“I’m leaning on a lamp post
At the corner of the street
In case a certain little lady comes by….”
“What are you doing Valentine’s Day? “ asked the Jewish Dobie Gillis.
“New York,” I said.
Bob wasn’t done: “You should call that girl I mentioned in Vegas. She’s got a thing for you…Trust me…I can tell these things.”
“Leave me alone,” I groaned. (We’d had the EXACT unsolicited conversation in Nevada). “Absolutely not interested, and besides….”
Then came then pronouncement only Snyder’s mentality could fashion:
“I bet she’d lose twenty pounds if you asked her to!”
“Nah.” Laughing, I ended it, or so I thought. (She wasn’t so heavy—and besides, who THINKS that way?)
“You need to listen to me more,” he said, somewhat rabbinically, with an air that told me the subject could now be closed.
I love our banter—especially about women. He always encourages me, always prompts me. (Even when I’m in one of those “content to be content” zones, which is where I’ve slid today): Would like to be “with” but getting used to being without…until….
Perhaps it’s laziness? Time was more effort was expended to meet someone. Even if it meant just being where we thought the person might stroll by. Leaning on that lamp post, just in case. I actually believed there’d be a scene like the one painted in “Some Enchanted Evening.”
Time was. When we were new divorcees, Weiskopf and I would walk the produce department at Heinen’s and with little success. He’d blanche at the big bag of dog food draped over my cart. No pet at home, but I thought it made me look like the sensitive type. (That, by the way, was my A game).
Time was. The seas of singledom have rarely been choppy and often been busy—ebbs and flows interrupted by intermittent sojourns to Match.Com (nee Love@AOL), and JDate. The cycle, alas, has become predicable.
Winter boredom drives me to JDate, which accomplishes little. I’m on my home court. Over time, everyone here meets or knows of everyone. At least in our hood. Query then: Is there any Cleveland Jew that, over the years, I haven’t tripped on, isn’t already in the Friend Zone, or that, realistically isn’t already aware of me, and, having done her due diligence, herself opted to pass?
But I enroll anyway, (throwing good money after bad). Indeed, Vegas operates on this same concept of intermittent reinforcement. Slots pay off just enough to keep hopes alive. So too with internet dating. (See Krug/Wieder, circa 2006).
It never fails, though: a few months in I always ask “Does she really have to be Jewish?” After all, I’m not having kids. And Jewish women run a D & B on you.
My support system, my panel of experts (so to speak) —they’re all married. Moreover, the feedback from the guys is mixed:
The Jews say it shouldn’t matter. Most opine that shiksas are indeed nicer, less stress. (Each, by the way, remains married within our faith). To a man, they urge me to look beyond.
The Gentiles don’t care. They don’t even see it as an issue. They do not, however, understand that when a Jewess speaks of carrying her “over the threshold” she speaks of a financial threshold.
Burnside says money’s no issue…that I don’t give people enough credit. I say he’s full of shit. Still, in recent months my confidence reigned. Boldly I phoned a few ladies from that primo zip code. Both, of course, blew me off.
Which brought me back to JDate…and Match.
We’re teasing March now. Close enough. Melting snow turning to sunshine…Coffee houses with patios reopening….
I cancelled JDate last month. The other goes soon. Like I said…the weather’s breaking. And the cycle again is turning. My weight is down, somewhat respectable. (If only I still had my bichon Adam. HE is a “chick magnet.”)
Perhaps I’ll call Snyder to hang with me. Any lamp post. He can give his advice; I’ll ignore it. We’ll laugh.
Better yet, Bobby, can bring his dog.
A Jewish woman could write in and be offended VERY easily by this written generalization. I will not, however, because you are almost right on.
But there are always exceptions – find her.
You need a Jew.
Duh.