It really wasn’t about me!


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Written by Author, Dear Thor

My Aha moment happened when I realized that it really wasn’t ever about me.

About 11 months ago, we began dating fast and furious from the start, until suddenly and without warning he broke up with me. Broken hearted I tried to move on, but he refused to leave me alone. He spent 8 months of “just kinda” pursuing me. Basically the single worst nightmare for this former bad boy magnet. Harder to kick then cigarettes, and far more dangerous. Illusive texts, calls and dinners only heightened his intrigue. He mastered the ability of giving me “just enough” before I’d realized he was actually giving me nothing at all. It became so predictable I could set my clock to it. Sometimes my life felt like a bad re-run from an old 80’s sitcom playing on loop every night on TBS. “I can’t commit,” he’d say. “Great,” I’d respond, “now leave me alone and have a nice life.”

But he never would. I’d be uninterested and stand offish, he’d pursue me harder. I’d let down my guard, he’d run. But 4 weeks ago something changed. I was back from a trip when he suddenly pursued me like never before. Calling me multiple times thought out the day and taking me out almost every night. When I asked the reason for his sudden change he responded, “because I’m back now.”

Then those same dreaded words I’d secretly hoped I’d never hear again came out of his mouth, “things have been so amazing with us but I’m starting to have a fear of commitment…again.”

But then I asked a question I had never asked him before, “have you had this feeling with any of the other girls you’ve dated in the past 3 years?”

To which he answered, “yes, every single one.”

Suddenly, it all became so clear. His past record spoke for itself. Every time he felt himself getting closer to a woman, he’d flinch and tell himself, “she’s not the right girl.” Burned by his 1st marriage, he actively chose to avoid dealing with the pain. Years later, that choice would end up having a bigger impact on his life today then his marriage ever did.

lit bulbA lightbulb went off in my head it’s not me. It’s amazing how a single phrase had the power to set me free. Hearing the words, instantaneously discredited the story I’d been telling myself for the last 11 months. I’d justified his wishy-washy attitude thinking it was a reflection of me not being good enough. When in fact, it had nothing to do with me. Why hadn’t this option even crossed my mind before? This revelation stopped me dead in my tracks. After a zillion relationships, you’d think I’d have learned something. Well, clearly I hadn’t. What a rookie mistake I’d made. How could I have let a guy’s own issues chip away at my self-confidence? Ok, so if this wasn’t about me being good enough for him suddenly the question became is he good enough for me? And this question gave me a sinking feeling. I’ve always admired character, above all else, but his character always remained in question.

I’ve probably loved this man from the moment I met him but I find myself at a crossroads. If I was in my 20’s, I’d want to fix him, like I have with so many other ex boyfriends. But suddenly I’m left with the question, what about me? When does he show up for me?

While it’s lovely we share this special bond, but if his own issues prevent him from actually being able to see the real me, then what’s the point?

My friend, Shauna, said to me, “I have no doubt that if you walk away and let him go, there will be someone better for you because the Universe always gives us exactly what we need.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because why not?” she replied. I must admit she makes a pretty strong argument. Then she asked me if I could picture him as the father of my children. Ha! I can’t even picture him as my steady boyfriend, let alone the father of my children!

It occurs to me that the man he really is and the man who I thought he could be are actually two entirely different people. So, if the man I’m in love with doesn’t actually exist, then staying with him or breaking up with him, in reality, appear to be the same thing. In both scenarios, I’m alone. Either way, I’m not with the person I’m in love with. By walking away I’m not really loosing anything, at all. How can you lose something you never had to begin with? So it appears my options are the following: more of the same or let him go and find someone better. Worst case scenario, if I don’t find anyone better, I can just find another man (like him) and simply choose to fall in love with his potential instead of his reality.

The greatest benefit of having a wildly vivid imagination is that it’s entirely possible that every man I meet can be the “one.”Thus, making the likelihood of finding happiness with someone else, an absolute guarantee.

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My Kamikaze Mission (otherwise known as my last relationship)


Written by Author, Dear Thor

Take lawyer dude, Fred, who asked me the inevitable 3rd date question, “when was your last relationship?” I retell the sordid story of betrayal like a stoic war vet, who just feels lucky to have made it through in one piece. Midway through the story he blurted out, “wow. And you still went back to him even after__, sounds like you were on a real Kamikaze mission.” Suddenly, I realized how absurd this story must sound about the girl that runs towards (not away from) danger? Like a Kamikaze pilot, we both knew it was a suicide mission, but proceed anyway.

