He realized she was ashamed to be seen with him in public. She said it was his Orthodox Judaism. He hoped that was true. What if he was inherently embarrassing?
He knew if the shoe was on the other foot, she'd drop him in a minute. How pathetic was he that he'd put up with this?
"We want different things." That's what women often say to him and it never means anything good.
He wanted to know which feeling was stronger for her -- her hatred of Orthodox Judaism or her affection for him but he knew the answer. She'd built her entire adult life on hating Orthodox Judaism, rejecting Orthodox Judaism, despising Orthodox Jews. To love him as an Orthodox Jew was to hate herself.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Wanting Different Things
She said: "We have this connection but ultimately we want different things in life. It wasn't casual sex. We really had a deep connection. Sometimes you can have something deep and profound in the moment. It's a relationship but it's not geared towards marriage.
"I'm trying not to put it in a box and define it and just be there and just be present. I'm trying. I'm trying to be honest and see what it is. I hope you are doing the same. I don't have any guarantees. You don't have any guarantees for me. It just feels intense and open and we can just sorta mean a lot to each other right now.
"It's so hard that you're Orthodox and committed to Judaism. It brings up a lot of stuff for me."
"I'm trying not to put it in a box and define it and just be there and just be present. I'm trying. I'm trying to be honest and see what it is. I hope you are doing the same. I don't have any guarantees. You don't have any guarantees for me. It just feels intense and open and we can just sorta mean a lot to each other right now.
"It's so hard that you're Orthodox and committed to Judaism. It brings up a lot of stuff for me."
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Found Out She Had A Boyfriend
"That girl," said John.* "I gave her 45 minutes of my time. I was walking with her. We had a couple of miles to go. And she told me she had a boyfriend. She soaked up all my time and attention that Friday night and here we are walking and we have miles to go and she tells me she has a boyfriend. What a buzz kill. Women are such manipulative bitches."
Dude, you can't let that get you down. She was telling you to keep you at a distance, to communicate she wasn't interested in anything with you. But just because a woman has a boyfriend is no reason not to be friends with her or friendly with her. It does not mean she'll never be available.
Dude, you can't put out this much hostility and anger and expect that people will want to hang out with you. Unhappiness is a buzz kill. It makes me want to flee. This is a shul. This is not a place for berating women.
Dude, you can't let that get you down. She was telling you to keep you at a distance, to communicate she wasn't interested in anything with you. But just because a woman has a boyfriend is no reason not to be friends with her or friendly with her. It does not mean she'll never be available.
Dude, you can't put out this much hostility and anger and expect that people will want to hang out with you. Unhappiness is a buzz kill. It makes me want to flee. This is a shul. This is not a place for berating women.
Orthodox Rabbis Focus On Ethics
Jeff Diamant reports:
In an unusual move, a group of influential Orthodox Jewish leaders wrote a letter urging American rabbis to speak during this year’s High Holidays on the importance of ethical living, in response to some recent high-profile arrests of Jews, including two New Jersey rabbis in July.
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Holiday
Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, begins at sundown Sunday. Most Jews consider this day the holiest in the Jewish calendar. On Yom Kippur, the Book of Life is closed and sealed. Those that have repented for their sins are granted a good and happy new year. It is a day to ask forgiveness for promises broken to God. There is no blowing of the shofar, a ram’s horn, on Yom Kippur, and observant Jews fast.
In the Sept. 3 letter sent to about 2,000 rabbis nationwide, the leaders of Yeshiva University, the Orthodox Union and the Rabbinical Council of America cited "the recent scenes of religious Jews being led off in handcuffs, charged with corruption, money laundering, and even organ trafficking.”
During the High Holidays, which began Sept. 18 with Rosh Hashana and end Monday on Yom Kippur, Jews are supposed to take stock of their lives, and rabbis’ sermons these days can touch on everything from personal religious observance to social issues, and from personal morality to international relations.
The letter, which several Orthodox rabbis in New Jersey said they would heed, urged Jewish clergy to publicly affirm at least once during the High Holidays that the Torah forbids all stealing; that secular laws bind religious Jews; that Jews should lead efforts to promote honesty in society; and that Jews must sacrifice financially rather than bring shame to God or Jewish law.
"This is not a time for splitting hairs over possible dissenting views,” reads the letter, signed by six leading Orthodox rabbis. "(W)e must make the ethical demands of the Torah and the day clear in the most public of ways. We strongly urge you to join with us and loudly declare, to our own communities and to the world, that we, representing Torah, will not tolerate any but the highest standards of ethics.”
The letter referred indirectly to money-laundering charges against Rabbi Ben Haim of Congregation of Ohel Yaacob and Rabbi Edmund Nahum of the Synagogue of Deal, N.J., and Rabbi Saul Kassin from Brooklyn, and organ-trafficking charges against a Jew from Brooklyn. Those arrests were part of a massive sting operation that also led to the arrest of politicians on corruption charges. The letter seemed to hint at crimes of Bernie Madoff, whose fraudulent investment company cost thousands of people billions of dollars.
Ashamed
"You feel very disconnected from me when we're at yoga," he said.
"That's because I'm ashamed," she said.
"Ashamed of what?" he asked.
"Ashamed of your Judaism. Your Orthodox Judaism. People hate Orthodox Jews. I can't bear to hold your hand while you're wearing a yarmulke, with your beard, your tzitzit out. It fills me with shame. There's nothing I can do about it. That's just the way I feel."
He'd always suspected that but now he had it in clear words. She spoke softly. She spoke from the heart. This was not one of her recorded speeches. She was connected to her feelings and she was telling him the truth.
"Do you remember that Sex in the City episode where that guy was dating a fat girl? He was very happy with her. They had a great time in private. But he was ashamed to introduce her to his friends. And the one time a friend ran into him with her at a restaurant, he didn't introduce her. And so she broke up with him."
"Yeah," he said. "I saw that.
"So when you have sex with someone, what does it do to you? Do to your feelings for the person you're intimate with?"
"It depends."
"If the sex is good and frequent and is accompanied by emotional intimacy. Does it make you more vulnerable to that person?"
"I wouldn't say vulnerable. No, not vulnerable. It just makes me want to be with the person and to have good times with them. I live in the moment. Whatever feels good. I don't believe in vows."
"When I have sex with somone," he said, "a lot of sex, good sex, accompanied by good conversation, it multiplies my vulnerability to that person by 50 times. They have 50 times more people to hurt me or to please me.
"So when you had sex with that girl and told me about six days later, what was going on?"
"A lot of guys," she said, "find it a turn-on for their girl to be with another girl."
"I didn't know it would make me feel so ill. I had no idea. I had told you I did not want to hear about your heterosexual adventures, but it didn't bother me hearing about the times you were with a woman. So we never spoke about monogamy. We never spoke about you having sex with women while you were with me. But when I found out about it, I suddenly felt very ill. And then through that illness, about ten seconds later, there was a tremendous feeling of relief. That it was over. That there was nothing further I could do. I didn't need to push my limits. I didn't need to stretch and change for you. That it was all over and it was all decided for me and the only thing was to move on."
"I did it to break up with you," she said. "I didn't like you very much at the time. I did it with a girl so it wouldn't hurt you so much, but I knew you'd just break up with me. I didn't want to do the breaking up. I knew this would force your hand. And it felt like such a relief."
"What role do you sense fear playing in my life?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "What do you mean?"
"My greatest fear in a relationship is that my partner will be unfaithful. That's the greatest pain. And when it happens, I just cut the person off. They're dead to me.
"David Deida talks about loving without fear. I want to learn to love without fear. I want to learn to love even though I fear my partner is unfaithful and will be unfaithful or has been unfaithful. Fear constrains my love. It holds me back. I don't want to risk things. I just want that safe 50/50 relationship. Fear constrains my heart. I want to open up my heart and surrender to love and to face my fear."
