Ask Chaviva Anything!: Hair, Struggles, and School

I've already received so many great questions for my new Ask Chaviva Anything! series. Here's my response to a few of them, and stay tuned for more! If you want to ask me something, anything, just click here.

For you, what's the hardest part of being a convert?

That's a really excellent question, for which there are many answers! I think the hardest thing about being a convert is those moments when you feel lost or wandering (which is how I feel right now post-divorce and post-move). The thing about being a born-Jew is that no matter how far you stray, you can always come back -- Once a Jew, Always a Jew. (Okay, let's not talk about Spinoza here.) When you're a convert, you can't stray and come back, because your credibility is shot. As an Orthodox convert, the option to give up kashrut and the mitzvot just isn't an option if I want to stay or be accepted by Israel and Orthodox Jewry. I'm not saying I want to give everything up, but that the pressure to stay on the straight-and-narrow sometimes means that you feel as though you can't spread your wings and fly in ways that you might before converting.

As I wrote here, the temptations to fly in either direction -- more religious, less religious -- are strong when you're feeling lost, and staying the derech can be exceedingly hard, but that's part of being Jewish, and that's what I signed up for!

Did you get a heter from a reliable rav to uncover your hair? 

Believe it or not, I answered this in a recent blog post! I didn't name the rabbi, but if you really want to know, shoot me an email.

What happened to grad school? Are you going to have to pay back your scholarship? Are you going to go back or are you finished?

Currently, I'm on a "Leave of Absence" with the option to return in the Spring. Will I? Probably not. I might see about getting it extended with the option to return in Fall 2012, but I'm still undecided.

When I initially started my second and third masters' degrees at NYU, I wanted to be a Hebrew language educator, or at least a trail-blazer to update and revamp the way Hebrew is taught in the United States. I was super stoked to be at NYU after getting my first M.A. at the University of Connecticut -- I'd dreamed of going to NYU since I was in high school. When I moved to the NY area, however, my focus changed over to Social Media and the role it plays in the Jewish nonprofit world and in Jewish day schools. The problem? There isn't much of a curriculum at NYU for such a field, because it's hard to teach Social Media to someone like me who knows and does as much as I do already. Also, it being an experimental field, I'm probably better suited to be teaching than taking the classes. (Man, that sounds snobby, but I was going to take a Social Networking course and the teacher asked me to come speak to her class because of my experience.) So I'm really torn and questioning what the Education and Jewish Studies program can really do for me; I was struggling to find meaning in the program for a while now, and it might just be chocked up to the difficult emotional time I was going through.

I don't have to pay back the scholarship, but I know what a hardship it will be for the program and thus this is not a decision I'm making lightly. NYU was my dream, but some things just don't turn out to be what we think they are.

Zig Zaggin' Rhetoric

I'm currently in a Teaching a Second Language: Theory and Practice course, and although I was really apprehensive about it at the beginning, I'm slowly growing to enjoy it. The textbook is kind of a drag, but every now and again there's something particularly interesting or thought-provoking. For the most part, what is most fascinating about this class is the off-topic, tangential interaction of the students on our experiences in learning, teaching, or encountering second languages. Probably three-quarters of the class is from China, Korea, Japan, or Taiwan, which has really opened my eyes to a culture group I've never really spent much time with before. Overall, all of our experiences are truly unique and interesting, and I like to bring in the Jewish and Israeli cultural experience.

Something we read recently gave me pause, and we discussed it, and I'm still not sure I get it. I thought perhaps you -- my highly intelligent and educated readers -- might have better insight on this. There's this guy, Robert Kaplan, who wrote a paper on contrastive rhetoric in 1966 suggesting that different languages (and their cultures) have different patterns of written discourse. Okay, easy enough, makes sense. But then he went and created this diagram, which is really beyond me. Sort of.

So, English makes sense. English speakers, and Americans especially, like to be direct, to get to the point, and they expect others to get to the point. They don't dance around the answer or subject or topic. I didn't really get the Oriental image until it was explained to me that individuals from the Asiatic countries don't like to say "yes" or "no," because, depending on who you're talking to, your opinion isn't really necessary to share. So you sort of loop around a "yes" or "no" by explaining all of the possible answers and reasoning and never really stating your opinion, except in a roundabout way.

