Chemistry

So, one of the jewish boys and I have been talking a lot lately. We've got chemistry. His birthday, is on a fucking meteor shower. How cool is that? SO cool, is the proper answer.

So, I had a girlfriend over at my house for hannukah tonight and I asked her to test out my new mattress. I generally, like really firm mattresses and so I wanted to see if it was comfortable for other people, in case... well... you know.

So, we in my bed, cuddling and she starts to unwind and share everything that she misses about her ex and their recent breakup. Turns out, she just wants to cuddle. I said, "cuddling with girls, is never the same. I'm always the big spoon and I hate being the big spoon. And being the little spoon to somebody smaller than you, sucks."

She said "My ex never really liked spooning. He liked face to face cuddling or his arm around me with my face on his chest. "

"I said, I think I know a guy that likes spooning..."

When she left, I called him up. He was standing outside of the library at his respective university in the rain. We started talking about cuddling and he admitted that he likes all kinds of cuddling as long as it's cuddling. He stops for a second and says "Everyone around me is looking at me. "

We kept talking and I told him the story about the "smooth" guy. He asked me if I was impressed by his smoothness.

Our history is a little strange. He always contacts me right after a breakup. For awhile, I thought it was just to boost his confidence. I said, "We're not just talking again because you're single again, right?"

"No, No! My feelings for you are static, they never change. I'm a metal and you're an electromagnetic wave. You give me a positive feeling."

I started chuckling. I could hear the people around him asking questions. And then I heard him say " What? Guys, she's really pretty!" I kept laughing but I didn't mean to. It was just so cute. We always talk about how we have chemistry. Well, there it is. I'm an electromagnetic wave. Simple as that.

Smooth....

Rugby player asked me to see harry potter with him. I said, sure! free ticket to Harry Potter? Okay.

He picks me up with his roommate. We get to the movie theater, site down and we sit in this order. Me, rugby player, roommate.

half way through the movie, Rugby player turns to me and says "SO, my shoulder is really sore from this recent basketball injury..."

I become girly and sensitive and say "Aww... Are you okay?"

He says" Nah, I'm fine, I just need to elevate my shoulder." and with that, he wraps heis arm around me. Only, it was really uncomfortable.

I said, "You think you're smooth, don't you?"

"yeah, I'm pretty smooth."

I took his arm off of my shoulder.

We finish the movie. He almost cries when (SPOILER) dobby dies.

Two hours after I'm back at my house, I get a text from him. "I'm smooth, you just don't know it yet."

Lucky Week

I've the absent minded professor syndrome. I think I inherited from my dad.

In one week I left my wallet at a bus stop, forgot my binder in a sushi shop, lost my phone, left my hat and book and eyeliner (?) in my friend's dorm room and finally, dropped my hat on the floor on my professors office and didn't know it.

By the grace of whatever keeps the universe together, every single thing came back to me.

My professor ended up giving the hat to another professor and by doing so, I was able to have a good conversation with both of them about international education opportunities and a few different mentor-ships with the college of forestry faculty.

On top of that, my good Jewish flirt buddy has promised to spend the night before his birthday watching the meteor shower provided that the skies are clear. Side note: He has a meteor shower on his birthday every year. How awesome is that? Mom, why didn't you plan better so that I could have a meteor shower for my birthday?? Seriously.

Basically, Everything has fallen into place and I'm incredibly grateful.

Nice Jewish Soon to be Lawyers.

Once upon a time, there was a Jewish girl that looked like a shiksa. She was tall, naturally blond and had blue eyes. In high school, she rarely dated. Her father, a professor at the local university, worried that she would never learn how to have a relationship. He tried time and time again to set his daughter up on dates with his prize students. He would ask, "Is ___ years too old for you?"

Now this same young woman is studying at the very same university where her father still teaches. She has many potential boyfriends. The problem though, is that they live all over the world. She calls them her "guy friends" but means that they are "options" for the future.

One day, her father calls her. " Young Man A just graduated with a degree in construction engineering but he decided to become an environmental lawyer instead. I just wrote his letter of recommendation. You two would hit it off. He's an independent thinker, well-read and has good politics. Plus, he looks Jewish the way you look Jewish." He's excited but doesn't want his daughter to feel pressured into a date so instead he says "Here's his e-mail. You both are going to Israel this year. You should talk about it."

