Top Ten Letter's I Ain't Gonna Send

If this post feels like its repetitive after last week's Top Ten list, it is. I mean, isn't life this time of year basically repetitive? Its like eat, sleep, repeat. And if this intro sounds harried its cuz MP is hanging around behind me and I keep alt-tab-ing in terror as she passes. It's all part of this marvelous family togethness though, right? I mean, my house isn't tiny but somehow this week every where I look there's somebody.
Anyhow, presenting the letters that swam through my head as Yom Tov progressed:


10) Dear Lady staring at me in the grocery store,
Yes, that IS flour all over my clothes. It's Erev Yom Tov. I baked challah. People DO that u know.

9) Dear Spider,
I don't mean to sound snobby, but I don't like u. And if it weren't the first night of a three day yom tov you'd be killed just for hanging over my bed like that. I'm having a really rough time staying so calm because I can imagine waking in the middle of the night to find you crawling across my- oh why fake it- GO AWAY! YOU SCARE ME!
8) Dear Niece,
I love you, but really, did you have to drool in my HAIR? It's ok, really, I mean, I get to wash it all over again in a mere 60 hours.

7) Dear Mattress,
I know you have no idea what I'm saying, but just this once, could you walk yourself out of the sukkah? You and I both know Bro ain't gonna do it.

6) Dear Stomach,
I know you aren't used to this, but hang on, ok? Just two more days...
5) Dear G-d,
I don't mean to complain, but yom tov would be a whole lot more enjoyable if my body were just a tad better at dealing with carbs.

4) Dear Little Sis,
Yes, my hair is greasy. That happens when I don't wash it for three days. I thank you for bringing everyone's attention to it. You needn't go to all the trouble next time though, it's hard to miss.

3) Dear Glazed Coffee Bundt Cake,
Stop looking so smug. You don't tempt me, hah!
Ok, you do. But not nearly as much as the chocolate peanut butter ice cream pie. So there.

2) Dear Challah,
You were better seven meals ago. No offense or anything.

1) Dear Shower,
Oh, how I've missed you.

Top Ten Signs You Have Just Endured a Three Day Yom Tov

In celebration of surviving the first three-day yom tov, and in nervous anticipation of the upcoming three-day yomim tovim, I present to you Top Ten Signs that you've just survived one. G'luck with it folks.

10) It used to be your favorite kugel, but having eaten it for the last six consecutive meals, you are pretty sure you don't want to ever even LOOK at that strawberry-apple kugel again.


9) You spent the better part of the day looking wistfully at the married women in the family and briefly considered hijacking a hair covering of some sort.

8) You suddenly realize that Barack Obama AND Joe Biden could have died, leaving Nancy Pelosi in charge, and you wouldn't even know about it.

7) Far, FAR worse, you realize that the Yankees could have lost their lead in the AL east and you wouldn't even know about it.

6) If someone would offer you an all expenses paid meal at Prime Grill you'd probably groan and mutter "No fleishigs...no more fleishigs..."

5) Your deodorant can is empty.

4) You are counting the minutes until even your favorite niece or nephew goes back home.

3) Your phone/iPod/laptop have time to fully cool down.

2) You have read every word of every page of the Yated, Hamodia, Mishpacha AND Bina.

1) You take the pony holder out of your hair and your hair just stays in the pony anyway.

Shidduch Dramatization

This poem was written ages ago, but I finally decided to post it. I hope I am not giving my identity away through it...

A tragedy is upon our whole nation!
And it threatens to destroy our entire foundation.
Everyone ponders with great consternation
What might become of our population!
The story's simple, requires no explanation.
It's a problem that causes immense frustration.
Young and old know of the dire situation:
Eligible maidens still await their salvation,
but with the bochurim we've all got to ration.
Month after month, filled with girl's anticipation;
While burned out boys need a dating vacation.
Now everyone has come to the realization
That we need to join together as a nation
And work to end our sisters' tribulation.
Well meaning shadchanim, loaded with determination,
Expect us to show tons of cooperation
With our shidduch resume: the ultimate dehumanization.
"What are you looking for?" is the common interrogation
For the "nebach" singles, sitting in isolation.
For the sake of shidduchim, we'll make any adaptation,
And we strive to be thin, to the point of starvation.
And worse, we'll put up with lots of aggravation,
Just to go on a list for consideration,
To get a date with a boy of a great reputation.
But still- singles sit in desolation.
What will be with their situation?
When will they take on roles of domestication?
***
Fear not my friends, this dramatization!
One day, we too will say with jubilation
That it's time to receive our congratulation.
But until the day we send an invitation,
For all our friends to join our celebration,
We'll settle in for more anticipation,
And wait for Prince Charming to bring our salvation!

