Work it out

I joined a gym. Hilarity ensues...

I guess the Lord must be in New York City

I had this great New York moment the other day. I was jogging down a dark, deserted street searching for a cab. There was a light but steady flow of rain and even though I was freezing and my pretty dress was getting wet, I didn't have it in me to be irritated. Some of my favorite snippets of life here are standing in the rain, trying to catch a cab. There is something oddly magical about it; like you know that this couldn't happen anywhere but here.

Yesterday, I was in my kitchen trying to pull the garbage out of the pail. It was stuck. I was standing there in yoga pants and a sports bra and fighting a losing battle with a full Force Flex -the kind that claim they won't rip. (LIES! All lies!) I was on my tip toes with my hands clenched around the edges of the bag and I thought to myself that SOMETIMES I kind of sort of DO miss having a guy around. Though if any guy had been around to view that spectacle (especially the ones I know) he probably would have doubled over laughing.

And these two small snapshots: cab hailing and garbage wrestling, though somewhat insignificant, are for some reason so representative to me of my time here. Perhaps because I didn't do these things in Florida, perhaps because they mean more here. I can't explain it. I left behind an apartment 3 times the size of my current one and my very own car, but they don't even begin to compare to my cozy hideway and the glittering grounds. Even if I DO stomp my feet on them while waiting for a taxi. It's just all so much better in New York City.

jgiwc.com!

Back soon my friends; I am working on a dot com for JGIWC. Very exciting!

Is that all there is?

After two long weeks of no television whatsoever, the tube is back in business. I don't feel it would be far fetched to say this has helped contribute to fourteen of the strangest days I've ever lived.

I have a routine. I watch Sex and the City every night before I go to sleep and flip between the Today show and Saved by the Bell when I wake up. I wonder if the recent lack of Carrie's fabulous life in the city has made me question my own.

She says that in New York, when it comes to apartments, jobs and boyfriends, you always have two of the three. I got a glowing review at work yesterday, and I love beyond love my lovely little studio.

But, I don't think that's all there is. In my heart of hearts, I DO believe you can have it all.

I was born to have it all.

One more time for the cheap seats in the back.

Can I get that in writing?

My daily fortune cookie says:

"A sweet surprise awaits you."

There are few things in this world that I love more than surprises.

Of Mensches and Men

If I ever do find a decent guy and get married (God willing), I want to have lots of children. I want to have boys. Not that I wouldn't love having girls as well, but this world needs all the nice Jewish boys it can get.

Clearly. Because I can't seem to find any.

Men. Is there even such a thing? I question this every day. I prefer to refer to them as 'guys'. This has less of an implication that they are actually mature. It leaves room for interpretation. After a certain age, a male is offended if he is called a 'boy'. Most females, however, never mind being called a 'girl', no matter what her age is.

An old boyfriend used to say that Billy Joel's "Always a Woman" reminded him of me, and I found that flattering in a twisted sort of way. But now, when I think of a 'woman', I picture someone who is voluptous and powerful. I am neither. I am always a girl and at my best, a lady, but never, ever a woman.

Whenever I meet a boy (because I've never met a 'man', much less dated one) and we exchange phone numbers, I never save the number in my mobile. I have learned my lesson too many times of entering, deleting, re-entering and re-deleting the digits. What a hassle! I figure, if he's really interested, he'll call. I can't always put a face to a name, but I can always put a name to an area code.

Often times I wish I were confident and carefree; that the small act of saving a number didn't pose such a threat. At this point, I expect to be dissapointed. I'm used to it.

My parents met under a tree at the University of Miami. The rest is history. I thought my story would be just as simple. I did meet a great love at undergraduate, but not THE great love.

All I know now is that I don't know anything at all.

A good friend and I used to joke around that our fates were sitting together at Starbucks, having a coffee. It's getting old. I live in the epicenter of young Jews and I don't know the first thing about meeting any. Where does one find a decent guy in the city? I can tell you where one DOESN'T: JDATE, my building, DORRIAN'S, or any UES bar for that matter.

I'm not asking for that much, just a mensch that I can take home to Mommy and Daddy. I'm cute and fun. And I'm running out of patience.

Why are all the good girls home with broken hearts?

"Talk about an experiment gone wrong."

My best friend said that to me this morning, referring to something we tried on our BlackBerries last night that totally backfired on us. But actually, this statement conveniently applies to every aspect of my life right this very moment.

I wouldn't even know where to begin if I tried. I am unable to comprehend how strange and dissapointing this week has been. I could say that a string of bad ideas in the past week have led me to where I am right now, which is utterly confused and let down. And that would be true.

Oh, and that thing I said about online dating and gentlemen? Oh, my God. Scratch that. Another experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. Stay tuned for my future adventures in avoidance of the entire male species with the exception of my father because like Frenchie said, the only man a girl can trust is her Daddy.

Also, would you all be so kind as to read this post from aGe? It exemplifies the importance of blog etiquette.

April showers bring May flowers? I sure hope so. Because, boy, when it rains, it pours.

SICK.

Thusfar in my life, I only get really sick once a year. Usually, it's something throat related. This time, it's this terrible, unexplainable stomach virus that I contracted late Saturday and haven't yet been able to kick.

I've been out of work the past two days. Do you know what it's like to be stuck at home with broken cable? (Thanks, Time Warner.) I hope not. I'll paint the sad, sad picture: me, rolling around in bed, watching the first season of The OC, with far too much time on my hands to overanalyze every aspect of my life.

