Today I hailed a cab and as I hopped in I noticed a man walking down Avenue A with a t shirt on (yes, it was 20 degrees today) that read "I'm Probably Lying to You." Fateful spotting really.
Last night, date two, 38 year old, israeli fashion designer, drummer, guitar player extraordinaire. My most dangerous territory, as far as dating goes. He hails from the NYC music scene, the scene I have been trying to avoid. He knows them all and they have all let him that they know me.
Rumors spread like wildfire amongst people who don't seem to have other, more inspiring pursuits, or perhaps rumors just spread like wildfire period. People love to talk. I am one of them. Sometimes, hell, I am the president of them! And so, Gil and I have known each other for some time. I won't pretend I ever saw him like that. He is significantly older, he makes a very funny face when he plays the drums and he is Israeli. And as a Jewish girl, insisting on marrying a Jewish guy, I have a strange aversion to dating Israeli men. Perhaps its that they are too forward for even me.
In any case, he showed up two weeks ago to the Margarita club, the big party where Dean and I made our first treads towards actual friendship. despite our loving look, my drunken "I need you text messages" and so on.He is lovely, he is aggressive, he is vocal an he is forward, everything about a man I generally like. It should work. it just should, in spite of and despite the age difference.
He reads me. We drink margaritas, end up at max fish, drink more, end up at the hummus place (yes thats what its called), eat dinner, make out like we know each other and talk about things of great importance to me. A few drinks and my eyes deepen, my soul widens and I let loose. He listened and told me...
I needed to leard how to receive.
And not in a sex way...
In the sense that I needed to let others do things for me.
How could this man see this in me. He told me he has been watching me for a long time. That he asked about me always, that he found me quite sexy and that others had things to say about me, positive or negative.
It felt good to know him. It felt good to hear him, but I just did not believe him. And all of my trust issues just laid there at the surface of whatever it was we were. Like he was lying to me.
Of course, a day later I find out that Nicole and Dean have shared some, um, intimate time together....and my trust in general is curbed. For anything at all....
I ignore his phone calls, his e mails, his IMs, he knows Nicole and I want nothing to do with that, he wonders why
Probably because the time we shared as little time but as intimate as it felt, was all a lie, like everything else. I don't think about him when I'm not in front of him.
Or maybe I do, and I don't want to. Maybe the thought of liking someone who's first dining choice is the Chumus Place is scary, because that means we share something, a background we can perpetuate, but that is also so different. It is funny as an American Jew, you do not automatically think you will date, end up with, fall in love with, a sabra Israeli and yet it works. For me. In the sense that I want to feel like I made a change in choosing the man I love, but still stay the same, close to home.
In a way he is the best of both worlds. So maybe lying to him is easier. Maybe the shirt this man on ave a wore was a way of saying, "I'm lying to you, its easier that way- eh? No one gets hurt."
I think I kind of want to hurt again, the kind of hurt that gets fixed with ecstasy by the same person who hurt you, because then, that hurt, is really just mistaken vulnerability and isn't that what we seek in the end anyway?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
For me or not for me, that is the question?
My ankle is really sore. I have no idea why, maybe walking around Manhattan with my hard ass cowboy boots on all day on Monday was not the smartest. But I love my cowboy boots. I bought these cowboy boots when I was 22, from Rags a go go on 14th street. I was all my lonesome and in search of the perfect pair. Vintage was cool to me then, as it is now, as it was in college, but I got it, for real around 22, when I was no longer in college, influenced by the people around me, artists or Jews or otherwise. When I was beginning to form my own. And I decided cowboy boots were the way forward. Plus, they matched my newly shaping rock star image. From self proclaimed orthodox Jw to musical theater wiz to aspiring rock and roll star, my images, my personalities, my goals changed like you change your underwear.
But I was 22.
It was all about self discovery then, wasn't it?
