Objects to Sleep with but No Sex Objects

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.