Growing up in California, I was taught from a young age what to do in the event of an earthquake. In school we practiced earthquake safety drills every couple of months. Have I done one too many earthquake drills that I’ve somehow adopted the “stop, drop, and take cover” protocol to past relationships as well?

 

The forgotten art form of full disclosure



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The age old question in online dating, “just how accurate should I be in my online dating profile?” Is there a grey zone?

If women tend to lie about their weight and men about their height, where do you draw the line about what is acceptable to lie about?

Recently, I was matched up with a friend’s ex on Jdate (in real life he’s a 46-years-old, divorced father with 3 kids). However, his online dating profile states he’s a 40-years-old with no kids. Boy, is his next date in for a shock….

When you first begin dating someone, isn’t full disclosure the best policy? Or is it? It hasn’t been for the last couple of guys that I’ve dated, who have all had highly complicated relationships with the truth. I dated Ari for a couple of months before finding out he was significantly older then his profile had stated.

When Jeremy said he was a “recovering” alcoholic what he meant to say was that he was “currently” an alcoholic.

Ty’s version of “newly promoted” was a polite way of saying “currently unemployed.”

Tom told me his kids live with him every “other” weekend. Every “other” weekend turned out to be code for they live with me “full time.”

You say Potato, I say Potato.

Keith told me he volunteered for “charity.” Keith’s version of “charity” turned out to be what other people refer to as “selling pot.”

Alan told me he had an “amicable” divorce. A more accurate description would have been, “I’m still bitter and I’ll spend our entire relationship telling you all about it.”

My best friend recently confessed to me that when she first met me – she didn’t like me. Her first impression was that I was fake because “no one could possibly have as much energy as I did.”

17 years of friendship later, she said, “it turns out I am exactly the person whom I first purported to be (apparently an extrovert with that much energy).” I told her that was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

But the whole concept made me wonder about who else I could say that about?

I prayed to the universe for a different type of man. The type that would disclose everything from the onset.

But, you know what they say…be careful what you wish for…

High Emotional vs. High Financial Maintenance


A man once told me all women are either high “emotional” or “financial” maintenance.

And certain women are both.

He told me that men are simple creatures. They just want to be fed and feel appreciated. He went on to say most men prefer a woman who is high “financial” maintenance because (as long as you have money) there’s always an easy solution. If you throw enough money at the problem–she’s be happy.

But then there’s the women classified as high “emotional” maintenance. These women are much trickier to please. She’d rather you be “present and in the moment” then shower her with material things. She wants to know “what you’re thinking.” She’s a never-ending challenge. It takes a certain type of warrior to commit to this undertaking. Thus, the search for my warrior continues…..

To Curl or Not to Curl…


Written by Carin Davis

Hi. My name is Carin and I have a Jewfro.

Heeb hair. A Moses mop. A latke lid. I’m down with my fun girl curls, but I can’t say the same for the men I meet. My big hair is the Mason-Dixon Line of my L.A. dating life. Some men love the untamed, wild, bed-head look of my natural waves. But many men prefer I play it straight.

Take lawyer dude Rich, who I picked up at The Arsenal on Pico Boulevard on a Saturday night. I was wearing my jeans low, my heels high and my hair straight. Rich grabbed my digits and we went out on two successful straight-haired sit-down dinner dates. For our third date, he suggested Cabo Cantina, margaritas with salt and the Sunday night football game. Since we decided to skip formalities, I decided to skip the blow dry. Poor play call on my part. I threw open my door and surprised Rich with my long, flowing, sandy-blond curls. He gasped, grimaced, then covered his eyes.

“What happened to your hair?” Apparently Jewish men like blow dries. And not just Rich. One date asked me, “What’s with the curls?” Another asked if I wanted to finish getting ready. A third offered me the scrunchie some JDate left on his stick shift. Great, I have bad hair and you’re seeing other women. I’d cry but the moisture might make my hair frizz up.

I’m not alone in this hair crisis. Thousands of Jewish women face similarly challenging locks. I’m talking big, puffy, out-of-control, coiled bird’s nest curls. Coveting J. Crew catalog-straight hair, we brush and comb and moose and spray. We steam and set and wrap and treat. But we still show up to parties looking like the Bride of “Welcome Back, Kotter.” That’s why I started the Hair Club for Jews. My teenage years were a blur of bad hair. I spent high school as a frizzy triangle head with flip-up/flip-down bangs. Moviegoers behind me switched seats and the yearbook photog took my pic with a panoramic lens. When I hit college, I straightened my mane with a smoking hot flattening iron. I blew my book money on hair spray and scorched my forehead twice, but hey, I love the smell of burnt hair in the morning. Now, with heightened self-confidence and a bathroom overstuffed with hair products, this Jewish babe swings both ways.

