No Sex in the City

Post 82: Employee Reviews for Couples

2012-01-22T01:46:00.000+02:00

Employee Reviews for Couples

Jakob, a friend of mine, agreed to collaborate with me on a few blog posts.

In Jakob's ideal world, couples will have mandatory counselling, at least once a year, with an objective and qualified psychologist, social worker, or relationship counsellor. But unlike couples who go to counsellors only when their marriage is at the point of no return, new couples will be treated to a once a year review similar to what employers and employees undertake. From my experience, human resource departments are good about enforcing annual reviews between employers and employees, but don't necessarily follow up on the results. For both the employee and employer, this provides an opportunity to review the year's objectives and also examine the "SWOT" - strength, weaknesses, opportunities and threats.

Jakob's not the only one who thinks that couples treat their cars better than each other. Iris Baron, an Israeli sexologist and radio personality (link is in Hebrew), often mentions that people have a strong awareness about having to take their cars for regular checkups, tests, and tuneups, when necessary by law. Cars that don't pass their annual tests are removed from the roads by police. She also thinks that couples, by law, should be taught proper financial planning and other skills, in order to prevent divorce. I heard in South Africa, you need to go to counselling before you can get married. I wonder if the divorce rate is lower there than in Canada, the U.S. or Israel.

But couples aren't forced to seek counselling or get divorced by law. It usually happens as a last straw. According to Jacob, an annual Employee Review for Couples would definitely improve the status of relationships, at least in Israel. Couples get used to their routine and will often bottle up how they feel about each other, or else let it all out in the form of criticism that may start as bantering, follow through to pestering and end up at downright insulting. Children cannot hold a relationship together if a couple is not connected spiritually through effective communication. Jakob also thinks that even if a couple does split up, at least it will do so through awareness and maturity. Divorce will then not come as a big surprise but as a step when nothing else works.

It's true that our needs change as we grow, but people generally remain the same. Can values also change? People don't change that much after marriage, but their reactions can change, especially if affected by factors including but not limited to education, employment, children, aging parents, . Sometimes the values and goals of individuals before getting together conflict right from the beginning. But how do you know that if no one has evaluated the relationship objectively before you started?

So what would the annual review entail? Jakob's vision is that the counsellor would ask the couple to come prepared to the review with the answers to questions such as:

What worked this past year?
What didn't work?
Did you meet your objectives personally and as a couple?
How do you view money? Where do you want to spend money this year? Vacation? Studies? Having a child? Renovating an apartment? Is there anyway you can cut back? Has your attitude changed in the past year?
Are you prepared to work extra hours so that your spouse can spend more time with your children and cut back on her/his hours?
Do you want to study?
Is your sex life satisfactory? Both in terms of frequency, quality, variation?
Travel? Hobbies?
How much time do you want alone, with family, with friends and together?

Relationship counselling isn't new, but too many people think that you only go to counselling when something is wrong. Why not look at the Employee Review for Couples as an opportunity to celebrate the strengths, achievements, or simply good times spent together as well as a chance to make things even better in the future and prepare to deal with the open issues.

This writer knows that a relationship is more than a business. But why not think out of the box while the box itself is still sturdy?

Post 81: The Writer and the Web (not the worldwide kind)

2011-12-26T00:39:00.000+02:00

Post 81: The Writer and the Web (not the worldwide kind)

Yeah, more poetry...strange...must be someone influencing me.....here it goes..

The day he flew
My life changed forever
And I found her
Though she did not fall deeply

Released from the web
to which I had clung
Already woven, enthralled, trapped?
For 3 years...
How many spider years is one human year?

Now 3 years later, I've unraveled its throes
The spider moved on
The writer has too - forward into her fourth four-blanket winter woes

Post 80: Frustrating Funeral

2011-10-29T16:11:00.001+02:00

Post 80: Frustrating Funeral

This post has nothing to do with sex, but maybe everything to do with no sex. If I got as many invitations to dates as I did to go to the shiva, I'd have an amazing dating schedule. I attended the funeral and shiva of an acquaintance who lost her battle with cancer. She wasn't a close friend, but I was in touch with her and visited her and the people whom I met through her are close friends to this day. I won't write her name here as I change the people and identifying factors. Despite my respect for Jewish tradition, I just about verbally attacked the Rabbi who showed up at the shiva. He did not know the age or reason for the death but tried to comfort the family members and friends there by saying that G-d created everything for a reason. There is even a reason for weeds (and moquitoes, and cockroaches, I thought.) But I didn't want to upset the household. It wasn't my daughter/aunt/sister who died. But I wanted to ask him, what is the USE of a cancer cell. What does it give the people or animals on this earth, other than some income for oncologists and lab researchers? I'm sure this has been asked before and "believers" are supposed to take the leap of faith and think that there was a reason for her premature death and a purpose for the cancer to strike. Twice....

Well, I don't buy it. The only thing her death did is for us to put things into perspective...and the only thing I could come up was anger, in this poem. It's a little childish, a little angry, but that's how this writer feels:

The only thing I know
Is that when I go
I do not want to suffer so
I want to glow until the end
Don't want to show illness to my friends
Just sing and dance and make them laugh
Until they write my epitaph

So why are people so in shock?
Did they ever think to call or knock?
Denying what was going on
Until they reached the cemetary gate
Then apologizing on Facebook, when it was too late.

But denial is human
And human means you're alive
Not for me to judge as I survive
This world of hurdles, high and low
And this writer knows nothing, that's what I know.

Column 79: September Boy Blues

2011-09-20T08:06:00.005+03:00

Column 79: September Boy Blues

The new school year has started and the Jewish high holidays are approaching. On the one hand, people are looking to hook up because they are fed up of everyone in their family asking them when they are getting married, having kids, etc. On the other hand, the commitment shy ones run away when something good comes their way. So what was I thinking? As I told you int he last column, Yaniv is a bachelor and the chances of him having a real relationship were not high from day one. Still, he has turned out to be a fun male friend to have around, and a friend with benefits if I do so desire, and can find a place and time. That's kind of complicated when you are in a non committed physical relationship, but there are solutions to everything when it comes to matters of the heart, or hormones, as the case may be.

Today, you can order a computer built according to your needs - memory, operating system, speed, size. You can get the best sum of the parts and therefore control that you know what you're getting right from the start. But in a man, this isn't (yet) possible, and what you see is not always what you get.

So Yaniv came and went, disappointed me by not showing up to a play I was in, not calling and then calling. I played it cool so he wouldn't feel pressured, and that worked well, until I realized I needed more and deserved to be with someone who at least communicated a bit better. Turns out, like many men his age who have never been married, that he doesn't want to take the relationship to the next step and isn't sure what he wants. Fine, we'll be friends (great, just what I need, another single male friend) and I planned a great, fun filled weekend of hiking, food, and music, not taking him into account. He did attend some of the activities but he went as an individual, not as my partner or date. I did want to have another kid after my divorce, but I don't need one in his mid-forties. It was a nice experience, but he has gone to my collection of intelligent, fun, talented, men, who are simply not boyfriend material. I wish I could take the parts that I cherish with me to my next computer, rather, boyfriend.

So for a guy who can't send a simple text message to say whether or not he is showing up at a picnic, Yaniv suddenly calls me yesterday, at work, to tell me about a discount coupon for renting a car during the holidays. The deal was so attractive, I was thrilled.

This writer doesn't have a boyfriend with whom to spend the Jewish New Year, but she has wheels!

Post 78: Mourning has broken (but will my heart break too?)

2011-09-05T00:51:00.022+03:00

Post 78: Mourning has broken (but will my heart break?)

I have a statue that I bought for myself of a man embracing a woman from behind. I find this statue particular romantic, not because I think men should support women financially or that a woman can't stand up straight without the help of a man, but because this image represents the positive sides of a man, strength as opposed to dominance, leadership, as opposed to control.

Likewise the woman in this image reminds me of serenity in her submission, as opposed to passivity, trust vs. dependency, pleasure vs. being unable to be by yourself, togetherness, as opposed to neediness.

This type of couple is so lacking in my day-to-day life. I find myself playing father and mother, and sometimes just tired of having to do everything by myself. With so much of the financial and emotional weight on my shoulder, it's no wonder I dream of a partner to lift me up a bit, BUT only in the metaphoric, positive sense of the word. I have a few "rules" regarding dating. I will not date a smoker. I will not date a bachelor. I will DEFINITELY not date a bachelor who wants biological kids. And I don't date men who are interested in my friends. And a few more rules, I'm sure.

Then something happened.

My son broke the statue, collected most of the pieces and glued it back with superglue. One or two pieces of the perfect statue remained missing. But guess what happened? The couple remained embracing, standing upright. The couple crumbled to pieces but remained intact after a third party (in this case, my son) glued them back together.

With their missing parts, they were still working. They didn't have to break up! And you know what, he didn't even leave her for a thinner, younger statue.

Shortly after the statue incident, I told my son that the 11 month old mourning period for my father had passed. Morning has broken, Cat Stevens sings.....oh, that morning...in this case Mourning has Broken....and with it comes a new era.

First thing I did was started to dance again...one day I came back from a dance class and a man tried to pick me up on the street on the way back from the bus. He was kind of cute, divorced with a 13 year old, educated, employed, and had a nice car too.

But he was a smoker. He called me the next day, but I declined. I'll keep him on the backburner for my divorced smoking friends.

Then out of the blue, from a popular Jewish dating site, popped out a divorced man who does NOT want biological children and is willing to meet women older than him. We met, and he was nice enough, intelligent enough and moderately attractive enough, but I found our conversations heavy and stagnant, like a married couple who has been together for years and doesn't know how to communicate. Instead they bicker and criticize. I gave him the "good luck line" and ended the "potential". Some potentials need to stay unharnessed.'

The same week, my friend's exboyfriend started asking me to go on walks with him in order to improve his English. I think his motivation seriously IS English, but I have other people I'd rather walk with!

During the same period, I went out to a picnic of 38+ single people. My friend Amalie told me it was a good opportunity to meet men our age. We met two guys in their 40s and had a really nice time laughing together over a beer and salad...the change didn't work out evenly and one of the guys ended up owing me aprox.7 dollars. The two guys took Amalie's phone number and I went to sleep. Alone.

But the problem was, my magnet friend, Amalie wasn't at all attracted to the guy without the money. I'll call him Yaniv for now. But she insisted that he call me to return the 7 dollars. And that's how Yaniv and I got to be friends. A non-smoker, albeit a bachelor!! OFF LIMITS as a boyfriend, so no pressure. With no pressure, a couple may be able to stay together even with some missing parts.

So when there is no pressure and no expectations, things flow....and that is how this writer found herself breaking her own rules but having fun doing it.

This writer hopes Yaniv will not drop her for his dream of spending nights with a pile of dirty diapers (at least not yet!)

Post 77: Why is one of my best friends swimming in my pond?

2011-03-03T01:26:00.003+02:00

Post 77: Why is one of my best friends swimming in my pond?

In one of the episodes of “Sex and the City”, Carrie Bradshaw (then in her mid to late 30s) comes to a party with her then boyfriend Aleksander Petrovsky, probably in his 50s, divorced, with a grown daughter and doesn’t want more children of his own. Carrie’s boss at the time is also in her 50s and laments the lack of men her age. She asks Carrie why she is swimming in her (very small) pond.

In theory, my pond should be very large. Divorced men with children who do not want more children of their own. However if they are non-smokers, that is a must for me, and if they are musicians, that is simply a huge plus.

Since the big breakup more than two years ago, I’ve been hanging out with people of all ages, but many of them 5-15 years younger than me. Of the musician friends, only one is divorced and he has always been polite but rather cold to me. However, I’ve noticed that the women he dates are tall and thin. Matti himself is not very attractive but he is divorced with kids, and around my age.

Therefore, you could imagine my surprise when a close friend of mine started to date him. I am actually very happy for her, but she wants children of her own and has just broken up with someone herself. That means SHE needs the time to heal on her own and it’s my turn for a boyfriend. This is my third cold winter without a boyfriend and she has not even gone the whole winter without one.

And she’s not a musician.

I do wish her all the luck, because, as I said, I was not attracted to that guy in the first place....

Another friend, never married, is also dating a divorced man with a child. I've never met him so it's not like he chose her over me, but still...

both of them are swimming in my pond.

In an ideal world, men who have never been married would go out with single women; divorced guys would go out with divorced women, widows with widowers and newly separated with newly separated.

The only parallelism I see is married people having affairs with other married people.

This writer will probably end up with a single guy 20 years older than her who smokes and isn’t a musician. Or will she?

Post 76: The Guy with the White Hair

2010-12-13T00:03:00.007+02:00

Post 76: The Guy with the White Hair

Another winter was approaching and it was 2 years since my boyfriend and I had split up. There was absolutely no way I was going to enter my third winter without a boyfriend. Therefore, in order to brace myself for the stormy and rainy weather, I had the end of October as my goal in meeting Mr. Right...or at least Mr. Warm.

But my father passed away in September, putting a bit of a damper on my plans. Maybe he's in another world somewhere setting my sister and I up, but somehow I think he has more important things to do with his soul, wherever it might be. So October 31 came around and I did meet a divorced man who has a grown child. My friend set him up with me. Problem was he used to go out with her, and I just didn't think it was appropriate. Secondly, he wasn't interested in me, or anyone for that matter, as he just lost his entire business and was depressed.

November came along and I met someone whom I thought was my soul mate. Attractive, intelligent, communicative and sensitive...but yes, you guessed it, another bachelor who wanted to get married and have a family...and not with me.

A girlfriend visiting from the U.S. had a vision that I would meet an older man with white hair, and that I wouldn't be attracted to him at first. We would meet at an event that evolves around common interests, something intellectual.

So last night, I was invited to a house concert in the living room of a friend. It was a very intimate environment as some people had cancelled becuase of the storm. Indeed most of the men who arrived showed up in couples - no not gay couples, but with another woman. After the intermission, a voice of a man entered the living room and apologized for being late, and took a seat beside the host. I turned around to hear where the voice was coming from. The man was older than me, rather short, but indeed had white hair. I took a closer look and saw that he wasn't a man at all but a puppet that the host had brought in to entertain us.

It's now December. Looks like this writer will have to stick with her imaginary boyfriends for now.

Post 75: No Sex at the Shiva

2010-10-13T23:20:00.006+02:00

Post 75: No Sex at the Shiva

One of my parents recently passed away. I'm not sure I can add any insight about thefuneral and the death of a parent, because it is a universal experience. It's painful. It's intense. It makes you angry. It makes you thankful. And it also makes you laugh. There you are faced with your immortality. Nothing lasts forever. No one lives forever. And suddenty wrinkles that I never saw before sprung up in the mirror.

