the discovery a NJB

What now?

At the beginning of this project, I set out to meet my NJB.

Along the way I met dozens of men claiming to be nice, but in the end they were liars, and some were even mentally unstable (see first posts).

Fortunately for me, I have a pestering sister, mother, and father who continued to convince me to stay online, go on more dates, meet more potentials, and then, as many of you know, I did, and I came to face to face with a true NJB.

It was like finding the lochness monster,
and at first I hesitated before jumping in.

Why?

Well for starters, his age was a deterrent.

He was 23, I’m 25, almost 26, and my previous experience dating younger men/ men in general, was that they were immature and had a phobia of commitment.

Why would a 23 yr old want to be in relationship, when he’s young, free, and not yet balding?

Why would he want to be knocking boots with one woman when studies say that he is at his sexual prime?

In 2008, one such French study stated that ‘a man’s sexual testosterone peaks at 22.’

Therefore, most 23 yr olds are on the prowl looking to take full advantage of their prowess.

Truthfully, their body is pushing them to explore, not settle down.

Settling down would be like investing in an ant farm, weird and unprofitable on most accounts.


With this knowledge, you would understand why I took a few days to respond to emails that passed back and forth between this Bocher and me.

I was being safe, not stupid.

Furthermore, his emails were full of optimism.

In one he wrote, ‘It's good to look forward to the future, but what's the point if you are missing where you are right now... it's like those people who don't look out the window on an airplane, they are missing something beautiful because they are too focused on the destination.’

I read that and almost barfed… okay I threw up a little in my mouth.

The address of this blog is www.soovermen@blogspot.com

It was going to be so-over-people.com, but only my brother in law thought that was catching.

I’m not an optimist, a people person, I’m kind of shy.

I’m a writer.

I hide behind words.

They are safe.

People,

23 year boys are not.
And…

I was the administrative assistant, (also known as secretary of boredom) at the Synagogue his family attended.

I’d talked to his mother on the telephone.

It was all a little too bizarre for my taste.

Plus, after almost 5 or 6 emails passed between us I questioned whether this Bocher was actually going to ask me out.

Therefore, I wrote, ‘So, 7-0-3, how many emails usually pass before you ask the lady for her number?’

And he responded: ‘So, Bama, what's yo numba? My rule of thumb is, oh, a dozen or so emails... Some people think it's weird, but I'm not a fan of actually speaking on the phone (I do that enough at work), I'm definitely a text/bbm person.’

I gave him my number, wondering what the hell a ‘bbm person’ was, but grew apprehensive over the thought of speaking with him, which I did that upcoming Saturday evening.

The phone conversation was a bit brief, not too long, not too short, but just right, a ‘Goldi locks conversation,’ if you will...


Eventually, I was the one to ask him if he’d like to get together that next weekend, and he agreed…

Technically, I had made all the moves.

Oh, twenty-three.

Throughout the week, he texted me and we agreed to meet at Cafe Asia in Rosslyn around 8.

I was late, he was early, and as I walked in I was overwhelmed by a sea of men.
I glanced around and at the edge of the bar, a tall gentleman, beer in hand, stood glued to the TV screen which was showing the Caps play the Thrashers.

He was cute, with a curly brown mop, and dressed like he’d been pulled out of an Urban Outfitters catalogue, dark jeans with a plaid button down shirt, extremely hipster.


And, he had an earring.

Amazing, I liked all of the above.

I think he liked the looks of me as well, although, later I would learn that he was shocked by how short I was…

One of the first things he actually said to me was, ‘you know if you’re 4’10, you’re technically a midget.’

‘Wow, thanks,’ I thought.

I’m 5’2, a midget I am not.

Eventually we took our seats among the crowd and ordered drinks, appetizers and eventually sushi.

The conversation flowed smoothly as we discussed similar interests: writing, and blogging.

He had one on travel,www.chronicwonderlust.com, which I had already checked out prior to our date, and I, of course, had one on dating.

Later, I would also find out that at first, he wasn’t so ‘into me,’ because he thought I was shy, which I am…

I guess he warmed up to me, because before the evening had ended he asked me to attend a DC United Game that next Friday with some of his friends.

