In which I admit what is really bothering me
It’s been a “blah” sort of week in general, but today I’ve graduated to “grouchy.” I managed to keep my feelings in check at work, even though we had a staff meeting when I really needed to be finishing this project, and now I had to take work home with me to make sure it gets finished on time (I wasn’t told to take it home, but if I don’t meet the deadline, guess who will be in trouble?). I’m not grouchy because of work – my job is pretty good, all things considered-- but going to work is a nice way of exacerbating grouchiness that is already there, especially when a deadline is looming.
Not even my Thursday afternoon dance class (I take a women’s class called “Contact Improvisation” every Thursday for 2 hours) made me feel better. I even left early because I was like “I cannot do this. I’m sick of making ‘contact’ with this floor, I’m sick of staying in tune with other people, I’m sick of being touchy-feely. I’m leaving.” I’m usually so not like that. Usually I’m really sorry when the class is over.
Then, tonight, I cancelled my invitation to Friday night dinner and decided to host a meal of my own, because my would-be host had said that it would, other than me, be a “very couple-ly and kidd-ie meal.” I just cannot sit through one of those, not now. I cannot, this week, stand watching other people be all happy happy family-oriented “let’s talk about playgroups and our search for a 4-bedroom apartment in the suburbs.” No way am I participating in such a thing. No way.
You wanna know what one of the things is that is making me grouchy? Well, for starters, my dating life is one long, expansive wasteland of men who turn out to be sexist, boring, alcoholic, or simply not in possession of enough good taste to want to date me more than once. Plus, since moving to Israel, I’ve contacted approximately 25 men on Dosidate.com, one of the local dating websites, and not one, not one, has turned into an actual let’s-sit-in-a-restaurant-and-talk-over-gnocchi date. Here’s the breakdown (numbers are approximate):
10 men never wrote back
7 men said “Your profile is nice but I don’t think it’s relevant.”
3 men wrote "Your profile is nice but I'm seeing someone."
1 man wrote “Your profile is nice but I don’t live in Israel anymore.”
1 man wrote “Your profile is nice but you are too short.”
1 man wrote “Your profile is nice, but you said that you are ‘spiritual and deeply religious,’ and I’m really not, so good luck. I hope the fact that you wrote so much about yourself in your profile doesn’t turn other people off.”
1 man wrote back, and we emailed for a while, and then suddenly I never heard from him. I even wrote to ask him the status, and he never responded to that, either. Loser.
1 man I’ve been corresponding with for weeks, and today I finally wrote to him that maybe it’s time we talk on the phone. I have few hopes for this one, since I was the one who had to chase him for phone contact. Which probably means he’s either not so interested in me, or not so interested in a relationship, or both.
I need to face it. I learned, or thought I had learned, a long time ago that “a man who is not asking you out is a man who is not interested.” But there’s also a sub-category of this rule, which is “a man who doesn’t write to you first on an internet dating site is a man who won’t really be that excited about meeting you.”
To be fair, a few men have contacted me since I made aliyah, through the same dating site. Here’s an approximate breakdown:
8 men were well into their 40’s, divorced with children, or both.
1 man was in his 50’s. Grrrrrrooooooosssss.
5 men were not religious at all. (However, one of those was 24 and really hot. What an ego boost! Yigal, whereever you are, thank you so much.)
3 of the men were extremely yeshivish/chassidish, “you must cover all of your hair, end of story” “I want someone who is willing to have all the children Hashem will give us” type of people.
Of the men described above, several had not attended college.
And then there was “Petach Tikva guy,” who, despite being 39 and not my physical type, seemed normal enough to go out with. Oh, that things were what they seemed. I was in Petach Tikva anyway to visit Cousin Meir, and met this guy for Friday-morning brunch. We were out for 2 hours, of which –and I mean this quite literally, without any exaggeration—he spoke for 1 hour and 50 minutes. It was rather impressive, how he went on and on. When he finally would ask me a question, he’d let me talk for one minute and then interrupt me to start up with his own stories. Plus he wore dirty sneakers on a date. Plus he didn’t offer to carry my bag as we were walking to or from the restaurant. Plus he walked me to the station where I’d catch a bus to Jerusalem, and didn’t stick around to make sure I found the bus OK. I don’t think he’s actually a jerk, just completely, completely clueless.
Plus—man, I could go on forever, will I EVER find the right guy?—the man I’ve been crushing on is, I’m 98% sure, homosexual. The other 2% of me thinks that maybe he’s just metrosexual. It makes no difference because he’s not asking me out. With my track record, he’s probably straight and, now that I am interested in him, he will get engaged to someone else within weeks. Typical.
HELLO, MR. BASHERT? WHERE ARE YOU? I’M PLASTERED ALL OVER THE INTERNET, AND YOU’RE PROBABLY AT HOME WATCHING WEST WING.
I think I’ll go eat a box of chocolate cookies, now.