Love Is In The Little Things

Some times love is in the little things.

We went on another date on Saturday. He took me to a restaurant. We had pasta and good conversation with quiet intervals of staring into each others’ eyes. Not those awkward pauses where you think of something witty or interesting to say, but the ones where you can stare into your partner’s eyes and get lost in their depth and not even mind.

After we finished, the waiter came out with a delicious array of deserts  and we couldn’t help but split a chocolate nougat bar. When we had finished polishing it off, we held hands, lost in each other’s eyes. Everything around us seemed to disappear and just as I was thinking that things couldn’t get better, he took his eyes off me, picked up his spoon and drew a heart in my direction in the cocoa powder on our desert plate. At that instant, my heart melted and I looked at him, longing to kiss him, but gave his hand a squeeze instead.

On our way out, I stopped by the restroom and he waited for me outside. When I came out, he was talking to some woman. We wished her a nice day and were off. In the car, he told me she had inquired to  whether it was our second date. He laughed and told her a bit more. She said that she and her husband couldn’t help but notice what a cute couple we are and how we looked into each other’s eye with a naïve and fresh love that she thought was only existed  in movies.  It made us both happy to hear her wonderful compliments.

Before dropping me home, we stopped by the beach to watch the sunset. Sitting on the grass, wrapped in his arms, I closed my eyes, happy to have him holding me. As he looked down and noticed my eyes closed he asked me how I was. I told him I was wonderful and it was nice being wrapped in his arms. He kissed me and replied that while we were on the beach, looking at one of the most beautiful sunsets he’s ever seen, here I am, enjoying being in his arms and he doesn’t know who is focusing on the really important thing. I whispered “I am” in his ear and he held me tighter.

Unfortunately, the sun sets and night falls and he had to go home to do homework and work on his projects. I had to go home and tend to my own errands, as well. Now, I’m just waiting for our next date…

Second And Third Dates

It’s been ages since I’ve had a half decent first date, not to mention a second or third date. Lately, that’s changed, and I’m happy to say, that I’ve even made it to a forth date. So far things are good, but for some reason, I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just don’t feel at ease. I can’t describe it, but there’s something missing. I wish he were a bit more romantic. I wish he’d whisper how sexy he thinks I look or send me cute text messages reminding me how much he misses me. I wish he’d offer to take me out to dinner or buy me flowers. When did romance die? And why wasn’t I updated or informed?

They say the best way to get a date is to get a date. Once you have that first date with some random guy, suddenly, guys tend to find you more attractive and date worthy and the offers keep spilling in. That’s how things are now. Suddenly, within a week of our first date, some guy started hitting on me in one of my classes. Another found me in a common interest group on Facebook and asked me out. Someone from game night said he’s got to take me out for a drink sometime and the offers just keep pouring in. I have to admit, it’s nice. I know it’s shallow, but there’s some sort of validation in it all that gives a boost of self confidence, which is much needed in my paranoid situation. Yes, I’m the paranoid type. The fact that we’ve been on a few dates and he offers to meet again doesn’t mean he wants me. I still feel insecure. When he calls prior to a set date, I’m fearful he’s calling to cancel. When he comes late, I’m fearful he isn’t coming at all. When he leaves, a little piece of my heart aches, as I wonder if I’ll see him again or get dumped first.

I know that the way he acts, I shouldn’t feel insecure. Or at least not as insecure as I feel. I know I’m being overly paranoid and that there’s nothing to worry about. Besides, I’ve had my heart broken before and I’ve survived… In the end, I’m a survivor and I will overcome, if the need arises. In the meantime, I have to learn to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.

So much easier said than done!

The Year Of Abstinence

It’s been over a year since the last time I had sex. 13 months and four days to be exact, but who’s counting? The last person I was with was a two month boyfriend. One morning I decided to take three buses and a train to surprise him before his first class. It was he who surprised me. As I called from outside his door, he didn’t answer. By the 14th call, he finally picked up. Reluctant to let me in, I pushed my way in (Four and a half hours on public transportation and I really needed the bathroom!). Lo and behold, there, in his bed, was his ex girlfriend, naked and smiling. Heartbroken, I left in a hurry, wanting no explanation for what was quite obvious. (I later gave him the benefit of the doubt and offered to let him redeem himself. The jerk said that he doesn’t owe me an explanation and that I should have been more trusting. Trusting my ass.)

It’s not that there weren’t numerous opportunities during the past year and a bit. There were. Some of the guys were even interesting and/or good looking. I just wasn’t into it. Despite really enjoying sex, I don’t consider myself the one-night-stand type. I don’t want someone who is going to leave right after they have been satisfied. I want someone who cares about my own satisfaction, as well.