But Semitic, Russian, and Romance really leave me confused.  Any Russian or Romance language speakers think they can explain the visual representation of a written or spoken discussion? And Hebrew speakers? Care to take on the Zig Zag?

The dashes represent something, too. I'm perplexed.

Walk a Mile in My Vest

Oh no! Blurry ... let's clear that up.

I decided to get my fashionista on today for an outing to the city that started far too early for my liking. My understanding was that class began at 8 a.m. down by Washington Square, so I got up at 6 a.m., grabbed a nearly-7 a.m. bus, and ended up at the door of my building (after nabbing a coffee) around 7:47 a.m. The door? Locked. Another classmate walked up, the security guard opened the building, we found the room, two other students joined us, and half an hour later ... we were sitting. Turns out the class was bumped to 9 a.m. and no one told us! Ugh. What a way to start the day, eh? After an intensive Hebrew-only course and reading a Hebrew article, I ventured to the campus Starbucks to do some e-work. After a few hours there, I decided to trek up to midtown, walk around a bit (stupid), find a place to sit and work, etc. It turned out I spent too much time walking (my feet are covered in blisters and raw skin), my computer ran out of juice and the Starbucks I was at had closed off all their wall-plate plugs (jerks), and by the time my awesomely awesome friend met up with me at around 4:30, I was pooped.

But? I looked good. And I was comfy.

We schlepped over to Cafe K on 48th, ate an amazing meal and schmoozed, and then got turned around heading to the subway on our way down to NYU for a 7 p.m. reading by Jonathan Safran Foer (author of "Everything is Illuminated"). By the time we got there, the auditorium was packed, we were exhausted, and we called it a day. But throughout the day, and even though when I got home I could no longer walk, I felt put together. I felt like I had a fluid look that I was comfortable in. So let's talk about it.

The outfit is:

Hat ~ Burlington Coat Factory

Jean Skirt ~ Land's End

Vest ~ Van Heusen

Ruffle shirt ~ Van Heusen

White tank (under) ~ Lane Bryant

Black Leggings (not pictured) ~ Old Navy

I wore my Skechers with these, and usually they're crazy comfortable, but no dice this time around. Sigh. My feet seriously hurt. My knees probably do, too, but I can't feel them. Anyhow, this outfit was an easy  throw together, and I was so, so, so excited to actually buy a vest and be able to pull it off. It's a really cozy material, and the ruffle shirt is really light weight, which makes it good for layering. The jean skirt, of course, is my constant-wear item. And the hat? Love it. The zipper detail is super cute, and the color scheme really comes together (CoverYourHair.com actually has headbands with this design now). If I'd of had some cushion in my shoes, this would have been the best fashion day EVER. There's always next time.

And, for those of you who haven't been to Cafe K, here are some photos of the amazing food. I had the most delicious fish ever, with the most creative potatoes ever -- baked potatoes that are then grilled! I felt so healthy-licious eating this. Oh, and the awesome friend wanted me to make sure her cappucino got some play. It, too, was delicious (or so she said). I highly recommend Cafe K, by the way. It's dairy, delicious, and aside from the bones in my fish, I had zero complaints. There will be a Yelp review, but believe me, it will all be good, so you can just take my word for it.

Yes, that's a fish in a cup on the cup!

This is the salmon with "baked" potato ... best grilled fish I've ever had, hands down.

And, again, in case you missed it the first time.

The Japanese salad. Yes, there's seaweed.

Stay tuned for a Yom Kippur post, and, on Sunday, the next installment of Haveil Havalim!