Reaching a Verdict

Normally, when cracking eggs, I check them as I crack them- directly into the bowl. Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, I cracked the eggs into a separate bowl, then poured them into the rest of the ingredients. As it turns out, its a good thing I did it that way. The (would be) final egg actually had a blood spot. "No problem," I thought to myself, "I'll toss this one and crack another."

And while this may not seem all that philosophical, it got me thinking. I usually don't crack eggs into a separate bowl, simply because I don't actually expect there to be a blood spot. It's the kind  of thing that I take for granted. Sure, it can happen, but what are the chances?

I think that's the way I feel going into Rosh Hashana. Sure, we say "mi yichye umi yamus" but I'm not actually going to die, am I? And sure, we say "who will be impoverished and who will be enriched." But c'mon, I'm not going to become impoverished this year! I'm sure my friend's mother who was niftar suddenly this past year felt a similar way last year. And I am sure that the neighbor who lost his job really didn't think it would happen to him, either. But that's what Rosh Hashana is. We may be healthy, but this Yom Hadin we face a new judgement. We need to beg for that health again.

At the risk of sounding like I am employing a scare tactic, there is a flip side.I watch my friend who just got engaged. I know she had a rough year, shidduchim wise. The last of her single friends got married a couple of months ago, as did mine. I guess that is what brought two completely different coworkers together. But now, standing at her vort, watching her collect mazel tovs, I marvel at the amazing way it all played out. Her engagement was decided on...last year on rosh hashana! And all the while,she waited for him to come along, and he came, as planned, on erev rosh hashana. And all of this is such an important reminder for me. As I face the Heavenly courts this Rosh Hashana, the fate of an  entire year is at stake.

And as I wait for some verdicts down here, I realize that the verdict hasn't come in yet up there. One particular bit of news that I have been waiting to hear has dragged and dragged. At first, I wondered why, but now, I think I understand. It dragged because the decision wasn't made last year. Now, waiting precariously close to the yom hadin, I know to daven for it. I know to daven hard. I know that a decision is hanging in the balance.

In less than 24 hours I will have my day in court. I think I really need to rethink my defense now. And just in case, I'll be checking my eggs into a separate bowl from now on.

Wishing all of you a kesivah v'chasima tova, and a simchadik year.

(I really really hope this post makes sense. It does in my head, but I'm a little woozy from two straight nights of cooking and baking until after two in the morning. On a positive note, I have just baked  challah by myself for the first time in my life! Yay for me, call the shadchan!)

SD Forgives Judith

You know you are desperate for blog topics when you peruse your inbox from your oldest email account looking for ideas and inspiration. It worked, however, so I won't complain.


Ages ago, I did this meme. I don't usually like memes, but this one was fun. In fact, I did it before I had a blog, just for fun, to see what would come up. I emailed the results to myself, just cuz that's what I do. And I found em tonight.

One line reads: "SD needs to forgive Judith." In italics, for those too lazy to click and read the post, I wrote: "SD doesn't even know who Judith is."

But as I sat there reading this old email, I had a flash of memory. I suddenly remembered who Judith is. And I have plenty to forgive.

Judith was a seamstress. She had a tiny shop in the basement underneath some other store. I'm not sure what originally led us down those steps, but I do remember what kept us there. It was the pictures on the wall. They were of a bunch if frum girls in wedding gowns. At first, we were surprised, because Judith is not only a non-Jew, but her store is nowhere near a Jewish area, and it was hard to imagine some other frum people making the connection to her.
Even more surprising was that we knew the girls in the picture. They were of the Silver family, a family in our neighborhood who's daughters went to our school. And so we decided to start using her services for our work. I guess the deciding factor was that she did unbelievable work at ridiculously low prices.