The check came, and although, I asked him out, he took out his wallet and paid.

An NJB always pays on the first date… it’s on the blog, duh.

He had taken the metro, and I offered to drive him to it, but he said it wasn’t necessary and we departed with only a kiss on the cheek.

The next day I told my mother he was ‘adorable.’

‘You do like those young ones,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I said with a cringe.

Oh, 23.

I blame science

Physical attraction is a complicated subject, one which has caused many women, like me, to choose ill-suited bachelors as the ones they most desire.

As stated in the previous post, in the past, physical attraction has been the leading determinant in the men I have dated.

And I wonder, why?

Why am I attracted to gentleman dickhead over gentleman nice guy?

Am I a masochist who enjoys punishing herself over and over again?

Am I simply a superficial bitch who loves on looks alone?

Or can science save me, and reaffirm my decision?

I think it can.

I like science.

Always made an A in Biology.

Thus I began researching ‘physical attractiveness.

My findings are shocking.

If you aren’t sitting down, I suggest you take a seat.

I began my scearch with scent.

Stereotypically, Jews are known to have large schnozes, which in the aspect of dating can be a positive, considering that smell is one the key elements of attraction.

According to some, smell trumps the sense of sight.

Good thing.


I’m practically blind.

But...

Like many Jewish women, my nose has been improved, straightened, realigned. This may have increased my number of potential mates, but may have also hindered my own ability to correctly pick a bocher.

Why?

Because, each person has their own ‘scent’ that their body naturally produces, known as pheromones.

In other species, these pheromones play an extremely important role in mating.
One such species is the female silkworm moth.


In his book, The Lives of a Cell, Lewis Thomas wrote on the extreme influence of the female moth’s chemical pheromone, known as bombykol.

"It has been soberly calculated that if a single female moth were to release all the bombykol in her sac in a single spray, all at once, she could theoretically attract a trillion males in the instant.’

Oy Vai! That’s one fragrant female.

Personally, I wouldn’t want to attract that many mates.

I’d settle with just one.

Female hamsters, rats, and mice also secrete pheromones in order to attract a sexual partner, but as for Humans the presence of said hormone is still questionable.

But-studies show that another’s odor does influence attraction.

Unbeknownst to many women, their choices regarding a mate may be greatly influenced by the pheromones emitted by other men.

Once a bocher’s smell hits a young lady’s nostrils, chemicals instantly react and send signals to the area of the brain that manages emotions.

These pheromones then react with the male’s MHC (Major Histocompatibility Complex), which is one picky set of genes, but with good reason.

These genes play a major role in the immune system’s ability to fight off diseases.

Women typically choose men whose MHC’s are dissimilar to their own, because, we are geniuses who intuitively know that these mates are more likely to produce healthier offspring.

In the 1990s a group of Swedish scientists tested this hypothesis with 49 females smelling the t-shirts of 44 men who had been required to wear only this t-shirt for 48 hours.

For 2 days, these men ate, drank, slept, fornicated, and pissed in only this t-shirt.

In the end, they reeked of their own MHC.

Their lingering odor was impossible to ignore.

Not surprisingly, after getting a whiff of each t-shirt, the women picked the t-shirts of those with dissimilar MHC.
BUT-
and this is a huge, gigantic one- bigger than the size of Kim Kardashian’s-

Women on birth control preferred men with SIMILAR MHC’s.

So, technically I could blame my birth control for forcing me to choose douches.

BUT- without these tiny colorful pills-I risk getting knocked up.

And, even if it’s the ‘right’ man, I’m 25 and in no hurry to hop aboard the train to.
preggersville
In the end, I don’t know which is better.

Truly, I am fucked.

Moving on to symmetry…

Symmetry- another scientific word- refers to the balance of proportions-which for some strange reason greatly affects human’s preference towards one another.

More specifically, facial symmetry-and here it’s all about proportions.

When anyone-guy or girl-rates a potential partner they are looking to see if all aspects of the face are proportionate to one another.

For example, the male celebrity with the highest facial symmetry is Brad Pitt-

Shocking, I know.

