flashback to October, 2005
After the festival was over, my son and I returned to central Israel and Arie and his sons returned to their Galilee town. I continued my succot holiday with my son and friends in the Dead Sea area, visiting Ein Gedi and Massada, far from the would-be hippies I had left near the Sea of Gailee.
I checked my messages that weekend at home to find one from Arie. He told me how much he enjoyed meeting me and wished me a good trip in the Dead Sea. After a few phone calls back and forth over the next week or so, he told me that he was going to a Sweat Lodge ceremony in Tivon, an hour south of where he lived and thought he would visit me. Well, to drive to my city from Tivon in northern Israel is another hour drive, making his commute approximately two-hours. I got the hint. It wasn't a matter of 'I'm going to be in your area", but the Sweat Lodge was an excuse for "I'm going to be closer to your area and will make the extra effort to see you if you give me the green light".
So I did. I had a subscription to the theater in Tel Aviv. To my delight, as well as hiking and new age workshops, he also liked classical music, theater, jazz and reading. Later I was to discover at his apartment old records, yes, vinal records of Neil Young, Cat Stevens, among others.
My son conveniently ended up staying at friends on that Friday night.
And that's how it all began.
This writer finally had a boyfriend that met all her criteria - non-smoking, divorced, and with children - and this time the boyfriend was not imaginary.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Post 46: No Sex in the Tent
flashback to October, 2005
On the northeast side of the Sea of Galilee, during the Succot holidays, I spent a few days with Arie and his sons, Erez and Alon at the Breshit (Genesis) Festival. Born in the sixties, I was too young to be a hippy and too old to be Generation X. I was born just after the baby boomers, between generations.
I typed my essays in university on a typewriter and learned word-processing on a computer on the job. The first time I saw a fax machine was during one of my first temp jobs. I didn't fear technology because it was in its infancy. and I didn't fear new age workshops, as my mother had already been involved with the new age movement in Canada in the 70s. We just didn't know it was the new age then.
I discovered music of the 60s in the 70s, and the 70s in the 80s, always feeling I had just missed the train. Although the festival was full of teenagers, there were some families and I was happy to have hooked up with a divorced man and his sons. What I didn't expect was the intensity of the rain! My son and I had pitched our tent in the family area, about a kilometer walk from Arie and his sons' camping area.
On the second day of the festival, my son and I awoke to a downpour. The food court area was drenched. The workshop area was soaked. One of the only warm place was in the lake itself...but until we got there, we visited Arie in his home away from home. He had hooked his appliances up to the electricity of the staff area and made us coffee and tea. He had a foldup table and chairs, two or three tents, one for each of his sons and enough food to feed us as well as his offspring.
With nothing to do, my son entered ten-year old Alon's tent, and Arie offered to play backgammon with me in his tent. I beat him at the first few games, but Alon told my son that I spent the entire time having sex with his father in the tent.
This writer did not know that backgammon had sexual overtones.
On the northeast side of the Sea of Galilee, during the Succot holidays, I spent a few days with Arie and his sons, Erez and Alon at the Breshit (Genesis) Festival. Born in the sixties, I was too young to be a hippy and too old to be Generation X. I was born just after the baby boomers, between generations.
I typed my essays in university on a typewriter and learned word-processing on a computer on the job. The first time I saw a fax machine was during one of my first temp jobs. I didn't fear technology because it was in its infancy. and I didn't fear new age workshops, as my mother had already been involved with the new age movement in Canada in the 70s. We just didn't know it was the new age then.
I discovered music of the 60s in the 70s, and the 70s in the 80s, always feeling I had just missed the train. Although the festival was full of teenagers, there were some families and I was happy to have hooked up with a divorced man and his sons. What I didn't expect was the intensity of the rain! My son and I had pitched our tent in the family area, about a kilometer walk from Arie and his sons' camping area.
On the second day of the festival, my son and I awoke to a downpour. The food court area was drenched. The workshop area was soaked. One of the only warm place was in the lake itself...but until we got there, we visited Arie in his home away from home. He had hooked his appliances up to the electricity of the staff area and made us coffee and tea. He had a foldup table and chairs, two or three tents, one for each of his sons and enough food to feed us as well as his offspring.
With nothing to do, my son entered ten-year old Alon's tent, and Arie offered to play backgammon with me in his tent. I beat him at the first few games, but Alon told my son that I spent the entire time having sex with his father in the tent.
This writer did not know that backgammon had sexual overtones.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Post 45: Finding a Haven Despite the Teenagers
flashback to october, 2005
Arie and his exwife named their children according to the same letter of the alphabet - the Hebrew letter aleph - Alma, Erez and Alon. The first one I met was the Alon, the ten year old.
Arie and Alon greeted us near the main gate of the festival area. After a kilometer walk from the family camping area, we found our meeting place and introduced ourselves. Arie and I had met a week or so earlier at a party. I didn't know if he was coming with a girlfriend or by himself, but I was happy to see a familiar face and even happier that my son would have some company among the hippies who seemed to have forgotten that there are no more hippies left. We decided to go the the evening performances together, featuring Israeli artists - not mainstream but not too alternative either. This suited me fine.
Arie had half his house with him. He had even set hooked up some of his appliances to the electric system of the festival employees. The reason he was set up in the staff section is that his 15 year old, Erez, was working in the children's area, helping with ceramics and other activities. Erez was apparently hanging out with his teenage peers, while Arie, Alon and my son hung out together, listening to the likes of Mika Karni and the sons of the late Meir Ariel. A few groups had cancelled because of the impending rain, but we didn't care.
This writer realized that she was actually having fun at this festival despite it being invaded by teenagers.
Arie and his exwife named their children according to the same letter of the alphabet - the Hebrew letter aleph - Alma, Erez and Alon. The first one I met was the Alon, the ten year old.
Arie and Alon greeted us near the main gate of the festival area. After a kilometer walk from the family camping area, we found our meeting place and introduced ourselves. Arie and I had met a week or so earlier at a party. I didn't know if he was coming with a girlfriend or by himself, but I was happy to see a familiar face and even happier that my son would have some company among the hippies who seemed to have forgotten that there are no more hippies left. We decided to go the the evening performances together, featuring Israeli artists - not mainstream but not too alternative either. This suited me fine.
Arie had half his house with him. He had even set hooked up some of his appliances to the electric system of the festival employees. The reason he was set up in the staff section is that his 15 year old, Erez, was working in the children's area, helping with ceramics and other activities. Erez was apparently hanging out with his teenage peers, while Arie, Alon and my son hung out together, listening to the likes of Mika Karni and the sons of the late Meir Ariel. A few groups had cancelled because of the impending rain, but we didn't care.
This writer realized that she was actually having fun at this festival despite it being invaded by teenagers.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Post 44: Busride with an adult, some teenagers and the vodka bottles
flashback to October, 2005
I signed a contract with a new hitech company so I had a month off, free of job interviews and going to work. But I still didn't have a car. This wasn't so bad during the week, but Israeli Jewish holidays proved to be a bit challenging. Trains don't run during the Sabbath and religious holidays, and buses are hard to find, except in some of the mixed neighborhoods and cities such as Haifa.
Therefore, being secular and having the high holidays fall smack in the middle of the week can make you feel stranded. Rosh hashana passed. Yom kippur passed. Then it was Succot. There was no way we were going to spend 4 days without a car stuck in our house eating Pasta and watching DVDs of Seinfeld.
There were two new age festivals that were meant for families during the festival of Succot - one was Festival Breshit, at the Sea of Galilee and one was Segol, at the Dor beach. I didn't know one from the other, so I asked my son to choose. He chose fresh water over sea water, and that's how we ended up, one quiet morning during Succot, on a chartered bus - an eleven year old, a forty-two year old, and a bus full of teenagers with minimal shanti style clothing, multiple body-piercing, tattoos and vodka.
This was the bus to the family festival. After about ten minutes on the bus, I was ready to turn around. But I had already paid for the fares and so there was no turning back. There was nowhere to go anyway. Our tent and backpack were already in the baggage compartment of the bus and I was determined to get away from the city life, even though I missed driving the company car and stopping wherever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to.
Eventually we reached our destination on the eastern part of the Sea of Gailee, along with thousands of other teenagers, and thankfully, a few families. The family camping area was uncomfortably close to the noisy chai shop where many of the teenagers partied all night.
But before nightfall, I still had to pitch my tent, and there was someone who had offered to help me with that.
This writer called Arie's cellphone. There was no answer so she asked someone else to help her with the tent. Shortly before the sunset, her phone rang.
I signed a contract with a new hitech company so I had a month off, free of job interviews and going to work. But I still didn't have a car. This wasn't so bad during the week, but Israeli Jewish holidays proved to be a bit challenging. Trains don't run during the Sabbath and religious holidays, and buses are hard to find, except in some of the mixed neighborhoods and cities such as Haifa.
Therefore, being secular and having the high holidays fall smack in the middle of the week can make you feel stranded. Rosh hashana passed. Yom kippur passed. Then it was Succot. There was no way we were going to spend 4 days without a car stuck in our house eating Pasta and watching DVDs of Seinfeld.
There were two new age festivals that were meant for families during the festival of Succot - one was Festival Breshit, at the Sea of Galilee and one was Segol, at the Dor beach. I didn't know one from the other, so I asked my son to choose. He chose fresh water over sea water, and that's how we ended up, one quiet morning during Succot, on a chartered bus - an eleven year old, a forty-two year old, and a bus full of teenagers with minimal shanti style clothing, multiple body-piercing, tattoos and vodka.
This was the bus to the family festival. After about ten minutes on the bus, I was ready to turn around. But I had already paid for the fares and so there was no turning back. There was nowhere to go anyway. Our tent and backpack were already in the baggage compartment of the bus and I was determined to get away from the city life, even though I missed driving the company car and stopping wherever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to.
Eventually we reached our destination on the eastern part of the Sea of Gailee, along with thousands of other teenagers, and thankfully, a few families. The family camping area was uncomfortably close to the noisy chai shop where many of the teenagers partied all night.
But before nightfall, I still had to pitch my tent, and there was someone who had offered to help me with that.
This writer called Arie's cellphone. There was no answer so she asked someone else to help her with the tent. Shortly before the sunset, her phone rang.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Post 43: He appeared from the sidelines
flashback to October, 2005
Free. No work. No car. No boyfriend. No worries.
After 4 and a half years working at a hitech job in central Israel, I didn't yet know that they were about to lay me off. Before they could make a move, I had a massive Crohns-Colitis attack, the second of my life and ended up in hospital. It was a slow recovery with a lot of suffering and a few benefits. The first benefit was that I lost about ten kilos in a month (do NOT try this diet at home!) and men were looking at me again....people at work thought I was on vacation. Others thought I was pregnant, thanks to the steroids that I was on.
And since they didn't want to lay me off while I was sick, they waited a few months and gave me my notice in May. This gave me a few months to negotiate my dismissal and prepare for my new life.
Summer lent itself to a carefree life. Yes, I was job searching, but I was also rediscovering men and rather enjoying the attention. I didn't really want a boyfriend, since I was happy to have my health and life back. It really wasn't important anymore. But i went to a lot of social gatherings in order to network with men (and women) and find out about job leads. Since I was focused on the leads, and not on the men, they seemed happy to talk to me. In the end, they actually sent me cvs to send to the company I worked for, but that's another story.
The other project I took on was to set up my ex bachelor friends. Since I realized that I really really really had to swear off bachelors, the least i could do was take them to parties where they may be attracted to marriage-minded eligible young women of child-rearing age.
Little did I know that the party I took one of my friends to would actually attract my future boyfriend. I thought that the party, in northern Israel, would be full of young people, but we were the youngest there. The guests thought we were a couple, so they spoke to me with utmost confidence.
And then he appeared from the sidelines. He was interested in the carrot-orange juice that I bought, not in me, and he promptly drank almost the entire litre. We had a short conversation and we discovered that we were both headed for the same spiritual festival at the Sea of Galilee - festival Breshit - and both with our sons. We exchanged phone numbers and said we'd try to meet up there.
Nice. A divorced guy with a boy almost the same age as my son. Someone to help me put up my tent.
This writer forgot about why she had come to the party in the first place. her bachelor friend stayed a bachelor, but not for long.
Free. No work. No car. No boyfriend. No worries.
After 4 and a half years working at a hitech job in central Israel, I didn't yet know that they were about to lay me off. Before they could make a move, I had a massive Crohns-Colitis attack, the second of my life and ended up in hospital. It was a slow recovery with a lot of suffering and a few benefits. The first benefit was that I lost about ten kilos in a month (do NOT try this diet at home!) and men were looking at me again....people at work thought I was on vacation. Others thought I was pregnant, thanks to the steroids that I was on.
And since they didn't want to lay me off while I was sick, they waited a few months and gave me my notice in May. This gave me a few months to negotiate my dismissal and prepare for my new life.
Summer lent itself to a carefree life. Yes, I was job searching, but I was also rediscovering men and rather enjoying the attention. I didn't really want a boyfriend, since I was happy to have my health and life back. It really wasn't important anymore. But i went to a lot of social gatherings in order to network with men (and women) and find out about job leads. Since I was focused on the leads, and not on the men, they seemed happy to talk to me. In the end, they actually sent me cvs to send to the company I worked for, but that's another story.
The other project I took on was to set up my ex bachelor friends. Since I realized that I really really really had to swear off bachelors, the least i could do was take them to parties where they may be attracted to marriage-minded eligible young women of child-rearing age.
Little did I know that the party I took one of my friends to would actually attract my future boyfriend. I thought that the party, in northern Israel, would be full of young people, but we were the youngest there. The guests thought we were a couple, so they spoke to me with utmost confidence.
And then he appeared from the sidelines. He was interested in the carrot-orange juice that I bought, not in me, and he promptly drank almost the entire litre. We had a short conversation and we discovered that we were both headed for the same spiritual festival at the Sea of Galilee - festival Breshit - and both with our sons. We exchanged phone numbers and said we'd try to meet up there.
Nice. A divorced guy with a boy almost the same age as my son. Someone to help me put up my tent.
This writer forgot about why she had come to the party in the first place. her bachelor friend stayed a bachelor, but not for long.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Post 42: Eerie Era
I just finished seven years of writing. That's right (write?) Originally I wrote almost 41 posts before the era of blogs and when I decided to open a blog, I had material ready to post every few days. It took approximately six months to post these stories, and it was fun, albeit painful at times, to review each post in retrospect.
Now I will be creating new material. I don't know whether to pick up where I left off, or tell the story of what is happening to me now and then go back in time.
For the present, let me just thank my friends and family who have been following this blog and encourage them to share it with others. Just because I don't write under my real name, doesn't mean I don't want to be read.
Given the emotional state that I'm in right now, I can't guarantee the new material to be as witty or as fresh as past posts, but I can hope to offer my brand of cynicism with a little bit of cautious optimism thrown in for fun.....
This writer is shifting gears in this eerie era.
Now I will be creating new material. I don't know whether to pick up where I left off, or tell the story of what is happening to me now and then go back in time.
For the present, let me just thank my friends and family who have been following this blog and encourage them to share it with others. Just because I don't write under my real name, doesn't mean I don't want to be read.
Given the emotional state that I'm in right now, I can't guarantee the new material to be as witty or as fresh as past posts, but I can hope to offer my brand of cynicism with a little bit of cautious optimism thrown in for fun.....
This writer is shifting gears in this eerie era.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Post 41: Fishing for Space
originally created as Column Forty-one, April 2007
As I walked past the outdoor stands in the neighborhood shopping mall, just before Passover, I was attracted to the bright colors of several vodka bottles. Inside each bottle was a mini-aquarium containing water (not vodka) and a single fish. The salesperson was selling each bottle+fish+fishfood as a gift.
A few people walked by to inquire what she was selling. Most of them exclaimed "poor thing - he's all alone". The vendor explained that if the fish had a partner they would probably kill each other and that he can live for about four years in such a bottle. Furthermore, if you would put that fish in a huge aquarium, he would look for a quiet and intimate corner.
I didn't see anyone buying the fish, but many continued to protest at the fish's apparent bachelorhood. I found it amusing that despite the fact that the vendor explained that the fish was content being alone, people insisted that he was lonely. Even fish aren't allowed to be alone in Israel? Even being a single fish is socially unacceptable? I imagine that if people weren't so busy, they would quickly come up to the vendor with suggestions of eligible other fish to fix him up with, and if he would reject their candidacy, they would probably console their own fish and say "don't worry, there are plenty more in the sea".
A few people walked by to inquire what she was selling. Most of them exclaimed "poor thing - he's all alone". The vendor explained that if the fish had a partner they would probably kill each other and that he can live for about four years in such a bottle. Furthermore, if you would put that fish in a huge aquarium, he would look for a quiet and intimate corner.