The daughter laughs a little. Sends the nice, young Jewish soon to be lawyer a brief e-mail and calls one of her favorite guy friends. She tells him "Guess what just happened!.... My dad tried to set me up with a nice, Jewish boy who's going to be a lawyer...again."

Her guy friend breathes a deep breath and exhales "Can't you just tell him you already have one of those?"

She can see where this is going but wants him to admit it. "And who might that be?"

"Well...me."

"And... there it is. Potential." She thinks to herself and smiles.

Rant

Why do guys always say that I'm a "sweet girl" or "so cute" or "fucking adorable?"

I know that most young women want to be told that but I'm tired of it. Being told that I'm sweet or cute is demeaning. Puppies are cute, kittens are sweet and babies are adorable.

Multi-lingual, motorcycle wanting, forestry students are not. We're badass. Why can't guys tell me that I'm impressive or intimidating or intellectually stimulating or even sexy? No, I'm "Sweet." So what if I'm blond, wear cardigans and ride a pink bicycle with a basket. I'm more than that. Does friendly translate into adorable? I should start glaring more often.

Stupid boys.

You with Your Voice

I see you once a year.

We talk

maybe once a month.

We're friends.

I can be an absolute bitch and you don't care.

I don't care that you are a bit of a dick.

We match.

Remember, when you helped me break up with my boyfriend a year ago?

I tried on my own and failed. Miserably. I remember, I called you. I was terrified.

You said,

"Just breath. Call him back. See him in person. Say the hardest thing first. Be honest and say you're ending it. If he wants an explanation, give it to him. But don't try and dip you're toe in the water because you have to jump right in or you'll back out of it."

I called him back. I broke his heart and as the rain poured down and the tears came down his face, I felt relieved.

I called you back, exhilarated. I said I had done it.

You said, "good, because now if you're ever in my neck of the woods, I can have you to myself."

And I wanted to slap you for it. And I wanted to giggle and I wanted to laugh and dance and hug myself.

You're taller than me by just an inch but you don't mind if I wear heels. You said it's nice to look a woman in the eye and a powerful woman is something to be respected, not feared.

You have bright green eyes, a constant five o' clock shadow and silver flecked hair. You're only a year older than me but you look about ten years older.

Then you open your mouth and speak. Although the words are articulate and well placed, the voice is husky and boyish.

You seem young but precocious.

I remember meeting you. I couldn't remember your name but you so clearly remembered mine. You tackled me in the snow. I was speechless. Not because you blew me away by your looks or charm, but because I couldn't place you. At all.

You grew on me though. Persistence. It's a virtue. It took you over a year to gain my respect. You have it now. Whole-heartedly. You've grown up a lot though. The past few years haven't been easy on you.

You still make me furious sometimes. There was awhile when you would call me to flirt with me so that you felt wanted. I'm more than an ego boost. We dealt with it though and you realized that it was a shitty reason to call someone. That said, you make me feel wanted too.

Neither of us are ready for real relationships. We live far from each other and our schedules aren't conducive to visits. Maybe a little long-distance flirtation isn't a bad thing.

Last time I saw you, I brought a friend. You were dating someone at the time and I didn't want to find myself kissing you and getting in the middle of something. I could feel you staring at me though. You undressed me with your eyes and every time you came near me, I could feel your sharp intake of breath as you tried to stealthily smell my hair. You weren't very sneaky.

And yet, being wanted with those eyes of yours makes me melt.

Someday, we'll go on two dates that won't be a year apart.

Names

child, I am flower

my reproductive powers bring other people

and with them,

beauty into the world.

I grow and wilt

Give me water, nutrients sunlight,

I will blossom.

You, dear soul, are stone.

Practical and handsome.

You are smoothed by rivers and waterfalls.

Finely ground against the molecules. Softened.

I harden, fossilize against you.

I leave my print within you

and you

will never be the same.

