A lot of girls are called “crazy” by men they date, but are the women crazy or do the men drive them crazy? What comes first, the chicken or the egg? Some women put on a fake persona on a first date and in the beginning of a relationship because they are afraid to be themselves and they want to be what they think the man wants. So when their true selves start to come through, the woman can end up looking like a bonafide lunatic. Some women are being true to themselves, but are trying to temper their personalities a bit in an effort to be conservative and safe. So when they suddenly let out more of their personality they can appear certifiable. Then there are the times that a man just simply drives a sane woman crazy! Try to reel in the crazy ladies. Be yourself and don’t let the stress of dating make you into something you’re not. Try to keep it all in perspective and depart your date with your pride.
Archive for August, 2012
This morning I awoke with my mouth wide open and limbs spread across the mattress. I was half asleep and I sensed that my husband was awake, yet I couldn’t close my mouth completely as my lips were dry and I couldn’t position my legs in a graceful manner because, well, I was just too darn comfortable. Frankly I didn’t care if he thought I looked silly, but I’m already married to him so I chose not to care.
But you’re not married yet, so you should care.
Everyone likes to cuddle, but guess what? It’s not comfortable to fall asleep that way. Even if you do doze off, you will end up on your side of the bed by morning. So what do you look like sleeping? Do you cling to the side of the mattress or do you end up in the middle of the bed pushing your mate over? Do you tuck your hands under your pillow and curl up into the fetal position or do you flail your arms and smack your partner in the face in the night? Are you a nose or a mouth breather? Do you wake up with crusty eyes and a dry mouth (if so, you should drink more water and possibly sleep with a humidifier) or are you fabulous enough to wake up with sexy bedhead hair?
There’s not much you can do about how you sleep, aside from brushing your teeth and washing your face before bed, but you can try to control your positioning with pillows and keep a glass of water and a breath mint at the side of your bed. People don’t always sleep pretty so don’t put too much pressure on yourself to wake up with a full face of makeup like the gals on TV (see: Kim Kardashian) and be reassured that your boyfriend/girlfriend is as concerned with their breath, morning wood, body odor, etc as you are.
I only have ten minutes to write this post. It’s hard to write under pressure. It’s even harder to write not under pressure. Sit in your room in front of your computer on a weekend and see if you can write anything meaningful, funny, or in any way legible. You have things to do! Shut up, shove that beef jerky into your mouth and go back to sleep! There are things to do starting Monday, and they’re not going to get done if you wear yourself out on Sunday writing words.
I now have one minute to write this post. I spent nine minutes writing the dumbest, shortest paragraph I’ve ever written. I am not sure if I I’ve run out of things to write about, or if I no longer have an original thought. I’m just going to start listing things that I see here in this office, in my mom’s house, where I’m writing this tonight. Stapler. Telephone. Olivia. Printer. A book, which looks to be titled, Fifty Shades of Grey. And I am officially writing the rest of this post with my eyes closed.
Now, not only do I have nothing to write about, but I have these horrible images in my head that should never, ever be there. Quick! Think about the stapler. Good lord the stapler! Dammit! I only made the stapler up because I couldn’t find anything else in this room. However, the copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, lying right beside me, is extremely real. I can’t finish a post about online dating while thinking about the fact that my mother owns, and most probably reads, this book.
I suppose I can think of something romantic going on in the news. Women’s Olympic weightlifting. Mitt Romney. Unrest in the Middle East. Fifty Shades of Grey. I can no longer write any more.
They say that age is just a number. Well, whoever “they” is has clearly not been on many dates. There was a time when I was really frustrated dating guys in their 20s. None of them seem to have the attention span to keep a girlfriend. So I decided to give dating older guys a shot. And then I realized that they were just a little too old for me, a little too figured out. I would hear myself complain about it and I sounded like the Goldilocks of men’s ages. This one’s too old. This one’s too young. Does anyone have markers so I can make a sign saying, “Wanted: JUST RIGHT”?
I’ve even developed a test to measure a guy’s age to his maturity level. It started when I was on a sixth date with someone who was almost 9 years older than me. I liked everything about him. He was nice, smart, hard working, and our families had a lot in common, but I couldn’t put my finger on one thing. What did he do for fun? I finally asked him this very question and he without missing a beat goes, “I don’t really know.” How does a person not know what they do for fun? Seriously. And then I asked THE question. The most important question for me to determine just how much one can let loose, not give a damn, and just enjoy life.
Me: Okay… but when was the last time you had like a fun drunk karaoke night?
Him: (long, long pause) 1998.
Me: That was the last time you really had fun like that?
Him: (shrug) Yeah.