I didn't see anyone buying the fish, but many continued to protest at the fish's apparent bachelorhood. I found it amusing that despite the fact that the vendor explained that the fish was content being alone, people insisted that he was lonely. Even fish aren't allowed to be alone in Israel? Even being a single fish is socially unacceptable? I imagine that if people weren't so busy, they would quickly come up to the vendor with suggestions of eligible other fish to fix him up with, and if he would reject their candidacy, they would probably console their own fish and say "don't worry, there are plenty more in the sea".
But seriously, this is the continuous obsession with having to have a partner or live with someone to be part of society. In a recent popular tv show, a single woman and her fiance call off the marriage. The camera shows the ex-bride crying hysterically in her living room. Her friend tries to console her. She says she is crying because she wanted her identity card to read "divorced". A comedy, yes, but sadly true.
It seems to be more acceptable to be divorced than to be single. Even the series "Sex and the City", that tried to glorify, or at least justify single women being single, ended the series with EACH one of the four single girls being married or at least having a serious, committed boyfriend. As the series did not continue, we do not know what happened to the characters and whether their relationships did succeed in the long-term, or not. However, the writers seemed to have given in, despite the non-conventional and daring manner in which the series was portrayed to the socially conservative notion of women living "happily ever after" with the men of their dreams.
And so here it was...a beautiful fish in a beautiful home happily sporting its colors and decorative environment to the passersby. But that was not enough. This single fish was not accepted by it society, not even on the eve of Passover!
This writer does NOT live with a boyfriend or husband in Israel,, but she is not lonely!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Post 40: Ecology and Loneliness
Originally created as Column Forty, January, 2005
I’m starting to think that all my single friends whether they are never married, widowed, divorced with children or divorced without don’t REALLY want to meet someone new…not deep down in their subconscious. On the one hand, we want to feel excitement, butterflies in their stomach, something different, new, explore and conquer the unknown….
I’m starting to think that all my single friends whether they are never married, widowed, divorced with children or divorced without don’t REALLY want to meet someone new…not deep down in their subconscious. On the one hand, we want to feel excitement, butterflies in their stomach, something different, new, explore and conquer the unknown….
But on the other hand we want the familiarity of people who have known them from 1-30 years, friends, people who have been with them through rough and better times, the familiarity of a hug or a smile or a certain joke, the ability to tease and yet being able to forgive…in short, everything that comes with being a friend….
And forever reason the “comfort’ of the “chevreh” (group of friends) is like the hug of a mother to a child…no replacement for it. And although sex has sometimes come into place with some of the chevreh, being that the “chevreh” consists of certain people who may or may not have slept with each other at some point within the last 1-20 years, it is not the main factor.
So you get together, some hormones rage, some don’t. “Hey Odelia, are you going back to Holon? My friend Dana lives there and it would be great if you could give her a lift back – otherwise I have to drive out of my way”, I said at a gathering of friends and friends of friends on a cold and rainy Saturday night approximately 30 kilometers away from Tel Aviv…”I haven’t decided if I’m going home” replied Odelia. (Odelia obviously did not have a young child or babysitter waiting for her to come home to Tel Aviv).
Ah, I understand later as I see her lurking next to the car of my ex boyfriend…later I find out she did go back to Tel Aviv – my ex boyfriend wanted her to stay over in the city where he lives. So he was rejected….he’s hard to resist…surprised that she rejected him…he didn’t even look me in the eye, but that was ok….I’ve moved on…maybe not….and so I dropped Dana off in Tel Aviv and went home alone but then get a call to see if I got home ok and then invited the caller over…it was a cold and rainy night. The caller wasn’t my recent ex boyfriend but there were endless possibilities of who would end up with whom that evening.
This writer asks why accept a hug from a stranger when you can recycle?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Post 39: The Princess and the Pea (The Pita and the Chick Pea)
Originally created as Column Thirty-nine, January, 2005
In post 33, the Cinderella Syndrome, I wrote about Cinderella and the slipper, when my shoe broke at a company event I attended with my then boyfriend. Today I tell the tale of the Princess and the Pea, the legend of a prince’s search to discover and then marry a true sensitive princess who would feel a pea under 20 mattresses and 20 blankets. Personally I think being married to such a woman would be difficult as the trait in this case is hypersensitivity rather than sensitivity, but let’s look at the similarities between the Princess and the Pea and me.
I sleep with 4 blankets in the winter as I have no one else to keep me warm (and the apartments in the coastal area of Israel are not heated.
I went to a party where I was hungry and there wasn’t much food, so I helped myself to some humous, which is made out of chick peas.
The housewarming party was in an old hut on a “moshav” – a village in Israel in the Jerusalem hills and the houseguests, many whom didn’t even know the host but heard there was a party numbered over a hundred. After eating the humous in a piece of pita bread (the pita and the chick pea = the princess and the pea), I turned around to the voice of a European prince who asked me if it was tasty.
“Not bad, I replied but when you’re hungry, you can’t complain”. The European’s eyes met mine and we smiled at each other. Hopefully, no traces of humous remained around my lips. “Where are you from” I asked. (Very royal conversation). “Tel Aviv” the European replied. “Oh, you’re not from Spain or Argentina?” I asked. “You have some sort of Latin accent”.
“Italian, I studied industrial design in Milan for 4 years. By the way, the colors you are wearing become you. “
(“And I’m a writer”, I thought, but I haven’t written in ages. So I’ll have to go home and write.)
“Thanks, I don’t like wearing black. It depresses me, and I guess green matches my eyes”.
“Yes, and I may not know a lot but I do know a lot about color”.
And eventually the prince (who wasn’t European after all) and princess walked outside of the crowded house to get some privacy. He held my hands. But he’s looking for a bachelorette, an unmarried female, and I’m divorced with a child….and what do I need to be involved with another bachelor for, especially one who isn’t interested in me as I am not a true princess, despite finding the chick pea under a pile of 20 pitas.
But for a few moments I was a princess and he was a princess.
This writer was so happy that she took the toll highway home from Jerusalem instead of the regular highway and her euphoria cost her fifty shekels. A fee fit only for a rich princess.
In post 33, the Cinderella Syndrome, I wrote about Cinderella and the slipper, when my shoe broke at a company event I attended with my then boyfriend. Today I tell the tale of the Princess and the Pea, the legend of a prince’s search to discover and then marry a true sensitive princess who would feel a pea under 20 mattresses and 20 blankets. Personally I think being married to such a woman would be difficult as the trait in this case is hypersensitivity rather than sensitivity, but let’s look at the similarities between the Princess and the Pea and me.
I sleep with 4 blankets in the winter as I have no one else to keep me warm (and the apartments in the coastal area of Israel are not heated.
I went to a party where I was hungry and there wasn’t much food, so I helped myself to some humous, which is made out of chick peas.
The housewarming party was in an old hut on a “moshav” – a village in Israel in the Jerusalem hills and the houseguests, many whom didn’t even know the host but heard there was a party numbered over a hundred. After eating the humous in a piece of pita bread (the pita and the chick pea = the princess and the pea), I turned around to the voice of a European prince who asked me if it was tasty.
“Not bad, I replied but when you’re hungry, you can’t complain”. The European’s eyes met mine and we smiled at each other. Hopefully, no traces of humous remained around my lips. “Where are you from” I asked. (Very royal conversation). “Tel Aviv” the European replied. “Oh, you’re not from Spain or Argentina?” I asked. “You have some sort of Latin accent”.
“Italian, I studied industrial design in Milan for 4 years. By the way, the colors you are wearing become you. “
(“And I’m a writer”, I thought, but I haven’t written in ages. So I’ll have to go home and write.)
“Thanks, I don’t like wearing black. It depresses me, and I guess green matches my eyes”.
“Yes, and I may not know a lot but I do know a lot about color”.
And eventually the prince (who wasn’t European after all) and princess walked outside of the crowded house to get some privacy. He held my hands. But he’s looking for a bachelorette, an unmarried female, and I’m divorced with a child….and what do I need to be involved with another bachelor for, especially one who isn’t interested in me as I am not a true princess, despite finding the chick pea under a pile of 20 pitas.
But for a few moments I was a princess and he was a princess.
This writer was so happy that she took the toll highway home from Jerusalem instead of the regular highway and her euphoria cost her fifty shekels. A fee fit only for a rich princess.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Post 38: I Feel the Earth Move
originally created as Column Thirty-eight, February, 2004
Febuary, 2004, “Winter” in Israel. The economic situation in Israel is deteriorating. Technology is advancing but social benefits are being cut by the government and the middle class is slowly but surely disappearing. Unemployment is high and those working are hanging on to their jobs for dear life.
So what has this to do with dating and No Sex in the City? Sex doesn’t cost money between singles if there are two mutual and willing parties, but the steps you need to take to have sex do cost money. Whether you are a mother with a young child at home who needs a babysitter in order to go on a date or a man who usually pays for coffee during a first date, at least, the hidden agenda, whether it takes one date, three months, or an engagement, is sex.
Of course, there are other ambitions among single people looking for a life partner or even a temporary partner – mutual interests, values, perhaps wanting to have children, and for those of us divorced with children, the compatibility of our children with theirs, in the remote future.
But this winter, the singles are hibernating behind their computer screens. Snuggling under their thick blankets alone or perhaps finding comfort (not sexual) with the companionship of their children and/or pets or the eternal wait for their laundry to dry before it rains, yet again. We embrace the 15 degree temperatures during the day whereas our friends and family in Canada think it’s a summer day when the thermometer rises from -45 to -15.
So despite the tough situation here economically, we smile and enjoy the days of sunshine between the wet days and cool nights and heave a sigh of relief, “thank goodness I don’t live in Canada in the winter!” Yes, I think I am immune to the influence of natural causes here, because the weather simply is the best part of living here. Who cares about terrorists and car accidents when I can feel solace in the sunshine as I sit without a coat as I eat lunch at an outdoor café. So this morning I vowed to concentrate only on work, and not think about the emotional and financial difficulties my son and I are having. Immersed in proofreading the English text of a technical diagram, I quickly forget the world except regarding font size, punctuation and grammar.
Before I know it I feel the whole room shake and I move quickly to stand between the door frames of the office. A few minutes later, the internet confirmed my intuitive prognosis. EARTHQUAKE in central Israel. Measured 4.5 on the Richter scale. Wonder if there is going to be an aftershock.
Some people feel the earth move when they are having sex. This writer thinks that her chances for having a boyfriend before spring are less than the chances of being in another earthquake. She also hopes it will take less than another earthquake before she gets child support owing to her son for more than a year.
Febuary, 2004, “Winter” in Israel. The economic situation in Israel is deteriorating. Technology is advancing but social benefits are being cut by the government and the middle class is slowly but surely disappearing. Unemployment is high and those working are hanging on to their jobs for dear life.
So what has this to do with dating and No Sex in the City? Sex doesn’t cost money between singles if there are two mutual and willing parties, but the steps you need to take to have sex do cost money. Whether you are a mother with a young child at home who needs a babysitter in order to go on a date or a man who usually pays for coffee during a first date, at least, the hidden agenda, whether it takes one date, three months, or an engagement, is sex.
Of course, there are other ambitions among single people looking for a life partner or even a temporary partner – mutual interests, values, perhaps wanting to have children, and for those of us divorced with children, the compatibility of our children with theirs, in the remote future.
But this winter, the singles are hibernating behind their computer screens. Snuggling under their thick blankets alone or perhaps finding comfort (not sexual) with the companionship of their children and/or pets or the eternal wait for their laundry to dry before it rains, yet again. We embrace the 15 degree temperatures during the day whereas our friends and family in Canada think it’s a summer day when the thermometer rises from -45 to -15.
So despite the tough situation here economically, we smile and enjoy the days of sunshine between the wet days and cool nights and heave a sigh of relief, “thank goodness I don’t live in Canada in the winter!” Yes, I think I am immune to the influence of natural causes here, because the weather simply is the best part of living here. Who cares about terrorists and car accidents when I can feel solace in the sunshine as I sit without a coat as I eat lunch at an outdoor café. So this morning I vowed to concentrate only on work, and not think about the emotional and financial difficulties my son and I are having. Immersed in proofreading the English text of a technical diagram, I quickly forget the world except regarding font size, punctuation and grammar.
Before I know it I feel the whole room shake and I move quickly to stand between the door frames of the office. A few minutes later, the internet confirmed my intuitive prognosis. EARTHQUAKE in central Israel. Measured 4.5 on the Richter scale. Wonder if there is going to be an aftershock.
Some people feel the earth move when they are having sex. This writer thinks that her chances for having a boyfriend before spring are less than the chances of being in another earthquake. She also hopes it will take less than another earthquake before she gets child support owing to her son for more than a year.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Post 37: The Ice Cream Test
originally created as Column Thirty-seven, October, 2003
The Ice Cream Test
We had 20 minutes to kill before the movie and there was no place to grab a coffee, so my date and I entered the ice cream parlor on the floor above the movie theater. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for ice cream but there wasn’t much choice unless we wanted to stroll around the popular drug-store franchise. It was my second date with Aaron and already I knew that we had a lot in common: Both divorced with children, both working in hi-tech, both from English speaking countries with no parents in Israel and both of us liking the tv show “Sex and the City”.
The ice cream bar featured numerous flavors and then came the shock. He ordered two scoops of chocolate ice cream. I stood astonished as he chose the chocolate among the multitude of flavors ranging from lemon sherbet and strawberry cheesecake to poppyseed and pistachio. He looked at me, explaining “I know that vanilla is the most popular flavor around the world, but I like chocolate.” We sat down with our ice cream (I decided that I needed a sugar fix at this point to recover from my shock, and ordered one scoop of lemon sherbet). I leaned over the table and whispered quietly to him “I’ve heard of people like you. I just didn’t know they actually existed.” Then I realized that I might have hurt his feelings by insinuating that he was “common”, and I thought more deeply about the subject. If he had so many choices and chose chocolate, then maybe this was actually a good sign. Maybe this was a sign of knowing what he wants and sticking to it. Of faithfulness. Of devotion. A man who could be surrounded by diverse and plentiful flavours of ice cream and yet still stick to his favourite might do the same regarding women. Say he's at a business conference in Europe, surrounded by a multitude of women of varying heights, ages and figures, wearing different colored clothes, and speaking different languages, he would resist the temptation to try any of the options available. So therefore, who needs a private detective?
To the woman wanting to know if your potential boyfriend is a Don Juan or a one-woman man, this writer says: Simply take him out for ice cream.
The Ice Cream Test
We had 20 minutes to kill before the movie and there was no place to grab a coffee, so my date and I entered the ice cream parlor on the floor above the movie theater. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for ice cream but there wasn’t much choice unless we wanted to stroll around the popular drug-store franchise. It was my second date with Aaron and already I knew that we had a lot in common: Both divorced with children, both working in hi-tech, both from English speaking countries with no parents in Israel and both of us liking the tv show “Sex and the City”.
The ice cream bar featured numerous flavors and then came the shock. He ordered two scoops of chocolate ice cream. I stood astonished as he chose the chocolate among the multitude of flavors ranging from lemon sherbet and strawberry cheesecake to poppyseed and pistachio. He looked at me, explaining “I know that vanilla is the most popular flavor around the world, but I like chocolate.” We sat down with our ice cream (I decided that I needed a sugar fix at this point to recover from my shock, and ordered one scoop of lemon sherbet). I leaned over the table and whispered quietly to him “I’ve heard of people like you. I just didn’t know they actually existed.” Then I realized that I might have hurt his feelings by insinuating that he was “common”, and I thought more deeply about the subject. If he had so many choices and chose chocolate, then maybe this was actually a good sign. Maybe this was a sign of knowing what he wants and sticking to it. Of faithfulness. Of devotion. A man who could be surrounded by diverse and plentiful flavours of ice cream and yet still stick to his favourite might do the same regarding women. Say he's at a business conference in Europe, surrounded by a multitude of women of varying heights, ages and figures, wearing different colored clothes, and speaking different languages, he would resist the temptation to try any of the options available. So therefore, who needs a private detective?
To the woman wanting to know if your potential boyfriend is a Don Juan or a one-woman man, this writer says: Simply take him out for ice cream.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Post 36: A 'cheep' (not cheap) overnight guest
originally created as Column 36, June 2003
A “cheep” (not cheap) Overnight Guest
NO SLEEP CAUSE OF CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP....