The Bad Day Post

Very rarely do I let the words, thoughts, opinions, or -- in some cases -- knowing glances shake me. LiveJournaling and then Blogging has forced me to grow a thick and necessary skin. I'm happy about this. I'm even proud of it. I consider myself one who is driven and passionate. What I dream of, I seek, what I seek, I find (most of the time), and what I find I get really, really flippin' excited about. I am a passionate person. I am the kind of person who gets geared up talking about Twitter's ability to create communities between people who likely wouldn't give one another the time of day on a street corner. I get all tingly and excited when I talk about my blog and how I've managed to help people get through the conversion process, how I've been able to calm fears, how I've been able to turn around the irrational on the web for those who feel disenfranchised, confused, lost, and on the verge of walking away from everything Jewish. I like that people know about my blog, because, in my mind, this means people get what I'm doing, what I'm saying, what I'm trying to create with my words. I assume that people understand that when I talk about my blog and how many visits I get each day and how many emails I get from readers that I'm not tooting my own horn (although, I suppose in some way this is my way of attempting to help "fix" something that I failed to "fix" in other parts of my life, which is gratifying in a way that I don't expect anyone outside of those who know me more intimately than this blog can aspire to delve). I blog and Twitter and evangelize about Social Media because I see its power. I see its power to teach, to ingather, to calm, to stifle, to ... breathe. To breathe some kind of sanity and kinship in all of us. To bridge gaps and create a New Community. A better community. Not a happier or more equal or wealthier or more satisfied community, but a better community. Better in the sense that we're using these technologies to put ourselves one mile marker ahead of where we were before these technologies. After all, if we can't make ourselves better, then what's the point? Luckily, for us, "better," is relative. But it means ahead of where we were. Different. But different better.

But I'm also passionate about Judaism. Everything that that small word captures. Even more so, everything that the three letter word JEW encapsulates, which, let's be honest, is more than any human can grasp. As a result of this, I'm that student. I'm that student that sits in class and answers every question because I hate waiting for other people to respond. I have a five-second rule, that I sometimes expand to 10 seconds. If there's silence, if people are staring at their books or papers (the class, please don't talk to me move), I speak up. As a result, I'm the dominate engager in almost every classroom I'm in (save the classes where the topic os foreign, such as sociology). The point, I guess, is that I get psyched. I want to talk about Jewish things and Jewish communities, and talk about professors who've said this or that -- when I think it's relevant or will give the in-class professor better perspective as to what I'm saying. I like to dialogue, I like to ask questions, I like to get academically dirty. It's who I am, and it's who I've always been. THAT is the one thing I've always had, outside of what everyone else said or thought or assumed about me, I've had academic engagement. In the classroom, I'm someone. I'm someone more than I am online, at least in my mind.

The reason I'm writing all of this is because I'm frustrated. Nay, I'm dejected. In one of my classes, that knowing glance showed up between a few of my classmates when I piped up with a question and mentioned the name of a professor who was connected to the point I was trying to make. That glance, which I spotted out of the corner of my eye, which killed me, which made me want to shut up and not engage, has left me feeling, well, blah. Is it wrong to engage? To be eager? To be passionate about something? So passionate that you want to ask questions and engage and push and interact? Am I a kiss-ass because I know things? Because I have a background? Because I can hold a conversation with a professor on Greek Esther or a tendency toward revisionist approaches to Jewish history?

Okay. You see, my entire life, I had this problem. And evidently, I still do. I'm the kind of person who wants to fix things, fix people, fix situations. Make things better. I do this by blogging about my personal, intimate thoughts (although, seriously, there's a lot y'all don't get here on the blog) and by learning. I learn to educate others, to better myself, to better the world around me through the light of LEARNING. I am passionate about both of these things. I am not a great ego about them. It's just who and how I am. Other people have judged me my entire life for my weight, my eczema (seriously, this ruined elementary school for me), my religious views, the way I dress, etc. Most people get over it. They grow up. They mature. They realize that life is about more than the details and pleasing other people. The one thing I was never judged on, was my passion for learning and having a conversation. And now, now that I'm here and in this new environment, I'm feeling it. I'm feeling the "you talk about it too much" and "who cares" and "get over yourself" stares and undertones of conversations. Suddenly, this one aspect of me, this aspect that I have always owned fully and completely, is wrong.

And, like I said, I'm not the kind of person to let people drag me down. I've become a much more confident person than I once was. When I came to Judaism, I came to myself. I found confidence and strength. And now? I'm worried. I'm worried that these new classmates of mine think I'm someone I"m not, that they have created assumptions, that these Jewish cohorts of mine, think I'm all ego and nothing more.

Is it wrong to be passionate? Is it wrong to be excited? Is it wrong to be me? Do I exude ego and feigned passion?

