Monday, November 13, 2006

Little Marty -- not so little

I should be studying, I have reading and assignments, but so much happened this weekend that I have to write something about it all.

First off, I went to an oneg Friday night, and from there was dragged by friends to the Carlebach Synagogue. I never go to Carlebach; I'm not the slightest hint hassidish, and I don't usually go for the guys that hang out there. (Too old, most of them, and also too weird.)

But I went, and ended up talking to a guy who was speaking to my friend Amy.

At first we discovered that we knew another person in common -- he had recently had dinner with a guy I went out with (once) a while back. This guy, he told me, had walked down at his wedding.

"Was he at your divorce, too, or did you not send out invitations for that?" I asked.

For some reason, he wasn't put off by my sarcasm -- he began confiding in me. And I listened. I'm very wary of divorced guys -- a few years back I was bruisingly manipulated by one recently-divorced SOB, and the wounds are still raw. So I thought I'd just listen to him and practice being a psychologist. How was he handling the divorce? How was his child handling it? Was he...?

"Stop putting me on the couch," he said. Okay. So I just listened. It got late, then later. We were standing in the synagogue foyer, and my knees began to ache badly. I told him I was going home, and he said, "Oh, which way are you going? I'll walk with you."

Which was 10 blocks and three avenues out of his way. But I didn't think he was interested in me. I catch on slow. I guess I just thought that he was enjoying the conversation -- and so was I; like me, he's a lively, creative person, and he's fun to talk to (I eventually did get to do some of the talking).

He walked me to my building and we stood in the doorway, talking. And the mood between us slowly changed. It became charged, liquid, sensual. Even though the topic of conversation hadn't gone in any mildly improper direction, even though he hadn't told me I was pretty. I was just very aware of his presence.

Now I know better than to get involved with a recently divorced guy. I have my previous bad experience to thank for that. But I suddenly wanted him to kiss me. I didn't know if it was pure physical hunger -- it's been a LONG time since I've felt a man's intimate touch -- or my attraction to him, or how much I liked his tie and shirt (every girl falls for a sharp-dressed man), or the tendrils of his curly hair that I wanted to run my fingers through, or a signal of interest he was broadcasting. I just wanted him to kiss me.

I could have snuck closer to him in small steps, very subtly, but every article I've read in women's magazines (especially those written by men) make one point very clear: MEN DO NOT GET SUBTLE SIGNALS. They just don't. They're too cautious, or blind, or simple.

So I took a big step toward him and looked up at him with my best bedroom eyes. He looked at me, in an almost calculating way, finished his thought (which took a few phrases), then stepped in, took hold of my arms and kissed me.

That was two nights ago, and the thought still makes me melt. It was an amazing kiss, not too bold, not too shy, in fact, very tender, but I felt it: across my face, down my back, in my chest, through my stomach.

In short, an incredible kiss. He stepped back and looked at me.

And several bits of knowledge that he'd shared during our hours of conversation -- the city he was from, his last name, his career interests -- clicked and fell into place. And I said, "You're Sammy's little brother Marty! Sammy married my old roommate Rebecca! I met you right before the wedding, years and years ago -- you were little Marty!" Sammy had brought Marty to our apartment so Rebecca could meet him -- Marty had been studying in Israel during their entire courtship and engagement. Since I was there, I also met "little Marty."

At first he was amazed that I remembered him -- he had no memory of me (claims he was jet-lagged). Then he recovered his equilibrium, and quipped, "Not so little."

It's amazing to me that he graduated college, got married, had a child, and got divorced -- all within the time that I've been living on the West Side not doing any of those things. I'm not sure which is worse.

And I know I can't date him -- he's still re-establishing himself as a single person, and going through some career changes. I learned the hard way that recently divorced guys make TERRIBLE boyfriends; I'll post about that some other time, but suffice it to say that the recently-divorced SOB (RD-SOB, for future reference) burned me badly. He was awful to me.

But little Marty, not so little -- that was an amazing Friday night.

And I ended up taking him to my classmate's 25th birthday party Saturday night. Both of us enjoyed having someone to dance with, hold hands with. We're both affectionate, temporarily partnerless people. That night, we were Mr. and Ms. Right Now.

It was funny -- I made it clear to my classmates that he was recently divorced and just a good friend, and one of them said, "But in seven years, would you consider marrying him?"

"In seven years, I'll be over 40," I told her. "I hope to Gd I'll be married by then!" Shows you her frame of reference; she's 23.

The rest of the weekend was not as pleasing. I shlepped out to Queens to try to give someone an IQ test, and the bitch stood me up. Fortunately the due date for the assignment was pushed back a week, so I still have next weekend, but I'm beyond frustrated with how poorly this semester is going. It's Murphy's semester, and I'm the poster child. There is no reason I should be having so much f**ckin' trouble finding people to test! And I can't tell Dr. Jerk, because he will not care.

I was so angry and upset, I took three tranquilizers, because I was on my way to Jerusha's big suburban McMansion to see the kids, and I did not want to interact with my sister in such an angry state. She makes me angry enough.

My little nephew about broke my heart when he said, "Aunt Ayelet, I never seed you!" Shira kept saying, "Aunt Ayelet, I love you more than you love me." How can I cut myself off from this much love?

Unfortunately, I couldn't talk to my older niece Malka very much, because when we attempted to discuss her school issues, I fell asleep on her bed -- apparently three is one too many tranquilizers for Ayelet to take and remain conscious. Something to remember.

Malka told Jerusha that she wanted us to make up, so we tried to talk it out, and it didn't help. I was accused of being an ungrateful and ungracious guest, never helping out with anything or only offering when there's nothing left to do, and too prone to finishing all the mango slices in the fridge. Which is all a blatant lie. I always offer to help -- set the table, do the dishes -- and she never takes me up on it. I never finish a container of mango slices unless there's another one in there. I always thank her before I leave, and I always tell her the food is great. She is nit-picking because she has no substantive arguments to make.

She castigated me, claiming I make fun of her in front of her friends. I sniped that I react that way in front of her friends because she's rude and dismissive to me from the moment I arrive. She refuses to see it.

The funny thing is, when she dropped me off at the subway station, she still wanted me to call and let her know when I got back to my apartment in Manhattan. I know she loves me. Why, oh why can't she be nice to me? Or if not nice -- why not pleasant? Civil? Decent??
Copyright (c) 2006 "Ayelet Survivor"

2 comments:

  1. So glad you made it out to your sister's, even if she was bitchy. But I'm distressed to read that you still seem to be using tranquilizers as a crutch. Popping three pills before dealing with an unpleasant family members is not healthy behavior! You seem to have gotten into a bad pattern with pills and you should really, really talk to your doctor about it. Popping pills is a slippery slope.

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  2. Listen to your friends.

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