Unbroken Glass ceased to exist.

It’s not really gone, you can still find the list of my old dating stories right here, but that’s all you’re getting, my loved ones. I see no reason to jolt this site back to life.  

Enjoy your read.  It’s all pure sunshine and bunny rabbits.

In other extremely good news, I’m here, in case you were wondering.

Oh, how terribly exciting for you.

Here is the very memorable story of my recent first shidduch:

One thing led to another, and I was set up, via the internet, with him. We exchanged references and a few emails discussing life goals, where we presently were and want to go in our Yiddishkeit. All great stuff. I was super-excited at this prospect, but I wasn?t going to throw my heart and soul into this person I?d never met.

Of course, he didn?t like this. He wanted me to take myself off the market, for months if necessary, until he could meet me. (In case you hadn?t grasped it, this was mucho mucho long distance.) In my naivete, I consented. I consented when he demanded I do not socialize with the only other young, traditional jewish person in my city (who happened to be male). When I say ?not socialize?, I don?t mean ?no more movies? or ?nix on the bar-hopping??that wasn?t an issue. I was not to talk to any men at all.

Did I already mention I?m the only observant Jew between the ages of 10 and 45, with the exception of one male ?traditional? Jew, in my metropolitan area?

So, finally, he flies to meet me. First thing, he?s not ?slightly? overweight as he had so ?candidly? informed me. He?s almost spherical. Next, he?s not 5?8??again, as he had informed me, along with a big schpeil on how ?honesty is so important? to him. I was taller than him, and with my shoes I was only reaching 5?5? at best. Well, let?s not rule him out yet, I think. There are a lot of other things that seem sooooo super great about him.

We do the ?zoo date?, and follow with the ?coffee shop? chat. Overall, I wasn?t bowled over, but the conversation was very nice. I liked so many of the other things about him, that, even though I really wasn?t sure about whether I found him physically attractive, I figured it was too soon to tell, and maybe it was. When he offered to fly me to his city a couple weeks later, I said: ?sure?.

Then things went downhill:

My emotions were a schizophrenic ride of elation and anxiety, and they only got worse. The 2 days prior to my departure, I was physically getting sicker and sicker. After an emergency call to my Rebbetzin, I had regained a portion of my sanity. I realized, I was freaking out because I had NO feelings for this shidduch, and I simply had to remind myself that this second meeting was just for more research. So I prayed and prayed and prayed, said Tehillim until my face was blue, that I?d have some sense of clarity?that I?d feel something one way or the other.

Oh, and clarity did I get! I saw him waiting for me in the terminal, and I knew. Friday afternoon of the weekend visit, I knew. Well, I had a plan in advance. Since I really wanted to use the entire visit to decide, I figured I?d go on as planned and save a verdict for Sunday night at the earliest.

Now, I really didn?t need anymore reason other than that I was actually starting to feel repulsed by his looks. And I actually felt a little bad about it. I don?t think I?m really that picky, and usually the more I like someone?s personality, the more I?m attracted to him regardless of looks. It works the opposite way too. The more I dislike him, the more I am repulsed by his appearance.

Well, things just got worse.

Motzei Shabbos, we were taking a walk, in which he told me how his recent attempt with a ?friend? at opening an accounting business failed. His now-former business partner was caught by the federal government for some very serious financial violations. He personally had not done anything wrong, and the investigators concluded likewise. As the story unfolded though, I kept wondering, how could you not have been the least suspicious that at least something not very conducive to ?business success? was going on? On top of it, I work for the federal government; I don?t want any involvement in shady stuff. That could put my job in severe jeopardy?even if I only do get to work for a couple years before motherhood.

Ok, so then we start talking about his career, or lack thereof. He turned away from accounting, and has been a mashgiach for a year or so. Now, there?s nothing wrong with being a mashgiach, but he admitted he?d ?have to go back to accounting even though he really hates it? because it just doesn?t pay enough. He doesn?t have smicha, so it?s not like he could really climb is way up the mashgiach career ladder.

