Friday, March 31, 2006

I don't need this on a Friday afternoon

Sharing is nice. Caring is nice. It's great when you sit down with your significant other, and they offer you half of their sandwich, or the last scoop of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey. Awww, thanks Pookie.

Even talking about past emotional trials and tribulations are nice. Helps you get closer to each other. No really. You guys broke up two years ago? Oh, what? She played with your emotions for two years? And it was one of those unhealthy, I can't let her go, even though she's really bad news, on-again, off-again relationships? I'm so sorry someone treated you so badly, that's terrible. I'm happy that you were able to get the emotional strength to finally break away.

"Yeah, but at least I got to fuck her."

Um, what?

"I fucked her."

Um, do you mean, you fucked her over because of the severe emotional trauma she put you through? Or do you mean, you fucked her, as in, you got to have sex with her?

"I fucked her. I got to have sex with her. Lots of sex. I waited a long time to fuck her, I had known her since we were 14. I consider myself totally repaid for the emotional shit she did to me."

.....Do you realize who you're talking to?

"What? I didn't say anything wrong. I'm not telling you how great it was or anything. I'm just saying it was a lot. Enough for me to feel like I got something out of it."


I cannot stress enough how this is TOO. FUCKING. MUCH.

AND, the irony of it all, is that when I politely excused myself from the conversation because I was a little upset, HE GOT MAD AT ME! MAD AT ME!!!!!

Because in his little brain, talking about the emotional trauma he went through because of her and talking about HOW HE AT LEAST GOT TO FUCK HER, FUCK HER A LOT, BECAUSE HE WAITED SINCE HE WAS 14, AND FEELS REPAID NOW is the same thing.

Apparently there is no delicate balance between what we share and what we don't. He might as well tell me she liked it from behind and that she tasted great.

There are limits. There HAVE TO BE LIMITS. SEXPLOITS are generally off-limits. Emotional mumbo-jumbo is just fine. "At least I fucked her" IS NOT FINE.

And that's from a woman who writes an anonymous and generally humiliating blog.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

And People Say Attorneys Aren't Nice

I have inside-outside commentary. And I don't mean indoor-outdoor....

I have to be very careful sometimes that what's going on inside, doesn't come out.

You know, for example, "Get your fucking fat moseying ass out of my way, before I clobber you over the head with my bag" - on the inside. "Excuse me" - on the outside.

Or sometimes, "Hey, what the fuck was that all about?!" doesn't always get you the response you want. Generally, I have to tone it down, "Um, I was wondering if you could maybe, uh, sort of explain what just happened? I might have missed something, (on the outside) douchebag! (on the inside)"

I know men that I have to treat with kidd gloves too sometimes. I'm actually dating one right now.

I can't explain to you the number of times I feel compelled to growl, "If you ever fucking do that again, I'll cut your nuts off and make a pretty pair of earrings out of them," but of course, that has to stay on the inside. "You know, personally, for me, from my point of view, based on what could be my totally warped perception, I wasn't very comfortable when you did that...." has to come out of my mouth instead.

That's what earns me groveling apologies the instant I've made my point. It's satisfying to get the apology, but I wonder sometimes, if just saying, "Fuck you, you Fuck!" wouldn't be equally satisfying.

On the inside, I'm all, "You total and utter ASS." On the outside, I'm all, "Ooooo, that hurt my feelings." Yawn.

Even dealing with people at work. "Are you a fucking idiot?!?! What part of 'get me the research by 10' didn't you understand?! How's that one neuron working out for you?" all has to stay on the inside. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you could get it to me as soon as possible. No, I totally understand, you had tickets to a show last night. Great. Thanks. You're the best" on the outside.

"Stop checking out my ass, you disgusting perverted old man before I bring a sexual harassment suit so big, you'll be mowing my lawn to pay your mortgage" on the inside, has to be, "Was there something I could help you with?" on the outside.