We started small. We sent her a number of small things, which were completed in a timely and masterful fashion. And so we sent her more things, things which probably required a little more trust.
Our patronization of her business reached a peak one year on Erev Pesach. Every member of the family got new clothes, and all of it needed alterations. And we sent it all to her.
We weren't particularly worried when Judith failed to have our clothing ready on the promised date. There were still a few more days before yom tov, and see had to be in our area on erev yom tov, and she promised she would deliver it to our house.
Erev yom tov came in the usual frenzy of last minute preparation. We were all excited for our clothing to arrive, myself most of all, because my new outfit was being completely changed by her, so I wasn't even sure what it was going to look like.
As the day went on and yom tov approached, we started to worry a tad. My mother called her office number, her house number, her cell number...but there was no answer. Judith, and all of our clothing were Missing In Action.
If anyone thinks this story has a Fairytale ending where Judith showed up on our doorstep minutes before yom tov, clutching our clothing, you are sadly mistaken. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I remember being inconsolable as I went into Yom Tov. Instead of the gorgeous new outfit I was expecting to wear, I was wearing the same old outfit I had worn all winter long. I don't particularly remember how my siblings felt about it, but I know I was devastated.
It sounds trivial, but its not. Not to an adult, and especially not to a child. And then, to make matters worse, a few weeks after Yom Tov, we finally found out what happened. Turns out, Judith was fed up with life. And so, on the way to our house, with all of our clothing aboard, she decided to end it.
She lived through her attempt, and shockingly enough, so did most of our clothes. But receiving it six months later when I had grown a couple of inches seemed like more of a slap in the face than a relief. My outfit truly was beautiful, but I no longer fit into it.

It's seems incredibly selfish, in retrospect. But I won't deny it. I was angry at Judith. I was angry at her for taking her own life. I was angry at her for not delivering our clothing first. I was angry at her for messing up my yom tov. I was angry, just angry.
Looking back, it seems silly, insignificant. But I was a child. My hopes were dashed and I was hurt. But life moved on and I forgot, even if I didn't forgive, Judith.

And that would have been the end of the story had I not reread that post tonight. I do need to forgive Judith, not because she needs forgiveness (although one never knows. Her second attempt was successful.) but because forgiving people feels good. I didn't hold a grudge against her all this time, but tonight, I thought about it, and I got over it. And now I can know without a doubt that I have moved on. That I have forgiven Judith.
And now, as we approach the yamim noraim, I think of people who have truly wronged me. Not unintentionally. Not years ago. Recent wrongs that still hurt. And I realize that forgiveness is not only for them. It's for me. I need to forgive them so that I can be over it, so that I can be cleansed, so that I can be forgiven.

Please note: the anger I wrote about was childish, and absolutely nonexistent at this point. Now, I know how awful she must have felt, and how my new outfit was the absolute least of the tragedy that occurred when Judith attempted to take her life.

Top Ten Drivers Who Annoy Me

I know this weeks Top Ten Tuesday might annoy some folks, or at least parts of it, but hey- isn't that what blogging is about? Anyhow, what's in your Top Ten?

10) The old man with his turn left turn signal on for miles…even when he makes his right turn.

9) The law-abiding momma who drives exactly at the speed limit when I am in a rush.

8) The guy who slows down to look at the gory details of a traffic accident, slowing down everyone behind him.

7) The fella who is extra considerate to all drivers who need to make turns, forgetting about being considerate to the driver behind him.

6) The horrible person who stays in the left lane, but keeps pace with the guy in the right lane- on a two lane highway.

5) The stranger who stomps on the brakes at each street to check the street sign.

4) The idiot who thinks he has to drive five miles below the speed limit whenever there is a cop in the vicinity.

3) The despicable excuse for a driver who cuts you off then drives below the speed limit.

2) The no-goodnik who drives below the speed limit in the left lane!

1) The gullible fool who lives by the motto “arrive alive, drive twenty five”

The Sibling Angle

Dating stories are, especially in today's age of millions of shidduch related blogs, a dime a dozen. One kind of dating story which, I feel, is enormously under-represented in blogsville, as well as in the hallowed halls of shidduchville where over-eager girls engage in chit chat about the misery they love to hate, is the Sibling Angle.

Yeah, thats right. I may be a number of years into shidduchim, and I might have a million first hand stories to tell, but my sister is a Miss Perfect, and as such, she will always have more dates, which will always lead to more stories.

But first, for those of you who didn't grow up with a pack of older sisters getting called on by eligible young bochurim, let me introduce you to the sibling perspective on shidduchim. So here is the story that my father likes to use by way of explaining the Sibling Angle to outsiders. Oddly enough, it didn't happen in my family.