Do I even need to tell you that this was the last date? It wasn’t the karaoke thing that was the deal-breaker. It was the fact that it had been 14 years(!) since he had a let-your-hair-down-Facebook-picture-worthy night. FOURTEEN years! Titanic was still in theaters the last time he had fun. Britney Spears was still a virgin. There was no such thing as an iPhone. I had a Tama-freakin-gatchi. I mean, this was a long, long time ago. When was my last fun drunk karaoke night? Two weeks ago to the day. But I have fun nights where I find myself smiling as if I have a hanger stuck in my mouth pretty often. And that’s a requirement for any guy I date. I instantly knew it was time to reel in the gap and date guys closer to my own age, even if they might not be as ready for a relationship as I am. I want to find someone to grow up with, not grow into. That poor guy though. He will never know that he was just one Livin’ On a Prayer away from a Total Eclipse of The Heart.
June 21st, 2008 I was in Tel Aviv hanging out with some friends. After leaving the clubs we went to a cafe where the table next to us was having their palms read by a friend. I was intrigued and was totally eavesdropping on their conversation. The party saw my interest and sent their friend over to read my palm. There he told me I would meet my husband soon and that the beach would have a big connection. Two nights later I met my now husband at a bar on the beach, we had our first date on the beach and 15 months later were married on the beach. But I didn’t tell my husband about this chance encounter with the palm reader until many months after we met.
There are people who believe in angels, ghosts and afterlife. There are people who plan their days and chart their lives using their horoscopes. And there are the people who believe in psychics, palm readers and tarot cards. I have no idea what people are actually capable of but I’ve heard some amazing stories about communicating with spirits and of course had my own palm reading experience. It’s all very interesting, but no one on a first date wants to hear about it. Don’t ask your date what their sign is nor should you comment about the compatibility of your signs when you hear when their birthdays are. Don’t talk about speaking with your great-grandmother whose passed on to the other side nor should you mention that she told you in your dreams last night that this is your Beshert.
As cool as it is to have these experiences (or freaky, depending upon your train of thought) you don’t need to share them with new dates. Wait until you’re in a committed relationship before you share. In the meantime, watch your psychic shows in the privacy of your own home and when the time comes to share your interests you can use these shows (ie Long Island Medium) to broach the topic.
I have had a theory that I thought of right now to make this deadline. This is my theory.
Over the past twelve years or so, my life hasn’t been so great. The end of high school was basically the beginning of the end for me. Starting in about 2000, I remember watching every Olympics, every night, every two years. Up until now, I thought it was due to my love of televised athletic competition and the quest for international dominance. I always dreamed of being in the Olympics, but knew it would be difficult to convince the IOC that never having any cavities and being super nice isn’t only not a sport, it’s not anything.
This is the first Olympics I remember not really watching at all. Tonight, after thinking about it, I think I have a good reason why. Whereas before, when my life was in shambles, I turned to the Olympics as an ideal I wished to someday achieve, or at the very least something pleasant that I could fall asleep to and synchronize my dreams with the soothing voice of Bob Costas talking about champions. This is the same reason that I used to plan my life around the TV Guide. It was a nice escape.
Now, though my life is far from perfect, I don’t use television so much as a crutch, but rather as more of ancillary entertainment. Of course I’m saying this sitting directly in front of a running television, glancing up every few moments to see what’s going on in the lives of my favorite non-existent people. The following theory is not only based on no research, science, or observation, but I can guarantee you that it is completely inaccurate, and may be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever said, and when I was 19 I once asked what the word ‘moisture’ meant.
Here it goes: People that are glued to the Olympics yearn for more in their life, and people that don’t watch it too much are generally content with the way things are going. I know I’m not Michael Phelps, and I’m finally okay with that. I know that no matter how great my life gets, it will never be as good as the absolute worst moment in Phelps’ life post age 18. I would rather be Michael Phelps as a 54-year-old abusive, drunk, alcoholic than me as a 30-year-old happily married, wealthy, gorgeous man.
Here comes the bride! Natalie Portman said “I do” over the weekend to French dancer and choreographer Benjamin Millepied. The bride, who is Jewish, wed the choreographer on Saturday on the central California coast in Big Sur, according to MTV.com. Surrounded by family and friends, the pair exchanged vows after dark in a traditional Jewish ceremony at a private home.
The Oscar winner, 31, first met her 35-year-old husband in the fall of 2009 on the set of Black Swan. He worked as a choreographer on the film in which she starred. By December of 2010, the couple announced they were engaged and expecting their first child. Their baby boy, Aleph (which means “chief” or “number one” in Hebrew), was born in June of 2011. There are some serious “Mazel tovs” in order for this family!
Jewish gymnast Aly Raisman disappointingly took fourth place in the women’s gymnastics individual all-around competition at the London Olympics last week. It was a disappointment to the 18-year-old athlete because she actually tied for third place, but was dropped to fourth due to a quizzical and controversial tie-breaking rule.