So I began my road to definition, I guess ultimately a definition does form, no matter how you fight it, and my goal then was to be the OPPOSITE of defiitio, OPPOSITE of what I had been and from whence I came. It worked. My hair got cut the right way, my clothes improved drastically, my moral values disintegrated and to top it off I lived downtown, throwing massive parties while singing my own music at dirty rock clubs around Manhattan. Living the dream, really.
And here I live, closer to college then ever, closer to where I used to be and where I changed the most, and I am just the same as I was when I changed. And now, being different is what defines me, no matter how far i reached for UNdefinition.
He joked tonight over sushi,"you are an east village hipster, definitely not the typical Jewish girl." I knew he was half kidding, no matter how I have tried, I have never fully escaped my prepster make up to refurbish myself as ultimate hipster, not even close. But I do associate with those often termed as hipsters and so I get lumped into the category, mostly by my Jewish friends, who would not know a hipster from my grandma. And neither would I, because essentially the word hipster means nothing....a hair cut, a jean style, a chosen profession, a very expensive hair cut that looks cheap. I mean really. Why want to be one of those?
Yet oddly, this association for me, this difference between me and the regular Jewish girl, is my selling point when out on a date with certain Jewish guys, like this one, tonight.
Now come on, do not deny it, all girls know, when dating, what her selling point is. Beauty, intellect, talent, hipness. Well since beauty is not my strong suit, not fishing for compliments here, just the truth, I usually hone in on my outspoken intellectual capacity, or at least my ability to formulate somewhat complex sounding sentences about worthy topics and then there is the fact that I am different. Different from the regular Jew girl, different from the regular anyone. It is what has kept me interesting enough to people to keep my friends, date the men I have dated and so on.
So I use it, it sells for the most part. Though now it is feeling a bit trite. Because the truth is my "regular" friends, the not so screamingly different ones are the happy ones and I am still searching. And not only that, my attempt to escape my definition has now become my definition and while I think it is exciting, I am not sure it is becoming on me.
Tonight I did have fun though I know my eccentricity is attractive to this man. And maybe not a bad thing. He is very comfortable, smart, outspoken, thoughtful a tad overanalytical, but that is ok. He is a Jewish boy I met when I went on JDATE after I broke up with Dean when I decided I would just have to pick a Jewish husband, went on about3 dates off that site, this was one, he has been flaky ever since. Maybe it weirds him out that we met on line, when with the amount of friends we have in common, we probably could have met some time in person, yet here we are. He is cool. He is against the grain, I mean, he lives in the East Village, for gosh sake! Rare for a nice Jewish boy, formerly Orthodox who went to Yeshova, just like me. And I am attracted to him. We have the same background and the same desire for escape. He thinks I am different. Cool. Bohemian. I just sure hope he is not misled, because I am thinking normal is what I am going for, normal is what I will find.
We are going to the dog park together this weekend with the love of my life, Charlotte (my pit bull) and we shall see how it all goes, one thing for certain, first date of my new system and its working.
G night!
ROL
But I was 22.
It was all about self discovery then, wasn't it?
So I began my road to definition, I guess ultimately a definition does form, no matter how you fight it, and my goal then was to be the OPPOSITE of defiitio, OPPOSITE of what I had been and from whence I came. It worked. My hair got cut the right way, my clothes improved drastically, my moral values disintegrated and to top it off I lived downtown, throwing massive parties while singing my own music at dirty rock clubs around Manhattan. Living the dream, really.
And here I live, closer to college then ever, closer to where I used to be and where I changed the most, and I am just the same as I was when I changed. And now, being different is what defines me, no matter how far i reached for UNdefinition.
He joked tonight over sushi,"you are an east village hipster, definitely not the typical Jewish girl." I knew he was half kidding, no matter how I have tried, I have never fully escaped my prepster make up to refurbish myself as ultimate hipster, not even close. But I do associate with those often termed as hipsters and so I get lumped into the category, mostly by my Jewish friends, who would not know a hipster from my grandma. And neither would I, because essentially the word hipster means nothing....a hair cut, a jean style, a chosen profession, a very expensive hair cut that looks cheap. I mean really. Why want to be one of those?
