That one time I went on a date with an Israeli...

Israeli boys. They think they can say anything and get away with it, don’t they?

Erez seemed like he was all that and a loaf of challah until he opened his mouth.  At 6’2 he met all of my necessary standards: at least 3 inches taller than me. That warm, magical July night, I realized I needed to develop higher standards. 

Have you ever met someone and felt like they made you and everyone else around you uncomfortable? This was my night at its most basic description.

Let’s just start this date from the very beginning, he tried to kiss me hello. To quote my best friend, “Boy, you don’t know me like that!” (I didn’t say this, but I had the urge to go wash my face.) We were seated, and then my uncomfortable evening unfolded.

Ordering Process:  I don’t care what anyone says. A boy should always order before the girl so the girl knows what she can order. Before ordering he made me think he was only getting one roll, (We had sushi) and so I ordered one salmon avocado. He ordered three rolls. To say I was disappointed with my order is an understatement. I was not only disappointed, but I was hungry. 

After my one roll was delivered to the table and his three sat beautifully in front of him, he told me I could have some of his…I’m not saying I am super clean, but I am not going to eat off of someone’s plate that I don’t even know. That’s intimate, and this was a first date. 

The Conversation: What do you think the most inappropriate conversation topics are on a first date? I’m sure they were all discussed that evening. To set up the scene for you: I sat up straight in my chair, and he leaned across the table. Every time he leaned closer, my chair scooted a little bit further back. (By the end of the night, I was about 4 blocks away.)

Our first conversation topic was alcohol and drugs. It went a little something like this:

Erez: So, eh, do you, eh, like to drink?

Me: I am 22 and fresh out of college. It’s kind of my age group’s thing. How about yourself?

Erez: Yeah, I don’t. You see, eh, I don’t need it to have fun. I can go to the club by myself and enjoy without. Eh, you know?

Me: I don’t need it to have fun, either; it just speeds up the process. (Clearly I am trying to joke.)

Erez: Do you, eh, do drugs ever?

Me: What?!?

Who asks that? This was not as far out as our next conversation topic of not being an Israeli woman or a lesbian:

Erez: Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever end up with and Israeli woman. Eh, you know they are all…B*tches.

(Long Pause)

Me: I don’t think I’ll end up with an Israeli woman, either. They aren’t really my type.

Erez: Ah, but what about an American woman?

Me: They aren’t really my type, either.

Seriously, what? Did he just ask me if I ever fancied myself a lesbian? (No offense, lesbians are cool. I’m just into Jewish men, hence the blog.) I was just trying to make a joke over an inappropriate first date comment.

At this point in time I looked to the table sitting a few inches beside us, and their faces resembled partial horrific expressions and the other part sympathy to my situation.

The Goodbye: I’m not great with signals. I don’t really know if I am putting them out or not. But in this instance, I know I was definitely, 100% not putting them out. When I suggested we get the check and offered to pay my half, he had a look of expectancy in his eyes. (The only thing he should have been expecting is to pay for my one $7.25 roll.)

We exited the restaurant, and he went in for the kiss. I adjusted to the side hug, which I thought was a safe bet. Apparently, his eyes were already closed, and I felt a bite on my ear. (The reaction you are having right now was much like mine.) I felt awkward and ran out in the rain to the subway as fast as I could.

When he asked for a second date, he spelled my name wrong. I didn’t respond. Instead, I scurried away on my search for an NJB…or just an NB. (This is a lot harder than the movies make it seem.)

America's Pathetic Sweetheart

I’m just gonna lay it out there. If getting dumped and/or made a fool of was an Olympic sport, I would definitely take home the gold. People Magazine covers would be adorned with articles about “America’s Pathetic Sweetheart.” And I would gladly accept my role.

I became very aware of my foolishness during my junior year. Not only did the boy I like make a fool of me, but my best friend hung me out to dry. (Literally, I cried so much that I needed to hang my sweatshirt to dry.)

The abbreviated version of this love story goes a little something like this. Sophomore year I had environmental poli sci with Sam. We started chatting over the next summer. I developed a crush, and I thought he liked me, too…apparently not. 

If you recall the post about horrible dances, I took Sam to my formal. He drank the entire time. Texted the entire time, even while we were dancing. And, he was not up to hang out with me and my friends after the dance had concluded. I got the message loud and clear. He was definitely not that into me.