And I remembered that my sex life has been about as dry as the inside of the coffin. Yes, that bad. So bad that I should have been blogging about it EVERY day, but not only was it No Sex in the City, but No Sex in the Country, in the office, in the sea, and of course, no sex at the shiva - the (normally seven) days of mourning that follow a Jewish funeral.

But right before the funeral, I started to believe in miracles again. That's right. Be careful what you wish for. I decided to lower the par a bit on my expectations. So while still in my post breakup mode, I wished for things that I didn't get from my exboyfriend....being treated to a cup of coffee, being taken out to dinner, and being brought flowers.

During these post-breakup years (I'm approaching the big TWO years since THE breakup of the decade), I have been lucky enough to be treated to more than just coffee and more than just dinner. I even got treated to a whole weekend away....but I still yearned a simple but romantic gesture that I knew would move to tears...

but since the death everything moves me to tears....

One of my fantasies was to reunite with my first boyfriend and live happily ever after...or move in together...or date on a regular basis....or sleep with again once....or simply see again....that fantasy got stronger when I discovered that Yaron was separated....and living in the same part of the country as me. Although I realized his divorce was not final and that he really had no time for dating (between seeing his kids, his studies and his work), he had already been separated for a few years, and I thought maybe, soon, I'd have my chance. We met occasionally for dinner and he always complimented me. And there it ended. He'd disappear into his work, kids and his divorce proceedings and I'd disappear back into my personal rat race. I knew that he wasn't at the same stage as me...he needed to go play the field, have his first post-divorce relationship, build up his hurt male ego....and I knew to keep him as a friend ...AND THAT'S IT....

...until the death. I sat a very brief shiva at the time of the death and decided to hold an additional day of an open-house so that my friends in Israel could visit and comfort me...and the doorbell rang and in walked Yaron...with 13 red roses...a gesture of sympathy but, could it be, (and so my friends thought) ...a gesture of romance? The sexual tension was high. Yaron complimented me on my appearance and I sensed a bit of jealousy from the other men in the room. Another girlfriend present at the time, thin and fit, sensed the same tension...but it was a type of shiva, and after all, you can't have sex at a shiva, can you?

The day after the shiva, Yaron announced that his divorce was final and took me out to a romantic dinner. No rose this time, but a ring. He told me that I was the one he was waiting for the whole time and wanted to revive our relationship cut short so many years ago. My heart beat strongly as I realized that my fantasy was actually coming true.....

HEY. WHAT BLOG ARE YOU IN? IT'S NO SEX IN THE CITY!!!

(sound of cloud bursting...glass breaking.......)

The day after the shiva, Yaron called me up and I told him how moved I was to get the flowers. He said he was busy and couldn't come over but wanted to ask me a few questions.....ABOUT MY THIN GIRLFRIEND!!!!

Tough luck, Yaron, my girlfriend has a serious boyfriend, I thought. Luckily I was busy and could not extend the conversation.

A few days later, the roses wilted and this writer threw them in the garbage, but her dreams remain alive for the next drama.

Post 74: What is worse than a blind date?

2010-07-22T03:00:00.001+03:00

Post 74: What is worse than a blind date?

On a very very hot and humid evening in Tel Aviv, some really nice and talented people got together to celebrate a friend's birthday. The location wasn't ideal and apart from M for men, the other 3 Ms that accompanied them were rather unbearable: Mugginess, mud, and mosquitoes.

The fire of the campfire kept the mosquitoes away, for the most part (most also starts with the letter m, but who is counting?) but it really was too hot for a fire. As I got a lift and didn't have to take a bus, I mustered the initiative to bring two straw mats (known as machtzelot in Hebrew. Read "Me and my machtzelet" to find out why this is (usually) a good idea).

(Ok, this is what happens when you read Dr. Suess's ABC book too many times...)

The advantage to this evening was the darkness. People can't usually tell my age or see the pimples or cold sores on my face. I actually felt and looked nice this evening, despite the enviromental factors. A guy named Meir started talking to me and despite the fact, that I usually prefer dating divorced men with children, and not bachelors, I decided to stay near him because he was a guitar player, and not a bad one at that. Plus, I had brought my guitar which I lent him. I am always amazed by the sounds semiprofessional guitar players manage to emit from my guitar. I don't do my Japanese guitar sufficient justice. So I wonder if Meir would have taken my number at the end of the evening if he didn't break my guitar string. Not only was he a guitar player, but a guitar teacher.

The next day, sure enough, Meir calls me at work and we arranged that I'd go with him on his motorcycle into Tel Aviv to have coffee and pick up my new guitar string. I hadn't been on a motorcycle for years, so this was fun. We sat at a quiet coffee house in north Tel Aviv and perused our menus. The first thing Meir did was take out a large MP3 player, or a small boom box that plays MP3s....not sure about the correct term for this device. The coffee house didn't have any background music, so why not? Ok, I thought...stramge. but at least we have similar tastes in music. I asked the waitress about the iced coffees. Meir didn't listen at all and repeated my questions. He told me that he didn't consume any sugar except for natural sugar and took out a box of dates. He did order a cup of coffee and laid the box of dates on the table. He offered the waitress and me a few dates. I actually expected him to bring out his own cutlery and coffee mug, but to my relief, he didn't.

It was obvious that Meir had some sort of communication problem, but when we spoke about music, it was ok. I learned that despite him having travelled all over the world, his English wasn't very good. You see, in Hebrew, the word "date" is tamar in Hebrew so I'm sure that he didn't understand the irony.

So what's worse than a blind date, this writer asks? She's been on many dates, but this is the first one where her date brought his own dates along.

Post 73: The hitech food baby

2010-07-10T16:30:00.008+03:00

Post 73: The Hitech Food Baby

With some extra unwanted kilos that seemed to have jumped on to my stomach without me noticing until it was too late (although I really did enjoy my childhood friend's homemade cheesecake), I haven't exactly been given much attention from the male population lately. What I do have are lots of male friends and confidantes, who in time, will probably be instrumental in introducing me to my next boyfriend...or it could happen by accident, as it often does. In the meantime, I am concentrating on doing the things that I enjoy - singing, hiking, writing, and working. I try to walk and swim when I can, although the dietician says running to the train station is not enough (even though I definitely get that pulse rate up as I plop into my seat, sweating and gasping for breath, reach for my water and usually finish 1/2 a litre or so before reaching my destination.

But with my European genes (what kind of DNA adds 5 kilos without blinking on your 35th birthday?), I am not exactly desired dating material in the Israeli Jewish market. If I had a different religion, I'd get to choose the cream of the crop of single men in certain cities in Israel whose demographic makeup I will not spell out here. In these cities, being plump is attractive. One of my doctors put it this way when he last saw me. He didn't even ask me to step on the scale. "I do believe a woman should be curvy, but not that curvy....."

So I'm back to the dietician, have cut out carbohydrates from my lunch and added walks to my schedule, including with an attractive married girlfriend who I spotted with a pregnant stomach a few weeks ago. I NEVER ask married women if they are pregnant, but this was so disporportionate to the rest of her body, I was quite sure. Ouch! She was carrying the same baby as I was - the hitech food baby that often comes as an unwanted fringe benefit from subsicized lunches, too much time next to a computer, a company car (not in my case) and eating sweets instead of carrots between meals.

Next week instead of meeting for quiches and coffee, we met in t-shirts and running shoes.

This writer was surprised to know that she could get pregnant in her late 40s. She just spent time on her exercise bike before writing this..

Post 72: What do you do when you're stood up twice in one night?

2010-06-15T00:58:00.002+03:00

The good thing about having platonic friends is that you don't have to follow dating rules. A woman doesn't have to sit at home waiting for the man to call her. It's customary for her to wait when she is dating someone new, but when it comes to male platonic friends, the customs change and it's okay for the woman to take the initiative in organizing an outing, from time to time.

A few months ago, Jakob and I saw a female singer at a folk festival and were very impressed. We were determined to go see her again when she appeared in Tel Aviv. Since I am her Facebook friend, it was easy for me to find out about her upcoming performances. It was actually Jakob who asked me when we would hear her sing again. I told him about the concert she would be giving and he was very enthusiastic. He told a few friends of his, and we were all set to meet at the Tel Aviv pub where she was performing. However, only an hour before we were supposed to meet, Jakob told me that no one else was joining us, and I was looking forward to some quality time with Jakob.

Then less than an hour before the performance was meant to start, Jakob told me that he had a free ticket to a play he had wanted to see for ages, and was sorry to cancel. I was really looking forward to seeing this singer perform, especially as it was in a pub that had no smoking allowed inside. With less than an hour's notice, it was hard for me to find someone who would go with me to the performance instead of Jakob, and I was not thrilled about going by myself.

By good fortune, after the 3rd or 4th phone call, I got a hold of Teddy, a massage therapist, who has just finished work and was conveniently parked near my office building. So he agreed to go to the concert and picked me up and drove me to the venue.

After parking the car in a free parking spot (not to be taken for granted in central Tel Aviv), Teddy and I paid for our tickets separately and sat down to wait for the performance to start. A few minutes later, Teddy got an angry text message from a client who was on her way to Teddy's apartment for a two hour massage. Teddy had forgotten to record this appointment in his calendar and told her that he was late and was on his way. Then he left me in the theater alone. That was already the second time I was stood up in one evening. Luckily, there was another guy alone (but too young for me) and I started to talk to him. Then Teddy returned, much to my surprise. The woman didn't want to wait for him, so he lost 2 hours worth of work and the admission price to the show.

So I wasn't alone after all, so I thought.

The singer started to sing after the lights were dimmed, but that wasn't the only darkness. Teddy fell asleep during the whole show.

I can handle being stood up once or twice....but not in the same evening! And when you have a "date" that isn't really "with you" and even falls asleep, I wonder....would it have been better simply to have come alone?

By the way, Jakob apologized later on that evening and I am not the type to hold a grudge.

But this writer would prefer going on a real date where she isn't just "one of the guys".

Post 71: Love by Any Other Name

2010-06-01T00:54:00.002+03:00

Post 71: Love by Any Other Name

English may be a richer language than Hebrew, but both have the same problem. They have a word called "love" (Ahava in Hebrew (noun); Le'ehov (verb) to describe several kinds of situations.

There is something wrong with this!!! How can you have the same word to describe your feeling towards eating ice cream to your love of your parents???

I love ice cream.

I love my son.

I love my mother.

I love hiking.

I love to sing.

I love my baby.

I love my cat.

I love my friends.

It's even a score in tennis meaning ZERO.

It's just not the same thing!!! In English you can like, admire, adore, lust....but why is there only one word for love? Some people say that the Inuit have 100 different words for snow (although check the Internet - this is debatable). And why is the problem of one word for love evident in so many languages? But there's got to be a different between sexual, physical love and platonic love at least!!! How did this word develop? Why are there so many words in Hebrew, for example, for bodily secretions, for flowers and trees. There's even more than one word for a basket that you use for the Shavuot holiday? And that's only one or two days in the entire year?

And some say that come of the Eskimo lanaguges spoken by Inuit people have hundred of words for "snow", although this may very well be an urban legend.

The word LOVE has definitely been neglected. It's sung about, written about, defined, sold, bought, traded, used for advertisements, hidden, exposed, counted, sorted, measured, weighed, lost, won, forgotten, regained, relinquished, abandoned, etc. etc.

You may the song "As the Years Go By" by Mashmakhan. They also sing about the meaning of love at different ages. You can watch it here (external link) or embedded here.. I like this version as they show scenes from Canada, but you can watch different versions on YouTube. This is the first time I've embedded a video. There may be hopes for me yet until the techology changes again.

I don't know what love is, but maybe I'll finally understand once someone gives the word another name.

This post has been inspired by Jacob, a friend of this writer, who would "love" to give him a well-deserved credit.

Post 70: Cinderella on Chanukah

2009-12-22T00:19:00.004+02:00

Cinderella on Chanukah

Chanukah did not start festively at all for me this year. Unemployed, no car, no boyfriend. I even lost my friend with benefits who started to see someone else and suggested we return to being “just friends”. The timing could not be worse in Israel. Winter is the season when it’s colder inside than it is outside. To warm up, I sleep with 4 blankets, 3 stuffed animals and a partridge in a pear tree ….ooops, wrong religion…

Back to Chanukah. It started with a medical procedure that took a whole morning, drugged me out and left me completely exhausted for the entire evening. I insisted that my son go to accept his father’s invitation to light the first candle and sleep overnight. As Murphy law has it, my bed stays empty when my son is away, which is why this blog is called No Sex in the City. It just doesn’t happen when you want it to happen.

In this case, partially dehydrated and partially stoned with valium (can you be stoned with valium or only with hashish? I don’t know because I am a good girl and law-abiding person, who always stayed away from drugs except for the occasional glass of wine). I did once have laughing gas for a tooth extract. It just occurred to me that there may be some religious people taking a look at this blog, and I promised that it was “clean” with no pornography, so how did I allow drugs to creep in here?

But then again Gilit may be my pen name, but she is allowed to do things that I have not. In fact, when someone recently reminded me about Boris in Russia, I forgot that he was real. It seems that when he told me that he would no longer write to me and shut me out of his life, I wrote about him and committed him to fiction as well. Wow, he was real? He really did say that he loved me, even though my definition of love (stay tuned for a post about the meaning of love) is quite different from his. If you really love someone, you are not going to forget them even if they do not love you back.

I’ve strayed away from Chanukah, so let me go back to that first night. There I was alone, tired, dehydrated, and generally mixed up. My adoptive mother was dying in a Tel Aviv hospital (from cancer) and I knew it was a matter of days before the inevitable phone call. At 10:30 am the next morning, my cellphone rang. Now everyone knows that I am either hiking or asleep on a Saturday morning. Or else I have religious friends who don’t use the phone on Shabbat in any case. Therefore, I knew exactly why the phone was ringing. This time it wasn’t the valium or a dream, but the real thing. “Mom is gone”, Dafna announced, in a matter of fact voice.

And so began my Chanukah. I helped Dafna put up the death notices in her neighborhood. It’s good to know that the municipality gives out scotch tape together with the signs. That’s one less thing to buy before a funeral, I guess. I didn’t cry much that day and neither did Dafna. I guess we thought that her mother was still in the hospital and we’d see her soon. Or maybe in the shower. Or sneaking another cigarette in the kitchen before joining us for a cup of coffee.

