I try to be openminded. Besides, being 26 means you're supposed to have weird dating stories. So I went out with him.
He called me when he was outside my house. I opened the door to the borrowed suburban and got a heady whiff of too much deoderant probably covering something else up. I got inside and the first thing I noticed was oily peyos.
The car was freezing and in an effort to avoid conversation I crossed my arms instead of asking him to turn it down. A small blue cut out car covered in small hearts and stickers lay in the dashboard. I assumed he had not made it for me.
He noticed my discomfort and asked if I was cold. I concurred. He turned off the AC. Off. Despite the 90 something degree weather outside. We rode in sweat and oil at 20 mph. He asked where we were going. I suggested Nyack. He said that was too far. I suggested the Woodcliff lake hilton. He asked if there was anything closer. I politely told him no. He drove on, asking every few seconds if we were much further.
A yeshivish couple beat us to the lounge. They were languidly playing a game of rummikub, occasionally conversing about kugel and sisters. I listened politely, asked questions when appropriate, and tried to sit straight. He asked what he could get to drink that would be kosher. I said soda. I ordered water. He asked for soda but saw they had a tap and said I can't drink from there. I'll have water.
He spoke about technical aspects of photography that made me feel unknowing. Then for a long time about something with learning and senses which I missed because I wasn't listening. Then about his music which was undoubtedly interesting. Then pressed me for what I do for fun. But you must do something else. What do you do. I climb walls and pull ivy off houses. Leave me alone.
I yawned seventeen times in eighteen minutes and he asked if I wanted to go home. I asked him what time it was to be sure I wasn't cheating him of his investment. It was already a little over an hour so I said that yes I needed to go to sleep.
We got into the car only this time it had an overwhelming stench of baby formula. We drove back at 22 mph. The date had given him the confidence to go the extra 2 I suppose.
He dropped me off and drove off as I walked away long before I reached the door. I barely noticed.
I graduated from live journal a while ago and haven't given it much thought since. But in the past two days, two people told me they visit daily wishing for new entries, one person referred me to something I wrote two years ago when I turned 24, and one person commented on the fact that i have a blog, which clearly I no longer do.
Couple that with the momentous occasion of my birthday yesterday, which usually means long or at least short tidbits of my gutteral birthday reactions, and it was clearly time for a post.
So i'm posting.
So much has happened since I posted last. Actually, I dont remember when I posted last. But I think a lot has changed. I mean a lot has changed since two days ago.
With none of the stress and sadness of turning 24. None of the prebirthday angst of 25.
Just the pure joy of the number that shares the gematria of g-d's name.
I just think 26 is sexy.
Somehow it seems like a really latent number. The type that is about to burst with sticky sweet pungent fruit juice.
Actually, I don't know why I like it so much. I didn't think I would.
But it's cool.
I announced it to a guy I bumped into on the street last nite. I said I'm 26 as he rushed by trying to avoid the creeps of New York.
I announced it when I grabbed my friend's phone and answered it for her in a fit of joyful passion as I climbed on top of her car.
I announced it to the sales guy who sold me perfume I'm not sure I like yesterday afternoon in Neiman Marcus.
And now I'm announcing it here.
I'm 26, y'all!
Isn't that awesome?
He emailed this to me as a joke but I think its fabulous:
I see you on a date I’ll walk over and tell the guy
“You have no idea how lucky you are – don’t you dare
let this one go!” Or better yet, I’ll walk over and
completely ignore the guy, look at you directly as if
we never met before and say, “I hate to disturb your
date but I just had to say hi. Here’s my card - please
call me if this doesn’t work out.”
Wed, Mar. 21st, 2007, 10:40 am
I was sitting in my driveway at the culmination of another glorious first date, having an involved shidduch date conversation when it occured to me how absolutely hilarious it would be to film the conversation as it happened and post it on you tube. I told him the idea and he got a huge kick out of it too. Almost makes me want to go out with him again just to bring my video camera. Only I don't have one.
Tue, Mar. 20th, 2007, 12:02 pm
Its such a blatant juxtoposition of logic and emotion and I'm almost mad at my logic for winning. I dumped someone I liked and I still like him but don't think he's good for me. Don't really want to think he's good for me I guess. I did go into our last date sort of looking for an out but he gave me the out so neatly packaged that I couldn't not take it. It was so obvious that I shouldn't give it another shot. And yet I'm still a bit obsessed with him. Or maybe I'm just bored.
Wed, Mar. 14th, 2007, 11:45 am
On the plane last night something fabulous occured to me.
You know how everyone says that the beginning of marriage, the part that is passionate and exciting and smolderingly wonderful never lasts? That no matter how incredible that initial passion is, it is always fleeting?
If I had gotten married young, that part would be over.
In other news, I'm contemplating going from my generally uncaffeinated existence to a hopeless caffeine reliance. I'm so bored of being tired and enamored with the idea of how pumped I'd be on four cups a day.
Tue, Mar. 6th, 2007, 06:42 pm
Is it loneliness or the 2007 constant urge for something more? I feel alone so I check my email to see if it can provide me with some company. I work in a ghost building with at least 24 suites that I counted and a parking lot full of cars and not a single human being in the halls. I'm cleaning out my old pictures and see how different I look now then I did six years ago. Its scary that I'm aging. Not bad aging. Just getting and looking older. I'm completely free associating here instead of writing. What the heck whose reading anyway other than those of you who email me. Yes for those who think I'm lame for not getting any comments, I do get emails. And I kind of write this for myself anyway. Emphasis on the kind of.
