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.

Not so Bad After All?

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.

Bocher #3
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.

It read:
‘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.
Odd #2

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.’

Odd #4

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.

Odd #5

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.

I want my man in a Kippah

Some refer to dating as a learned art. There are hundreds of books, websites and essays that claim to have the answer to it,
And if you need a pocket sized manual, the Department of Counseling and Psychological Services at Florida Institute of Technology has a handy brochure entitled, ‘The Art of Dating, which can be folded into any man or woman’s coat or purse and taken out in a time of need.

Some refer to dating as a necessary part of life, like death and taxes.
At one point or another, you’re going to enter into it and you must be ready with all the essentials; books, condoms, mace.

I wouldn’t quite refer to myself as an artist, but childhood paintings, sculptures and etched portraits hang upon the walls of my parent’s home, a picture of mine was even in the kid’s magazine ‘Highlights,’ yet the time spent sketching the faces, shading the outlines, and molding the clay, has done nothing for my skills in the supposed ‘art. of dating’

Because to me it isn’t an acquired art; instead, it’s torture, it’s a game, and rarely do I come out of it a winner.

In high- school and all throughout college I had a steady boyfriend; hence I avoided it all together. Unfortunately, these boyfriends were all drek (literally feces/ crap) which led me down a spiral of despair and onto the couch of a therapist.


She told me, “The men you choose are like rubber bands pushing you close and then pulling you away. You will be attracted to men similar to him [my current boyfriend] the rest of your life if you do not realize this.”

She then handed me a copy of ‘Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,’ a prescription for Prozac, and a hearty thumbs up. I never returned to her office, her crimson colored couch, or to the annoying sound her Zen table waterfall made as the water rushed down it. Instead of making me feel comfortable, the consistent running of water made me feel like I had to pee every time I sat down. The good doctor’s similes weren’t my style, and she apparently had shitty taste in prose.

In June of 2009, Forbes magazine ranked Washington D.C. as the number 6 (out of 40) best cities for singles in the United States, yet ever since my plane landed at Reagan International, and I put my stuff away in Arlington, I’ve been single, extremely single. I wouldn’t even say I’ve steadily dated one man.

So, I ask, yet again, why?

Do I have too high of standards?
Do I even know what I’m looking for, and if that’s the case, why am I looking so hard when people keep telling me that when I stop searching, my bashert(predestined) will suddenly appear?

Prior to moving to D.C., not only had I always been single, I’d also never dated or been the girlfriend of a Jewish man. On my long list (yes there is a paper list) of requirements, this was absent, and it didn’t matter, yet now it does, and it’s not just my father, my mother, my sister, or my relatives who it matters to, most importantly it matters to me. My childhood and past have been marked by traditions, customs, and even food that are all Jewish in nature, and as I witness my sister’s Jewish marriage transpire, I realize that I cannot see a future void of this past and present. Judaism is part of me and I want it to be a part of the man I eventually meet and marry. I want the chuppah.

I want the ketubah, the Brit milah, Bar/ Bat Mitzvah of our kids.

I want the Kugel, the shofar, the mezuzah outside our door.

I want the Jew, not the fro, but I want my man in a kippah.

But, maybe it’s just not the time. Maybe I’m just not ready, or too jaded to see him if he’s standing there. Maybe, I should focus on me, and he’ll appear as my mother says.

Whatever the case, I’ve taken those maybes and decided to log off.

December 6 is my last day on Jdate.

It’s been fun, but too many ‘whys’ have led me to say,‘I just don’t think it’s my time to date.’

Bocher # 2

I find it sad that the sole stimulus for my own dating is due to a blog, because truthfully it’s the only thing at the moment pushing me out the door and into the arms of a single man.

That being said, last Saturday night I took another one for my online followers and met Bocher #2.

Prior to our date we exchanged the acceptable three message quota. I hotlisted, he messaged, and the fun began. His first email consisted of the typical reply to my despondent ‘about me’ section, which reads:

So, here's the deal, I gave this site a second chance, considering the first didn't go so well, but am sad to say that second chances just don't appear to be my thing. About me: I'm in graduate school pursuing an MFA in nonfiction writing. When I'm not writing or attempting to write witty essays, I'm either at the gym or with friends and family. I like to keep busy, and at the moment am doing an excellent job of doing so. I'd love to meet someone who respects me, gets me, and wants to want me. I've come to the conclusion that nice girls finish last, but hope that someday, someone will prove me wrong.

He responded with an, ‘I hope you haven’t given up yet. I’d love to chat, please respond if your time isn’t up.

It wasn’t the wittiest email I’ve received (one Bocher whose last name was Dore, commented that if we were to ever get married I might not want to take his last name), but physical attraction to the man who wore a baseball cap in two of his four pictures and looked more handsome than cute, more preppy than bad-boy, convinced me to write back, plus he was 30, thus fitting my age range of 27-around
34.(any single man over the age of 34 in desire of a 25 year old woman leads me to believe that he might be a paskudnyak (nasty fellow)).

Messages bounced back and forth. In one he mentioned that he’d moved to the area from Los Angeles in order to ‘start a career in international affairs,’ but in the proceeding one he revealed that he had lived in NYC the last year. The two didn’t quite equate, but I took it in stride and when he wrote, ‘I could show you at least one place that I like and that is easy going- the Brickskeller’ I replied coyly, ‘ So, are you asking me out on a date?’ He said yes. I gave him my number… He called…yadda yadda yadda.