Yet oddly, this association for me, this difference between me and the regular Jewish girl, is my selling point when out on a date with certain Jewish guys, like this one, tonight.
Now come on, do not deny it, all girls know, when dating, what her selling point is. Beauty, intellect, talent, hipness. Well since beauty is not my strong suit, not fishing for compliments here, just the truth, I usually hone in on my outspoken intellectual capacity, or at least my ability to formulate somewhat complex sounding sentences about worthy topics and then there is the fact that I am different. Different from the regular Jew girl, different from the regular anyone. It is what has kept me interesting enough to people to keep my friends, date the men I have dated and so on.
So I use it, it sells for the most part. Though now it is feeling a bit trite. Because the truth is my "regular" friends, the not so screamingly different ones are the happy ones and I am still searching. And not only that, my attempt to escape my definition has now become my definition and while I think it is exciting, I am not sure it is becoming on me.
Tonight I did have fun though I know my eccentricity is attractive to this man. And maybe not a bad thing. He is very comfortable, smart, outspoken, thoughtful a tad overanalytical, but that is ok. He is a Jewish boy I met when I went on JDATE after I broke up with Dean when I decided I would just have to pick a Jewish husband, went on about3 dates off that site, this was one, he has been flaky ever since. Maybe it weirds him out that we met on line, when with the amount of friends we have in common, we probably could have met some time in person, yet here we are. He is cool. He is against the grain, I mean, he lives in the East Village, for gosh sake! Rare for a nice Jewish boy, formerly Orthodox who went to Yeshova, just like me. And I am attracted to him. We have the same background and the same desire for escape. He thinks I am different. Cool. Bohemian. I just sure hope he is not misled, because I am thinking normal is what I am going for, normal is what I will find.
We are going to the dog park together this weekend with the love of my life, Charlotte (my pit bull) and we shall see how it all goes, one thing for certain, first date of my new system and its working.
G night!
ROL
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Daddy knows best!
My father and mother have been married for over 30 years. They have only been with each other. They have been dating since they turned 17 and they stood under the chupah at 21. My dad bought my mother stationary for her 17th birthday and brought it with him to her 17th birthday party. My mother saw a picture of my dad, his auburn jewfro and thick glasses in the local paper and knew right then that she was in love. It was that simple. And it still is. They STILL flirt with each other, They STILL love each other, in every way (ew), They STILL get it.
I know it is rare. I know about 50% of marriages from that generation end in divorce and the divorce rate is only gaining. But, they have managed to make it work and well.
Yesterday, February 17th, my mother turned 52. She looks fab. Great skin, like 3 wrinkles and body in tact. She is aging gracefully, as expected. My father sat next to her at dinner and I sat across the table, my two brothers have managed to escape our hometown for the time being and generally this is the familial picture. My parents on one side, me on the other. Like a panel of judges and a job candidate. I dream sometimes of what it will be like when I can round out the table with a fourth. A brother in Michigan and another in Beijing, it sure would be nice to bring a man to the table. I mean at least for my father's sake.
Alas, it is only three for now. And of course, Jewish parents and a 27.5 year old daughter brings about conversations surrounding job growth, career choices, social life and of course, the future husband prospects. Most of the time we laugh, sometimes we fight, mostly because frustration builds, they just don's seem to get it. And how can they? They have actually, believe it or not, never dated. Not the way adults do, they were married before they became actualized adults, so it just never was a reality for them. And I point that out a lot and it makes them angry. I think they do not like knowing that they may be less experienced at something then I am. WAY less experienced. Or maybe I just assume that. Maybe it bothers them that I seem to follow patterns of dating that are just unsuccessful and they are all knowing, I just never listen. It becomes a frustrating, circular conversation(BLOWOUT FIGHT) and it can be grueling. SO, today begins opposite day. Opposite hour. Opposite life.