I couldn't sleep last night cause there was a loud chirp or beep beep beep
in my 9 year old son’s room all night. I thought it was his alarm clock or a plastic hammer or some other toy that you get if you order a children’s meal at McDonald's. But I couldn’t find any toys. Then I thought it might be a car alarm. It was driving me crazy and I couldn't sleep. I closed my door but it was really loud. I was up til 3 or 4 am. Then at 5 am my son came to my room and told me he couldn't sleep cause there was something chirping in his room. I said, it stopped...just stay in my room and we'll deal with it in the morning, so we slept for 2 hours and then in the morning., we went to his room and heard NOTHING.
I said to my son”, this is crazy, I need to find out what the noise was. I can't take another night of this cheep cheep cheep as loud as a car alarm. I took apart everything in his room and still.....silence....
Then we heard faintly again CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP....if it was a bird or a
housefly the thing would use its wings, and if it was a mouse, there would be droppings, and it was mechanical it wouldn't stop the minute I walked into the room …and then my son suddenly saw something and yelled “COCKROACH!!!!”
But Cockroaches don't sing. (They are actually quiet) It was a cricket!!!!
I ran for the RAID and finally killed him....
This writer is now relieved to see cockroaches sneaking around the kitchen at night. At least they don’t sing!
A “cheep” (not cheap) Overnight Guest
NO SLEEP CAUSE OF CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP....
I couldn't sleep last night cause there was a loud chirp or beep beep beep
in my 9 year old son’s room all night. I thought it was his alarm clock or a plastic hammer or some other toy that you get if you order a children’s meal at McDonald's. But I couldn’t find any toys. Then I thought it might be a car alarm. It was driving me crazy and I couldn't sleep. I closed my door but it was really loud. I was up til 3 or 4 am. Then at 5 am my son came to my room and told me he couldn't sleep cause there was something chirping in his room. I said, it stopped...just stay in my room and we'll deal with it in the morning, so we slept for 2 hours and then in the morning., we went to his room and heard NOTHING.
I said to my son”, this is crazy, I need to find out what the noise was. I can't take another night of this cheep cheep cheep as loud as a car alarm. I took apart everything in his room and still.....silence....
Then we heard faintly again CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP....if it was a bird or a
housefly the thing would use its wings, and if it was a mouse, there would be droppings, and it was mechanical it wouldn't stop the minute I walked into the room …and then my son suddenly saw something and yelled “COCKROACH!!!!”
But Cockroaches don't sing. (They are actually quiet) It was a cricket!!!!
I ran for the RAID and finally killed him....
This writer is now relieved to see cockroaches sneaking around the kitchen at night. At least they don’t sing!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Post 35: C'mon Baby Light My Fire
originally created as Column Thirty-Five, April, 2003
I told everyone I would have a boyfriend by my 40th birthday. Well I don’t. So I am inviting 4 ex-boyfriends (at least) to my birthday. Oh, and I wanted someone to really turn me on for my birthday. Someone to make me feel really hot. And instead I got a real fire. Yup, my split-unit air conditioner/heater short circuited and went up in flames 2 weeks before my birthday. I’ve wanted to spend the night in someone else’s home for quite some time. Well, I did –had to sleep at the neighbors during the night of the fire to avoid smoke inhalation. I wanted to meet new men, so I did. Fire fighters, insurance agents, paramedics, appraisers and air conditioning salesmen.
On the program, “Sex in the City”, the fire fighters were well built and sexy. In Israel, all this writer received was a bill from the fire department.
I told everyone I would have a boyfriend by my 40th birthday. Well I don’t. So I am inviting 4 ex-boyfriends (at least) to my birthday. Oh, and I wanted someone to really turn me on for my birthday. Someone to make me feel really hot. And instead I got a real fire. Yup, my split-unit air conditioner/heater short circuited and went up in flames 2 weeks before my birthday. I’ve wanted to spend the night in someone else’s home for quite some time. Well, I did –had to sleep at the neighbors during the night of the fire to avoid smoke inhalation. I wanted to meet new men, so I did. Fire fighters, insurance agents, paramedics, appraisers and air conditioning salesmen.
On the program, “Sex in the City”, the fire fighters were well built and sexy. In Israel, all this writer received was a bill from the fire department.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Post 34: No Sex in the Desert
originally created as Column 34, February, 2003
"No Sex in the Desert" OR "My Boyfriend Cheated on Me with a Rifle"
I don’t usually give two titles to these posts, but this was an exception, especially when this writer actually had a boyfriend for the first time in 3 years. For 6 weeks. And about 12 dates!
There I was. In a huge Bedouin tent in the middle of a desert in a sleeping bag. On a mattress. ALONE! And a few mattresses away lay Ariel. My boyfriend. Or he was my boyfriend. Only he was ignoring me and sleeping with his rifle instead.
I didn’t really expect to have sex in the desert in front of 15 other adult campers. I just wanted to be warm. And it’s not like some beautiful thin young woman had stolen my boyfriend. I was competing with a rifle….
So he ignored me. On Friday and for most of Saturday.
I was in one of the most romantic spots in the world – Ein Gedi – an oasis in a desert. But my love life dried up like a drained waterfall. Even Ariel remarked how wonderful the nature reserve was and how long it had been since he had hiked to such a beautiful area but he wouldn’t hold my hand or put his arm around me. He did let me lend him some toothpaste and share his backpack and he did hold my hand when he thought I would fall. But no one knew we were a couple. Or had been a couple. For the last 6 weeks. So I told him I wouldn’t call him again. That he could take the time to do the thinking he needed to do. About us. And that was 8 days ago. I haven’t heard from him since.
Sure enough I got another cold sore, a really ugly one in the middle of my lip, so I am not in a rush to date the leftover men that I had started to make contact with before I was set up with this cute but introverted and non-communicative bachelor.
I wanted 5 dates. I got about 11. It was nice having a boyfriend for 6 weeks or so. Even nicer than having an imaginary one.
But it’s back to the drawing board. Now what am I going to do?
My friends say it’s simple: STOP COUNTING DATES!!!!
But how can I stop? Behavioral therapy? My friends practically sent a press release out when I made it past the 5th date. One friend thought the Messiah was on its way. The other one was sure that Bush was about to attack Iraq. Well, the last time I spent the Gulf War with a boyfriend I ended up getting engaged. And I don’t think I’d want to go through that again….
Of course this writer is sad, but what does she expect after being Cinderella and having her shoe rescued by Prince Charming. Instead of the clock striking 12 and Cinderella’s chariot turning into a pumpkin.
"No Sex in the Desert" OR "My Boyfriend Cheated on Me with a Rifle"
I don’t usually give two titles to these posts, but this was an exception, especially when this writer actually had a boyfriend for the first time in 3 years. For 6 weeks. And about 12 dates!
There I was. In a huge Bedouin tent in the middle of a desert in a sleeping bag. On a mattress. ALONE! And a few mattresses away lay Ariel. My boyfriend. Or he was my boyfriend. Only he was ignoring me and sleeping with his rifle instead.
I didn’t really expect to have sex in the desert in front of 15 other adult campers. I just wanted to be warm. And it’s not like some beautiful thin young woman had stolen my boyfriend. I was competing with a rifle….
So he ignored me. On Friday and for most of Saturday.
I was in one of the most romantic spots in the world – Ein Gedi – an oasis in a desert. But my love life dried up like a drained waterfall. Even Ariel remarked how wonderful the nature reserve was and how long it had been since he had hiked to such a beautiful area but he wouldn’t hold my hand or put his arm around me. He did let me lend him some toothpaste and share his backpack and he did hold my hand when he thought I would fall. But no one knew we were a couple. Or had been a couple. For the last 6 weeks. So I told him I wouldn’t call him again. That he could take the time to do the thinking he needed to do. About us. And that was 8 days ago. I haven’t heard from him since.
Sure enough I got another cold sore, a really ugly one in the middle of my lip, so I am not in a rush to date the leftover men that I had started to make contact with before I was set up with this cute but introverted and non-communicative bachelor.
I wanted 5 dates. I got about 11. It was nice having a boyfriend for 6 weeks or so. Even nicer than having an imaginary one.
But it’s back to the drawing board. Now what am I going to do?
My friends say it’s simple: STOP COUNTING DATES!!!!
But how can I stop? Behavioral therapy? My friends practically sent a press release out when I made it past the 5th date. One friend thought the Messiah was on its way. The other one was sure that Bush was about to attack Iraq. Well, the last time I spent the Gulf War with a boyfriend I ended up getting engaged. And I don’t think I’d want to go through that again….
Of course this writer is sad, but what does she expect after being Cinderella and having her shoe rescued by Prince Charming. Instead of the clock striking 12 and Cinderella’s chariot turning into a pumpkin.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Post 33: The Cinderella Syndrome
originally created as column 33, December, 2002
Carrie Bradshaw, the protagonist in the t.v. series “Sex and the City” likes shoes and buys them. Expensive ones. Lots of them. High quality shoes. I buy shoes on sale. And for the first time ever she bought shoes in a second hand store on a kibbutz. Cheap. Really cheap. But she used them, and walked with them. And wore them to work. Several times.
I also love to get all dressed up but in Israel people can wear jeans to work as well as out in the evening. Most don’t, but it is hard to find an opportunity to wear an elegant dress. Even at weddings it is less common to see jeans but various styles of pants are common. But I am not an expert on fashion nor do I follow the crowds. And I definitely do not have the style or figure of Carrie Bradshaw. You will not catch me dead with my huge stomach exposed or low cut pants. Thank goodness for the return of high cut pants and the demise of mini skirts. Hemlines are all over the place allowing shortwaisted and not so tall women like me the opportunity to choose whatever length skirt or pants I desire….
And so at work you will see me wearing glasses and casual pants with a twin set, sweater or jacket, I have also been sighted with Bohemian style dresses, pom pom draped shirts or tailored suits. And I have dated men who don only jeans as well as men who have Italian shirts and suits featured in the wardrobe (one whose apartment was filthy but whose suits were meticulous).
And then it happened. Beware. The Bachelors are Back. I tried to meet divorcees. I must give off “stay away” when a divorcee with a child sees me coming. I even had a second date with a divorced non-smoking, guitar playing, educated father of three. And then he disappeared. Yup. Many of my friends and colleagues, some of them having never been married before have married or are dating divorcees with children and I am dating a bachelor.
I could see right from our first date that Ariel knew how to dress. From his shiny pumpkin brown shoes to his ironed brown pants (material unknown but not blue denim), freshly applied aftershave (how he did that when coming straight from work I don’t know), I realized that this was a guy who should appreciate the dresses I have been hiding in my closet.
And then the opportunity arose. He invited me to an end of year party from his workplace. It was winter in Israel, and yet I knew that there would be over 400 people and the place would warm up. What should I wear? Classic long black velvet or a mid length but sexy olive green dress with a V-neck and colored beads framing the hemline? I immediately knew that it had to be the green dress, but I did not know how to deal with the temperature factor until Dafna provided me with the perfect accessories – a drape around green and black scarf, an elegant grey black and white beaded Yemenite style necklace which I matched with delicate greyish-black earrings. I got my hair styled smooth and straight for a change instead of my usual wild curly look and all that was left was makeup, beige stockings without a run and …..shoes.
The inconspicuous four-eyed office employee during the day turned into Cinderella in the evening. And the evening could not have been more perfect. The two week rainstorm had finally come to a halt, my son was sleeping over at a friend’s house and Ariel was coming to pick me up.
From my bitter experience, if something will go wrong, it will go wrong. Usually this involves the car breaking down, the babysitter forgetting which day to show up, a virus or a date’s friend dying or a date getting sick himself. Not even a terrorist attack stopped the evening from starting on time, as planned and I even got some verbal reaction from the handsome but mainly silent bachelor. He took a sort of double take, a half smile and then said “matim lach” – it becomes you. Ha! I thought.. A far cry from the bulky long blue sweater I layered on top of a turtleneck and the frizzy uncombed hair I sported on the sunny but semi-cool day that we met on a hike with a bunch of friends.
So Cinderella and Prince Charming drove in her modern day chariot, a company car she could not afford but drove anyway to the modern day ball – a wedding hall near the beach. As she stepped out of the car, Cinderella lost her slipper. There it was on the ground. Half of her left heel. Of her left shoe. Her second hand shoe. Her elegant and matching but CHEAP left shoe!
Goodbye Cinderella. Back to crisis management Galit…..what to do?
Go barefoot into the events hall (with stockings, not so nice)
Break the other shoe (Might not work – at least I can walk with one normal shoe)
Go home and get another pair of shoes (we were already late and would miss the evening)
Go to next door shopping center and look for shoes (they only sell running shoes)
Go to Home Center and buy glue.
Guess who didn’t bring money with her, or even a credit card that evening? Me. Ariel, thank goodness, the super glue only cost 10 shekels (2 US dollars at the time – 3.5 dollars at the time of this posting in 2008) and the shopping center was still open. The handyman there was very helpful, sanded down the shoe and glued the heel back. He said his father’s dream was always that he be a shoemaker and now I made his dream come true. And he healed the heel. And Prince Charming rescued Cinderella with buying super glue. And the embarrassed Cinderella knew that she would never be a princess, even for an evening as if something is to go wrong, it goes wrong.
But the car had fuel. The flu bug stayed away. The pantyhose didn’t run. The terrorists decided to stay home and get their laundry dry. My son stayed healthy and didn’t run away from his friend’s home.
In fairy tales, the prince gets married to Cinderella after finding her slipper, but in this writer’s life, all she wants to know is….will there be a fifth date???????
Carrie Bradshaw, the protagonist in the t.v. series “Sex and the City” likes shoes and buys them. Expensive ones. Lots of them. High quality shoes. I buy shoes on sale. And for the first time ever she bought shoes in a second hand store on a kibbutz. Cheap. Really cheap. But she used them, and walked with them. And wore them to work. Several times.
I also love to get all dressed up but in Israel people can wear jeans to work as well as out in the evening. Most don’t, but it is hard to find an opportunity to wear an elegant dress. Even at weddings it is less common to see jeans but various styles of pants are common. But I am not an expert on fashion nor do I follow the crowds. And I definitely do not have the style or figure of Carrie Bradshaw. You will not catch me dead with my huge stomach exposed or low cut pants. Thank goodness for the return of high cut pants and the demise of mini skirts. Hemlines are all over the place allowing shortwaisted and not so tall women like me the opportunity to choose whatever length skirt or pants I desire….
And so at work you will see me wearing glasses and casual pants with a twin set, sweater or jacket, I have also been sighted with Bohemian style dresses, pom pom draped shirts or tailored suits. And I have dated men who don only jeans as well as men who have Italian shirts and suits featured in the wardrobe (one whose apartment was filthy but whose suits were meticulous).
And then it happened. Beware. The Bachelors are Back. I tried to meet divorcees. I must give off “stay away” when a divorcee with a child sees me coming. I even had a second date with a divorced non-smoking, guitar playing, educated father of three. And then he disappeared. Yup. Many of my friends and colleagues, some of them having never been married before have married or are dating divorcees with children and I am dating a bachelor.
I could see right from our first date that Ariel knew how to dress. From his shiny pumpkin brown shoes to his ironed brown pants (material unknown but not blue denim), freshly applied aftershave (how he did that when coming straight from work I don’t know), I realized that this was a guy who should appreciate the dresses I have been hiding in my closet.
And then the opportunity arose. He invited me to an end of year party from his workplace. It was winter in Israel, and yet I knew that there would be over 400 people and the place would warm up. What should I wear? Classic long black velvet or a mid length but sexy olive green dress with a V-neck and colored beads framing the hemline? I immediately knew that it had to be the green dress, but I did not know how to deal with the temperature factor until Dafna provided me with the perfect accessories – a drape around green and black scarf, an elegant grey black and white beaded Yemenite style necklace which I matched with delicate greyish-black earrings. I got my hair styled smooth and straight for a change instead of my usual wild curly look and all that was left was makeup, beige stockings without a run and …..shoes.
The inconspicuous four-eyed office employee during the day turned into Cinderella in the evening. And the evening could not have been more perfect. The two week rainstorm had finally come to a halt, my son was sleeping over at a friend’s house and Ariel was coming to pick me up.
From my bitter experience, if something will go wrong, it will go wrong. Usually this involves the car breaking down, the babysitter forgetting which day to show up, a virus or a date’s friend dying or a date getting sick himself. Not even a terrorist attack stopped the evening from starting on time, as planned and I even got some verbal reaction from the handsome but mainly silent bachelor. He took a sort of double take, a half smile and then said “matim lach” – it becomes you. Ha! I thought.. A far cry from the bulky long blue sweater I layered on top of a turtleneck and the frizzy uncombed hair I sported on the sunny but semi-cool day that we met on a hike with a bunch of friends.
So Cinderella and Prince Charming drove in her modern day chariot, a company car she could not afford but drove anyway to the modern day ball – a wedding hall near the beach. As she stepped out of the car, Cinderella lost her slipper. There it was on the ground. Half of her left heel. Of her left shoe. Her second hand shoe. Her elegant and matching but CHEAP left shoe!
