Do I have a sign on my forehead that says, "Fix me up"?
I went on what was arguably the worst date ever. Thank God, it was neither tragic nor violent, but in the category of terribly disappointing, it was the worst.
Relationships in my life never seem to end. Guys are always calling me back, weeks, months, years later. My life is like an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie: He'll be back. After a breakup I try to remember this, that there are never any goodbyes, just au revoirs. Trickle Trickle Drip Drip.
They say that familiarity breeds contempt, but I'm thinking that when you meet so many strangers in so short a time, familiarity might just breed comfort. You see a guy's picture 20 times, you begin to feel you know him. Maybe the first time he wrote to you, you weren't sure about him -- maybe he even creeped you out -- but a year or two later he practically seems like family (possibly that family member you want to avoid, but family nonetheless).
I have a friend who answered one of these "too-good-to-be-true" ads. They met for brunch and she knew right away it wasn't going to work out because he glanced at the menu and then said, "So, do you want to split an order of toast?"
OK, I'll be absolutely honest -- I spent this past New Year's Eve alone. Sure, I could have salvaged the situation with a round of frantic last-minute calling, but I never got around to it because I had to go and get into a fight. Fortunately, I was the only one who got hurt. You see, I picked a fight with myself. And on New Year's Eve day, no less. Almost out of nowhere and with virtually no warning, I started in on myself.
There are plenty of guys with crushes on Drew Barrymore, the actress who began as a child ingénue at age 6 in "E.T." and who captivates as an adult in sexier roles like her turn as one of "Charlie's Angels."
As far as I know, there are no such things as federal laws pertaining to dating. Oh, sure, there was that book "The Rules," a few years back, but those weren't federal laws; those were simply man-made, or rather, woman-made rules or suggestions. As to why there are no federal laws governing dating -- that's a no-brainer.
A few months ago, I scribbled out a Web site, bought a camera, hired a director, raised $42,000 and embarked on a journey across
the United States.
"I'm looking for true love," I told my father, "even if she's husking corn in Iowa."
Marital advice from the under 11's.
I'll never play the violin in high heels again. OK, I'll be back in sticks in six weeks, and I never played the fiddle. But I did play an important game of volleyball.
You date. You go to dinners. The beach. A friend's showcase. You retell your charming story until you hate every polished detail.
When I went to the JDate Web site to sign up, I discovered that they had my profile from four years ago. For my preferences, I had checked single (never married), separated, divorced and widowed. But I'm older (48) and wiser now and "unchecked" single and separated. Such men do not carry a "license to date." Although our mothers wanted us to "marry Jewish," they had the wisdom to warn us that any Jewish man over 40 who has never been married is not "marriage material."
Phillip was 49 and never married, but told me, "There were women who wanted to marry me, who I didn't want to marry, and there were women I wanted to marry, who didn't want to marry me."
When I accepted a job to transfer from New York City to Los Angeles, I figured October would be the ideal month to move. Just as bone-chilling winds began sweeping the East Coast, I'd be basking in year-round sunshine on the other side of the country.
If you're anything like me -- and for the love of God, I hope you're not --you've found dating in Los Angeles to be nonstop inferno of disappointment, frustration, anguish, horror, tedium and depression.
And those are the dates that work out fairly well. It's not hard to understand why some battle-scarred veterans of the singles scene have completely sworn off dating, substituting other, nondating activities in life, whatever those could possibly be. I understand jogging may be one of them.
Okay, full disclosure about ... full disclosure: I write emotionally revealing memoirs, but won't wear see-through blouses. Which is to say, I'm not the type of person who posts naked pictures of herself on the Web. But when a women's magazine asked me to write about joining an "erotic amateur photo site," I was intrigued. Let me repeat: they asked me, a petite Jewish woman who bears no resemblance to the cast of "Friends," to publicly display my body.
Not very romantic? I was stunned. Did I miss something here? Is it our anniversary? It's our first meeting, for crying out loud!
For some reason, it's rare that anyone sets me up. You would think being a thin, employed, Jewish heterosexual with a full head of hair, long eyelashes and a great sense of humor would be a gimmie.
There are certain levels of "Jewishness" -- and I am not talking about Reform vs. Orthodox.
At this Sept. 11 anniversary, we as a community are forced to remember where we were one year ago, when the world as we knew it turned upside down, and stayed that way.
"Life," a sage old woman once told me, "is about loss." Sad but true, folks. We lose our hair, our eyesight, our hearing, our quickness, our strength, our friends, our families.
Every 10 years or so, we lose our innocence all over again. We lose a little something every day. We soldier on. I lost my freedom recently, and I couldn't be happier about it.
When "Inside Schwartz" creator Stephen Engel was in college, dating was relatively easy. He'd meet a girl in class, hang out -- and presto! -- he had a girlfriend.
But when Engel's college flame dumped him when he was 25, the Jewish writer entered alien territory: the singles scene. "I didn't have a lot of experience formally calling women and asking them out," he says. "I'd never been 'fixed up.' I'd never been on a blind date. I had some horrific experiences."
To all the people who've invited me to events with those two fateful words, "And Guest," I apologize. I'm sorry you have to look through your wedding or shower or Bar Mitzvah photos and say, "Who's that?" when looking at my date.
I never thought I'd find myself in any place called "The Winner'sRoom," mingling with soap opera stars and clutching a huge gold statue.
Girl meets clown.
Girl is fascinated by clown, who is a bona fide graduate of clown college and can walk on stilts.