Lori Gottlieb isn't advocating marrying a man who repulses you or puts you to sleep every time he answers the question, "How was your day, dear?"
I couldn't see much when I walked into the cavernous bar at Three of Clubs in Hollywood last week, but after my eyes adjusted,
I noticed the crowd in the adjoining room.
A couple hundred literary-artsy-hipster types were schmoozing before the L.A. premiere of the Heeb Storytelling series, which had already made stops in New York City, where Heeb magazine is based, and four other cities. Like a live stage version of the irreverent magazine -- or what TimeOut described as "one part cabaret, one part Catskills" -- the show features a half-dozen writers who tell a Jewish story.
Yom Kippur reminds me of the time I spent in couples counseling with a serious boyfriend. My boyfriend believed he could be cruel or invasive or dishonest, but as long as he copped to his "sins" once a week, he'd be absolved (especially if he used bogus touchy-feely phrases like "I'm sorry you feel that way," "I validate your experience," and "I respect your boundaries").
Late one night, I was giving my friend Ethan a detailed play-by-play of my date when he made a frightening observation: "You don't have many close female friends in town anymore, do you?"
It's hard enough being single, but listening to those Valentine's Day gift-buying countdowns feels a lot like being Jewish and unable to participate in Christmas. So what if there are just five shopping days left before Feb. 14? It's like St. Valentine took over St. Nick's body, and now the whole coupled country is in another mall-bound tizzy. Maybe it's sour grapes, but I don't get all the hoopla.
Does the grand romantic gesture really pay off?