For females, it is Elizabeth Hurley and Kate Moss.

Wow, they are so hideous, thank you science.

But, why do we care so much about proportions…

Yet again, it’s all about those babies, and having them…

Somehow good symmetry proves that the man you are staring at has the genetic goods needed to produce healthy offspring.

I keep telling myself that I’m just looking for ‘Mr. Right Now,’ yet my brain and body are steering me in the direction of those whose sperm is at the top of its game.

Well that’s fantastic, but I highly doubt that his sperm is going to hold me while I cry, or make me laugh with its humor.

To this I say, Schtuss (Bullshit).

I started this journey out of a nagging need to understand why I wasn’t quite sure if I liked Bocher #5 1/2.

Maybe it’s his smell.

Maybe it’s his symmetry.

Maybe it’s the birth control.

That’s a lot of Maybes.

So,maybe I just don't know.

the 5 Minute Rule

I know I’ve written numerous posts on my bad Jdate experiences, but I’ve had some good ones as well.

I’ve met many eligible Bochers who were balbatish (respectable, well mannered), and met the criteria of an NJB, but something just wasn’t there.

That ‘something’ was attraction, chemistry, a spark.

And that for me is a deal breaker.

A Bocher once told me at the beginning of a first date that within 5 minutes he would know whether or not he was going to hit it off with that person. I nodded my head, thinking ‘that’s not giving someone much of a chance,’ but have come to realize that in guy code he meant, ‘I know within 5 minutes if I want to get into this girl’s pants,’ which for many boys is all that matters, and for many women it is the same.

Even though we only went on two dates and he turned out to be a mamzer (bastard), his words have continuously followed me on subsequent Jdates, especially after the last date with Bocher # 5 ½

(the last bocher technically didn’t count- we never actually met.)

Bocher # 5 ½

His profile pictures portrayed him as a handsome blue eyed light brown haired man with a knack for outdoors sports, including surfing, rock-wall climbing and snow-skiing.

I love athletic men, and at 30, I presumed that he was looking for more than a one night stand.

He was looking for that NJG.

I could be that NJG.


So, I followed my usual routine, hot-list, wait for him to message me, and then reply if the message is witty. He took the bait and did all of the above, but after the third message he still hadn’t asked for my number.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a writer, I love writing about myself, but I’m doing enough of that in my thesis, and thus feel that my three message minimum is validated.

I took measures into my own hands and wrote him, ‘I don’t do this often, but hey how about we meet in person, here’s my number.’

He replied with an ‘I’m flattered. I will definitely give you a call tomorrow.’

He didn’t call; instead he texted, the recent go-to way for guys to communicate with girls. I assume that men feel it’s easier to text than have to actually hear a potential date’s voice on the telephone.

'What if the conversation is bad, or what if, like in my experience with the Vietnamese Buddhist, you can’t understand the humorous banter that simply sounds like ‘bla, bla, bla, followed by a little more of the bla-ness.’

Truthfully, the first call might potentially forecast the result of the first date. Bad first convo, bad first date, or it could mean nothing and the two daters will get along gaily; have kids, and a fashionable mezuzah outside their door.

I understand the hesitation, but texting just leads to more typing, which gets nothing accomplished, and thus I like my men to get some balls, dial my number, and realize that conversing isn’t such a scary situation.

Eventually, after texting back and forth throughout the day, he did call and I missed it and when I did call back he was out for the evening, so the chat would have to wait until the next evening because he was going snow skiing with some friends that next day.

As he had promised, he did call and we talked for about 30 minutes, which is good considering it was a first conversation. He asked about my schedule for the week and I told him that I wasn’t sure how busy I would be, but how about he ‘ring me Wednesday and we can make plans.’

And…

He did…

And…

We made plans to get sushi that following evening at Endo Sushi in Arlington.

I was excited. On the telephone he sounded cute, rugged, manly and I looked forward to our face to face encounter.

Thursday night rolled around and I arrived at the restaurant a tad late due to parking. Luckily he too had parking issues; therefore giving me time to prep; i.e. use the restroom, apply another coat of mascara and a coat of deep red lip gloss (sexy but not slutty).

