I confess, I like to look olive skin men in the eyes, for long periods of time. I have tried to hook up with Sephardi guys.....it never works out. They all share a fear in common when they think of me, together with them. They are afraid that my friends and family will think they are from Gaza, like we don't know the difference. There was one from Gaza once....boy that was a disaster.
Mr. I need a Green Card would always tell my friends (in Hebrew) that he was from Palestine. They took on worried poses, he looked barely old enough to have lived in Pre 1967 Israel. I would correct him only to defend my people, my homeland. We would argue then in Hebrew and if I was really in a colorful mood, I would toss in my Yiddish. I would say things like, "go, go in good health, G-D Bless you, here today gone tomorrow, nu,? such a face." That was all I know from when my parents would speak in Yiddish to secure their autonomy. Instead of teaching it to us, to preserve our mother tongue, we would know to leave the space as we learned that all Yiddish was defined by our parent's need for privacy.
In these rare and good moments, Mr. I Need a Green Card would look like he understood me and then he would slam some Arabic with Spanish my way and when no one was looking, he would slide his new English over to me and that would do it. My friends called us the deluxe combo, the International House of Freak. I loved our debates, so often and so complex, five languages, one issue, communication. We couldn't do it.
Sephardim have different sorts of egos than Ashkenazim. You can look a Sephardi in the eyes and it becomes a match of whits, they won't look away. It's a challenge to take a gander. Eastern European men on the other hand ask what your looking at, as if you lost something along the way and think they may have it. It seems that romance is not defined with these men. Romance may be procured among the Ashkenazim, I wouldn't know. I can't fall for one of them to save my life. It's a power struggle of some unearthly type. I don't ever understand it and so I step back and yield to the culture. Nebishy is how I refer to these sort of men. I know a Jewish mechanic, he says their not men. He won't even call them Nebishy, he refers to them simply as Nebs. He understands me and he has encouraged me to stay clear of such guys. "Find a man for goodness sakes. You'd do better with a non Jewish guy then with a Neb, a Jewish mamma's boy." The search has dropped off into the back drop of my life. I am no longer on line looking at profiles. I am not shul hopping. I am not suggesting much to friends, except that I would baby sit while they go out for an evening, leave the DVD to me and the Leggos. Lately, I have seen my fair share of family rated movies, I hated Bewitched.
The Sephardim are not easily offended when I look into their eyes. Their eyes speak to me. My eyes widen and accept the view that is projected onto my mind. With this to consider, I wonder often if I am in the wrong culture, in an opposite world. Maybe inside me is an olive skin toned Goat Herder wanting to come out. Maybe I am the mistress of a dark Arabian yid who like me could care less of what people see when they realize that he is for real. Regardless, I want to go to Israel now. I can find other eyes. I would look long and hard, knowing that he might be from Palestine, raised up in the boldness of the War of Independence. He may have fought in the Six Day War. When we would meet, he would look and see me, not his mother who may have smothered him in false hopes, that he is the only fish in the sea. My dreams whould unfold too.
My friends and family would in fact not trust him as I would grow to love him. In Hebrew and English, he would help me learn Yiddish so that I could go back in time and have words with my parents that linger on my mind, like the pictures that form there yet remain speechless. The new Mr. I Need a Green Card would get one by me as he would need it, to come and meet the kin folk.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Young and Old Alike
It was such a week for romance! I was at Shul(again...)and because Matisyahu was booked for a gig at a famous Austin hot spot, he was spending Shobbas with the Rabbi. As a result, the place was packed with tons of students, fans. At dinner, I sat with my friends and their perfectly cooing baby on one side, on the other were some university students. There was one in particular, he looked young yet he came across wise like the sages. I must have confused myself, I was distracted. Was he so young or so wise? He was darling to look at, should have been my cue. He was the second child I always wanted. It's always bad news when a woman wants to mother a man, regardless of the circumstances, it's a wrong turn.
He was sitting across the table and two people over, it was a reach. Before I knew it, one thing led to another and when I found out that he had never been to a Chabad Purim Party, I suggested that he come this year. In the end, I agreed to pick him up at his COOP and take him with me to yee ole festive occasion. Purim is always fun by this Rabbi! In Texas, it seems that they really know how to party. Typically, there is a keg of Shiner just to wet your whistle. The fresh good food keeps coming out of the kitchen until the wee hours and the garage band improves with each Migillah reading, thank G-D. This year, they were as hot as a SXSW showcase. I love Chag Purim at the Rabbi's and I assured him he would too. Aside from Simchat Torah, Purim rocked the life force.
