Column 79: September Boy Blues

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?)

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?

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

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 74: What is worse than a blind date?

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 58: Walk Me to My Car (Please)

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.

Post 57: Grown up and Homeless

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 43: He appeared from the sidelines

flashback to October, 2005

Free. No work. No car. No boyfriend. No worries.

After 4 and a half years working at a hitech job in central Israel, I didn't yet know that they were about to lay me off. Before they could make a move, I had a massive Crohns-Colitis attack, the second of my life and ended up in hospital. It was a slow recovery with a lot of suffering and a few benefits. The first benefit was that I lost about ten kilos in a month (do NOT try this diet at home!) and men were looking at me again....people at work thought I was on vacation. Others thought I was pregnant, thanks to the steroids that I was on.

And since they didn't want to lay me off while I was sick, they waited a few months and gave me my notice in May. This gave me a few months to negotiate my dismissal and prepare for my new life.

Summer lent itself to a carefree life. Yes, I was job searching, but I was also rediscovering men and rather enjoying the attention. I didn't really want a boyfriend, since I was happy to have my health and life back. It really wasn't important anymore. But i went to a lot of social gatherings in order to network with men (and women) and find out about job leads. Since I was focused on the leads, and not on the men, they seemed happy to talk to me. In the end, they actually sent me cvs to send to the company I worked for, but that's another story.

The other project I took on was to set up my ex bachelor friends. Since I realized that I really really really had to swear off bachelors, the least i could do was take them to parties where they may be attracted to marriage-minded eligible young women of child-rearing age.

Little did I know that the party I took one of my friends to would actually attract my future boyfriend. I thought that the party, in northern Israel, would be full of young people, but we were the youngest there. The guests thought we were a couple, so they spoke to me with utmost confidence.

And then he appeared from the sidelines. He was interested in the carrot-orange juice that I bought, not in me, and he promptly drank almost the entire litre. We had a short conversation and we discovered that we were both headed for the same spiritual festival at the Sea of Galilee - festival Breshit - and both with our sons. We exchanged phone numbers and said we'd try to meet up there.

Nice. A divorced guy with a boy almost the same age as my son. Someone to help me put up my tent.

This writer forgot about why she had come to the party in the first place. her bachelor friend stayed a bachelor, but not for long.

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

Originally created as Column Thirty-nine, January, 2005

In post 33, the Cinderella Syndrome, I wrote about Cinderella and the slipper, when my shoe broke at a company event I attended with my then boyfriend. Today I tell the tale of the Princess and the Pea, the legend of a prince’s search to discover and then marry a true sensitive princess who would feel a pea under 20 mattresses and 20 blankets. Personally I think being married to such a woman would be difficult as the trait in this case is hypersensitivity rather than sensitivity, but let’s look at the similarities between the Princess and the Pea and me.

I sleep with 4 blankets in the winter as I have no one else to keep me warm (and the apartments in the coastal area of Israel are not heated.
I went to a party where I was hungry and there wasn’t much food, so I helped myself to some humous, which is made out of chick peas.

The housewarming party was in an old hut on a “moshav” – a village in Israel in the Jerusalem hills and the houseguests, many whom didn’t even know the host but heard there was a party numbered over a hundred. After eating the humous in a piece of pita bread (the pita and the chick pea = the princess and the pea), I turned around to the voice of a European prince who asked me if it was tasty.

“Not bad, I replied but when you’re hungry, you can’t complain”. The European’s eyes met mine and we smiled at each other. Hopefully, no traces of humous remained around my lips. “Where are you from” I asked. (Very royal conversation). “Tel Aviv” the European replied. “Oh, you’re not from Spain or Argentina?” I asked. “You have some sort of Latin accent”.

“Italian, I studied industrial design in Milan for 4 years. By the way, the colors you are wearing become you. “

(“And I’m a writer”, I thought, but I haven’t written in ages. So I’ll have to go home and write.)