After learning that I do not eat meat (I didn’t mention that I don’t drink beer) we decided to meet for Sushi at Sushi Ko , a restaurant in D.C. which he often frequented. The day of the date he texted me and said that we should probably ride together because parking ‘can be difficult.’ I assumed he was saying that he would like to meet at his place and ride together, which was a usual ‘no-go’ in my book of ‘what to do on the first date.’ No where in this ‘book’ did it say, ‘have him pick you up at your house,’ or ‘ride together to save fuel;’ instead, it read, ‘never have him pick you up at your place on the first date, he could be a stalker or a serial killer, and hence knowing your address could be bad,’ and ‘never ride together, one word, AWKWARD.’

But, I agreed to meet him at his apartment in Chevy Chase so he could drive us to the restaurant.
I arrived a little late and as I attempted to parallel park in a tiny space with my Honda Civic, I called to let him know that I was having trouble finding parking. He asked me if I was the car sticking all the way out onto the street, and I laughed, told him, yep, ‘I can’t parallel park, can’t really drive.’
Within seconds he appeared, looking very much like his pictures; handsome in a nice black wool coat, black dress pants and a stripped button down. He was also tall,
5’11.(check and check)

He told me to follow him and I could take his parking spot when we left. As he walked over to a number of cars, I wondered which was his. A man’s car says a lot about him. If he opened the door to the Lincoln town car on his right, I might assume it was his Bubbeh’s (grandmother), if he opened the car door to his left, a Volkswagen Beetle, I might have assumed that he felt comfortable in small spaces. Luckily, he opened the door of the khaki Jeep Wrangler, which said to me, ‘rugged, like a mountain man.’

On the way to the restaurant we bullshitted about our days. He told me that he was moving in a week because he couldn’t stand his upstairs neighbors loud foot stomping at 6 in the morning, and I concurred with his reasoning.

Once we arrived, I remembered that I’d been to the restaurant on another Jdate, and there was plenty of parking, plenty.

He’d made a reservation, but due to the small size of the restaurant, we still had to wait awhile to be seated. We sat in the corner and I learned that he’d gone to the University of California in San Diego and was in a fraternity, which led to us discussing fraternity life. I’d been in a sorority for 2 years at Auburn University, hated it, dropped out, and all in all wasn’t impressed by the experience. He understood, but had met some great guys in his and didn’t hate or love his fratastic years.

Finally, we were seated upstairs and he asked if I liked Saki. Considering, I’d been farshinkert (sloshed) on my first date with Bocher #1, and we all know how that ended, I decided to say yes, but only wanted a glass of wine.
I wasn’t quite sure what he did during the day (a.k.a. his job/ career), so, I decided to ask what a job in international affairs entailed.

He laughed and said,

‘Well, that’s what I’d like to eventually do, but due to the job market, when I got here no one was really hiring. So, when I passed by a shop with a ‘we’re hiring’ sign, I applied and got the job.’

‘And that job would be?’ I asked.

‘I work part time at the Fed ex Kinkos store.’

Now, I know I shouldn’t have judged because I work part time at Gymboree Play and Learn, making practically bupkis,(nothing) but I did, because two broke people does not equal a whole lot of gelt (money ); instead, two broke people equals a lot of dollar bills and no hundreds.

I continued to listen and gave him the benefit of the doubt. The economy sucks, at least he had a job at all, plus if I ever moved he could get me free boxes.
We gabbed about our aspirations, his ‘too work for an embassy or any form of international affairs, mine to ‘write something of substance, gain fame and fortune with a witty nonfiction book.’

Somehow the conversation steered towards expensive D.C. living, which led him to say:

‘I know it’s a faux pas to talk about an ex on a first date, but, last year when we lived together in NYC living was insanely expensive.’

I love it when people start off a sentence with statements such as ‘not to offend you or anything, but,’ or ‘I know it’s a faux pas but,…’ If you don’t want to offend me or you know it’s a faux pas then don’t say it, because you and I both know that what you are about to say is going to definitely offend me.

He then continued to talk about his ex-girlfriend for a good five minutes, and with the information I’d previously been given I concluded that they’d probably been broken up for about six months, hence there was no way he was over her, considering they lived together, and he most likely was simply looking for some toches (booty).

After the meal of one smoked salmon roll, one yellow tail nigiri, and one tuna nigiri, we walked to his car and he asked about us getting together again when he returned from his thanksgiving in Connecticut.

I said I’d like that and when he dropped me off at my car, I gave him a hearty hug, because I usually don’t kiss on the first date (unless I have been boozing) and he said he’d call me soon.

Besides for preventing a possible stalker situation, driving alone on the first date, allows you to review the dialogue, actions and intentions of the Bocher. Yes, he was a neshomeleh (sweet heart), opening my car door, telling me to tell him if I needed his coat if I were to get too chilly, but, unfortunately, all I could focus on was the faux pas, the ex.

I guess his thoughts were dissimilar to mine, because the next day I received a text from him which read:

‘Hi Dorie. Thanks again for coming out last night. I really enjoyed your company. I look forward to getting together again soon. Have a good Thanksgiving.’

I wrote back:

‘Yes, me too and thank you again for dinner. Hope you have fun in Ct and eat lots of turkey. You can tell me how it tastes when you return.’

Today, as I reviewed the texts, I noticed a red ‘x’ next to this outgoing message.

He never got the message.

Maybe, we won’t be going on that second date.