A number of years ago, my youngest sister was in a playgroup in some woman's house. Often, my mother would have things she had to take care of in the afternoons, but the Morah was extremely accommodating. She was happy to keep my sister an extra couple of hours, if need be. So one day, my mother got unexpectedly stuck, and she called the Morah to ask if my sister could stay. "My husband will pick her up on his way home from work," my mother explained. The morah, usually so accommodating, sounded hesitant. But there wasn't much my mother could do, so they just left it at that. "Please just ask your husband to get here as soon as possible," the morah urged.

Meanwhile, my father got stuck with some things at work, so he left a little late. Then he got stuck in traffic on his way home, so he was a little later. Unbeknown to any of us, the morah's oldest daughter was going on her first ever date. This wasn't just the first ever date for a girl, but for a family. It is an experience of such magnitude, words can't do it justice, though perhaps I shall try in a future post. But back to the Morah Family who were frantically cleaning the house, preparing for the arrival of The Boy. In a household full of a million and twelve children, I doubt anybody gave much thought to the addition of the extra three year old. But, in their haste to shoo all of the children down to the basement before the date, they forgot that one of the kids' father was on his way to get her.

At the prescribed moment, everyone was in place. The juice was in a jar on the table, the cookies were neatly arranged on a plate, the mother's snood made way for a freshly brushed sheitel, and the Eldest Daughter sat in the other room, dressed in her finest whatever-was-in-style-back-then, feverishly saying tehillim. And downstairs, despite their lack of experience or practice, the rest of the kids were skillfully arranging themselves around the one basement window that provided a proper view of the driveway. The clock chimed date-time, and as if on cue, a car pulled up. The kids were, no doubt, waiting for a black Honda or Toyota sedan, were shocked to see a green Jeep pull up.

"Ew," said the second oldest, "Devorah would never marry a guy who drives a Jeep." "
"Shhh," said another one of the lucky kids with an actual view, "he is getting out now."
A collective gasp emerged from the children at the window. "He's so old," they chorused in unison. "Devorah would never marry someone who's that old."
And they were only getting started. Someone, I am sure, pointed out that the boy, or as they now called him, the man, was not wearing a hat, or even a jacket.

Upstairs, just as their kids were pronouncing the guy DOA, the anxious parents were watching with horror from the living room window. They surely turned shades of colors that crayola themselves haven't yet discovered as they realized what was going on. The frantic mother rushed downstairs, uttering a hasty "later" as she grabbed the intruder, my (then) innocent little sister. Finally, realizing what had happened, the children collectively released their breaths. "At least Devorah doesn't have to go on a date with someone who's old."

And that, my friends, is the siblings angle. Due to the precarious positioning that has been laid out for us by our sages, we, as the siblings, often get to see the guy, and occasionally, judge the guy, before the one dating him does. And that is what colored my view of shidduchim. Before I ever graduated seminary, before I ever met a shadchan, or even fully comprehended what a resume was, I already associated shidduchim with the cramped room in the basement with the best view of the driveway, with the precise timing required to know when it was safe to creep up the basement stairs and slowly open the jar a crack, giggling over every overheard word like it was a trophy of sorts.
And I have to say, sadly enough, that the more I experience shidduchim, the more I liked the Sibling Angle.

Top Ten Graphs To Simplify The Shidduch Process

While the idea for this post was originally inspired by Indexed, the main thanks really goes to Bad4, who spends so much time tirelessly blogging in an effort to simplify the shidduch process for the general public, over at her blog, Bad For Shidduchim. And who helped me with the ideas, data, and titles for the graph.

What do you all think about the data here? Agree or disagree?

And just cause you asked for it Bad4, three times. :-D

10)

 9)

8)

7)

 6)

 5)

 4)

 3)

 2)

1)

A Kid In My Class

Last week's post taught me an interesting lesson. I prefaced the post with "from a reader," but most other readers actually assumed that by reader I meant myself. After all, they surely concluded, I do read my own posts.

I'm not sure, however, why people think it's a story that I'm ashamed of. Actually, I did lose a bit of weight recently. That's why I was relieved when the reader sent me the story that I have a personality that doesn't attract shidduchhounds like those I mentioned.

It reminds me of this little stunt I used to do in elementary school. I was a terror; the kid that teachers would warn their successors and substitutes about. I'm not proud of it, but I really had my fair share of- erm- fun- in school. And of course, being the egomaniac that I am, I always thought my shticks and tricks were totally clever.

So I was left with a dilemma. I wanted to brag at home about the clever little things I did. But, at the same time, I knew my parents would be livid if they'd know about all the trouble I was making. And so I developed a strategy. I would tell my stories from the perspective of an awed classmate. And thus, "a kid in my class" became a well know character in my family's dimmer table conversations.

