeup at one of the counters. I walked in, looked around for a few minutes, and approached the saleswoman. "I like this bag, how much is it?" She took me very seriously, and started extolling the virtues of the bag. After showing me the extra strap and the interior pockets and noting my eager expression she pulled out the price tag. "This bag is $1650." Although I was horrified at the price, my flinch at that point was part of the act. "Wow, I was looking for something cheaper. Do you have a sales rack?"
The lady turned white. She gave me an enormous glare and said, in her snootiest tone. "Not in Ferragamo."

I managed to keep my face straight as I quickly said goodbye and thank you. Then I left, and burst into peals of laughter. And poor Mom, muttering under her breath about how she can't figure out how I managed to be just like my father, had to pull me out of the store by my ears before I could go and see the Prada salesperson's opinion on sales racks.

Plans for next time: Does Louis Vuitton have pocketbooks without the LV's all over them? I intend to ask them.

My Shidduch Plan of "Attack"

The following is one of my favorite shidduch stories of all time. Before anyone accuses me of attempting to spread an urban legend, please let me clarify. I personally know the people involved in this story.

There was a girl from Boro Park, and she came to monsey for the day. She was driving around, taking care of whatever she had to take care of in monsey. Then, suddenly-
CRASH-
She found the front of her car firmly embedded in the back of the car in front of hers. While her immediate instinct was to panic, she remembered her manners, and like a true bas yisroel who is on the market, she calmly stepped out of her car and blushed at the yeshivah bochur who stepped out of the other car. Spotting a potential problem, the boy, who was from monsey, called his parents down to the scene to mediate.
While taking care of the various details involved in a car accident, the parents noticed her aidelkeit and fine middos. And so, in addition to getting her name, number, and insurance information, they asked for some references.
The end of the story is rather obvious....they boy's parents had a shadchan redt the shidduch. They went out. They got engaged. They got married. Now they are living happily ever after with ten kids. Well, only two, but you get it...
So here is my new shidduch battle plan. Literally, battle. I'm going to find out which boys I am interested in dating and what kind of cars they drive. I will then follow them around, looking for opportunities to smash into their cars without making it obvious.
As long as I can keep my cool, maintain my good middos, they will surely ask me for more than just my insurance information.
Unbelievable? Believe it!

Input vs. Output

This was going to go up on my diabetes blog, as it starts out on a diabetes note, but I feel that the lesson carries through to other parts of life, so I decided to post it here.

This morning, I sent a text to a number of my contacts, most of whom have diabetes, saying:
"Good morning! This is to inform you that SD will be having perfect numbers today. If not, it will not be due to a lack of effort on her part. Thank you. :)"
I got varying responses, from "sweet dreams" to "good luck" to "me too" but I have a feeling my message was misunderstood.
A diabetes educator once told me that when patients are embarrassed to show their blood sugar records to the doctor, it shows one thing: they didn't try their hardest. If I try really hard, I test my blood sugar as often as I should, and I count my carbs and take my insulin the way I should. No matter what the result of my efforts is, whether my ensuing blood sugars are the way I want them to be, I can be proud knowing that I did my best.
So last night, I decided to do this will be my strategy for the day. It was a good thing, because I woke up with a high blood sugar. Normally, my reaction would be: well, it's too late to have a good-numbers day so why bother.....
But today I decided: Any lack of perfection is not due to a lack of effort on my part. I tried my best. And that is all I need to know. Sure I would rather have had my blood sugar rest on an even plateau of 100 all day, but if it didn't...well I am not ashamed or embarrassed. I did my best.
And that's how it goes in life. Things don't always go as planned, yet, we can't let it get us down. We control one thing only: our input. If you try your hardest, and fail nonetheless, that is not something to be ashamed of.
So that is my new project. I will be trying my best, to do my best, and I will be proud of the results, no matter what they are.

(ETA: I sent it to four friends who don't have diabetes, but knew that I was struggling to motivate myselft and have better control. Probably the fact that it was early in the morning and I was checking off my recently texted contacts had something to do with it. Oh, and I figured that the more people that know about this, the more embarrassing it would be for me not to comply.)

