Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow, but not when I’m there
Posted 1 February 2008on:
Brrrrrr… this is Neve Daniel yesterday or maybe the day before; I saw these pics when I got home from work last night. Neve Daniel is on the top of a hillside; it is high up and it seems it’s only there and the north of Israel that got snowed in. I sure hope it’s gone by the time I arrive… I do not like the snow and it doesn’t like me. I am not a pretty sight struggling on the ice and slipping and landing on my **** but it looks like Boaz is having fun and I thought it was cold here. Talking of which, I sure appreciate the seat warmer in my car 🙂
I’m trying to lose weight again. My weight is usually stuck at a very neat round figure, but I really need to neaten it down a neat round stone at least (that is 14lbs for you yanks). It reaches a plateau and when I exceed it, those few naughty pounds generally come off easily, but sliding downhill off the plateau is proving tricky. Yoyo dieting is my problem so my metabolic rate is lethargically slow and my body is used to low fat and low cals that it takes very little naughtiness to gain weight and a diet of bugger all to lose it.
Recently I found a programme called Diet Doctors; Inside and Out which is most interesting. The participants are all, obviously, overweight, but they also have health issues that need to be addressed. Apart from one very stupid woman who irritated me no end since she said she learnt nothing new because they didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. She refused to give up smoking even though she’d had a thrombosis when she was 11 and she refused to put into practice their diet and exercise advice, that she actually gained weight… doh! Twelve weeks later everyone else’s health is much improved and they look wonderful.
After watching the programme I am filled with great resolve to be a good girl until I turn over and watch Nigella. I think Nigella is a bit like Marmite… you either love her or hate her. I enjoyed Nigella Bites, but Nigella Express was… well… weird. She loves cooking (so do I) and she loves her food (so do I). Why is life so complicated?
In am struggling with my book, We Need to Talk About Kevin, and the meeting is next week. It has become something akin to homework and I never did like homework. I have been told to persevere because there is a twist, but I am wondering whether to skip to the end, google it and crib or wait and be put out my misery. Watch this space!
Another week, so here’s the latest on my foray into internet dating, although I have actually yet to meet any of these men in the flesh so to speak. They all sweet talk. They all flatter. They all shmooze. They all talk about tactile and passion. So, I still get these emails every day, or several times a day, saying “we have matches for you” which is a loada baloney. The youngsters are still at it, but I ignore them. I told Jamie about the 31 year olds and he shifted about somewhat embarrassed then told me that apparently some of Jon’s peers used to fancy me when they were like 15 or 16. That was about 15 years ago… UGH!
Still I have corresponded with a couple of seemingly nice men, having made the initial contact myself. This dating group’s motto is “it’s okay to make the first move.” The first guy I tried told me that timing is everything and I’m too late; he’d met someone, so I just wished him luck. I wasn’t sure whether to add that if it fell apart, you know… but I didn’t want to seem too pushy.
Then I saw another profile that read well. I emailed him and my parting words were that I would still appreciate the courtesy of a reply even if it’s to tell me I’m not his cup of tea. He did reply and said he’d like to correspond, but he’s in Israel at the moment and will be back next week. I answered him, but haven’t heard another word!
Today I read another profile I liked, so tried again. This guy actually IM’d me back immediately, but he happened to be in Miami and will also be back in the country next week, so we chatted for a while until he asked me to telephone him. I did, but the hotel wouldn’t put me through without a surname and I only knew his first name. He told me. It was Cohen. Ah… that opens a whole new can of worms.
A Cohen is a descendent from Aaron, the brother of Moses, who was a priest. Although today most of the priestly duties no longer exist, a Cohen is prohibited from marrying a divorced woman. In fact I read another profile I liked and as an afterthought this man had actually written that no divorcees should contact him. The point is I am looking for a fairly observant man because, well I am, but this truly pains me. It is Jewish law and I have to accept it (not that I’m sure I want to marry anyway, although all the men I’ve spoken to believe that’s what all the women want). Of course, it’s not a problem if you’re not orthodox because there are plenty of Liberal/Reform/Conservative alternatives.
The funny thing is that coincidentally and without exception, all these men are younger than me; so… all in all very interesting, but I won’t hold my breath.
Right, must move myself as the mob will be here any minute and I’ve still got to set the table. I hope I get round to seeing ya’all and you and yours have a superduper weekend and Shabbat Shalom.
P.S. Later today
I have a confession and likely it’s not much different to most ladies who have a problem with body image and a loathing for a particular part of their body, although in my case it’s most of it. I caught another prog tonite and typical of me, it was the last in the series, so I hope it gets repeated. It was something like looking good naked, but the woman who thought she looked naf and wore her hubbies baggy t-shirts had a wonderful hour-glass figure… and she was young…. and she was beautiful. HUH! But, there were about 100 women of all ages, shapes and sizes happily prancing around in their underwear in front of the cameras… this got me thinking, again…
every single man I have spoken to from this online dating thingy is obsessed with my body, asking an assortment of questions about my size, my weight, what kinda clothes I wear, where I shop, how trendy am I, do I wear high heels, makeup, lipgloss, even my vital statistics and remarking how titchy I am because I’m only 5’0″ tall short (I think petite sounds so much nicer) and exactly just how fat cuddly am I, that I invariably come off the phone feeling uncomfortable and inadequate and thinking it would probably be best if we don’t ever actually meet because they are sure gonna be in for a mega disappointment.
Today’s guy saw my picci from Jamie’s wedding and guessed I was a size 10 (a U.S. size 6)… yeah well I was once and those clothes are now lurking in an abandoned wardrobe in one of my spare bedrooms; I certainly wasn’t last summer. It’s now becoming an art form in how to avoid answering these questions and suggesting that a little mystery is no bad thing. Next time I shall be a little more assertive and on the offensive and ask the next poor guy why it’s so important to him… that should be interesting! This is quite a learning curve and would I be so bold?
Do I ask them the size of their chest, their neck measurement, whether they’re bald or hirsute, how old their pic is on their profile, their weight or especially the size of their hands and feet so I can maybe gauge the size of their dangly bits? No, of course, I don’t, that would be plain rude. Let’s take our dearest darling Vincent D’Onofrio… yes let’s take him. Most of his fans first discovered him as the quirky uberhero ultra intelligent big big big Bobby Goren and over seven seasons he is obviously older, like by seven years, but he is also fatter cuddlier and greyer his hair is salt and pepper and the wrinkles frownlines are appearing and he is still under 50… but..
… have we stopped loving him? NO NO NO!
… do we still fancy the pants off him? YES YES YES!
Vincent is not classically handsome; the Hollywood stereotype. You can’t put your finger on exactly what it is that makes him attractive to millions of women; he just has that je ne sais quoi that exudes masculinity and sexuality, but to me so does Patrick Stewart and Alan Rickman and Colin Firth and Bill Nighy and none of them look alike. So my question is, why are these men so preoccupied with looks when it’s something impalpable, intangible and elusive that draws two people together, and often two unlikely people?
P.P.S. The almost Vincent lookalike has still not opened my email; maybe he’s one of online dating’s success stories 😉