On a related note to my "Bad Day Post," at the end of my class this evening, the professor suggested that an unmentioned and unconsidered aspect of Jewish history is the idea of family, a shared Jewish family where we're all connected, across denominations or streams, and that it is family that brings it all together, no matter what individuals or groups say or do. An Orthodox rabbi could marry the daughter of a leading Reform rabbi and the world doesn't crumble in on itself. Family, after all, is the undercurrent of Jewish identity and history. The question, of course, that I immediately wrote in my notes was, "What about the convert?" There is no shared family, no connections (well, for those of us that come to this completely blank, without any genealogical tie to be found). Just the soul, the neshama. Is that why it's so tough? Is that what makes the convert sort of a fringe member of the Jewish family? Because we aren't family?

I try to keep it positive here, but I'm having a rough night. Forgive me my Debbie Downer mood (that'll lift you up, go watch SNL), especially before Yom Kippur. In these Days of Awe, reflection is necessary, but this isn't the kind of reflection I want to be doing. I'm just filled these days with a sense of figuring out who I am now. With a sheitel and a new home and new friends and big dreams and excitement about the New Community out the wazoo (whatever that means ... what is the wazoo anyway?).

I'm not looking for y'all to lift me up or tell me I'm great or that people who aren't me suck or anything. This is one of those "hear me, see me, throw me a virtual hug" kind of posts.

Something more interesting for everyone hopefully will come before the Yom Tov. If it doesn't? An easy fast (tzom qal) to you all! And, you know, I'm sorry if I've wronged you or hurt you or done anything in any way to make you think "geepers, Chavi, you suck."

Tale of a Sheitel, Tale of a Scarf

I'd thought long and hard about video blogging this (vlogging, as it were), but I opted out of it. When I vlog, I tend to wander and not stick to a set trajectory of conversation. Thus, here we are, a text blog. Old fashioned-style.

I went to an event last week, between all of my orientations and receptions at NYU. My first day of classes is Tuesday, so I was excited to hit campus last week and meet the new students and do some student-y activities. So I showed up for a Jewish student event to visit the Jewish Heritage Museum down in Battery Park, eager to meet some students (knowing most would be undergrads) and excited to see the museum. I walked in to this facility around 10 a.m. where we were congregating before heading down to the museum and was greeted by a familiar face who quickly jetted off to a meeting or something elsewhere. Then, I was left in a room of about 10-15 people, whom I didn't know. There were about three or four individuals who were dressed in the facility's garb, and it became quickly clear that these were the group leaders, there to introduce themselves to the students, ask them how things were going, and make them feel warm and welcome as we schlepped down to the museum. So I stood there, awaiting the introductions. And then?

One of the group leaders stepped -- literally, and I mean that -- in front of where I was standing to address a group of students sitting in the lounge area. She proceeded to introduce herself to everyone in the room, except for me. She asked them their names and what they were studying. She even went out of her way to walk over to a guy that walked in a little late, asking him his name and how he was liking everything. He, too, was a graduate student.

So I stood. I waited. I thought, Okay, this girl is going to talk to me, right? She's made an effort to speak to every single person in this room, so I'm next. And I waited. I waited. I waited for anyone in this group of people -- leaders and students alike -- to say ANYTHING to me. And? Nothing. Not a darn word. Not a smile or a look or anything.

One of the girls offered water bottles to everyone in the room, I said no thank you, and we were off. As we were nearly at the transit station, finally a girl said something to me. "What are you studying?" she asked. I told her, she said that it was nice, and moved along.

Now, I'm not trying to play the oppressed Jewess here, but after my day there and at the museum I sort of had this realization of being exceedingly uncomfortable as the Frum Jew in a Secular Room. There was one guy there in tzitzit and a kippah, but he was the life of the room. There I was, in my skirt and ridiculous sleeves for the heat of the weather and the scarf covering everything but the tefach of my bangs. And no one wanted anything to do with me. People didn't look at me, smile at me, come near me. I was the leper in the room. At least, that's how I felt. It's entirely possible that these people were just as shy as I was. But that girl ... that girl who made such an effort to speak to everyone in the room ... bypassing me with a serious effort ... that says something to me. Something negative. Something hurtful.