I?m thinking, great. I?m supposed to depend on someone else to earn a livelihood and be a provider when he hates his job, and hasn?t really done anything to help himself in this career path. It?s not like he?s young and sprightly either, where being at the ?no experience entry level? position really isn?t any cause for concern. He senses my concern, and assures me ?I promise you, that Hashem will always provide for me and my family.?

Well, as much as I love trusting Hashem, I?m also a big fan of that ?He helps those who help themselves? philosophy. So, I say, ?Well, that?s easy for a guy to say. He always gets to work.? He again does the ?Hashem will do everything? speech. I?m thinking, does this guy even want to work? Or is he expecting a handout?

Then, there?s his recurring theme of ?I can?t be as picky as someone from a 7th generation Chassidic family (, but I really wish I could be, and I know I?ll just have to settle in this transmigration.)? Ok, so I added the parenthetical bit. I?m not from a 7th generation Chassidic family either, but I?m at peace with that fact. I don?t gaze longingly into empty dreams of being someone I?m clearly not. Furthermore, if he wants the type of girl who comes from of 7th generation Chassidic family, then why doesn?t he try to go and get her?

Ok, next day, marathon touristy date. Amusement parks?two of them. For hours at park #1, he refuses to choose any attraction, and instead follows me around. So, I try discretely to get him to take the lead, because I?m getting really bored and really tired. I slow down and pause walking just for a brief moment, trying to let him pass me. He stops. We stand. I give up, and just go about my way again. By park #2, I?ve had it, try it again, and, this time, I tell him that I?m sick of picking everything because it?s really tiring. So finally, he starts picking things.

Now, for the only humorous part of the day: He picks this haunted hotel ride. I have no idea what it?s like, but I?m not really picky about rides, and I?ve never been here before, so I?ll go on just about anything. We wait in line, him telling me a much too graphic story about how he gets sick on rollercoasters. (Another repetitive theme is that he likes to give me memoirs of his gastrointestinal life. I repeatedly make not so enthused faces. He apologizes, and before I know it, I get another precious gem from his collection.) A father and his young daughter are in line behind us. They start talking about how scary-cool the ride is. I?m getting a little tense, but in that nice way which actually makes thriller rides oh so thrilling. My date grows quiet.

We start chatting with the father and daughter, and they start describing the ride just enough so you have a general idea of what you are getting into, but not so much that they ruin the surprise. Well, I come to gather that this is one of those multi-story free fall rides coupled with a creepy Twilight Zone story. My tense excitement grows. My date turns greener and greener. I recall his roller coaster story, but figure, hey, HE picked this ride out?not my responsibility. As we?re on the ride, I?m laughing hysterically and loving every moment. He?s pretty quiet. After exiting, we pass the photo kiosk, with photos taken prior to the first drop of each of the groups of riders. There I am, laughing and looking all jolly. There he is, about ready to yarf (an affectionate term my friends and I came up with in high school which only sort of sounds like what it is, and miraculously does not produce a corresponding visual). Now, with all the aforementioned information, this just hammered the last proverbial nail into the coffin of this shidduch. I LOVE rollercoasters. I?m not so into sky-diving or bungee jumping, but can I really live my life without a rollercoaster riding partner? (and why did he tell me he loves ?amusement parks? so much? What do you do if not ride rollercoasters and other stomach in your throat rides, anyways?)

I figure we should call it quits for the day, and that he?ll take me back to where I?m staying. I?ll pack, rest, and only have to see him once more when he drives me to the airport in the morning. B?H for security, and that he can?t come and stalk me until I board.

Oh no, not so!

He really wants to go to dinner. Too tired to disagree, I say ok, and figure it will be better than him sitting in the home where I?m staying re-asking me questions from earlier in the weekend.

While perusing the menu, I ask him what he?s thinking of ordering. I always do this when someone takes me out to eat for 2 reasons: 1) because I have this irrationally compulsive need to know what other people are ordering before I make my decision, and 2) to not be rude by ordering some huge expensive item while he eats a salad. Once I?m in the clear for the entire menu, I really decide I want an entr饠salad with salmon on it.