I am going to listen to my parents.
Maybe, just MAYBE they know something I don't
Ouch. It hurt to say that.
Last night in particular, no fights arose, but we sat at Hearth on 12th and 1st ave, deep in the East Village, a neighborhood that my parents find hard to digest, but do so willfully (my mother more then my father) and we laughed. I gave in. I fed them story after story about men I am dating, men who e mail facebook messages instead of calling, men who take me out four times and cease to even kiss me, men who flake, come back, flake again. I feed them stories about my girlfriends, one who is moving across the country with a signed financial agreement in hand in case of relationship failure, instead of demanding a ring on her finger, a friend who WON'T move across the country WITHOUT a ring on her finger, one who has been left out to dry after two years of a serious relationship because her white boyfriend (idiot) put his glasses on and found out that she was black and could not handle it (wtf?)
No story ceased to amaze them, one after the other. I suppose it gave them a sense of assurance, "at least its not just our daughter," I am sure they thought. And they laughed and honestly, so did I. My father looked at me and uttered his favorite words of ethereal wisdom with his regular sense of sarcasm, and my father fancies himself wise and hilarious, "all you need is one, can't you just find one?"
I looked at him and said, "no, it no longer works like that."
And I am right. And in my humble & perhaps less wise opinion, this has all to do with technology. Weird connection, you are thinking. Perhaps. I mean think about it. We are a generation of Instant Gratification. We get what we want when we want it, we do not have to step outside to order almost anything in the world and have it appear on our doorstep, in our arms, on our computers, in our Ipods, on our movie screens, our TV's, our fridges. We don't even have to go outside to date anymore. And then when we do, forget dating, we have sex immediately. Like that is normal. We spend all this un-intimate time getting to know one another, on IM, in e mail, through blogs, profiles, dating sites, social networking sites, test message! I can not even remember the last time i picked up my iphone and went to the keypad to call on a friend. The minute we make human connection again we stick it to each other. Social and romantic negligence, all because we have become stunted and spoiled. Instant Gratification Generation.
And there it was, vomited all over the wooden table at hearth, the truth. We have lost all sense of real intimacy and any sense of working towards attaining one thing or another. Love, the forefront and the back end of this theory.
We joked about a friend who moved in with a boyfriend and wondered why after 2 years of living together he had not proposed. My dad said,
"because he has just what he wants. Do you REALLY think men are programmed to want to be married, to commit? No! But if ladies don't give them something to work for, they won't realize it either."
Wham. And I hate to say it, or write it rather, because let's face it, I am not ACTUALLY talking right now, My father is right, correct, on target, ding ding ding.
So. I am playing a game. I am going to let myself date, real, actual candidates for real, actual relationships. And they are going to court me and I will coyly hold back most everything. Fuck Instant Gratification, I am going to make them work, and in turn this will be loads of work on my end as well.
No sex. No "I think you are the one" two weeks into a relationship, no moving in, no I love you. Not for a while. I am going to see what happens.
I am going to tell you ALL about it.
Tonight. Candidate one.
Deena
I know it is rare. I know about 50% of marriages from that generation end in divorce and the divorce rate is only gaining. But, they have managed to make it work and well.
Yesterday, February 17th, my mother turned 52. She looks fab. Great skin, like 3 wrinkles and body in tact. She is aging gracefully, as expected. My father sat next to her at dinner and I sat across the table, my two brothers have managed to escape our hometown for the time being and generally this is the familial picture. My parents on one side, me on the other. Like a panel of judges and a job candidate. I dream sometimes of what it will be like when I can round out the table with a fourth. A brother in Michigan and another in Beijing, it sure would be nice to bring a man to the table. I mean at least for my father's sake.
