I have Anxiety – not so much as a condition, but rather as a rational understanding that at every moment there is something that I should be anxious about. For instance, if I were you, I’d be terrified right now about this page giving me a paper cut. Do you know where it has been? I do; I wrote it.
Another example is my Bar Mitzvah. I knew something would go wrong, and it did. For the entire ceremony, I had a Security Wall – my codeword for a ‘problematic erection.’ I was an anxious 13-year-old and knew that Samantha Weissman was watching me; this combination of factors resulted in my protruding predicament. Samantha was Westchester – my codeword for ‘overdeveloped.’ Each week at Hebrew school, I would intently observe how the front of her t-shirt appeared to be farther away from her shoulders than it had been the previous week. Given my propensity for science at the time, this interested me greatly. While we were supposed to be writing the Aleph Bet, I’d be composing poems for Sam, the kind that contain off-color ‘shofar’ euphemisms and rhymes like ‘tzedakah’ and ‘I’ll rock ya.’ I would sign these odes, ‘Adoring you, Aaron,’ but then my Anxiety would take hold and I would stuff them back in my desk. Occasionally, after finishing a poem, I would glance at Sam, and then away, and then back at Sam, and then away, and eventually, sometimes, we’d make eye contact, which I considered having intercourse.
So, I’m standing there in front of friends, family, and Samantha, hiding my in-the-process-of-becoming-a manhood behind the bima and in a state of arousal not experienced since the previous day’s bus ride to school, which was particularly bumpy. My pants were becoming so tight, the congregation could tell my religion. So to speak. I stalled on the bima while trying to think of unsexy things. Like science, which I soon realized was a poor choice.
Though I haven’t seen her in roughly a decade, I was thinking about Sam recently, as I often do right before I go to sleep. I still see her in my mind exactly as she was. Except ten years older. I just think that’s the right thing to do.
Thoughts of Sam prompted me to post an ad on a free Jewish singles website. I knew I probably wouldn’t find Sam, but I figured there’d be others out there who were also pretty and into glitter makeup and the Spice Girls. For someone with justified Anxiety, the notion of something going terribly wrong in the virtual world was preferable to it happening in the actual one. I was ready to explore the world of eTrauma.
So, I found this multi-purpose website where Jews can connect to find anything from a date to a mini-fridge. It was something of a cross between Craig’s and Schindler’s lists. I know that many men on these sites can be creepy, so I began my post with, “I am not a creep. I’m just looking for someone who can make my heart soar. If 13-year-old Samantha Weissman could do it; I bet you could too.” I read it over and decided that it didn’t sound right. Putting her full name was the problem, I realized, so I just changed it to “Sam.” I added a wink-face emoticon, so the reader would know I wasn’t just genial, but also smooth.
I continued writing the post, the kind that contains off-color ‘shofar’ euphemisms and rhymes like ‘Netanyahu’ and ‘get inside you.’ Because Samantha was still on my mind, I added that I preferred ‘a brunette.’ To add a touch of hilarity, I changed this to ‘a Hebrewnette.’ But I worried that that might not be clear, so, after mulling it over, I decided on ‘He-brunette.’ That was clear. And hilarious, as Jew puns always are.
I looked over my post and was pleased. The references to the 13-year-old Sam and the He-brunette would show that I am a tender, funny, normal guy. I knew that, pretty soon, I would be hearing from many beautiful young ladies who were all Barry Bonds-ing – my codeword for ‘chasing Aaron.’ For once, my Anxiety dissipated. I took a pen and paper and got a head-start on my off-color ‘shofar’ euphemisms and rhymes like ‘Balfour Declaration’ and ‘No more masturbation.’ I knew that, this time, no bima could hold me back.