Goodbye Cinderella. Back to crisis management Galit…..what to do?
Go barefoot into the events hall (with stockings, not so nice)
Break the other shoe (Might not work – at least I can walk with one normal shoe)
Go home and get another pair of shoes (we were already late and would miss the evening)
Go to next door shopping center and look for shoes (they only sell running shoes)
Go to Home Center and buy glue.
Guess who didn’t bring money with her, or even a credit card that evening? Me. Ariel, thank goodness, the super glue only cost 10 shekels (2 US dollars at the time – 3.5 dollars at the time of this posting in 2008) and the shopping center was still open. The handyman there was very helpful, sanded down the shoe and glued the heel back. He said his father’s dream was always that he be a shoemaker and now I made his dream come true. And he healed the heel. And Prince Charming rescued Cinderella with buying super glue. And the embarrassed Cinderella knew that she would never be a princess, even for an evening as if something is to go wrong, it goes wrong.
But the car had fuel. The flu bug stayed away. The pantyhose didn’t run. The terrorists decided to stay home and get their laundry dry. My son stayed healthy and didn’t run away from his friend’s home.
In fairy tales, the prince gets married to Cinderella after finding her slipper, but in this writer’s life, all she wants to know is….will there be a fifth date???????
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Post 32: Sooner or Later
originally created as Column 32, September, 2002
Evan met Ben in the park and told me about him. Divorced, non-smoker, attractive, “anglo-saxon” and good-looking. But he doesn’t like setting people up so he wouldn’t give him my phone number nor him mine. “Look for him on the internet”, he said and told me what site to find him on. I didn’t bother and then a few months later, Ben contacted me on the internet. I sent him pictures, per his request and got not even a thank you. Considering the bachelors and married men who won’t leave me alone, I imagine that I am not that ugly, but for whatever reason (maybe Ben met someone else or got back with an old girlfriend) I never heard from him. Neither did Evan.
Another six months passed until last night. Evan, my son and I went to a music concert where a familiar looking guy started talking to Evan. I realized that it was Ben and winked at Evan. Evan introduced me and asked if we knew each other. We both said “no”. Ben was polite but didn’t seem particularly interested in me. My son tried to gain attention throughout the performance.. Ben disappeared ever so quickly when the performance was over. Sooner or later it was going to happen. Perhaps he was embarrassed at the confrontation. I didn’t get any dates out of confronting the internet man who thought he could escape her screen. My son got to play a rare instrument and be applauded by an audience of 20. A full moon shone with the stars onto the rooftop, and I forgot the threat of terrorists, at least for an hour.
Evan met Ben in the park and told me about him. Divorced, non-smoker, attractive, “anglo-saxon” and good-looking. But he doesn’t like setting people up so he wouldn’t give him my phone number nor him mine. “Look for him on the internet”, he said and told me what site to find him on. I didn’t bother and then a few months later, Ben contacted me on the internet. I sent him pictures, per his request and got not even a thank you. Considering the bachelors and married men who won’t leave me alone, I imagine that I am not that ugly, but for whatever reason (maybe Ben met someone else or got back with an old girlfriend) I never heard from him. Neither did Evan.
Another six months passed until last night. Evan, my son and I went to a music concert where a familiar looking guy started talking to Evan. I realized that it was Ben and winked at Evan. Evan introduced me and asked if we knew each other. We both said “no”. Ben was polite but didn’t seem particularly interested in me. My son tried to gain attention throughout the performance.. Ben disappeared ever so quickly when the performance was over. Sooner or later it was going to happen. Perhaps he was embarrassed at the confrontation. I didn’t get any dates out of confronting the internet man who thought he could escape her screen. My son got to play a rare instrument and be applauded by an audience of 20. A full moon shone with the stars onto the rooftop, and I forgot the threat of terrorists, at least for an hour.
No sex and no future dates, but this writer spent the evening with the two most attractive men in the room on either side of her, even though one was eight-years-old.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Post 31: Viruses spread in more than one way
originally created as Column Thirty-one, July, 2002
A virus attacked my computer during the second year of writing these anecdotes. This left my creativity and my emotions vulnerable to change. A friend (who thankfully likes only very thin women, is faithful to his wife and therefore, thank goodness did NOT start up with me) helped reformat my computer, although I had already hung a “rest in peace” sign on its screen a few months ago. Don, my ex-boyfriend (very ex at this point, as he and Marilyn have been living together for over a year) called me very disappointed that I had not written my columns (which were to be the material for this blog) for a long time.
“I don’t have the muse. I am too tired”.
“Aw c’mon. I’m sure you can think of something” he implored with his usual, over-confident tone of voice.
Blank. I had to think. Certainly I had toyed with enough material in my head over the last eight months or so. And then it hit me.
Not only did the virus strike my computer and stopped me physically from writing, but it also stopped the “No Sex”. Yes, I know it is a double negative, but it is really simple. Liat and Dafna did not want to star in my column and therefore started to have sex. No, not with each other.
I simply infected them with the idea of “No Sex” and they were so fed up with the idea that they decided to break their track record. Dafna has been seeing a commitment-shy bachelor for about two months and has even admitted that her hormones are working again. I told her that she has won the Oscar in terms of the number of dates that she has had in the last few years, but she says that the Academy Awards has several categories and although I might not win best picture, I still win multiple awards in other categories. Liat has the most varied location shots, as she has not had sex in the exotic countries she has traveled to and best original soundtrack for all the music performances she has gone to, but not had sex during.
Liat’s most successful pickup spot is a swimming pool, which means that her dates see her without clothes before they see her with clothes. I suppose that might kill the element of surprise. Men also flirt with her at traffic lights, in which case they see her face before her body. In any case, she is slowly but surely on her way to having a boyfriend. I can feel it in the air. No justified explanation – just my influence on her.
I have made a few enemies and some admirers since I started to write this but I will take it as flattery before I get tomatoes and eggs thrown at me. Well, that’s one way of doing on-line grocery shopping.
You might also be wondering what happened to Tal. Yes, hopefully last bachelor I will get emotionally attached to in my life. Our relationship finally reached the supermarket level – that is not only did he get a cellphone but I actually called him to bring me something from the grocery store on his way to visit me. Then two months ago he realized that he was getting emotionally attached to me and that if he wanted to meet someone serious, we would have to stop seeing each other. Hey, that wasn’t fair. I had continued to date and it was supposed to be me to “break up” with him.
But how can you break up with someone you aren’t even officially seeing? That was tricky, and I myself didn’t know how to do it, so Tal won the competition and did it first.
I root for Liat and Dafna to run on separate tracks to the finish line, and hope that their return to this column will only arrive if their boyfriends/lovers/future husbands are in army reserve duty or out of the country on business.
Since then I actually made it to four dates with a divorcee (bachelors are strictly off limit to me
after Evan and Tal) who turned out to be too critical for my taste and so I’m back to first dates, the starting line, the drawing board, and back here, to this column, this screen and back to sleeping alone.
It’s summer now, so this writer doesn’t need a human electric blanket.
A virus attacked my computer during the second year of writing these anecdotes. This left my creativity and my emotions vulnerable to change. A friend (who thankfully likes only very thin women, is faithful to his wife and therefore, thank goodness did NOT start up with me) helped reformat my computer, although I had already hung a “rest in peace” sign on its screen a few months ago. Don, my ex-boyfriend (very ex at this point, as he and Marilyn have been living together for over a year) called me very disappointed that I had not written my columns (which were to be the material for this blog) for a long time.
“I don’t have the muse. I am too tired”.
“Aw c’mon. I’m sure you can think of something” he implored with his usual, over-confident tone of voice.
Blank. I had to think. Certainly I had toyed with enough material in my head over the last eight months or so. And then it hit me.
Not only did the virus strike my computer and stopped me physically from writing, but it also stopped the “No Sex”. Yes, I know it is a double negative, but it is really simple. Liat and Dafna did not want to star in my column and therefore started to have sex. No, not with each other.
I simply infected them with the idea of “No Sex” and they were so fed up with the idea that they decided to break their track record. Dafna has been seeing a commitment-shy bachelor for about two months and has even admitted that her hormones are working again. I told her that she has won the Oscar in terms of the number of dates that she has had in the last few years, but she says that the Academy Awards has several categories and although I might not win best picture, I still win multiple awards in other categories. Liat has the most varied location shots, as she has not had sex in the exotic countries she has traveled to and best original soundtrack for all the music performances she has gone to, but not had sex during.
Liat’s most successful pickup spot is a swimming pool, which means that her dates see her without clothes before they see her with clothes. I suppose that might kill the element of surprise. Men also flirt with her at traffic lights, in which case they see her face before her body. In any case, she is slowly but surely on her way to having a boyfriend. I can feel it in the air. No justified explanation – just my influence on her.
I have made a few enemies and some admirers since I started to write this but I will take it as flattery before I get tomatoes and eggs thrown at me. Well, that’s one way of doing on-line grocery shopping.
You might also be wondering what happened to Tal. Yes, hopefully last bachelor I will get emotionally attached to in my life. Our relationship finally reached the supermarket level – that is not only did he get a cellphone but I actually called him to bring me something from the grocery store on his way to visit me. Then two months ago he realized that he was getting emotionally attached to me and that if he wanted to meet someone serious, we would have to stop seeing each other. Hey, that wasn’t fair. I had continued to date and it was supposed to be me to “break up” with him.
But how can you break up with someone you aren’t even officially seeing? That was tricky, and I myself didn’t know how to do it, so Tal won the competition and did it first.
I root for Liat and Dafna to run on separate tracks to the finish line, and hope that their return to this column will only arrive if their boyfriends/lovers/future husbands are in army reserve duty or out of the country on business.
Since then I actually made it to four dates with a divorcee (bachelors are strictly off limit to me
after Evan and Tal) who turned out to be too critical for my taste and so I’m back to first dates, the starting line, the drawing board, and back here, to this column, this screen and back to sleeping alone.
It’s summer now, so this writer doesn’t need a human electric blanket.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
My comments have disappeared
ok, this is just too weird. My comments have disappeared. Starting with the last few posts, there is no "comment" window . I'm going to post this and see what happens. I already went to my dashboard and set the comments accordingly, thanks to advice from a fellow blogger. So here it goes
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Post 30: No Singing in the City
originally created as Column 30, October, 2001
Since I left my choir, I started hearing songs on the radio that reminded me of the choir – and seeing people who look like people who sing with me in the choir – I was with this choir for 3 years and it’s like breaking up with a boyfriend. That’s why it’s like “no sex in the city” in that it was unlikely I’d meet anyone in the choir unmarried and my age (or even in my decade) that I would want to have sex with (and very few even of the opposite sex to begin with!) I actually had a blind date with a guy who sang in TWO choirs but he wasn’t interested in me (maybe he wanted a tall blonde alto and not a short, brunette, mezzo) .
Ok and lately there’s been this tragedy business. I don’t believe in curses per say – but first I meet a bachelor Tal and his formerly healthy mother gets sick and dies – then I meet a really nice divorced guy with a 3 year old daughter who didn’t even make it to a second date with me cause his daughter got attacked by a dog in a normally calm suburb. Oh no, my friend Evan has a dog in the same suburb but I think he would’ve mentioned such a thing, so I assume it was not the same dog (and I can’t imagine his dog viciously attacking a 3 year old girl) – and then I met another guy who lost his wallet on his way to meet me....
And yes, I know it has nothing to do with me.....
So lately, as you know I had decided not to look for something serious but to be satisfied with “fuck buddies” and not try to stick to celibacy in my pursuit of a more serious relationship. This is something I did not think I was capable of doing, but over the last few years I have somehow been able to suppress my emotions and say that sex without marriage (or commitment) is o.k. if both partners don’t have boyfriends/spouses, practice safe sex etc.....
So what happens..my fuck buddies lately have decided, after years of “hitting the sack” quickly and finding out what a woman has between her legs, often much before finding out what she has between her ears, have decided to become celibate!!!! Will the men now be waiting for 20 dates while I give up and succumb to my passion and my love of hugging (and wanting to stay warm on cold winter nights)?
Is this writer spiritually regressing or physically progressing?
Since I left my choir, I started hearing songs on the radio that reminded me of the choir – and seeing people who look like people who sing with me in the choir – I was with this choir for 3 years and it’s like breaking up with a boyfriend. That’s why it’s like “no sex in the city” in that it was unlikely I’d meet anyone in the choir unmarried and my age (or even in my decade) that I would want to have sex with (and very few even of the opposite sex to begin with!) I actually had a blind date with a guy who sang in TWO choirs but he wasn’t interested in me (maybe he wanted a tall blonde alto and not a short, brunette, mezzo) .
Ok and lately there’s been this tragedy business. I don’t believe in curses per say – but first I meet a bachelor Tal and his formerly healthy mother gets sick and dies – then I meet a really nice divorced guy with a 3 year old daughter who didn’t even make it to a second date with me cause his daughter got attacked by a dog in a normally calm suburb. Oh no, my friend Evan has a dog in the same suburb but I think he would’ve mentioned such a thing, so I assume it was not the same dog (and I can’t imagine his dog viciously attacking a 3 year old girl) – and then I met another guy who lost his wallet on his way to meet me....
And yes, I know it has nothing to do with me.....
So lately, as you know I had decided not to look for something serious but to be satisfied with “fuck buddies” and not try to stick to celibacy in my pursuit of a more serious relationship. This is something I did not think I was capable of doing, but over the last few years I have somehow been able to suppress my emotions and say that sex without marriage (or commitment) is o.k. if both partners don’t have boyfriends/spouses, practice safe sex etc.....
So what happens..my fuck buddies lately have decided, after years of “hitting the sack” quickly and finding out what a woman has between her legs, often much before finding out what she has between her ears, have decided to become celibate!!!! Will the men now be waiting for 20 dates while I give up and succumb to my passion and my love of hugging (and wanting to stay warm on cold winter nights)?
Is this writer spiritually regressing or physically progressing?
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Post 29: The Bare Bears
originally created as Column Twenty-Nine, October, 2001
In Post 19 “Compatibility of Divorcees”, I wrote "Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone."
I must be good at prophesizing. My sister reads tarot cards, so perhaps it runs in the family. I actually met a bachelor, Tal, who doesn’t own a cellphone. He doesn’t believe in cellphones and think that they ruin the quality of life. So now that his mother is ill, and he is at her hospital bedside, I cannot call him. I can leave messages on his answering machine at home and now that eventually he will check his messages but I can’t call him up at any hour of the day or night.
Dafna was horrified when she heard about this. “What happens if you are living together and you need to call him up in the supermarket and tell him that you are out of milk and to ask him to bring some home?” Since I don’t drink that much milk at home, it is unlikely that I would run out, so I wasn’t as devastated at Dafna of losing out on a dial in supermarket delivery service. (Dafna is a big fan of this blog so I hope she doesn’t take offense. I love her dearly!) Also, given the fact that in the last year I have not made it past four dates, the thought of living with or marrying someone seems like something out of a science fiction film.
Not only does Tal not have a cellphone, but his computer is not hooked up to the internet, so I can’t send him e-mails. He told me he doesn’t want a serious relationship with me because I am older than him and divorced and he is looking for someone younger, but we seem to be very fond of each other, and yet I am still trying to date divorced men with children, as ultimately that is who I am “supposed” to end up with. However, with the events of September 11 have changed my outlook on life, and made me think again and again how unpredictable and short life can be. So I really don’t want to give up the opportunity to enjoy my time with Tal and date other guys at the same time. In fact, Tal is only encouraging me to do so.
And so now I think that I am still a mammal but perhaps no longer human. We are simply bare bears enjoying being naked and hugging each other and then we will probably hibernate from life, perhaps even through the winter. One tall male thin bear and one short plump bear together for warmth until we return to the hunting and gathering of food. And what is food in this extended metaphor? Marriage material? The mythical ideally compatible partner? Being a positive thinker, I know that I will continue to reach my destinations without car accidents, being shot at, or being blown up and yet the reality of it happening to others is hard to avoid. I assure my son that our apartment block is too low for planes to fly into, but he doesn’t seem to know how many bombs and shooting incidents have occurred in the past year only a few kilometers or blocks away from our “safe” home. That’s why it’s simpler just to be a bear, I suppose.
This writer does not advocate sex with bears. She only assumes it’s less complicated than the mating game in the twenty-first century.
In Post 19 “Compatibility of Divorcees”, I wrote "Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone."
I must be good at prophesizing. My sister reads tarot cards, so perhaps it runs in the family. I actually met a bachelor, Tal, who doesn’t own a cellphone. He doesn’t believe in cellphones and think that they ruin the quality of life. So now that his mother is ill, and he is at her hospital bedside, I cannot call him. I can leave messages on his answering machine at home and now that eventually he will check his messages but I can’t call him up at any hour of the day or night.