It takes lots of effort and energy to keep my big mouth shut all day. It's not easy. I totally understand that I can't go around yelling at people and saying what's on my mind all the time. I'd literally end up alienating absolutely everyone I know. Not that I really like anyone I know, but I'm a people person, and you never know when someone will come in handy.

Like my dear friend told me yesterday, sometimes, you have to kiss one cheek while you slap the other, in order to get what you want. And she's my best friend in the whole wide world, (on the outside), dumb annoying bitch with the stupid advice (on the inside).

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

I'll be right back, someone named Nurse Ratchet is at my door....

Women are crazy. We are stark raving lunatics. I'm at the head of the line. I'm certainly not about to cast aspersions without taking my fair share of the blame.

I don't know what it is, but we are nuts. From the talking and talking and talking (someone stop me) about feeeeeeeeelings, and the over-analyzation of everything from, "did you see the way she looked at me???" to "what do you think he meant by 'hi'?", I'm assuming that if pussy didn't feel so good, men would have shot us all by now. Not that men are any better, but at least men aren't crazy. They're just dumb.

If I could explain why I start crying at a particularly touching kleenex commercial, I could probably become the next expert in quantum physics.

If I obsess anymore over whether the five pounds I put on last week is the reason why the cute guy at the deli didn't flirt with me this morning, or whether I should have had the yogurt instead of the muffin, or whether the new heels I bought are sexy enough, I might just jump. I actually sometimes hear the things that come out of my mouth, and have to ask out loud whether I really just said that or not. It's amazing.

And don't even get me started on the emotional holocaust I reign on anyone in my path the week and half before my period, the week of my period and the week after my period. (If you did the math correctly, that leaves about 3.52 minutes per month that I'm relatively normal. I'm probably sleeping.) That, and the crying. The insane amounts of crying because I dropped my pen, or couldn't find my favorite scarf, or because my boyfriend asked me where I put the bottle opener. I mean really.

But I've come to embrace the fact that as a woman, I'm crazy. Men are these weird, alien, logical creatures, whereas women are emotional. I can be logical. Ok, I can pretend I'm logical. Fine. But at least I can do it. Men can't even pretend to be emotional. And if they are emotional, you know they're just a bunch of sackless Nancy-boys. The last thing I want to see, again, is a grown man cry. Actually, the last thing I want to see, is me crying over another completely innocuous commercial, or me talking about why when he does this, it makes me feeeeeel like that.....or hearing the question of whether the pants my friend is wearing make her look fat. NO, your fat ass makes you look fat. Psycho.

Monday, March 27, 2006

I'm looking for someone with no assembly required (batteries optional)

There's one very important thing I've learned while dating in the past 14 years, and that is, the only way something is going to work, is if I approach it with a "take it or leave it" attitude.

Basically, what I mean is, that you can't change anyone. And I learned a long time ago to not even try.

Therefore, whenever I am faced with a situation that I don't like, or behavior that I don't like, I can either accept it, or I can walk away. If I do accept it, I have to accept it fully. I can't say it's ok, and then be a nag about it.

But if it's not ok, I will avoid having a discussion about it, and I will definitely try to avoid any kind of fight, and I will certainly not sit around talking about why it's unacceptable to me. It doesn't always work, but I try.

For example, if I'm out on a first date, and the 36 year old guy decides that he wants to smoke some pot, and asks me if I mind, I'm not going to tell him I mind. I'm just not going to see him anymore.

And you might say that that's not fair, because he asked me if I minded. But what I know is, that if I said yes, it wouldn't stop him from smoking, it would only stop him from smoking in front of me. And dating a 36 year old that still smokes pot is not something I'm looking for.

Or if I'm dating someone, and he goes out all the time with his friends, and I invariably get the drunk dial at 3 in the morning, replete with annoying avowals of love and tears, and maybe a fight he wants to pick, on a school night. Eventually, I'm going to bail.

It's ok to go out with friends; it's ok to have a few cocktails; it's ok to call your girlfriend to tell her you love her. It's not ok when these things happen every random Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday night. And I will say something like, "Hey, you think maybe you can try to call me a little earlier if you want to talk? It's hard for me to get up in the morning for work when you call at 3..." But I'll say it maximum two times, not more. And then, check please.