"That's because I'm ashamed," she said.
"Ashamed of what?" he asked.
"Ashamed of your Judaism. Your Orthodox Judaism. People hate Orthodox Jews. I can't bear to hold your hand while you're wearing a yarmulke, with your beard, your tzitzit out. It fills me with shame. There's nothing I can do about it. That's just the way I feel."
He'd always suspected that but now he had it in clear words. She spoke softly. She spoke from the heart. This was not one of her recorded speeches. She was connected to her feelings and she was telling him the truth.
"Do you remember that Sex in the City episode where that guy was dating a fat girl? He was very happy with her. They had a great time in private. But he was ashamed to introduce her to his friends. And the one time a friend ran into him with her at a restaurant, he didn't introduce her. And so she broke up with him."
"Yeah," he said. "I saw that.
"So when you have sex with someone, what does it do to you? Do to your feelings for the person you're intimate with?"
"It depends."
"If the sex is good and frequent and is accompanied by emotional intimacy. Does it make you more vulnerable to that person?"
"I wouldn't say vulnerable. No, not vulnerable. It just makes me want to be with the person and to have good times with them. I live in the moment. Whatever feels good. I don't believe in vows."
"When I have sex with somone," he said, "a lot of sex, good sex, accompanied by good conversation, it multiplies my vulnerability to that person by 50 times. They have 50 times more people to hurt me or to please me.
"So when you had sex with that girl and told me about six days later, what was going on?"
"A lot of guys," she said, "find it a turn-on for their girl to be with another girl."
"I didn't know it would make me feel so ill. I had no idea. I had told you I did not want to hear about your heterosexual adventures, but it didn't bother me hearing about the times you were with a woman. So we never spoke about monogamy. We never spoke about you having sex with women while you were with me. But when I found out about it, I suddenly felt very ill. And then through that illness, about ten seconds later, there was a tremendous feeling of relief. That it was over. That there was nothing further I could do. I didn't need to push my limits. I didn't need to stretch and change for you. That it was all over and it was all decided for me and the only thing was to move on."
"I did it to break up with you," she said. "I didn't like you very much at the time. I did it with a girl so it wouldn't hurt you so much, but I knew you'd just break up with me. I didn't want to do the breaking up. I knew this would force your hand. And it felt like such a relief."
"What role do you sense fear playing in my life?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "What do you mean?"
"My greatest fear in a relationship is that my partner will be unfaithful. That's the greatest pain. And when it happens, I just cut the person off. They're dead to me.
"David Deida talks about loving without fear. I want to learn to love without fear. I want to learn to love even though I fear my partner is unfaithful and will be unfaithful or has been unfaithful. Fear constrains my love. It holds me back. I don't want to risk things. I just want that safe 50/50 relationship. Fear constrains my heart. I want to open up my heart and surrender to love and to face my fear."
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Headed For Disaster
He emailed two of his girlfriends: "I want the two most exciting girls in my life to know each other and become Facebook friends. We should all get together at the hovel one night and talk about the Holocaust. I'm preparing an interpretative dance about Treblinka in honor of this meeting."
Bi Jane responded to just him: "We are women, not girls. Don't make me use the feminist spelling. Do you think I might LIKE her?
"I feel very strange when I am with you. I want to fight and f..."
He responded: "Yummy."
She emailed: "Really, you and I are doomed for disaster. But we'll be the ones playing the violin as the Titanic goes down."
A literary scholar interprets: "Well, the first part could be quite right--and I think you both might sense that. It's what makes the "relationship" as alluring as it is--that tragic, dramatic element. But the part about the violins...I'm not sure what she means. She really does have a flair for the dramatic, and a way to be unnecessarily cryptic. I wonder if she means that you'll both move the relationship toward disaster, and when all is said and done you'll also both be the ones drowning in your own sorrow?"
Bi Jane responded to just him: "We are women, not girls. Don't make me use the feminist spelling. Do you think I might LIKE her?
"I feel very strange when I am with you. I want to fight and f..."
He responded: "Yummy."
She emailed: "Really, you and I are doomed for disaster. But we'll be the ones playing the violin as the Titanic goes down."
A literary scholar interprets: "Well, the first part could be quite right--and I think you both might sense that. It's what makes the "relationship" as alluring as it is--that tragic, dramatic element. But the part about the violins...I'm not sure what she means. She really does have a flair for the dramatic, and a way to be unnecessarily cryptic. I wonder if she means that you'll both move the relationship toward disaster, and when all is said and done you'll also both be the ones drowning in your own sorrow?"
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Frantic
Wednesday morning. He realizes she's not going to call him back with that great story about the producer. So he'll catch her as she drives to work.
"I'm finally feeling better," he says. "Three days in bed and now I'm OK. How's the dog search?"
"I"m frantic," she says. "I got off work early yesterday and went to look for my friend's dog. Cain* is my best dog friend in the world. I called every animal shelter, every vet. I plastered Runyan Canyon with flyers. I did the same with Cain's other favorite dog park. This woman at Runyan put it on Twitter. Today my friends at work are going to help me put it on Facebook and Craiglist."
"Wow," he says.
"Ultimately," she says, "I don't know what to do. He could be in Santa Clarita. He could be in Mexico. You make this huge local effort. Apparently the internet is the way to go for these things. That's where I'm looking this morning. My heart is heavy and it is hard to breathe. I'm wondering if he's safe."
"Wow," he says.
"I can't even go there," she says. "I'm just going into action right now. It's something I can't even begin to think about.
"I was out all night, showing his picture to the homeless people in the neighborhood. To all the trannies."
"Wow," he says.
"Wouldn't it be cool if we could switch places for a day?" she says, "feeling what it's like to be each other."
"Wow," he says.
"You'd be so weirded out and so would I. I wasn't even thinking sexually.
"I couldn't sleep last night so I sang prayers for an hour."
"I'd like to hear that," he says.
"It would so turn you on."
"Sometimes I do really good blogging when I'm sick," he says. "Not this time."
"I can't believe how you tricked these rabbis to convert you," she says.
"Does it make you think less of me?"
"Oh, completely. Your karma, oy, I hope the all-loving Buddha helps you out because there's nobody else who can.
"Do you think your Judaism is just like the porno community for you? Just an insular community you want to be a part of for a while."
"No," he says. "I didn't want to be a part of the porn community. I just wrote about it. They are both insular communities."
"Which community will be next for you?" she asks.
"I will be part of the Orthodox community for the rest of my life. I've been in it for 15 years, since I moved to LA in 1994."
"I just assumed," she says, "that you would abandon Judaism when you found the next thing."
"While I was sick," he says, "I listened to this novel 'On Chesil Beach' by Ian McEwan. It's about two people who love each other. They get married in England in July 1962. They're unable to consummate their marriage on their wedding night. They walk out on to the beach and say really cruel things to each other. Then they get an annulment and lead unfulfilling lives."
"Ohmigod, I totally want to read this," she says. "I love Ian McEwan."
"It hit home for me," he says. "They both felt the intensity of love. They both enjoyed being with the other person. What they both lacked was patience. So when they sexually misfired, he reproved her for running out of the room, she sniped back. Then he called her a bitch. She walked off, hoping he would envelope her in his love. But he just stood aside and let her walk off.
"It really hit me because I don't have a lot of patience either."
"I know," she says. "You've broken up with me three times already."
"I don't believe in bashert," he says. "I don't believe in the meant to be stuff. I don't believe we're fated or destined. Relationships are what we make of them. They're not decided by the gods. I'm pragmatic, not mystical. Luck plays a huge role in love and life."
"I don't believe in any of it," she says. "I don't believe in love, in relationships. I sorta believe in the here and now and staying present and if it feels right, that's where you stay. I don't believe in knowing things for a lifetime. My parents divorced when I was young."