Dafna was horrified when she heard about this. “What happens if you are living together and you need to call him up in the supermarket and tell him that you are out of milk and to ask him to bring some home?” Since I don’t drink that much milk at home, it is unlikely that I would run out, so I wasn’t as devastated at Dafna of losing out on a dial in supermarket delivery service. (Dafna is a big fan of this blog so I hope she doesn’t take offense. I love her dearly!) Also, given the fact that in the last year I have not made it past four dates, the thought of living with or marrying someone seems like something out of a science fiction film.
Not only does Tal not have a cellphone, but his computer is not hooked up to the internet, so I can’t send him e-mails. He told me he doesn’t want a serious relationship with me because I am older than him and divorced and he is looking for someone younger, but we seem to be very fond of each other, and yet I am still trying to date divorced men with children, as ultimately that is who I am “supposed” to end up with. However, with the events of September 11 have changed my outlook on life, and made me think again and again how unpredictable and short life can be. So I really don’t want to give up the opportunity to enjoy my time with Tal and date other guys at the same time. In fact, Tal is only encouraging me to do so.
And so now I think that I am still a mammal but perhaps no longer human. We are simply bare bears enjoying being naked and hugging each other and then we will probably hibernate from life, perhaps even through the winter. One tall male thin bear and one short plump bear together for warmth until we return to the hunting and gathering of food. And what is food in this extended metaphor? Marriage material? The mythical ideally compatible partner? Being a positive thinker, I know that I will continue to reach my destinations without car accidents, being shot at, or being blown up and yet the reality of it happening to others is hard to avoid. I assure my son that our apartment block is too low for planes to fly into, but he doesn’t seem to know how many bombs and shooting incidents have occurred in the past year only a few kilometers or blocks away from our “safe” home. That’s why it’s simpler just to be a bear, I suppose.
This writer does not advocate sex with bears. She only assumes it’s less complicated than the mating game in the twenty-first century.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Post 28: Dodging the Married Men
originally created as Column Twenty-eight, August, 2001
My friends tell me that I am too picky. I keep insisting that I want to go out with divorced men, preferably with a child or two. So I tried to keep an open mind and date divorced men without children, but that didn’t work. I even fell for a bachelor who barely talks to me anymore. I met a widower whom I never dated but he’s now dating a widow, which proves that the theory of parallel marital status actually works sometimes.
As I wrote in post 26, I am not prepared to date women, and of course, almost all my friends know that my absolute red lines are smokers and married men. Lately all I meet are married men. First of all, a very nice and intelligent guy strikes up a conversation with me at the dentist. He mentions his grown children, his work, his city of residence, but not his wife. How perfect – someone who takes care of his teeth as much as I do. Definitely dentally compatible (Probably a good kisser and no worries about bad breath!) I am thrilled that I have discovered a divorced guy but am too embarrassed to leave my phone number, so I call the dental hygienist at work the next day, who tells me that he is “very married”. (Oops. My mistake – and I had already envisioned future discounts on joint dental insurance). All the “good” ones are taken or gay. No, it can’t be true. If there is one divorce in three, where do the men go? Are they swallowed up by an alimony hole in the earth? Do the young thin female vultures stand on the other side of the divorce court and swoop down as soon as the divorce is final? Or are they all finding themselves in the Far East while their ex-wives take care of the children?
Consoling myself about my wrong diagnosis of the charming dental patient, I keep my mind off the lack of boyfriend situation and immerse myself in swimming and in my career. So who starts up with me at work? A married man who is also a smoker!!!! Why, why , why is this happening to me now?! Finally someone finds me attractive who is actually not an unidentified typing object behind a keyboard and he checks off in category zero. For thirty-eight years I’ve managed to avoid married men, and now, out of nowhere this guy shows up. I am not into S&M – that’s right, smokers and married. Is desperation showing all over my face? Help! I’ve made my position shown in no uncertain terms, and yet he finds it very amusing. If he doesn’t stop the flirting, then I can always complain about sexual harassment, but he does have a family to support! At least it’s summer, so it’s too hot to cuddle up to any male, available or not. Maybe I’ll forget about boyfriends all together and get a dog – neutered of course.
This writer has decided to wear a wedding ring, hang a picture of an imaginary husband on her bulletin board, and wait... maybe some divorced father will think she’s married and start up with her.
My friends tell me that I am too picky. I keep insisting that I want to go out with divorced men, preferably with a child or two. So I tried to keep an open mind and date divorced men without children, but that didn’t work. I even fell for a bachelor who barely talks to me anymore. I met a widower whom I never dated but he’s now dating a widow, which proves that the theory of parallel marital status actually works sometimes.
As I wrote in post 26, I am not prepared to date women, and of course, almost all my friends know that my absolute red lines are smokers and married men. Lately all I meet are married men. First of all, a very nice and intelligent guy strikes up a conversation with me at the dentist. He mentions his grown children, his work, his city of residence, but not his wife. How perfect – someone who takes care of his teeth as much as I do. Definitely dentally compatible (Probably a good kisser and no worries about bad breath!) I am thrilled that I have discovered a divorced guy but am too embarrassed to leave my phone number, so I call the dental hygienist at work the next day, who tells me that he is “very married”. (Oops. My mistake – and I had already envisioned future discounts on joint dental insurance). All the “good” ones are taken or gay. No, it can’t be true. If there is one divorce in three, where do the men go? Are they swallowed up by an alimony hole in the earth? Do the young thin female vultures stand on the other side of the divorce court and swoop down as soon as the divorce is final? Or are they all finding themselves in the Far East while their ex-wives take care of the children?
Consoling myself about my wrong diagnosis of the charming dental patient, I keep my mind off the lack of boyfriend situation and immerse myself in swimming and in my career. So who starts up with me at work? A married man who is also a smoker!!!! Why, why , why is this happening to me now?! Finally someone finds me attractive who is actually not an unidentified typing object behind a keyboard and he checks off in category zero. For thirty-eight years I’ve managed to avoid married men, and now, out of nowhere this guy shows up. I am not into S&M – that’s right, smokers and married. Is desperation showing all over my face? Help! I’ve made my position shown in no uncertain terms, and yet he finds it very amusing. If he doesn’t stop the flirting, then I can always complain about sexual harassment, but he does have a family to support! At least it’s summer, so it’s too hot to cuddle up to any male, available or not. Maybe I’ll forget about boyfriends all together and get a dog – neutered of course.
This writer has decided to wear a wedding ring, hang a picture of an imaginary husband on her bulletin board, and wait... maybe some divorced father will think she’s married and start up with her.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Post 27: The Ex-Girlfriends' Club
originally created as Column Twenty-Seven, August, 2001
Don, it seems, likes to be around as many women as possible and invites men to his parties only to be politically correct. When he does go out with a girlfriend, he is sexually faithful to her but when he goes out to events without her, he conveniently hides the fact that he has a girlfriend. I heard about Rachel for years and she had heard about me but even though the invitation she gave to Don was intended to be for both of us, he remembered to introduce me to her, indeed around the time of her birthday, but 4 years later. I suppose it was just another one of his habits of being chronically late. I’ve heard about surface mail, but this birthday invitation seems to have been sent literally by snail mail. Surprisingly or not, Rachel and I got along extremely well and Marilyn was probably happy that we were speaking to each other and not trying to steal attention from Don. It was probably the hottest night of the year and I didn’t stay long between the heat and thinking about how much I would have to pay the babysitter.
I didn’t really expect to meet any potential dates but I was too curious to pass up the opportunity. One of Don’s ex girlfriends did not arrive – she was a girlfriend before he was married, so I suppose she didn’t really fit into the “First Ex-Girlfriend’s Club” as we belonged to the post-divorce age in Don’s life. In one of the episodes of “Sex in the City”, Carrie is invited to a party where everyone is asked to bring someone that they are not dating and it becomes an ex partner party. This party was along the same lines, only we weren’t told to bring an ex-boyfriend and that is why the numbers were so uneven. So of course, no sex that night, unless some those women were same sex couples. That is not a step that I am prepared to take, as I wouldn’t change my sexual orientation just in order to get past the fourth date.
So Don was with Marilyn, and I was left to charm Rachel. Maybe it was better that there were no men to turn me on, as it was hot enough already. Maybe I’ll invite 2 women, 10 men and all my ex boyfriends to my birthday party next year. Most of them don’t have custody of their children so at least they won’t have to get a babysitter for that evening.
This writer didn’t meet any new men at Don’s party, but she did meet a first girlfriend. And what was this writer's true measure of a successful party.....? .... she even found a vacant, free parking spot in the heart of Tel Aviv, right across the street from Don’s apartment.
The Ex-Girlfriends' Club
You’ve probably seen the movie “The First Wives' Club”. Goldie Hawn, Diane Keaton and Bette Middler get together in protest of their ex husbands disposing them for younger and less intelligent “replacements”. I met my ex-boyfriend’s first girlfriend at a party he held Thursday night. His ex-wife wasn’t there, but his present girlfriend, Marilyn, his ex-girlfriend (me) and his first girlfriend (Rachel) after his divorce were all in his apartment, along with about 14 other women and only 4 men.Don, it seems, likes to be around as many women as possible and invites men to his parties only to be politically correct. When he does go out with a girlfriend, he is sexually faithful to her but when he goes out to events without her, he conveniently hides the fact that he has a girlfriend. I heard about Rachel for years and she had heard about me but even though the invitation she gave to Don was intended to be for both of us, he remembered to introduce me to her, indeed around the time of her birthday, but 4 years later. I suppose it was just another one of his habits of being chronically late. I’ve heard about surface mail, but this birthday invitation seems to have been sent literally by snail mail. Surprisingly or not, Rachel and I got along extremely well and Marilyn was probably happy that we were speaking to each other and not trying to steal attention from Don. It was probably the hottest night of the year and I didn’t stay long between the heat and thinking about how much I would have to pay the babysitter.
I didn’t really expect to meet any potential dates but I was too curious to pass up the opportunity. One of Don’s ex girlfriends did not arrive – she was a girlfriend before he was married, so I suppose she didn’t really fit into the “First Ex-Girlfriend’s Club” as we belonged to the post-divorce age in Don’s life. In one of the episodes of “Sex in the City”, Carrie is invited to a party where everyone is asked to bring someone that they are not dating and it becomes an ex partner party. This party was along the same lines, only we weren’t told to bring an ex-boyfriend and that is why the numbers were so uneven. So of course, no sex that night, unless some those women were same sex couples. That is not a step that I am prepared to take, as I wouldn’t change my sexual orientation just in order to get past the fourth date.
So Don was with Marilyn, and I was left to charm Rachel. Maybe it was better that there were no men to turn me on, as it was hot enough already. Maybe I’ll invite 2 women, 10 men and all my ex boyfriends to my birthday party next year. Most of them don’t have custody of their children so at least they won’t have to get a babysitter for that evening.
This writer didn’t meet any new men at Don’s party, but she did meet a first girlfriend. And what was this writer's true measure of a successful party.....? .... she even found a vacant, free parking spot in the heart of Tel Aviv, right across the street from Don’s apartment.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Post 26: Clothespins, Poppyseeds and Headguests
originally created as Column twenty-six, June, 2001
Clothespins, Poppyseeds and Headguests
Since post twenty-four I’ve opened up a few more doors, actually had three dates with the same guy and frankly feel a little ambivalent. I’ve noticed a few peculiar things over the last six years, since my separation. First of all, men are like clothespins. All the sturdy, stable ones seem to get away and you are left with the imperfect ones. The socks must fall off with the clothespins, as it is a well-known fact that there are more single socks than single women. Washing machines are a well-known eater of socks, but where do they go once they are eaten?
So after you lose so many clothespins, you have to go shopping for more, and there never seem to be enough. Do they feel like they are going on dates when the laundry is being hung out? I mean there they are being hung out on a line in the middle of nowhere, having to fend for themselves. As well as supporting their own weight, they have to hold up wet laundry and hope that pigeons don’t mess with them. Some of the good quality pins do stay around, but they are a rare, faithful kind.
Speaking of laundry, I had a boyfriend for three years who basically saw my son grow up. Don met me when my son was only 2 and still in diapers. Despite the differences Don and I shared, I valued his tolerance of putting up with disgusting diapers. How was I to know that you don’t feed poppyseed hamantaschen (oznei haman) to a 2 year old boy, that poppyseed is something only older children can tolerate? Don was patient but nonetheless relieved when my son was FINALLY toilet trained only a month before his fourth birthday. Also at age 3, Don tolerated visitors of a different variety – head lice. I completely lost it when the daycare worker broke the news to me, but Don helped me comb out those little buggers and I have been fortunate not to buy lice killing shampoo for 3 and a half years until.....THEY’RE BACK.
It is 2 am and I am not having mad passionate sex with my imaginary boyfriend. I am combing head lice out of my hair, and this is all because my (blogger's note: at the time this post was created, my son was 7 - in 2008 he is 14) 7 year old son loves to hug his classmates. Only in Israel can I be dodging bombs one morning and combing hair lice out of my hair another night. Who knows, if perfume doesn’t attract men, then maybe the smell of this shampoo will work? What happens if on the fourth date, (if I get reach the fourth date) my “number 3 man” will want to stroke my hair? Do I tell him the truth and risk turning him off for life and turning this column into “Absolutely No Sex in the City Forever?”
This writer wishes that the little black things on her scalp were simply poppyseeds.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Post 25: The Towel
originally created as Column Twenty-Five, April, 2001
I have seen more men in towels than I have seen men naked. The first time I dropped in on a then platonic friend of mine several years ago (Don later became a lover, but it took months), he answered the door dressed only in a towel. Don wasn’t expecting me and I was rather taken aback at catching him straight out of the shower. I came to pick something up that he had brought for my son from one of his trips out of the country. We only started to sleep together months after that initial home visit. Perhaps the towel had frightened me, but having him greet me stark naked would have frightened me even more.
Today I confessed to my latest platonic friend, Evan, that I am attracted to him, and he confirmed (verbally at least) my suspicions that he is not interested in me physically. (I didn’t press him for the reason) He made sure not to let me into his bedroom when he got undressed to shower (yes, you might ask – why was I in his apartment while he was showering?) Rest assured that he did not invite me to join him in the shower. Next thing I know, he is parading in a towel in the kitchen, and ironing his shirt, while I stand, fully-clothed, watching this spectacle as if I am sitting in an audience.
I see myself on stage, playing the part of the rejected party while the object of my affection and physical attraction shows off his freshly showered and scrubbed torso. You would think he would be a bit embarrassed now knowing that I am attracted to his smell and yet he flashes his flesh unintentionally teasing me – tempting me to touch the body I dare not, because I know with certainty now, that my advances will be rejected.
My phone rings at night, and I know it is not Mr. Tempting Towel with second thoughts, but one of my “fuck buddies” trying to seduce me and console my soul with his body. I refuse, deciding to lose sleep by writing as opposed to wriggling.
Why are men so willing to expose their chests but when I dare mention their ex-girlfriends or wives, even accidentally, I get snapped at and no closer to peeling a layer off their fragile exterior?
This writer will probably throw in the towel long before Evan will.
I have seen more men in towels than I have seen men naked. The first time I dropped in on a then platonic friend of mine several years ago (Don later became a lover, but it took months), he answered the door dressed only in a towel. Don wasn’t expecting me and I was rather taken aback at catching him straight out of the shower. I came to pick something up that he had brought for my son from one of his trips out of the country. We only started to sleep together months after that initial home visit. Perhaps the towel had frightened me, but having him greet me stark naked would have frightened me even more.
Today I confessed to my latest platonic friend, Evan, that I am attracted to him, and he confirmed (verbally at least) my suspicions that he is not interested in me physically. (I didn’t press him for the reason) He made sure not to let me into his bedroom when he got undressed to shower (yes, you might ask – why was I in his apartment while he was showering?) Rest assured that he did not invite me to join him in the shower. Next thing I know, he is parading in a towel in the kitchen, and ironing his shirt, while I stand, fully-clothed, watching this spectacle as if I am sitting in an audience.
I see myself on stage, playing the part of the rejected party while the object of my affection and physical attraction shows off his freshly showered and scrubbed torso. You would think he would be a bit embarrassed now knowing that I am attracted to his smell and yet he flashes his flesh unintentionally teasing me – tempting me to touch the body I dare not, because I know with certainty now, that my advances will be rejected.
My phone rings at night, and I know it is not Mr. Tempting Towel with second thoughts, but one of my “fuck buddies” trying to seduce me and console my soul with his body. I refuse, deciding to lose sleep by writing as opposed to wriggling.