On Monday I had to sign into the unemployment bureau and then meet my son on the bus on the way to the cemetery. Nice day for a funeral. Dafna’s mother was a former school principal and didn’t want children to miss school on her behalf. So she died during a school holiday. My son was not impressed. Last year he ate up all the latkes she had made and he promised to bake a batch himself to bring to the Passover seder. This year, none of us baked latkes. Dafna lit Chanukah candles and a memorial candle. Instead of buying a plant to bring to the family dinner at her house, I brought a plant to her graveside. I wanted to sing James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” at the funeral, but there was no way I would be able to get the words out. Instead the rain spoke for itself from the sky (but spared us at the funeral) and the fire came from the candles which I continued to light each night.

Since I wasn’t sitting shiva, I was determined to find a glimmer of hope during the holiday. On Wednesday, I got another rejection from a job interview, but I wasn’t sad. Now it was all clear to me. The funeral was over. The shiva was almost over. And now I had no excuse but to get on with my life. Land that job. Find a boyfriend. Buy a new car (or get a leased one from work).

So I braved a sandstorm and met a friend in Tel Aviv who was studying makeup and used me as a guinea pig. Actually, I trusted her completely and she created a Cinderella. Even though my train got stuck (Israeli trains are NOT Swiss trains) and I had to get out of the train and take a bus home, I was determined to forget about the funeral, my unemployment, and my lack of boyfriend, and get NOTICED at a Chanukah party.

And so I did. It was unbelievable. Men who didn’t give me the time of day were asking me to dance. Women who forgot my name came across the room to talk to me. No one seemed to remember me from the year before. It didn’t matter that I was unemployed, had just been at a funeral, or didn’t have a car. What mattered was that I was now almost a blonde and that I had a personal makeup artist turn me into another person.

It felt a bit like the old days when I was an amateur actress. I was in the limelight (even literally, as I was wearing a green dress) for the evening, but at the end of the day, when the audience went home, my theatrical mask got removed and it was only me. At the end of the night, no Prince Charming rescued my slipper.

Perhaps because this writer was wearing boots.

Post 69: Historical and Religious Land of Israel: Year Round Tourist Destination

2009-11-16T17:31:00.004+02:00

I’ve lived in Israel for more than half my life, and rarely take it for granted. I relish in the vast variety of natural, historical and religious sites that this country possesses. For those of you who don’t live here, I’d recommend checking out Flights to Tel Aviv which is a good place to visit and enjoy the beaches, night life, museums, art galleries, and dance performances. Hebrew, Arabic and English are the official languages of Israel, but you can get along with Russian, French, or Spanish. If you want to leave politics and religion behind, stay in Tel Aviv, whereas if you’re a religious and historical buff, you can spend your entire vacation in Jerusalem, a holy city for Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike. Whichever city you choose in central Israel as your home-base, you’ll be thrilled to know that the scenery changes constantly, and you can make a lot of day trips reaching scenic destinations within an hour or two by car as diverse as deserts, waterfalls (both in northern and southern Israel), pine forests (Galilee), and prehistoric caves (Carmel). You can visit the world famous Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth, or venture off the beaten track to Machtesh Ramon, a breathtaking geological formation resembling a crater. My favorite time to hike is in the spring when the wildflowers are in bloom, but there is no shortage of things to see and do, depending on your interests, no matter what time of the year you visit.

This writer has lived in Israel for more than 22 years and still has not seen it all.

* sponsored post

Post 68: Closing the blinds

2009-10-28T21:32:00.009+02:00

Post 68: Closing the Blinds

This post is based on a story told to me by one of my single friends.

Gad recently moved out of his girlfriend's house and had not been dating in years. He wasn't signed up on any of the dating sites yet, but, as he is a man, his friends immediately started to set him up once the word was out that he was "available" again.

Gad didn't know that there were best practices for blind dates. First of all, the date, Limor, cancelled a few times before they actually met. She never sent him a picture by email...but then again neither did he, but she sounded nice enough, and he knew that he had to take the plunge. After cancelling twice, she finally called him and they set a place and time to meet, half way between their homes, at a scenic restaurant overlooking a nature reserve in northern Israel.

I already warned Gad not to base his evening around this date, because if it was good, they would be tempted to go on talking all night..and jump to things perhaps too soon and not very gentlemanly....but if it was bad, the evening would still be free, and both Gad and Limor could do something "normal" that was not a blind date.

They finally met one afternoon and Gad felt nothing. He wasn't attracted physically and the conversation did not flow. But he made the mistake of picking her up in his car and driving her home afterwards. Plus she had his home number and he had hers. He did not want to see her again and made that clear...that is, he didn't say he had a good time and did not ask her when she was free. Phew, all well's that end's well....so he thought.

The next day Gad heard strange sounds coming from his telephone while driving. "A text message", he thought, and continued driving, enjoying the new music he had downloaded. A few days later the strange sounds were emitted again, but Gad's phone was turned off, so he couldn't figure it out. Was it from the radio? His new MP3 player?

When he got home, he looked under the car seats, and sure enough, there it was. Limor's phone. He would now have to call her. The problem was that she no longer had a cellphone so coordinating the return of the phone would be difficult. He drove by her home one evening but she didn't answer her home phone. I suppose he could have dropped the phone in her mailbox, but for some reason, that didn't happen.

Although Limor had already cancelled the phone service, the actual phone was expensive, so she still wanted it back. Gad had a busy month at work and was not going to be near her city again. So Limor dropped by Gad's house one evening. Gad had his sons visiting (who were not thrilled to know that he was already dating so soon after the breakup from his recent girlfriend whom they liked very much), as well as some guests. Gad was busy with a work-related call in another room, and asked his son and guests to keep Limor entertained. Her phone was in his car, so he would have to leave his house and give the phone to her.

When Gad entered the living room, he couldn't believe his eyes. Limor suddenly was made up, her hair was dyed a different color and she had lost 5 kilos. Wrong! Limor was just as unattractive as the first time and... it gets worse. Instead of waiting patiently in the doorway or seated quietly while Gad was finished with his business, she was walking around the living room of his house (did I mention this was the FIRST time in his house?) straightening out his pictures on the wall!

Gad escorted Limor to his car as quickly as possible and gave her back her phone. This blind date ended up into a few-week long relationship that he did not plan or want.

This writer wants men to know that when it comes to getting rid of blind dates, remember that you're not always off the hook.

Post 67: Let Your Fingers Do the Walking

2009-10-11T03:09:00.015+02:00

The Jewish new year has formally arrived. Reflecting back on this year, I realize that I definitely broke my own self-inflicted rules this year. I dated a guy who smoked. I dated a guy whose divorce wasn't yet final. I dated a guy who lived in a different country. I dated a guy with a different religion than mine. I dated a guy without children. I dated a guy with children who had never been married. I even dated a guy who claimed to have seen aliens.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I went beyond my comfort zone. Until now, my comfort zone led me to fun relationships but also to broken hearts and lots of used kleenex, not to mention extra visits to psychologists and doctors, and yes, a loss of a girlfriend who just had no patience for my adventure. I forget sometimes that is better to write than to talk, even though writing lets me change the truth and censor some of the juicy stuff.

Did you actually think that everything I wrote here was true? It's actually the stranger things here that are true. But what does it really matter? I carefully protect the identity of those real characters in these posts. I probably should be more careful of my own identity, but one day I'll reveal the truth. In this small country, it's not so hard to figure out.

After THE breakup, it was obvious to me that I wouldn't meet the love of my life immediately. I needed to play the field, meet lots of different people, and get to know myself again, or get to know myself for the first time. I've met amazing men and women - some have remained good friends while others disappointed me, or I disappointed them. There is no black and white in friendship between women or men.

But after going out on a variety of dates, I can honestly say that I'm tired of the "almost" men - the great love who smokes, the drop-dead gorgeous guy who doesn't believe in foreplay, the devoted father who doesn't really have time to see me, the fun friend who can't say he loves me cause he's waiting for that "wow" click....they're all great guys, but I want my rules back. I want a divorced guy with children, who doesn't want anymore children, is my age or younger, passionate, employed, romantic and is not afraid to say that he loves me....and lives in Israel or course....and it would definitely be an added bonus if he could carry a tune or play an instrument, as I have a weakness for musicians.

So why not fantasize? I had almost a year to get over the breakup. It's my turn now for the real thing, right? Fate had it that I couldn't meet up with my friend with benefits (that sounds SO much nicer than fuck buddy, doesn't it?) and ended up going out to a concert with a girlfriend. The women at the concert were about ten years younger than me, thinner, and many childless.....you would think that would put me at a disadvantage....at first I seemed invisible. Lots of members of the audience were couples, smiley and cuddly... no outward signs of stress from staying up all night with a teething baby or wondering what time of night their teenager will bring home their other car....or wondering how to pay the mortgage on their garden apartment in the suburbs....

and then I saw the youngest and cutest girl in the audience. She was eleven. And she had a dad. Who was alone. And acknowledged my existence. And even played the piano. There, my prince had arrived. The end to my searching...here, among all the young bachelors. "Don't talk too much Gilit. Don't talk too much. Don't ask him too many questions. Smile, but don't be pushy. Listen. Watch".

And so I did. The break was over and he got up to play. The piano. My first instrument. I waited in anticipation to see if he played as nicely as he treated his daughter. From the audience, I didn't have to worry about staring at him, as he wouldn't notice with the stage lights on and the audience lights dimmed. I could comfortably glance at him for the distance, starting with his smile, and then down to the keyboard where I could closely watch his finger-work. My mind drifted to a different form of "let your fingers do the walking" as I imagined him taking my phone number after I complimented him on his piano-playing, of our trips together with his daughter and my son, and of not having to go on a blind date again.

My eyes drifted down to his right hand and musical savvy, and then watched his left hand to see how he managed with his accompaniment.

I didn't feel so bad when the piano player did NOT ask me for my telephone number. Thanks to the stage spotlight, there it was - the finger accessory this writer hadn't noticed when the musician first sat next to his daughter - his wedding ring.

Post 66: Not Exactly Aleksandr Petrovsky

2009-09-28T23:54:00.005+02:00

I've been writing the columns that predated this blog since 2000, and sometimes I feel as though I have played every character in the series "Sex and the City", except that I'm chubbier, poorer, and don't wear brand names, to mention a few differences.....

I met Boris in 2000, through a Jewish dating site, and traveled with him and my son a bit in Israel, when he was visiting from Russia. I knew that he was quite taken with me even then, but I did not want to have a "fling" with him in Israel. At the time, I would have gotten too attached and it would have bothered me from going out with other guys. However, we kept in touch throughout the years by email, and I was proud of him as he advanced in his career path, which I won't detail here so as to protect his privacy.

He kept inviting me to visit him in Russia and I refused for one or more of the following reasons:

1. I had a boyfriend
2. I couldn't leave my son
3. I didn't have enough vacation from work

Year after year, I repeated the same excuses until the following happened:

1. I no longer had a boyfriend
2. My son was old enough to stay overnight by himself or with friends and/or with his father
3. I was unemployed...therefore with LOTS of vacation from work.

Boris spoke and wrote excellent English and his communication was loud and clear. "We can be friends or we can have romance while you are here. Whatever you decide, I will respect you".

Great, I thought. I warned him that I snored. I thanked him for his honesty. I was glad that we cleared this up before, and I hinted that I thought we would "get along well" while we were there. I remembered that he was attracted to me and I remembered that I was indifferent - that I was not turned off, but not head over heels. Not exactly Aleksandr Petrovsky, the Carrie’s Russian boyfriend played by Mikhail Baryshnikov in the sixth season of Sex and the City.

So I flew for a week to Moscow.

I paid for the flight, but Boris insisted on paying for everything else, even if I had chosen to avoid physical contact. He met me at the airport and drove with me and a driver to his apartment. As we got out of the elevator, he told me to be quiet, so as not to wake the others. “What others?”

Turns out that Moscow is one of the most expensive cities in the world, not because of the price of food or paper goods (which I found considerably less expensive than in Tel Aviv), but because of housing. So Boris, despite being successful in his career, was waiting for his apartment in the suburbs to be completed, and in the meantime, rented a room in central Moscow. The other room was rented out to three nannies from the Ukraine.

“You didn’t tell me you had flatmates”, I told Boris.

“You didn’t ask”, he replied.

He also didn’t tell me there was no living room and no other mattress in his room. Therefore, I had no choice but to share his bed. Also, there was no blanket, despite it being about 15 degrees outside. Coming from nights of 30 degrees, I was cold! The only covering he had was a curtain. Therefore, the only way I could warm up was body heat. So one thing led to another, and before I knew it, Boris was “in love” with me and talking about a future. When I said “why can’t we enjoy the week together”, he got angry and told me that I was using him, and could not stand my behavior.

I managed to calm him down, but he acted up again a few times, and although I had a credit card, money and a cellphone, Boris wouldn’t hear of me wandering around Moscow myself. So he calmed down for a few days but then got upset again on the last night.
I did manage to enjoy my time in Moscow, despite the surprise from my friend who had promised to “respect me no matter what I decided”. I did not know that my decision to touch him made me committed to a long distance relationship with me.

He made me promise to call him immediately upon my return to Israel. I did, and sent him a follow up email, explaining again that I would help him during his visits to Israel in the future, but that my life was here (in Israel) and I wanted a boyfriend who LIVED in Israel. He didn't like my explanation, and told me to delete the pictures I had taken and not contact him ever again.

And although I don’t believe in “love at first sight/touch”, it was very moving to hear a man say he loved me, the first time in, perhaps ten years. (My last boyfriend did love me but had too many emotional problems to say it to my face. Yes, we are no longer together). On the other hand, it could have ended much worse, like with Carrie and Aleksandr - when she got upset, he slapped her. Then again, she had Mr. Big to rescue her and take her back to New York.

When a man behaves like a woman, run away….. but if you have nowhere to run to, what do you do? Maybe it’s better to travel to Europe with a girlfriend.

This writer says make sure your travel companion is straight, and make sure that the bed you’re going to sleep in is equipped with a warm, thick blanket rather than a warm, emotional man!

Post 65: Sabra attacked by a sabra

2009-08-16T11:57:00.002+03:00

Post 65: Sabra attacked by a sabra

As most of you know, sabra is a cactus fruit found in Israel and also refers to a native-born Israeli. I'm not a sabra, since I immigrated to Israel from Canada, but both my mother and my son are sabras. When referring to male sabras, the term also alludes to, like the fruit, something/someone who is rough and tough (macho-like) on the outside but sweet on the inside.

