Anything You Can Do

I had a busy weekend, chock full of family, assorted social events, and my introduction to the cinematic atrocity that is Howard the Duck. And of course, I attended the dinner in the “winning” outfit that you selected.

And while I will write about all that very soon, it’s going to have to wait for a bit. You see, I need to ask you all to help me with something. Something much bigger than me, and something much more important than the types of things with which I usually request your assistance.

As many of you know, I went to BlogHer this past summer, and roomed with the lovely Emily. Not only did we have a great time together in Chicago, but we’ve also maintained a close email/blog friendship since then. Unfortunately, Emily recently emailed me with some very sad news: Her good friends, Brian and Katie, have a little girl (also named Emily) who has just been diagnosed with cancer. Specifically, a cancerous tumor the size of a baseball at the base of her brain.

Emily is 16 months old.

She’s a trooper, though, and miraculously made it through a 12-hour surgery, where doctors were able to remove 50 to 70 percent of the tumor. Still, the cancer has spread to her spine, and she has a long road ahead of her which will likely involve a lot of chemotherapy.

Although they live in the DC area, Brian and Katie have decided that Savannah is the best place for Emily’s treatment. They are going to be staying there for an undetermined amount of time while the doctors do what they can to get Emily cancer-free. In order to make this work, Brian, a teacher, had to take an unpaid leave of absence. Katie is a stay-at-home mom. Obviously, their priority now is spending as much time with Emily as they possibly can, and doing whatever it takes to make sure their little girl gets better.

Just thinking about their expenses right now has my mind reeling. Their bills are going to be staggering, particularly considering that they have no income right now. And so, when my friend Emily asked me to spread the word about their situation, I of course told her I would. I wanted to help in any way I could, and publicizing it here is one of the ways I’m doing it.

And as for what I wanted from you? If nothing else, please go to Emily’s blog and read the full story of this wonderful family, and this unfortunate situation they're going through. Please have them in your thoughts and prayers. They’ve told Emily that--more than anything else--that’s what they need right now. If you want to help out with their expenses, anything would help, and Emily has set up a “donate” button on her site.

Should you want to spread the word even more, consider linking to Emily’s post in one of your own this week, and getting the word out to your own readers. I truly thank you so much in advance for anything you do.

Dear Internet: Help!

I have two decisions to make this week, and I truly need your help with both of them. Yes, even you, Lurky McLurkerson from Lurkville. And really, you have no excuse NOT to help me, because the two things with which I’m requesting guidance--technology and clothes-- truly run the gamut of...stuff. Know a thing or two about cell phones? I need you! Love giving fashion advice? I need you, too! Have opinions on both? Yay! I want to make out with you! (Unless of course that will scare you and prevent you from helping me, in which case I'll keep my hands to myself. Scout's honor.)

Thing One: Phone Help

My phone contract is up very soon, and I have to make a decision on the new phone I’d like to get NOW. Trouble is, I get flustered and overwhelmed whenever I go to the phone store, because the employees start hovering with eerie, Manson-like smiles, and talking Nerdish to me. (What is this language you speak? I do not know!)

I currently have a Palm Treo, and while the phone itself works fine, most of its other features leave much to be desired. I, for instance, like to receive email when people send it to me, and not three hours later. I also enjoy NOT having my phone freeze up on me when I am using it to read blogs on it during the day looking at very, very important documents. I’m picky like that.

Anyway, in descending order of importance, I'd primarily use my phone for: email, internet and actual phone usage. A camera is important too, because how else would we get photos like this? THE WORLD NEEDS TO SEE PICTURES OF FRUIT-LEGGINGS MAN!

I’ve narrowed the field somewhat, but the decision is still a big one, and comes down to this: iPhone or BlackBerry?

More specifically, iPhone, BlackBerry Curve, BlackBerry Pearl, or Blackberry 8830?

Do any of you have any of these phones? Which one(s)? Do you love it? Just like it? Want to hurl it out the nearest window, not even caring if you hit a pedestrian--WHO HAPPENS TO BE A BLIND NUN ON HER WAY TO FEED SICK BABIES--such is your abject hatred of the phone? These are the things I need to know. Help me! What phone should I get?

