By EVAPainting by Pepe Fainberg(photo credit: PEPE FAINBERG)
Anyone who’s dated for any length of time knows that among the menfolk who set you at ease and even inspire visions of white-picket moshavim, there are those who raise your hackles and/or make you wonder why you bothered in the first place (or associated with anyone of the opposite sex, ever).I recently had run-ins with a few dudes who did not, shall we say, possess the particular prescription I was looking for in a partner (or even in a second/third date), making me feel a distinct brand of “yucky.”Though I’ve since gone on a palate-cleansing date or two with guys more my speed, why not take a trip down icky memory lane? The shuk stalker I have already described, dear readers, how I met Tom one casual October night in the shuk. (It’s February; why bring him up? You’ll see.) Though he seemed very normal to my friend Rob and myself when we first conversed on our respective stools at Pasta Basta, Tom morphed into a handsy, lovelorn octopus when we went on a date soon after.Though I quickly informed him I did not appreciate his performance and would not be going out with him again, I detected a slight issue with his getting the message: specifically, texts and calls for weeks. He didn’t understand that I had fully lost interest and that he should simply admit defeat.Beyond that, he came to my apartment on two occasions (once at 10:30 p.m., once erev hag), with flowers to convince me otherwise. Though normally a bouquet is most welcome, showing up uninvited at all hours is quite another thing.Increasingly alarmed, on the second occasion, I grabbed the flowers, closed the door in his face, waited a proper interval, then stomped outside and thrust the still-cellophane-wrapped buds at a perplexed neighbor (a newly single divorcé twice my age – luckily, he didn’t get the wrong idea). I then texted Tom that were he to contact me again, he could expect me to call the police (and maybe the Men in the White Coats) immediately.That seemed to cure Tom of his penchant for flowers, and I thought I had seen the last of him. How wrong I was.In mid-January, I revisited the scene of the crime – Pasta Basta – with Rob. Yakking on our stools, I glanced at the booths and saw someone who vaguely resembled Tom – but in contrast to Tom’s “regular guy who works in hi-tech” look, this man was bulkier (especially in the caboose) and tanned deep orange, with longer, curlier hair. Could this Jersey Shore-style Israeli Guido be the ardent man himself? He kept looking our way, to the point that I asked Rob what he thought. Nah, Tom couldn’t have eaten enough fusilli and spent enough time under a tanning lamp to have altered his appearance that drastically, we decided.Later, negotiating our way across the shuttered stalls, we were immersed in wisecracks when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned – it was Mystery Guido.“Are you still mad?” he said cheerfully in Hebrew, eyes bulging in orange sockets.It was Tom – he had followed us.I was speechless. Did he have that little pride, or sense of personal boundaries? “I’m not mad,” I clarified as Rob glared, “I’m just not at all interested in you, and would appreciate if you leave me alone – forever!” I stormed off, Rob quick at my heels.I was shaking, ranting about what a weirdo Tom was, when he passed again – and heard the whole thing.He continued looking at us and giggling with a sort of taunting look in his eye.On the advice of a friend with experience in such matters, I resolved to ignore him if I were to run into him again – which of course I did, a few weeks ago, when I went to Mahaneh Yehuda for a festival. There was Tom, tapping me on the shoulder and creepily trying to establish a connection. I walked off; he largely left me alone.Since the shuk seems to be a hangout Tom frequents – always alone – and I’m also there yukking it up quite often, I don’t think I’ve seen the last of him. But hopefully pretending he doesn’t exist will be the ticket.If not, there’s always the Men in the White Coats.The muscly, squatting Millennial I first met Steev when he rocked up to my lunch date.Yes, you read that correctly – Steev apparently likes to spell his name in a non-traditional way.Anyhoo, I was supposed to meet a friend for a longoverdue, gossipy lunch. She came as planned, but at the last minute brought her friend Steev, a compact, bemuscled personal trainer.First annoyed by his presence, which hindered my speaking freely about my latest adventures (though that’s never stopped me here!), it quickly became clear that we shared a similarly snarky sense of humor; I also enjoyed that he was American and got all my pop culture jokes.We went on to exchange more guffaws at a Shabbat meal a few weeks later; I wasn’t entirely surprised when he messaged to ask me to go for coffee. Despite my concerns that he was a number of years younger than myself (nine!) – thus of the noncommittal Millennial generation – I enjoyed his company enough to say yes.We had a rollicking time, though I kept reminding myself he was much younger and likely not a serious prospect. This became clear when, for our second “date,” he texted to see if I’d like him to come over to my place with the schnapps he had picked up in Budapest (in which I had expressed enthusiastic interest when he’d mentioned it in passing). Though I appreciated his support for my not-so-secret alcohol/wine hobby, it was obvious what this was – like the old “watching a movie,” an excuse to make out.Did I want to? I very rarely did that kind of thing anymore, but a distraction could be good to clear my head from the agita of the past year’s almost entirely marriage-focused dating. He did have a lovely physique...and given that I knew what was up, I didn’t think it would take an emotional toll.I accepted Steev’s magnanimous schnapps offer, and sure enough, that Thursday we listened to tunes at my pad, toasted each other with copious l’haims and had the requisite makeout session. I enjoyed petting his muscles, and kept it PG-rated, gently kicking him out after an hour of that.It was a great time. Yet despite having anticipated it being nothing but fun, I found I couldn’t emotionally handle (the truth!) Steev’s chillaxed Millennial reaction to our makeout – i.e., doing nothing. Oh, he tossed out the idea of us hanging again, and still wrote quips on my Facebook statuses, but there was no real follow-up.I was kind of hurt. Who hdid he think I was? Well, I think he actually got where I was coming from pretty well... but I wanted his ardor! I wanted him to pursue me! Wasn’t he bewitched by my smoochies? Oh, the drama. It all came to a head when he posted a motivational picture of himself squatting, holding insanely heavy barbells. His calf muscles bulged, and I felt repulsed at this uninterested ironman on my Facebook feed.Steev was unfollowed the very next minute.The vino-loving, ambiguously married Frenchie Apropos schnapps, I met Pierre, an area Frenchman, at a recent wine festival. Resting in the lounge area between rounds of glugging Shiraz, we started yapping in that glazed, wine-happy way.It was probably not the best place to meet a serious dude, I thought to myself in passing – confirmed when in the same breath, he made some flirtatious comment, then casually mentioned his wife.Come again? I acted like nothing was amiss, but later worked it back into the convo.It’s complicated, we’re separated, but let’s not talk about that now, he assured me.Oh, I’ll bet, I replied snarkily. He sure was cute, but puh-leez.He and his friend offered me a ride home. I stupidly accepted, thinking in my wine haze that while I didn’t know them from a hole in the wall, I didn’t relish taking the bus....He dropped his friend off first, which confirmed he would try something. Sure enough, he asked if I wanted to meet up later that week, then shoved his tongue in my mouth.Continuing the saga with the ambiguously married Pierre wasn’t on my list of things to do that week, so I mumbled something about saving that good stuff for later, then hightailed it out of the car, dignity somewhat intact.Home at last, I swished some mouthwash, then changed into my comfy leopard PJs. Switching off the light, I assessed the situation: I had clearly arrived at a personal nadir of bad choices, and hopefully could only go up from there.Until next time....
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