Finally, he walked in and my heart dropped ever so slightly.

His pictures were a bit of a fraud.

Yes, he had blue eyes, and brown hair, but when he opened his mouth to smile a wide gap between his front teeth was revealed.

He’s not Lauren Hutton or Elijah Wood.


I don’t think it’s his signature.


I don’t think he had braces.

Although his pictures were a bit of a lie, (in not one was he sporting an open mouthed smile) he was dressed nicely in a black buttoned down, jeans, and loafers, very Kenneth Cole.

His wardrobe implied that he’d put thought into what he was going to wear, which is a plus considering many men have arrived on a date in a Hanes t-shirt, jeans and sneakers.

That’s fine if we’re going on a hike, or to see a movie, but on a first date this maidel likes her men to dress accordingly, no t-shirts allowed.

He looked nice, but I wasn’t sure of if that ‘nice’ was for me.

In the past, when I’ve concluded that we might not hit it off I’ve compensated by getting plastered.

But, I’ve wised up and realized that sometimes the wine does less good and more bad, thus making these men appear more attractive.

Plus, many guys don’t like girls who get farshnoshket(loaded) on the first date-that’s trashy and a major turn off for some.

Others, love it because it means they have a better chance of scoring in the sack, and hence order bottle(s) of wine.

We sat down and began talking about our days, our work, mine now as an administrative assistant at a Synagogue( how Jewish of me), his as a business psychologist. He explained his job to me. I still don’t understand, but I told him it was fascinating.

Men like the word ‘fascinating,’ it’s like the word ‘ferarri,’ sophisticated, magical, the sound of the word rolls off your tongue.

We each ordered a glass of Merlot, and I sipped mine slowly, knowing that if I chugged too fast, I’d be tipsy, and as mentioned before, that’s no longer my ‘go-to.’

As we chatted I thought about the other Bocher’s ‘5 minute rule’ and realized that yes, this blue eyed boy was intelligent and easy to talk too. Yes, the conversation flowed smoothly.

Yes, unfortunately, I saw him as just a chavver (friend).

For me, he hadn’t passed the 5 minute physical attraction rule.

I enjoyed talking to him, but had no desire to kiss him, none.

In the past, with every man I’ve ever dated there has been an instant ‘I want to kiss him vibe.’

There was no vibe, no desire to play tonsil hockey now or maybe even in the future.

As he walked me to my car I gave him a hug and he said we should ‘do this again.’

I agreed, because along with taking the initiative in 2010 I’d decided to give nice guys a chance.

That next day I told my sister the dilemma, and she said, ‘give him a chance, he seems like a good guy.’

‘I said I’d go on a 2nd date.’

‘Wow, that’s so kind of you,’ she said sarcastically.

I thought that’s what she wanted, for me to give men a second chance, but she said it as if I thought I was doing him a favor, when in fact, I was just trying to please everyone else and maybe prove my initial ‘vibe’ need as a thing of the past.

But, I’m not sure I can get past the lack of physical attraction.

Is it something that can grow in time, like a Chia pet or a group of sea monkeys?

I guess I’d have to find out.

I’d already broken one 2010 resolution and wasn’t intent on breaking yet another.

The extinction of the Nice Jewish Boy (the NJB)

Sadly, after my last Jdate debacle, I concluded that the Nice Jewish Boy is on the merge of extinction, or has already become a man of another time…

A time when Jewish boys were led by their high IQs and not their circumcised petslehs,(little penises)…

When they used their investments wisely (their expensive subscription on Jdate), and not as avenues with which to get off…

When they cried over the last piece of Mandel bread being gone,

When they let their Jew fro grow wild and refused to shave it out of shame… A time when…

I could go on. It would take days.

It’s sad but true that I’ve taken to mourn the loss of this so called man that so many have told me was just beyond the horizon.

He has become like a Unicorn, Big Foot, the loch ness monster;

A myth with little evidence to prove its existence.

I’ve donned my black attire, my veil, my closed toed shoes and shed a tear, but questions swarm inside my head regarding this loss:

Who exactly is (was) an NJB ? And in a nod to Paula Cole, Where have all the good Jews gone?