He asks me what I?m thinking about ordering, and I say, ?Maybe one of these entr饠salads.?

?No! Don?t get a salad; get a real meal,? he replies. The thing was: I really wanted a salad, and I?m not the girlie ?salad 24/7? type. I was hot, tired, and didn?t want some huge meal, but I didn?t want him to think I was a weird only salad girl, so I agree to look over the not-so-extensive menu again.

(At the time, I was temporarily living in a state with NO kosher restaurants. In fact, you have to drive at least 7 hours north to the next state to find one. So, really, the most novel food item is the simple hamburger. I can buy regular meat. I can buy plenty of fish in my city, but that elusive hamburger-on-a-bun is hard to come by!)

He asks me again what I want. I say, ?Well, this is going to sound a little goofy, but I never get to have a hamburger, and I think I really want that hamburger.?

He makes a distasteful face, ?No! Don?t get a hamburger! That?s not a real meal.?

I?m thinking, ?It?s a $14 dollar hamburger meal with 2 side dishes! Sounds real to me at that price! And why does he care so much what I order? He doesn?t have to eat it! I?m not calling him a big chazzer for wanting an appetizer, huge dinner, and dessert, all of which he is inhaling and quite audibly ingesting.?

Ready to strangle him, I start gritting my teeth while I?m diverting my patented death-ray look from his face into my menu. I settle on the lamb-chop dinner. Some tears rise to my eyes because I?m so exasperated. It?s clear I?m very hurt and upset that he can?t let me pick what I want to eat, but I?m playing it cool. I turn off my brain for about 15-20 minutes.

Now, overall, I can?t see how either one of us enjoyed this weekend. Nevertheless, over our dinners, he asks, ?Do you want to come down to visit me for Rosh Hashanah (in about 3 weeks)??

I didn?t want to have the ?if I have to spend another day with you, my brain will trickle out of my ears and my head will implode? talk yet?in the middle of the restaurant where we were very much on display. So I told him that, by Rosh Hashanah, I will be back in school, taking 3 classes, rushing to get research done and a Masters? thesis started, doing random work for my advisor necessary for my funding, preparing for the GRE and LSAT, as well as applying for jobs and Ph.D. programs. I usually work 6 day weeks, which will already be cut to average 5 day weeks during my first month back at school due to the holidays. Add in a trip, I lose 2 more days of work. I just can?t do it.

Well, he just doesn?t understand this, and very condescendingly goes on to try to enlighten me that ?It?s SO easy! Don?t you see?? After the 3rd time he says this, instead of hurling my steak-knife at him, I bite my tongue, and blandly and aloofly say, ?Well, it may be easy for you, but it?s not so easy for me.? He shuts up for a whole 5 seconds, utterly confused, and then goes ?Can I come visit you?? Needless to say, I still didn?t want to see him again, and I didn?t want to discuss it in the middle of dinner. I?m also still seething from his prior condescension, and I?m glaring at my plate just trying to keep my growing urge to throw things and to yell at him from getting the best of me. He finally notices my displeasure, and says ?Oh, I see.? I don?t really know what he saw. He probably saw my ?feeling pressured especially because I?m a girl so things are scarier for me.? Yes, he informed me of that epiphany of his on Saturday night. I assured him that being a girl had little to do with it. And, come to think of it, who was afraid of rollercoasters?

After stalking me as close to the airport security checkpoint the next morning as he could, I escaped into the maze of bag searches, shoe inspections and the like. While Mr. Security was checking my boarding pass and ID, he remarks ?Ah, very nice smile.? I felt a little guilty over rejoicing so much at my departure, but I let it pass. I needed some reason to be happy about missing my hamburger-on-a-bun for another few months.

Written By SecretAgentGirl.

So, having to go through all of that tantrum in the moments leading to my date, an hour of meditating relaxation isn’t much to ask for really.