Or, if I'm dating someone long distance for about a year, and it's an exclusive relationship, and he decides to go away for the weekend last minute, I think I should get a phone call. I don't think I should find out about it because I happened to call him his first night away.

And I certainly shouldn't find out on Monday that the trip was comprised of a whole bunch of guys and girls away together.

Don't talk to me about trust. There's a difference between trusting someone, and just being an idiot. And actually, this doesn't even have to do with trust, it has to do with respect. If we're exclusive for a year and a trip is coming up, I'll call him, and let him know about it the minute I decide I want to go. Let him know the details, where, when, with who, all of it. If he voices any concerns, I try to put him at ease. If he's still not at ease, I'll reconsider going (unless he's being absurd).

So on the flip side, I would expect that I should at least get a phone call during the three or four hour drive it takes to get to the vacation spot. At least some sort of heads-up, "Hey, I'm going away this weekend, I'm on my way...X,Y, and Z are coming with."

But I don't like information after the fact. I'm not ok with it. I don't know why, but there's something about getting information after the fact that makes me uncomfortable.

BUT, I'm not going to discuss it. I'm not going to fight about it, I'm not going to get into the whole, "Don't you trust me? You're just being jealous. You know what, I'm not going to tell you anything anymore because you just give me a hard time..." lines. Men use those lines all the time when they've behaved badly in order to put women on the defensive. And I'm not going to put myself in that position.

Letting your girlfriend of a year know you're going away, and that you're going away with a mixed group, is not about jealousy. It's not about control. You don't need my permission. But it IS about having some respect. And maybe a little forethought.

If the situation were reversed I have a feeling he would be something close to livid. And Lucy would have some 'splainin to do.

Talking is great. Working things out is great. Letting each other know about feelings is great, if not extremely nauseating, but great. Having to train a grown man to treat me the way he would want to be treated is a waste of my time. If his mother failed at instilling that little life lesson when he was 10, my chances of success 20 years later aren't that good.

But it's extremely liberating to know that I can either take it or leave it. It takes away any feelings of helplessness; let's me understand that even though other people do things that may hurt my feelings, I ultimately control my life and my experiences. It also helps me avoid being a nag. And forces me to really understand how I feel about someone, and how far I'm willing to go in a relationship. It's all up to me. Ladies, if you haven't yet, you should try it.

Things I have done in the past four days that I am WAY TOO OLD to be doing:

I am too old to hang out at a sports bar by myself after my girlfriend left to meet her date.

I am too old to suck a jello shot out of the waitress's mouth in front of a bunch of guys.

I am too old to let the waitress suck a jello shot from my mouth.

I am too fucking old to be doing jello shots.

I am too old to work up the nerve to walk across the bar to talk to the JFK Jr. look-alike, only to find out he's 26 years old, and says things like, "yo bro."

I am too old to go to sleep on my friend's couch and show up to work in the same clothes as the day before, plus one ill-fitting sweater on-loan.

I am too old to get drunk off of one glass of wine at five in the afternoon.

I am too old to be doing vodka shots at my friend's wedding.

I am too old to go traipsing around the streets of Washington DC in an evening dress with three men in tuxedos, looking for a party at two in the morning, WHEN WE WERE JUST AT A PARTY.

I am too old to dance atop furniture at various establishments.

I am too old to pass out in my strappy gold high heels with pretty flowers on them, and a full face of makeup.

I am too old to be having platonic sleep overs with an old acquaintance, just because we are too drunk to be able to function.

I am too old to be so hung over, that I almost passed out on the plane and threw up in my sister's car on the way home from the airport the day after the party.

I am too old to have only vodka, ice-cream and butter in my fridge when I get home.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Lies, I tell you. All LIES....

"I like to live a simple life."
- I'm cheap.

"I'm more into staying home, watching a movie and getting some take-out."
- I'm cheap. Very cheap.