"How long have you had this philosophy?"
"Forever. The marriage oath is just ridiculous. I've always known I would never marry and never have children. I never want to belong to someone. I've given up. It's not going to happen for me. I'm unconventional. I have these views about marriage and relationships that most people don't have. But why can't I do it my own way?
"You like things that are contained. You have certain expectations."
"Yeah," he says.
"And if it does not fall into that category, you can be dismissive. But I don't see it as a lack of patience."
"I know when something feels really bad. Like when you walk down a step and the step isn't there to meet your foot and you start falling through space and you don't like that uncertainty?"
"That's a good metaphor," she says. "I just want to be in bed with you right now."
"Well, let's do it. When do you want to come over?"
"This is not a good week. Can we just play it by ear? I'm going to try to leave work early and just scan Runyan Canyon and plaster neighborhoods and then see where I am. OK?"
"OK."
"I'm finally feeling better," he says. "Three days in bed and now I'm OK. How's the dog search?"
"I"m frantic," she says. "I got off work early yesterday and went to look for my friend's dog. Cain* is my best dog friend in the world. I called every animal shelter, every vet. I plastered Runyan Canyon with flyers. I did the same with Cain's other favorite dog park. This woman at Runyan put it on Twitter. Today my friends at work are going to help me put it on Facebook and Craiglist."
"Wow," he says.
"Ultimately," she says, "I don't know what to do. He could be in Santa Clarita. He could be in Mexico. You make this huge local effort. Apparently the internet is the way to go for these things. That's where I'm looking this morning. My heart is heavy and it is hard to breathe. I'm wondering if he's safe."
"Wow," he says.
"I can't even go there," she says. "I'm just going into action right now. It's something I can't even begin to think about.
"I was out all night, showing his picture to the homeless people in the neighborhood. To all the trannies."
"Wow," he says.
"Wouldn't it be cool if we could switch places for a day?" she says, "feeling what it's like to be each other."
"Wow," he says.
"You'd be so weirded out and so would I. I wasn't even thinking sexually.
"I couldn't sleep last night so I sang prayers for an hour."
"I'd like to hear that," he says.
"It would so turn you on."
"Sometimes I do really good blogging when I'm sick," he says. "Not this time."
"I can't believe how you tricked these rabbis to convert you," she says.
"Does it make you think less of me?"
"Oh, completely. Your karma, oy, I hope the all-loving Buddha helps you out because there's nobody else who can.
"Do you think your Judaism is just like the porno community for you? Just an insular community you want to be a part of for a while."
"No," he says. "I didn't want to be a part of the porn community. I just wrote about it. They are both insular communities."
"Which community will be next for you?" she asks.
"I will be part of the Orthodox community for the rest of my life. I've been in it for 15 years, since I moved to LA in 1994."
"I just assumed," she says, "that you would abandon Judaism when you found the next thing."
"While I was sick," he says, "I listened to this novel 'On Chesil Beach' by Ian McEwan. It's about two people who love each other. They get married in England in July 1962. They're unable to consummate their marriage on their wedding night. They walk out on to the beach and say really cruel things to each other. Then they get an annulment and lead unfulfilling lives."
"Ohmigod, I totally want to read this," she says. "I love Ian McEwan."
"It hit home for me," he says. "They both felt the intensity of love. They both enjoyed being with the other person. What they both lacked was patience. So when they sexually misfired, he reproved her for running out of the room, she sniped back. Then he called her a bitch. She walked off, hoping he would envelope her in his love. But he just stood aside and let her walk off.
"It really hit me because I don't have a lot of patience either."
"I know," she says. "You've broken up with me three times already."
"I don't believe in bashert," he says. "I don't believe in the meant to be stuff. I don't believe we're fated or destined. Relationships are what we make of them. They're not decided by the gods. I'm pragmatic, not mystical. Luck plays a huge role in love and life."
"I don't believe in any of it," she says. "I don't believe in love, in relationships. I sorta believe in the here and now and staying present and if it feels right, that's where you stay. I don't believe in knowing things for a lifetime. My parents divorced when I was young."
"How long have you had this philosophy?"
"Forever. The marriage oath is just ridiculous. I've always known I would never marry and never have children. I never want to belong to someone. I've given up. It's not going to happen for me. I'm unconventional. I have these views about marriage and relationships that most people don't have. But why can't I do it my own way?
"You like things that are contained. You have certain expectations."
"Yeah," he says.
"And if it does not fall into that category, you can be dismissive. But I don't see it as a lack of patience."
"I know when something feels really bad. Like when you walk down a step and the step isn't there to meet your foot and you start falling through space and you don't like that uncertainty?"
"That's a good metaphor," she says. "I just want to be in bed with you right now."
"Well, let's do it. When do you want to come over?"
"This is not a good week. Can we just play it by ear? I'm going to try to leave work early and just scan Runyan Canyon and plaster neighborhoods and then see where I am. OK?"
"OK."
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Reconciliation
"How do you reconcile this," she purred, "with your Orthodox Judaism?"
Grr. Everyone wants me to reconcile everything I do with my Orthodox Judaism. My yoga. My blogging. My cursing and debauching. Oy, I can't do it! I don't want to do it. I want to be free. I'm an artist. An honest man is always in trouble. Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.
Grr. Everyone wants me to reconcile everything I do with my Orthodox Judaism. My yoga. My blogging. My cursing and debauching. Oy, I can't do it! I don't want to do it. I want to be free. I'm an artist. An honest man is always in trouble. Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.
May The Long Time Sun Shine Upon You
"People who have gratitude and forgiveness in their lives do better than those with any other health program the study said," he heard over the evening meal.
Hmm, he thought. I'm grateful. I write out my morning pages. I make notes on what I'm grateful for. But forgiveness? I'm not so forgiving.
I like to treasure my hurts. I nurture them. I bathe in them. I feed my resentments.
There are moments, however, when I release them. In yoga, I sometimes let them go. When I sing Long Time Sun. I'm a different person. I let go of my defenses and offenses. I sit there in easy pose and I open my heart and I pray for others what I wish for myself -- "may all love surround you".
Hmm, he thought. I'm grateful. I write out my morning pages. I make notes on what I'm grateful for. But forgiveness? I'm not so forgiving.
I like to treasure my hurts. I nurture them. I bathe in them. I feed my resentments.
There are moments, however, when I release them. In yoga, I sometimes let them go. When I sing Long Time Sun. I'm a different person. I let go of my defenses and offenses. I sit there in easy pose and I open my heart and I pray for others what I wish for myself -- "may all love surround you".
Wordpress Under Attack
Luke--there's a lot of chatter over the last day or so about Wordpress blogs being attacked via vulnerabilities that are only fixed in the latest version, 2.8.4--if you're not yet upgraded, please do so.
Also, it looks like it would be a good idea to change the administrator's user name from the default--no need to make it easier for an attacker to get in.
It would also be good to use stronger passwords than you are now:
http://www.blogherald.com/2007/05/08/protect-your-blog-with-a-solid-password/
And: you should periodically create and download backups of the various blogs that you have. (If you want to be safe, burn them to CD or DVD or put them on USB drive, etc. in case your computer has problems of its own.)
More info: http://lorelle.wordpress.com/2009/09/04/old-wordpress-versions-under-attack/
Also, it looks like it would be a good idea to change the administrator's user name from the default--no need to make it easier for an attacker to get in.
It would also be good to use stronger passwords than you are now:
http://www.blogherald.com/
And: you should periodically create and download backups of the various blogs that you have. (If you want to be safe, burn them to CD or DVD or put them on USB drive, etc. in case your computer has problems of its own.)