Alas, it is only three for now. And of course, Jewish parents and a 27.5 year old daughter brings about conversations surrounding job growth, career choices, social life and of course, the future husband prospects. Most of the time we laugh, sometimes we fight, mostly because frustration builds, they just don's seem to get it. And how can they? They have actually, believe it or not, never dated. Not the way adults do, they were married before they became actualized adults, so it just never was a reality for them. And I point that out a lot and it makes them angry. I think they do not like knowing that they may be less experienced at something then I am. WAY less experienced. Or maybe I just assume that. Maybe it bothers them that I seem to follow patterns of dating that are just unsuccessful and they are all knowing, I just never listen. It becomes a frustrating, circular conversation(BLOWOUT FIGHT) and it can be grueling. SO, today begins opposite day. Opposite hour. Opposite life.
I am going to listen to my parents.
Maybe, just MAYBE they know something I don't
Ouch. It hurt to say that.
Last night in particular, no fights arose, but we sat at Hearth on 12th and 1st ave, deep in the East Village, a neighborhood that my parents find hard to digest, but do so willfully (my mother more then my father) and we laughed. I gave in. I fed them story after story about men I am dating, men who e mail facebook messages instead of calling, men who take me out four times and cease to even kiss me, men who flake, come back, flake again. I feed them stories about my girlfriends, one who is moving across the country with a signed financial agreement in hand in case of relationship failure, instead of demanding a ring on her finger, a friend who WON'T move across the country WITHOUT a ring on her finger, one who has been left out to dry after two years of a serious relationship because her white boyfriend (idiot) put his glasses on and found out that she was black and could not handle it (wtf?)
No story ceased to amaze them, one after the other. I suppose it gave them a sense of assurance, "at least its not just our daughter," I am sure they thought. And they laughed and honestly, so did I. My father looked at me and uttered his favorite words of ethereal wisdom with his regular sense of sarcasm, and my father fancies himself wise and hilarious, "all you need is one, can't you just find one?"
I looked at him and said, "no, it no longer works like that."
And I am right. And in my humble & perhaps less wise opinion, this has all to do with technology. Weird connection, you are thinking. Perhaps. I mean think about it. We are a generation of Instant Gratification. We get what we want when we want it, we do not have to step outside to order almost anything in the world and have it appear on our doorstep, in our arms, on our computers, in our Ipods, on our movie screens, our TV's, our fridges. We don't even have to go outside to date anymore. And then when we do, forget dating, we have sex immediately. Like that is normal. We spend all this un-intimate time getting to know one another, on IM, in e mail, through blogs, profiles, dating sites, social networking sites, test message! I can not even remember the last time i picked up my iphone and went to the keypad to call on a friend. The minute we make human connection again we stick it to each other. Social and romantic negligence, all because we have become stunted and spoiled. Instant Gratification Generation.
And there it was, vomited all over the wooden table at hearth, the truth. We have lost all sense of real intimacy and any sense of working towards attaining one thing or another. Love, the forefront and the back end of this theory.
We joked about a friend who moved in with a boyfriend and wondered why after 2 years of living together he had not proposed. My dad said,
"because he has just what he wants. Do you REALLY think men are programmed to want to be married, to commit? No! But if ladies don't give them something to work for, they won't realize it either."
Wham. And I hate to say it, or write it rather, because let's face it, I am not ACTUALLY talking right now, My father is right, correct, on target, ding ding ding.
So. I am playing a game. I am going to let myself date, real, actual candidates for real, actual relationships. And they are going to court me and I will coyly hold back most everything. Fuck Instant Gratification, I am going to make them work, and in turn this will be loads of work on my end as well.
No sex. No "I think you are the one" two weeks into a relationship, no moving in, no I love you. Not for a while. I am going to see what happens.
I am going to tell you ALL about it.
Tonight. Candidate one.