“Thanks, I don’t like wearing black. It depresses me, and I guess green matches my eyes”.

“Yes, and I may not know a lot but I do know a lot about color”.

And eventually the prince (who wasn’t European after all) and princess walked outside of the crowded house to get some privacy. He held my hands. But he’s looking for a bachelorette, an unmarried female, and I’m divorced with a child….and what do I need to be involved with another bachelor for, especially one who isn’t interested in me as I am not a true princess, despite finding the chick pea under a pile of 20 pitas.

But for a few moments I was a princess and he was a princess.

This writer was so happy that she took the toll highway home from Jerusalem instead of the regular highway and her euphoria cost her fifty shekels. A fee fit only for a rich princess.

Post 34: No Sex in the Desert

originally created as Column 34, February, 2003

"No Sex in the Desert" OR "My Boyfriend Cheated on Me with a Rifle"

I don’t usually give two titles to these posts, but this was an exception, especially when this writer actually had a boyfriend for the first time in 3 years. For 6 weeks. And about 12 dates!

There I was. In a huge Bedouin tent in the middle of a desert in a sleeping bag. On a mattress. ALONE! And a few mattresses away lay Ariel. My boyfriend. Or he was my boyfriend. Only he was ignoring me and sleeping with his rifle instead.

I didn’t really expect to have sex in the desert in front of 15 other adult campers. I just wanted to be warm. And it’s not like some beautiful thin young woman had stolen my boyfriend. I was competing with a rifle….

So he ignored me. On Friday and for most of Saturday.

I was in one of the most romantic spots in the world – Ein Gedi – an oasis in a desert. But my love life dried up like a drained waterfall. Even Ariel remarked how wonderful the nature reserve was and how long it had been since he had hiked to such a beautiful area but he wouldn’t hold my hand or put his arm around me. He did let me lend him some toothpaste and share his backpack and he did hold my hand when he thought I would fall. But no one knew we were a couple. Or had been a couple. For the last 6 weeks. So I told him I wouldn’t call him again. That he could take the time to do the thinking he needed to do. About us. And that was 8 days ago. I haven’t heard from him since.

Sure enough I got another cold sore, a really ugly one in the middle of my lip, so I am not in a rush to date the leftover men that I had started to make contact with before I was set up with this cute but introverted and non-communicative bachelor.

I wanted 5 dates. I got about 11. It was nice having a boyfriend for 6 weeks or so. Even nicer than having an imaginary one.

But it’s back to the drawing board. Now what am I going to do?

My friends say it’s simple: STOP COUNTING DATES!!!!

But how can I stop? Behavioral therapy? My friends practically sent a press release out when I made it past the 5th date. One friend thought the Messiah was on its way. The other one was sure that Bush was about to attack Iraq. Well, the last time I spent the Gulf War with a boyfriend I ended up getting engaged. And I don’t think I’d want to go through that again….

Of course this writer is sad, but what does she expect after being Cinderella and having her shoe rescued by Prince Charming. Instead of the clock striking 12 and Cinderella’s chariot turning into a pumpkin.

Post 33: The Cinderella Syndrome

originally created as column 33, December, 2002


Carrie Bradshaw, the protagonist in the t.v. series “Sex and the City” likes shoes and buys them. Expensive ones. Lots of them. High quality shoes. I buy shoes on sale. And for the first time ever she bought shoes in a second hand store on a kibbutz. Cheap. Really cheap. But she used them, and walked with them. And wore them to work. Several times.

I also love to get all dressed up but in Israel people can wear jeans to work as well as out in the evening. Most don’t, but it is hard to find an opportunity to wear an elegant dress. Even at weddings it is less common to see jeans but various styles of pants are common. But I am not an expert on fashion nor do I follow the crowds. And I definitely do not have the style or figure of Carrie Bradshaw. You will not catch me dead with my huge stomach exposed or low cut pants. Thank goodness for the return of high cut pants and the demise of mini skirts. Hemlines are all over the place allowing shortwaisted and not so tall women like me the opportunity to choose whatever length skirt or pants I desire….