Thing Two: Fashion Help

My parents are being honored at an event on Sunday,which J and I are attending. In terms of dress code, I’m fairly certain that it’s black tie. (I, um, threw out the invitation already. Daughter of the Year!) We’ve known about this event forever, but it somehow sneaked up on me all the same, and --being 27 weeks pregnant--my fancy clothing options are somewhat limited. Once again, I have two choices here. The contenders are: Sexy Brown Lace Outfit (“SBLO”), or Classy, Conservative Black Outfit (“CCBO”).

Here is SBLO:

"Fashion! Turn to the left..."

If chosen, I’d wear it with these shoes:

My other option, CCBO:

Oh, so you've noticed my pajama pants, have you? The skirt of this outfit is at the dry cleaners. It basically looks like the sleeve of the shirt and falls right above the knee. Oh, wait. Here's a (really shitty) picture of the whole outfit. Ah, the wonders of Google:

I honestly think SBLO is the prettier of the two, but it’s also springier, and considering that I’m still wearing my puffy down coat every day (DAMN YOU, WINTER! DAMN YOU TO HELL!), I don’t know if it’s seasonally appropriate yet. CCBO is totally workable, I think, and the advantage it has is that I would probably get a new pair of shoes to go with it. (But what color? Help, again!)

So, which phone? Which outfit?

C’mon people! I NEED YOU!

Insert Elvis Song Pun Of Your Choice Here

As promised, I wanted to show you Toopweets’ finished Purim costume. You know, after my evolution into a Project Runway-like supastar to alter it. I'm like Wonderwoman, if her powers included hemming the bellbottoms of cheap velvet jumpsuits with ninja-like precision and altering bedazzled gold lamé belts of said jumpsuits.

It was not an easy road, my friends. In addition to all the issues with the costume that I mentioned in my last post, I'd forgotten to mention that the jumpsuit was completely sheer. And do you know that it is IMPOSSIBLE to find baby long johns this time of year?

Consequently, after fruitlessly searching everywhere for plain white boy’s pants that were thin enough to fit under the Elvis costume, out of sheer desperation, I ended up with these very manly pants.

(Don’t worry! I cut off the NUMEROUS FLUFFY RUFFLES.)

Finally, the moment of truth was here. We grabbed T and dressed him in the girls’ leggings masculine white pants and an undershirt, and with bated breath, put the costume on.

Do you remember how it looked before?

“Oh noes!”

I’m proud to say that it now fit him perfectly.

He got into character quite well.

Although, given my penchant for dressing up…

And the various costumes I’ve dressed him in before, oftentimes for no discernible reason whatsoever…

I call this one “Ari Gold.”

This is "Typical New Jersey Guy."

His actual Purim costume last year.

…I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised at how well he took to becoming The King. I’m also happy to say that THIS King has much better eating habits than his namesake. A few moments ago, he toddled into the dining room and saw me unpacking our baskets of Purim treats from friends.

He took one look at the pile, and asked me for the orange.

Atta boy, Elvis.

It’s Like the Story of Goldilocks, Only with Stretch Velvet Jumpsuits

Once upon a time, there was a lady who lived in a faraway kingdom. She had a husband named J and a son named Toopweets, both of whom she loved very much. The “Jewish Halloween”-type holiday of Purim was approaching, and the lady needed to find an Elvis costume for her little boy. Despite knowing that she wanted to get Toopweets this specific costume for quite a while, she and her husband waited until the last minute to purchase it. And when they did, they mutually decided that they should purchase Toopweets' costume in the enigmatic “Toddler Small” size.

Tragically, the lady and her husband had the combined IQ of a Raisinet.

For you see, “Toddler Small” was apparently code for “Rumpelstiltskin-sized.” The costume was horribly tight, too short, and in general, an unmitigated sartorial disaster for the little boy. “Oh noes!” they cried. “This costume is TOO SMALL.”

