What a Guy Must Do to Win me Over, part IV

AAAAHHH-I shrieked at the top of my lungs. There I was shivering, standing at the doorway with only a towel, my hair dripping wet, part of it covered in white, foaming, shampoo. I looked like a member of KISS-with my mascara running down my cheeks, half-makeup on one eye, the other still on. 

I think I freaked out half my family as I stood there shivering, with only a towel, yelling. You see-it was a spider, staring at me from the wall of the shower. There I was enjoying the perfectly hot water and humming along to the top 20 when I noticed it. I could no longer close my eyes and enjoy the moment, I was paranoid to say the least (hence the half-naked performance outside the bathroom door). My brother was sooo disturbed by the site of me, that he just ran passed me, took his shoe off and SLAM. I was good to go back in like a decent person and walk out even more so.

When my father heard the story (like I said, I think my family is gonna need therapy for the site and sound of me!) he was like, "whose bigger? YOU or the spider? What are you gonna do when you get married??"

"Simple", I said, and then at the bottom of my resume I added "Must be able to kill insects IF and WHEN found"

Shidduchim in religious communities & non-religious

It's all about the Packaging

My friend Malky mentioned something this week which "inspired" this blog post. She basically told me that she bought this really funky wedding outfit the other day at this custom-made place where all the fashionistas shop. She was really excited about it and wore it proudly to a wedding on Lag Baomer night. At the meal, her neighbor came by to compliment her outfit and asked where she bought it. She told the neighbor, but then again, this neighbor's family has a clothing manufacturing company, so the neighbor, being a "clothing connaiseur" quietly told Malky that the outfit was from her company and they manufacture and sell with different tags, one of which is this store. Basically it's like saying you bought a Zac Posen gown and then found out that H&M made it and placed at Zac label on it! You can imagine how Malky felt. 

When she told me the story I couldn't help but laugh at how many people shop at that unique haute couture shop, all thinking they are wearing one-of-a-kind customized pieces when really it's the same thing they sell elsewhere for loads cheaper. If these people know, they would never shop at this fancy little dress shop. 

Going back to my point-it's all how you package things. See, I'm an out-of-towner and most guys (and/or their moms) freak out and slam down the phone when they hear those nasty three words (out of town). But when the shadchan packages the whole shpiel and first gives my name, and qualities, it should be said in such a way that the guy is so taken by the entire package that he doesn't care about the 'out of town' and says yes to a date. So all of you out there, when you suggest me to a guy, please just package me well. 

Now will someone get me a Zac Posen label, or whatever label guys go for.

ps if I marry a guy named Isaac/Zachary Posen I will always refer to this post!

Résumé 2.0

At first, there were no resumes. They just simply didn't exist. People had to actually (gasp) speak over the telephone and jot down the info they were given first hand. Then they would proceed to make calls, etc. 

Enter 'the résumé'. Where it came from and when it actually began, who knows. All I know is that mid-Shidduchim people got lazy and slowly they didn't wanna speak by phone. Their answering machines stated quite clearly that if the call was shidduch related, not to leave a message or to only call between certain hours. Telephoning turned into faxes, which turns into emails and then text messages. Online dating sites and sending photos have become the norm. 

Society has become comfortable with this way of dating but I have not. I'm fed up with people telling me to remove/edit/delete from my info. I don't care if my photo is too far back or too close up. One of my face and one of my figure. Honestly, by the time each shadchan, person who got my info by chance, actual feedback from guys/their moms goes through my info and nitpicks, if they don't like what they see, then good cuz I ain't interested in looking through thesaurus' to find the actual words they would prefer to see on my résumé. 

This mom said I sound too outgoing because I'm involved in many communal Chesed projects B"H.  Another thought that I was too modern cuz I'm into baseball-sheesh. One woman heard I go to shiurim and thought I was yeshivish whilst another heard I wore nailpolish and was appalled at how a Bais Yaakov type girl can go around like that, she felt it wasn't tznius. 

All in all, each person will pull apart as many or few words known as ur résumé, that's meant to describe you. 

Well, folks, I cannot be described on paper. Each one will interpret my writing into whatever they understand it as. The way I see it, I'm gonna havta change over my entire résumé (yet again). This time I'm only keeping the basics, no descriptions, superlatives, or even verbs. 

Keepin it simple :)

Women׳s Rights

In relevance to yesterday's Mother's Day, this post is dedicated to my savta. 