Nowadays, I think of "a kid in my class" and laugh at my childish naïveté. I doubt that my parents were unable to figure out the correlation between that kid and their own. Plus, MP is just a grade older than me, and was always around to clear things up for my parents. "SD, how come I saw you sitting outside the office today?"

The reader that told me her story about the shidduchhounds revealed herself to me. Ironically enough, she actually is a kid in my class. See how that all worked out?

Now I Understand Why G-d Made Idiots

I'm not sure how many of you were reading this blog back when Chava Yitty was sent to her premature watery grave. I still picture her deathbed convulsions in my nightmares. Yes, indeed, Chava Yitty was a good phone.

My bad phone luck continued after Chava Yitty died and took five hundred contacts with her. My next phone was an awful pink palm centro, courtesy of a friend who didn't need it anymore. Aside from a color that made me look like a grade school kid, the tiny little buttons made testing near impossible. Just when I thought matters couldn't get worse, centro died. (No, she didn't get a name. I didn't like her enough.) It was horrible. My phone search continued. I then got a red razr phone. It was slower than the class dunce and miserably difficult to text with. That and the battery lasted about as long as it took to send three text messages, which was surprisingly longer than you'd think.

I got fed up with her really fast. I spoke to some people at sprint and managed to get myself a new phone. It was the Rumor, by Samsung, blood red. This phone came into my possession shortly after I drove MP and her friends to the airport and learned that Prada makes phones. I decided to have a brand name phone too. Thus, my rumor was named Kate Spade. I called her Katie for short.

I expected to have Katie for a while, but life doesn't always go as planned. Just a few weeks after my acquisition of Katie, I cancelled my Sprint service and signed up for AT&T. I came home with my brand new Samsung Eternity, and named him Louie, short for Louis Vuitton. A week later I hated Louie, so I took him back. I replaced him with a blue LG xenon, whom I named Louie II.

And that's when cell phone karma smiled down on me. I began my all time longest stint with a phone. It's been a year now, and I'm still using Louie with great pleasure.

Louie has this marvelous qwerty slide-out keyboard, threaded texting, and a really user-friendly and simple interface. I frequently note that it's the best texting phone I've ever owned. And, as I've just noted, I've owned quite a few.

Alas, all good things come to an end, even my friend Louie. You see, my warranty for Louie was set to expire on August 6th, and I don't like un-warranteed phones.

On August 2nd, I called AT&T, determined to get a new friend. I spoke to a wonderful customer care representative, who assured me that the problems I was experiencing were due to a faulty battery. My new battery was set to arrive on the sixth, the very day my warranty expired. I didn't the battery would solve the issue, but the dude didn't listen. "But," I worried aloud, "what if it's not the battery? What happens if the problem persists, but by then my warranty will have expired." My Indian friend was very helpful. He assured me that I'd be covered since I'd already mentioned the issue.

My new battery arrived on schedule. I replaced the old battery, and was completely not surprised to discover that all of the original problems persisted. SD is up, 1-0. So yesterday I called AT&T again. I spoke to a customer service rep who wasn't sure what I was talking about. "It should all be in the notes," I assured her. She assured me that it wasn't. I was horrified. And I told her so. "This isn't quite quality customer care. He specifically assured me that he was putting a note in that if the problem isn't fixed by the new battery, the warranty would still cover the phone."

She got a little flustered. See, at AT&T we strive to provide quality customer care. She transferred me to Jason in the warranty replacement department. Now, AT&T call center employees aren't renowned for their superior intellect, but Jason was obviously lacking in the brains department.

And that suited my needs perfectly. See, had a told Jason that I'd been promised a new iPhone 4 for my trouble, he probably would have believed me. I didn't want to take advantage of his unbelievable stupidity, so I merely stated the obvious. "I need a new phone."

And so Jason kindly offered to send me one. He verified my address, asked how quickly I needed to have my new phone, then proceeded to say goodbye. Now, you must realize that people at AT&T don't just say goodbye, they give a long speech. So Jason started his speech. Midway through, he stopped. I started to tell him that he had indeed provided me with quality customer care, but he stopped me. "Hang on," he stammered, clearly nervous. "There's something wrong with my computer. I waited. A minute later, he called out excitedly. "Ok, I found it. Where was I up to?" He then proceeded to finish the speech. Having fully resolved my issues, we hung up.

And then I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. All I can say now is...thank G-d for idiots.