But all was not lost! The lady and her husband were OPTIMISTS. “Ain’t no thang,” they told themselves, “we’ll just return the ‘Toddler Small’ costume and get it in the equally indecipherable 'Toddler Large’ size!”

Alas, the "Toddler Small" costume was not returnable --as the package had been opened-- and the store was sold out of "Toddler Large", as was EVERY OTHER WEBSITE IN THE HISTORY OF THE INTERNET every other store in the kingdom. Except for one, selling it at twice the price, and charging an obscene amountof money for shipping.

The lady and her husband were not happy. This was not supposed to be an expensive endeavor. The lady thought about all the things the money spent on TWO IDENTICAL DAMN COSTUMES could have bought…like food for the family, magic beans, or a few pairs of the adorable flats Old Navy has been carrying lately. But since they were very, very stupid people, they stuck with the plan, and ordered the bigger costume.

The FedEx truck messengers arrived swiftly, bearing the “Toddler Large” costume. The lady pulled it out of the box and attempted to wrangle her son into the outfit. As it turned out, he was wise beyond his years, and wasn’t so keen on the idea of trying on his second spangled jumpsuit in as many weeks.

The lady cajoled him with promises of ice cream and a Thin Mint cookie whole wheat crackers and organic cottage cheese, only to discover that this time around, the costume was TOO BIG. Off it went.

“Motherfucker,” muttered the lady, relieved that her tousle-haired lad was happily ensconced in his sugary treats and paying no attention to her colorful language.

She turned around, half-expecting to see three bears and a golden-haired little girl sneaking around her kitchen making porridge. And she knew what she had to do.

After peeling her son off the ceiling (sugar and chocolate before bedtime was a dubious parenting decision on her part), hosing him down and getting him to sleep, she pulled out her sewing basket. By which this narrator means “a free hotel sewing kit that she KEEPS in a basket with some other random crap.”

Now, the lady cannot sew at all. (The last time she tried, she wound up with a sewing machine needle CLEAR THROUGH HER FINGER and a one-way ticket to the ER where a comedian/doctor cracked jokes about whether or not she'd need STITCHES. Oh, the hilarity!) And granted, this was not the most important thing in the world. But she had to finish what she'd started, and damned if she was going to have her kid wandering around in some too-long crushed velvet jumpsuit, looking like some tiny ABBA reject.

No, the lady would fix the costume, and make it fit her little boy...JUST RIGHT.

As the night wore on, she cut here and sewed there. She took the belt from the too-small costume and sewed it onto the large one. She hemmed, she pinned. And then a funny thing happened: She realized she was doing an okay job at this whole tailoring thing. She began to fancy herself a real designer, and started feverishly muttering to herself. Phrases like “fierce” and “hot tranny mess” involuntarily escaped her lips…

Soon enough, she was done. And it looked…not too bad. Tune in next time for the finished product (and complete costume). If you need the lady between now and then, she'll be filling out her application for next season's Project Runway and stalking Christian Siriano downtown.

Barefoot In The Airport, And Other Highlights From My Week

First things first: I honestly had no idea what the response would be to my “Ask A Jew!” post, so I truly appreciate your comments, emails and follow-up questions. In fact, the response was so positive that I do believe I’m going to make it a semi-regular feature. I’m thinking that once a month, I’ll do an “Ask a Jew” post. April is fast approaching, so I'll let you guys know when the next one is coming, but feel free to email your questions to me in the interim!

In other news, I just returned from a trip to Boston. I’ve been traveling quite a bit lately, and so I like to think I have the whole “laptop out, carry on bag in bin, boarding pass in hand” part of air travel down to a science. And for the most part, I do. There was just one crucial thing I forgot to do:

WEAR SOCKS.

As I inched my way up the security line watching men unlace their wingtips and women easing off their boots, I glanced down--with a growing sense of dread--at my sockless feet in my flats. Flats that had seemed adorable right up until then...the moment I realized I’d need to remove them and STEP BAREFOOT ON THE FLOOR OF LA GUARDIA AIRPORT.

Good lord, I’m dry heaving just writing this.