And so at work you will see me wearing glasses and casual pants with a twin set, sweater or jacket, I have also been sighted with Bohemian style dresses, pom pom draped shirts or tailored suits. And I have dated men who don only jeans as well as men who have Italian shirts and suits featured in the wardrobe (one whose apartment was filthy but whose suits were meticulous).

And then it happened. Beware. The Bachelors are Back. I tried to meet divorcees. I must give off “stay away” when a divorcee with a child sees me coming. I even had a second date with a divorced non-smoking, guitar playing, educated father of three. And then he disappeared. Yup. Many of my friends and colleagues, some of them having never been married before have married or are dating divorcees with children and I am dating a bachelor.

I could see right from our first date that Ariel knew how to dress. From his shiny pumpkin brown shoes to his ironed brown pants (material unknown but not blue denim), freshly applied aftershave (how he did that when coming straight from work I don’t know), I realized that this was a guy who should appreciate the dresses I have been hiding in my closet.

And then the opportunity arose. He invited me to an end of year party from his workplace. It was winter in Israel, and yet I knew that there would be over 400 people and the place would warm up. What should I wear? Classic long black velvet or a mid length but sexy olive green dress with a V-neck and colored beads framing the hemline? I immediately knew that it had to be the green dress, but I did not know how to deal with the temperature factor until Dafna provided me with the perfect accessories – a drape around green and black scarf, an elegant grey black and white beaded Yemenite style necklace which I matched with delicate greyish-black earrings. I got my hair styled smooth and straight for a change instead of my usual wild curly look and all that was left was makeup, beige stockings without a run and …..shoes.

The inconspicuous four-eyed office employee during the day turned into Cinderella in the evening. And the evening could not have been more perfect. The two week rainstorm had finally come to a halt, my son was sleeping over at a friend’s house and Ariel was coming to pick me up.

From my bitter experience, if something will go wrong, it will go wrong. Usually this involves the car breaking down, the babysitter forgetting which day to show up, a virus or a date’s friend dying or a date getting sick himself. Not even a terrorist attack stopped the evening from starting on time, as planned and I even got some verbal reaction from the handsome but mainly silent bachelor. He took a sort of double take, a half smile and then said “matim lach” – it becomes you. Ha! I thought.. A far cry from the bulky long blue sweater I layered on top of a turtleneck and the frizzy uncombed hair I sported on the sunny but semi-cool day that we met on a hike with a bunch of friends.

So Cinderella and Prince Charming drove in her modern day chariot, a company car she could not afford but drove anyway to the modern day ball – a wedding hall near the beach. As she stepped out of the car, Cinderella lost her slipper. There it was on the ground. Half of her left heel. Of her left shoe. Her second hand shoe. Her elegant and matching but CHEAP left shoe!

Goodbye Cinderella. Back to crisis management Galit…..what to do?

Go barefoot into the events hall (with stockings, not so nice)
Break the other shoe (Might not work – at least I can walk with one normal shoe)
Go home and get another pair of shoes (we were already late and would miss the evening)
Go to next door shopping center and look for shoes (they only sell running shoes)
Go to Home Center and buy glue.

Guess who didn’t bring money with her, or even a credit card that evening? Me. Ariel, thank goodness, the super glue only cost 10 shekels (2 US dollars at the time – 3.5 dollars at the time of this posting in 2008) and the shopping center was still open. The handyman there was very helpful, sanded down the shoe and glued the heel back. He said his father’s dream was always that he be a shoemaker and now I made his dream come true. And he healed the heel. And Prince Charming rescued Cinderella with buying super glue. And the embarrassed Cinderella knew that she would never be a princess, even for an evening as if something is to go wrong, it goes wrong.

But the car had fuel. The flu bug stayed away. The pantyhose didn’t run. The terrorists decided to stay home and get their laundry dry. My son stayed healthy and didn’t run away from his friend’s home.