"I want a woman to love me for me, and not my money."
- I'm cheap. And insecure.

"I'd rather cook a meal for a girl than go out. Brunch can be so romantic."
- I'm cheap. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap.

"I'm looking for a nice girl."
- I'm looking for a girl whose actions I can control, because I'm cheap.

"I'm a regular kind of guy."
- I'm not taking you anywhere fancy or trendy because I'm cheap.

"I think coffee is a better first date than drinks or dinner, because you can really talk to each other without any distractions."
- I'm so cheap, I squeak.

"I don't understand why people are into brand names. It's so shallow and empty to be engrossed in that stuff."
- I'm cheap, but I'm trying to hide my cheapness behind a bullshit statement about the human condition.

"Your half comes out to $7.42."
- I'm cheap, and I'm not embarrassed to let you know. But I don't understand why I never get laid.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Reasons Why the First Date Won't Lead to a Second:

  • He was shorter than he said he was on the phone.
  • He looked older than he said he did on the phone.
  • He played Jewish geography with me over sushi.
  • He has a cat.
  • He insisted that I stop by his place to "meet the cat."
  • I met the stupid cat.
  • He cradled the cat in his arms and baby talked to it.
  • I started to have doubts about his sexual orientation.
  • He pulled out a guitar and sang me a Billy Joel song. In his living room. A la a bad romance novel come to life.
  • I no longer had any doubts about his sexual orientation.
  • I looked around bewildered, wondering how it had come to this.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

It's Quality, Not Quantity

One of the most frustrating things I encounter with my family is their complete and utter incredulity that I can't seem to find someone. And they very openly and very clearly blame me for it.

I don't know how to impress upon them that its not as easy as it used to be. It just isn't. I know so many wonderful women, educated, successful, fun, interesting and really beautiful, inside and out. And we're all in the same boat.

The thing is, it's not a problem to meet people. The problem is meeting someone you can stand for longer than the period of time it takes you to finish your drink before you consider pretending a seizure just to make him go away.

One of my biggest problems is meeting someone age appropriate. (Age appropriate means he should not start a conversation by asking what school I go to, or what year I am. My year? IT'S 30!!!!! And it's about 10 years too old for YOU!! Now go home before you break curfew. Your parents must be worried sick. And stop trying to convince me you like dating older women. I don't like baby-sitting or changing diapers.)

Another problem is meeting someone who is looking for a relationship. Meeting 40 year old worldly art dealers tooling around in Bentlys and selling Picassos, who want to take me out to fancy dinners and fancy cigar bars for intimate drinks is all well and good. But they're still embroiled with their first wives, and their second wives...and their 21 year old "girlfriends." And I'm not interested in entering their little rotation of women.

And then there are the nice Jewish boys I know, the ones who are educated, successful, interesting and fun. They've got so many issues, their issues live in complexes together and share laundry facilities.

What happened to you guys? YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOU READ MY BLOG!!!!!! They have no idea what they want, they flitter from one girl to the next, one minute they like her, the next they don't, then again, maybe they do, but then, hey, who's over there? Well, maybe they should ask their mom what she thinks.....Like dogs chasing their tails around in circles.

All I have to say is that my grandmother would never survive the dating world today. She'd end up in a studio apartment, with an unsatisfying job and an unhealthy number of cats. Men and women don't have that symbiotic, he earns the money, she takes care of the house, relationship anymore. No one I know needs anyone else. At least, not in the traditional sense. But my family doesn't seem to realize that the elements holding their relationships together don't necessarily work anymore. It's a different playing field now.

So maybe I'll find someone. Maybe not. But I'm going to try to not stress about it. Especially when some of the women I know who want to get married to the traditional Jewish doctor-type have resorted to dating much younger men, or even ethnic men (not too many Asian Jews out there....) or even European men who live thousands of miles away, who propose using your old wedding band. Ahem. At least I have an out. I could always buy a one-way ticket to Europe, marry someone who's wonderful and never have to work another day in my life. THAT does not suck.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Past Tense:

Saturday, the Neurosurgeon and I were supposed to hang out. But I hadn't heard from him for most of the day. I figured that based on the number of phone calls we had exchanged already, the number of dates we'de been on, and the comfort level we seemed to have reached really quickly, it was ok to just call him myself.