Wikipedia, yes the term is even on Wikipedia, defined him as ‘a stereotype of Jewish masculinity which circulates within the American Jewish community, as well as in mainstream American culture. In Israel and the parts of the Diaspora which have received heavy exposure to the American media that deploy the representation, the stereotype has gained popular recognition to a lesser extent.’

That definition appears somewhat general, boring, and full of no answers to my question.

So, let’s look at Urbandictionary.com, a less formal definer of terms and phrases:
“Common characteristics include:
- Curly dark hair
- Brown eyes
- Swarthy/olive complexion
- Very kind
- A big nose
- Really intelligent
- Extremely funny
- Kind of well-built, on the skinny side
- Tall
- Is very attached to his stereotypical Jewish mother that is very over-protective and probably hates the girl that finally sinks her claws into him.”

Funny, it would appear that in my opinion neither of the two define common characteristics of the NJB’s that I’ve heard of or have the pleasure to know.

So, I’ll stereotype:

Physically, the NJB is short, or average in height, with curly black or brown hair, brown or blues eyes, rarely are they hazel, and of course a nice size schnozz. His teeth are straight, due to monthly appointments to his Orthodontist as a young man and a hot set of shiny braces. Sometimes, he wears glasses, but their usually not the hip kind (black plastic or tortoise shell) they are silver and wire rimmed. They are functional, not fashionable and he likes it that way.



He is extremely intelligent, and loves to announce this to others, shall we say, a tad pretentious. He gets his shits and giggles from politics and re-runs of Seinfeld.

Into finance, economics, capitalism…

He is a gentleman who always pays on the first date, opens car doors, visits his Bubbee often, and loves his mother.

He is a fan of sports, but partakes in few.

He is a lover of music, all kinds, except hard-rock or death metal. (those bands scare him)

He wears boxers, not briefs and his idol is Larry David.

He goes to Shul on the high-holy days, fasts, and always keeps Passover.

He appreciates women, doesn’t understand them, but wants to.

He was a thriving population but is in the danger of vanishing.

Or, he has vanished in this district which we call Columbia.

But, this man has a historical background and Wikipedia (who knows if we can trust this source) relates that the qualities are ‘derived from Ashkenazic ideal of edelkeit (either "nobility" or "delicateness" in Yiddish). According to Daniel Boyarin's Unheroic Conduct (University of California Press, 1997), edelkeit embraces the studiousness, gentleness and sensitivity said to distinguish the Talmudic scholar and make him an attractive marriage partner (23).

‘studiousness, gentleness, sensitivity..’ Where has this man run off to?

Nice Jewish Boys were supposed to evolve from this in a positive direction, but have instead declined in all these areas.

Was the bar set too high? Did Jewish mothers have too much confidence in their little boychiks (young boys)?

I think not.

Instead, I think that NJGs (Nice Jewish Girls) have simply become too inundated with douches to realize that the man who calls himself a nice jewish boy is in fact the anti NJB:

He is the Drek auf dem teller( literally crap on a plate) who calls you in the early morning hours for booty.

He is the chamoole(jackass) who doesn’t pay.

He is the man whose penis isn’t even circumcised.


I look to my young nephew as the only hope for his kind.

I tell him that hugs are kind, as are Eskimo kisses.

I tell him not to bite or hit because that’s not nice.

I try to instill in him the principles of goodness.

I pray that he is listening.

Oops I forgot

It’s been quite some time since my last blog.

I took a break from the whole ‘dating’ scene, because men, and not just jewish bocher’s, were annoying me. Their lack of respect was pitiful and I questioned who was raising these young men to become such Shmucks. (I do not blame you, mothers. I blame the fathers.)

As you know before my time on jdate concluded, I went on a date with a Vitenamese
Buddhist, whose dental hygiene was lacking, but there was another… or there was supposed to be another.

Bocher #4- Mr. “ Oops I forgot”

I met, or never met, but began talking with Bocher #4 around August of 2008, on Jdate of course. He sent me flirts, e-cards, and finally we talked via Jdate instant message one mid Saturday. His profile was nothing out of the ordinary, he listed his occupation, his interests, his past, etc… etc.