Mon, Mar. 5th, 2007, 09:29 am
Life in Red
It took me six stores until I found temporary red hair dye. I could barely restrain myself until Purim night to use it. Beautiful long red hair. I was ridiculously excited.
I put it in and at first we thought it didn't look that red. Then it was blow dryed. And its not strawberry red but its a good fire red. I thought it looked silly on me but figured I could deal with it for a couple days. Then, as I ran it through my fingers and brushed it back with my hands, I began to like it. Long red tresses growing out of my very own scalp.
Until I looked in the mirror. Every time I look at myself, I do a double take. Is that really me? It doesn't feel like me. They're my eyes, my lips, my face, but that isn't really me.
A few people told me I should consider becoming a long term redhead. They told me how it looked so natural on me and so beautiful. But when I look at myself I don't see me with red hair. I see someone else.
Which makes me wonder. Is that how I see myself? As a girl with blonde hair? As soon as my hair is another color, am I no longer myself?
I would never want a guy to be interested in me solely because he likes the way I look. This external shell in which I am cased is not me. But every time the guy in the gas station looked at me or the cop at the ezpass booth who reprimanded me for not having ezpass in my car looked at me i wanted to tell them, this is not really me. You're not looking at me. Its an imposter.
For my friends and family and anyone who knows me, I got a kick out of them seeing me with fiery red locks. Look what I did. Haha. But when guys at a party started talking to me my first comment had to be I don't really have red hair. This person that you are looking at and talking to is not really me. Its just a temporary character taking my place.
Which is kind of frightening. Do I identify my outide as who I am? When I'm not looking in the mirror, I feel just the same. But when I do see my reflection, its like someone else is looking back at me. Who is she?
Youve left this place
without a trace
with your makeup case
and gloss and base
and lots of lace
and all your grace
so now that this place
has a bit more space
and a lot less grace
i wanted to say
that i miss your face
on hilltop place
Tue, Feb. 27th, 2007, 11:20 pm
I knew the roads would be bad but I refused to get stuck in the G-d forsaken city of Montreal for the weekend. The work week had been hard enough for me. I needed to get home to my bed and my life and my friends whatever the cost.
The going was really slow and my car had no idea how to deal with the snow and ice on the roads. I thought of turning around and almost started to cry. I decided I'd continue driving as long as there was daylight and then as the sun set and I hit Lake George I'd stop for the night in a hotel and continue in the morning.
After two hours of slow going and oft skidding, I finally reached the border. And all the booths were closed. Apparently, the border control guys were too cold to hang out in their booths. I parked my car, and along with the other stragglers headed for the US, went to the indoor kiosk.
There was a jewish guy inside. A twenty or thirty something jewish guy. A not bad looking twenty or thirty something jewish guy. But my heartbeat didn't speed up. Of course he'd be married or would have a terrible lisp or the personality of a dead turtle. And if not he certainly wouldn't talk to me.
Where you headed? A voice asked. I turned around expecting it to be the trucker with the belly and beard but it was mister jewish. Well I live in Monsey I told him but I'm not sure if I'll make it tonight. He told me that he lived in Queens and was in a similar predicament. He'd already checked out hotel prices and was going to reserve one when he got back to his car. Aha. How nice. Silence.
I turned back around to head the front of the line. He said something else. I laughed. He smiled. Silence again. The line was moving slowly. Again the voice. So, it asked, you're single I guess? Mmm hmm I said noncommitally. Ready to hear the question of whether I knew his wife. A different one took its place.
Can I buy you dinner tonight? Not one I'm used to hearing. Um, I don't even know you I told him. But I'm a nice jewish boy he told me. How nice I asked? Nice enough to cover the charge of a whole can of tuna on this snowy thursday evening. I had to admit that was pretty nice. How Jewish I retorted? I learnt in yeshiva until pretty recently and just went into my uncle's business. And I did have the traditional eight day ceremony. He was jewish and nice. And funny. My heart started doing that funny vibrating thing I hate because it means I might be crushed. I smiled and he smiled back. And winked.
His eyes were deep brown and his eyelashes a little too long for a guy. I was melting. We exchanged a bit more banter and then it was my turn to prove my need to cross into the land of the free. I aced the border test and was free to go.
Awkwardness as I headed for the door without exchanging contact info. Wait he said. I didn't get your number. I magnanimously granted it to the dashing gentleman in the down jacket.
I smiled all the way to lake george. Checked into the first hotel I saw. Smiled as I took my luggage upstairs. Smirked as I made some phone calls. And then the edges of my smile began to droop. 6 30 no phone call. 7. still nothing. 7 15. 7 45. Time to head out for my own tuna. I started crying and washed my face, afraid I'd meet him in line at the stop n shop and he'd laugh at my vulnerability. I wished I had his number to call him and then was glad I didn't have it to make myself look stupid.
Watched dumb reruns on TV until 1 am and my phone didn't ring once. Didnt even vibrate.