About Me

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Haifa, Israel
Divorced and independent and still looking for Mr. Right in the back of the fridge.

Friday, September 23, 2011

No Job Too Small

I am obsessed that I have no one around who can move heavy objects. 

We've already established that I know how to do plenty on my own but is it so bad that I miss having a man around for certain tasks? (Haven't men been keeping women around for certain tasks forever?)

This is when I'm at a loss on my own: 
  • When I have to move the washing machine.
  • When a roach won't die.
  • When trash is gross.
  • When the pizza arrives and I'm in my underwear.
Where is he? the coyboy? the sailor? the investment banker? the musician? the ambulance driver? the teacher? the actor? the basketball player? The man of my dreams? 

Until he fixes his GPS, others swoosh in and swoosh out, leaving debris in their wake.

They are the ones who know how to move things but don't know how to put them back. 

They waltz in, all strong and handsome, and move heavy objects to my hearts delight. They shake things up, they rock my world, and then they go. 

  • They moved the washing machine but it's in the dining room.
  • They killed the roach but his relatives are here for the memorial service.
  • The trash is still gross but at least it has pizza in it. 
I don't know what's holding up my dream guy. 

Maybe I'm losing it. I am afraid that what was once "come hither" has turned into "come hither and hoist me out of this chair".

But it will be OK. 

It always is. 

Friday, September 16, 2011

My Life as a Thumbnail


I have been perusing internet dating sites for so long that my field of vision is limited to 1.5 inches square. Don't ask me what someone looks like if I haven't seen them in a thumbnail picture. I just won't know. 

I expect everything in life to be accompanied by an "add to favorites button". (And you thought "Like" was an original idea...)

I have learned that a 50 year old guy who posts a picture from his 30s probably looks 60.

I have learned that a 52 year old guy who explicitly states that he is looking for women aged 30 to 34 is not going to make an exception in my case. As utterly ridiculous as I may find his preference, I have learned that telling him so is not going to endear me to him.

I have learned that the more a guy writes about himself, the more recent his separation. Not only is he not yet fed up with this whole medium and thinks that anyone has patience to read all the text, but he is grateful to find a platform to expound his new-found philosophies about women and relationships. 

I have learned that my first impressions are damn reliable, and that a guy who posts a picture of himself showering is not looking for a long term relationship, no matter what he tells you.

I have learned that I am going to be wildly attractive to some and totally forgettable to others, and it is not a reflection of me as a person (although I REALLY don't get it...)

It takes it toll on me sometimes. I think I have become a less nice person, at the very least less patient:

If I read one more time about a man who "loves life" and is "ready for chapter 2" I will puke. And I will no longer take the responsibility for carrying a conversation with a monosyllabic man.

At its best, internet dating has potential; there are just as many nice guys out there as there are shmucks. At its worst, it is a mine field of married men,  libido driven maniacs and egotistical scum buckets. 

The long and the short of it is that I am addicted to internet dating sites. 

Say what you will, it keeps me off the streets. 


Friday, September 9, 2011

Open Wide


So you know how people say "I'd rather have root canal" like that's a bad thing? Next week I'm having root canal. I'm looking forward to it. It will finally put an end to my pain while eating cold things (i.e. ice cream).  

I'm also looking forward to it because I have absolutely nothing else to look forward to that is out of the ordinary. 

I have no dates. So I have plenty of time to schedule root canal.

I also have time to have a suspicious mole removed and treat a yeast infection.

All of these fun activities include kind men in white coats taking care of me.  For a few minutes I succumb to the fantasy that they really care that I wont itch or twinge. I pretend that for no other reason than medical ethics, they haven't asked me to travel the world with them, enveloped in their warmth, protected from the dangers of the sun, cold and vaginal flora. 

It's not just the disappointment that doctors don't ask me out. I encounter so many men in my life. They are part of the fabric of my day. They are the people I meet when I have errands to run and things to do - doctors, lawyers, clerks, teachers, colleagues, ticket takers, waiters, drivers, toll collectors. They are the men who stand in front of me at the supermarket or behind me at the bank. They are the the men who stop at the same red light, and the men who stop to pet my dog.

They stop for a moment in my life, share their sunshine and leave again. 

Some of the men who pass through my life stay longer than others, some should have left long before they did. 

For now, I am not accepting passers-by into my life, for better or worse. 

It means I have fewer dates and spend more time in front of the TV, but there are a lot of good shows on. 

For now I will fill up my calendar with the mundane and find comfort in myself. 

Sometimes the situation is OK and sometimes it really sucks. 

Today it really sucks.


Tuesday, September 6, 2011

I'll Take One...


No longer able to bear the sole responsibility of everything that is wrong in the world of a 14 year old adoloscent girl, not to mention wrong with the size of her bedroom, I informed my daughter in no uncertain terms that there are many children in the world who would be very happy to have a bedroom like hers.

Hours later, I am still shuddering from the sheer power of having said it and meant it, and thus having put a stop to all complaints on the subject. 

Now... if only I could translate that power, that integrity, into other aspects of my life... (who am I kidding... we're really only worried about me in relationship to men). 

If only I could say to myself (and mean it)  ''screw the idiot if he doesn't call me back. There are plenty of men in the world who would." 

Maintaining my integrity with THAT statement would happen in a parallel universe.
In this universe, if someone doesn't call me back, I call them again. (Please save me the humiliation of actually writing it and imagine which word should repeat itself in the previous sentence). 

But maybe I have learned something from  tonight's showdown over my ability to defend the inherent quality of my daughter's bedroom. 

There is an inherent quality to me, too, that I can defend, and with integrity. In this world, there are plenty of men who would be very happy to have someone like me. 
I haven't found them yet,  but I don't need to find them all. One will be enough. 


Saturday, September 3, 2011

Entertainment Tonight


The wind is blowing through my hair as I carelessly cruise the highway. I pull off the road to watch the fiery sun as it sets against the restless waves of the sea. I lean against the hood of my vintage car. A tall stranger feigns disinterest. 

I turn my back to him.  Shoes in hand, I walk on the sand; he pursues me. The sand holds me back as I try to walk faster. Helplessly, I fall. Shirt in hand, he catches up to me, his smooth chest glistening in the dusk.  As the sun drops into the sea, he lifts me in his muscular arms and my life changes forever.  

Then I wake up.
Then I clean up dog pee.
Then I go to work.

I open the windows of the car, afraid that if I drive with the airconditioning I'll run out of gas on the way. The wind wreaks havoc with my hair; I make a mental note to buy more hair gel.

I pull off the highway to adjust my seat; I make a mental note to not drive with these shoes again. 

And so it goes...  

Those teensy gaps between reality and dreams don't upset me anymore. At most, they remind me that I haven't given up hope. At least, they keep me wildly entertained. 

I'm guessing that at this point, I'm never going to leave my day job, I'm never going to walk the red carpet, I'll never hang with people who think seasons are verbs and  I'm never going to sit cross legged with a mini skirt.

So no apologies if I had a dream about Russel Crowe and a yacht, and I stayed in that place between sleep and awake as long as I could.

The dog will wait a little longer to go out.