Running a Red?

BigChamor21 presented me with a question:
"What do you think is harder, waiting for a red light or being a red light?"
I'll confess, when I first read the question, I misunderstood. I thought she meant it in regards to driving, which made no sense. I mean, a red light is an inanimate object, and probably never realized that there is a better existence out there.
Then I realized. She was referring to MP and me. Or perhaps she meant the question in general. Who has a harder time of things, the older sister, who is holding someone up, or the younger sister, who is being held up.
I don't think I'm qualified to give a broad answer on this topic. I mean, I haven't conducted an exhaustive study on inter-sister relationships. My hypothesis though, is that it would be different in each case. (Brave guess, huh?)
Take MP and SD. I think I am more chilled out about not being in shidduchim than anyone you've ever met. Don't get me wrong. I am dying to get married, beyond what I can describe. But I see this time as a blessing. I mean, I'll get married when the time is right, so isn't it nice not to have to spend the meantime in shidduchim? Think: no meetings with shadchanim, no pressure to go out and be seen, no fear over who will see me and how I look and.... Cool, isn't it? Not to mention, MP is really helping me by warding off the hoards of NS and WMS ready to swoop down on me and attempt to make me depressed. (As if!)
So I'm chilled. I'll get married. No point in worrying.
On the flip side, MP has every reason to be worried. Those of you who took the BOSD Road Rage Quiz may have surmised that I'm the type of person who wouldn't mind running a red light or two. So you can imagine her anxiety. I might run a red, and leave her, the lonely red light, swaying in the wind.
So I'd have to say, I think BEING a red light is worse than WAITING for one. But then again, I wouldn't know. I've never been a red light.

What do you think? Anyone out there ever been a red light? Waited for one? Which would you say is worse?

Mazel Tov To.....!!

It was a weird twist of irony on Friday. An hour after I put up my "Mixed Feelings" poem, I got a phone call. The caller ID read: BigChamor21. (No, that's not her real life name, duh!)

SD: Hello?
BC: SD, can you hear me?
SD: Sure I can. What's up?
BC: I'm engaged!
SD: you're WHAT?
BC: I'm engaged.
SD: (laughs out loud)
BC: What's so funny SD?
BC: Nothing. Oh my gosh. Mazel tov. Mazel tov! MAZEL TOV!

And that was basically it. Three hours later, I still had this dumb grin on my face, and I was still busy telling my family that I can't believe BigChamor is engaged. And I saw signs coming but...oh my gosh.
When I wrote in my last post that the friend who got engaged is my only Real Life Friend that knows about my blog, I was serious, but I didn't mention BigChamor. See, she's also a real life friend. Well, sorta. I feel like I know BC really well, but in truth I wouldn't even recognize her if I met her in the street. Cause we've never met. BC and I don't live in the same city, and whenever I have been to her city...well, she's been busy. and when she's been to mine....whatever. I am not her to air any dirty laundry. I wanted to tell you a little about BigChamor and me, and about our relationship....heehee
BigChamor is a friend of a friend. That friend, we'll call her Mrs. Tzadekes, borrowed my phone to text BigChamor something, as she didn't have texting. It should be mentioned at this point, that another friend of mine, let's call her Miss Chessed Head, also decided to try to make us friends. She did not however, succeed. But MT sent this text, BC texted back....and the rest was history.
Texting led to talking...much to the chagrin of my roommates in seminary, as our conversations lasted well into the night at points. And here we are. A year and a half post seminary, nobody to disturb with our conversations, and we are still friends.
It's interesting to note, that when I first met BC, I had 1000 texts a month, because the plan down was 200, and I used about 300. It wasn't long after I became friends with BC that I was worrying about going over at the end of each month.
Anyway, my BigChamor is engaged. She is already planning for me to lose touch with her after her wedding, and is thus planning a really long engagement. (Isn't that kind of her?)
Now, I am not sure what I am thinking writing all this, because BigChamor is certainly reading this, and won't be very happy 'bout it. So....enjoy it while it lasts, cuz this post will probably get the lowest grade of all.
So in an effort to save my skin, here is a Bracha to the new kallah: you and your chosson should be zoche to build a bayis ne'eman biyisroel, and you should be zoche to lots of mazal and bracha and hatzlocha and parnassah and gezunt and happiness and all the rest of the good stuff ad meah ve'esrim. Oh, and your living room should have the nicest totem pole this side of the Hudson. ;)

Oh, one more thing, isn't her name AWESOME? Lol, no? 