In fairy tales, the prince gets married to Cinderella after finding her slipper, but in this writer’s life, all she wants to know is….will there be a fifth date???????

Post 29: The Bare Bears

originally created as Column Twenty-Nine, October, 2001

In Post 19 “Compatibility of Divorcees”, I wrote "Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone."

I must be good at prophesizing. My sister reads tarot cards, so perhaps it runs in the family. I actually met a bachelor, Tal, who doesn’t own a cellphone. He doesn’t believe in cellphones and think that they ruin the quality of life. So now that his mother is ill, and he is at her hospital bedside, I cannot call him. I can leave messages on his answering machine at home and now that eventually he will check his messages but I can’t call him up at any hour of the day or night.

Dafna was horrified when she heard about this. “What happens if you are living together and you need to call him up in the supermarket and tell him that you are out of milk and to ask him to bring some home?” Since I don’t drink that much milk at home, it is unlikely that I would run out, so I wasn’t as devastated at Dafna of losing out on a dial in supermarket delivery service. (Dafna is a big fan of this blog so I hope she doesn’t take offense. I love her dearly!) Also, given the fact that in the last year I have not made it past four dates, the thought of living with or marrying someone seems like something out of a science fiction film.

Not only does Tal not have a cellphone, but his computer is not hooked up to the internet, so I can’t send him e-mails. He told me he doesn’t want a serious relationship with me because I am older than him and divorced and he is looking for someone younger, but we seem to be very fond of each other, and yet I am still trying to date divorced men with children, as ultimately that is who I am “supposed” to end up with. However, with the events of September 11 have changed my outlook on life, and made me think again and again how unpredictable and short life can be. So I really don’t want to give up the opportunity to enjoy my time with Tal and date other guys at the same time. In fact, Tal is only encouraging me to do so.

And so now I think that I am still a mammal but perhaps no longer human. We are simply bare bears enjoying being naked and hugging each other and then we will probably hibernate from life, perhaps even through the winter. One tall male thin bear and one short plump bear together for warmth until we return to the hunting and gathering of food. And what is food in this extended metaphor? Marriage material? The mythical ideally compatible partner? Being a positive thinker, I know that I will continue to reach my destinations without car accidents, being shot at, or being blown up and yet the reality of it happening to others is hard to avoid. I assure my son that our apartment block is too low for planes to fly into, but he doesn’t seem to know how many bombs and shooting incidents have occurred in the past year only a few kilometers or blocks away from our “safe” home. That’s why it’s simpler just to be a bear, I suppose.

This writer does not advocate sex with bears. She only assumes it’s less complicated than the mating game in the twenty-first century.

Post 28: Dodging the Married Men

originally created as Column Twenty-eight, August, 2001

My friends tell me that I am too picky. I keep insisting that I want to go out with divorced men, preferably with a child or two. So I tried to keep an open mind and date divorced men without children, but that didn’t work. I even fell for a bachelor who barely talks to me anymore. I met a widower whom I never dated but he’s now dating a widow, which proves that the theory of parallel marital status actually works sometimes.

As I wrote in post 26, I am not prepared to date women, and of course, almost all my friends know that my absolute red lines are smokers and married men. Lately all I meet are married men. First of all, a very nice and intelligent guy strikes up a conversation with me at the dentist. He mentions his grown children, his work, his city of residence, but not his wife. How perfect – someone who takes care of his teeth as much as I do. Definitely dentally compatible (Probably a good kisser and no worries about bad breath!) I am thrilled that I have discovered a divorced guy but am too embarrassed to leave my phone number, so I call the dental hygienist at work the next day, who tells me that he is “very married”. (Oops. My mistake – and I had already envisioned future discounts on joint dental insurance). All the “good” ones are taken or gay. No, it can’t be true. If there is one divorce in three, where do the men go? Are they swallowed up by an alimony hole in the earth? Do the young thin female vultures stand on the other side of the divorce court and swoop down as soon as the divorce is final? Or are they all finding themselves in the Far East while their ex-wives take care of the children?

