Monthly Archives: September 2007

I’ll see your “dumbass” and raise you “inconsiderate fuck”

stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

i just got an email from daniel with his flight itinerary for his next visit which was supposed to be friday-sunday. a very nice note accompanied it, saying that a conference came up and he decided to move the visit to sunday-tuesday. how sweet.

no phone call, no email, no “will this work instead? i really need to attend this conference and i really miss the kids so can we change the dates?” nope, “i’ve moved the visit to sunday morning and i’ll drop them off at school on tuesday.”

wow, so yeah, they have hebrew school for three hours on sunday, regular school for six hours on monday and tae kwon do for an hour and a half monday evening. should be plenty of time to get in your “it’s always a party with dad” activities. that, and you know, homework and stuff.

not to mention that i’ve committed to working at a charity benefit all day saturday because they were supposed to be with him.

i want to go back to bed and wake up and hear that he’s magically been transformed into a beetle so i can squash him on the pavement with a satisfying crunch.

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Filed under Divorce, dumbassery, Frustration, Kids, Parenting

Wanton

So I’m at services tonight (wearing all white, thanks) and  gorgeous tall man is sitting a row behind me and four seats over.  Swoonage.

I’m trying hard to focus on things. cos g-d knows I’ve got what to atone for.

We stand for the Al Het, when we enumerate all 44 types of transgressions we may have committed in the past year and I glance over my shoulder.

He winks at me.

Eeeps. I grin and my stomach does little flips.

Then we get to the part of the Al Het where it goes (in the New Machzor) “For the sins we have committed with wanton glances” and I cringe a little bit.

But then I sort of smile to myself.

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Filed under Flirting, Jewish, Stories, Yom Kippur

Ritual de lo Habitual

I am a sucker for rituals.

For years I thought it’d be cool to be Catholic, so I could go to confession, light candles, dip my fingers in holy water and cross myself. Also, there’s the whole priest-putting-communion-wafer-on-my-tongue thing. That’s pretty hot.

They lose me, though, with the whole lamb of God/died on the cross thing. No that there’s anything wrong with people who believe that’s how things went down, it’s just not my tradition.

I’m not terribly religious. Like, I don’t go to services every week, or even every month. I’m always there for holidays though, and let’s face it, Jews have a lot of damn holidays, and Rosh HaShanah is my favorite.

So I was in services this morning and they’d finished the torah reading. The rabbi called up this seriously tall and gorgeous man to be Hagba and hold one of the scrolls while it was covered and put back in the ark.

His royal blue dress shirt accentuated the stripes in his tallit, not to mention what it did for his eyes. They were piercingly blue. Nice touch with the dark brown hair and closely trimmed beard. Man, but he was handsome.

The rabbi looked around, needing someone to do the Gelilah and “dress” the torah which was being held in the lap of said gorgeous man. So, you know, the rabbi picked me. This is a seriously big honor in the circle of the Heebs, and I don’t want to cheapen it by telling you what I thought as I approached the front, but you know, I’m going to anyway.

“Heeeeeeeee,” I thought to myself as I walked up to the bimah, “gorgeous guy sitting in a chair in front of me…um, what am I supposed to do, again? Right, right, I’ve seen this done before. Focus, Madeline, this is serious.”

I walked over and took the velvet elasticized band which clips over the centers of the scrolls and holds them together. I bent down, glanced at him and smiled, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled back.

I took the velvet cover and threaded the wooden handles through the holes in the top, bringing the gold and white embroidered fabric down, brushing his knuckles. My heart did a little leap.

The metal breastplate was next. I hung its chain over the handles and straightened it, leaning forward and peeking from behind the torah which separated us. Then the silver Yad pointer, which hangs on its chain from one of the tops. It chunnnked into place when I laid it down.

“Good job,” tall gorgeous man whispered.

I smiled, “You, too.”

“It’s my first time,” he said.

“Really? It’s my first time, too.”

And there are not too many things I can say that about.

Many glances were exchanged for the rest of the service, as he sat up front holding the torah and I sat in my seat.

Later, the rabbi made a special effort to make sure I knew that he considers Yom Kippur a “hookup holiday,” since once your 25-hour fast is over, you’re supposed to like, get it on. Apparently it says this in the bible somewhere.

Then he winked at me and invited me to lunch at his home.
So now tall gorgeous man and I have shared gefilte fish, hummus, mandelbrot and coffee at the rabbi’s house. He is a Mac user, Honda owner and our Treos had sex as we beamed our business cards to each other. I don’t think I said anything stupid or ridiculous but how would I know, really? My mind kept wandering to how handsome he was, and how I came just to his collarbone. How he would have to bend down to kiss me.

I love the High Holidays, with their familiar rituals and liturgy, the same prayers every year, the sounding of the shofar and the whole spirituality of it. I love the way that, at Rosh Hashanah, things seem infinitely possible. As the past year closes and we prepare for the next, everything seems new and alive and sweet. For the rest of the world, it’s just another couple days of the week, but for Jews it’s so significant. That’s pretty awesome.

I love, too, how the last few days have been a minor drag for me with some family drama and yet I felt so serene as I walked the dog tonight with my boys, excited about this guy–about the possibility that this guy represents–and smiled all dreamy-like.

We left the rabbi’s house together this afternoon, tall gorgeous man and I. I walked with him to just short of his car. He took my hand and didn’t shake it, just walked backwards to his car and looked at me with those eyes.

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Filed under Dating, Jewish, Rosh Hashanah, Stories

those people are mean.

it’s 8:50 pm and I just realized that my internet is down. like, it’s some infrastructure thing or something because the signal keeps disappearing and even when it’s full, I can’t sign on. Bah, so I walked away from the computer and went to turn off the movie the kids had been watching before bed. I thought, what the hell, I wonder what’s on TV? (I’m blogging from my Treo like a geek.)
Um, could someone *please* explain the appeal of this show called Fat March? Because I don’t get it and it made me feel all icky inside and I unplugged the TV. Blech, can’t people just be nice to each other?

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Filed under Stories

Origin of Love

So, over at The Fuck House, my ex-boyfriend marcus and our mutual boyfriend Jefferson have been having a discussion of sorts about Hedwig and the Angry Inch, John Cameron Mitchell and (ugh) Rufus Wainwright.

You can track the jabs and insults here.

I wanted to post this version of one of my favorite songs ever, because JCM is my bf, too, and I actually did blow him in the ladies’ room right before this in-store performance and then he went out and sang this song.

That boy loves to makes me cry.

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Filed under Blogging, Friends, Love