More info: http://lorelle.wordpress.com/
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Friends Forever
"He used to like me in the beginning," says Jane, "but I've never liked him. We're just really good friends. He's very mischevious. We'd make prank phone calls together. He came over. We were going to go out. He was moving out of state.
"Normally we just hang out at lunch. I've always had boyfriends. I didn't think it was appropriate just to go out with him at night.
"He came to my house. We went out and had a few drinks. He had about 12. We came back to my place. We talk. I figure he's going to leave. And then he's like, I am so drunk. I say, I have to go to bed because I have to go to synagogue in the morning. But if you want to hang out in the living room, that's fine.
"He says, I don't think I'll be sober for hours. Can I just stay here?
"I said ok. You can sleep on the couch in the living room.
"He said, I don't want to sleep in the living room. I want to sleep in the bed with you.
"I said no. I thought he was joking.
"I went to the bathroom. I come out. He's laying in my bed, pretending to be sleeping. He will not get out of my bed.
"He says, I'm not going to try anything. I'm just going to sleep. I said no. I'm dating somebody.
"We're fighting. And then he comes over to me, grabs my arm, and says, 'Come on, just one fuck. Just one. I'm leaving tomorrow.'
"I was like, get out of my bedroom. It was 45 minutes of fighting. I finally threatened to call the police. He called me a prude.
"Seriously, that is not the way to get a girl to sleep with you."
"Normally we just hang out at lunch. I've always had boyfriends. I didn't think it was appropriate just to go out with him at night.
"He came to my house. We went out and had a few drinks. He had about 12. We came back to my place. We talk. I figure he's going to leave. And then he's like, I am so drunk. I say, I have to go to bed because I have to go to synagogue in the morning. But if you want to hang out in the living room, that's fine.
"He says, I don't think I'll be sober for hours. Can I just stay here?
"I said ok. You can sleep on the couch in the living room.
"He said, I don't want to sleep in the living room. I want to sleep in the bed with you.
"I said no. I thought he was joking.
"I went to the bathroom. I come out. He's laying in my bed, pretending to be sleeping. He will not get out of my bed.
"He says, I'm not going to try anything. I'm just going to sleep. I said no. I'm dating somebody.
"We're fighting. And then he comes over to me, grabs my arm, and says, 'Come on, just one fuck. Just one. I'm leaving tomorrow.'
"I was like, get out of my bedroom. It was 45 minutes of fighting. I finally threatened to call the police. He called me a prude.
"Seriously, that is not the way to get a girl to sleep with you."
Stay The Night?
I don't believe in sleeping around before marriage. If you have to interact in that way, just do it and move on. No lingering or malingering. Just get right to it and then move on with your life, absorbing yourself in higher things.
What kind of man doesn't want to go?
What kind of man doesn't want to go?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
A Wild Hindu Weekend
"What a weekend," she said, getting out of her car.
I walk up to her.
"I'm waiting for my friend," she says and then a skinny girl gets out of the passenger side.
"We were at a Hindu festival. It was amazing. Sri Ma Kali Puja. We started Friday night at Rabbi ------'s house. I had to change the privacy settings on the rabbis on my friend's list so they could not see my Facebook status updates. I didn't friend them. They friended me."Saturday morning, we got in the car and drove down to Laguna Beach. We just got back. And now this.
"It was amazing. We joined in the worship of the goddess Kali. They covered up the goddess when they fed her."
"How did she eat?" I asked.
"I don't know. They covered her up.
"We got down on our hands and knees and touched the feet of the monks. And they held your head down for a few seconds until it was OK to get up."
"A lot of guys do that."
"It wasn't like that. These monks were celibate."
"I'm sure it was all very religious. These guys holding your head down there. I'm sure it was very spiritual."
"We got dots on our head. We didn't have a clue what was happening but we asked questions and we made new friends and they explained everything. They showed us how to worship the Goddess Kali."
She emails me later: my gf thought you were hilarious! she's like... you're rabbi friend is sooo funny! she assumes everyone that "looks like matisyahu" is a rabbi.
she LOVED it. she's never done kundalini, only iyengar. she really liked it alot.
the puja was a beautiful experience... i'm not going to start praying to God through an idol or anything like that... it was just a nice cultural weekend. would love to visit India.
even when i tried to be genuine in my devotion when we bowed down in worship to Ma.... my body and mind just reject it... it's a freakin statue. haha.
but all the rivers lead to the sea... so power to em!
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Internet Dating
Joe emails: I had an internet date this weekend with a woman who, it turned out, likely was nearing menopause (late forties? the photo she sent me clearly did not do her true justice). I cannot tell you how depressing the whole non-event was. She even owned two cats, one of which - a male she had never declawed or had its nails trimmed - she boasted was very violent (this woman had the scars on her arms to prove it), especially towards human male company. Oh, and she spent much of the evening talking about her past boyfriends and ex over a few drinks (which I did not pay for, Baruch Hashem), yadda yadda yadda. The net result was to make me want to take a vow of celibacy and mentally recount every error I made in life that led me to our date.
I shall close on a more cheerful note, at least for Luke. Here, potentially, is some really good news:http://failedmessiah.typepad.com/failed_messiahcom/2009/08/are-the-feds-working-on-more-money-laundering-indictments-234.html It seems the feds are getting closer to the thieving, money-laundering orthodox Jews of LA. I know Luke dreams of the day when he hears that the Feds have knocked on the doors of Rabbi... and the other Jews of his community who dissed him over the years. I'll wager that if and when that day comes, Luke will be happier than mere sex has ever made him.
KHUNRUM EMAILS: I believe some paste up a photo from their high school year book. Everyone knocks off a few years. 10 is the usual. I must say that as much as we diss the Internet it made dating much easier and cheaper. I had the formula down by the time I said "I DO'. The formula was simple. Meet them for coffee first. The most one can get trimmed for is a couple of bucks. But then I realized if I arrived ten minutes late she most likely paid for the coffee already and I could have a look-see for free. One or twice I sidled up to the door, or glanced through the window and quickly beat a retreat. ahhhh! the good old days.
I shall close on a more cheerful note, at least for Luke. Here, potentially, is some really good news:http://failedmessiah.typepad.com/failed_messiahcom/2009/08/are-the-feds-working-on-more-money-laundering-indictments-234.html It seems the feds are getting closer to the thieving, money-laundering orthodox Jews of LA. I know Luke dreams of the day when he hears that the Feds have knocked on the doors of Rabbi... and the other Jews of his community who dissed him over the years. I'll wager that if and when that day comes, Luke will be happier than mere sex has ever made him.
KHUNRUM EMAILS: I believe some paste up a photo from their high school year book. Everyone knocks off a few years. 10 is the usual. I must say that as much as we diss the Internet it made dating much easier and cheaper. I had the formula down by the time I said "I DO'. The formula was simple. Meet them for coffee first. The most one can get trimmed for is a couple of bucks. But then I realized if I arrived ten minutes late she most likely paid for the coffee already and I could have a look-see for free. One or twice I sidled up to the door, or glanced through the window and quickly beat a retreat. ahhhh! the good old days.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Opening The Heart At Kundalini Yoga
As he held forth about the contradictions between Orthodox Judaism and Kundalini Yoga, he felt like the cock of the walk.
The woman was just his type -- brunette and slender (but not skinny!) and smart and sensitive. A real goody-goody on the outside, but burning sensual on the inside.
He'd managed the transition so smoothly from his Australian accent to the beauty of New Zealand to the movie Priscilla Queen of the Desert and how he looked like actor Guy Pearce -- yes! she remarked on the resemblance in the eyes, oh, stare deeply, lose yourself, forget his shameful shortcomings, don't tell him his life is a mess -- and then to the reasons why she was taking Kundalini Yoga, opening her heart, becoming more present, attaching to God -- and then she asked about his spiritual path and he had so many erudite things to say.
