Sunday, December 2, 2012

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.)