Before we took off for the party, we visited for a spell. He wanted to know more about me. I insisted that surely I was not half as interesting as he was and so I counter requested that he tell me who he was, what motivated him in life, I needed to know. There was a chemistry there and I refused to entertain the notion of combustion without more, info. The bottom line came fast, he was 21. That was all I needed to know. He said it with a shy questioning tone, as if to suggest that he was still in the running , wasn't he? Ah, no. I kept my cool though. I looked away, slightly to the left, the side of us Jews where it is believed that judgment works from and I exhaled ever so slowly, softly. He could not read me. Son of a B, a dear sweet soul.
So young and vulnerable, so much yearning, he held out for, he was a virgin. The embrace, the smoothness of skin combined, slinking through his fingers, his soft soft beard,dripping with his desires met and moist, wanting to absorb so much. I was infuriated now. There was no telling how I would choose to control myself. In real time, it is tough for me. I have no self control. In nature, I am impulsive and uninhibited, a lethal combination of para normal traits for this modern world.
Now that I am not living La Vida Torah and am a bad bad Jew, I wondered if there was a mitzvah, a good deed that I could to do to quell my urge. My urges are enormous by hormonal standards, it is a crime. For example, I never get head aches, understand what I mean? There was no anecdote for my suffering, that the plastic surgeon in my life could repair. I would have to dream of letting this sweet bundle of lust go, go away and fast. It was going to hurt him, his manhood falling to the floor in defeat, he was so dramatic and did I mention tight and clear.
At the Purim Party, we took our nosh outside and sat together in the dark. We could see a tired and frustrated parent try and discipline his son in the cool of the evening. He worked me away from the upset with a glance into his own childhood. I cannot say more now. In just he was setting up the scene for the end of the night, where I guess he imagined me parking my car and entering his space again, this time with my hand in his. Little did we know that at the end of the evening, as we were leaving the party, I was following after him.....the Rabbi's wife(a very powerful woman) pulled my ear hard to her mouth, "don't you dare touch him, he is too young for you." I did not need this harsh Torah.
I sent him a thank you note, for sharing Purim with me at Chabad. It fell on silence. My magic wore off of him. Respect a person, a man for where he is and what do I get, gornished , nothing. Just like Sal in the Yiddish version of Fun with Dick and Jane( litvids.com), he gets gornished all the time. It was something to talk about for a time. My Austin girl friends all gave me high marks for driving off that night, getting away from such youth. I am middle aged.
This young buck was not my first offer in that week of Purim. There was another man. This one flirted with me for few weeks before I caught on and made the decision to play. I liked his background, in education no less and we had that in common. We both worked with inmates, Texas inmates to be accurate. There are no finer inmates than Texas inmates. In Texas, prison is our largest hotel chain, like some old retired white man warden claims in a book. As a result, I percieve Texas inmates to be in flux, always dreaming of the next better road trip.
I was chewing well again, on the notion of sharing space. I figured we would start with a walk, a coffee at the local bleeding heart liberal coffee house in town. We would have such things to talk about, a good lock down, the infamous law suit brought by a Texas inmate, Ruiz Vs. Estelle where inmates now had rights in Texas. We would discuss much. We would discover how we chose to leave the prison system and how lucky we are to have worked there. He worked in Huntsville, I was not as lucky as he and so we would confess and share envy. He is not Jewish, by the by and so, my rich fantasy life was soring out of this world. How would I explain this I thought, as done in prison, with concrete thinking, man woman need want, dosen't sound Jewish.
It went along this way. We talked about going on a road trip to Huntsville to visit the Prison Museum there. He lives right by me and made mention of dinner, neighborhood gatherings, lawn sits. I could walk over, he would walk me back. See, how well it fits. I knew he was older than me. His white hair held so much color inside my mind. I love older people in general. In specific, I can often imagine the dynamic, smarter than me for the years, richer and sweeter than me for the seasons. I like to learn and I tire from teaching, it would be a delight. I would have to train him hard in other areas, he could take it.
He called me, left a message. His new neighbor opened up a shop in town, I should pay her a visit, welcome her to town. She sells lingerie he mentioned, I should check out her inventory. I emailed him, could we do that together. On second thought, I went ahead and stepped inside the new store, alone. I visited the new neighbor in our small town manner and when she said that yes, he was a great guy, he had brought his girl friend, his finance in to buy her an outfit, take her to dinner and a concert in her new clothes....I had to agree. He was some guy, a real piece of art. I wondered if his girlfriend, I mean fiance felt the same way he acted. Was he the subject of beauty in that relationship or the switch whizzing through the air smacking me on the back of the neck in our's, a sound in other dreams. How did I become captivated by his attentions?