Tall and Dark, Short and Sweet

I'm a practical romantic if that makes any sense. I don't want phone calls wishing me goodnight or to be inseparable from my boyfriend. I want a guy that has good conversation, good body and good chemistry with me. Those three things are actually incredibly hard to find.

I met two guys with the same name at the same time. I kissed both of them almost exactly a year apart. One is tall with dark hair and green eyes. The other is short with sandy blond hair and brown eyes. The tall one is passionate, opinionated and driven. The short one is sweet, playful and relaxed. They are both incredibly intelligent and were bit by the travel bug like I was. We kissed and left town. They live far away from me and from each other. We've kept in touch and are still friends.

I know that I create expectations that are too high and that often, I over romanticize people and situations. It's just that in the middle of the night when I'm having trouble sleeping, I think about the tall one and the short one and I would take either of them if they lived in town.

Friendship

I held your hand for a split second as we ended our hug tonight. I didn't mean to. It just... happened. I saw that look on your face. You seemed so confused but somehow okay. I know we say our friendship is platonic, but is it?

You tell me I'm beautiful and call me at three in the morning. You ask about my day, my family, my life. Detailed, specific questions that make my mouth open and the words flow out. I ask you about your day, your life and your family. You answer with cryptic, deflective answers.

And the hugs. Your hugs. They start out platonic and then at that moment when most hugs release, you pull me closer and hold on. I can feel your head lay on my shoulder and then the connection is lost and you drop me down and turn away. Somehow I ended up with your hand in mine after this last hug. I don't know how, but I did.

I wonder about you. Somehow, you can take me seriously even after I climbed into a giant cardboard box behind a building at 1 in the morning and said we should pretend we lived in a Hooverville. I picked a broom out of a dumpster and walked around until I saw a sign that said "Parking for bicycles." I plopped the broom down next to it and said "I wish I had a pen. Then I could write "and brooms (for those magically inclined)" on the bottom of the sign. You smiled that smile of yours, laughed a little bit and said "You are fucking adorable."

I normally hate being called adorable. I'm 5'10. Adorable implies small, cute, fragile. I'm tall, strong and opinionated. You made me proud to be adorable. Maybe it was the "fuck" that you added.

I love that I can be silent with you. We walk all over town, stand in the middle of bridges, climb trains and lie down under the streetlights while it's raining. You embrace the quirkiness and you don't need an explanation because you feel it too. This lust for life.

I don't understand you sometimes. Once you offered to walk across town to give me your coat because I mentioned I was cold during a phone call. You've seen me walking home and given me a ride even though my house was in the opposite direction of your destination. You even drove me to another town because I forgot my wallet on a train. I offered to pay for gas and you wouldn't let me.

We've had conversations about how you give off the wrong signals to women sometimes and that's why you don't have very many friends that are women. What are you doing to me then?

An Island

This is vocabulary that recently came to my knowledge after a few long car trips with guys in college. I thought I'd share it.

Biddies: The girls that wear Ugg boots with their sweatpants and straighten their hair. They also wear an obscene amount of eyeliner and mascara every day. French tips may be included. All in all, skanky but decently attractive.

Bros: Frat guys (or regular guys) that say "Brah" instead of friend or man, wear socks with their nike one strap sandals and also wear sweatpants.

Bro-hoes: Can be biddies but can also be unattractive.

Grenades: The ugly friends of the hot girls. Guys often say that tapping a grenade is "taking one for the team" so that their friend can get with the hot chick. Supposedly, this is what a good wingman does.

A guy asked me "Which one are you?" today. I said, "You mean am I a biddy, a broho or a grenade?" "Yeah, Which one are you?"

My answer was this, "I am an island because I'm neither a biddy, nor a bro-ho and I should hope that I'm not a grenade."

"An Island....I like that answer."

So, new slang is "Island" aka Me. i.e. none of the above and everything in between.

Between the J's

So, rugby guy from the post below asked me out to coffee. I decided, why not? Which is my usual answer unless the guy is a complete creep. So, I met him at the coffee shop and we bought our lattes and sat down. From there, we went to a frozen yogurt shop. From the frozen yogurt shop, we went to his house and I met his roommate and from his house, we stopped by a party the rugby players were having.