But, his pictures weren’t so run of the mill; one was of him humping a guitar, while the others showed him in many different guitar playing positions.
God knows I can’t resist a man who plays the guitar, whether it be electric or acoustic, there is simply something about a guy who can make a melody with his fingers… it’s fucking sexy.

We became fast facebook friends, the necessary for a maidel who wants to know more about a potential Bocher.

The IM led to telephone talk, which we engaged in for quite some time, because he said, he ‘liked to get to know someone before actually meeting face to face.’

We didn’t have a great deal in common, he was a chemist, I am a writer, but the conversation flowed smoothly and I looked forward to a date.

Until, he said that this face to face encounter might have to wait until… October.
It was August.

Don’t get me wrong, I like shmoozing on the telly like any other Klaperkeh (talkative woman), but I also kind of like taking that conversation elsewhere, say a restaurant or a bowling alley, or a park (you choose).

He made excuses about being really busy with work and a new condo he was in the process of purchasing.

It was August.

But I smiled and said okay.

Eventually, he said that he just liked me as a friend, and I moved on...until December of this past year when he began poking me via facebook. This ‘poking war’ became tshepen (annoying) and finally he messaged me and suggested we talk. I gave him my number and he texted me, promising he’d call the next day, which he did, and we chatted.

Like before, the conversation flowed with only minor glitches. He questioned why I was still single and I told him, ‘because men say they know what they want, ‘a relationship,’ when all they really want is ‘bootay.’’

He assured me he was looking for a relationship and I told him he’d have to prove that to me considering his last bout of doucheness.

We began talking via telephone because, like before, he liked to get to get to know someone, blah, freaking blah…

He told me his physical appearance had changed a bit, said he had gone bald.

I assured him that was Kosher.

I lied.

I like men with hair, flowing locks of gorgeousness.

He even read my blog, which is saying A LOT considering he is a chemist who doesn’t like the art of writing or reading, and sent me sweet text messages, like, ‘can’t wait to chat later to tonight,’ or ‘night cutie.’

All signs pointed to normal, to an NJB.

He even asked me on an actual date, but I had to decline because I was babysitting, but wouldn’t have been able to had I not been because the blizzard of ’09 hit D.C.

Our meeting would have to wait until I returned from Bama, which I was headed to for the holidays.

On our (my sis, Gary, and Emmet) way to board the flight he even texted me ‘have a safe flight, will call you later,’ and he did!

These are all good things, right?

When I returned the next week we made plans to have our first date that upcoming Saturday and I excitedly began browsing the web for date ideas (in addition to first talking, he also refuses to take a girl to dinner on the first date, HMM)

That Friday night I texted him to make sure we were still on for the next evening, and he left a voice message confirming and said he’d call in a bit to discuss details.

Saturday arrived.

I waited.

I went about my normal day, and pretended to not be worried when he didn’t call me that morning.

I wanted to play it cool. (Inside I was shvitzing)


I refused to text him because I didn’t want to appear pushy.

That afternoon I went to the gym, hoping that when I finished my workout I’d have a phone call or text from him.

Nope.

I waited.

Around 7 o’clock that evening when I texted him ‘Assuming we are not hanging out tonight, if you ever feel like it let me know. Thanks.’

He responded the next day (not even that night!) and says, ‘Something came up, and to be honest…
I forgot.”

WTF

NEVER, and I mean NEVER, tell a woman who you are ‘supposedly’ interested in that you ‘forgot’ about a date or an occasion.

The truth, gentlemen, will ‘not set you free;’ instead it will bind you to a heavy chain, and many hours or days of verbal attack.

Just lie.

Lie like you’ve never lied before.

Lie like the security of your penis depends on it.

Because if you don’t, don’t expect to ever get a call back from this little lady.
I deleted his number, and when I told my sister and brother in law, my brother in law looked at me and said one of the nicest things he’s ever said to me, ‘that’s an embarrassment, and not to you, Dorie, an embarrassment to him.’

An embarrassment it is.