Consoling myself about my wrong diagnosis of the charming dental patient, I keep my mind off the lack of boyfriend situation and immerse myself in swimming and in my career. So who starts up with me at work? A married man who is also a smoker!!!! Why, why , why is this happening to me now?! Finally someone finds me attractive who is actually not an unidentified typing object behind a keyboard and he checks off in category zero. For thirty-eight years I’ve managed to avoid married men, and now, out of nowhere this guy shows up. I am not into S&M – that’s right, smokers and married. Is desperation showing all over my face? Help! I’ve made my position shown in no uncertain terms, and yet he finds it very amusing. If he doesn’t stop the flirting, then I can always complain about sexual harassment, but he does have a family to support! At least it’s summer, so it’s too hot to cuddle up to any male, available or not. Maybe I’ll forget about boyfriends all together and get a dog – neutered of course.

This writer has decided to wear a wedding ring, hang a picture of an imaginary husband on her bulletin board, and wait... maybe some divorced father will think she’s married and start up with her.

Post 25: The Towel

originally created as Column Twenty-Five, April, 2001


I have seen more men in towels than I have seen men naked. The first time I dropped in on a then platonic friend of mine several years ago (Don later became a lover, but it took months), he answered the door dressed only in a towel. Don wasn’t expecting me and I was rather taken aback at catching him straight out of the shower. I came to pick something up that he had brought for my son from one of his trips out of the country. We only started to sleep together months after that initial home visit. Perhaps the towel had frightened me, but having him greet me stark naked would have frightened me even more.

Today I confessed to my latest platonic friend, Evan, that I am attracted to him, and he confirmed (verbally at least) my suspicions that he is not interested in me physically. (I didn’t press him for the reason) He made sure not to let me into his bedroom when he got undressed to shower (yes, you might ask – why was I in his apartment while he was showering?) Rest assured that he did not invite me to join him in the shower. Next thing I know, he is parading in a towel in the kitchen, and ironing his shirt, while I stand, fully-clothed, watching this spectacle as if I am sitting in an audience.

I see myself on stage, playing the part of the rejected party while the object of my affection and physical attraction shows off his freshly showered and scrubbed torso. You would think he would be a bit embarrassed now knowing that I am attracted to his smell and yet he flashes his flesh unintentionally teasing me – tempting me to touch the body I dare not, because I know with certainty now, that my advances will be rejected.

My phone rings at night, and I know it is not Mr. Tempting Towel with second thoughts, but one of my “fuck buddies” trying to seduce me and console my soul with his body. I refuse, deciding to lose sleep by writing as opposed to wriggling.

Why are men so willing to expose their chests but when I dare mention their ex-girlfriends or wives, even accidentally, I get snapped at and no closer to peeling a layer off their fragile exterior?

This writer will probably throw in the towel long before Evan will.

Kisses are a Girl's Best Friend

Kisses are a Girl's Best Friend

The following is my submission for Scribbit's write-away contest for August, 2008.

We had been dating for a few months. He spent most of his nights at my apartment, as it was more convenient and closer to Tel Aviv, where we both worked. We had already declared that we loved each other, and I had already accepted his marriage proposal. But in Israel, you usually go from dating to marriage, and the engagement stage is shorter and less celebrated.

Although I am Canadian and my fiance was Australian, I didn't expect him to be any different from our Israeli-born friends. The fact that we had set a date and already announced our engagement to our parents seemed serious enough to me. I was elated that after four years since my immigration to Israel, a few failed relationships and some spurts of just plain loneliness, I had found someone with similar values and from a similar culture with whom to share my life and my future.

Or so I thought.

One night, a few weeks after we made our intent to marry public, my fiance told me he had something special to give me. He handed me a decorated box full of Hershey's Kisses. I was delighted, being a chocolate lover. It had been several hours since we had eaten dinner, so I happily unwrapped a few Kisses and enjoyed the taste and texture of non-Israeli chocolate.