At the coffee shop I learned...

1. He's in ROTC on a full ride

2. He's probably Mormon because he mentioned a mission trip to Uganda

3. He likes to hike

4. He had a Night Hawk (It's a motorcycle) but it's in the shop now.

At the frozen yogurt place I learned...

5. He's really into Indie music. He knew who Mumford and Sons were and likes the ELO and Iron and Wine and Sufjan Stevens. Not bad for a army guy.

6. Sometimes, he plays eye-contact chicken with people on the street. (Quirky, but a little creepy).

From his roommate I learned...

7. He drinks lots of tea

8. He used to have long hair and a beard

9. In high school, he and his buddies would have drunken, naked tree climbing sessions out in the woods.

The list goes on and on. I'm not creepy, I'm an aural learning. It means, I learn what I hear. Anyway, so I'm with this guy and he asks if I want to go to a rugby party. "The theme is classy or trashy."

There I am, in my hiking boots and norwegian sweater at a drunken rugby classy/trashy party. The girls were dressed as skanks and the guys were either dressed as rednecks or they had suits on top, cut-off shorts on bottom. So I'm with this guy J1 and we literally bump into a guy whose name also starts with J. We'll call him J2. Suddenly, I'm escorted through the party by J1 (roughly 6 ft 4 and in the army) and J2 (6 ft 8 and a rather large rugby player).

J1 becomes more and more bombastic while J2 becomes more like a giant teddy bear. Both of them put their hand in the small of my back every once in a while. It was interesting. I felt as if both J's were signaling to the rest of the guys that I was theirs while I stood right between them.

Anyway, when the clock struck midnight, I asked for a ride home. I work in the morning and the testosterone was becoming a bit much.

All of the above

During my weekend, did I...?

a) Dance in a mosh pit and crowd surf

b) Have shabbat dinner with my dad, stepmom and much younger half-siblings.

c) Work

d) Hike

e) Learn about bears

f) Get asked out

g) All of the above

and the answer is.... G) for All of the Above!

Yes, it's true. Life can be a little unexpected at times. Thursday night, I wound up at a flash mob (An impromptu dance party of hundreds of people, planned secretly and lasting only an hour). As I was looking for my friends, three burly guys picked me up and tossed me into the crowd. Suddenly, I was crowd-surfing, entirely against my will.

I was dropped down into the middle of the crowd right in front of students with whom I'd gone to high school. I landed on my knee, scored a massive bruise and hobbled out to the perimeter of the craziness. Next thing I know, a rugby player with a concussion that had a monologue for theater class to prepare had asked me out.

I ended up finding my original group as the flash mob ended. They had taken too long "getting ready." In actuality, they had been drinking. The girls fell all over the place and, when I caught them, cooed "You're so adorable. You're so beautiful. Do you want a lapdance? We gave each other lapdances."

My gay friend kept trying to kiss me and I ended up sitting him down and saying, "I like you but I'm not going to make out with you tonight."

Somehow, I became guardian for an intoxicated boy and as we walked around town, he told me he wanted a girlfriend. I told him I was bad at relationships. He said that everybody was.

After the humans vs. zombie hunt began on campus, we decided to go on an adventure and drove out into the country. We hiked through the woods until we came to a clearing. The clouds parted and for the first time, I realized that it was a full moon. I remember thinking that it explained so much.

Hirsute Matters aka the Hair Conundrum

I recently chopped off three to four inches of hair. When I say chopped off, I mean that literally. I didn't go to a hair salon and spend $30 on a haircut and shampoo. I grabbed a pair of old scissors at 1 in the morning and got to hacking. It's a bad habit of mine. I let my hair grow to about shoulder length, maybe a little longer and then I'm sick of it. I become tired of straggly, split ends and ponytail bumps.

Normally, the hair is symbolic of somebody in my life with whom I'm frustrated. If I'm fed up with a guy calling me, I'll chop my hair off. If I'm mad at my dad, I'll chop my hair off. If I wish a friend of mine would stop moaning over a guy, I'll chop my hair off. I don't consciously do this. It just happens.