Mixed Emotions

(I wrote this the minute I got off the phone with my friend, when she called to say she is unofficially engaged. I felt so selfish that I was feeling that way, but I am told it is a normal feeling... I waited till it was official to post this, so here it is. This friend is my only real life friend who knows about my blog, so I hope and pray that she doesn't read this...)

How do you describe the feeling?
Excitement reaches to the ceiling,
But I don't feel like I'm even dealing!

It's going be tomorrow night,
My friend a kallah? What a sight!
So why do I suddenly feel such fright?

Why do my eyes feel a little wet,
What reason is there, to be upset?
When my friend and her chosson have now met!

Lechaim, vort and shower too!
"Im yirtzeh Hashem by you!"
She now has so much stuff to do!

I can't help but feel a tinge of despair,
As she moves on, and leaves me here,
But my day doesn't seem anywhere near!

It's my confidant, my closest friend,
Who's wedding I now have to attend,
But our friendship as I know it will now end!

It's not completely selfish you see,
I'm thrilled to see her so happy,
Yet I can help but think of me!

The first words that she said tonight,
When she called me sounding bright,
Tried to make me feel alright,

She kind of failed with that endeavor,
To make me think this would last forever,
And our current friendship wouldn't sever,

"We'll always be best friends you know,
Or else I really wouldn't go,
You're not a friend I would just throw!"

But now it's different, don't deny!
You'll have a husband, and that's why!
But what about me? I'll just stand by.

So yes my dear, I'm thrilled for you!
I'm really happy, through and through!
But it's hard for me, I'll say it too!

Childhood Traumas

I mentioned in a comment on my post about TBB that there is no problem that a boy could have that would make me say no on the spot, without looking into it a little. But I must confess. That is not true There is one thing I would not hear of.
Amputations.
Not because of what they mean to the amputee, but because of what they mean to me. I am not sure why I am divulging my biggest fear to the world. And I am not sure why I am even letting myself think about this, as there is no way I will write this post and then sleep normally tonight. But.....in the name of a blog post-here goes nothing.
I won't go into the gory details, but just after I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was told about the complications. I think this was a scare tactic....you better do what we tell you or in a few years you will be blind, have heart failure and no limbs. Btw, did I ever mention that the first doctor I went to was cruel? Whatever the case, I was told that if my blood sugar would be out of control I would find myself getting "complications" from diabetes. These complications include heart disease, blindness, and of course, nerve disease leading to amputations, Chas V'shalom. You can imagine that this was not easy for any kid to handle. As it was, I was trying to adjust to a whole new way of life, to a whole regimen of needles and finger pricks and doctors.... But the slight nagging fear turned traumatic when I opened the door of the office and in the hallway was a man....in a wheelchair....with no legs. A cruel coincidence? An actor paid by the doctors office to show the kids that they mean business? I don't know. Whatever the case, for a diabetes veteran of two weeks, it was the end. Right then and there started my lifelong fear and trauma of missing limbs.
When I see a picture of someone without legs, I feel shaky. I know this is not a rational fear. But every time my blood sugar goes high, I see that man...sitting in a wheel chair, missing his legs, only he has......my face.
(Please realize that it takes much more than one high blood sugar to cause these complications. They are caused by years of out of control blood sugars, which stem from the old fashioned method of diabetes control, which in turn resulted from the lack of knowledge and education that there was until recent years. Nowadays, diabetes complications are quite rare.)
And so, there you have it. My biggest fear. I can't face it, in any manifestation. So bring on TBBs (the best boys) with TBBs (the big buts). But spare me the amputations. I just can't handle that.