"So, what do you think?” he asked.

"Thanks a lot. It was really nice of your sister to bring back these chocolates all the way from Australia.”

"Did you look through the entire box?”

"No, don't worry. I left some kisses for you”, I reassured him.

"Look again.”

Confused, I returned to the bedroom. Following his prompt, I emptied all the Kisses on to my bed, and saw that one of them shined. It wasn't a kiss at all, but his late grandmother's diamond ring, sent all the way from Australia. And now it was my engagement ring.

The next day at work everyone marvelled at the jewel on my finger.

But this writer had agreed to marry him already, even before the first kiss.

Post 23: Transitions

orginally created as Column Twenty-Three, February, 2001


Post 23: Transitions
Since I am seeking new employment, finding a boyfriend concerns me much less and I have gone back to the old habit of sleeping with a good friend on a transitional/temporary basis. Luckily the timing has been convenient as we seem to be between boyfriends/girlfriends at the same time! (Don’t worry - safe sex is being practiced at all times).

I was in a transitional period after my last job and it seemed to attract men to me. Again, I project that I am not looking for a boyfriend, even without my t-shirt “I don’t want a boyfriend”. The problem is that I am too aware of this transitional stage and am having trouble taking this in stride.

I know that when I find a job, the attention will phase out and it’s a lot more important to me to find the right match with a job than the right match with a man. Like Samantha in the series “Sex in the City”, I feel a bit like I am “recycling” men from earlier in my life, but it feels a lot safer and comfortable than treading unexplored territory.

I have enough “blind dates” lined up in the way of job interviews, so I have no energy to go on blind dates with potential boyfriends. I would never dream of dating married men and now I find myself spending a lot of time behind closed doors with married men (and women). I sit relaxed as they are pondering not when they can go to bed with me, but how much I am going to cost their budget, and will it be worth it to them?

There is not too much difference in the basics – dress professionally, not provocatively, make sure hair, nails and shoes are clean, be aware of body language on both sides. Don’t say bad things about your ex boss and don’t say bad things about your ex spouse. Maintain a sense of humor but don’t give out too much information – not on the first date and not on the first interview. If you are laid off a job in Israel after working for at least six months, you are eligible, in most cases for unemployment insurance. If you get dumped by a boyfriend after six months, you should be eligible for “uncouple” insurance. But then that would mean, you should pay him compensation if you break up with him after six months – (“take some money and just get out of my life”).

This writer is in a professional and personal transition period.

Post 19: Compatibility of Divorcees

originally created as Column Nineteen, November, 2000

Compatibility of Divorcees

Once upon a time, men and women decided they were compatible based on education, values, physical attraction, family background and at one time when women’s earning ability was lower than today, a man’s ability to support his wife. In the twenty-first century, additional factors play a part in the compatibility of a particular partner. Let's see how much this dating business can really cost either one of us:

Does he have e-mail? If he doesn’t, how am I going to contact him in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and don’t want to wake him up? Or if he wants to send me a power point presentation about how much he’ll miss me while he’s on a month business trip abroad.

Does he have a cellphone, and is it the same phone company that I use? Calls within the same mobile phone exchange are cheaper than to a different company. The money he will save on phone calls can go to treat me on a date (or bring me flowers some fictitious Friday night in the future).

Does he have custody of his child/ren on the same weekend that I do? If not, the possibility of ever getting together on weekends becomes increasingly difficult, until one of our ex-spouses agrees to switch the weekends. In the meantime, the babysitters can get very rich and our children very lonely and angry. The latter result is one I really recommend avoiding. I presently have three divorced male friends who are finally free the same weekends as I am, but we are not dating, so this wonderful coincidence is simply a wasted opportunity.

Even though they will have very little in common, this writer might prefer dating technologically-challenged bachelors who still remember how to use a public telephone.