And did I get to have it? A moment of peace and harmony?
Of course not. I got a freaking meeting with the IRS.
Seriously. This guy is working for them.
And I do pay my taxes!

I’m used to dating (no. really), and I’m used to being asked about my job, and this isn’t the usual kind of question that makes me nervous. But this guy, working in the IRS, was just fishing for mistakes….fish fish fish…Outcome! Income! Numbers! Details! My Gd, all that was missing was a neon spotlight directed at my face.
I felt like in an interrogation at the Mossad.

And I do pay my taxes!

At about 11.pm he said something about him being very strict about saying the Krias Shema on time. How important it is to never say it after Chatzos etc. I agreed. Important, yeah. I then noticed that it was nearly Chatzos. And he kept looking at his watch, which was annoying. so I thought he was planning to end this date now so he could get to yeshiva on time.
But no.

Before I had a chance to say a thing, he covered his eyes with his right hand and said Krias Shema so loudly that the waitress turned to us, thinking that he actually wanted to order something. He just let himself get totally carried away on waves of enthusiasm and real kavonah.

Now, this is a crowded place. I was like, sitting there, looking at him in total shock, while he ignored me completely, I mean, he was, after all, surfing the waves of spiritual enlightenment, and who was I to interrupt this special daily proceeding.

What was he thinking? That when he covers his eyes he disappears?

When he finished he looked at me said wow, I feel so good, so holy, so pure… don’t you get that after you say Krias Shema? I feel so…. REFRESHED.

Ahh. Refreshed. That’s exactly how I get.

Then he said Ahh again. Surely he was trying to emphasise a point of which I wasn’t aware. Ahh. The moaning of a man in bliss.

By that point of our date, I was certainly not in bliss.

He came back from his midnight surf all tanned and splashy, refreshed and filled with new energy to keep on interrogating me about money and taxes and all that. I couldn’t even understand half of what he was going on about.

I was quite exhausted at that point. It occurred to me that I’m actually paying this guy’s salary. And that now I have to go and sleep so I can get up in the morning fresh and new, and work, and pay his salary, keep him busy doing something. ANYTHING TO KEEP people of his sort ever walking out the office.

One other thing, I was seriously considering to make this site comment-free, due to the fact that there are too many comments which I feel, in my humble - but obviously always correct - opinion, are terribly inappropriate.
Keep it clean.
Please.

Plus, some have inquired as to whether this site will cease to be updated once I am married.
This I say to you: I don’t know.
Maybe not. Who knows.
Odds are, I will talk less about shidduchim and more about how charming I am. So that’ll be good.

Of course he also had his bizzare episodes, like getting very excited from one of my rings and asking me if he can try it on and spending a good amount of time admiring how it suits his little finger there.
There was also this one time that we sat there and sipped our drinks calmly when he suddenly turned to me and announced, completely context-free, that he really loves women. I admit that was weird.

It appears that we have a mutual friend. Well, maybe not as such, a friend of mine knows him, from the PAST. From before he became all holy and pure. I decided to ask this friend of mine about him, and when I did he looked at me secretly and only managed to say that he’s nice. Very nice, even.
Well, very nice is all I need folks.

The next day while I was getting ready to meet with him again, my mobile phone rang and there was my friend again, obligated by his loyalty to me and my healthy steady sanity, calling to say that now that he comes to think of it, he DOES have some info for me, but that I better sit down first. Of course I had to stand. No, no, really, you should sit.
Oh bloody hell, just tell me what it is and get this over with.
Okay, he used to be gay.
I sat down.

Now my bunnies, don’t ask me what does USED TO BE gay mean, as I don’t have the faintest. It’s either you are or you’re not, correcto?
Oh fun.

I made up my mind to confront him that same evening, who knows, maybe it’s an evil rumour, maybe someone hates him to bits and therefore spreads all those vicious tales about him being a cabaret singer, doing the odd bit of moonlighting as a flamenco dancer, the usual stuff we spread around about people who seriously offend us, like overtaking us on the highway, injuring that serious male pride.