A few years back I was in NY for a date. I was staying at my grandmother and (being typical Hungarian) she knew the boy's grandparents back from way back when, etc and was very excited about this potential young gentleman. Sure enough, I arrive to NY, and am tired but eagerly await my pick up. The guy knew I was traveling that day to meet him and was due to pick me up shortly afterwards. My savta gets a phonecall and gives me the phone. The boy sounded really weird on the phone and explained he was drunk as it was his best friend's wedding and he didn't wanna miss it but knew he had a date so he wanted to make the most out of his short time there and drank a wee but too much. Too much too drunk and didn't think it was smart to go on a date like that. So he cancelled. 

Yes, although he was being responsible for not drinking and driving (with me in his car) it was totally irresponsible of him to do this when he has previously arranged a date with me and knew I was traveling early in order to make the most out of our time. I was extremely frustrated as can be imagined. My savta, on the other hand, was fuming. She couldn't get over how 'UNgentlemanly' this guy was and the nerve to do that to a girl, especially after traveling all day and getting ready. 

Anyway, we both went to sleep that night with heavy hearts. The next morning the same guy was to pick me up. Morning because we had to make up for lost time from the night before. 

Again, we waited and waited. I tried to call him but no answer. Minutes turned Into hours. I tried reaching the shadchan who couldn't get through to the guy either. I was ready to travel back on an earlier schedule at that point and just end it there, but the phone rang. I was in the other room and overheard my savta explaining to the guy in a very firm tone that under no circumstances whatsoever does a guy do this to a girl. And for him, this was a SECOND strike out. 

She went on to tell him never to make a girl wait and then to make her wait for so long and cancel and then reschedule and still no show??!?!?!?!

Honest, after overhearing the convo, I was afraid of my tough Savta For telling the guy off but she was right and no one woulda had the guts to say it better. 

Shout Out to my savta for having my back and teaching men to respect women :)

Happy Mother's Day Mom

This shout out goes to my one and only mother for being the best friend, mom, sister, ment, nurse, social worker, seamstress, laundromat and listener anyone could ask for. And in relevance to this blog, for always having my back when it comes to crazy annoying, stalkerish shadchanim/boys and sometimes having to even tell them off when they don't listen to single, little me. 

Thanks Mom. 

Happy Mother's Day. 

Dating Wisdom from “Are You My Mother?”

P.D. Eastman’s children’s book is really a tale about searching for your soul mate.

by Rochel Spangenthal

P.D. Eastman book, Are You My Mother? is really an instruction manual on how to navigate the Jewish dating world written in the guise of a children’s book.
The story line is simple: one morning, a mother bird feels her egg shaking. She realizes that her baby is about to hatch and hurriedly flies into the distance in order to ready some food. The baby bird, however, hatches before she returns and, after a painful descent to the ground, commences an epic search for her mother. After many adventures and failed attempts, the chick and her mother happily reunite.
Here’s the deeper story that Eastman was trying to present:
One sunny morning in heaven, a ridiculously perfect soul is split into two: a shy, sweet girl and an adventurous boy. These kids are immature and need to grow up. So the barely-bearded boy flies south to who-knows-where in order to gain experiences and emotionally prepare for a healthy life with his future spouse.
He is supposed to have returned and be waiting when the love of his life is ready for him. But, alas – this is not the case (if it were, there would be no story, would there?). When she opens her bright young eyes expecting a beautiful version of the world, she discovers to her dismay that the place where her soul mate should be waiting is shockingly vacant. She glances this way and that and sits patiently for a bit. After a while, she decides, “Forget this! I’m going to find my guy!” and promptly crashes to the ground as she trips over her own unsteady and immature legs.
The search for a husband (a.k.a. mother) has begun.

Our young chick never knew that such boring animals could exist.

In the book, the chick first approaches a Kitten. She doesn’t think that this is her mother, but she is young and filled with hope. “Are you my mother?” she timidly and excitedly asks. The kitten just stares at her in response. Dead. Silence.
Our young chick never knew that such boring animals could exist. They had absolutely no similar interests and although she entertains him for a bit with her antics, she says goodbye soon after and promptly moves on.
Nice Kitten, but not her mother at all.
Not to be deterred, the chick then questions a Hen, followed by a Cow. The Hen was actually pretty awesome and the two of them discovered a lot of commonalities, but after spending some time in each other’s company, they realize that they are not, in fact, related. She says a bittersweet farewell, knowing their paths will likely never cross again. She will miss the hen’s wit, but the loss is of small consequence in comparison with the joy of the expected reunion with her mother.
The Cow, in contrast, was a pompous jerk. He laughs and says, “Me?! How can I be your mother!? You’re too small and too tiny and too loud to be my kid.” The chick goes to bed that night and cries. She feels young and undeserving. Is she too small and too tiny and too loud?
(It’s funny, because the next day she meets a Grasshopper who tells her that she is too large and too wide and too quiet. This confuses her. Was she too large and too wide or too small and too tiny? She doesn’t like being confused, so she eats the Grasshopper and moves on.)
In retrospect, she realizes how silly it was to think that a Kitten or a Hen or a Cow could be her mother. And she is grateful that each of the aforementioned animals gave her the clarity that they are not a match. Something inside of her knows that she will find the Bird who will not only tolerate her qualities, but will fit with her because of them.
This continues for months… years… (Eastman shortened the timespan to accommodate kids’ attention spans.)
And though the search brings the chick into contact with more interesting and wonderful characters then she could have ever hoped to meet, she becomes sick and tired of asking the same question over and over and over again.
“Are you my mother?” “Are you my mother?” “Are YOU my mother?”