The next week I clearly remember one of my best friends coming up to me and asking me if we could talk. Jessica pulled me aside after Shabbat dinner was over and said this, “So I met this really great guy last night, and he is really nice. I am going out with him Saturday. And his name is Sam.” Wait for it. “Is that okay with you?”

Before I get into this, I would like to point out a few technicalities. (1) Are you trying to rub it in my face that he likes you and not me? (2) He isn’t a great guy because he has no respect for friendship boundaries. (3) Uhm, why are you asking if it’s okay with me, when you already told him yes?

CLEARLY, IT’S NOT OKAY WITH ME! (I’m down for being dumped on, but not with contributing help from my best friend.) However, due to point 3, I uttered the obligatory phrase, “Yeah, have fun!” And I exited the scene all the way to my other friends’ apartment to begin my night of patheticness.

Have you ever seen a girl crying in the middle of a bar and wondered what was wrong with her? Well, from my experience, I can tell you her best friend is probably going out with someone she either really liked or dated. 

We were in the middle of my favorite bar, and I was wearing a sweatshirt with Mickey Mouse dressed up like Santa Claus. (Just to give you a timeline, this was in December, and we had already stopped by an ugly Christmas sweater party.) Some boy approached me and handed me a Cranberry Vodka and said, “You look like you could use this.” I wasn’t even offended. Although, it did spark me to start crying again.  (Note, I was not crying because Sam didn’t like me. That would be dumb. I was crying because I felt betrayed by my best friend.) 

The rest of that night is a puffy-eyed blur of me repeating the story over and over again to strangers who all had the same reaction. “What a ______?!?!” I don’t really know where the end of this story is, because I forgave Jessica (thinking she knew too much about me to throw a friendship away), but there is always that thought in the back of my head. And nothing has really been the same ever since.

So I will give you this advice: Friends don’t date friend’s crushes, or exes, or anything for that matter during said friend’s search for her NJB…it’s just not right.

Single Sinner

I’d like to preface this post with the fact that I am from Alabama. I am from a place where it is not uncommon to get married young, and by young, I mean 21. I currently have four friends who are married...I am 22.

I was at the dentist’s office last year, and he asked me “Have you met Mr.Right?” My mouth was wide open with some aluminum sticks in it, so I couldn’t respond. He went on to tell me about how his nephew had just married the most beautiful girl with a personality the sunshine envied (not kidding…he used that phrase).

When he took the tools out of my poor mouth, I responded, “No, but I have met Mr. Wrong, and I really liked him.” The look on my dentist’s face was indescribable.  He couldn’t tell whether to pity me and my misfortune or be appalled by my retort.

As he finished up my cavity-free mouth he said, “When you do meet Mr.Right, tell him he is lucky to be with one of the best smiles this dentist has ever seen.” (I think he tells all of his unlucky in love patients this.) I then left feeling mocked, wondering if I was going against Gd’s southern will by being the only single girl left in my graduating high school class. (This is only a slight exaggeration.)

I had forgotten all of this until yesterday, when my mother’s friend got on the phone with me and out of nowhere said, “Laurie, we’re real proud of you, and you’re going to meet someone real soon, honey.”

I know I have this blog that talks about my misfortunes, but did the government send out a PSA telling the world I am single and it’s a sin?  

I might be ahead of my time with this comment, but I think my fellow ladies should focus on their careers and becoming themselves before bringing someone else into the picture. I am a mess! I freak out deciding between the apple yogurt or the mango yogurt in the store, let alone deciding if I want to spend my unforeseeable future with someone who doesn’t put down the toilet seat or wash his hands.

Someone needs to speak to those Baby Boomers and tell them people are getting married later in life now.

 To quote one of my favorite poets, “That’s how it’s supposed to be, living young and wild and free.” (Holla, Wiz!) These are my thoughts on my search for my NJB. (These thoughts are subject to change because as stated previously, I’m 22 and a girl. Changing our minds is kind of my age group’s thing.)

Subway Boy

“You find the one in the most random and unexpected places.”

This is the lie I have been told since I remember asking how my parents met.  (My parents met while they were on dates with other people, so we will let them be the exception.) My sister met her husband on JDate where you are paying to meet people. My friend met her husband in a youth group where you meet people. My other friend met her boyfriend through a mutual friend, and it was a setup. The point is: it’s not random. It’s not unexpected. You don’t find them in unlikely places. You find them the way everyone else does: on a website, through a friend, at a party, at a bar (my parents were at a bar…trashy.).

