The Beginning of a Terrible Experience

Eighteen years. Eighteen, long years. Eighteen, long, boyfriendless years. Just to make something clear, I, at this point, am the only one out of all of my friends to have never had a boyfriend. (You know what that does to a girl’s self esteem? Me neither, but it sure doesn’t boost it.)

So 11 or so hours after my crush with Garret was over, I was on to accomplishing my quest for an NJB with Mike. (Gotta move fast before these boys get snatched up.) Maybe 11, is an exaggeration, but it was November and I had just finished up the worst week of my life. (For sorority social calendar purposes we will call this week sisterly bonding week. My sorority most definitely 100% did not haze me… They gave me sisterly bonding time.)

Instead of attending the party at the end of the week to celebrate being initiated, I decided to celebrate someone else’s 21^st birthday. (While I had just been initiated, the sisterly bonding time made me question my bonds with everyone but my pledge class. Shout out to my ‘12s…look of disgust goes out to all the older girls.) Still at the ripe age of 18, I was lucky the party was at the piano bar that was 18 and up rather than 19 and up like the rest of the bars in my college cities (Urbana and Champaign).

As I walked in with two of my friends (not in the sorority), I would like to say that as the great friend I am, my eyes darted to the birthday girl. Instead, my eyes went straight to Mike, and my brain went to complete mush. I politely said my happy birthday and pretended my excitement was for her and not for me. Then I proceeded to the Orthodox end of the table.

I fondly refer to these boys as Orthos. What I am about to say might come as a shock, but it’s the honest truth. These wonderfully weird boys are my comfort zone. There is something nice about being around boys I am in no way remotely interested in since they won’t touch me and find me repulsive because I prefer jeans to skirts and tights like the Ortho girls they drool over. I guess you could say, I can be completely myself (not on my best behavior with my shoulders back) since they can’t judge me. (If you polled America, Orthos would totally win on the weird scale…no offense…you know it’s true...)

My Orthos were friends with Mike who was sitting in the middle of the table. I am not sure how it happened but 15 minutes later I had removed myself from the Orthos because Mike has shimmied his way down, and for the first time in my life I was shy so I had to disappear. Five minutes later, Mike was in front of me, and we were dancing to “Rock Your Body Now” by the Backstreet Boys on the piano. Absolute bliss doesn’t begin to describe the feeling of someone you have a butterfly for dancing and talking to you.

After showing off a few of my amazingly terrible dance moves, we sat down and he began the questioning. I don’t remember the entire conversation, but this is the question burned in my head, and the answer I know I will never repeat again in my life:

Mike: Tell me about yourself.

(Long Pause)

Me: I’m awkward.

WHAT WAS I SAYING! Who in their right minds admits that, especially to the Jew of their 18-year-old dreams! (So that it’s not all on me, who the hell says that? How was I supposed to respond…my year and major?)

I must have done something right. I woke up Sunday morning with a facebook friend request. At 11:04 am when I accepted, I was positive I had landed my NJB and was ready to call my search off.

PSA: I most definitely have fond feelings for my awkward, completely nerdy, Jewish sorority, even if I did want to quit the Friday before sisterly bonding week was over, and even though my sisters dropped me on my head once during a trust exercise (trust you right off a cliff).

*I was asked to take my sorority name down, because the "H" word was included. Apparently that's some sort of myth that the Greek system participates in that.

Older and Wiser...Whatever

Garret Stein, one of the smartest people I have ever met. I was introduced to this senior computer science major at a Jewish welcome barbeque the weekend before classes started. I was immediately enamored by his huge smile and his ability to keep a conversation going even if there was nothing else to say. His bright red face to most would have been a huge turnoff, but I found it sweet and innocent looking (reminding me of myself).

This red-headed, nice, Jewish boy was clearly perfect for me. I sat by him at Hillel during my first Friday night service at school. Two days later I was ready to enter into complete crush mode. Then, I met one of his more handsome friends (shallow I know), Mike, that slowed me down in my pursuit of declaring crush.

As I proceeded to crushdom with caution (and eyes looking elsewhere) and then immersed myself into crush mode, I learned that a four year separation in age really does make a difference at such a young pivotal point in life.

I went grocery shopping with him (I considered this a date), made a pro/con list about him, gave him my leftover chicken, etc. And then we went to a party together…

One month into college and I was living it up. It was my first taste of freedom. I was learning my boundaries and I assumed that’s what everyone else my age was doing too. Garret, on the other hand, already figured out his boundaries four years earlier when he was a freshman, and he wanted me to have the same boundaries that he set for himself. I can clearly remember him taking the drink out of my hand at the party and telling me it was time to go…not okay!

Unlike Liesl from the Sound of Music, I do not need someone older and wiser to take care of me. With that, I was snapped out of this crush and onto his friend Mike.