I later thought to myself that maybe if I had been wearing my sheitel (wig), I would have fit in. Looked normal. Like a girl with long dark hair like the rest of the girls in the room. I would have been worthy of an introduction or a "hello" or something. Anything. But is that a good enough reason to actively wear it?

I spent Shabbos tormented over this incident and my sheitel. We were back in West Hartford, in our old community of no scarves or some scarves. I opted out of wearing my sheitel both Friday night and Saturday during the day for two reasons: fear of judgment that I'd gone off the deep end and my husband's aversion to the darn thing. I ended up throwing the sheitel on for motzei Shabbos as we drove to the Poconos because it's the easiest way to travel with it -- on my head. Friends saw it, and some said it was cute and one told me I looked silly. I felt ... relaxed. I felt the sheitel on my head, the netted cap causing a bit of an itch, but I felt good. I was irritated with myself that I had let what I worried the community and my husband would say reign over my emotions. The rabbi's wife wore her sheitel both days. Why didn't I? Fear. My old community is a very Conservadoxish one. When we siad we were moving to Teaneck we got laughs, scoffs, and questions of "Why?" I didn't want them to think I'd consumed the Kool-Aid or become one of those "rightwing judgmental Jews." I'm still me.

Sheitel or not. I'm still Chaviva. I'm still who I've been and will be.

But for those who don't know me, I'm a girl in a scarf or a hat or a sheitel and whatever my headgear says about me, I find myself frustrated. I've been told before that I've become more judgmental since becoming "more observant." The funny thing is, I almost feel like my observance allows other people to judge me in ways I have never been judged before. The way I dress, my headgear, my language, everything physical about me says to other people that I'm something that I'm not.

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated that a scarf on my head made a room full of Jewish people not want anything to do with me, and that the thought of wearing a sheitel made a room full of other Jewish people cringe at who I've become. But how much of this is a projection, and how much is reality?

I guess I'll never know.

She's Gonna' Be a Big Star!

Well, it's official. I mean, it was official before, but now my name and information and photo are up for the world to see: I am an NYU grad student, and here's my profile to prove it!

Man. I dreamed of this day back in 1998 when I was in high school and dreaming of someday heading to NYU for college. When the pamphlets started coming in 2000 (two years ahead of my 2002 high school graduation), I was decided, I was going to NYU. And then? Reality. Costs. Money. Financial impossibilities.

So here I am, a decade later and heading to the school of my dreams to pursue the career of my dreams. Teacher. Social media guru. Hebrew educator. Educated educator.

Anything's possible, folks. Anything.

Whatever Happened to Civility?

Last week, during a dip in the temperature, I fell walking to class. It was raining and I was wearing sandals. I was schlepping a bag full of exams, my backpack (with laptop), another bag with my lunchbox in it, a coffee, and, of course, my umbrella. I probably looked like a bag lady, but there I was, crossing the busy intersection on campus, cars stopped waiting for me to pass, and I stepped wrong, my foot flying out in front of me. The umbrella went flying, and I landed on my wrist and hip (amen for cushioned hips). I was laying there, in the middle of the crosswalk, water pouring down on me, skirt soaked through and through, trying to get up while balancing all of my bags.

And not a single person stopped to help me up.

One girl grabbed my umbrella, brought it back, and handed it to me. But the 10 or 15 other people that walked by did just that -- walked by. No one grabbed an arm, offered to help me up, asked me if I was okay, anything. These were, of course, college kids, but I have a question: What the hell happened to manners? Helping the fallen, literally?

I grew up in the Midwest, first in Southern Missouri and then Nebraska. Raised on the Golden Rule, I was raised to respect those around, to help those in need, and to at least try to be civil. I'm known for being insanely apologetic at every turn, especially in grocery stores where I tend to apologize for even walking in the vicinity of someone else, let alone running into them or their cart. Tuvia has been perplexed about my weird, Midwestern mannerisms from square one and a trip to Nebraska last year really sealed the deal for the New Jersey boy on the overly apologetic and polite ways of Midwesterners.

I'll admit, sometimes I miss the polite and simple ways of the Midwest.