Normally, I am so off the chart that I cannot tell when they are flirting with me. In this picture, I at least knew that he was tempting my attentions. If I could dominate a cream puff, I would will him to me and teach him a lesson in longing. I would shake him down like they do on the inside and I would feed him Johnny Sacks for days and Texas Food Loaf, special for him. I would nurture him with a Brillo Pad, dripping with olive oil, hot from the fire place.
To go from 21 to 61 in less than a week was enough excitement for me. I am not capable of dominating a cream puff and so even my fantasies fall short for my liking. I asked a friend what she thought. She mentioned her son's Cub Scout leader, a real mench. His wife lost 120 lbs. with surgery and divorced him. He is looking, she assured me. I am keen on Cub Scouts, they know from knots and first aid.
He was sitting across the table and two people over, it was a reach. Before I knew it, one thing led to another and when I found out that he had never been to a Chabad Purim Party, I suggested that he come this year. In the end, I agreed to pick him up at his COOP and take him with me to yee ole festive occasion. Purim is always fun by this Rabbi! In Texas, it seems that they really know how to party. Typically, there is a keg of Shiner just to wet your whistle. The fresh good food keeps coming out of the kitchen until the wee hours and the garage band improves with each Migillah reading, thank G-D. This year, they were as hot as a SXSW showcase. I love Chag Purim at the Rabbi's and I assured him he would too. Aside from Simchat Torah, Purim rocked the life force.
Before we took off for the party, we visited for a spell. He wanted to know more about me. I insisted that surely I was not half as interesting as he was and so I counter requested that he tell me who he was, what motivated him in life, I needed to know. There was a chemistry there and I refused to entertain the notion of combustion without more, info. The bottom line came fast, he was 21. That was all I needed to know. He said it with a shy questioning tone, as if to suggest that he was still in the running , wasn't he? Ah, no. I kept my cool though. I looked away, slightly to the left, the side of us Jews where it is believed that judgment works from and I exhaled ever so slowly, softly. He could not read me. Son of a B, a dear sweet soul.
So young and vulnerable, so much yearning, he held out for, he was a virgin. The embrace, the smoothness of skin combined, slinking through his fingers, his soft soft beard,dripping with his desires met and moist, wanting to absorb so much. I was infuriated now. There was no telling how I would choose to control myself. In real time, it is tough for me. I have no self control. In nature, I am impulsive and uninhibited, a lethal combination of para normal traits for this modern world.
Now that I am not living La Vida Torah and am a bad bad Jew, I wondered if there was a mitzvah, a good deed that I could to do to quell my urge. My urges are enormous by hormonal standards, it is a crime. For example, I never get head aches, understand what I mean? There was no anecdote for my suffering, that the plastic surgeon in my life could repair. I would have to dream of letting this sweet bundle of lust go, go away and fast. It was going to hurt him, his manhood falling to the floor in defeat, he was so dramatic and did I mention tight and clear.
At the Purim Party, we took our nosh outside and sat together in the dark. We could see a tired and frustrated parent try and discipline his son in the cool of the evening. He worked me away from the upset with a glance into his own childhood. I cannot say more now. In just he was setting up the scene for the end of the night, where I guess he imagined me parking my car and entering his space again, this time with my hand in his. Little did we know that at the end of the evening, as we were leaving the party, I was following after him.....the Rabbi's wife(a very powerful woman) pulled my ear hard to her mouth, "don't you dare touch him, he is too young for you." I did not need this harsh Torah.
I sent him a thank you note, for sharing Purim with me at Chabad. It fell on silence. My magic wore off of him. Respect a person, a man for where he is and what do I get, gornished , nothing. Just like Sal in the Yiddish version of Fun with Dick and Jane( litvids.com), he gets gornished all the time. It was something to talk about for a time. My Austin girl friends all gave me high marks for driving off that night, getting away from such youth. I am middle aged.
This young buck was not my first offer in that week of Purim. There was another man. This one flirted with me for few weeks before I caught on and made the decision to play. I liked his background, in education no less and we had that in common. We both worked with inmates, Texas inmates to be accurate. There are no finer inmates than Texas inmates. In Texas, prison is our largest hotel chain, like some old retired white man warden claims in a book. As a result, I percieve Texas inmates to be in flux, always dreaming of the next better road trip.
I was chewing well again, on the notion of sharing space. I figured we would start with a walk, a coffee at the local bleeding heart liberal coffee house in town. We would have such things to talk about, a good lock down, the infamous law suit brought by a Texas inmate, Ruiz Vs. Estelle where inmates now had rights in Texas. We would discuss much. We would discover how we chose to leave the prison system and how lucky we are to have worked there. He worked in Huntsville, I was not as lucky as he and so we would confess and share envy. He is not Jewish, by the by and so, my rich fantasy life was soring out of this world. How would I explain this I thought, as done in prison, with concrete thinking, man woman need want, dosen't sound Jewish.