My son could probably use a little bit of the sabra in him for his exterior, as his sensitive side shows through all too clearly in public. This has made him subject to teasing. Now that he's a teenager, it's still tough for him to be "tough", but that's what psychologists are for.....yes, I'm passing the buck, but I have an excuse. I'm not a sabra, and I'm just not that tough. I fight for my rights, but I'm still pretty nice. You won't see me in the book "Why Men Marry Bitches". Maybe that's why I'm not married.

And although I've had quite a few boyfriends, both before and after my marriage and divorce, not all of them were native-born Israelis. There have been Anglo-saxon (of all English speaking countries), South American, Russian, Israelis who lived abroad, and yes, some born and bred sabras.

A few weeks ago, I met a sabra. The mammal. Not the fruit. We clicked immediately and started a relationship,,,,,of sorts. One night he was hungry and started peeling fruit from his fridge. Startled by the noise, I woke up and he offered me some sabra fruit. I ate one or two that he had cut up for me, and then watched him devour one after the other, relishing every bite.

But he didn't use gloves! A few hours later, I found him awake again in pain, yelling, and pulling out cactus thorns from his hands.

The sabra had attacked the sabra. But this writer realized that sabras can also fight back.

Post 64: The mat and me

2009-08-12T10:15:00.005+03:00

Post 64: The mat and me

When you go to a party or event, who are the women and men that turn heads? There are the extremely fat ones....perhaps you console yourself and think "wow, I'm not that fat" or you feel disgust "how did he let himself get so large without doing anything about it" or pity "wow, she has such a pretty face. Maybe she had to take steroids or has a thyroid problem. I bet she's a wonderful person on the inside"....then there are the "cusiot"...I really was shocked when this slang term came out in Israel for beautiful, sexy women. They used to be called simply "hatichot" (pieces) but then a particular piece of female anatomy was added to the slang. The young Israelis didn't let the word go. Instead they added a male equivalent (but still using the reference to the female vagina) and called a great looking man a "cuson". Since I haven't been living in Canada for more than 20 years, I don't know what the most updated term is. We used to call these guys "hunks".

The point is that the other type of head turners are "cusiot". And they know it. They have a slim figure, thin but not skeletal looking, and a big chest, but not out of proportion. Their hair is straight and long,, rarely curly, and their makeup is also in place. Their mascara doesn't run and their lipstick seems to stay on even after they drink coffee.. ..a walking wax doll......

If they don't smile, men won't necessarily approach them, but if they do flash a smile or two, they won't be sitting alone. Another variation is simply a tall thin woman with lots of self-confidence who simply knows that she attracts men and doesn't have to do anything except appear at a party.....but she's less of a head turner.

With the men, it doesn't operate the same way. The good looking guys may come off arrogant and the women will run the other way. But if a good looking guy appears who is also a little bit shy and modest and smiles at everyone around, the women will often fall to their feet. These guys will treat the "cusiot" the same as the chubby or obese women and the same as the short women with adult acne.

Then there are the musicians. Since I have a weakness for them, almost any guy playing an instrument (especially guitar) will allure me. All of a sudden I forget whether he is divorced, smokes, is educated, or even stable.....if he shows me some attention, I'm a goner. (I usually calm down when I do a reality check).

There are also unusual people. Some bring gimmicks - babies (their own or their nephews/nieces), cute dogs, or even a parrot. Yup, there is a guy I know who brings his parrot to parties. The parrot quietly rests on his shoulder during the evening or he lends him out to other people.

Those have you who have been reading this blog for awhile know a few things about me. I'm not a "cusit". I am not tall and thin and have curly, unkept hair. I don't smoke. I don't have a baby or a dog or a parrot. But there is one thing I have that not too many people have at these picnic gatherings I often go to....a mat!!!

In Hebrew it's called a "machtzelet" - it's those large flat rugs, made of straw-like material. It's sturdier than a blanket and great to use when you need a comfortable surface on which to sit. So if you don't like sitting on antholes and bird droppings, you will happily gravitate to a machtzelet.

When I first bought my machtzelet on sale, I didn't realize what power it would give me. I kept in my car and started bringing it to events. Wow. People started sitting next to me. If someone started to smoke, I could send them away "please smoke somewhere else. This is my machtzelet". When it was time to go, everyone had to get up, and so I was noticed, because I had to pack up the "machtzelet". If people sat in front of me, I could move closer up and move them to the back of the machtzelet, cause it was mine!

This writer doesn't need to be a 'cusit'. She has a machtzelet!

Post 63: Patience

2009-08-12T10:12:00.003+03:00

Post 63: Patience

I want to adore you
when the smoky cloud lifts

Temptation taunts
You give me what I want

But I can't purposely lead you deeper
only to break our hearts again

So let's end before the Pandora box opens wider
We'll get what we deserve
in time.

This writer wrote this a few months when trying to avoid going out with a smoker. She got rid of one smoker only to attract another one several months later.

Post 62: Before the morning sun

2009-07-07T23:43:00.005+03:00

I haven't written for awhile...lot going on...

You sink into me
as you snore away
I want to love you
I want to stay

Silk skin welding into one
Going to leave before the morning sun.

This writer dedicates this short post to all those lovers who live in separate houses and need to get back home to their children....and in this case, before my son wakes up in the morning...

Post 61: Attracting the Repellent

2009-06-01T23:30:00.005+03:00

Post 61: Attracting the Repellent

Since THE breakup in November 2008, I've spent quite a few weekends going on hikes organized by volunteers from various social groups on the Internet, a sort of Israeli-Facebook mixed with Jdate. Because the hikes are free, you never know if 30 or 300 people will show up, children, singles, or both.

Now that it's getting so hot and humid in Israel, the hikes are also being held in the evening. So I headed out one Saturday evening, along with one of my girlfriends, to one of the said evening hikes. This time, much to my surprise, there were only about 30 people. I spotted a few couples in their 50s and 60s, a mother and daughter, a few girlfriends in their 50s or so, a single woman in her 20s or 30s, a few single guys in their 20s and 30s, the "leader" of the group in his 50s and his wife, and an unidentified threesome in their 30s or 40s - two men and a woman.

My friend and I concentrated on the beautiful walk, timed perfectly to view the sunset from the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, between Tel Aviv and Haifa. I could tell it was summer because of the beads of sweat starting to drip down my back from the humidity. Confession: I was also out of shape, as I hadn't hiked for a few weeks. I spoke mainly to my girlfriend whom I hadn't seen for some time, (perhaps 24 hours!) I find it both funny and sad when I end up in such romantic spots with a woman rather than a man. I am still straight and not about to change sides in my 40s. But I can still enjoy the feeling of beauty and romance without a man. Yeah, right! Who am I kidding? Although I was pleased that the crowd was relatively small and intimate, I remembered all too well the "good" things of my three-year relationship, and one was almost the weekly hikes in the Galilee, sometimes (though obviously less towards the bitter end) hand-in-hand. My girlfriend is a cynic, a little bit like "Miranda" in Sex and the City. "If I haven't had a good relationship up to now, or when I was in my 20s, why should I attract a good relationship now?"

Although Facebook claims that I am more like Carrie Bradshaw, my attitude towards romance is closer to Charlotte York, and I know that I will meet someone again...he's out there, somewhere.

As the sun set, I didn't feel very romantic anymore. The beads of sweat on my back were replaced by the bites of mosquitoes quickly and visciously biting at my exposed skin, and even through my clothes, with insect aggressivity that I hadn't witnessed since immigrating from Canada to Israel, more than 20 years ago.

Enough of the Canadian politeness. There is no politeness when it comes to mosquitoes, regardless of their nationality. Here too I am definitely straight and prefer the male variety anytime. It's the females that bite!!! As dusk turned into dark, the mosquitoes declared war against me.

"Does anyone have mosquito repellant?" I yelled with my Anglo Saxon accent in Hebrew.

"Yes, there's a young man over there named Erez who has some".

I approached Erez who turned out to be one of the unidentified threesome. Wow, I thought, a single guy. The attractive blonde lady who was hanging out with him was actually a friend of his who came to the hike with her husband. The mosquito repellent (whose strong smell would normally repel men and women, as well as mosquitoes) gave me the excuse to talk to someone I would not have had the nerve to speak to. As liberal as Israelis claim to be, it's still not considered that acceptable for a woman to start up with a man. There are exceptions and some of you will disagree with me, but I've seen some live interactions, and the men still seem to like being the hunters and iniators. In this case, I may have started out by hunting men, but ended up hunting only a relief to my insect attacks. If men could chase after me like mosquitoes did, I wouldn't have any time to write this blog.

I seemed to have struck the jackpot. Not only did Erez have mosquito repellant but he was also divorced, close to my age (at first glance), seemingly non-smoking (although I've been disappointed on that front before) and has a few children as well. He was also employed, not bad looking and friendly. We spoke a bit about our children and some topics to do with his profession (not revealing so as not to identify him). I did wonder why the blonde woman was watching him like a hawk, considering that she was there with her husband. As a matter of fact, I wondered at first if they were brother and sister.

I introduced him to my girlfriend as well, as if to say "I found a divorced guy with kids! Finally". At the end of the evening, the threesome said good-bye, but Erez didn't ask me for my phone number. The usual scenario went through my head "too overweight; he prefers dark-skinned women; too talkative; lives too far away; prefers sabras (sabra usually refers to an Israeli citizen born in Israel) or whatever".

I checked with the Israeli blonde on the said internet site, and got the true reason - he already has a girlfriend - she just couldn't make it to the hike that evening - and she is friends of the blonde! "Didn't he say anything about her?", she asked me.

I thought to myself - perhaps he did, but I heard only what I wanted to hear...or maybe he didn't as I didn't ask. I did ask if he was a "bachelor". In any case, I met some nice people and enjoyed the hike. I didn't expect to meet someone who was dating material in the first place, although I always leave the option open.

This writer didn't find her knight in shining armor....but she was rescued, in the night, with armor against mosquitoes!

Post 60: Women in Black and the Witch Hunt

2009-05-17T05:20:00.006+03:00

The following post has been submitted for Scribbit's May write-away-contest with the subject of spring. By coincidence, I just posted the following which is a story that took place in the spring...we're still officially in spring anyway....
Post 60: Women in Black and the Witch Hunt
This post is not about the women's organization that protests war in Israel or any other part of the world. It's about women wearing black and not standing out in the crowd. Iris Baron, a sexologist and marriage counsellor (link is to her Hebrew site) often mentions the issue of women wearing black at events, meetings, parties. etc. Many women wear black because they think it is slimming. What happens in effect is that in a room full of women, they are almost always wearing black, and therefore do not stand out in a crowd. Iris doesn't say that you have to wear 10 different colors (like I do, but that's another story) but she says if you have to wear black, break it with something else - a yellow scarf, a pink pendant, a tourquoise vest......something!

Therefore, a few months ago, I was invited to a costume party for Purim, which is a Jewish holiday that takes place in the spring. I wasn't thrilled about going to this party which would feature a loud d.j. and music that would probably not be my style, judging by the person who organized the party. I also knew that this party would attract approximately 40 women and 20 men,, with most of the men coming in couples - not with each other, but boyfriend and girlfriend. On the positive side, this group of people consists of mainly divorced women and men with children, in their 40s and 50s - a nice, friendly, huggy bunch who will be happy to greet you as if you are their best friends, even though you haven't seen them for several months. To top it off, my friend, Nili, recently separated, likes dancing and started to realize that she has to socialize in different circles than she did when she was married. Picnicking with her daughters and nieces is great family bonding but on the weekends when her daughters are with her ex husband, she started to go out to singles events as well.

So I picked up Nili at her house. She was dressed in a witch costume, totally black. I was dressed in a Mexican costume, all colored with a poncho and sombrero, and underneath it, I had on a bright green, sexy but flattering dress. I knew there were not going to be very many men at this party, but if there were, I wanted to make sure that I was noticed. After all, it was Purim. Time to celebrate, get drunk, be happy. Nili was looking forward to seeing the group of people and was actually happy that there were not going to be potential "boyfriends" as her attitude was that it takes one month to recover from each year of a relationship. Therefore, she would be "over" her marriage and ready to date in two years. In the meantime, she figured that no man would be looking at her, and so she could relax. Wearing the black, I assumed, even though she was a witch, simply added to her attitude of wanting to disappear from men.

We arrived at the party and sure enough....loud music....and I was wrong. Instead of 40 women and 20 men, there were 50 women and 10 men. Out of the 10 men, about 5 came in couples, 2 looked about 70 years old, 2 looked like Frankenstein, but didn't need a costume and one was very good looking. The good looking one walked into the living room where the dancing was taking place, and immediately starting flirting with Nili. Nili got frightened and walked away.

I didn’t like the music, so I sat in the room between the kitchen and living room where I could sit quietly and observe the witch hunt as well. The Mystery Man, (let’s call him MMM) went into the kitchen but Nili had already gone back to the living room to dance. Nili sat at the left hand side of a two-seater couch. MMM sat next to her. Nili felt that there was someone on her right but didn’t turn to face him. Instead, she sat up and turned her body 45 degrees away from him. MMM remained patiently. And so this continued all night long, until I was fed up.

“Nili, we are NOT leaving this party until you say hello to him”

Nili: But….but…but…

Gilit: No buts. You don’t have to marry him. You don’t have to sleep with him. You don’t have to date him. You just have to say hello. He has been following you around all evening and you are acting like a total snob!

We then gathered our belongings and walked into the front yard on the way to my car. MMM was already waiting for Nili. She finally said bye to him and they started to talk. I did an about face and started to talk with the first random woman I found on the balcony.

When I saw that the coast was clear and they appeared to be finished their conversation, I collected my black witch friend and walked with her back to my car. The witch was in total shock. Like magic, I saw that something small and rectangle was her palm. It was MMM’s business card, complete with credentials, phone numbers and email.

Iris’s theory about wearing black didn’t work that well this evening. For MMM, Nili was the only woman for him. And the green dress didn’t do anything for this writer except feeling green with envy. There is a book called “Why Men Marry Bitches” – I guess Witches can apply as well.
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Post 59: Deserted in the Desert

2009-04-14T12:00:00.002+03:00

My relationship with Arie revolved around festivals during the last 3 years. We got together because of Breshit (Genesis) Festival near the Sea of Galilee. I accompanied him at several Sagol festivals on the Mediterranean Sea, and he split up with me (the first time) at Shantipi Festival near Achziv (also on the Mediterranean Sea). And at the last Sagol Festival in October, he knew I was coming to spend the weekend with him yet told another woman that he wanted to take their platonic relationship to "the next level" only hours before I was coming to be with him. When we both discovered each other's existence, Arie left the country with no one to come back to and destroyed any chance of friendship with me.