But which do I do on a first date? One wrong tress can send a fine man running. Do I rip off the Band-Aid and open with big curls? Should I ease my man into the fro? Is straight sexier? Do curls have more fun? Curly. Straight. Curly. Straight. No wonder Jewish women give up and wear a sheitel.

Perhaps this hair dilemma has deeper roots. Talmudic scholars might argue that by wearing my hair curly, I am broadcasting my Jewish pride to the single men of the 310. The great Rabbi Abraham Paul Mitchell might argue that by straightening my hair, I am denying my Jewish heritage. I say anyone who spends 10 minutes with me knows I’m a Member of the Tribe — no matter how I wear my hair.

Speaking of men, Rich apologized as we waited for our table. “The curls aren’t that bad, I guess I could get used to them. I just like your hair better straight ’cause I can run my fingers through it.” Then he gently brushed the hair out of my face, kissed my forehead and all was forgiven — until he broke down and offered me the Yankees hat off his head halfway through our date. But who could fit his tiny peanut-head cap over my gargantuan hair? Things didn’t really work out between Rich and me. And not just because he’s a Yankees fan.

When it comes to my guy, I need a man who’s in it for the long haul, who’s up for any hair catastrophe. If a guy’s not there for me on a bad hair day, he won’t be there for me on a bad work day. He won’t be there for me when I spill red wine on my wedding dress, when I lose my keys, when I burn dinner, when the kids get the flu, when I’m 75, less flexible and my hearing aid whistles. I need a man who’s in it for richer or poorer, for curly or for straight, who can laugh with me through a hair disaster and any disaster. And, as far my dates go, I’m taking a “love me — love my hair” attitude.

The 10 Major Differences between NYC and LA


By Ryan O’ Connell

1. In NYC, you’re only allowed to be an asshole if you’re interesting. You have to earn the privilege of behaving like a dick. In LA, however, you can just be a dick. No funny jokes or good personalities needed.

2. Los Angeles is the land of delusions. You can live your life thinking you’re the best invention since sliced bread and no one will question your self-importance. New York is different though. Living here basically entails being humiliated on a daily basis. It’s like being served a slice of humble pie over and over again. So even if you do develop an ego and start to think you’re the shit, there will always be something waiting to bring you back down to Earth.

3. The standards of beauty in L.A. are wildly different from New York’s. L.A. is all about looking healthy, refreshed and athletic. Juice cleanses (aka starvation), hikes up Runyon Canyon (three times in one day), and a natural tan (secretly produced in a tanning bed). Meanwhile, New Yorkers want to look they’re on the verge of death 24/7. To achieve this look, they make sure their skin resembles that of a corpse and flaunt their malnourished figure proudly. “No, honey, this body was not brought to you by exercise and kale…”

4. People in Los Angeles are always between projects. Ask them what they do for a living and you will NEVER get a straight answer. They work in the entertainment industry? They’re a pet psychic? They’re someone’s life coach? Oh, but they’re thisclose to getting a deal with so-so, which will catapult them to overnight fame. With New York, it’s like, you better be doing something fantastic with your life because people don’t just move here and hemorrhage money just to be between projects.

5. People in L.A. always say that they want to move to New York one day. “It’s been a dream! I’m just so jealous that you get to live there!” It’s as if New York is some untouchable entity that employs a lottery to decide who gets to live here. New Yorkers, on the other hand, constantly talk about leaving the city. “But I could never move to L.A., ugh. I hate it there. OMG, maybe SF though. I’ve never been but I think I would love it!”

6. Living in L.A. is such a pain in the ass logistically that if you manage to do it, you can live pretty much anywhere else and it’ll be considered an improvement. New Yorkers are screwed though. They really can’t go anywhere else. The city turns them into Martians that don’t translate outside of the metropolitan area.

 

7. Dating in L.A. is mystery. HOW DO YOU MEET ANYONE? In NYC, it’s easier but no one wants to ever settle down. They’re too busy screwing themselves to ever really screw you.

8. In New York, you’re considered wealthy if you have a dishwasher in your apartment. In L.A., you’re rich if you live in a mansion.

9. L.A. feels like a Xanax, like your limbs have been dipped in a vat of pudding. You’re always weirdly sleepy, even though you haven’t really done anything. Perhaps it’s because the sun is always beating down on you?

10. L.A. knows how to make a good salad. New York knows how to make a good bagel. Somehow this crucial difference is more telling than anything else.