She wanted to become more present so how could she leave this conversation. Nope, she was hooked. She was hanging on his every word.
He loved the attention. He needed it so badly. Particularly now. He needed some feminine attention. He needed some loving. He needed the opportunity to give.
There were three other beautiful women in the room and they were listening too. So was the teacher and the other blokes. Capture the blokes and the women will follow!
Oh, he was feeling it now. He was over it. He no longer felt pain. He no longer missed her. He was in his element. He was playing the wounded young god. He was ready to rub his hands and tune in.
They moved into the yoga room and he got his favorite place at the back of the class and he leaned back and he loved every woman in the room. Each was different. Each had different hair and different body types and different personalities and it was all OK with him. He loved them all and each individually. He loved their bodies and souls. His love for each was not compromised by his loves for the others.
His heart was big. It was growing. He was tuning in. He was attaching to God.
One had a big butt and it was fine. She was muscular and he liked it. He was spiritual and tolerant and wanted to fall on the ground before her and worship her muscles and rub them with oil.
One was frail and sensitive. He loved her goodness. He wanted to protect her and engage her in deep spiritual talk.
One was blonde and gorgeous. How proud he'd be to bring her to shul. Oy, how the Jews would talk!
One was from Europe. She was young, about 22. She had a strong accent. She was shy and retiring. She needed guidance for appreciating America. He had so much to give.
He sailed through class. He did the long meditation. He did the exercises. He sang "The Long Time Sun." He drank his yogi tea and at the end of class, he was ready for his reward.
And then it all went awfully wrong. The frail girl up and left -- no chance to get her Facebook info! The blonde followed her.
The muscular chick embraced her boyfriend. And the Euro-Girl mentioned her "husband."
So there he was discussing his lofty ideas with his male teacher. What's the point of that?
He drained his tea and gathered his stuff and ran across four lanes. Not a car in sight. Oy, but there's the sound of a roaring engine. He could hear it well before he could see it but now it was roaring right at him at about 70 mph and his yarmulke had risen from his head and was sailing away and he was about to die bareheaded, about to die, probably at the hands of a big black guy with a big powerful engine who'd plooked a lot more girls than he had.
The woman was just his type -- brunette and slender (but not skinny!) and smart and sensitive. A real goody-goody on the outside, but burning sensual on the inside.
He'd managed the transition so smoothly from his Australian accent to the beauty of New Zealand to the movie Priscilla Queen of the Desert and how he looked like actor Guy Pearce -- yes! she remarked on the resemblance in the eyes, oh, stare deeply, lose yourself, forget his shameful shortcomings, don't tell him his life is a mess -- and then to the reasons why she was taking Kundalini Yoga, opening her heart, becoming more present, attaching to God -- and then she asked about his spiritual path and he had so many erudite things to say.
She wanted to become more present so how could she leave this conversation. Nope, she was hooked. She was hanging on his every word.
He loved the attention. He needed it so badly. Particularly now. He needed some feminine attention. He needed some loving. He needed the opportunity to give.
There were three other beautiful women in the room and they were listening too. So was the teacher and the other blokes. Capture the blokes and the women will follow!
Oh, he was feeling it now. He was over it. He no longer felt pain. He no longer missed her. He was in his element. He was playing the wounded young god. He was ready to rub his hands and tune in.
They moved into the yoga room and he got his favorite place at the back of the class and he leaned back and he loved every woman in the room. Each was different. Each had different hair and different body types and different personalities and it was all OK with him. He loved them all and each individually. He loved their bodies and souls. His love for each was not compromised by his loves for the others.
His heart was big. It was growing. He was tuning in. He was attaching to God.
One had a big butt and it was fine. She was muscular and he liked it. He was spiritual and tolerant and wanted to fall on the ground before her and worship her muscles and rub them with oil.
One was frail and sensitive. He loved her goodness. He wanted to protect her and engage her in deep spiritual talk.
One was blonde and gorgeous. How proud he'd be to bring her to shul. Oy, how the Jews would talk!
One was from Europe. She was young, about 22. She had a strong accent. She was shy and retiring. She needed guidance for appreciating America. He had so much to give.
He sailed through class. He did the long meditation. He did the exercises. He sang "The Long Time Sun." He drank his yogi tea and at the end of class, he was ready for his reward.
And then it all went awfully wrong. The frail girl up and left -- no chance to get her Facebook info! The blonde followed her.
The muscular chick embraced her boyfriend. And the Euro-Girl mentioned her "husband."
So there he was discussing his lofty ideas with his male teacher. What's the point of that?
He drained his tea and gathered his stuff and ran across four lanes. Not a car in sight. Oy, but there's the sound of a roaring engine. He could hear it well before he could see it but now it was roaring right at him at about 70 mph and his yarmulke had risen from his head and was sailing away and he was about to die bareheaded, about to die, probably at the hands of a big black guy with a big powerful engine who'd plooked a lot more girls than he had.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Fw: New from the Center for Immigration Studies
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
From: center@cis.org
Date: Mon, 3 Aug 2009 12:27:39 -0400
To: <luzdedos1@aol.com>
Subject: New from the Center for Immigration Studies
Support the Center for Immigration Studies by donating on line here: http://www.cis.org/support.html
[FYI --
1. Backgrounder: 'A Shifting Tide: Recent Trends in the Illegal Immigrant Population'
2. Congressional Testimony: 'E-Verify: Challenges and Opportunities'
3. Blog: 'New Film Explores Collision of Cultures in California'
4. Blog: 'He's Just Not That Into You'
5. Blog: 'The Cosmic Race'
6. Blog: ''The Basic Goal Is to Promote the Free Flow of Labor into the USA''
7. Blog: 'PASS ID Act: A Boon for Criminals'
8. Blog: ''If Mexico had had an avalanche of foreigners so large''
9. Blog: 'More Slaves, Please'
10. Blog: 'Court Crusader Against Illegal Immigration'
11. Blog: 'No Green Cards for Grads'
12. Blog: 'Think Globally? On the Whole, I’d Rather Not: Interviewing on Al Jazeera'
-- Mark Krikorian]
1.
A Shifting Tide: Recent Trends in the Illegal Immigrant Population
By Steven Camarota and Karen Jensenius
CIS Backgrounder, July 27, 2009
http://cis.org/IllegalImmigration-ShiftingTide
Excerpt: Monthly Census Bureau data show that the number of less-educated young Hispanic immigrants in the country has declined significantly. The evidence indicates that the illegal population declined after July 2007 and then rebounded somewhat in the summer of 2008 before resuming its decline in the fall of 2008 and into the first quarter of 2009. Both increased immigration enforcement and the recession seem to explain this decline. There is evidence that the decline was caused by both fewer illegal immigrants coming and an increase in the number returning home. However, this pattern does not apply to the legal immigrant population, which has not fallen significantly.
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2.
E-Verify: Challenges and Opportunities
By Janice Kephart
House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, July 23, 2009
http://cis.org/Testimony/E-Verify-ChallengesAndOpportunities
Excerpt: I am currently the Director of National Security Policy at the Center for Immigration Studies and a former counsel to the 9/11 Commission, where I co-authored the monograph 9/11 and Terrorist Travel alongside recommendations that appear in the 9/11 Final Report1. Prior to 9/11, I was counsel to the U.S. Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Technology and Terrorism where I specialized in foreign terrorist activity in the United States and worked to pass the federal criminal and redress system in place today for identity theft. Today I focus on issues pertaining to border and identity security and its nexus to national security issues. In September I released an extensive report on E-Verify, and this past March a statistical analysis regarding current use of E-Verify. These two reports will be the focus of this testimony, alongside some basic facts in regard to how border issues affect national security. I have testified before the U.S. Congress ten times, and I am privileged to submit my testimony to the House Government Reform Subcommittee on Management today.