Raisman says she is more sad than angry about the ruling and is still looking forward to competing on the balance beam and floor individual finals on Tuesday. The star athlete told People magazine, “I’m really excited about that. I’m just going to keep working hard and move past it. It is what it is, it’s a learning experience. I’m only human – everyone makes mistakes.”
We’re looking forward to seeing this Jewish gymnast make a comeback this week!
After consistently being cast as the dependable, affable, loving, friend-wife-girlfriend, Rashida Jones has decided to take her career in her own hands and wrote a part for herself!
The actress, whose mother is Jewish, has written a new film called Celeste and Jesse Forever. Premiering this Friday, the film stars Jones as Celeste, who is in the midst of a harsh divorce from her husband, Jesse (Andy Samberg). Jones tells the New York Times that this character is “less than likable.”
Jones made the film on a budget that she put together for less than $1 million, even though she was offered more money from a studio at one point. She turned them down because their offer allowed the studio to “reserve the right to cast somebody else if they felt like [she] wasn’t financially viable.” Dependable, affable, loving, friend-wife-girlfriend no more!
A gal likes to be in style, she likes to be on trend, hip, chic, and looking haute. But men are not turned on by ripped leggings, shoes with mini spiked studs, 2-toned skunk hair, blue nail polish, frosted pink lip gloss, or (the horror!) all of the above at the same time. Look sexy, look respectable, look young, but save the fun funky outfits for hitting the clubs. Or just pick one fad at a time. Guys are not impressed. They don’t care what labels you’re wearing. Alas, if you’re looking for a guy who does care and is impressed, then bravo! because you’ll quickly learn who is your type and who isn’t (you know, the materialistic superficial type).
Advice that people always give engaged and newly married couples is that they have to be transparent about finances. Money is often cited as the reason for a marriage’s demise. I do not think people should post what they make on their JDate profiles for many reasons (you are still a stranger at this point, you don’t want to be pre-judged, it’s no one’s business) but there are conversations you can have while dating. You need to know how your date views and values certain jobs. Teachers work hard but don’t make a lot of money – what does your date think of that? Does he or she value teachers? What about people who are born into a lucrative family business where a generous salary is imminent – does your date resent you for that? Does he or she feel it was unearned? These are serious questions that need to be asked. Again, a number doesn’t necessarily need to be divulged as no one needs to see your bank account statements yet, but knowing whether or not your date respects your line of work is important.
Once you are in a serious relationship that is headed for the chuppah, you need to have the talk including income. Are you going to combine bank accounts or keep separate accounts with a joint family account? Who is going to pay for what? Will you divide it based on percentage of income earned or will you pool everything and not think about it? When you have children, is someone going to stay home and will the other person respect that decision, including the lack of income (not to mention appreciating the unpaid job of being a stay-at-home parent)?
This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to talking about money, but don’t avoid the conversation otherwise it will come back to bite you.
The internet has completely ruined me. I don’t mean that in the arrogantly semi-sarcastic way that over-privileged twentysomethings often say it to convey that they are somehow above the social trends of their young adulthood. I mean it in the way that I, as an over-privileged twentysomething, say it to convey how the tools of the modern world have completely crushed any sense of normalcy that I was desperately clinging to during my teenage years.
I have a lot of obsessions. One of them, which I think that some people will be able to relate to, involves having to remember specific random facts that seem to arbitrarily pop into my head. For example, while watching a movie in the theater, I might see an actor I recognize. If I can’t remember his name, I have an overwhelming urge to know the name of this person. Before smart phones, for example, I would be forced to do nothing but sit there until my anxiety over not remembering his name was eventually quelled by whatever obsession would eventually replace it. Now, however, all I have to do is pop out my phone and annoy everybody in the theater. However, with the knowledge that any answer is in my pocket, the urge to take out my phone over every little thing becomes very strong, and I’ll often force myself to take it out about every five minutes or so, completely ruining my movie experience, while simultaneously exponentially increasing my overall anxiety and pissing off everybody sitting within five miles of me.
Outside of the movie theater, it’s no better. Wikipedia and IMDb are the two worst things ever created. This is taking grape flavored Gatorade, Ticketmaster convenience charges, and text messages that your phone failed to send, but you don’t realize it until three hours later after calling your friend and yelling at him for not answering your text into account. I don’t know what the future of technology will be, but if it continues along its current trajectory, I will be in a mental institution by 2014.
I loved the days when looking up driving directions to a girl’s house, I would have to print them out from MapQuest, and then try to read the pages while driving in the dark and crashing into a wall and then having my mom print out and run me new directions to the hospital. I hated those days.