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.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
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!
Monday, September 5, 2011
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!)
Thursday, March 3, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, December 13, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Post 75: No Sex at the Shiva
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.
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.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Post 73: The hitech food baby
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..
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..
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Post 72: What do you do when you're stood up twice in one night?
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".
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".
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Post 71: Love by Any Other Name
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.
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