Deena
Friday, February 13, 2009
It hurts, again
I am sitting at work and I am getting nothing done. My heart hurts. My head hurts. I'm having trouble breathing. It's a familiar feeling. And it's a pattern. Doesn't some psychological theory point out that this is now all my fault and no one else, because I let this happen to me? I mean, I am the one who keeps holding on to people who are bad.
My friend told me to keep up with this blog. To write my life down, because my life is full of stories. I always wanted a big life, a life that was full of stories, a life that read like a book, or like a movie. And here I am. I can say the things that have happened to me, the things I have done, the places I have been, the people I have met have all played roles, stories, sets of a million movies.
And all it does is hurt.
All I do is look on facebook at old lovers, old boyfriends, old friends who ended up normal. Who got married at the right time, had children at the right time. Who all seem blissfully happy and in place.
And I call a woman my best friend, but behind my back she sleeps with the man who I loved, who used to push me around, who betrayed me, while she watched. And she found solace with him, instead of for me. And the irony is that she dropped this all on me out of the blue as I was in the process of letting him back in. She had to burst my bubble, because she got jealous. Probably better off.
And now I have spent days ruined over this.
When THIS is not me. These people are not who I am supposed to know and to associate with. When did I land here?
This is getting in the way of my ability to be productive, to move forward into normal relationships, to have fun, enjoy myself, walk my dog, get out of bed, open my eyes.
I wonder, like in sliding doors, that silly Gwyneth Paltrow movie, what the heck would have happened if Nicole and I had just killed the conversation with Dean on April 7th, 2007 before it event started. If we just chalked him up to some drunk English dude, instead of me spending the entire next day with him at brunch, the movies and over sangria. What would have happened then? Would she have found another way to destroy me? Probably. Would he have? Who knows. Who knows if he never would have made this move to New York.
But you can not turn back time. Betrayal sticks and it stays. It seeps in the creases and it oozes out just as the cut begins to scab. Like a reminder of the accident you had, the silly, klutzy moment that you got the cut comes rushing back. And you are back to square 1.
I wonder when I won't have something bad to write.
When my posts will be full of love, romance and wedding plans.
Or great success in other areas.
This is getting just a bit boring.
My friend told me to keep up with this blog. To write my life down, because my life is full of stories. I always wanted a big life, a life that was full of stories, a life that read like a book, or like a movie. And here I am. I can say the things that have happened to me, the things I have done, the places I have been, the people I have met have all played roles, stories, sets of a million movies.
And all it does is hurt.
All I do is look on facebook at old lovers, old boyfriends, old friends who ended up normal. Who got married at the right time, had children at the right time. Who all seem blissfully happy and in place.
And I call a woman my best friend, but behind my back she sleeps with the man who I loved, who used to push me around, who betrayed me, while she watched. And she found solace with him, instead of for me. And the irony is that she dropped this all on me out of the blue as I was in the process of letting him back in. She had to burst my bubble, because she got jealous. Probably better off.
And now I have spent days ruined over this.
When THIS is not me. These people are not who I am supposed to know and to associate with. When did I land here?
This is getting in the way of my ability to be productive, to move forward into normal relationships, to have fun, enjoy myself, walk my dog, get out of bed, open my eyes.
I wonder, like in sliding doors, that silly Gwyneth Paltrow movie, what the heck would have happened if Nicole and I had just killed the conversation with Dean on April 7th, 2007 before it event started. If we just chalked him up to some drunk English dude, instead of me spending the entire next day with him at brunch, the movies and over sangria. What would have happened then? Would she have found another way to destroy me? Probably. Would he have? Who knows. Who knows if he never would have made this move to New York.
But you can not turn back time. Betrayal sticks and it stays. It seeps in the creases and it oozes out just as the cut begins to scab. Like a reminder of the accident you had, the silly, klutzy moment that you got the cut comes rushing back. And you are back to square 1.
I wonder when I won't have something bad to write.
When my posts will be full of love, romance and wedding plans.
Or great success in other areas.
This is getting just a bit boring.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)