Looking back, after now deciding where my boundaries are and seeing him two years later as a successful computer nerd and going through the ringer with Mike, maybe I should have just followed his rules. We could have been a beautiful, nerdy couple together. Nah…he wasn’t meant to be my NJB, at least I don’t think so.

Off to College

Montgomery has about 10 Jewish boys my age or older that were options for me or other girls my age to date. One was my cousin, one had a speech impediment (as mentioned before), one had been my enemy since birth, and the others were…well I am still not their type. (A girl can still dream of my best Jewish friend’s brother.)

Moral of this list: I wanted to go to a college where I would meet Jewish boys. (I mean top universities were also a priority.) Thus, I found the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. The Jewish students here make up 10% of the student population…about 4,000 Jews. With some rough calculations, I decided there were about 2,000 Jewish boys…1,800 straight, Jewish boys…1,000 single, straight, Jewish boys. That’s a lot more than seven in Montgomery, Alabama.

At 18, I was ready to embark on the second stage of my search. I was ready to find not only an NJB, but a SMART NJB!

Prom Part 2

If Urban Dictionary asked me to define prom I would say: An expensive night that causes great stress in the weeks following up to it and high expectations that will never be met. It also causes painfully funny memories that at the time are simply embarrassing and sad.

Peggy: Laurie how was your prom?

Laurie: I spent a lot of money on a dress, hair and nails for a night that society tells me is supposed to be GREAT, and I am not even FB friends with either of my dates anymore. What do you think?

In the summer following 11^th grade, I joined the restaurant industry. My smile, friendliness and door opening skills scored me a job as a Smiling People Greeter (better known as an SPG or a hostess) at Ruby Tuesday. I got to work with alcoholics, baby daddies, spoiled kids and college dropouts! Not only did I get to work with these fantastic characters, I became friends with them…

So when my senior prom rolled around, I was presented with the same problem I faced the year before. I resorted to asking the semi-decent looking ex-druggie/alcoholic I worked with after begging my parents telling them that if I went stag to prom I would just perish right in the middle of senior lead out. The ex-druggie/alcoholic said he would be honored to go with me and he was so happy I asked.

Everything was perfect, I was taking a recovering addict, all of my best friends were going and I had the tickets in hand. This was all true until the Friday a week before the big show. After being told the doctor doesn’t think prom would be good for the addict, I let a new form of rejection set in. (I mean really, could I get any lower than going to prom with someone who has serious problems…?)

I cried, and cried, and cried a bit more in third block study hall with the rest of the girls who had their free periods. It was decided that I would go with a boy nicknamed Nub. His nickname describes the look of one of his not-so-much-there arms. Fine. I was desperate.

Everything was fixed. I was taking a blind date who stood out in a crowd. No biggie. That was all true until the next night when I got a call saying that he could no longer go with me. (To recap, we are at two rejections.)

No worries though, I got another blind date who actually took me to the dance. He was very friendly, very nice, very short and a decent dancer. However, things went down at our after party at the bowling alley. He left with another girl in our prom group. No big deal, I just became the 13^th wheel in the prom party without an actual way to get home.

To have a really quick recap we are now at three rejections in the time span of a week. I wasn’t even actively searching for my NJB this time. PROM: the most Hellish experience I have ever been through…

So much for high school, on to college to find my NJB.

Oh, Mr. Ronald!

Aside from Anderson Cooper, I try not to like men who exceed the age of 35. It just seems a bit old, but in the case of Mr. Ronald’s very cute receding hairline, I made an exception. He was the brand new and cute theatre teacher my senior year, and as the year opened, I needed to fill my second period with an elective. Obviously, I chose his class, which seemed to also be a breeze in the beginner level. (Easy on the eyes and easy on the books is always a good choice.)

It didn’t take long before I was gossiping with the other girls in the class about how cute Mr. Ronald was. He was married to one of his previous students who was only about five or six years older than we were. So what actually was/is impossible seemed somewhat possible at 18.

He mentioned in class one day while we were doing independent studies that his wife loved Ingrid Michaelson. This prompted a logical response from my friend that went a little something like this:

You love your wife. Your wife loves Ingrid. Laurie loves Ingrid. Therefore you logically love Laurie, too.

This comment was made out loud for everyone to hear. My response was an immediate quick and hard slap to her stomach. On the outside I was mainly mortified, but on the inside I was dying with happiness hoping the illogical logic could actually be true!

Nothing ever happened between me and Mr. Ronald (sadly, but obviously), so there is no need to alert the media. I saw him later after graduation and couldn’t remember why I thought he was such a fine symbol of theatre.

Mr. Ronald was the last teacher I have liked in my repertoire of crushes since age six, but who knows if there will be another teacher along the way in my search for my NJB.