Classy lady that I am, I whimpered inwardly as I placed my flats in the bin on the conveyor belt, and attempted to...nonchalantly walk on the sides of my feet through the scanner. The security guard asked me if I was okay, and when I assured him I was, he said to me, “Bet you’d be doing even better if you remembered to wear socks, eh?”

Ass.

I vividly imagined all manner of transdermal floor-borne diseases working their way up through my feet. I contemplated washing them in the airport bathroom sink, which seemed like a pretty big leap towards becoming a bag lady, and so I ultimately settled on applying Purell to them in the handicapped bathroom stall. Because you know, that’s much more normal.

My flight to Boston, however, was fine, and I had a bit of free time while I was there. Upon Miguelina’s recommendation, I hit up Newbury Street, reveling in the wonder that is Lush (my first time there!), and discovering my new favorite face cream at Kiehl’s.

Yes, it’s time for another beauty recommendation: Kiehl’s Ultra Facial Cream.

I’ve only been using it for two days, but it’s SO GOOD that I couldn’t wait. It’s incredibly moisturizing, but my skin doesn’t look greasy—it’s (dare I say?) GLOWY. Radiant, even. The cream has magical ingredients from glaciers and the Australian desert (I’m not kidding), and a little goes a long way. It doesn’t have any noticable scent, and the size of the tub is pretty generous for a “fancy” brand, particularly when you consider that its effects last all day.

Next up: There’s really no good segue from beauty recommendations to salacious gubernatorial scandal, so I’ll just say it…

I suppose that by now, you’ve all heard about my governor’s…indiscretion(s)?

Oh, ELIOT.

How he was on a path to political glory and is now resigning in shame, due to his love of the ladies? Specifically, the ones that you pay for? One in particular named “Kristen” (whose real name, ironically, is “Ashley Alexandra”), an aspiring singer from South Jersey? (And how the ONLY reason I even know this is that the NY Post devoted practically half of its newspaper pages today to the minutiae of this situation?)

It’s a proud, proud day for New York.

My favorite part of the whole thing so far was that Gov. Spitzer commenced his resignation by saying, “From those to those whom much is given, much is expected.” I don’t think it’s really considered expecting too "much " to ask that the governor refrain from sleeping with hookers. I'm just saying. And perhaps I sound snippy, but you know what? This is hard for me. As you may know, I’ve long harbored a weird crush on Spitzer, my jug-eared, troll-esque governor. I devoted my VERY FIRST TWITTER to said crush. I've mentioned it in not one but TWO BLOG POSTS, and he’s at the tippy top of my list of weird crushes. I believe I may have even texted the words “Ooh, his bald spot! SWOON.” to Heather B. after she told me she spotted him one time. (I was joking. Sort of.)

And THIS is how he chooses to repay my crush? Soliciting prostitutes and resigning in disgrace?

Whatever, Spitzer. We’re THROUGH. I can’t have a known solicitor of prostitutes at the top of my weird crush list. It’s just icky, and is precisely why Charlie Sheen didn’t make the cut. And so, I’ve replaced him. With someone even weirder. Someone so random, someone so creepy and odd, that my FORMER crush on Spitzer will pale in comparison.

Are you ready?

Janitor from Scrubs.

wireimage.com

Yeeeeah, boy.

It's Time For...ASK A JEW!

My last post focused on my experience at my very religious high school, and at the end of it, I opened the floor to any Judaism-related questions that you might have. Here are your questions and my responses:

Did you ever get upset that you didn't have a Santa?

Not really, because as you pointed out, we have eight days of presents. And latkes. Oh, and caramel cream-filled, powdered sugar-covered donuts. I must say though, that despite my not celebrating it? Christmas happens to be one of my favorite times of the year. I love the music, the lights, and the seasonal candy.

Why do Orthodox married women wear wigs? If it’s modesty, why do they wear wigs made out of someone else's human hair that sometimes look better than their own hair? This has never made sense to me, but maybe I just don't understand the concept.