Five months later, I decided to go with a girlfriend down to the desert to the Zorba festival, between Mitpeh Ramon and Eilat. Later I found out that Arie would also be working there, but I decided that Israel is too small a country and that eventually I would run into him, so I should not let him rule my life, and do what I want to do.

So I did.....I did run into him several times at the festival but just said hello and avoided him. He had gotten a lift down to the festival with friends of his whom he managed to stop speaking to before he even arrived.

On the last day, he saw my girlfriend and I ready to leave and asked where we were going - I told him that that we were going to the center of the country, first to my friend's city, and then to mine. He said, with his puppy dog eyes, "i don't have a lift anymore and I have a long way to go." I answered "yes, it's a long way back to the Galilee. Good luck and have a good trip".

And we left.

What chutzpah. Yes, it's sad that he has no friends left, but to ask his ex girlfriend for a lift back after he had lied to her and dropped her like a hot potato after so many years without an explanation? After he had told all his friends and children about his "new girlfriend" (who promptly dumped him after hearing that he was with me simultaneously) but didn't bother to tell the new 'girlfriend' or 'me" about each other?

This writer doesn't have a boyfriend, but she has many wonderful friends in her life, and most important, has her self esteem. As for Arie, this writer deserted him in the desert.

Post 58: Walk Me to My Car (Please)

2009-03-24T20:34:00.000+02:00

Post 58: Walk Me to My Car (Please)

Despite the recession that has also hit Israel, there seems to be a LOT of parties going on, especially this month, for the occasion of the Jewish holiday of Purim. Perhaps with the high rate of unemployment, less people have to get up for work the next day and can stay up late.

One of the Purim events I went to was a musical performance in Tel Aviv. I sat on pillows and mattresses in a room full of people, mainly single, and mostly in their thirties and forties. The atmosphere there was very intimate and I really enjoyed the performance of the singer, floutist, and guitar player. I assume there was percussion as well, although I can't recall. The performers were dressed up in Purim costumes, as were some of the members of the audience.

After the performance, some of the people there drank a little bit too much and headed by foot to grab something to eat. They were mostly single people who didn't have to get up the next morning for work. I asked one of them to walk me back to my car. A little tipsy, my friend told the woman at his side, that he was walking me home (instead of to my car). She was a bit confused, but walked with him, another women, and two other bachelor men.

I had parked my car in a lot of a garage that was deserted in the evenings, so it was rather creepy to walk back there alone. So it was kind of funny that I didn't get much of a chance to talk to people after the performance, and just at the last minute, as I had 5 escorts to my car, I had the opportunity to meet new people. One had recognized me from playing the guitar on a hike we had been on. The other was impressed by my car, which I said was not mine, but belonged to the hitech company I worked for.

This writer slept in her own bed, alone, that night, but had five people walk back to her car alone and gave her a good night hug.

No boyfriend. No problems.

2009-03-23T00:47:00.004+02:00

I was looking for an image for this blog, because no one understood the previous one. So I found this image on http://www.zazzle.com/no_boyfriend_no_problems_tshirt-235322496976180293
and have asked them for permission. I think it's appropriate for my blog and would appreciate your comments. If the Zazzle people tell me to take it down, then I will....at least I was polite and asked them, unlike what other people do with Google Images.

For those of you more experienced bloggers, please let me know the right protocol on this.

By the way, if any of you are good in photoshop and want to do me a favor by changing the wording on the t-shirt to 'I don't want a boyfriend", then I can change the image once again!

This writer knows how to write so she will leave the expertise on graphics to her readers!

Post 57: Grown up and Homeless

2009-03-21T20:15:00.000+02:00

Post 57: Grown up and Homeless (or "All Dressed up and Nowhere to Go")

What do you do when you live with your son and you want to meet (in private) with a man who has custody of his children? Ideally, you wait until both of your children or at your exspouse's home? But if that spouse rarely sees his/her children, it can get tricky. And what do widows and widowers do? I suppose if they have family in Israel, they can arrange to have their children stay with their parents/grandparents.

However, what do you tell your teenaged children? That you have a "sex' date? No way....that you have someone staying over in order in the guest room because he is doing some work on the apartment the next day, and wants to get an early start and miss traffic? Plumbing? Fixing the computer? Ahh, but then he should be in the guest room....and how would you explain him ending up in your own room...it's simply not an option.....ideally, when you have a "real" relationship, you can simply say "my boyfriend is staying over tonight"....but you aren't going to reach that status in one day.....you first have to date...and if you are a "Rules" girl, and don't go to bed on the first (or second, or third, or.....?) date, you still aren't going to tell your children about it....

Recently, a former "fuck buddy" of mine moved back in with his parents, temporarily, to save money. He's now dating someone, who has her own place, so he's ok, but supposing we were back together for human warmth purposes...it just would be impossible.

This writer doesn't have to face this issue anymore, but hopefully she will meet a nice guy with his own place soon, before the snow in the Golan melts.....(the Golan has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but I thought I'd throw it in anyway. The point is that the nights are still cold!)

Post 56: It's Raining Women

2009-03-19T19:58:00.000+02:00

Post 56: It's Raining Women

The best thing that actually happened at the 'singles' workshop that I went to a few months ago was meeting a new friend whom I'll call Nili. Nili works in my neighborhood and is also full of energy and open to meeting new people and ideas, even if they aren't always fun or successful. We have been spending so much time together recently, that I've been calling her one of my "wives". I'm not planning to change my sexual preference to women, but the number of single women (both divorced or never married) in their forties is really astounding.

But we gain power and self-esteem knowing that we are not alone, and that we can have fun even in the absence of men...and to be honest, sometimes more fun, (though not the physical kind)....

I think that a lot has to do with the fact that I have been abandoned or I myself have "dropped" people from my lives....yes, it hurts at times. Some I miss more - some I do not miss at all, but in their place have entered some amazing people -men and women. I know this is corny, but I am really blessed by virtual (Web-based) and real friends...I have introduced them to each other and this has created a domino effect. "Hey, Gilit', I thought you knew a lot of people, but after meeting Nili, Sherrri, Mali, etc. etc., I realize that whomever you don't know, they know!"

To be honest, this has been fun, but also exhausting. The funny thing is that when we specifically go to events targeted to meet single men, we end up meeting more women. Or at least I do. The other night, when I was at a Purim party, the d.j. played the song "It's Raining Men".

With about 50 women and 10 men at the said party, this writer sang "It's Raining Women".

Post 55: One bar mitzvah and a funeral

2009-03-18T01:00:00.000+02:00

Post 55: One Bar Mitzvah and a Funeral

Since THE breakup in November, 2008, I've been meeting unconventional men and women in unconventional places. Life would be just too boring if and I'd have nothing to write about, if I met conventional people in conventional places.....or if I didn't meet anyone at all....but then I would probably write about the people I encounter in movies, on TV and in books. For example, I recently finished "Eat, Pray, Love", by Elizabeth Gilbert and seriously felt that I had said goodbye to a friend when the book was finished!

After the flurry of strange men that I recently met, I retreated to a bar mitzvah, where I knew I would be spending a weekend with religious men and women, most of them married, and therefore I would be safe from close encounters of the Israeli kind.

A close friend, recently separated, sent me a text message to 'behave myself". I assured her that I would be ok. I was in a hotel near the beach, sharing a room with my son, and with a full schedule - candle lighting, shabbat dinner, breakfast, Saturday morning prayers and Torah reading, lunch, etc. etc.

My son and I arrived a few hours before the Sabbath (Shabbat) was to begin. I'm not religious, but many of the guests were, which means they had to stay overnight in order to avoid traveling from their homes to the bar mitzvah on Shabbat. It was a beautfiul day, unusually warm for February, even in Israel, and with the beach literally in the backyard of the hotel, I decided to take a walk before the festivities began.

My son was happy to stay reading the paper and watching cable television (which we do not have at home) so I head out in running shoes, a tunic and pants. No makeup. No bathing suit....just me and my extra 5 kilos.

The beach was located on a semi-isolated section of the Mediterranean Sea, with beautiful cliffs on the east, and the sea on the west. I headed north for a peaceful and leisurely walk. I passed the families with children and the thin women in bikinis. I watched the surfers in their wet suits pack up their equipment and head back to their cars. One of them said hello to me and instead of ignoring him, I smiled back and we started to talk. He chatted me up and invited himself back to the hotel, but I told him that I was sharing it with my son, and that it wouldn't be appropriate. He decided to give me his number anyway. He was thirty something and thought I was the same age. I told him that it was the first time anyone had started up with me on the beach in 20 years, and thanked him for massaging my ego. He wanted to massage something more tangible than my ego, telling me that I looked good and was sexy.

And that's when I realized that perhaps not all good looking men in their thirties are attracted to their twiggy counterparts in bathingsuits. Perhaps bored by the thin human scenery, the surfer was turned on by rounder female mammals (and I don't mean dolphins).

This writer took the surfer's phone number and returned to the hotel. She didn't spend the night with the surfer, but enjoyed the weekend. And then on Saturday night her friends' mother died. She spent Friday on a beach, Saturday in a synagogue and Sunday in a cemetary. One bar mitzvah and a funeral.

Post 54: Close Encounters of the Israeli Kind

2009-03-15T19:21:00.005+02:00

Post 54: Close Encounters of the Israeli Kind

Until recently, my contact with aliens were residents of Israel working here illegally. I don't know a lot about science fiction. I've seen some of the more famous movies like "Close Encounters of the Third Kind", E.T. and Star Wars.

So you can imagine that I raised my eyebrow when I went to a singles workshop and met a guy who claimed to have seen aliens himself. During our first encounter, he seemed as normal (or as strange) as any other candidate that I have for dating- divorced, non-smoking, and father. When we actually had our first date, he told me about his experience channeling aliens and his therapy with them in Kadima, Israel. Without revealing his name, he is one of the people who are referred to in Adrian Dvir's book. I'll call him Benny.

The funny thing is that I was more disturbed about his disfunctional family than his encounters with aliens. There was no way that I was going to get involved with another man who did not communicate with his siblings and parents. I am seeking a partner, not a patient. I stood by my former boyfriend while he was going through therapy (only to be cheated on in the end!) and was not going to get involved again. I complained to my acupuncturist (who lives in Kadima but did not know that it had been a center for alien activity) that I am off kilter, because I continue to attract strange men into my life. She calmed me down, assuring me that perhaps I just want to help and nurture people - and it doesn't necessarily mean that I am as strange as these men.

I did succeed in saying goodbye to Benny after the first date, and recommending he see a psychologist, rather than me playing psychologist. I mean there are other guys out there, and he's not the last non-smoking divorcee on earth.

If this writer met a guy who got therapy from aliens, who knows whom she'll meet next - maybe an alien himself? Well, as long as he is divorced, educated, emotinally mature and non-smoking.

Post 53: Return of the Ex - Again

2009-02-23T23:26:00.005+02:00

He's back. That is he's back in the country after three months abroad. In another country. On another continent. We were together for three years with a short breakup during the Second Lebanon War. During that breakup, in 2006, I left him alone, as I was told "If you love something/someone, set it free".

So I did, and he came back. I told him that if we were to get back together it would only be with counselling. Be careful what you wished for. He agreed. With the help of an amazing psychologist/relationship counsellor our communication got better, and our relationship, in some ways, got stronger. Arie also started to see his own psychologist. I knew that would either seal or break our relationship. Due to some serious childhood issues, Arie would be, as I envisioned, opening up a Pandora's box, as he began therapy. But I rationalized - would I abandon a friend, male or female, if he or she, G-d forbid, was going through physical therapy such as chemotherapy? No, I would not. And so I stood by Arie as he began his psychological therapy.
And the demons began to come out of the Pandora box. It was difficult, but I stood by him......until he decided to leave the country for a few months, and we agreed to separate. But we also agreed to maintain a sexually exclusive relationship until he boarded the plane.

Problem was that he had already decided to start a new relationship before he got on the plane. He told his children. He told his best friends. He conveniently forgot to tell his new 'girlfriend" about our sexual relationship and she thought that he no longer had a girlfriend. He also forgot to tell me about his new "love".

When I found out, several hours after his departure, I wrote to him to get out of my life. He did. When I told the "girlfriend" about me, she thanked me and allegedly cut off ties with him. He thought he could dance at two weddings, but ended up with none.

I was rather apprehensive when I looked on the calendar and realized that he was due to land last week. Our children were still in touch, so I knew more or less that he was safe and that he was returning to Israel. I also knew that there was a chance that he would call me when he returned to an empty apartment, with no girlfriend..

He called a few days ago.

This writer did not answer her cellphone when she recognized his phone number on her call display. Perhaps she is still hurt. Perhaps she is still lonely, but she has moved on. Again.

Post 52: Double Dating in the Same City

2009-01-31T23:28:00.003+02:00

Did I ever mention that I hate blind dates? Maybe one of the reasons I stayed with my (ex) boyfriend for three years was to avoid having to go on any more blind dates. I know quite a few people who actually met their boyfriend or husband through the internet, subsequently on a blind date, and are still with the same partner today.....so I know that there is a success rate.

Looking back on all the long-term boyfriend (and one-term ex husband) that I had, I met none of them through a blind date. I met my ex husband at work (a Gulf War romance). The "rebound" relationship boyfriend was actually someone I met while I was still married. We used to hike together with another friend and my ex husband, before I was even pregnant. Shortly after my divorce, I asked my mutual friend about him - let's call him Boaz and we met him. The mutual friend did me a bit of a favor by mentioning that I was divorced, but not mentioning that I had a baby. In retrospect, he was right. At the time of my divorce, thanks to stress and breastfeeding, I weighed about 54 kilos and did not have a problem attracting men. Twelve years later and 15 kilos more, it's not as easy, and certain men still seem to think that women over 40 can stay 54 kilos throughout their lifetime.

After the rebound relationship, or perhaps during it, I met my next boyfriend. This one lasted three years or so, and we did not meet through a blind date. We met through a social networking event. I was convinced that it was a work related networking event, but he knew that it was social. I found him arrogant. He found me.....hm.m.....don't remember, attractive but....? I'll have to ask him......A few months later I was at a concert with a girlfriend and he approached me with the pretense of joining the choir we both sang with. He never did join the choir.

Years later, after many blind dates, a few flings, one speed dating event and a few parties, I met my next boyfriend on a hike with a few other friends. This relationship lasted a few months, but he was a bachelor and a Cohen, and couldn't marry a divorcee by Jewish law, among other things.

A few years later, I met my previous boyfriend at a party of a mutual friend. It was actually our boys who helped get us together.