The point is that now, my hair is in a short rounded bob with lots of layers (I evened up the back with a razor blade to create soft blended layers. There were lots of mirrors involved). The result varies depending on the day. Sometimes it's a mommy hair cut with a side part. Sometimes it's butch without a definitive part. Today, it's edgy with a slight flip to one side and dramatic, over one eye, side-swept bangs. regardless of the hair style of the moment, one thing has changed significantly. I am no longer checked out as much.

No more, do I receive the up and down glance and an eye-brow raise. No more do drunk boys on saturday nights ask me for a hug while I'm walking past a bar. No. Now I am given a blink of an eye and the "she must be lesbian" look. It doesn't help that I've been wearing my hiking boots.

The end result is nice though. I feel more studious and focused. I feel liberated from the hair. And frankly, I think the shorter length shows off my neck and collarbone so it's a win-win.

The Jews

I'm a Jew. You already know from my teeny profile on the side of the blog. It's nothing new.

I also grew up in a small town without very many of us (Jews, I mean). This means that the 9 Jewish children in my Hebrew school class was the most exposure I ever got to Jewish teens. Some of them went to a Jew summer camp. They would come back with tales about this boy or that girl or whatever happened behind the cabins. Seriously, Jew camp is way worse than band camp. I never went to camp. I always viewed it as matchmaking. The Jewish parents knew that their children would mess around with the opposite sex sometime and they preferred it be out of town with "nice Jewish kids" instead of in town and with the goyim.

My dad always joked about Jew camp. He would sing "Don't kiss a boy if he's a goy, but you can screw if he's a jew" to the tune of Lo Yisa Goy (A traditional prayer). At 12, I would squeal "Daaad! That's GROSS!"

As I got older and kissed many, many boys that were goys I realized that my dad (who, ironically, married shiksas... twice) actually had a point. It's not that non-jewish boys aren't great and it isn't that Jewish boys are... but I like Jewish boys better. Prepare yourself for a ton of stereotypes coming at you.

First of all, I consider myself an intellectual. I read poetry and visit art galleries for fun. I enjoy discussing "the BIG questions" and I like imagining a better world. For years, I considered myself an anarchist after voraciously reading everything Emma Goldman ever wrote. Granted, I wasn't so much of a fan of her when she drifted more towards communism during the Spanish Civil War but her early stuff was great. So, when I look at a guy as a potential boyfriend, I want him to be able to at least tolerate my idealism and pretentious interpretation of art.

What I'm saying is that Jewish culture places an emphasis on knowledge and understanding. Two out of the three Jewish boys I've kissed are incredibly intellectual and the boys I grew up with are as well. We're taught that our duty to the world, as Jews, is to question everything. Especially, authority. We're taught that knowledge is power and that things change. The Torah, Nevi'im and Kituvim are living documents. They are meant to be reinterpreted with every generation and that inquisitiveness is so vital to the tradition, that without it, I don't think Judaism and the Jews could have possibly survived the ages.

Secondly, it's just easier. I'm too lazy to explain my holidays to anyone else. I don't want to date someone that jokes he has bad "jewdar" or asks me " What is Yom Kippur?" or "really? You don't do Christmas?" Really. I don't do Christmas.

I want to be able to joke about how I got socks for Hannukah or that Purim when the Rabbi dressed up as a PE teacher from the 70's and ended up looking like a guy from a porno. I want to joke about the Yom Kippur service when acrobats went up to the Bimah and the woman I was with simply said "My father is rolling in his grave right now. Let's go." and we left. Horrified.

There's so much vocabulary I'd have to teach someone and so many cultural mores. When I told my grandmother that I wanted to study forestry, she said "But that's so difficult to explain to my bridge group. It's not like you're becoming a doctor or a lawyer or maybe even a rabbi!" To Jews, this is funny. It's expected. It's what Jewish grandmothers say. To boys that aren't Jewish, they stare at me strangely for a minute and then ask, "rabbi?"

The sexy factor

Starting in July, the Dollartrees and Walmarts of the U.S. started pushing their Halloween products. Personally, I think it's a little early for that but maybe it's part of the american culture. Maybe we always want the next, new distraction or excuse to drink. For little kids, it promotes unhealthy eating habits and supports the food industry. For female college students, Halloween is an excuse to don the skankiest outfit possible. The options range from "sexy schoolgirl" to "sexy robin hood, the girl version." Every costume has "Sexy" in front of it.