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3.
New Film Explores Collision of Cultures in California
By Jerry Kammer
CIS Blog, July 31, 2009
http://cis.org/kammer/film
Excerpt: Mexican director Amat Escalante says 'Los Bastardos,' his stunningly violent new movie about two Mexican illegal immigrants in the uncaring world of California, grew out of his own experiences living there as a child.
'The story comes from this uneasiness I have because of living there for a long time, and from wanting to show how these two cultures could come to collide and to break down in some way,' Escalante says in today's edition of the Mexico City newspaper Reforma.
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4.
He's Just Not That Into You
By Mark Krikorian
CIS Blog, July 30, 2009
http://cis.org/Krikorian/ActivistsPicketObama
Excerpt: Schadenfreude alert: 'Obama loses immigration allies; Activists picket, feel betrayed by administration policies.' Actually, though, I'm sure Rahm Emanuel chuckles appreciatively anytime the lefties accuse the White House of being too tough on immigration — if I didn't know better, I'd think he put them up to it just to make Obama (falsely) look tough on enforcement.
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5.
The Cosmic Race
By Mark Krikorian
CIS Blog, July 29, 2009
http://cis.org/Krikorian/MeaningOfLaRaza
Excerpt: The National Council of La Raza has just wrapped up its annual conference in Chicago. While I think Tom Tancredo was engaging in hyperbole when he described La Raza as 'a Latino KKK without the hoods or the nooses' (that describes instead MEChA and the Brown Berets), there's more to the comparison than people might realize.
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6.
'The Basic Goal Is to Promote the Free Flow of Labor into the USA'
By Mark Krikorian
CIS Blog, July 28, 2009
http://cis.org/Krikorian/OpenBordersMeeting-GrovreNorquist
Excerpt: Jim Robb of Numbers USA has some fun with the notes (taken by a participant who grew a conscience) of a closed-door meeting of open-borders lobbyists. It was organized by amnesty czarina Tamar Jacoby, who's the source of the title of this post. None of it's all that surprising — rope-selling businessmen complaining that even in this econony they need more cheap labor. One thing that was notable was that right after lefty wonk Simon Rosenberg said 'Passing CIR [amnesty and increased immigration] will help Democrats lock in the Hispanic vote,' Grover Norquist chimed in to agree that we need amnesty and more immigration. Who's side is he on?
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7.
PASS ID Act: A Boon for Criminals
By Janice Kephart
CIS Blog, July 27, 2009
http://cis.org/kephart/laflamme
Excerpt: In November 2008, an illegal immigrant facing deportation and running for political office in Rhode Island was prosecuted and found guilty of using her position as a Rhode Island DMV clerk to sell driver's licenses to 'out of state' drug dealers with stolen identities. The scam included 11 others. The beauty of the scam was that the DMV clerk, Dolores Rodriguez LaFlamme, was able to pursue her illegal activity because Rhode Island does not verify an applicant's license information from another state.
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8.
'If Mexico had had an avalanche of foreigners so large'
By Jerry Kammer
CIS Blog, July 24, 2009
http://cis.org/kammer/sarmiento
Excerpt: Sergio Sarmiento, a renowned Mexican journalist whose column is syndicated throughout that country, has some interesting observations about the immigration controversy north of the border.
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9.
More Slaves, Please
By Mark Krikorian
CIS Blog, July 22, 2009
http://cis.org/Krikorian/JorgeCastaneda-TamarJacoby-Guestworkers
Excerpt: An op-ed in yesterday's Post is titled 'Immigration Pitfall: Why 'Legalization Only' Won't Fly' and I thought to myself it'd be worth a look to see what pro-enforcement arguments might have made it into the paper. Then I saw the authors and figured out what was up. Penned by former Mexican foreign minister Jorge Castaneda and amnesty czarina Tamar Jacoby, now head of a business-oriented open-borders lobby, the piece argues that amnesty must be coupled with increases in future guest-worker programs if it is to be acceptable to business or to Mexico. (The word 'enforcement' appears just once in the whole piece.) It's actually a good sign politically, because it signals the deep disaffection between the right and left wings of the 'comprehensive immigration reform' crowd, with the lefties figuring their man is in charge now so they can stop pretending to care what rope-selling businesses think. That makes both amnesty and increased immigration less likely, and thus America better off.
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10.
Court Crusader Against Illegal Immigration
By Mark Krikorian
CIS Blog, July 21, 2009
http://cis.org/Krikorian/KrisKobach
Excerpt: There's a fair, even-handed profile in the Times today of Kris Kobach, the law professor who's taken the lead role in legal advocacy for local communities seeking to implement their own immigration-related ordinances. (See his CIS report). My only quibble with the article is the headline writer's description that 'a lawyer uses the legal system to try to bring policy change,' based on the reporter's observation that Kobach's activism represents his 're-thinking the conservative tenet that the courts should not be a forum for policy change.' It's the Left that uses the courts that way, seeking to overturn laws duly enacted by the elected representatives of the people. Kobach's fight is precisely the opposite, and precisely what conservatives have been doing for years — defending laws passed by communities against legal assaults from the Left.
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11.
No Green Cards for Grads
By John Miano
CIS Blog, July 20, 2009
http://cis.org/miano/grads
Excerpt: The U.S. currently has the very sensible policy of not allowing student visas to be the gateway to immigration. Currently the law requires that those seeking student visas must prove they intend only to come to the U.S. to study and will return home at the completion of their studies. There are, however, mechanisms for some students to remain in the U.S. after graduation. Still, as a general policy, the immigration system expects that one comes to the U.S. on a student visa only to be a student.
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12.
Think Globally? On the Whole, I’d Rather Not: Interviewing on Al Jazeera
By Stephen Steinlight
CIS Blog, July 20, 2009
http://cis.org/steinlight/aljazeera
Excerpt: Recently I gave an interview to Al Jazeera English to be aired on a TV show about 'Unemployed Day Laborers in New York City.' When the host called to invite me, the topic initially struck me as oddly narrow and provincial, arguably even a tad esoteric for an audience Al Jazeera claims spans several continents. (I was told the service is 'hip,' multicultural, and has a broad range of viewers.) Nor was it immediately clear to me what my role was to be considering my professional focus. But I was starting out with several mistaken assumptions. I was thinking too abstractly and disinterestedly; the image in my head was an audience curious about American national affairs, the impact of the recession, its social fallout (the show would provide the 'worm's eye view'), and public policy per se. That snap judgment couldn't have been more erroneous. Whenever the show is aired, thousands of viewers will be watching with intense personal interest about a subject that couldn't be more concrete and immediate for them. It will directly address their own lives, and they'll be watching because their economic interests are at stake.
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Sunday, August 02, 2009
Returning Her Stuff
Now that she was gone, he felt utterly alone.
He couldn't believe it hadn't been a month yet. He added up the days and saw it was only 23 since she'd told him and only 11 since he'd emailed her and told her how he felt aka that he never wanted to talk to her again.
He was shocked that she hadn't come crawling back. He'd felt sure they still had a charge left. That they had at least two more break-ups in them. That she wouldn't want to go on without him. That she'd feel empty without him and wouldn't want to go on. He was irreplacable.
Now he saw that she was irreplacable.
He felt utterly alone.
He could no longer lose himself in her body, in her soul, in dreams of the two of them growing old together.
He had to face his low social status, how few girls wanted him, how, precisely, no hot chicks in Los Angeles wanted him.
He had to walk down Pico Blvd and receive not one sincere "Shabbat shalom."
He had to force himself to shul and then to battle his claustrophobia until he'd put in at least half an hour before walking home. Alone.
He told himself that it was better that they ended now. She wasn't religious. She hated Orthodox Judaism. How could he have been so foolish as to expect fidelity from a pagan?