The prospect of moving closer to New York City and New Jersey has me excited. After all, I'll be attending the school I've always dreamed of (NYU). Along with that dream was always living in the city, but Tuvia isn't down with in-city living, so we're looking outside the city at modern, Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods with folks our own age. It only hit me last week when I fell, however, that the experience of being ignored and passed by while suffering on a soaking street corner would not improve the closer I move to the city, but instead probably will get considerably worse. Am I ready for that?

Sometimes, I stick out like a sore thumb with my mannerisms. I wear my Nebraska/Missouri heritage with pride, of course, because to most people it's exotic and unique. "There are Jews in Nebraska!?" If I gave most people a map, I doubt they could even find the large, boxy state in the center of the U.S. But where I grew up and how I grew up paved the way for me to be this overly apologetic person, and I'm okay with that. Better to apologize every time I step within a few feet of someone else's cart or come close to brushing a shoulder than to ram into people and go about my business like a shark on a warpath.

The real question becomes: What happens if I someday move to Israel? New Yorkers think they've got attitude, well, they've obviously not experienced the Israeli "force." There is no apologetics or soft, calm demeanors there. Would I crash and burn? Probably. Would it be worth standing out and saying "slicha!" every five seconds? You bet your tush it would be.

So listen, when you walk by someone on the street or in a store, and they look like they need help, offer it. If they refuse or act embarrassed by your offer, it's their problem, not your's. Do a mitzvah, help someone out, pretend you're me for a day. Slap on that Midwestern charm and make someone's day.

A thought ...

EDIT: If y'all can start this TODAY, that'd be AWESOME. I'd love to have some Tweets up and a few live ones coming in tomorrow. THANK YOU!

I have my Wexner finalist interview tomorrow (that will decide my fate as a future Wexner Fellowship Scholar for the next three years or so) in NYC. I've got a weird and interesting idea.

I was thinking about creating a specific hashtag (like #ChaviWex) and having my computer set up during the 30-minute interview (which starts at 11:45 EST) on one of those websites to auto refresh.

I'd ask my followers to write Tweets saying "hi!" to the interviewers and saying something AWESOME about me as a future Jewish Educator and how I show this on Twitter and my Blog. OR: Tweet something you've learned FROM me. Something maybe that I said that sparked you to go out and look for more information on something.

What do you think? Would you participate?

I've Got MORE Big News!

I have big, gigantic, amazing news. Are you ready for more good stuff in 2010/5770 for Chaviva?

I got into NYU!

Yes, I have been accepted for their Dual Degree in Education/Jewish Studies and Jewish Studies/Hebrew. Color me stoked. I also am happy to report a scholarship for tuition and fees! At NYU, that's big doings. Now, there are those of you who are thinking, Why on earth are you getting ANOTHER MA? At that, why TWO more? Well, the answer is really long and complicated, but let's just say that although I love the program here at UConn, it's not doing what I need it to do, and I wasn't qualified on paper to compete with PhD students for the caliber program I would like to be in. I'm short on language, teaching experience, you name it. Sure, I've given papers and taught classes and stuff, but it's bigger picture things that matter. There's one main professor in my program, and while he is the most awesome professor out there, he's holding the program on his own. Thus, I'm off for more academic pursuits, in the hopes of becoming a Jewish educator of tomorrow. I'm going to light all sorts of fires, darn't.

So stay tuned. We'll be talking new jobs, moving, not moving, me commuting five million hours from Connecticut (listen: this isn't an option), etc. We'll figure something out, just stay tuned. It's going to be an interesting few months!

I'll Take the Tanker of Coffee Now, Please

I give you, the tanker truck of coffee, spotted on I-84 near Hartford.

I must apologize to my readers, friends, lurkers, and other blogging types for my lack of presence over the past week, especially when it comes to reading your blogs and responding with appropriately Chaviva-esque comments. What have I been up to? A lot. A whole lot.

Aside from my regular coursework -- which includes (for one class) reading a book or so a week plus various primary sources, in addition to (for a second class) lots of reading and more reading and some more reading of yummy things about the Samaritans and the Ptolemies, and, of course, Hebrew work and general office work of book inventorying -- I've been thrown the setup for our graduate exam, which is in and of itself wretched. Now, being an academic I'm secretly thrilled about the work and reading; I'm merely in shock and distress about the volume of it. Typically, students will receive the corpus of reading in their first semester, not their fourth. So I'm in "holy crap" mode right now. Pardon the ever-present kvetching.