Despite the fact that I don't cover my hair, I am asked this question a lot. Essentially, Orthodox Jewish women cover their hair after they get married for reasons of modesty. There are two factors that serve as the basis for this requirement: One is that hair is considered--for lack of a better word-- "sexay", and it’s a woman's literal crowning glory, so the general idea there is that the woman covers it so only her husband (and immediate family, depending upon her customs) can see it. The other rationale for the rule is that hair covering is simply an outward, visual sign that a woman is married.

Your point that the wigs can (and for the most part, DO) look better than a woman's real hair is well-taken. In fact, some Orthodox women actually don't wear wigs (choosing instead to wear only hats/scarves) for the reasons that you cited; namely, that they feel uncomfortable doing something that is supposed to embody modesty while wearing a wig that looks ten times better than their real hair ever could. Also, if you are someone who believes hair should be covered solely to be an outward, obvious sign of marriage, you probably would wear hats exclusively, since that's a lot more obvious than a wig. Oh, and I should point out that there are many women who switch back and forth between hats and wigs.

Without going into too much detail, there are TONS of variations on the intricacies of hair covering. There are questions on whether the rule requires HAIR covering (i.e., covering all of your hair), or HEAD covering (covering the crown of your head, and allowing your hair to stick out underneath). Some women will ensure that all their hair is covered when they're in public, but will uncover it in their house, no matter who's there. Some, as noted, don't let anyone see it but their husbands. As with most things in life, people do what they feel is right for them.

Note: Even people like me who don't cover their hair do make sure that their head is covered when they attend services in a synagogue, out of respect. Consequently, I am the proud owner of an extensive hat collection, some of which make me look like a human satellite dish. (I’m not kidding. Do you want to see pictures?) If you ever run into me and I look like I'm on my way to the Kentucky Derby, chances are I'm actually on my way to synagogue services.

Is it true that Judaism is passed on (or rather, taught) through the mother?

Yep, this is true. If your mom is Jewish, you're considered a Jew.

I can see the skirt rule, but no collarbones? What's so bad about a collarbone?

Again, this goes back to modesty, and I assume it's to keep cleavage from showing. I don't know why the collarbone was singled out, but I assume it's because it's an objective “yardstick," so to speak, as opposed to saying something subjective and vague, like “just make sure The Twins aren’t exposed.”

Catholic here, with a toddler who just started attending a rockin' Jewish preschool. Said toddler is asking us to sing a prayer before meals that starts with (and excuse my horrible approximation based on 3-year-old language) Hamochi. It also includes some thanking for bread, parents and maybe teachers?

I was jumping up and down in my seat when I saw this because...I think I know that song! My cousins used to sing it when we were little. There’s a blessing that is said before bread is eaten, and it's colloquially referred to as the "Hamotzi blessing." Here are the lyrics I think you're after:

Hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz
We give thanks to God for bread.
Our voices join in song together
As our joyful prayer is said:

Baruch atah adonai,
Elohaynu melech ha'olam
Hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz.

Does that sound familiar?

I would videotape myself singing it, but I think I've hit my embarrassment quota for the year, between the pictures of me in the last post and my assorted karaoke videos.

Was anyone ever forced to wear BOTH the school skirt and school dickie (snort!) simultaneously? And if so, how big a tramp was SHE?

I don't think this ever happened; if it had, I do believe that the universe would have imploded.

Why is it that Jews never get possessed? Is it because they don't believe in the devil?

We don't believe in the Devil, but we do believe in Satan. The distinction, as I understand it, is that the Devil is generally considered an equally powerful (but opposite) counterpart to God (which would be at odds with our monotheistic beliefs). Satan is more of a bad angel…type…dude, one who is still ultimately subservient to God, and not on par with him. (Did that make sense at all?)

Why do Jewish people dress up to celebrate Purim?

Purim is occasionally referred to as the “Jewish Halloween," since we dress up in costumes to celebrate it. At its most basic level, the reason for the holiday is that many years ago in Persia, a bad guy named Haman tried to exterminate all the Jews, but failed through a series of hidden miracles, and so we celebrate (with food and alcohol, as is our habit). We dress up our kids in costumes and visit neighbors and friends, exchanging baskets of food and candy. And drinking. Heavily.