Then I thought - well if that’s not the case, well then the reality is that I am dating a homosexual. Tonight, in fact. Now, I have nothing against homosexuals per se, in fact a couple of my good friends from school are a little more open-minded (shall we say), swinging both ways, starting to feel free to leap out of the closet, and I really am okay with the whole thing. In fact, I embrace it. In a very detached, thank-Gd-I-never-have-to-go-near-THAT way.
But I do have a problem with dating a gay guy. Call me old-fashioned if you like, but I do. I have a problem with both of us admiring the waiter. I have a problem with him being overly interested in my lipstick. I have a problem with always wondering if he wishes he was wearing MY clothes. I have problems with all these things. I want to be the GIRL in the relationship, dammit.
So, I thought - I’m doomed to stay single for eternity. More like it.

So we met.
Suddenly everything made sense. The ringy thingy, the Desire For Women Declaration, the niceness, I mean, he UNDERSTOOD me. The millions of little feminine things that used to be sweet and sensitive, and now just SCREAMED out, Hey, look at me, I’m GAY!!

So, on our coffee table were two little candles, how sweet, one was white and was called Lavender, the other one was light purple and was called Violet. I asked the waitress for a light and I lit them both. Quite the right atmosphere, isn’t it. I decided to ask him then; to tell him that I’ve heard that he used to have relationships with men (my other gay friend told me how to define it, said it was very politically correct of me); that I’d like to know if it’s true, basically.

It’s very embarrassing, really. I mean, I don’t even know this guy that well, and now I have to ask him about the most personal intimate things.
It was quiet. I looked at the two little candles and I said to myself, in a very radio-talk-show-broadcaster-kind of tone: Okay, Lavender or Violet, who would you rather be?
“Lavender”, he said immediately.
(Don’t say Lavender, don’t say Lavender, PLEASE don’t say Lavender, it is the GAYEST word ever. The gayest scent ever. A manly guy, even if he WANTED to say Lavender, or even BE Lavender, at this point, would restrain himself.)
“Excuse me?” I said. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Lavender”, he said again, “Of course”.
Why of course. Lavender. Gosh.

At that moment I knew that I’m not up for The Homosexual Confrontation. I ordered me some whisky instead. Ahh, don’t you just adore my coping with life techniques?
Feeling a little fuzzy from the drink and supremely confident in getting myself out of this mess, I asked him if he thinks that we suit each other, at all.
He said that it’s interesting that I bring it up, because he was just thinking the same thing. And immediately added “Though I really love women, you know”.
Oh yes, I know.

We fumbled around a bit, trying to extricate ourselves. I just wanted to get exceptionally drunk and go home. He thought we weren’t so right for each other also, apparently. Thank Gd. None of his reasons had anything to do with MY being gay, so huh. I felt superior, in a small way. Trying to salvage me some dignity. But I guess he could feel superior to me in other ways. I mean, he’s thinner than me.

For various reasons (a story in itself) we spoke 4 or 5 times on the phone and then did not speak for about 2 weeks. We then played phone tag for a few weeks before I finally got hold of her to arrange a date.

She said 9.15. I said I would pick her up from her shuir (a bit too nice if you ask me). I arrived 10 minutes early and was listening to the football on the radio. Arsenal (English football / soccer team) were now losing 2-1 to some German side. One of the German goals came from an own goal and the other coming from a very questionable penalty. Is this bad omens for the night???

Anyway she turns up 20 minutes late and I had to suffer hearing Arsenal lose. At least she could have saved me the pain by coming on time. Her reason for being late was that the shuir that normally finishes at 9pm went on a bit and that she had actually left before it had finished and this was at 9.35pm. This night gets better and better. What else can go wrong? So I started my car and headed toward a hotel in town. One of the great things about London is that there is nothing open after about 10.30pm on a weeknight so the only real option is a hotel. (The guys at work think I go to a hotel just in case I get lucky!)