The point of relating a quick history of these relationships is to prove that I didn't meet on a blind date. As a matter of fact, I don't think any of these past boyfriends+ one husband would've "passed" the blind date test. One smoked (originally, until he met me, although he denies that I influenced him to quit); the rebound guy was a bachelor and not interested in a divorcee with a baby (he didn't find out about the baby until he was already 'attracted' to me); the next was too arrogant (his courting powers and persistence made up for that later in time); the next another bachelor and rather shy (his kind soul and the cold of the winter+pushy friends that wanted us together made up for that) and the last one lived so far away that I would never have agreed to go on a blind date with him in the first place.

They say that woman plans and G-d laughs......and here I am many years later and met a nice guy in a park a few months ago. He smoked and was younger than me, but we had a good conversation and he suggested that I meet an older friend of his, non-smoker, also divorced with a boy in my neck of the woods.

A few months later, after my breakup was official and I felt ready to hit the "singles' scene again, I gave the park guy a call, and he made the necessary connection. Problem was that it was winter, and the weekly music evenings in the park were on hold. There was no way I could meet the new guy, "Herzl" in the park, and there wasn't really an appropriate hike in the near future. It turned out that he visited his son in one of the nearby cities at the same time that my son was at our family therapist, in the same city.

By some strange timing, I managed to meet him at a cafe for an hour at the same time that my son was at his therapist's house.....this meant it was a blind date. ....I had just finished my cataract surgery, and didn't put on any eye makeup nor was able to pluck my eyebrows, but it was dark, and maybe Herzl wouldn't notice. i hate blind dates anyway, so I thought that the best thing would be to get this over with.

As I sat down, i couldn't believe my eyes. What were the chances? In walked a woman I had only recently met at one of my extracurricular activities. She didn't live in this particular city either! And I had just met her boyfriend, so who was the guy she was with?

Her brother-in-law? Her son? It was dark, so I really couldn't tell. A few weeks later, I ran into her and she told me that she had split up with her boyfriend, and that this was a blind date!

Now what were the chances? Double dating in the same city! On a week night?

Apparently, they had about three dates. I just had the one. Herzl complimented me but I just didn't feel the same. Had I met him at a workshop, hike, party or at work, maybe I would've felt differently. He didn't call me again, so I didn't have to decide.

I'm probably still not ready.

This writer survived her first blind date in three years...but she is probably going to give the dating season a break for now...at least for the next week Tomorrow she's having breakfast with a girlfriend she hasn't seen in months...but at least it's not a blind date!

Post 51: Why is this breakup different from all other breakups?

2009-01-25T00:55:00.008+02:00

During the Passover seder, one of the questions that the youngest child asks is "Why is this Night Different from all other Nights?" Although it's a few months before Passover, and I'm not even a religious Jew, I've been pondering that question regarding being back in the "singles" scene following my recent breakup.

Can I still call it recent? It's been more than two months. When is it right to be dating again ? There are all sorts of theories about this. One theory says that you need one month for every year you've been going out. So since I went out with my (now) ex-boyfriend for 3 years, that would mean three months, which is coming up soon.

However, if I saw him only once a week during the last three years, does that give me less time, or more time? And we had a breakup during those three years of two months, so how do you account for that?

Like all rules, they are good to have as a basis but there is always an exception to the rule....and it's pretty easy to break most rules, unless you are very religious person....and even then you can sometimes there are exceptions to rules, if that religious person consults with his or her rabbi, priest, guru, spiritual leader, etc.

So if we all agree that it's ok that I've gone back to dating, what is DIFFERENT this time around? To be honest, it's a pain; an unpleasant deja vu. I'm not really into blind dates right now, but I do try to combine meeting new men with activities that I like. For example, if I know about an organized hike that a lot of people are going on, then I might invite someone that I have been in touch with on the internet to join. In that way, I am not "stuck" with him and he is not "stuck" with me. We are both free to meet other people during the hike.

The other day, a non-smoking divorced man with a very nice internet profile and nice voice, called me up and told me about a party that he was going to. He had already seen my picture on the internet, but I couldn't really see his, as he only revealed his head and nose....Anyway, I would assume that if a man calls you up and tells you about a party, he is giving you the opportunity to meet him there. If he didn't want to meet you, he wouldn't call you up specially on the night of the party and tell you about it, right?

That sounds logical, but I have been in Israel for over 20 years, and should know by now that there is NOTHING logical about Israel. Without going into a political narrative and scare you away, this lack of logic extends itself to dating and other areas....

So I wasn't going to show up to this party, being a bad dancer to begin with. I am much more comfortable in a party where people are playing music and singing, or on a hike in the nature, than watching middle aged men and women dance in an empty garage, with no opportunity to even hear the person beside you.

Things have improved in Israel whereas there is far less smoking inside the dance clubs (there is no smoking allowed officially, but I don't know what is happening in Tel Aviv; I have trouble believing this is enforced). This is great for avid non-smokers such as myself. The disadvantage is that if you actually want to hear anyone speak, you need to go outside, and that is exactly where all the smokers are.

I did go to the party that my potential new man in my life suggested. On the phone, he sounded so sweet and had a few things going for him: divorced, non-smoking, employed, has kids (read: doesn't want more as he's paying enough child support already); doesn't like dancing, loves nature, cuddling, kissing for hours.....I thought that if he made the effort to call me and tell me about the party, I should make the effort to at least show up, particularly as the party was only a 10 minute drive or so from my home.

So Mr. Potential met me at the entrance to the party, (along with his relatives and a few people that had driven with him). He admitted, once we were inside, that he wasn't much of a dancer anyway. Great, I thought....and then after a drink or so, he disappeared.

I danced a bit but then decided to look for him, as I really did want to get the opportunity to know him a bit better. But he wasn't at the bar, and it seemed a bit long for him to have been in the toilet, so I went outside.

Mr. "no, I don't smoke" was sitting and chatting with another woman (whom he didn't arrive with), both of them SMOKING CIGARETTES!!!

When I confronted him, he said "well, I'm corrupt. I do smoke at events like these". My friends asked if I was upset that he was chatting with another woman (obviously he didn't like the way I looked once he saw me in person......or preferred the smell of the cigarettes to the smell of my freshly washed hair and body). They told me (a recurring voice, after being in this country for so long. "You are still too anglo-saxon and you expect people to behave as nicely and honestly as you do....but they don't) (Ironically, I am divorced from an 'Anglo Saxon" so that doesn't mean that marrying or dating another Anglo Saxon is a key to a good relationship)....

But I wasn't upset (ok, maybe a bit!) that he spoke to another woman, as this wasn't an official "date". What upset me was that he lied about the smoking! Feeling rather foolish, I went home and crossed the man off my mental "potential new boyfriend list". The fact that he didn't reveal his whole face in the picture perhaps should have been a hint to me that he wasn't honest about other things he had told me.

And thank goodness, I didn't even have to go on a "date" with him to find this out, or uncover dishonesty after a three year relationship.

Not being religious, I still have to say that G-d did me a favor. If I hadn't made the effort to meet him that night, I might still have been fantasizing about meeting him in the future....

So what's different about the disappointments now as opposed to three years ago?

The difference is today I realize that I am the lucky one, and it is the loss of the guy who 'rejects' me or "lies to me". He is only giving the green light for the next guy that G-d or fate decides to flaunt in my path (or on my screen). And due to lots of therapy and work on my self esteem, I no longer take this as something personal. Rather, I say "next".

But the other thing that is interesting is that while I haven't yet learned to 'detach myself from the wanting", as I wrote about in my previous post, I do realize that if I keep attracting these problematic men into my life, it means that it's not my time yet. I haven't healed yet....or the next boyfriend simply hasn't broken up from his present girlfriend yet.

There are plenty of men out there who find me attractive, intelligent, sexy, and everything else that I believe I am....sometimes I simply do not feel the same about them...and other times it is reciprocal, but it doesn't work out for more technical reasons like geographical distance.

What's different this time around, is that I don't feel guilty for trying, because I know that my time will come soon, but the fact that I can still get excited, romantic, fantasize, or just get giggly as a teenager means that I still have the capacity to love, more cynically and apprehensively, yes, but it's there. The girl-woman is still here, not the figure of the girl, but the passion of the woman combined with the romanticism of the girl.

The nights are still cold. The apartments here still are not heated that well. And going to sleep reading a good book and hugging the blankets is STILL not the same as a boyfriend....no matter how much I have tried to convince you otherwise!

So the war is over (for now). The flowers are blooming (just started). The men coming my way are still rather messed up (for now)...which means that I must also be a bit messed up (for now).

That being said, this writer should be cynical and bitter, but she knows how to hike in the rain, and laugh in the middle of a war. It might not be her stop just yet on the road to emotional ride to recovery from the breakup, but she can enjoy the scenery on the ride, while it lasts.

Post 50: Detach Yourself from the Wanting

2009-01-20T23:47:00.005+02:00

created in the present, January, 2009

"Detach Yourself from the Wanting", my sister in Canada told me. Easy to say, I thought, after coming out of a three year relationship which I haven't written much about here, because this blog is about NO SEX IN THE CITY....and since I actually had sex during the past three years, I will eventually revisit the three-year era, but not when I am still recovering...healing....

I realized a few weeks ago that it enough was enough. I don't miss the ex, but I miss the GOOD parts of the relationship, which means the sex, the hugging, the kissing, the warmth. And I do NOT like being back in the singles "market", although sometimes it's nice....kind of like being in the produce section of the supermarket - so many fruit and vegetables - some are damaged, some have food coloring, some are paler, and some just melt into your hands....only problem is that I am a fire sign.....never believed much in horoscopes, but I spent the last 3 years with a guy whose birthday falls 2 days before mine...fire and fire....and it was....

And being a fire sign, it's annoying to have to go back to the "Rules" (read the books - there are Rules I and Rules II - i should be a good girl and put the links in to the websites for these books, but it's late at night, and so I am not following the proper blog etiquette - is there blog etiquette???) The other thing is that I am recovering from cataract surgery.

"Aren't you too young to be having cataract surgery?"

Answer: No

The question should be : "Do young people get cataract surgery?"

Answer: Yes

Next question I have got asked recently:

"Why don't you have wrinkles?"

Answer: I don't know, but I have cataracts,. Want to switch?

So this eye surgery had an interesting effect on me. On the one hand, I got to do a lot of walking and lost some weight, not being able to drive for a week.

On the other hand, I was CURFEWED. I am not religious and there is no public transportation on the sabbath in Israel, so I couldn't hike (and risk getting dust in my eye) and I couldn't drive. And there was one guy I knew whose children were at their mother's home this weekend....but

a. he wouldn't be able to kiss me on one side of my face
b. I couldn't drive to his place
c. he couldn't drive to my place since there was no way that I was going to introduce him to my son, giving that he was NOT going to end up being my boyfriend

So he stayed my imaginary boyfriend...back I go to the beginning of this blog, back to the year 2000 when I first thought of printing my T-shirt "I don't want a boyfriend".

My new technique to avoid blind dates, is to meet someone through the internet or through a friend and then invite him to a hike. This way, if we don't get on, we still get to enjoy the hike and meet other people at the same time....and I don't have to sit in yet another coffee house with the same ridiculous questions:

1. Why did you move to Israel?
Desired but unstated answer: Would you like to live in -40 degrees?
2. Which is better, Israel or Canada?
Desired but unstated answer: Depends - which do you prefer, missiles, terrorists, or drive by shootings.
3. Why do you still have an accent in Hebrew?
Desired but unstated answer: 'Cause I wasn't born here. Why do you have an accent in English?
4. What, you don't have ANY family in Israel?
Desired but unstated answer: No, I said that I immigrated by myself. Do you want to date me or my family?
5. Does your son see his father?
Desired but unstated answer: Not a lot, so if you ever want to meet in private, it will have to be at your place
6. What do you mean.....why doesn't he see him?
Desired but unstated answer I'll give you his phone number (my ex husband) - you can ask him.
7. Do you know that you are really nice and empathetic? Has anyone told you that?
Desired but unstated answer: You haven't seen me in the morning. And that's why we are in a dimly lit coffee shop.

I think I'll continue with this list in future posts...this is fun.

Seriously though, I actually had a blind date today. Since my eye isn't completely healed yet, I didn't wear eye makeup and I'm not allowed to pluck my eyebrows...so I just hope he doesn't notice...and I don't think he did.

My sister told me to detach myself from the wanting...but it's not a blind date that I want, but something greater, the return of fire with fire, warmth with warmth, fun with fun, and hugs and kisses that really mean something mutual, not a motion to lead to sex, but of true mutual compassion.

Will this writer get a second date? And does she even want one? She thinks her next date will be with the eye surgeon who can really see things as they are.....

Post 49: The Finish Line: the end to love and peace

2009-01-06T00:01:00.006+02:00

This post has been written as a submission to Scribbit's January (2009) "Write-Away contest".

My three year love came to an end just as the most recent Hamas vs. Israel war began.

The words "The Finish Line" bring to mind a race or a marathon, something that requires a lot of training and energy but then ends, one way or another. The participants in a race clearly know where the finish line is marked, but they don't know who is going to be first in line or what time it will take to get the winner there.

But the Finish Line in love and war is less clear. I supposed I knew that my last relationship would end, but I didn't know when, and I didn't know how. The Finish Line in my case was a plane ticket. My boyfriend of 3 years decided to take a break from Israel and travel abroad. I knew that the date he was set to play would mark a separation in our relationship. What I didn't know was that it would be finished completely when I discovered, the day that he flew, that he had started a different relationship with someone else. Well, that was the Finish Line for that relationship. I confronted the woman, who did not know about me, and she actually thanked me for disclosing his disloyalty, that she didn't know about it. Now Mr. formerly wonderful has no one to return to - neither of us want a dishonest person in our lives....

So I moved on, past the Finish Line of this relationship.

And then the "ceasefire" between Hamas and Israel ended. Sad thing was it wasn't a ceasefire to begin with due to all the missiles falling on southern Israel for the past few years, but when it officially ended, its "Finish Line" became in fact the beginning of a war. More missiles, longer range, more extensive damage. Israel's Defense Army (IDF), being just that, a defense army felt that they could not sit still and leave its citizens undefended any longer against the missiles and therefore fought back with air and ground forces.

I really hope that the deadline for this contest is also the Finish Line for the suffering on both ends and that the Start Line will begin: beginnings for peace; beginnings for love and new, honest relationships....

But who am I kidding. I'm a single (divorced) mom living in Israel. New love for me? Maybe. End to the Hamas-Israel conflict? I doubt it. My 14 year old teenager Finishing His Homework.? Impossible.