They'd never discussed if they were monogamous. He had taken it for granted, but all along he'd felt like he was punching above his weight class, that she was out of his league, and that the only reason she felt OK hooking up with him was that she had things going on the side.
She never called him her boyfriend. She'd only once said, "I love you!", and that was when he'd given her every one of his five inches (a week later, she claimed not to remember saying this, that she'd gotten together with him for the sex but had grown fond of him and didn't know what to do, he remembered now that was their last night together).
Upon her asking him July 9 how he felt about her "fooling around" with her ex-girlfriend the night of July 3, Shabbat!, he'd felt sick for days and now he saw everything they'd shared together in a new light, the blinding light of a horror film. Those few days after they first had sex, when she said she'd gone alone to a hotel in Santa Monica to spend the weekend, he'd felt sick.
Alone? Right. Who goes alone to spend the weekend in a hotel? That made no sense.
When she said she had to do her routine on Friday nights of boxing and going to a movie alone, well, he realized now she probably wasn't alone.
He drowned his worries in movies. And then he tossed and turned and tried to sleep.
Shortly after 4 a.m. Sunday he finally drifted off and dreamed they were talking things out.
"How many people have you been with since we started?" he asked.
"Four," she said.
He woke up.
It was 4:42 a.m.
He put on the fourth CD of Julia Cameron's "Walking in this World: The Practical Art of Creativity."
He realized he needed to get rid of her stuff. Sunday morning would be the best time. He'd be least likely to run into her or her lovers. He'd wait until light to return her stuff, but for now he would gather it all up and put it in a bag.
He went to his upper left drawer and wedged it open. He saw her pink undies and grey bra. He gathered them to his face and breathed in.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to take them to bed and put them on his pillow and then lay his face on them and cry some more. Then he wanted to lay them out geometrically and remember how she was when she was with him.
But they had no smell. She had not left her mark. There was nothing special here. Run along little white boy.
He started grabbing plastic bags from beside the frig. The first three were wet inside. The fourth was dry and he put her underwear in there along with her book by A. Scott Berg, "Maxwell Perkins: Editor of Genius."
He wanted to add something to the bag, some eloquent way to say goodbye.
He brought his attention to his bowels and realized they were empty, so he went back to bed and listened to the path of the artist.
At 5:40 a.m., he rose for his ritual cold shower. The tub was dirty. If he ever got a woman again in the hovel, he'd definitely have to clean up.
He brushed his teeth and his tongue until he retched.
He said "Moden Ani" and put on his tzitzit and said the right bracha.
He ate two FRS lemon lime energy chews -- no hashgacha -- without a bracha.
He put on his white Apple t-shirt (it was wet and cold, the dryer at the ghetto cleaner late Friday afternoon didn't work) and his blue jeans and his black yarmulke.
He walked through the early morning mist. It felt wet on his face. I'll write "He walked through the early morning mist," he thought.
He looked both ways on Pico Blvd and then ran across to his ex-girlfriend's apartment where he kept his car in her garage. He'd put more than that in her garage if she wasn't so fat.
After moving her little thing out of the way, he fired up his monster and to his surprise, it caught right away. He decided he'd do a writing exercise when he got home -- 50 Things I Like About Myself.
He thought about his therapist who first did that exercise with him last year. Their last session would be in eight days. She'd promised a "good, positive ending."
Hah!
All women leave.
No endings of anything good were positive.
Arriving at his PO Box, he turned the key, moved the LA Times inside, and saw the same black woman sitting at her same seat by the phone.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"About 6:30," he said and got his magazines and his cell-phone bill.
He drove north on La Cienega to Santa Monica. Then he turned right for a mile and then right again and parked beside a fire hydrant.
His adrenalin pumped. He felt like a stalker. He figured the odds were about 1 in 20 of running into her or one of her lovers. Perhaps she'd be walking the dog and he'd hand off her stuff without a word.
He couldn't see her car and imagined she spent the night somewhere else.
He walked down the street looking for her yellow apartment building and then he saw her car and it looked clean and neat. Nothing in it said, "I'm a cheater!"
He stared at her car and remembered she was a responsible woman. Perhaps she had always told the truth? After all, he'd never caught her in a lie. She had told him she'd cheated.
He walked towards the third and final stairway. His blood rushed into his face. He imagined he'd hear shrieks of ecstasy as he climbed the stairs and they'd be answered by either a man or a woman. He hoped it would be a woman. He hoped she wasn't getting a lot of cock. He hoped she wasn't getting black cock.
Either way, he decided, it would be good for his writing. He'd sit on the stairs for a minute and listen to her getting porked and it would drive him to write.
She had always said she was intuitive. Perhaps she sensed that he was coming and she'd hear his step and she'd fling open the door and embrace him. He'd turn to leave and she'd say, "Luke, I wasn't with anyone but you," and then he turn back to her and go inside her and take possession of the Promised Land that God had given him.
He walked up the stairs and it wasn't what he expected. He could hear nothing. He put the bag against her door and paused for a second.
When it didn't fly open, he turned around and tripped down the stairs and on the bottom one, he finally fell.
He tumbled silently to the cement and skinned his left knee and right wrist.
Pushing himself up and walking away, he felt relieved that nothing was broken. How humiliating and yet how perfect that would be. He'd have to ring her doorbell and tell her to call an ambulance. And her door would be opened by the other woman and his downfall would be complete.
He drove to Melrose and turned right and had to wait for the light at Fairfax. He checked his cell phone. She hadn't called.
By the time he was a mile away, by the time he'd crossed Wilshire, he felt relieved.
As he walked home, through the squeaking of his new shoes, he felt lighter and taller. He was careful not to over-stride and he thought forward and up.
He couldn't believe it hadn't been a month yet. He added up the days and saw it was only 23 since she'd told him and only 11 since he'd emailed her and told her how he felt aka that he never wanted to talk to her again.
He was shocked that she hadn't come crawling back. He'd felt sure they still had a charge left. That they had at least two more break-ups in them. That she wouldn't want to go on without him. That she'd feel empty without him and wouldn't want to go on. He was irreplacable.
Now he saw that she was irreplacable.
He felt utterly alone.
He could no longer lose himself in her body, in her soul, in dreams of the two of them growing old together.
He had to face his low social status, how few girls wanted him, how, precisely, no hot chicks in Los Angeles wanted him.
He had to walk down Pico Blvd and receive not one sincere "Shabbat shalom."
He had to force himself to shul and then to battle his claustrophobia until he'd put in at least half an hour before walking home. Alone.
He told himself that it was better that they ended now. She wasn't religious. She hated Orthodox Judaism. How could he have been so foolish as to expect fidelity from a pagan?
They'd never discussed if they were monogamous. He had taken it for granted, but all along he'd felt like he was punching above his weight class, that she was out of his league, and that the only reason she felt OK hooking up with him was that she had things going on the side.
She never called him her boyfriend. She'd only once said, "I love you!", and that was when he'd given her every one of his five inches (a week later, she claimed not to remember saying this, that she'd gotten together with him for the sex but had grown fond of him and didn't know what to do, he remembered now that was their last night together).
Upon her asking him July 9 how he felt about her "fooling around" with her ex-girlfriend the night of July 3, Shabbat!, he'd felt sick for days and now he saw everything they'd shared together in a new light, the blinding light of a horror film. Those few days after they first had sex, when she said she'd gone alone to a hotel in Santa Monica to spend the weekend, he'd felt sick.
Alone? Right. Who goes alone to spend the weekend in a hotel? That made no sense.
When she said she had to do her routine on Friday nights of boxing and going to a movie alone, well, he realized now she probably wasn't alone.
He drowned his worries in movies. And then he tossed and turned and tried to sleep.
Shortly after 4 a.m. Sunday he finally drifted off and dreamed they were talking things out.