The basis for the costumes is that the whole story revolves around (a) hidden miracles disguising themselves as natural occurrences and (b) mistaken identities. Consequently, we give a nod to that by dressing up in costumes. It’s also a way to get kids involved in the holiday. Way back when, people just dressed up like characters from the Purim story, but as time went on, they got more creative. In fact, certain people may have attended a Purim costume party in college dressed up as "Hit Me Baby One More Time"-era Britney. Certain people can probably now no longer run for public office.

I don't dress up anymore, but if I did, I think we all know what I'd be this year:

As for T, last year he was a cow...

And this year, he's going to be Elvis!

Hole in the sheet. Fact or fiction?

I was waiting for someone to ask this…NO, this is totally false. Read here for more information.

What is your Jewish name? And why have Jewish names in addition to real names? Why not just use the Jewish name as your real name?

Pretty much every Jew has a Hebrew name (in addition to their “regular” name). However, there's no rule that you need to have an English name, too. It's just that many Hebrew names have natural English counterparts (The Hebrew name "Yaakov" is "Jacob" in English, "Rivka" is "Rebecca," etc.), and so in order to make things easier on their kids, parents tend to give their kids English names as well.

(That shouldn't be taken to mean, though, that you MUST name your kid the precise equivalent of their Hebrew name. In our case, we gave T two English names, and two Hebrew names, neither of which have any relation to one another. The English names appear on his birth certificate, and the Hebrew ones were bestowed upon him at his bris.)

In general, Jews give their children Hebrew names in honor of relatives that have passed away. (If they hate the name of that relative or even hate the actual relative, they use the initial that person's name started with.) If they don’t have a specific person for whom to name their child, they can use any Hebrew name they like.

Personally, I love the Jewish naming customs. I was able to give my kid "mainstream" names that we loved (i.e., his English first and middle name), as well as Hebrew names that carry a deep significance to us, as T is named for J’s father (who passed away a while ago). My Hebrew name actually IS Metalia. It's sort of made-up, as it’s a combination of two other Hebrew names, “Meital” and “Talya” which together mean “from the dew of God.” I dunno, man. Go ask my parents.

Can you clarify EXACTLY the difference between Yiddish and Hebrew? And also, does anyone speak Yiddish anymore, or is it just old people? I know words like "tush" and "schmutz" have entered the mainstream lexicon (they're from the Yiddish, right?) but does anyone speak it more exclusively? Even if it's just, like, people's grandparents in their living rooms?

Hebrew is the national language of Israel. It's been carried down since biblical times, and is still actively taught in Jewish schools around the world. (I myself even speak it. Not WELL, mind you, but I can give you fabulous directions to the marketplace, inquire about the schedule of the next autobus, and discuss whether or not the boy put the book on the table. Okay, I'm not THAT bad…but I definitely improve any time I'm around real Hebrew speakers.)

Yiddish is a passel of assorted European languages, and came into being in the Middle Ages...I think. I know that it was spoken primarily in Eastern Europe, and was a burgeoning language there throughout the first half of the 20^th century, but declined dramatically after many of its speakers were killed in World War II. (Thank you, high school Modern Jewish History class.)

While it is a dying language now, you wouldn't know it if you hung out at my grandparents' house. Though English is their first language, they have a tendency to pepper their conversations with obscure (and occasionally colorful) Yiddish phrases, my favorite one being something about a man with a terrible singing voice sounding like “a goat pissing on a tin roof.” I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS. But in Yiddish, it sounds awesome.

Do you keep Kosher, with the milk plates and the meat plates and never having cheese on a hamburger because that would involve mixing milk and meat? If so, where the hell do you keep all that stuff?

Yup. I’ve never had a cheeseburger, ham, and much to the dismay of some people, bacon. We do have separate sets of dishes for dairy and meat. It does take up a lot of room (um, double the amount, actually), but the truth is that I’ve never known anything different, so it’s not such a big deal for me that I have to do this. (Though yes, it does suck to have A GAZILLION SETS OF DISHES, FLATWARE AND SERVING PIECES IN ONE NEW YORK APARTMENT OH MAH GAHHHH.)