Sexy hasn't always been my thing. The "sexy" factor, aka short skirts and low cut shirts has always seemed to be a bit low-class. Don't women value themselves enough not to commercialize the body parts that make us to be women? Don't we value our femininity? Now, I'm not saying that I'm against nudity. Nudity is fine. If I could, I would be naked all the time. I love my body and if my blinds worked, I would be naked in my bedroom. They don't. Anyway, it's not the nudity or the exposition of body parts that bothers me. It's what it means to men.

For male college students, Halloween is an opportunity to see every college girl freeze their asses off trying to impress them. It's a meat market and the meat comes cheap.

Whatever happened to "confidence is sexy"? Apparently, the new sexy is needy and desperate.

Be that as it may, I might be a sexy skeleton... But the costume has GLOW IN THE DARK BONES! and really, who could pass that up?

Tongue in Cheek

Maybe I need to explain the title of the blog and my pseudonym. It can come off as cocky and overconfident. And obviously, my last post could be taken that way as well. So, yeah. I'm a little too self-secure.

My pseudonym comes from a past relationship. He once told me that I reminded him of a kitten. Now, I am no kitten. In middle school and high school, I'm pretty sure I terrified the kids that had classes with me. I'm opinionated and can be bossy and I'm tall. When I'm thinking, my brows knit together in a perpetual frown. On the other hand, I can be smiley and dance through the hallways. This guy had only seen my smiley side and as a strong feminist advocate, being called a "kitten" was not what I was looking for. So, I bared my proverbial claws, gave a growl and said "I'm a lioness."

The lioness is an interesting animal. Female, she does most of the hunting and although she lacks the intimidating mane, she certainly can hold her ground. They also, like to curl up in the sun and sleep for hours on end. A lioness is more fitting for me than a mere kitten. I'm no housecat.

The point is that in the end, he thought he had tamed me and in reality, I was claustrophobic and needed more space. I'm not to be caged either.

On to the title. Maneater is definitely tongue in cheek. I don't take pleasure in breaking men down. I bore easily or need space or am impulsive. I'm not ready for a real relationship and so, sometimes people get hurt. This blog is largely my writings about dating. It's silly and shallow and I know that, so please bear with me.

Sincerely,

Lioness

On the side

I'm a waitress. I'm a decently good waitress. I also flirt a little to compensate for when, occasionally, things go wrong. And on some days, things do go wrong. In my rush to get your omelette to the table, I might drop your toast. Or forget your butter or maybe, I won't have time to get to your third coffee refill. A smile and a compliment generally helps. So, I'm a cute, waitress in a small town breakfast shop. And, sometimes I get asked out. It's natural.

Over the summer, an incredibly cute young man waltzed in and sat down with his parents. They got breakfast and along with my tip... I got a phone number.Shortly after a messy long distance relationship thing, I decided, "What the hell? I'll call him."

I called the number and we went out a couple times. We added each other on facebook. You know how things go these days. Everything is online. He was cute, cocky, and a cityboy. Now, I'm no naive girl and I wasn't expected anything serious. Not from a guy that drives a motorcycle and plans to have a cougar as a pet. Not from a guy that simultaneously likes skydiving and is currently writing his own fantasy novel.

So, he went on a trip to New York and I went on a trip to Seattle. When I arrived home, I started the fall term of classes. He never called. I never called. On facebook, it says that he has a girlfriend. "Good for him." I think.

A few days ago, he walks back into the breakfast shop with his parents. We say hi. I tell him I like his haircut and apologize for being busy. He says he's been busy too. No big deal.

A few hours later, he sends me a text message. "hey." it says. Just, "hey."

I think to myself, "hey, what? Hey, you want to see me? Hey, let's be friends? Hey, sorry I haven't called you? No, just... hey."

I might be a small town waitress but I'm also an explorer and a hell of a smart cookie and I'm worth more than a "hey." I'm not an order on the side.