Turns out he was on a lunch date. A LUNCH DATE. WITH ANOTHER WOMAN. Of course, I don't think he actually heard my heart break, but as a doctor, he definitely heard something short circuit. The problem wasn't so much the date or that he wasn't going to see her again, but the fact that he said he liked her. (OUCH!!! - coupled with complete incredulity, that he could actually like someone after meeting me, but that's not the point -nor the good part of the story).

*N.B. - For some info on exclusivity and multiple partner dating in NYC, please refer to this post.

So, we decide to go out that night, he says he's really excited to see me. I was a little cold in the beginning, but eventually I thawed out. Because I really REALLY liked him.

We ended up going to BB Kings to hear a battle of the bands between various painfully untalented heavy metal bands - which was now the second thing he'd done to annoy me. The first being that he had the gaul to go out with another woman when he was telling me how crazy he was about me, the second being that he took me somewhere he knew I had absolutely no interest in going, but he just didn't care because that's what he wanted to do.

So, I did what any adult, independent female with an extremely active social life does when the guy she recently started dating and really likes annoys her: I proceeded to get completely, blindingly, fall off the chair, drunk.

Now, I don't remember everything that happened that night. But lucky me, the Neurosurgeon was nice enough to fill me in with the details on Sunday afternoon.

For starters, at some point in the evening, I apparently thought it would be a good idea to PROFESS MY LOVE TO HIM. I mean, I actually told the man "I love you" after knowing him for less than a month. I Love You. Love You came out of my mouth, with an "I" in front of it. He, feeling very sorry for me, put his arm around my shoulders, kissed me on the forehead, and told me that I "was going to hate myself in the morning." (Nice!)

I then felt that his response was not emotionally adequate, I became very serious, turned away from him for a full five minutes, and turned back and PROCEEDED TO GIVE HIM THE "BREAK-UP SPEECH." You know, "This is not going to work out for me. I think we would make really great friends. I wish you all the best..." Blah blah fucking blah. Excellent. But, folks it gets EVEN BETTER.

He wouldn't let me drive home, (obviously), and so I ended up spending the night at his place, and I PROCEEDED TO HAVE SEX WITH HIM. AFTER I broke up with him (and he's not even my boyfriend), AFTER professing my love to him. How's that for psychotic?

In case you missed it, let's recap:
1. Doctor goes out on date with another woman.
2. I drink inordinate amounts of straight vodka.
3. I tell him I LOVE HIM.
4. I BREAK UP with him, even though he's not my boyfriend.
5. I go home and have SEX with him.
6. I don't remember a damned thing.

We continued to date. And this time, erectile dysfunction and NOT my behavioral dysfunction ended it. It's a sad state of affairs when you're relieved by erectile dysfunction.

For the "Anonymous" Dr. David

"Have you thought about going to different synagogue functions? Lots of men and their families are there...."

"Mom, leave me alone, I don't want to find the kind of guy that spends his Saturdays at Synagogue."

"Well, you can go to functions, you know, for holidays, special events. I'll come with you, we can go together. You need to find a husband. How much longer do you think you can stay single?!"

"Mom, listen to me please. And listen very very carefully. I'm not going trolling through the synagogues of Manhattan looking for a husband like a homeless person digging through garbage for food."

"Well, for god's sake, what are you going to do? Just go!"

"No. No no no no NO NO NO NO. NOOOO!"

So I'm at Synagogue last night for a party.....

Last year I was on JDate, and I received an email from a very nice, very handsome man who just moved to New York from Australia? England? I can't remember, but I do remember after talking to him on the phone, that he had a great accent, and really wanted to get together.

Since I had already been out with 98.3% of the Jewish male population in NYC, and had the neurosis to prove it, I started to adopt an "I know everything about dating" attitude.