The question you are asking is does she look like Natalie …. not really… maybe… slightly… I mean very slightly. So I am driving along and we are chatting about a Rabbi who she heard over the weekend (as one does) and I was explaining one of the Rabbi?s Quotes (”I can talk to open minds but I can not talk to open minds”), when my car started steaming, I mean literally steam started coming from the bonnet. I stopped at a gas station as you call it and filled my car with water (of course I am an expert and knew exactly what was wrong NOT!) and guess what, yep, the car did not start after that! By now Natalie had gone completely silent.

Believe it or not this was the first time my car had broken down. I played with the water a bit more and almost burned myself, as boiling water was spat out of the radiator. I then went and filled the car with oil, not that I thought it would make any difference but hey I was trying and guess what? The car did not start. She asked what am I going to do? I said, “try again”. (I know a very profound, detailed well thought out answer) My main problem was that I was not a member of any roadside assistance groups and my housemate was playing football. So if my car would not start I would need to figure out another way back. Natalie was still just sitting there quietly. Was my car taking revenge for me? I think so. I thought the situation was very funny in fact very very funny (and had to control the smirk on my face) but was not going to show or tell her that. I then figured it was the battery and “Mr Prepared” here had jump leads in the back. I tried to get a few people to give me a jump-start and eventually some guy who spoke very little English said he would help. He pulled his car next to mine and started trying to find his battery UNDER HIS SEAT so that I could connect the jump leads. He did this for 10 minutes and I did not have to the heart to tell him to give up and I would ask someone else for help as he was trying really hard. He was really convinced the battery was under his seat. Maybe he left his brain there but he was doing a good job of trying to take the seat apart and sticking his hand under the seat to see if he could feel it. He could have been hoping for an electric shock, I know I was. I still thought the whole thing was very funny although I don?t think Natalie was too amused. She just sat there in the car silently, probably asking herself what she had done wrong. I peered in and smiled and I thought I got a glint of a smile back. Eventually some other guy pulled up besides me wanting to fill his car with water so asked him to help and he said fine. (He wet himself laughing when I told him this was my first date.) My car started straight away and I had a quick decision to make. Do I take her home, as my car may not start again once I park it by the hotel or shall I just go for it and take a chance. I decided to take her for a drink and take a chance but I think the damage was done. It is a shame the date was not jump-started as well.

After we found a table I went and got drinks. I took this opportunity to put a contingency plan into action (all unknown to Natalie) and left a message on my housemate?s phone saying to be on standby as I may need road side assistance or is it that she may need road side assistance? I am sure he laughed very hard as if I thought it was funny and it was happening to me then someone else would have thought it hysterical. I came back and set the drinks down (a bottle and a glass of coke each, she had diet) I thought I would do a nice thing and pour the diet coke into the glass for her. However I had second thoughts, as the way this night was going the drink would probably end up on her lap. As I sat down she said she needed the toilet.

15 minutes later she returns saying sorry she took so long but she found someone?s wallet and had to hand it in. You see she really is a good girl! The conversation was dry and it lasted about 45 minutes. The highlight was when some little kid came up to us and said he had just seen the Lion King and that it was ace. The joke is that I had better conversations with her on the phone but as one of my friends would say “whatever”. Furthermore I had spent more time away from her on this date than actually in her company. At about 11.15pm she said she needed an early night as she was ill the day before and had promised herself an early night. So that is what I am then, more like ill from this date! We went to the car and yep the car started straight away. Was someone trying to tell me something?? So I get to her place and park the car. She then offers me a nightcap. Only kidding I asked her what were her thoughts. She said she did not see it. I said I can not really tell, (me b eing no committal) but I don?t think we clicked. She then thanked me for my efforts and I thought any time NOT, although the look on her face sitting silently in my car thinking / praying my car will start made up for things. One thing for sure is that I gave her a ride she will not forget. The funny thing though, is my battery went dead because she was 20 minutes late and I was listening to the football in my car for over half an hour, My team lost and I was more upset about that then the date!

Written by Henry.