This writer thinks that world peace is a more realistic Finish Line than a new boyfriend or a gifted teenager learning to finish his homework.

Post 48: Let the Sun Shine Despite the Missiles in the South

2009-01-04T00:26:00.003+02:00

time: the present, January, 2009

I wanted to cover the last 3 years, but have been overwhelmed by the present. I go to work. My son goes to school. I meet new people and savor the sunshine in a forest after a week of very much needed rain.

But in the south of Israel, missiles fall - not just in the south, but in the center. I can't write political commentary any better than professional political commentators, so I'm not going to comment, just observe that

Life goes on in the center of Israel. It's sad. We all want the violence to end on both sides. But after six eight years of rockets in the south while the world stayed silent......I really don't know what to say.

So let me tell you that the winter nights are cold, (for Israel). I feel for my friend whose son is a soldier. My son will also be one in a few years, but right now I am more worried that he didn't study for his biology test tomorrow.

I was on a hike today with such warm people. I wished that the international media could zoom on in these people, hiking, respecting nature, relishing the winter pools which are so rarely full of water, and forgetting about the terror, the bloodshed and the tears.

I hope that I will not have to write more about terrorists, missiles and sorrow.

This writer would rather write about NO SEX and hope that soon she will be writing about NO MISSILEs.

Post 47: Sweat Lodge goes Urban

2008-12-22T22:19:00.005+02:00

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.

Post 46: No Sex in the Tent

2008-12-15T21:00:00.000+02:00

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.

Post 45: Finding a Haven Despite the Teenagers

2008-12-09T22:00:00.000+02:00

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.

Post 44: Busride with an adult, some teenagers and the vodka bottles

2008-12-07T21:00:00.000+02:00

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.

Post 43: He appeared from the sidelines

2008-12-01T23:27:00.000+02:00

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.

Post 42: Eerie Era

2008-11-29T19:00:00.000+02:00

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.

Post 41: Fishing for Space

2008-11-27T22:52:00.000+02:00

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".

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!

Post 40: Ecology and Loneliness

2008-11-25T22:46:00.002+02:00

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….

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?

Post 39: The Princess and the Pea (The Pita and the Chick Pea)

2008-11-18T23:42:00.005+02:00

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.

Post 38: I Feel the Earth Move

2008-11-14T08:52:00.002+02:00

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.

Post 37: The Ice Cream Test

2008-11-10T23:07:00.004+02:00

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.

Post 36: A 'cheep' (not cheap) overnight guest

2008-11-01T21:40:00.002+02:00

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!

Post 35: C'mon Baby Light My Fire

2008-10-25T21:45:00.006+02:00

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.

Post 34: No Sex in the Desert

2008-10-09T21:11:00.003+02:00

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.

Post 33: The Cinderella Syndrome

2008-10-04T23:18:00.004+03:00

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???????

Post 32: Sooner or Later

2008-09-28T06:58:00.005+03:00

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.

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.

Post 31: Viruses spread in more than one way

2008-09-19T14:06:00.002+03:00

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.

My comments have disappeared

2008-09-17T00:39:00.000+03:00

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

Post 30: No Singing in the City

2008-09-13T14:35:00.003+03:00

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?

Post 29: The Bare Bears

2008-09-06T15:21:00.008+03:00

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.

Post 28: Dodging the Married Men

2008-09-03T14:36:00.004+03:00

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.

Post 27: The Ex-Girlfriends' Club

2008-08-30T22:15:00.002+03:00

originally created as Column Twenty-Seven, August, 2001

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.

Post 26: Clothespins, Poppyseeds and Headguests

2008-08-25T23:42:00.005+03:00

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.

Post 25: The Towel

2008-08-20T22:20:00.006+03:00

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.

Kisses are a Girl's Best Friend

2008-08-06T00:00:00.007+03:00

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.

Post 24: The Current State of Non-Affairs

2008-08-05T22:45:00.003+03:00

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...

Post 23: Transitions

2008-07-30T01:46:00.004+03:00

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 22: One Door Closes, Two Doors Open

2008-07-28T00:47:00.005+03:00

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.

Post 21: Getting it Over With

2008-07-23T23:00:00.003+03:00

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 20: Window of No Opportunity

2008-07-20T10:59:00.002+03:00

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...

The Wonder Woman Alarm Clock

2008-07-16T00:59:00.009+03:00

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!

Post 19: Compatibility of Divorcees

2008-07-11T00:20:00.003+03:00

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.

Post 18: New Age Lover

2008-07-03T23:13:00.003+03:00

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.

Post 17: Coffee, Watermelon or Spaghetti Bolognaise

2008-06-30T23:59:00.004+03:00

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.

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.

Objects to Sleep with but No Sex Objects

2008-06-28T23:06:00.006+03:00

Post 16 : Objects to Sleep with but No Sex Objects

originally created as Column Sixteen, November 2000

Note: 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.

Round and Round the Teenager

2008-06-17T22:14:00.008+03:00

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 and 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..)

Post 15: No Sex When There's a Nice Ex

2008-06-14T23:27:00.005+03:00

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.

Post 14: Sorry Vegetarians - the Chicken Wins

2008-06-11T22:40:00.004+03:00

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.

Post 13: Are you Selling Your Car?

2008-06-09T00:18:00.004+03:00

originally created as Column 13, November, 2000

Every so often it happens that my car suddenly increases its market value. I’ve been driving it for 10 years and intend to drive it until it dies. It has significantly broken down before I’ve had a blind date. A sane person would cancel her blind date and take care of her car, but I saw it as an omen and left my car overnight to wait for the tow truck and went on the blind date anyway. It turned out to be a very successful blind date that ended up being a few month relationship and I even got taken abroad by this man. And to think that if I had given in to the mechanical calls of my car, I never would have met this guy.

Since our relationship faded out, I haven’t had a boyfriend in months, let alone a third date. My car is soon due for its six-month tune-up, so maybe it is a sign I will meet a new man soon, and maybe send my imaginary boyfriend on a vacation. So why has my car increased its market value? It seems that certain men ask me if I am selling my car in order to start up with me. It happened today, just as I was feeling really lousy, had no make-up on and was extremely tired. Perhaps he thought I was wearing my “I don’t want a boyfriend” t-shirt, because the man who wanted to buy my car actually wanted to meet me. He was 48 going on 58 (that’s how old he looked) and simply unattractive. But I was so flattered that someone actually paid attention to my car and me that I agreed to take his phone number.

I sometimes fix up my friends if I meet a potentially suitable guy, so you never know. It turned out that he was divorced, non-smoker, with three grown children. This might not be the time of year for me to meet a new boyfriend, but it’s encouraging to know that I can sell my car. Or maybe it’s time to get a pet. I hear it’s easy to strike up a conversation with other pet owners. My car made it up the hills to Jerusalem last week but it’s still an uphill battle with the search for love and affection beyond self-love. No sex in this city tonight!

Today this writer’s nail polish matched the color of her car - perfectly. She can match her nail polish to her car but lately she can’t find a match of the opposite sex.

Post 12: Imaginary Boyfriend

2008-06-09T00:13:00.002+03:00

originally created as Column Twelve, November, 2000

Imaginary Boyfriend

I have had a really great boyfriend for the past year. He’s always available to join me as a date for a wedding or other social event where “couples” are called for. He’s a great partner in a hotel bed, and doesn’t steal my blanket. He’s a great listener and a respectable male role model for my son. He sits in the front seat of my car next to me. He doesn’t make comments about my driving, and he doesn’t object when I stop and ask someone for directions. He doesn’t drop socks in my living room, or leave dishes in my kitchen sink. He is never late and he never forgets my birthday.

The problem is that he is fictitious, but at least he doesn’t complain that I am using him. At least I know that when there is no sex in the city and no real dates, there is always my imaginary boyfriend. Now, if I could just get him to pay some child support, he’d be even better than an ex husband! My brother says that children are just expensive house pets, so what’s a boyfriend?

This writer has been accused of being a relationship addict. What nonsense! She never thinks about boyfriends. She never invents boyfriends. She never fantasizes about boyfriends, and she never, ever writes about boyfriends.

Post 11: The Career Change

2008-06-07T00:51:00.003+03:00

originally created as column eleven, November 2000

The Career Change

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 blog (then column). After working for eight years with middle-aged married men and menopausal divorced women – actually a few women were single and some had babies, but others died or got sick with various forms of cancer or heart attacks – it really was depressing! The men seemed to flourish and mellow while the women seemed to get more hot flushes and more bitter.

As I was approaching 40, I saw myself as a prime candidate to become another statistic and decided I had to get out. Once I made the decision there was no turning back, so I decided to get into hi-tech. Without a technical background, I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get in, but I did, albeit through the back door, but in. I thought I would meet some nice computer nerd, divorced, around my age, and that we would build a cubicle in the suburbs, drive into the city together and relieve the pain of traffic jams. I mean with Israel falling not far behind the U.S. in divorce statistics, I thought that the divorced men would be waiting for me with open arms.

I was wrong. I couldn’t find even one divorced man. Apparently, the only divorced men in the company already managed to upgrade to their second marriages. (As I’ve written about in another column, you always need more than one release in hi-tech). And no other men were divorced because they were so young they haven’t even been married! I quickly learned that although there were a lot of fathers around there were too many young, attractive guys. If I just wanted sex, then I, thirty-something would be sexually compatible with these twenty-something guys, but since this society does not accept such an age difference, I realized that I didn’t have a chance.

I did pass for ten years younger on a few occasions, but I didn’t want to lie about my personal status and the existence of my flat mate. (“I share my apartment with a great guy. He’s attractive with blond hair and blue eyes and is a lot of fun. Only problem is he is too young to share paying the bills”). I often think my son should go out and pick up boyfriends for me while I stay at home watching Disney videos and Pokeman tv shows. (I can tolerate Pokeman but I can’t stand Barney. Luckily, the Hebrew language version never really caught on that strongly in Israel).

So that’s where I find myself today – surrounded by attractive single and married men. Wrong place and wrong time. Who knows – ten years from now I might be remarried and these guys will finally be divorced*. As for the nerds, I must be one myself as I can’t seem to find them.

* a bit of foreshadowing...

This writer is managing to learn new skills, despite being distracted by hi-tech hunks.

.

Post 10: Wedding Ring for Sale

2008-06-02T09:03:00.004+03:00

originally posted as column ten, November, 2000

A couple is engaged. The invitations have been printed, the bride’s dress has been altered and the groom’s suit has been bought. Although by Jewish law only the woman needs an object of value (usually a wedding ring) for the religious ceremony, the man often gets one too, as a tradition, as a symbol of partnership. I am yours and you are mine. We are devoted to each other. We will not cheat on each other. We will wear the rings proudly and show the world that we are spoken for. The religious women cover their hair. The more modern orthodox or secular women leave their hair uncovered but wear wedding rings.

Or so I thought. It seems that some just find them uncomfortable and keep them at home or in safety deposit boxes. As for the men, some work in more physical jobs than women do. I’m not being sexist, but there are more men working as electricians, plumbers and painters than there are women. The ring is not to stop the married men from having affairs, but at least those women not wanting to get involved with married men can sometimes tell that they are married. I don’t think it’s fair that some married men do not wear wedding rings.

A friend of mine tells me to stop going on blind dates and to pick up men on the street, in playgrounds, shopping centers, cafes, at red lights. So when I see a man with a child or two in the playground or in a shopping center, the problem is that I look at his hand and I don’t know if he’s married, divorced, widowed, single or gay. Chances are that if he is particularly good looking, he is probably gay, but there are not that many gay men, as far as I know with children. It is becoming more common, but usually I seem to run into married men. They look like great fathers. Sometimes their wives emerge from behind the trees, or come waltzing down the sidewalk with a stroller and a small baby.

As I said, it’s just not fair. If the married men and women refuse to wear their wedding rings, then it is about time for the divorced men and women to have some sort of sign. Perhaps a certain colored sock? A tattoo? (Not a good idea – what if they remarry?) Hair dyed an unusual color (blue for a broken marriage?) A hat...or the t-shirt I mentioned in one of my earlier posts (post 1) – I don’t want a boyfriend. It seems so easy to start a conversation about a man’s child or dog, but how do you pick the right guy to talk to? Until you build up the nerve, he is off with another woman. You know the type. She doesn’t try, but gets the guy. I’m through with trying, although I never really started.

That’s why I’m writing. I figure if I write long enough about it I might create this reality, and maybe we wouldn’t need friends, matchmakers or the internet to set us up. We could go to trips for singles and know each person’s status. Perhaps the men should walk around with little computer screens around their heads with their marital status, smoking and dietary habits flashing as subtitles.

When I was twelve I didn’t think any boy would ever like me, and would like any boy who so much paid the slightest bit of attention to me. I remained a virgin until an age I do not yet wish to disclose. Maybe those teenage boys should have had signs at the school dances and I wouldn’t have been so shy. The sign could have read “I have a crush on....”

So it’s groping in the dark when you’re looking for a serious relationship. If you just want sex, I guess, then just put on a wedding ring.

This writer wore her wedding and engagement rings throughout her marriage. Today, most of the rings around her are from her telephones.

2008-05-26T22:35:00.008+03:00

Post 9: Absence of Garbage Cans

originally created as column nine, October, 2000

I don’t know if it is a particularly Israeli phenomenon or a worldwide phenomenon in men’s homes or in workplaces where the majority of employees are male. I’m talking about the absence of garbage cans in toilets. Now what does this have to do with sex? Well, if there was no sex, then there would be no need for females or menstruation. When we women have our periods, we need to dispose of our tampons or pads in a garbage can/rubbish tin/disposable container. In most bathrooms designed by females, there is often a covered garbage can, often with a plastic bag lining it, and sometimes with a pedal. It might even match the decor of the bathroom and is not offensive.

Then there are men’s bathrooms. Not a garbage can in sight? Maybe in the kitchen, under the sink, or in the sink, but don’t hold your breath. Some men seem to prefer their windows. Now I could tolerate this, or at least understand this if we lived in a country that did a lot of recycling, had garbage compressing systems, or even garbage chutes in apartment buildings. But what do these men do with their dental floss, Q-tips, used razor blades, empty shaving cream or deodorant cans? I am certain they can’t possibly throw everything down the toilet? If they want a girlfriend as a semi-permanent house guest, it would be a grateful gesture to place a garbage can in their bathrooms. Otherwise we females must wrap up the reminders of our femininity in toilet paper, place them in our hands, walk through the bathroom door and begin our search for a garbage can.

