At the end of this semester long journey I concluded that if I dated, the chosen ones would be members of the tribe, the Jewish one that is.
So, then why would I go on a date with a Vietnamese Buddhist?
Fuck, if I know. I guess I was just bored.
Before my time on Jdate expired, I decided to reply to one last Bocher, and was intrigued when a 32 year old male messaged me letting me know he thought I ‘sounded pretty awesome.’ Included in the message was the minor fact that he was a practicing Buddhist, who ‘seemed to get along better with Jews.’
I responded with a flirty email in which I thanked him for the compliment and told him that his love of all things Jewish, women included, was because, ‘duh, Jews are awesome,’ and then asked him to tell me why he was ‘the shit.’
He wrote back with a long list of accomplishments ranging from independent film making, to photography, to trips around the world. He even included links to websites where I could learn more about his awesomeness.
I found this a tad narcissistic, the sign of a Grois-Halter (show-off) .But he was trying to sell himself, so I guess he was putting all of his mahjong tiles on the table.
And, I was impressed. This Jew loves ‘artsy-fartsy’ types, and classifies herself as one in training.
Three messages passed between us and I gave him my digits.
Later that evening my phone buzzed with a text from an overzealous Bocher.
‘I’m phone shy until we’ve met so just want to wish you a good night and hope to see you soon.’
That’s a little odd, (the phone shy thing) I thought.
In previous instances, I’d been weary to be the first to make the first call, considering that I’ve long believed that men should always be the one to make the first move. But, I also didn’t want to go on a date with someone whose voice I’d never heard so I texted him back asking if he opposed to me calling him that following evening.
He responded ‘no,’ and the following day, flooded my text inbox with a deluge of messages.
I remind you. We hadn’t talked on the phone, hadn’t met, hadn’t even set a time and date for a possible encounter, and yet he was still sending me a mass amount of text messages.
They read: (an abridged version)
‘I have to warn you, I lisp like Brando, whine like Pee Wee Herman and snortle when I laugh…’The next is a picture message of his lunch
Odd # 3
He then asked me what I was having, and I reply, ‘salad.’
He then sent me another picture message of his jdate account main profile page, then one of mine, and finally one of his work place.
Later that evening, as promised, I phone him on my drive home from class.
Within seconds of the conversation, things became lost in translation. I could not understand a word he was saying, hence the conversation was mostly me politely laughing, and then me saying ‘huh?’ ‘What was that again?’
All in all the conversation lasted about five minutes, and after it, all I know was that we had made plans to meet in the city at Cork and Wine Bar at 6 pm that upcoming Saturday.
I was reluctant to tell my sister. She recently told me she wouldn’t judge me if I were to get knocked up by 'Mr. Booty call', yet had previously told me that she’d like to beat the shit out of said man because he was a loser. As you can tell, at times she is full of bullshit.
She tended to judge, and a date with a 32 year old Asian Buddhist was sure to be met with lots of judgment.
But keeping things from her was like me holding my pee for a more than five minutes; unhealthy and hard.
Finally, I did, and surprisingly, she was somewhat positive. The only thing she questioned was the time; 6 pm. This seemed early for a date, considering most who choose to eat this early are the Bubbees and Zaddies (grandmas and grandpas), the Alter Kockers (old man or woman) , and those with young kinder(kids).
I agreed and texted him to change the time, and the place, b/c truthfully, I hate driving in the city.
‘Take the metro you say.'
I hate the metro. It scares me, and I can’t afford to arrive via cab.
He agreed to meet at 7:30 in Arlington at Eventide.
I arrived around that time, dashed to the ladies room to do a last touch up and waited for him at the door. Ten minutes later we met and walked over to the bar.
I’ll admit it. Sadly, physical attraction is a bit important to me, as are teeth, which he seemed to have few of.
Okay, so he had teeth, but many were missing, i.e., his ‘grill’ was majorly fucked up. We both ordered a glass of Pinot Noir, and he chose to order food. I chose not to, realizing that even a salad takes time to make, and truthfully I would have rather received a kaseer (enema).
I inquired the basic questions; about his job, where he lived, if he had roommates.
He answered: engineer, Silver Spring, MD in a large apartment with his two dogs and a roommate.
He then committed the same faux pas of Bocher #2; he started talking about his ex.
A few wise words to men: Never discuss your ex-girlfriend on a first date. It isn’t kosher, and it’s an extreme turn off.
In the midst of conversing, he continuously grabbed my hand, touched my hand, and tried to hold my hand, which is a major ‘no-go’ with me. I don’t like to be touched and prodded. I’m not a fan of hugs, hugging, or playful punches to the shoulder. I don’t even really like to cuddle.
During this time, he was extremely complimentary, telling me I looked like a princess, and he like the beast.
Finally, his lobster pot pie arrived,
with two spoons, of course, so he could try to feed it to me,
which he did later, as he asked what my father would think about me bringing home a Vietnamese Buddhist.
I know what Stanley would think, ‘What the fuck?’ Followed by another ‘WTF?’ and my mother’s ‘Oi Vay Iz Mir!’ (woe is me!)
He finished the pot pie, slowly, and eventually his glass of wine became empty. When the bartender asked if we wanted another (I hadn’t even finished my first) I say ‘no thank you,’ to which he replied,
‘You wouldn’t even share a glass with me?’
Odd # 6
I lied and said ‘it’s getting late (it’s around 10:30) and I have to be up early.’
He then attempted to help me with my coat, and wrapped his tan scarf around my neck, saying, ‘it looks much better on you than me.’
I quickly unwrapped it from my neck, thanked him, and handed it back.
He offered to walk me to my car and while walking tried to hold my hand. Finally, we arrived at my silver civic. I thanked him profusely for the date and gave him a hug making sure that my face was nowhere near his mouth, so he could not try to kiss me.
He asked if he could see me again, and I could not lie, could not lead him on.
‘Yes, but just as friends.’
He said ‘okay’ and sauntered away from my car.
All in all, only 6 Odds. Not so bad after all.