The search gets repetitive but the chick clings to hope.

This chick has looked into more eyes and asked the same questions and told the same stories about her childhood and the same jokes more times then she can count on her fingers (that is if chicks had fingers).
The search gets repetitive but the chick clings to hope.
Ever so slowly, doubt starts to creep in. She starts to think that perhaps the idea of a mother is just a dream and a product of a wonderful imagination. She starts to question whether there is anyone like her in all the world. Perhaps she should indeed morph into someone larger and wider and quieter.
In the book, the chick begins to panic, asking herself irrational questions and responding to them, “Did I have a mother? I did have a mother! I know I did. I will have to find her! I will! I will!”
Yes, you funny little thing, of course you have a mother.
There are periods that pass during which the chick is walking for ages and meets no one. Nothing. She feels like she will never find what she’s looking for.
In the human world, a person in this dating stage can feel abandoned, hopeless. You find that instead of your friends and shadchanim suggesting prospects for you, you must remind them on a consistent basis that you are alive. To remember that you are here. That you exist. That you are not just another chick looking for a mother in a world where chicks far outnumber mothers. That you are you! And that there is a guy out there who is looking for a chick who is too small and too tiny and too loud! And that any direction to help find him would come in extremely handy.
And then the chick considers sitting down. For a while, whenever she meets other animals, she doesn’t even dare to hope. It’s safer that way.
But when her next birthday passes, the panic sets in. Another year has come and gone and she still feels as if a part of her is vacant. And the chick begins running… Past a Car – no, not mom. And nor is that huge Boat in the distance.
Suddenly, that little bird sees the Plane. In her great anxiety, all she sees are the similarities between them. We can both fly! We can make this work! I know we can!
The chick shouts after the plane. She screams at the top of her lungs. She is alive again! She has opened up and been snapped out of her jaded emotional slumber.
But the plane does not stop. The plane continues onwards.
She sits back, disappointed. Lost and drained. And then she turns to one last woman who suggests a huge Crane – whom the chick promptly dubs “Snort” based on the awkward noises that he makes periodically.
She decides to give Snort a chance. Once she gets past the Snorting, she discovers that he is a handsome, insightful, mature machine. Although she realizes that the Crane is not her mother at all, she learns numerous things from him. And the time spent with him causes her to do some much necessary soul-searching and developing. In fact, he teaches her more about herself then any of the other animals and inanimate objects combined.
And he lifts her up and through her dejection shows her that she is capable, not only of surviving by herself, but that she can thrive as well. That she can love herself. He helps her realize that it is okay to be too small and too tiny and too loud. That she should not change in order to please anyone – because she is fine just the way she is.
And it may take her longer to find her mother. She comes to terms with that. She can survive alone for a bit and she will have a fantastic time doing it. She will learn as much as she can from as many animals as she can. She will utilize her alone time to transform the world and herself for the better. She will expect her mother to enter her life at any moment, but she will not become despondent if this does not happen.
And suddenly, Snort (which is now an affectionate nickname) delivers her back into her original nest – exactly as her mother arrives with a fantastic, fantastic diamond worm.
The Mother is apologetic for being late and explains that she was just gathering supplies so that she could be the best mother she could be. But she would know her chick anywhere. Her chick is small and she is tiny and she is loud and – to her mother – she was perfect.
Dr. Seuss once said, “We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.”
Awkwardly shaped puzzle pieces are just harder to match.

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The book ends as the chick’s mother turns to her and softly says, “Do you know who I am?”
The chick proclaims with joy, “Yes, I know who you are. You are not a Kitten or a Hen or a Cow or a Car or a Boat or a Plane or a Snort. You are a bird and you are my mother.”
And they lived happily ever after…

taken from aish.com