"How many people have you been with since we started?" he asked.
"Four," she said.
He woke up.
It was 4:42 a.m.
He put on the fourth CD of Julia Cameron's "Walking in this World: The Practical Art of Creativity."
He realized he needed to get rid of her stuff. Sunday morning would be the best time. He'd be least likely to run into her or her lovers. He'd wait until light to return her stuff, but for now he would gather it all up and put it in a bag.
He went to his upper left drawer and wedged it open. He saw her pink undies and grey bra. He gathered them to his face and breathed in.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to take them to bed and put them on his pillow and then lay his face on them and cry some more. Then he wanted to lay them out geometrically and remember how she was when she was with him.
But they had no smell. She had not left her mark. There was nothing special here. Run along little white boy.
He started grabbing plastic bags from beside the frig. The first three were wet inside. The fourth was dry and he put her underwear in there along with her book by A. Scott Berg, "Maxwell Perkins: Editor of Genius."
He wanted to add something to the bag, some eloquent way to say goodbye.
He brought his attention to his bowels and realized they were empty, so he went back to bed and listened to the path of the artist.
At 5:40 a.m., he rose for his ritual cold shower. The tub was dirty. If he ever got a woman again in the hovel, he'd definitely have to clean up.
He brushed his teeth and his tongue until he retched.
He said "Moden Ani" and put on his tzitzit and said the right bracha.
He ate two FRS lemon lime energy chews -- no hashgacha -- without a bracha.
He put on his white Apple t-shirt (it was wet and cold, the dryer at the ghetto cleaner late Friday afternoon didn't work) and his blue jeans and his black yarmulke.
He walked through the early morning mist. It felt wet on his face. I'll write "He walked through the early morning mist," he thought.
He looked both ways on Pico Blvd and then ran across to his ex-girlfriend's apartment where he kept his car in her garage. He'd put more than that in her garage if she wasn't so fat.
After moving her little thing out of the way, he fired up his monster and to his surprise, it caught right away. He decided he'd do a writing exercise when he got home -- 50 Things I Like About Myself.
He thought about his therapist who first did that exercise with him last year. Their last session would be in eight days. She'd promised a "good, positive ending."
Hah!
All women leave.
No endings of anything good were positive.
Arriving at his PO Box, he turned the key, moved the LA Times inside, and saw the same black woman sitting at her same seat by the phone.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"About 6:30," he said and got his magazines and his cell-phone bill.
He drove north on La Cienega to Santa Monica. Then he turned right for a mile and then right again and parked beside a fire hydrant.
His adrenalin pumped. He felt like a stalker. He figured the odds were about 1 in 20 of running into her or one of her lovers. Perhaps she'd be walking the dog and he'd hand off her stuff without a word.
He couldn't see her car and imagined she spent the night somewhere else.
He walked down the street looking for her yellow apartment building and then he saw her car and it looked clean and neat. Nothing in it said, "I'm a cheater!"
He stared at her car and remembered she was a responsible woman. Perhaps she had always told the truth? After all, he'd never caught her in a lie. She had told him she'd cheated.
He walked towards the third and final stairway. His blood rushed into his face. He imagined he'd hear shrieks of ecstasy as he climbed the stairs and they'd be answered by either a man or a woman. He hoped it would be a woman. He hoped she wasn't getting a lot of cock. He hoped she wasn't getting black cock.
Either way, he decided, it would be good for his writing. He'd sit on the stairs for a minute and listen to her getting porked and it would drive him to write.
She had always said she was intuitive. Perhaps she sensed that he was coming and she'd hear his step and she'd fling open the door and embrace him. He'd turn to leave and she'd say, "Luke, I wasn't with anyone but you," and then he turn back to her and go inside her and take possession of the Promised Land that God had given him.
He walked up the stairs and it wasn't what he expected. He could hear nothing. He put the bag against her door and paused for a second.
When it didn't fly open, he turned around and tripped down the stairs and on the bottom one, he finally fell.
He tumbled silently to the cement and skinned his left knee and right wrist.
Pushing himself up and walking away, he felt relieved that nothing was broken. How humiliating and yet how perfect that would be. He'd have to ring her doorbell and tell her to call an ambulance. And her door would be opened by the other woman and his downfall would be complete.
He drove to Melrose and turned right and had to wait for the light at Fairfax. He checked his cell phone. She hadn't called.
By the time he was a mile away, by the time he'd crossed Wilshire, he felt relieved.
As he walked home, through the squeaking of his new shoes, he felt lighter and taller. He was careful not to over-stride and he thought forward and up.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Love in the Time of Pets
Khunrum emails: I could write an interesting short story on dating women with pets. The beasts always eye you like you're there to toss them in the stew pot. Women insist on sleeping with them. The litter box smells to high heaven. Fleas. A friend was doing the boom boom with a lady and her cat peed on his suit. Another chum was going at it on the couch when her dog trotted over and took a smelly dump right next to them. I was sleeping uncomfortably one evening when something crawled over my face. I thought it was a rat and woke up in mild terror. It was her cat. I got dressed and went home. You'd think a single gal would increase her chances of landing a guy by going petless until the poor bastard said "I DO". But no....they must have that dog or cat to sleep with. Thank G-d I married a lady from a country where dogs and cats could eventually end up on the barbeque spit. No pets in this house.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Day I Knew The Relationship Was Doomed
Talking to her on the phone that Sunday, I realized the only way I would see her that day would be if she could fit me in around her dog-sitting.
She finally invited me to dinner that night at the home of friends.
I took a shower after yoga but was not sure how to dress as she would be accompanied by her friend's big black dog.
We went to Trader Joe's so she could pick up wine.
Though plenty of kosher wines were available, she deliberately chose non-kosher wine.
Over dinner, she had a couple of glasses. That bothered me because she was driving us home.
Drink and drive on your own time, woman!
Her conversation that evening was 50% about dogs. A minute of conversation about dogs is about all I can handle before my eyes glaze over.
I wouldn't talk about football for an hour over dinner if I knew that at least half of my audience had zero interest in the topic.
When she dropped me off, we hugged for a minute in the car (with the big black dog drooling over us) but anything further was not possible because of the dog.
A bunch of little things that day made me realize I didn't rate very highly in her priorities.
That was the night I gave up on us.
I kept seeing her for a few weeks out of inertia but then we ended with a bang.
She finally invited me to dinner that night at the home of friends.
I took a shower after yoga but was not sure how to dress as she would be accompanied by her friend's big black dog.
We went to Trader Joe's so she could pick up wine.
Though plenty of kosher wines were available, she deliberately chose non-kosher wine.
Over dinner, she had a couple of glasses. That bothered me because she was driving us home.
Drink and drive on your own time, woman!
Her conversation that evening was 50% about dogs. A minute of conversation about dogs is about all I can handle before my eyes glaze over.
I wouldn't talk about football for an hour over dinner if I knew that at least half of my audience had zero interest in the topic.
When she dropped me off, we hugged for a minute in the car (with the big black dog drooling over us) but anything further was not possible because of the dog.
A bunch of little things that day made me realize I didn't rate very highly in her priorities.
That was the night I gave up on us.
I kept seeing her for a few weeks out of inertia but then we ended with a bang.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Scenes From A Shabbos Table
The father walks around and gives brachas (blessings) to his children. Then his wife says her husband will give blessings to anyone who wants one. That the neighbor, a lady in her eighties, got her first blessing of her life at this Shabbos table and she broke down in tears.
"I can see how deeply moved your boy was by his bracha," I said. "Look at how he is sawing at his wrist with his knife."
The bloody kid was sliding the knife back and forth.
"I can see how deeply moved your boy was by his bracha," I said. "Look at how he is sawing at his wrist with his knife."
The bloody kid was sliding the knife back and forth.
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