Why are men so willing to expose their chests but when I dare mention their ex-girlfriends or wives, even accidentally, I get snapped at and no closer to peeling a layer off their fragile exterior?
This writer will probably throw in the towel long before Evan will.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Kisses are a Girl's Best Friend
Kisses are a Girl's Best Friend
The following is my submission for Scribbit's write-away contest for August, 2008.
We had been dating for a few months. He spent most of his nights at my apartment, as it was more convenient and closer to Tel Aviv, where we both worked. We had already declared that we loved each other, and I had already accepted his marriage proposal. But in Israel, you usually go from dating to marriage, and the engagement stage is shorter and less celebrated.
Although I am Canadian and my fiance was Australian, I didn't expect him to be any different from our Israeli-born friends. The fact that we had set a date and already announced our engagement to our parents seemed serious enough to me. I was elated that after four years since my immigration to Israel, a few failed relationships and some spurts of just plain loneliness, I had found someone with similar values and from a similar culture with whom to share my life and my future.
Or so I thought.
One night, a few weeks after we made our intent to marry public, my fiance told me he had something special to give me. He handed me a decorated box full of Hershey's Kisses. I was delighted, being a chocolate lover. It had been several hours since we had eaten dinner, so I happily unwrapped a few Kisses and enjoyed the taste and texture of non-Israeli chocolate.
"So, what do you think?” he asked.
"Thanks a lot. It was really nice of your sister to bring back these chocolates all the way from Australia.”
"Did you look through the entire box?”
"No, don't worry. I left some kisses for you”, I reassured him.
"Look again.”
Confused, I returned to the bedroom. Following his prompt, I emptied all the Kisses on to my bed, and saw that one of them shined. It wasn't a kiss at all, but his late grandmother's diamond ring, sent all the way from Australia. And now it was my engagement ring.
The next day at work everyone marvelled at the jewel on my finger.
But this writer had agreed to marry him already, even before the first kiss.
The following is my submission for Scribbit's write-away contest for August, 2008.
We had been dating for a few months. He spent most of his nights at my apartment, as it was more convenient and closer to Tel Aviv, where we both worked. We had already declared that we loved each other, and I had already accepted his marriage proposal. But in Israel, you usually go from dating to marriage, and the engagement stage is shorter and less celebrated.
Although I am Canadian and my fiance was Australian, I didn't expect him to be any different from our Israeli-born friends. The fact that we had set a date and already announced our engagement to our parents seemed serious enough to me. I was elated that after four years since my immigration to Israel, a few failed relationships and some spurts of just plain loneliness, I had found someone with similar values and from a similar culture with whom to share my life and my future.
Or so I thought.
One night, a few weeks after we made our intent to marry public, my fiance told me he had something special to give me. He handed me a decorated box full of Hershey's Kisses. I was delighted, being a chocolate lover. It had been several hours since we had eaten dinner, so I happily unwrapped a few Kisses and enjoyed the taste and texture of non-Israeli chocolate.
"So, what do you think?” he asked.
"Thanks a lot. It was really nice of your sister to bring back these chocolates all the way from Australia.”
"Did you look through the entire box?”
"No, don't worry. I left some kisses for you”, I reassured him.
"Look again.”
Confused, I returned to the bedroom. Following his prompt, I emptied all the Kisses on to my bed, and saw that one of them shined. It wasn't a kiss at all, but his late grandmother's diamond ring, sent all the way from Australia. And now it was my engagement ring.
The next day at work everyone marvelled at the jewel on my finger.
But this writer had agreed to marry him already, even before the first kiss.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Post 24: The Current State of Non-Affairs
Originally created as column twenty-four, April 2001
The Current State of Non-Affairs
note: the following was written 7 years ago when the rate of suicide bombs in central Israel was very high. This writer was also younger
The hi-tech industry is at a stand still and so is my love life. Employees are being laid off, or there is simply a hiring freeze, including my free-lance position. The months roll by and the frequency of bombs going off increases. The bombs are exploding closer and closer to my home. I’m trying to go off the sex with ex-boyfriend habit, as I am ready for something deeper, or am I? I met an amazing guy at work, Evan, but he is a bachelor, which goes against all my “rules”. We have an amazing friendship, but he doesn’t seem to want a physical relationship with me, and although we have been almost inseparable for the past two months, he doesn’t appear to want a relationship with me because:
I work with him.
I am divorced.
He is not attracted to me.
I don’t know! And I can’t discuss this with him, as I don’t want to ruin our friendship. We have even spoken about writing together. He gets along amazingly with my son and we both share a love for writing, folk music and theater.
And I’m attracted to him. But I see his faults, and I know that in his forties, if he is not married, there is a reason. Perfectionism? Criticism? Having been hurt in the past?
I can’t get him to open up in this area. I suspect that he takes a long time making decisions. I think I have made it very obvious that I like him and find him attractive...
I even took him one night to the theater so that I didn’t have to be alone and face my ex boyfriend with his new girlfriend. They are perfect for each other. Both overweight. Both without children. Both live within a few blocks of each other. They don’t have children, but they both cook so well that they have to decide about who has custody of the kitchen on the weekends. Food and sex must be a very big part of their lives – but I would choose the sex over the food, given a choice on a Friday night, whereas I am sure they would choose the food first. Oh, I would definitely get to the food, but not if I were seduced first, kissed slowly on my ears, behind my ears, on my neck....
All of a sudden potential blind-dates are calling me as well as men from the past, and my mind is thinking about my work, or lack of permanent work, and I sit exhausted typing about the current state of non-affairs. My perfect lover, who is not a friend and my perfect friend, who is not a lover...and all the ex-lovers and friends in between, suddenly back in my life or trying to enter my life. It’s not really in my hands. I am letting things happen, but I am not hiding my feelings. I am giving unconditionally, something I have not done in a very long time. I have finally gotten “over” my ex-boyfriend now that he has a new girlfriend and I can see that his basic personality and habits will never change.
I look into the eyes of my platonic friend and smile. I try not to imagine my lips touching his, my arms around him, after a friendly hug, being met by an extended hug - I’ve seen him half naked in a swimsuit and he, likewise has seen me in everything from an elegant suit to casual jeans to a bathing suit, with or without makeup...all his friends assure me that he isn’t gay, and he himself has denied being gay and has released names of past girlfriends...
Yet we are both going to bed with books and sleeping in our own beds alone. His pet adores him and reflects his good temper. My expensive house pet adores me and is pretty good natured himself.
No sex in the city tonight for this writer, whereas that may not be the case for two gourmet cooks whiling away the hours at saucepans and the bedsheets at one of two flats in Tel Aviv...
The Current State of Non-Affairs
note: the following was written 7 years ago when the rate of suicide bombs in central Israel was very high. This writer was also younger
The hi-tech industry is at a stand still and so is my love life. Employees are being laid off, or there is simply a hiring freeze, including my free-lance position. The months roll by and the frequency of bombs going off increases. The bombs are exploding closer and closer to my home. I’m trying to go off the sex with ex-boyfriend habit, as I am ready for something deeper, or am I? I met an amazing guy at work, Evan, but he is a bachelor, which goes against all my “rules”. We have an amazing friendship, but he doesn’t seem to want a physical relationship with me, and although we have been almost inseparable for the past two months, he doesn’t appear to want a relationship with me because:
I work with him.
I am divorced.
He is not attracted to me.
I don’t know! And I can’t discuss this with him, as I don’t want to ruin our friendship. We have even spoken about writing together. He gets along amazingly with my son and we both share a love for writing, folk music and theater.
And I’m attracted to him. But I see his faults, and I know that in his forties, if he is not married, there is a reason. Perfectionism? Criticism? Having been hurt in the past?
I can’t get him to open up in this area. I suspect that he takes a long time making decisions. I think I have made it very obvious that I like him and find him attractive...
I even took him one night to the theater so that I didn’t have to be alone and face my ex boyfriend with his new girlfriend. They are perfect for each other. Both overweight. Both without children. Both live within a few blocks of each other. They don’t have children, but they both cook so well that they have to decide about who has custody of the kitchen on the weekends. Food and sex must be a very big part of their lives – but I would choose the sex over the food, given a choice on a Friday night, whereas I am sure they would choose the food first. Oh, I would definitely get to the food, but not if I were seduced first, kissed slowly on my ears, behind my ears, on my neck....
All of a sudden potential blind-dates are calling me as well as men from the past, and my mind is thinking about my work, or lack of permanent work, and I sit exhausted typing about the current state of non-affairs. My perfect lover, who is not a friend and my perfect friend, who is not a lover...and all the ex-lovers and friends in between, suddenly back in my life or trying to enter my life. It’s not really in my hands. I am letting things happen, but I am not hiding my feelings. I am giving unconditionally, something I have not done in a very long time. I have finally gotten “over” my ex-boyfriend now that he has a new girlfriend and I can see that his basic personality and habits will never change.
I look into the eyes of my platonic friend and smile. I try not to imagine my lips touching his, my arms around him, after a friendly hug, being met by an extended hug - I’ve seen him half naked in a swimsuit and he, likewise has seen me in everything from an elegant suit to casual jeans to a bathing suit, with or without makeup...all his friends assure me that he isn’t gay, and he himself has denied being gay and has released names of past girlfriends...
Yet we are both going to bed with books and sleeping in our own beds alone. His pet adores him and reflects his good temper. My expensive house pet adores me and is pretty good natured himself.
No sex in the city tonight for this writer, whereas that may not be the case for two gourmet cooks whiling away the hours at saucepans and the bedsheets at one of two flats in Tel Aviv...
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Post 23: Transitions
orginally created as Column Twenty-Three, February, 2001
Post 23: Transitions
Since I am seeking new employment, finding a boyfriend concerns me much less and I have gone back to the old habit of sleeping with a good friend on a transitional/temporary basis. Luckily the timing has been convenient as we seem to be between boyfriends/girlfriends at the same time! (Don’t worry - safe sex is being practiced at all times).
I was in a transitional period after my last job and it seemed to attract men to me. Again, I project that I am not looking for a boyfriend, even without my t-shirt “I don’t want a boyfriend”. The problem is that I am too aware of this transitional stage and am having trouble taking this in stride.
I know that when I find a job, the attention will phase out and it’s a lot more important to me to find the right match with a job than the right match with a man. Like Samantha in the series “Sex in the City”, I feel a bit like I am “recycling” men from earlier in my life, but it feels a lot safer and comfortable than treading unexplored territory.
I have enough “blind dates” lined up in the way of job interviews, so I have no energy to go on blind dates with potential boyfriends. I would never dream of dating married men and now I find myself spending a lot of time behind closed doors with married men (and women). I sit relaxed as they are pondering not when they can go to bed with me, but how much I am going to cost their budget, and will it be worth it to them?
There is not too much difference in the basics – dress professionally, not provocatively, make sure hair, nails and shoes are clean, be aware of body language on both sides. Don’t say bad things about your ex boss and don’t say bad things about your ex spouse. Maintain a sense of humor but don’t give out too much information – not on the first date and not on the first interview. If you are laid off a job in Israel after working for at least six months, you are eligible, in most cases for unemployment insurance. If you get dumped by a boyfriend after six months, you should be eligible for “uncouple” insurance. But then that would mean, you should pay him compensation if you break up with him after six months – (“take some money and just get out of my life”).
This writer is in a professional and personal transition period.
Post 23: Transitions
Since I am seeking new employment, finding a boyfriend concerns me much less and I have gone back to the old habit of sleeping with a good friend on a transitional/temporary basis. Luckily the timing has been convenient as we seem to be between boyfriends/girlfriends at the same time! (Don’t worry - safe sex is being practiced at all times).
I was in a transitional period after my last job and it seemed to attract men to me. Again, I project that I am not looking for a boyfriend, even without my t-shirt “I don’t want a boyfriend”. The problem is that I am too aware of this transitional stage and am having trouble taking this in stride.
I know that when I find a job, the attention will phase out and it’s a lot more important to me to find the right match with a job than the right match with a man. Like Samantha in the series “Sex in the City”, I feel a bit like I am “recycling” men from earlier in my life, but it feels a lot safer and comfortable than treading unexplored territory.
I have enough “blind dates” lined up in the way of job interviews, so I have no energy to go on blind dates with potential boyfriends. I would never dream of dating married men and now I find myself spending a lot of time behind closed doors with married men (and women). I sit relaxed as they are pondering not when they can go to bed with me, but how much I am going to cost their budget, and will it be worth it to them?
There is not too much difference in the basics – dress professionally, not provocatively, make sure hair, nails and shoes are clean, be aware of body language on both sides. Don’t say bad things about your ex boss and don’t say bad things about your ex spouse. Maintain a sense of humor but don’t give out too much information – not on the first date and not on the first interview. If you are laid off a job in Israel after working for at least six months, you are eligible, in most cases for unemployment insurance. If you get dumped by a boyfriend after six months, you should be eligible for “uncouple” insurance. But then that would mean, you should pay him compensation if you break up with him after six months – (“take some money and just get out of my life”).
This writer is in a professional and personal transition period.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Post 22: One Door Closes, Two Doors Open
originally created as column 22, January, 2001
In Post 11, one of my earlier posts entitled "The Career Change" I wrote: " Some people change jobs for the opportunity to earn a higher salary, work closer to home, work longer or shorter hours, change careers completely, have less or more responsibility." I changed jobs a few years ago to meet men and to get inspiration for this post.
This week I was laid off - my job in my contract is not being renewed. So I have already begun my job search, and within two days was made an offer. As I am still in the negotiating process I am still sending off my resumes to various companies and individuals. Some of these “individuals” are men that I dated. One man had actually gone back to his ex-wife and we never really went out on a formal date. Another was interested in me, but I was not interested in him, and a third recently suffered a death in his family and wasn’t quite ready to date. What all these men have in common, however, is that they all work in hi-tech. When I called them up, I could hear the reservations in their voices, until I told them that I was calling them on a professional basis. They seemed relieved that I didn’t want to date them (especially the one who moved back in with his ex-wife) and gave me, without hesitation their e-mail addresses. As I pushed the right buttons on my computer and attached my c.v., I realized that while I used to look for jobs in order to meet men, I have really been looking for men in order to get jobs. So do not despair, single women out there. Meeting or speaking to a new man might not enable you to go shopping for a wedding gown, but you might make important connections if you find yourself wanting or needing to find a new job. To take this even further, you might not need a job, but assistance in other aspects of life. I have been lucky to have dated a police officer, a manager of a certain department of a particular municipality, a lawyer, a manager at a major telecommunications company, a child psychologist and an accountant! This country is simply too small, so I am not naming names or institutions.
This writer is lucky not to have dated anyone who works in the income tax authorities office.
In Post 11, one of my earlier posts entitled "The Career Change" I wrote: " Some people change jobs for the opportunity to earn a higher salary, work closer to home, work longer or shorter hours, change careers completely, have less or more responsibility." I changed jobs a few years ago to meet men and to get inspiration for this post.
This week I was laid off - my job in my contract is not being renewed. So I have already begun my job search, and within two days was made an offer. As I am still in the negotiating process I am still sending off my resumes to various companies and individuals. Some of these “individuals” are men that I dated. One man had actually gone back to his ex-wife and we never really went out on a formal date. Another was interested in me, but I was not interested in him, and a third recently suffered a death in his family and wasn’t quite ready to date. What all these men have in common, however, is that they all work in hi-tech. When I called them up, I could hear the reservations in their voices, until I told them that I was calling them on a professional basis. They seemed relieved that I didn’t want to date them (especially the one who moved back in with his ex-wife) and gave me, without hesitation their e-mail addresses. As I pushed the right buttons on my computer and attached my c.v., I realized that while I used to look for jobs in order to meet men, I have really been looking for men in order to get jobs. So do not despair, single women out there. Meeting or speaking to a new man might not enable you to go shopping for a wedding gown, but you might make important connections if you find yourself wanting or needing to find a new job. To take this even further, you might not need a job, but assistance in other aspects of life. I have been lucky to have dated a police officer, a manager of a certain department of a particular municipality, a lawyer, a manager at a major telecommunications company, a child psychologist and an accountant! This country is simply too small, so I am not naming names or institutions.
This writer is lucky not to have dated anyone who works in the income tax authorities office.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Post 21: Getting it Over With
originally created as Column Twenty-One, January, 2001
Post 21: Getting it Over With – Having Sex with a Platonic Friend
Can it be done? Does it ruin the friendship? I had a friend, Gadi who I was crazy about for years. A male friend of course. But when he was interested in me, I wasn’t available and vice versa. When I got divorced, Gadi was in the country and available and I thought – at last, my chance.
So I wore the sexiest dress I could find and even got a little drunk, something I rarely do, but he was worried that I would fall in love with him, and that it was too soon after my divorce and so he let me kiss him but would not go to bed with me.