It went along this way. We talked about going on a road trip to Huntsville to visit the Prison Museum there. He lives right by me and made mention of dinner, neighborhood gatherings, lawn sits. I could walk over, he would walk me back. See, how well it fits. I knew he was older than me. His white hair held so much color inside my mind. I love older people in general. In specific, I can often imagine the dynamic, smarter than me for the years, richer and sweeter than me for the seasons. I like to learn and I tire from teaching, it would be a delight. I would have to train him hard in other areas, he could take it.
He called me, left a message. His new neighbor opened up a shop in town, I should pay her a visit, welcome her to town. She sells lingerie he mentioned, I should check out her inventory. I emailed him, could we do that together. On second thought, I went ahead and stepped inside the new store, alone. I visited the new neighbor in our small town manner and when she said that yes, he was a great guy, he had brought his girl friend, his finance in to buy her an outfit, take her to dinner and a concert in her new clothes....I had to agree. He was some guy, a real piece of art. I wondered if his girlfriend, I mean fiance felt the same way he acted. Was he the subject of beauty in that relationship or the switch whizzing through the air smacking me on the back of the neck in our's, a sound in other dreams. How did I become captivated by his attentions?
Normally, I am so off the chart that I cannot tell when they are flirting with me. In this picture, I at least knew that he was tempting my attentions. If I could dominate a cream puff, I would will him to me and teach him a lesson in longing. I would shake him down like they do on the inside and I would feed him Johnny Sacks for days and Texas Food Loaf, special for him. I would nurture him with a Brillo Pad, dripping with olive oil, hot from the fire place.
To go from 21 to 61 in less than a week was enough excitement for me. I am not capable of dominating a cream puff and so even my fantasies fall short for my liking. I asked a friend what she thought. She mentioned her son's Cub Scout leader, a real mench. His wife lost 120 lbs. with surgery and divorced him. He is looking, she assured me. I am keen on Cub Scouts, they know from knots and first aid.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
But it Feels So Good
We were talking about feeling better in general. In specific, we were getting to know each other, peeling away another layer on our big onion of life. I take time to get to the point. In this story, it took longer than forever for me to make mention. Based on our conversation, Ear Candleing falls into the proven and unproven catagories of efficacy. I know because I get it done and my Boss tells me that "they" have proven that the matter that I mistake for ear wax in the parafin tube is but the material that the candle itself is made of. The candle is white, the refuse that we find in it after the flame is blown out can range from orange, to yellow, to amber and sometimes little shades of brown and red appear. I want to touch it, smell it, make nice with it, regardless of what my Boss reads and what they say in articles, I believe that it comes from me. My ear candle practitioner discourages me from getting that deep into the process. She is Texan and she says, "we just don't do that."
I go in for ear candling because it feels great! efficacy aside, I love the feeling of the sounds, the smell of the lavender oil, massageing into my skin. I love the touch of the practioner, as she draws me out and deeper into myself as I listen to my inside comeing out of me. I answer her questions, I breathe more evenly and when I slide off of the table, colors appear more vibrant than ever. It is then that I see into things best and not as often as I wish.
Who cares if articles are written claiming that it does no good, pulls nothing out, that it can't do what I believe it does, who cares. The entire process is like getting ready for a date with a favorite man. The drive into the Hill Country is always flawless in nature. The wide open Texas sky peaking out in between enormous rolling hills. Getting into town is always ritual like. I stop at the whole foods grocery, say howdy and get a bottle of water and a bar of Bluebonnet soap made Texan proud. Down the road, I pull over under a tree and wait for the moment to arrive. On the porch, I reach for the door and am invited in by the warmest person I know. She hugs me and I am gone.
I go in for ear candling because it feels great! efficacy aside, I love the feeling of the sounds, the smell of the lavender oil, massageing into my skin. I love the touch of the practioner, as she draws me out and deeper into myself as I listen to my inside comeing out of me. I answer her questions, I breathe more evenly and when I slide off of the table, colors appear more vibrant than ever. It is then that I see into things best and not as often as I wish.
Who cares if articles are written claiming that it does no good, pulls nothing out, that it can't do what I believe it does, who cares. The entire process is like getting ready for a date with a favorite man. The drive into the Hill Country is always flawless in nature. The wide open Texas sky peaking out in between enormous rolling hills. Getting into town is always ritual like. I stop at the whole foods grocery, say howdy and get a bottle of water and a bar of Bluebonnet soap made Texan proud. Down the road, I pull over under a tree and wait for the moment to arrive. On the porch, I reach for the door and am invited in by the warmest person I know. She hugs me and I am gone.
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