Superbowl

Additionally, Tuvia and I decided it would be a most outstanding idea to invite over a ton of people for a Super Bowl viewing. Last year we had four or five friends over, and it was quiet and cozy and I really didn't pull out all my Jewish mother stops to feed the masses with thirty different types of chips and dips. This year, however, I went all out. After all, we were inviting over upwards of 20 people and expecting at least 14 to 16 to show up. So what did I do? Well, I made a big batch of pasta and threw it into the crock, I made a spicy veggie chili, I made a giant red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting with my new cake pan, I made a delicious batch of Chocolate Cheerio Marshmallow Bites, and then we bought a bunch of dips, sliced a bunch of cheese, put out gobs of veggies and fruit, and filled bowls full of a half-dozen varying types of chips. Yes, it was a ROYAL spread, fit for a Superbowl King. It just took a long time to put together and perfect -- I am, after all, a perfectionist OCD-aholic. I'll admit, it was loads of fun. Having all of our closest friends over to partake in food and a good game was honestly one of the best things we've done in a long time. I really felt like it gave us a chance to pay back the community, in the best way we know how, for the kindness they've shown us with food, lodging, and friendship. We seriously have the best friends on the planet.

Wedding Dresses

Oh, and then there was the pre-kickoff wedding dress viewing that actually ate up most of the first two quarters. I didn't realize we were upstairs that long, and the game truly was flying by. But this was the wedding dress that I purchased online. Yes, I bought a wedding dress ONLINE. I never saw it in person, I didn't know it's dimensions exactly, I had no idea how it would look or feel beyond the photo of the girl on the website, who, by the way, was about 50 sizes smaller than me. But I had an instinct. It was the first gown I found online when I started looking, and after perusing many other gowns, I was still stuck on this first one. I emailed my two best buddies up in the Great White North, and they agreed it was stunning. So I bought it. Then it came, about three days later (talk about quick shipping -- most wedding gown sites make you wait upwards of 20-40 days for the dress), and I had approximately three additional days to figure out whether it was right. Yes, the online wedding dress business is cut-throat, and they keep their claws in you as long as they can. So the Superbowl Sunday party was perfect as far as timing goes. We all crawled up the stairs, I stripped, and the dress was on and zipped in seconds. The reaction? Completely positive. And then? The "tuck this here!" and "tuck that there!" comments came. I am lucky to say that I am blessed, absolutely blessed, with seamstress-minded lady friends. These women, after expressing their love of the dress, were all ready to point me in the direction of a seamstress/tailor and get the job done -- there was no way I was returning this gown. I expressed my concerns to them -- Tzniut? Length? Fit? The answers were that the tzniut was perfectly modest, the length could be fixed (the dress was MADE to be tailored like a charm), and the fit was perfect for my figure.

So it's decided. I, Chaviva Edwards, purchased a wedding gown online, from a store out West where nary a Jew probably lives, and I am keeping it with utter and absolute pleasure. Yes, I am an online dress purchasing success story! You, too, can buy a wedding dress online and be satisfied!

My only beef? I returned a slip that I bought but definitely don't need (for poof's sake), and it cost me a whopping $30+ to ship back. Is that worth it? Probably not. I'll get back, in the end, about $30 for my troubles. My advice? Don't buy a slip online until you absolutely know that you'll need it.

So I'm pleased. I had a million friends over, fed them successfully, decided on a dress that I absolutely love, finished a bunch of editing that leaves me with only two more weeks of such editing, and I just submitted an application for a fellowship assuming I get into NYU or UMD for further studies. It has been a truly, truly productive three days. Oh! I also cleaned out my inbox. Thank heavens. I was about to lose my mind.

I guess, my point, then, is that everything is doable. It takes time management, sleeping about four hours a night, and a passion to have things just how you want them right when you want them. I'll take my little successes when I can get them. I couldn't ask for anything more. And when all else fails, there's always that tanker truck of coffee!

(For what it's worth, that tanker truck actually said "PILOT" on the side. It was a clever ploy by the popular roadside gas station chain! From a distance, it looks like it just says "COFFEE." Upclose, however, it mentioned something about them having the best roadside coffee. Clever!)