Sometimes I think it is easier to find a date than a garbage can. Let’s say that you are lucky enough to work for an office that does have a bathroom equipped with a garbage can, but you happen to wear an outfit without pockets. How do you go to the bathroom with the tampon or pad? Do you hold it in your hands, bring your rolled fists together, take on the posture of a kangaroo and leap down the hall into the bathroom? Do you stick it in your bra and hope that nobody notices that your bra is padded more heavily in one cup than in another? You walk down the hall hoping not to run into the president of the company or your boss who is wondering why you had to take two trips to the bathroom (because you forgot the hygienic protection first time around) within the last 5 minutes.

It could be worse. You could be caught having sex in the bathroom. But since there seems to be no sex in this city, it doesn’t seem likely. And rare are the women (although they do exist) who would want to have sex during their period anyway.

This writer has garbage cans near both of her toilets. They are emptied regularly.

2008-05-21T22:49:00.002+03:00

Post 8: The Engineer

originally created as Column Eight, October 2000

Certain hi-tech companies employ engineers in their research and development departments. I thought they were supposed to research the latest communications technology and develop a product for a beta release that will later be distributed to the market at large. But it seems that some engineers use R&D for dating and believe that a stable partner is also static and is not valid for extensive use.

Itzik is a bright engineer, not bad looking and pretty sociable. I met him through a friend and bumped into him on several occasions. First at a party, second time at a conference and the third time at his home, where he invited a few friends over. Each time he had a different woman with him, different shape, different hair color, but definitely female. The last time I saw him was at Liz and Roni’s wedding. Again he showed up with a nice looking date. I guess as an engineer he always needs an upgraded version... With all new features displayed, he left Israel about a year ago and was last seen with a new model in a commonwealth country very much connected with the 20000 Olympics.

I finally figured out why so many men cheat on their partners. They are looking for new releases.

This writer doesn’t even know what model and version her computer is.

2008-05-17T22:10:00.003+03:00

Post 7: There is sushi. There is sunshine.

originally created as column 7, October, 2000

There is sushi. There is sunshine.

Lately I’m simply a bit tired of thinking about men. So I met Dafna and Liat for sushi one Friday afternoon. It was a beautiful sunny day. No one asked if us if we were thin or fat, what we looked like and why we got divorced. We sat for a leisurely lunch and I didn’t have to worry if Dafna would call me again or whether Liat would try to kiss me. And I can call either one of them without them thinking that I am being pushy. We don’t have to define our relationship because we are all friends, and I won’t get jealous when they date other men or meet with other women. They will compliment me on my clothes and hair and forgive each other for losing or gaining weight, because there are more important things in life after all.

After lunch, I went home and bought myself flowers and put on some quiet romantic music, and then I took a nap. At least when there is no sex, you can sleep peacefully. So on some days, men, we just don’t need you. When there’s no sex, there is sushi, and there is sunshine.

This writer eats tuna salad, chicken and other, less exotic food. Sushi is a treat.

2008-05-15T00:17:00.004+03:00

Post 6: Breasts are not Shoulders

originally created as column 6, September 2000

Why do men think that breasts are like shoulders?

They fondle them like shoulders, and they don’t seem to know that they are not shoulders and are not pillows, but actual breasts. Our nipples are not raisins that will come off when plucked, and tension will not necessarily removed when fondled. Some women like some pain, and I must admit to liking my breasts fondled, except when I was breast feeding - –then breasts to me were the most asexual thing around, and I couldn’t figure out my then husband’s great interest in them. And if some people say that it is because they still miss their mothers, then why don’t women (who also drank milk from their mother’s breasts?) have this great need to seek out breasts?

And what is this business with bra straps showing in Israel? Don’t they make strapless bras here? Why wear this great sexy backless, off the shoulder peach colored dress with a black bra strap across the back? What’s the point of the backless look when the bra strap has to ruin it? I’m no fashion expert, but can someone explain this please? Is there an excess of straps that Israelis need to use them? I guess they wear their strapless bras under t-shirts and long sleeved high cut shirts, when they are not needed. If someone can explain this to me, I would appreciate it. Some of my girlfriends think it’s sexy; others agree it’s just plain ugly, but I just don’t get it.

This writer is the proud owner of more than three strapless bras.

2008-05-15T00:04:00.007+03:00

Sex and the City Movie: coming soon to Israel

Bringing you back to the present, I can't ignore the fact that the new "Sex and the City" movie opened in Europe and will come to Israel at the end of the month.

This appears to be the official blog of the movie: http://www.newline.com/sexandthecity/

I'll probably have read all the spoilers by the time I see the movie, but that doesn't mean I won't enjoy it. Anything to believe that these characters are still living, virtually at least.

2008-05-12T23:11:00.004+03:00

Post 5: It's in his kiss

originally created as column five, September, 2000

I have heard that some prostitutes do not kiss on the mouth, because this implies an emotional attachment. They will have intercourse, give blow jobs, hand jobs, play psychologist and undergo all sorts of female-male acts, but they do not kiss on the mouth.

So you can imagine my devastation when a very cuddly man, divorced with twins, intelligent, charming and not bad looking would not kiss me on the mouth, and still doesn’t kiss any woman he sleeps with. He is still traumatized by his divorce and it will take some type of therapy, or he will simply snap out of it. He gave his soul to his ex-wife and just doesn’t feel that he can give anymore of himself. So he will hug, cuddle, fondle, give massages, but he will not kiss. You would think that I would be tired of that right away, but I stayed with him because it was a really cold winter and I wanted the male warmth and understanding. No one bought me an electric blanket and my quilts kept falling off the bed, but there’s nothing like a hug. So I was hugful and kissless. When I finally got the kiss I waited for from someone else I felt like some teenager. It was on a second date, months later, and it was in his car. He held my face when he kissed me and I didn’t see fireworks, but I felt like a virgin and teenager again (yes these days virginal doesn’t necessarily go with teenager) but I felt like one.... and now I am simply addicted to kissing. I don’t miss hugs so much or orgasms (I can do that by myself anyway) but a good kiss...not a sloppy one or particularly wet one, but a gentle well meaning warm and romantic kiss, and when I hear Cher’s song “It’s in His Kiss, That’s where it is”, I understand.

This writer holds no resemblance to Cher or she would not have time or need to write this column.

2008-05-09T00:57:00.005+03:00

Post 4: How many dates should you wait?

originally created as column 4, September, 2000

Despite our supposedly modern society, and even those enough intelligent enough to use condoms and get periodic HIV tests, many of us still agree that one does not go to bed on the first date. So the question is, on what date is it ok to go to bed? There seems to be some consensus that the fourth date is passable but that the fifth or sixth is more respectable, and others say waiting for 20 dates is a real test of spiritual awareness and restraint.

So is it ok to kiss? To walk hand in hand, to put one’s arm around his/her partner in the movies. And by sex are they talking about intercourse or any type of physical contact? And what’s a date anyway. If phone conversations don’t count as dates, what happens if you have phone sex? And how often do you have dates. If a new potential partner sees you every day or twice a week, or only once a week, it will take anywhere from 20 days to 20 weeks to sleep with him? Sure, you will get to know each other better, but in the meantime he is probably sleeping with someone else, or you are masturbating like crazy and starting to worry whether reality will match your fantasy. Yes, there are some relationships that actually develop after going to bed on the first or second date, but they are far and few in this Israeli dating world, unless it is a relationship that is mainly sexually oriented, and then why do we care if they like pets, children, are bachelors or divorced. I recently fell for an intelligent non-smoking divorced man who has one child and he only wanted a sexual relationship. I thought, what a waste. If I want only a sexual relationship, that’s what bachelors are for? What a waste of a divorced man with a child.

I am looking for a partner and potential father figure for my son, as well as a friend and a lover. For lover, I would prefer an old friend, a “yeziz”. (Combination of the Hebrew word ‘yedid’ (friend) and ziyun (fuck). (In the tv program they call them “Fuck Buddies”). Good friends that sleep together are much safer than new ones. For the yezizim, I know where things stand. I know we can’t ever really be a couple and then I don’t have to worry about emotional attachment and can have “sex netto”, as I’ve heard this type of relationship being referred to.

This writer has yet to wait 20 dates. She hasn’t even had a third date in months.

2008-05-04T01:01:00.010+03:00

Post 3: Working on our relationship

originally created as column 3, September, 2000

Child educators say to call a spade a spade. That means a penis a penis, a vagina a vagina, etc. etc. Yet some people still have a problem or are embarrassed to call body parts by their rightful name or even having sex by its name. Having sex, making love, screwing, fucking, fornication, sleeping together, “knowing in the Biblical sense” “were intimate” “were romantic”.

The intimacy one I love. I mean you can have sex without being intimate at all, without knowing your partner’s last name, or how many sugars he takes in his coffee. Does he drink coffee? Does he offer you coffee? Ok – but we’ll leave that for “how many dates to wait” chapter. My friend, married about a year, found a solution to talk about sex without giving it away completely. When she has sex with her husband, she refers to it to “working on her relationship”. So if I’ve called late at night and her answering machine is on, yet I had spoken to her only a half-hour earlier and I didn’t think she was going out anywhere, chances are she is working on her relationship. Or when I ask couples how their weekends are or what they did on Saturday and they say “nothing”, then I know that they are also “working on their relationship”.

This writer wouldn’t mind an entire weekend to work on her relationship, if she had one to work on.

2008-04-30T23:16:00.008+03:00

Post 2: Ex-boyfriends and cockroaches

originally created as column two, September, 2000

I was visiting an ex boyfriend late at night. I didn’t sleep with him, cause this is called “No Sex in the City” and I don’t want to go backwards. (Not that we didn’t want to have sex, but then I wouldn’t be able to write this)

I am looking for a lasting relationship, but I need a hug sometimes, and I won’t say that I didn’t hug him...Well, while we were talking and drinking peach and apricot juice, some flying cockroaches (Tel Aviv in August) decided to visit. Maybe it’s happy hour, I thought. One seemed to have extra long antennas – I thought maybe it was a messenger from the satellite company.... maybe that is the use of cockroaches – antennae.... perhaps they will replace mobile phones and transmit e-mails and phone messages between them. Imagine downloading your e-mail from a cockroach. Instead of a palm pilot, it will be a cockroach pilot.
He is an ex because his apartment is filthy and he was always late..but the mental connection will stay forever, even though he will always remain an ex. We sometimes sign our e-mails to each other “sexy exy”.

This writer has a few ex boyfriends and even more ex cockroaches.

2008-04-25T15:25:00.007+03:00

Post 1: What's sex got to do with it?

originally created as column 1, September, 2000

So why do women want sex anyway?

There are vibrators – there is literature, internet sites, phone lines. You don’t even need men to make babies, as there are sperm banks. So why date? With lesbianism seeming to be in fashion, I feel almost apologetic when I admit that I still like men. I mean I know that they are from Mars and we are from Venus, but I happen to like men still.... their deep voices, their charm (sometimes) and their Peter Pan complex. They need their space. God forbid you pressure them. So why date them? For sex? I think it’s for a hug. A male hug. It’s something you just can’t get from a girlfriend, a child, a mentor. You need a man. I mean I need one anyway. Someone to hug, to turn me on, to put his arm around me in a movie or to walk hand in hand down the street or look at a sunset. Old, romantic, maybe out of fashion, but I want a boyfriend. Yes, one shouldn’t need. So I don’t need. I want.

I thought of a new strategy. Men can sense a woman “looking” (for a boyfriend) a mile (kilometer?) away and will avoid her like the plague. So how about if I print a t-shirt saying “I don’t want a boyfriend.” I have girl- next-door looks and men just don’t start up with me on the street, so perhaps if I had a t-shirt trying to keep them away, it might work. Enough of internet dating, parties, friends, hikes.... just a plain t-shirt trying to keep them away..... I mean why are men so fascinated with lesbians anyway. They see them as a challenge and think that if they were to meet the real thing, they will forget about their sexual orientation and see the real light.

I really shouldn’t speak for lesbians but speaking for three straight females; (not their real names)

Liat – single, tall and thin
Dafna – divorced without kids, medium height, medium weight, shoulder length hair
Gilit Frank – divorced plus one, short, a little chubby

All three of us attractive and basically normal. By normal I mean that we don’t have horns, we enjoy sex, we want a long-term relationship – some of us want marriage and kids. We all dress fairly well and are positive educated women, not overpowering and fun loving...

And despite the fact that we have experience in dating and relationships, the men are still from Mars and haven’t managed to connect with the women from Venus. And I don’t think they’ve read John Gray’s books anyway, or perhaps they are too busy reading John Gray’s books and have decided they don’t really want a girlfriend after all.

So I think I’ll print out that t-shirt. Perhaps it will work. Anyone want to volunteer to wear one?

2008-04-25T14:48:00.005+03:00

Why I started this blogWelcome to my first posting of my blog "No Sex in the City" written by me under my pen-name, Gilit Frank.

Here's an interview with myself (idea courtesy of Lynne Reid Banks, one of my favorite authors):

Me: Why did you start this blog?
Myself: My son, now 14 years old, kept insisting

Me: What do you blog about?

Myself: I don't really have to blog about anything, as I have seven years of material, started in 2000 to use, so I'm going to start posting this material one at a time.

Me: What's it about and who cares?
Myself: In the year 2000, I was writing very lengthy emails to friends about my dating life and parenting issues. One of them said ' you are wasting these stories on me.Why don't you start publishing them?

Me: So did they get published?
Myself: No, I didn't succeed in finding the right readership. And then I heard about blogs. So I just opened one up.

Me: But you still didn't say what you're writing about.
Myself: Yes, I tend to ramble. I write about life as a mother with a divorced child, and my dating life and lack of a sex life, at the time. I started writing when my son was 6, so keep that in mind as you read.

Me: Why do you call it "No Sex in the City?"
Myself: Inspired by the t.v. program, “Sex and the City”, I decided to write a column called “No sex in the city” featuring my friends and yours truly and their aspiration to have sex with perhaps a bit of love, or caring, or at least knowing their partners’ last names in Tel Aviv. At times they actually succeed, but until then, there is a lot of talk, hopes, dreams, and sometimes a bit of reality.Tel Aviv isn’t New York and yet in Achbar Ha’ir (entertainment supplement of the influential Hebrew daily “Ha’aretz”), there was a weekly column called “Sex in the City”. Now I can’t write in Hebrew, so I thought I would like to write a column entitled “No Sex in the City”.This blog does not intend to be scientific or accurate, but is simply a collection of anecdotes, based on true stories about sex and dating in the center of Israel.

Me: Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.
Myself: My pleasure, it's good to talk to me sometimes.