Actually, at one point, sexual frustration drove me to new places and having toyed with the idea, I decided to go for it. I figured I’d pick a cute guy who seems like he’s been around a few times and knows what he’s doing, with hopes he knows how to please. Eventually, I was at a friend’s party when she introduced me to an old friend of hers. He fit the bill and I decided that I’d accept his flirting and even played along. At the end of the party, he asked if I wanted to come over. Excited that it would happen, I went. In his room, he put on some music, held me tight and kissed the top of my head. He began peeling off my clothes, starting with my shirt. I reciprocated, getting him out of his, as well. He was already hard and as I gently approached, barely touching him. I ran my finger tips up and down, caressing, gently teasing. His body shuddered, from cold or excitement, I’m still unsure, but before I could go any further, he came. He came and he smiled as he excused himself to get some toilet paper to clean up. As I sat on his bed thinking to myself that this is the beginning and now we can focus on me, he said “It’s getting late and I have an early class tomorrow. I think I should drive you home.” I realized I wasn’t going to get my fill that night and agreed with him. He drove me home and I felt dirty, cheap. Used and thrown out. Even a boiling shower couldn’t make me feel clean again. I went to sleep that night and vowed never to do that again. I’m not built for it. I want to feel that the person with me cares about me and my satisfaction and doesn’t only care about their own instant gratification.

Time keeps rolling on and maybe soon I’ll find someone I can share some time with, some space in bed with and hopefully some good sex. Here’s to 2010!

One Night Stand

“Do You Want A Snake?”

Dad speak: “Do you want a snake? How about a sneakers?”
Translation: “Do you want a snack? How about a Snickers?”

My parents, born and raised outside of the US, learned English as a second or third language. My father, born in Argentina and raised in Israel is a polyglot, speaking many languages with the oddest of accents. He doesn’t distinguish between snake and snack.  As a snake breeder, he would scare the bejeezus out of my friends, offering then a snake, as he held a real one in his arms. When friends came to sleep over, he would put shits on the bed. Toilet papers were used to clean up messes. I remember growing up, ashamed of his accent. My friends and classmates laughed at him. They laughed at me.

My mother wasn’t much better. Her thick Hebrew accent penetrated every word and every syllable. Her business English didn’t cut it when talking to children. She’d be lacking the most basic of words, reverting to Hebrew, making her incomprehensible to my childhood friends. Children are a cruel race and the fact that my parents were alien to them made me an easy target.

It’s been years since I’ve last been ashamed at my parents. I love them for who they are and for the work they’ve put into raising my brother and me, despite their mistakes, as well as because of them.

Now, living in Israel, I’m the one with an accent. Most times, it’s so slight most people don’t even realize I was raised abroad, but every now and then I’ll get some one who claims that it’s obvious that I’ve got a very American accent. I cringe when people tell me that. Not because I’m ashamed. Quite the contrary. Because of love. Because I love Israel and it’s my home and more than anything, I want to belong. I don’t want to be tagged as an outsider because of silly matters such as how I pronounce my r’s or g’s.

Broken Resolutions

It’s a quarter to midnight and as if there’s nothing better that I could do, I’m sitting home alone in my mom’s house (without a sweater, despite the cold, in the dark – just like a good Polish woman would do!), and playing on the computer. By playing I mean messing around with Photoshop, doodling, drawing, hoping the computer won’t freeze every few minutes. It does. And I’m starting to resent it. Wish I owned a Mac. In my next life, when I’ll have money, I’ll buy a Mac. In the meantime, I’ll pretend.

I could be making a list of new year’s resolutions and promises. I could be reading my diary entry from last January 1st. It seems pointless. I remember my list of resolutions. I wanted to get into better shape. Lose some more weight. Gain confidence. I wanted to be more friendly. Nicer to my brother. Try harder in my school work. Find a job. Find a partner. Maintain a relationship. Try to be more normal. Smile. Love myself.

The list is pretty much invariant of previous years. Probably similar to your own. Especially the get in shape and lose weight part. I remember when I used to work at a gym December-January and May-June were the months with the most new subscribers. The end/start of the year was when people realized it’s time to get in shape, as they’ve been delaying it all year or plan on getting in shape for the upcoming year. May and June are when the clothing shops start selling summer wear and swimsuits and suddenly people realize that they’ve put on a few winter pounds they have to shed before they’ll feel comfortable in a teeny tiny polka dot bikini. These are usually the exact same people who will use their gym membership for less than a month before finding a long list of excuses why there’s no time to work out. Belonging to a gym and going to the gym are two totally different things. One will get you in shape, the other…

I’ve tried to be nicer to my family and friends. I’ve tried not to get mad at people. I’ve tried to see things from their point of view and be fair. I think I’ve really gotten closer to my brother this year. And I’m constantly growing closer to my mother, so that’s another achievement for 2009. I’ve made many more friends. I’ve tried to retain all of the old ones, but it’s difficult, especially when we all lead such different, separate lives.

There are those resolutions which I couldn’t fulfill. I don’t have a partner (if I did, I probably wouldn’t be here, on my computer, alone, in the cold, dark, without a sweater…). I’m not in a relationship and I haven’t been able to maintain one for durations longer than a single date, two at best. Not have I actually put any additional effort into my school work. On the contrary, as I feel myself nearing the end, I feel myself letting go more and more. I cut myself a lot of slack and have low expectations.

Last, but not least, are those abstract promises. Love myself. I do. Most days. But then again, how do you measure. Or smile. I try. As much as I can without looking like a grinning fool or a brainless idiot.

So this year, instead of starting with a list of promises and resolutions, I’m abandoning the thought. Instead, I’m going to wish myself the discipline to strive to be a better person. Period. And I’m smiling. Which is already a good start to this year.

To all of you, reading this or not, I wish you a wonderful new year, new decade, new beginning. Or maybe it’s just a continuation. Either way, work hard, succeed and prosper. May you strive to be better with each passing day, smile more, love more, and live more.  Happy New Year!