What is the distinction (if any) between Orthodox sects/adherents that follow the hats/wigs rule versus those that do not? For example, I have friends who observe Sabbath and keep kosher and so on, but who have a strict "no hats, no wigs" policy (i.e., the men don't want women who wear them, and the women don't want to wear them themselves). Likewise, I have male Jewish friends who consider themselves Orthodox and observe Sabbath, etc., but do not wear a kippa/yarmulke at all times.

Is it a modern versus ultra-Orthodox distinction, or are there distinct groups that do certain things but not others, or is it more a matter of personal choice (like any religion, where you pick and choose what you want to do or not do)?

There’s no distinction per se; I mean, I consider myself to be “modern Orthodox,” but the girl down the street who covers her hair and only wears skirts might consider herself to be, as well. There is a broad spectrum of people who define themselves as modern Orthodox, and as you put it, it’s a matter of personal choice.

Are you troubled by the trend toward out-marriage (i.e., interfaith) among Jews?

I know I’m “supposed” to care, but honestly, as long as two people love each other and are good people, I feel like it shouldn’t matter.

It was important to me personally, however, that I marry someone Jewish. As I’m sure you saw throughout this post, we have a lot of customs and rules. And yes, I KNOW I don’t follow all of them, but even so, it helps that J and I have similar backgrounds, and are on common ground when it comes to our religion.

WHEW.

This was definitely my longest post ever.

Thank you all so much for asking the questions; I hope the responses were informative. (Feel free to keep the questions coming, by the way; I can make this an occasional feature if you have more.)

And now for my disclaimer:

I don’t claim to be an expert on anything but lipgloss, and certainly not such a weighty topic as Judaism. The answers to these questions were based in part on my general Judaic knowledge, but also my opinions and personal experiences. So if you think you’ve seen another explanation somewhere else? You very well may have. And they can both be right. In a nutshell: Don’t yell at me if you don't like my answer(s). Pretty please?

Like YOU Didn't Have A Duck-Covered Modesty Curtain At YOUR High School?

I recently received a call from my high school, asking me if I'd like to speak at their upcoming annual dinner. Apparently, they see me as something of a "successful career woman" (their words, not mine), and they wanted me to address the audience. First of all, HAAAHAAAA. Second of all, I should point out that it was a Friday when I fielded this call, and was thus working from home. And so, while I'm sure the school’s powers-that-be were picturing me in a pinstriped suit, yammering at my underlings about TPS reports, and generally serving as a successful, career-driven credit to their institution which I attended, I was in fact in a ratty Led Zeppelin tee and yoga pants, cowering in my pantry in the hopes that my son wouldn't see me and start shrieking my name as I waited for an important conference call to commence.

I therefore already had high school on the brain when I read Loralee’s post last week, inviting all of her readers to share their prom stories (which you should totally send her, by the way). I told her I did not attend a prom since I went to a very religious all-girls high school, and proceeded to tell her a little bit about our prom alternative (as you'll soon see, it involved stale potato chips and a modesty curtain). She and I then passed a flurry of emails back and forth about my singular high school experience, and it rapidly dawned upon me that mine is a story which must be shared with the world. (Or at least my blog.)

As most of you know, I'm Jewish. And as I told Loralee, I attended a very small, all-girls Jewish high school. Now, when I say "Jewish," I mean "really, really, really religious X-treme Ultra HyperJewish." Before I go on, I feel compelled to point out that in some ways, this was a really good school. The classes were small and focused, and most of the teachers were top-notch. I was also able to come out of my shell there, and go on to become co-captain of the debate team, editor of the yearbook, and other, equally nerdly pursuits. Yes, in some ways, I got a fantastic education there.

IN SOME WAYS.

In others, well…where do I begin?

I guess we should start with a picture of me from that time. You know, so you can properly visualize lil' me:

Don’t be jealous--Not many people can rock a mock turtleneck bodysuit/denim skirt combo like I can. Or the peace sign choker (a gift from MY BOYFRIEND at the time, thank you).