So, let me ask you this. Is it that insane that I met my one on the subway? I see three of the same people almost every day on the subway. One boy who always looks like he stepped out of a J. Crew catalogue, one girl with possibly the prettiest orange curls in the world but sports a scowl because I’m guessing she is awake, and finally, I see my “one.” He is tall, dark, and Gd I hope he’s Jewish!

Let me tell you more about our relationship. We see each other about three to four times a week. We get on the same subway cart, and we are usually in close proximity. He reads twitter on his phone, I rock out to “Good Vibrations” given the subway vibrates. This was all I really knew about him until this week. He finally noticed me! He looked at me and smiled. And now I can add the most beautiful smile in the entire world to his list of wonderful attributes. 

You think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But that’s why people call it crazy in love! (I clearly know I am not in love, but I am allowed to have a crush.) I go to the subway every single day. I am bound to meet at least one person down there, and who says it can’t be my one? Not so random, my friends, is it?

Now that I have fallen curls over boots for this boy, I gotta figure out my first move. I can’t just say “Hi” in a crowded subway full of silent people. If I say something there needs to be a purpose behind it.  So I am putting this out to my readers, whoever you are. Do you have any ideas of how I can snag this crush on my morning route and my search for my NJB?

I'm Bored

I don’t like museums. I never have. I never will. I think they are boring unless I am able to do something interactive in them (I do like the Boston Museum of Science). When people want to go to museums, I prefer art museums. I don’t like art, but I like to make fun of the people who think a canvas painted blue actually means something. (If a blue canvas is art, my painted block art I created at 3 was much more valuable that the $25 my dad paid for it at the school auction.)

When JDate #1 suggested we go to the Museum of Natural History for our first date, I was already dreading it. I told him I really liked the MoMA. His response? “That’s cool, too. Let’s go to the Museum of Natural History.”

As soon as I got there, I realized two things. One, he lied about his height. Two, this was going to be a hilarious story for my blog. While we stood in the ticket line, he barely spoke to me. I kept the conversation alive because I figured he was nervous. I suggested we use our recently expired student IDs to get a discount. The suggested ticket price fell to $29 total. The ticket master asked what donation amount my date would like to pay, and he responded $20. (I felt horrible! I wanted to donate the remaining $9. I don’t like museums, but you shouldn’t skimp at them.) He then turned to me and said, “I like museums because it’s always a suggested price, and you don’t have to pay all of it.”

Uhhhh, he didn’t have to call attention to being cheap on our first date. I already noticed and was not planning on saying anything. He went on about it for at least five minutes. (I don’t need to know your financial stability on the first date! Just take me some place that’s free like the park. I’d like it more than looking at stuffed animals.) 

We were off to a tainted start, and I was convinced I could turn this 18-wheeler back on track. Trying to make the best of an educational date, I decided to read about the different fossils and dinosaurs.  As I read out loud about one, he leaned up against the railing and stared at me. (I have never been a drop dead gorgeous girl, so this was a new and uncomfortable experience for me.) This continued at the next three fossils until I finally asked him to stop looking at me. (Why would you stare at someone who you are on a date with? It’s not a bar. It’s a museum!)

The date continued down the same path. He answered questions with simple short sentences and only asked topical questions such as, “Do you have siblings?” “Yes” without any sort of follow up. I tried telling stories about my life so he would do the same, but there was nothing that would make him speak about anything besides how he is trying to become more religious (I’m not, so that’s also a problem).

What I gathered from our conversation was he is a momma’s boy (don’t admit that to a girl), he has never lived away from home or supported himself in any form, he thinks lawyers are awful (my dad’s a lawyer…that’s awkward) and he wants to be a police officer so he can stop people from shoplifting (someone’s gotta do it, but my NJB probably won’t be the one doing so).

Finally, I had sped our way through the museum in two hours and I could see the light at the end of the exit. I was so close! He asked to go get lunch with me. I made up an excuse. He asked me to get dessert. (If I wasn’t hungry, I don’t want ice cream!) I felt too guilty not to say yes. Half way through my ice cream, I made a comment about needing to get home. He protested, and walked me to the bus that was out of his way. (There was no getting rid of him.)

At the very end he asked me for my number. I gave it to him, but he repeated it back to me wrong. I didn’t correct him. I should really text that person and thank him for helping me on my search for my NJB. 

P.S. Did anyone else get that he wasn’t willing to pay full price for tickets, but wanted to pay for my meal?