I don't know what has caused me to become so dillusional. I haven't been able to sleep as much as I'd like to (which is all the time) and I have little to no appetite. Perhaps it's the lack of slumber or sustenance that has led me to completely psyching myself out.

Worst of all, it's allowing thoughts to enter my brain that shouldn't and words to escape from my mouth that most certainly shouldn't. What the hell is wrong with me? Being sick has made me irritable. And mean. I hate it.

I read an article not too long ago about a woman who had cut back her dietary intake for one reason or another. I remember one of her thoughts was, "Is this what it feels like to be thin?" And while I'm sure I've lost a few pounds in the past few days, I certainly don't look skinny. But, I can't help echoing her sentiments. Is this what it feels like? Gut wrenching and constantly on the cusp of keeling over? My dad dropped off a 24 pack of Poland Springs and a large bag of Gatorade and food outside my door this morning. I kicked the water to the fridge, bent down to open it, and immediately had to get back into bed. That small act made me feel as though I may pass out.

So, my deepest apologies to anyone and everyone I've taken it out on. It's not you - it's me. Something is wrong, and it's more than a stomach virus.

I'm just not myself today.

Online Dating

Just the mention of the two above words used to make me shudder. I'd be lying if I said I'm not still weary about. But, I've given in, and if nothing else, it's always good for a laugh or two. As for my experience so far, I will just say that it is refreshing to know that there are still gentlemen out there.

I left college desperate for a clean slate and a fresh start. I had some of the best and worst times of my life during my last semester of college, and I was ready for the emotional roller coaster to come to a screeching halt. New York City was not always where I thought I would end up, but my parents live on Long Island, and after four long years away from them, it was time to come home. Plus, I was moving to New York - the city of my people - what better place to meet an eligible bachelor?

WRONG.

Perhaps it's my lack of Jewish girlfriends or the surplus of time I spend at places like Dorrian's. I have to be honest and say that until now, I haven't really tried. Since moving to New York and for the first time ever, I've dated non-Jews. This is the classic irony of my life. I lived in Dallas, which my mother not-so-lovingly refers to as the Bible Belt, for five years and managed to date only Jews, and quite a number at that. I move to the epicenter of Jewish life, and only the Wasps are after me.

I'm not sure why, but it's hard for me to believe that there are still great guys out there. My grandmother once told me that when they made my dad they threw the mold away; that no one can ever or will ever be as good as he is. I walked into the other room and cried. I don't want to believe that kind of good doesn't exist anymore or that my father is the only man left who always stands when a woman stands to leave a table, even if he's not going anywhere. I don't want to feel like I have to settle for someone decent who will love me but may not ever really understand me. I've had better than decent, so I know it's out there in some capacity.

Do any of you know a nice, single Mensch in madras?

Have we met?

So. If you don't know me, you're thinking, "What?". A Jewish girl in Wasp's clothing? How can this be? At first glance, I've got a bow in my hair, pearls around my neck, and I'm dressed in Easter-colored cable knit. But sit down and chat with me and you'll learn that I was raised in very sheltered jewish communities in South Florida and, ironically, North Texas, and that I didn't make my first non-Jewish friends until I entered college. My Wasp friends now largely outnumber my Jewish friends.

I've always been different. I am the girliest girl I know with a name so UN-girly that people were perpetually expecting to meet a boy and were surprised to be greeted by me. My parents traveled to Europe often when I was younger and brought back 'baby couture'. While all of the other little girls at Beth Am were dressed in pink and purple, I was clad in black Sonia Rykiel. Five year olds do not have the capacity to appreciate designer clothing. It is not quite yet in their realm or on their radar. (Though they may certainly be aware. When I was three, I broke my snack time pretzels into pieces and put 2 of the curves back together artfully into interlocking C's. "Look!" I exclaimed as I tugged on my teacher's hand, "It's Chanel!" That story went around Beth Am for years. I was a legend.) In any event, little girls aren't looking to stand out. They want to blend into the sea of magenta with the rest of their gal pals.

My parents are closeted preppies. They will deny it until the end of the world (Hi Mom), but they've had a significant impact on my Waspiness. I didn't just wake up one day and think, "I'm going to be different than every Jew I've ever met." In Miami, the Jews are jazzy. In Dallas, they're down to earth. Both great qualities, but neither of them quite mine. My parents live for Ralph Lauren, monogram everything from pillows to gloves, and take us to visit the Hamptons every summer. Even my little sister, who looks at my printed Lilly Pulitzer dresses in horror, has a secret affinity for madras. Sorry, guys. The gig is up. Step out of that closet with pride. We're Waspy Jews!

We're a dying breed, aren't we? Anyone who is reading this with a Star of David tucked carefully under their popped collar knows what I'm talking about. I work for a luxury shelter publication, which really has nothing to do with being Jewish or being a Wasp, but I am aware that there are few people left with such a specific view of life and society. What happened to appreciating the finer things of life? Deluxe: How Luxury Lost its Luster by Dana Thomas is high up on my to-read list. I can't quite grasp what is going on in the economy right now, and I've got to figure out how to wrap my mind around it in some way.

I'm going off on a tangent, and if I keep writing, I'll go off on many more. So, there you go. This is me. A Jewish girl in Wasp's clothing.