I guess while we're on the subject, we should talk about my school’s dress code. Religious Jews have specific standards when it comes to what is considered modest dress, and my school did not take this matter lightly. No pants were allowed, and only skirts that fell below the knee WHEN SITTING were permitted. Oh, and there could only be a "fist's-length" of skin showing between the hem of your skirt and the top of your socks. This meant either wearing (a) tights; (b) knee socks (if you chose to wear a "short" skirt); or (c) floor-length skirts. Personally, I often chose the latter, rocking a floor-length floral skirt topped with some kind of vest, and clearly, I couldn’t have been happier about it.

"What a feeeeelin'!"

If you dared attend school wearing something considered inappropriately short, or that had a *gasp* SLIT in it? Why, you had to wear The School Skirt. The School Skirt was a shapeless brown...thing made out of what appeared to be a potato sack left over from the Roosevelt Administration. It was a size 18 (so that it could fit almost anyone who dared break the rules), extremely itchy, and generally something you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Exposed collar bones were another no-no, hence my extensive collection of mock turtlenecks and bodysuits.

It just made sense, you know? Particularly when you considered the awful possibility of getting stuck wearing The School Dickie.

Yes, you heard me right.

Let's say you came to school one morning rocking a cute little v-neck sweater. If even the teensiest bit of collarbone was exposed, it was Dickie city, sister. You were made to wear this:

Makeup was also forbidden until twelfth grade. During our first few years of high school, my friends and I spent a lot of our downtime during the weekends applying various cosmetics and snapping pictures of each other in our “post-makeover” states. You know, when we weren’t taking Seventeen quizzes, making mix tapes, and in my case, attempting to break the world record for largest number of hideous floral skirts owned by one girl. I present to you Cool Weekend Metalia, ready to take on anything with her fuchsia lipstick and EXTREME SIDE PART.

(Does it make it better or worse that I actually had a boyfriend at the time?)

And then there were the Pra--You know what? I was going to devote some time to the Prayer Monitors, but I don’t want to scare you, so I’ll just move on.

Don’t you go feeling TOO bad for me just because I had to dress modestly, refrain from wearing makeup to school and didn’t have a prom. My school still knew how to have a good time! Yes, many happy hours were spent at our school’s (mandatory) parties, thrown in honor of major Jewish holidays. Stale potato chips, streamers, and a bearded man with a Casio were fixtures at these events. He played traditional Jewish songs while we danced around in circles, holding hands. Now, I know what you’re thinking: A man? In a place of such modestly-attired girls? HOW COULD IT BE?

Fear not! He played the Casio in the corner of the room, safely hidden behind a curtain. And by “curtain” I mean “opaque vinyl shower curtain WITH DUCKS ON IT.” Don’t ask me why they couldn’t spring for a wooden divider of some sort, or even a regular fabric shower curtain, but the Modesty Duck Curtain was just one more of those weird things that seemed normal at the time.

Sadly, I don’t have a picture of the Modesty Duck Curtain, but here’s a shot of one of the parties. Just so you can see what it was like. I know it's a lot to ask, but just TRY to look past my lace vest and velvet scrunchie to see the bigger picture, okay?

Now that I’ve written this, I don't want you to think I harbor any ill will towards my high school, or my religion at all. Really, I think I got a good education, all things considered, and--oh, man! Cool Weekend Metalia won't even LOOK at me!

C'mon, Cool Weekend Metalia! You know it's not like that!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want to seem as if I'm mocking my religion at all. Even though I don't practice everything that I was taught (particularly the "modest attire" thing...I need my jeans!), I am proud of what I do believe in, and I love it when people ask me questions about Judaism.

Therefore, to mitigate the image of the Modesty Duck Curtain that you no doubt now have embedded in your memory (I'd hate for that to be the association I'm leaving you with) as well as my guilt, please feel free to consider the floor open to any "Ask A Jew!"-type questions that you may have, and I'll answer them for you as best I can. If there are enough, I'll do a Q & A in the next post.