Another few years past and one fateful night when we had come back from a night out with a group of friends, Gadi’s car was parked near my place and he had to go back to my house to pick up his car, and once again I was wearing a sexy dress (not the same one as during the first attempt - I don’t keep Monica Lewinsky style stained dresses hanging in the closet for months). I thought I might seduce one of the guys in our group of friends. (You may have noticed that I’m not great at seduction although men start up with my female friends. I go to the hairdresser and cosmetician to try to look put together and the men run straight to my girlfriends! Must be my expert manicure – my nail polish shining the way directly to the woman sitting beside me). So my seduction attempts did not succeed (I didn’t really attempt, even though I may have fantasized about it) and Gadi and I both found ourselves driving home together. It was understood that we do NOT sleep together, that we had been friends for over 12 years already, and that we would not ruin our friendship with doing something silly like sleeping together. Only that night he was particularly lonely and curious and this time he decided he would take the chance. I did not resist. What he didn’t bargain for is that it would be so emotionally intense, and so in the morning, after eating breakfast together, he said that it was nice but we should leave it as a nice memory and continue being friends.
It happened once again, after a party we once went to for one of the national holidays, only this time he had been drinking, and it didn’t match the emotional intensity of the first time.
So I realized it is sometimes better to get things over with and that you can go back to being good friends if the basis for friendship is there in the first place.
I thought that I could do it again with a man that I met five years ago. Don and I were friends for almost eight months and we were both sleeping with other people (in the days that I used to have sex). I thought that once again I could “get it over with” once or twice and that’s it. I was sure that it would be a disaster. The problem is that we didn’t get it over with. It ended up to be a relationship that lasted three years. Gadi and I had managed to “get it over with” so I thought the same thing would occur with Don. Don and I eventually split up (twice!) over many issues but he’s never let me say “let’s get it over with” without a sarcastic chuckle.
Since this writer doesn’t really want a boyfriend at the moment, she has nothing to get OVER but can get ON with her life. Anyone want to join her for an exciting weekend of filing personal paperwork and ironing half a wardrobe? Maybe those sexy dresses are lying somewhere buried beneath the pathetic pile.
Post 21: Getting it Over With – Having Sex with a Platonic Friend
Can it be done? Does it ruin the friendship? I had a friend, Gadi who I was crazy about for years. A male friend of course. But when he was interested in me, I wasn’t available and vice versa. When I got divorced, Gadi was in the country and available and I thought – at last, my chance.
So I wore the sexiest dress I could find and even got a little drunk, something I rarely do, but he was worried that I would fall in love with him, and that it was too soon after my divorce and so he let me kiss him but would not go to bed with me.
Another few years past and one fateful night when we had come back from a night out with a group of friends, Gadi’s car was parked near my place and he had to go back to my house to pick up his car, and once again I was wearing a sexy dress (not the same one as during the first attempt - I don’t keep Monica Lewinsky style stained dresses hanging in the closet for months). I thought I might seduce one of the guys in our group of friends. (You may have noticed that I’m not great at seduction although men start up with my female friends. I go to the hairdresser and cosmetician to try to look put together and the men run straight to my girlfriends! Must be my expert manicure – my nail polish shining the way directly to the woman sitting beside me). So my seduction attempts did not succeed (I didn’t really attempt, even though I may have fantasized about it) and Gadi and I both found ourselves driving home together. It was understood that we do NOT sleep together, that we had been friends for over 12 years already, and that we would not ruin our friendship with doing something silly like sleeping together. Only that night he was particularly lonely and curious and this time he decided he would take the chance. I did not resist. What he didn’t bargain for is that it would be so emotionally intense, and so in the morning, after eating breakfast together, he said that it was nice but we should leave it as a nice memory and continue being friends.
It happened once again, after a party we once went to for one of the national holidays, only this time he had been drinking, and it didn’t match the emotional intensity of the first time.
So I realized it is sometimes better to get things over with and that you can go back to being good friends if the basis for friendship is there in the first place.
I thought that I could do it again with a man that I met five years ago. Don and I were friends for almost eight months and we were both sleeping with other people (in the days that I used to have sex). I thought that once again I could “get it over with” once or twice and that’s it. I was sure that it would be a disaster. The problem is that we didn’t get it over with. It ended up to be a relationship that lasted three years. Gadi and I had managed to “get it over with” so I thought the same thing would occur with Don. Don and I eventually split up (twice!) over many issues but he’s never let me say “let’s get it over with” without a sarcastic chuckle.
Since this writer doesn’t really want a boyfriend at the moment, she has nothing to get OVER but can get ON with her life. Anyone want to join her for an exciting weekend of filing personal paperwork and ironing half a wardrobe? Maybe those sexy dresses are lying somewhere buried beneath the pathetic pile.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Post 20: Window of No Opportunity
Post 20: Window of No Opportunity
originally created as Column Twenty, November, 2000
It happened. I made it past the third date. We set a fourth date. Friday night and both of us had the same weekend “free”, my son being with his father for the weekend and his daughter being with her mother. Amazing. A window of opportunity and not having to worry about blind dates or whether we like each other or not. We do. We’ve made it through the first, second, and third dates. So he’s supposed to call and we are supposed to go out in his area. I wanted a nice responsible guy who has friends and not just female friends...so what happens. ... a very close friend has an argument with HIS girlfriend and shows up on his doorstep.
So he’s in a dilemma – leave his friend in a bad state or go out with me. I don’t want him to go out with me if his mind is too concerned with his friend and would rather his heart and soul be with me, .so I’m impressed. This guy comes through for his friends, and I take out my contact lenses and go to sleep. Only problem is that it is rainy and cold, and this is the opportunity to spend a night, and maybe even have sex with someone I respect and who respects me. He’s such a good guy, I’ve missed my opportunity and once again come to terms with the fact that I will spend the thunderstorm alone in my bed.
Another night and the same affirmation - no sex in the city for this writer. But then, he calls. The friend has gone home. Where could the friend have gone? Back to his girlfriend. Guys in cars. Going away. Going away fast........potential girlfriend gets in car. Drives north. Drives north fast. Where is this girl going? To the man. What will she do when she gets to the apartment? Will she stay there all night. Men at work. Work men work. Men at play. Play men play......and so a romantic night. Great kissing. Great sound and light show. (It was thundering and lightning throughout the night). Satisfying sex and promises of friendship and talking and seeing each other again. A repeat performance definitely in order. So we promise......and I never hear from him again.............
I might have waited 20 dates. I might have waited four. I might have waited until he would surprise me at my door. But what for? Another one bites the dust. I went and said the boyfriend word. I know it sounds absurd. When I’m upset, I write in Dr. Seuss inspired rhymes. One guy . Two Guy. Red Guy. Blue Guy. This one drives a little car. This one lives a little far. My, what a lot of guys there are....but there’s the one who won’t be scared. Who will let me kiss with the passion that I have and not run away.....I’m not talking about moving in. And I don’t want to change his life. But there was a cold wind blowing the stars around, and I really wanted to see him that night.
We could’ve gone walking in a windy park. Take a walk along the beach. Stay at home and watch tv. You see it really didn’t matter much to me. I was thinking maybe later on we could get together for awhile. It’s been such a long time and I really did miss his smile......but.....no more quoting stupid love songs. It’s a bummer that I started to trust again......and next time I just will take out my t-shirt and remind them.... I don’t want a boyfriend. Really I don’t.
So don’t get excited. Don’t be misled. This writer doesn’t not have a boyfriend, but at least she got to bed...
originally created as Column Twenty, November, 2000
It happened. I made it past the third date. We set a fourth date. Friday night and both of us had the same weekend “free”, my son being with his father for the weekend and his daughter being with her mother. Amazing. A window of opportunity and not having to worry about blind dates or whether we like each other or not. We do. We’ve made it through the first, second, and third dates. So he’s supposed to call and we are supposed to go out in his area. I wanted a nice responsible guy who has friends and not just female friends...so what happens. ... a very close friend has an argument with HIS girlfriend and shows up on his doorstep.
So he’s in a dilemma – leave his friend in a bad state or go out with me. I don’t want him to go out with me if his mind is too concerned with his friend and would rather his heart and soul be with me, .so I’m impressed. This guy comes through for his friends, and I take out my contact lenses and go to sleep. Only problem is that it is rainy and cold, and this is the opportunity to spend a night, and maybe even have sex with someone I respect and who respects me. He’s such a good guy, I’ve missed my opportunity and once again come to terms with the fact that I will spend the thunderstorm alone in my bed.
Another night and the same affirmation - no sex in the city for this writer. But then, he calls. The friend has gone home. Where could the friend have gone? Back to his girlfriend. Guys in cars. Going away. Going away fast........potential girlfriend gets in car. Drives north. Drives north fast. Where is this girl going? To the man. What will she do when she gets to the apartment? Will she stay there all night. Men at work. Work men work. Men at play. Play men play......and so a romantic night. Great kissing. Great sound and light show. (It was thundering and lightning throughout the night). Satisfying sex and promises of friendship and talking and seeing each other again. A repeat performance definitely in order. So we promise......and I never hear from him again.............
I might have waited 20 dates. I might have waited four. I might have waited until he would surprise me at my door. But what for? Another one bites the dust. I went and said the boyfriend word. I know it sounds absurd. When I’m upset, I write in Dr. Seuss inspired rhymes. One guy . Two Guy. Red Guy. Blue Guy. This one drives a little car. This one lives a little far. My, what a lot of guys there are....but there’s the one who won’t be scared. Who will let me kiss with the passion that I have and not run away.....I’m not talking about moving in. And I don’t want to change his life. But there was a cold wind blowing the stars around, and I really wanted to see him that night.
We could’ve gone walking in a windy park. Take a walk along the beach. Stay at home and watch tv. You see it really didn’t matter much to me. I was thinking maybe later on we could get together for awhile. It’s been such a long time and I really did miss his smile......but.....no more quoting stupid love songs. It’s a bummer that I started to trust again......and next time I just will take out my t-shirt and remind them.... I don’t want a boyfriend. Really I don’t.
So don’t get excited. Don’t be misled. This writer doesn’t not have a boyfriend, but at least she got to bed...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The Wonder Woman Alarm Clock
The Wonder Woman Alarm Clock
Following is my submission to Scribbit's July Write-away contest.
I was uninspired. With all those amazing women out there writing about their abilities to juggle family, work, and themselves, how could I possibly come up with an original idea? We all know there is nothing really new under the sun, and it's not what you say but how you say it.and in some cases, it doesn't matter what is said, but who says it.
When I'm at work, I think about home. When I'm home, I think about work.
I'm supposed to meet a deadline regarding an important press release when I realize that the deadline for the Scribbit "Write-away" contest is July 16th? How did that creep up so quickly? Now what's more important, the Scribbit contest, while I might get readers to look at my blog of postings written BB (before blogs)eight years ago, or meeting the deadline for a company that actually pays my salary? Either it's the summer heat,onset of adult ADD or something else, but my mind is wandering all over the place - Wander as opposed to Wonder Woman?
I really thought I lost all my marbles this morning when my bed started to shake at 6:35 am and I went back to sleep, convinced that I was having a bad dream.
When I did wake up later (at 8:00 am), I heard on the news that there had been an earthquake in near the Greek Island of Rhodes that measured 6.8 on the Richter scale and was felt in Israel at 6:35 a.m., mainly in the northern and central parts of the country.
This writer lives in the central part of Israel! She isn't Wonder Woman. She may be Wander Woman. But what is true, she did find the most powerful alarm clock in the world this morning!
Following is my submission to Scribbit's July Write-away contest.
I was uninspired. With all those amazing women out there writing about their abilities to juggle family, work, and themselves, how could I possibly come up with an original idea? We all know there is nothing really new under the sun, and it's not what you say but how you say it.and in some cases, it doesn't matter what is said, but who says it.
When I'm at work, I think about home. When I'm home, I think about work.
I'm supposed to meet a deadline regarding an important press release when I realize that the deadline for the Scribbit "Write-away" contest is July 16th? How did that creep up so quickly? Now what's more important, the Scribbit contest, while I might get readers to look at my blog of postings written BB (before blogs)eight years ago, or meeting the deadline for a company that actually pays my salary? Either it's the summer heat,onset of adult ADD or something else, but my mind is wandering all over the place - Wander as opposed to Wonder Woman?
I really thought I lost all my marbles this morning when my bed started to shake at 6:35 am and I went back to sleep, convinced that I was having a bad dream.
When I did wake up later (at 8:00 am), I heard on the news that there had been an earthquake in near the Greek Island of Rhodes that measured 6.8 on the Richter scale and was felt in Israel at 6:35 a.m., mainly in the northern and central parts of the country.
This writer lives in the central part of Israel! She isn't Wonder Woman. She may be Wander Woman. But what is true, she did find the most powerful alarm clock in the world this morning!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Post 19: Compatibility of Divorcees
originally created as Column Nineteen, November, 2000
Compatibility of Divorcees
Once upon a time, men and women decided they were compatible based on education, values, physical attraction, family background and at one time when women’s earning ability was lower than today, a man’s ability to support his wife. In the twenty-first century, additional factors play a part in the compatibility of a particular partner. Let's see how much this dating business can really cost either one of us:
Does he have e-mail? If he doesn’t, how am I going to contact him in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and don’t want to wake him up? Or if he wants to send me a power point presentation about how much he’ll miss me while he’s on a month business trip abroad.
Does he have a cellphone, and is it the same phone company that I use? Calls within the same mobile phone exchange are cheaper than to a different company. The money he will save on phone calls can go to treat me on a date (or bring me flowers some fictitious Friday night in the future).
Does he have custody of his child/ren on the same weekend that I do? If not, the possibility of ever getting together on weekends becomes increasingly difficult, until one of our ex-spouses agrees to switch the weekends. In the meantime, the babysitters can get very rich and our children very lonely and angry. The latter result is one I really recommend avoiding. I presently have three divorced male friends who are finally free the same weekends as I am, but we are not dating, so this wonderful coincidence is simply a wasted opportunity.
Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone.
Compatibility of Divorcees
Once upon a time, men and women decided they were compatible based on education, values, physical attraction, family background and at one time when women’s earning ability was lower than today, a man’s ability to support his wife. In the twenty-first century, additional factors play a part in the compatibility of a particular partner. Let's see how much this dating business can really cost either one of us:
Does he have e-mail? If he doesn’t, how am I going to contact him in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and don’t want to wake him up? Or if he wants to send me a power point presentation about how much he’ll miss me while he’s on a month business trip abroad.
Does he have a cellphone, and is it the same phone company that I use? Calls within the same mobile phone exchange are cheaper than to a different company. The money he will save on phone calls can go to treat me on a date (or bring me flowers some fictitious Friday night in the future).
Does he have custody of his child/ren on the same weekend that I do? If not, the possibility of ever getting together on weekends becomes increasingly difficult, until one of our ex-spouses agrees to switch the weekends. In the meantime, the babysitters can get very rich and our children very lonely and angry. The latter result is one I really recommend avoiding. I presently have three divorced male friends who are finally free the same weekends as I am, but we are not dating, so this wonderful coincidence is simply a wasted opportunity.
Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Post 18: New Age Lover
Post 18: New Age Lover
originally created as column 18, November, 2000
Dafna poses the following two questions to the men she dates: Do you like cats? How do you feel about your mother? If the man in question hesitates on both accounts, he is out of the picture. Needless to say, Dafna doesn’t date as much as she used to.
Dafna spent a few months in the U.S this year visiting friends and family and trying to raise some funds for one of her business projects. She became very fond of Mark, and Mark was crazy about her. “Like, that’s so great”, he used to say about almost anything. Mark was very wealthy but lived like a hippie. Dafna considered herself fairly into new age associated subjects such as natural medicine, mysticism and yoga. But even she had her limits.
And although Mark showed serious intentions of investing in Dafna’s business, she wasn’t quite sure what she had to give in return. “I mean the guy is intelligent, handsome, and very sexy” she confessed to me. “But if I slept with him, I’d probably have to sleep with everyone else he is friends with. I mean, there we were in a beautiful house made of wood, eating a tasty vegetarian meal. At the dinner table gathered an assortment of intelligent, warm-hearted people, who had apparently has shared more than a meal with Mark.
I thought he adored me, but he seemed to adore these friends just as much, and wanted me to experience them too. But even I have my limits. Just because all of the people at the dinner table had clear skin, and were eating herb salad and tofu, does that mean I have to sleep with them all?”. It seems that even in the twenty-first century, Mark was a misplaced sixties child who believed in free love. Dafna returned to Israel a little less ambitious than when she initially set out on her fund-raising mission to the States. American men may be more tolerant and smoke less, but Mark lacked in terms of quantities of unhealthy substances he made up for in number of partners. So much for moral vegetarians.