And based on my vast experience, and hard earned knowledge, I decided that this guy isn't ready to start dating seriously, because he just moved here, and he will invariably want to play the field before he settles down. So I refused to go out with him. Because, like I just said, I know everything.

Last night, he was at the Synagogue party. He was easily the tallest man there. (Ok, not hard to achieve at a Jewish function, but seriously, he was like a head taller than everyone else.) With the bluest of blue eyes. Lean, well dressed. Handsome. Crisp white shirt, open at the collar, under a very nice suit, confident stance, charming smile.

I thought, wow, maybe I should go talk to him. He looks pretty good.

And as I moved through the crowd, watching, debating whether I should go, I notice a tall brunette standing next to him. Often. And then, is that his arm around her waist?! What?!

His FIANCEE. YES!! His fucking fiancee. That he met last year, right around the time he moved here. Jesus fucking Christ.

There's a reason I'm still single, and it might have everything to do with ME.

It's a good thing I know everything though, that should keep me warm at night......

Friday, March 03, 2006

Today's Painful, and Way Too Long Three-and-a-half Minute Conversation with my Mother

1. Why didn't you invite me out to dinner with you and your sister last night?

- Because we wanted to enjoy ourselves, Mom.

2. Is your little sister actually spending nights at her new boyfriends house?

- Mom, you need to ask her these nosy, annoying questions yourself. And then, maybe after having three daughters aged 20 to 30, you might learn to deal with the answers at SOME POINT IN YOUR LIFE.

3. I just don't want her to get hurt, or make a mistake. Like SOME people.....

- Doesn't Satan get lonely without you Mom?

4. Do you remember that we're having dinner at your grandmother's house tonight? And remember to come home early. Remember your aunt and cousins are going to be there? And don't forget to try to look normal.

- I can't hear you over the blood gushing out of my ears.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

They Could Probably Be More Annoying if They Tried Really, Really....REALLY Hard

My uncle is throwing a black-tie Bar/Bat Mitzvah this Saturday night for my twin cousins at an extremely (and annoyingly) fancy hotel ballroom in the City.

Now, I’m not going to go into the fact that the party costs almost double the value of my apartment, because how people earn and spend their money is NONE of my business. What is my business is the torture I have to endure as a result of their expenditures.

The instant my mother, grandmother and three aunts got wind of the party, its location, the dress-code and the guest list, they entered Ludicrous Speed in being annoying.

Immediately, the badgering began, “What are you going to wear?” “How are you going to do your hair?” “When will you buy a dress?” “Do you understand that the party is BLACK TIE and you have to look elegant? Do you?!”

“Yes, yes, I understand. I have to wear a party dress.”

“No. Noooooo. Not a party dress. You have to wear an evening gown. A gown, for evening. To the floor. Do you understand?”

I looked around and over my shoulder, wondering if there were any Jerry’s Kids standing behind me they might be talking to in that tone of voice. There were talking to me like I was an underdeveloped child that needs protective headgear.

This is where I started to get annoyed. I have never ever shown up at a party dressed inappropriately. I have never experienced a wardrobe malfunction. I have never humiliated myself or my family based on my clothing.

(Disclaimer: This statement excludes all references, mentions, assertions or proclamations relating in any way to humiliation endured by me or in conjunction with the humiliation of any other individual(s) due in any form from intoxication, drunkenness, inebriation, tipsiness or resulting lewdness that involved tripping, falling, dropping things, spilling things, use of unauthorized electrical applicances, including microphones, guitars or any combination thereof which resulted in damage sustained by any article of clothing worn by me or anyone in close proximity to me at the time, including but not limited to torn hems, ripped straps, busted zippers, burn holes, broken heels, missing buttons or beading, or visible bra material, as a direct or indirect result of said intoxication, drunkenness, inebriation, tipsiness or resulting lewdness on my part.)

The fact that I bare an uncanny resemblance to Courtney Love on my way out of any given family party should have no bearing on how I look going IN.

You’d think my family would at least give me a little bit of credit. Geez.