This writer invited Dafna for a steak dinner upon her return to Israel. And we didn’t order dessert.
originally created as column 18, November, 2000
Dafna poses the following two questions to the men she dates: Do you like cats? How do you feel about your mother? If the man in question hesitates on both accounts, he is out of the picture. Needless to say, Dafna doesn’t date as much as she used to.
Dafna spent a few months in the U.S this year visiting friends and family and trying to raise some funds for one of her business projects. She became very fond of Mark, and Mark was crazy about her. “Like, that’s so great”, he used to say about almost anything. Mark was very wealthy but lived like a hippie. Dafna considered herself fairly into new age associated subjects such as natural medicine, mysticism and yoga. But even she had her limits.
And although Mark showed serious intentions of investing in Dafna’s business, she wasn’t quite sure what she had to give in return. “I mean the guy is intelligent, handsome, and very sexy” she confessed to me. “But if I slept with him, I’d probably have to sleep with everyone else he is friends with. I mean, there we were in a beautiful house made of wood, eating a tasty vegetarian meal. At the dinner table gathered an assortment of intelligent, warm-hearted people, who had apparently has shared more than a meal with Mark.
I thought he adored me, but he seemed to adore these friends just as much, and wanted me to experience them too. But even I have my limits. Just because all of the people at the dinner table had clear skin, and were eating herb salad and tofu, does that mean I have to sleep with them all?”. It seems that even in the twenty-first century, Mark was a misplaced sixties child who believed in free love. Dafna returned to Israel a little less ambitious than when she initially set out on her fund-raising mission to the States. American men may be more tolerant and smoke less, but Mark lacked in terms of quantities of unhealthy substances he made up for in number of partners. So much for moral vegetarians.
This writer invited Dafna for a steak dinner upon her return to Israel. And we didn’t order dessert.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Post 17: Coffee, Watermelon or Spaghetti Bolognaise
first created as column 17, November, 2000
Those of you who have been faithful readers know that since my cooking talents are rather limited, to say the least, I am convinced that the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach. Some women have a weakness for blue eyes, some for men in uniforms. I admit it – my weakness is men who cook. And there seem to be many.
Finally, Friday night I had a chance to have sex, but I have been keeping myself so busy lately that I already had plans with Liat to go to a concert. Alon, a man I had gone out with months ago, invited me for dinner – but not out for dinner – to dinner that he had cooked himself, spaghetti bolognaise in fact. Once upon a time when a man wanted to have sex with a woman, he would invite her to his apartment for “coffee”. In the summer, it’s sometimes called “watermelon”. Now in the age when men cook, it has progressed to “spaghetti”.
The lack of sex in my life has become so depressing, that I simply have scheduled my free evenings (which are every second Friday night, when my son is with his father), a long time in advance. I don’t want to have sex with someone who isn’t interested in a relationship other than a sexual one, and although it would be nice, I might get hurt.
But when the invitation actually came, and I refused I felt a bit disappointed. I didn’t know whether to feel cheap that this guy was asking me over for a home-cooked meal after three months of not hearing from him, or whether to feel flattered that he still thought about me. I told him I needed a lot more notice than the same-night invitation, and was glad that he realized I was a woman in demand (for all he knows I was busy with another man).
The concert I saw with Liat was quite enjoyable, and I do not regret going with her by any means. When I checked my messages that night, there was one from an ex-boyfriend who wasn’t asleep yet, and invited me to drop in on my way home from Tel Aviv. It was 2 am when I checked the messages, and he had called at midnight, so I decided that it was way too late to call him back. Two offers in one night. And a few days later, a blind date I went out with called me and invited me to go out on a second date. Hey, I might be on a roll.
But what will happen when I actually have sex and/or a boyfriend? Will I stop writing? The whole point of this column is that there is no sex in the city, but I don’t think I’ll stop writing at least until Liat, Dafna and I all get a third date.
Finally, Friday night I had a chance to have sex, but I have been keeping myself so busy lately that I already had plans with Liat to go to a concert. Alon, a man I had gone out with months ago, invited me for dinner – but not out for dinner – to dinner that he had cooked himself, spaghetti bolognaise in fact. Once upon a time when a man wanted to have sex with a woman, he would invite her to his apartment for “coffee”. In the summer, it’s sometimes called “watermelon”. Now in the age when men cook, it has progressed to “spaghetti”.
The lack of sex in my life has become so depressing, that I simply have scheduled my free evenings (which are every second Friday night, when my son is with his father), a long time in advance. I don’t want to have sex with someone who isn’t interested in a relationship other than a sexual one, and although it would be nice, I might get hurt.
But when the invitation actually came, and I refused I felt a bit disappointed. I didn’t know whether to feel cheap that this guy was asking me over for a home-cooked meal after three months of not hearing from him, or whether to feel flattered that he still thought about me. I told him I needed a lot more notice than the same-night invitation, and was glad that he realized I was a woman in demand (for all he knows I was busy with another man).
The concert I saw with Liat was quite enjoyable, and I do not regret going with her by any means. When I checked my messages that night, there was one from an ex-boyfriend who wasn’t asleep yet, and invited me to drop in on my way home from Tel Aviv. It was 2 am when I checked the messages, and he had called at midnight, so I decided that it was way too late to call him back. Two offers in one night. And a few days later, a blind date I went out with called me and invited me to go out on a second date. Hey, I might be on a roll.
But what will happen when I actually have sex and/or a boyfriend? Will I stop writing? The whole point of this column is that there is no sex in the city, but I don’t think I’ll stop writing at least until Liat, Dafna and I all get a third date.
During her lunch break on Sunday, this writer ordered pasta on her lunch break on Sunday, instead of tuna salad. She could have chosen to have a full stomach on Friday night, but might have woken up Saturday morning with an empty heart.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Objects to Sleep with but No Sex Objects
Post 16 : Objects to Sleep with but No Sex Objects
originally created as Column Sixteen, November 2000Note: this was written in the fall - hard to believe with the weather the way it is in Israel today in June!
Unlike my native Canada where there are six seasons, (spring, summer, Indian summer, fall, winter, and deep freeze), Israel has two seasons – summer and winter. The transitional period can happen within a few hours after the first serious rainfall and then the sandals disappear, the umbrellas and boots come out of hiding and there is a lot more closet space because the blankets on the beds are thicker. With the extreme of temperatures emerge also colds, viruses and aches and pains in places long forgotten. For example, a stiff neck or sore shoulder.
originally created as Column Sixteen, November 2000Note: this was written in the fall - hard to believe with the weather the way it is in Israel today in June!
Unlike my native Canada where there are six seasons, (spring, summer, Indian summer, fall, winter, and deep freeze), Israel has two seasons – summer and winter. The transitional period can happen within a few hours after the first serious rainfall and then the sandals disappear, the umbrellas and boots come out of hiding and there is a lot more closet space because the blankets on the beds are thicker. With the extreme of temperatures emerge also colds, viruses and aches and pains in places long forgotten. For example, a stiff neck or sore shoulder.
A boyfriend would definitely solve this problem. We could both massage each other’s sore muscles and maybe use other muscles not exercised in awhile. There would be no need to buy an electric blanket or let the space heater work overtime. But let’s face the facts. Not only did Israel experience a draught this year, but my Dafna, Liat and I have also been imitating camels. Even camels have their limits on how long they can last without water! Liat went all the way to Africa to look for a boyfriend and after seeing more animals than one can imagine she is courting a mammal of the human variety. Dafna has dogs and cats at home, but hasn’t managed to get to a second date lately. I’ve made it to the second date but can’t get to the third. Yet I’m the one born in Canada who is more sensitive to the cold than my sabra partners in celibacy.
So besides my son, who sometimes creeps into my bed when the sun shines through the shutters and wakes him up, I am left going to bed with a good book for my restlessness and a hot water bottle for my stiff neck. I’ve fantasized about several potential bed partners, but never a hot water bottle. That’s why my imaginary boyfriend is looking better all the time.
This writer hopes that this winter she will be able to toss off her blankets and quilts in search of cuddlier covers.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Round and Round the Teenager
Note: this is a departure from my regular blog posts because:
1. it happens in the present (when I'm 45 and my son is 14)
2. it is not about dating, although it is about parenting as a single, divorced mom
3. it is my first entry to Scribbit. This month's write-away contest has the theme "Going Places", so here I go.
Round and Round the Teenager
When I moved into my apartment building 12 years ago, my son's arm could barely reach the ground-floor button in the elevator. The ride up and down the elevator to the ninth floor must have seemed like a big trip for him.
Now at 5' 5" (165 cm) and growing, my fourteen-year old now calls me "shorty". He outdoes me in almost any aspect as do most of his classmates in his gifted class, and looking at him, just finishing 7th Grade (or Grade 7 as they say in Canada and "kita zayin" in Israel in Hebrew), I drift back to my own summers as a teenager.
Although I had a seemingly conventional family (mother, father, sister, brother and canary), summer cottage, sailboat, canoe, and chipmunks a
nd squirrels we managed to domesticate, with the help of some sunflower seeds conveniently strewn on the steps leading up to the cottage, I dreaded the loneliness of not seeing my friends in the summer. They spent their summer
at the other side of the lake, which was 60 miles (100 kilometers) away.
I spent my days swimming or canoeing in the half-frozen lake, thankful for the fact that we had mosquitoes on our side of the lake, but the west side of the lake had mosquitoes AND fish flies. I never experienced the now common occurrence of bears actually coming up to the cottage property, scouting out food.
Fast forward back to my fourteen year-old. How different his summers are -no father, sister, brother or bird (at least not living with him since I'm divorced and don't recall giving birth to any other kids), computers, internet, Tel Aviv humidity combined with 40-degree Celsius heat,
but with no hole in the ozone layer like in Canada. He also doesn't seem very interested in meeting up with his friends. After endless tests and projects, bar mitzvah parties and end-of-year get- togethers, his peers just want one thing - to sleep-in.
Tomorrow we are going to the funeral of a dear family friend, 80-years old, who was like a grandfather to my son. When I'm eighty, my son will be forty-nine, five years older than I am today. Will there be any water left in the lakes? Will there be any fuel to power the planes across the oceans?
The price of gas doesn't affect the time-traveling mind of this writer,nor her teenager who will have to be content with traveling round and round Wikipedia until this writer finishes paying for his bar mitzvah travels and festivities from last year. (But that's another post yet to be written..)
1. it happens in the present (when I'm 45 and my son is 14)
2. it is not about dating, although it is about parenting as a single, divorced mom
3. it is my first entry to Scribbit. This month's write-away contest has the theme "Going Places", so here I go.
Round and Round the Teenager
When I moved into my apartment building 12 years ago, my son's arm could barely reach the ground-floor button in the elevator. The ride up and down the elevator to the ninth floor must have seemed like a big trip for him.
Now at 5' 5" (165 cm) and growing, my fourteen-year old now calls me "shorty". He outdoes me in almost any aspect as do most of his classmates in his gifted class, and looking at him, just finishing 7th Grade (or Grade 7 as they say in Canada and "kita zayin" in Israel in Hebrew), I drift back to my own summers as a teenager.
Although I had a seemingly conventional family (mother, father, sister, brother and canary), summer cottage, sailboat, canoe, and chipmunks a
nd squirrels we managed to domesticate, with the help of some sunflower seeds conveniently strewn on the steps leading up to the cottage, I dreaded the loneliness of not seeing my friends in the summer. They spent their summerat the other side of the lake, which was 60 miles (100 kilometers) away.
I spent my days swimming or canoeing in the half-frozen lake, thankful for the fact that we had mosquitoes on our side of the lake, but the west side of the lake had mosquitoes AND fish flies. I never experienced the now common occurrence of bears actually coming up to the cottage property, scouting out food.
Fast forward back to my fourteen year-old. How different his summers are -no father, sister, brother or bird (at least not living with him since I'm divorced and don't recall giving birth to any other kids), computers, internet, Tel Aviv humidity combined with 40-degree Celsius heat,
but with no hole in the ozone layer like in Canada. He also doesn't seem very interested in meeting up with his friends. After endless tests and projects, bar mitzvah parties and end-of-year get- togethers, his peers just want one thing - to sleep-in.
Tomorrow we are going to the funeral of a dear family friend, 80-years old, who was like a grandfather to my son. When I'm eighty, my son will be forty-nine, five years older than I am today. Will there be any water left in the lakes? Will there be any fuel to power the planes across the oceans?
The price of gas doesn't affect the time-traveling mind of this writer,nor her teenager who will have to be content with traveling round and round Wikipedia until this writer finishes paying for his bar mitzvah travels and festivities from last year. (But that's another post yet to be written..)
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Post 15: No Sex When There's a Nice Ex
originally created as Column Fifteen, November 2000
Lately I speak to a lot of divorced men who are on excellent terms with their ex-wives. I mean, it’s great to hear about this, and I’ve even see it, in all places at a synagogue, where an object of my affection, (a potential boyfriend who unfortunately does not seem to be interested in me) still sits next to his ex-wife, as well as next to their three gorgeous children. But it seems that one guy I met at a wedding last month spoke very highly of his joint custody relations with his ex wife and how well they get along. It turns out that she apparently dumped him suddenly and it was not he who ditched her. Having been “ditched” myself I find it hard to believe that the injured party can so easily bounce back and have “friendly” relations with the deserter. Not that my ex was not feeling hurt and vulnerable before his affair (or else why would it have happened if he felt good about his marriage) but I am getting a little suspicious about all these wonderful “ex” relationships. If they get along so well divorced, why are they not still together, or if they are in separate households, but now get along, isn’t there a risk that they could get back together? So it looks like there won’t be any sex for awhile with these model fathers and exes. The ones who avoid the subject or who actually admit not being on great terms are most likely to get along with me. Which is too bad, as I’m careful not to badmouth my ex around new friends, especially male friends, and yet maybe I am just more jealous of their relationships with their ex-wives than I am sad about the fact that they are not interested in me. Well, maybe I need to set up their ex-wives first before they can move on. But one of them already has an ex wife who is living with someone else, so how can you explain that? Maybe I simply need to meet the ex wife and get some pointers?
This writer is tired of being an ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, and will be happy to have a boyfriend again (or at least a third date) before she is ex-thirty something.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Post 14: Sorry Vegetarians - the Chicken Wins
originally created as Column Fourteen, November 2000
Sorry Vegetarians – the Chicken Wins
I don’t know if I am a feminist, a post-feminist or just plain feminine, but I have never taken an interest in cooking. I did learn to mix some ingredients in a blender when my son took an interest in solid foods, but he was six months at the time and now he is six years old. I have always been blessed with boyfriends, husbands, or nannies/au-pairs who cooked. I survived dinner parties by making fruit salad, and if I did invite friends over for dinner I either heated up pre-prepared food or my friends felt so sorry for me that they ended up cooking.
Recently I took ill and my mother flew into Israel for a month to help take care of my son and me. I was on a very restrictive diet and one of the few things I was allowed to eat was chicken soup. So my mother made me promise to learn how to make chicken soup so that she could fly back to her home across the Atlantic without any guilt that her daughter would starve to death. I was thus forced to learn how to make chicken soup. By the time she left I was attacked by frozen chicken jumping out of the freezer and cut by raw onions – yes, by the onion, not even the knife.
Word got out slowly but surely that I knew how to make good chicken soup. Before I knew it I was invited to dinner parties and asked to bring chicken soup instead of fruit salad and even my ex-boyfriend showed up three hours late instead of his usual five hours late for dinner (I gave him chicken soup in exchange for some electrical and computer assistance – it helps having a computer whiz and ex engineer/journalist as an ex boyfriend). I am beginning to think that I might actually get a new boyfriend soon if he finds out that I can make chicken soup. I know that in this world of feminism or post feminism, one shouldn’t admit that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I have a friend who has been married for over 13 years to a man who is as different from her as fruit salad is from chicken soup, and until I was forced to make chicken soup I did not understand what prevented them from getting divorced. Then it dawned on me recently that chickens are either marriage counsellors, aphrodisiacs, or peace negotiators. Yes, they might be dead, but do their children know the truth? Everytime I call this particular friend she is either preparing chicken, buying chicken or eating dinner (chicken!)
I have lot of friends who are vegetarian and they are still married, but apparently their sex drives are similar and so they don’t have to worry about chicken soup (although this particular friend makes lentil soup, pea soup, vegetarian lasagna and a fortune of other assorted vegetarian dishes). I still dislike cooking and would rather be doing dishes anytime, but sorry to tell you vegetarians, in the chicken and egg contest, looks like the chicken wins.
This writer is going to sleep alone tonight but she has chicken soup in her freezer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
