Dating Israeli Women (Part II): Freeing the Dirty Dog Within

Well, it wasn’t really The End (see Dating Israeli Women: A Guide by the Perplexed). J . . . oh, f*ck it, Jennifer forgave that e-mail, and granted me a stay of execution. A brief one. We saw each other twice more, before that dreaded pregnant pause on the telephone, on the evening before our fifth date . . .

“Mike, you are a great guy, but you feel more like a friend.”

I consider proposing friendship with “extras” – Jennifer is an almost indisputable “9”, and I haven’t had too many of those – but refrain.

So, where am I going wrong?

"Could I score with a zoynoh?"

As I explained to a friend, last week, I think I have lost that predator’s instinct. When I was less serious about settling down – and preoccupied not with the future but, largely (if not merely), on gaining access to the Kodesh Kedoshim (Holey of Holeys) – I had a far lower goal:attempts ratio. Now, however, I am like Fernando Torres (right), a forlorn centre-forward who can no longer rely on his nose for goal, but who has started to think too much . . . rather than just poking, sliding or slamming the ball into the back of the net.

Let’s face it, when it comes to matters sexual, we are animals. And I could certainly learn a thing or two from Stuey and Dexxy in that regard: When they come across a hitherto unknown canine, they don’t agonize for weeks on end about a little excess facial hair or slightly imperfect hind symmetry, but rather head, without hesitation, straight for the “box”, where they have a jolly good sniff, often a bit of a lick, and decide, purely on the basis of that, whether or not to take it on from there. (The object of this attention does, on occasion, not take too kindly to it, though – very unlike their owner – neither Stuey nor Dexxy have ever been accused of going too fast, or of being interested only in one thing.)

Therefore – while incumbent upon humans to add a moral dimension to their behaviour (take note, most recent “dirty dog”) – the great scorers, both footballing and otherwise, will be in maximum sync with their animal sides (hence the sobriquet of my childhood hero, Allan “Sniffer” Clarke).

Human blind dates, however, are – to my shagrin – considerably more fraught than their canine equivalents. And, while it is perhaps inadvisable to follow the example of the romantic JDater (of Persian origin) who, twenty minutes into his first meeting with my friend in Manhattan, announced “I want to be inside you now” (she ran out), we are guilty of complicating the natural and straightforward . . . when we should, instead, be finding and releasing that hidden dog (or, at least, centre-forward) within.

I have come to see dates in terms of the motor vehicle . . .

The blind date car

And – unlike the meeting/clash of eyes across a crowded room, of trolleys in the supermarket aisle (the SuperSol on Tel Aviv’s Ben Yehuda Street is even said to stage a weekly, unofficial p’nuyim/p’nuyot [unattached] evening), or (for the benefit of Daniel Marks) of body parts in a nightclub lavatory, where the wheels of love/lust are at once in motion – the blind date car is entirely stationary . . . and facing an extremely steep hill.

As the driver, I consider what is in front of me and decide, (rightly or wrongly) more or less instinctively, what gear to put my brain in.

On occasions, the battery is completely dead, and all attempts to start the vehicle are futile. You both want to say (though neither of you has the courage): “Listen, there is no point. Let’s just go.”

On others – a recent Saturday morning, for example, when I met a lovely woman for breakfast in Modi’in, but just couldn’t imagine filling up – I go straight into cruise control. We spent a very pleasant couple of hours, before I sent her a text message, that evening, stating that “something, I don’t know what [a white lie], was missing.”

I suffered no such shortage of imagination with Jennifer. But after screeching off in first, and moving swiftly and smoothly into second, I hit trouble in third . . . and never reached fourth. In the old days, I would have been in fifth before I (and certainly she) knew it. My changes, however, have got a little rusty, and women, I think, sense that hesitancy.

Well, the gear box is definitely due some attention. A thorough service and oiling should do it, followed by a few spins around the block (prompting me to wonder whether I should be amending the “languages spoken” field in my JDate searches to Russian).

And, as Fernando Torres must also be reminding himself – it is comforting to know that I am not alone – it only takes a second to score a goal.

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25 responses to “Dating Israeli Women (Part II): Freeing the Dirty Dog Within

  1. Eugene Monkleton-Montefiore

    that sveta you used to mention will soon get you back on track melchy, though probably at a cost… cousin rupert used to see a russian totty living in south ken, but she bled him dry… still he said it was worth every penny… i shan’t go into the gory details, suffice it to say she was an extremely enthusiastic fan of gary glitter! 😉

  2. philip witriol

    Great piece. By the way, how many is not too many of those “almost indisputable 9″s?

  3. Re the very pleasant date in Modiin, why not give it a second, third, fourth shot? See if feelings develop? The problem with dating is that it feels so unnatural – sizing each other up and making black and white decisions, when getting to know a person in a more natural setting (ie. work) is so much more gradual and nuanced. For eg, the second last man I met asked me on our first phone call whether I want kids, as he definitely doesn’t – so he wants to know up front. The last man I met asked me on our first phone call whether I want kids, as he definitely does – so he wants to know up front.
    My answer to both was “I can’t answer that as I don’t even know you.”
    The whole thing felt unnatural, contrived and frankly totally unattractive and unappealing.

  4. You can always be relied upon to lower the tone, Eugene . . . rarely a straightforward task on melchett mike!

    Welcome, Opinionated. Believe me, I so wanted to fancy Miss Modi’in. I always look with real envy at people with partners to whom I could never imagine being attracted, and just wish that I had a little more of their depth . . . or, at least, less of my own pathetic superficiality. Having said that, I also couldn’t be – well, not for very long 😉 – with an uninteresting “9”.

  5. So then you are stuck between a rock and a hard place (so to speak). The lovely woman that doesn’t attract you is a no go. The attractive woman who is uninteresting is a no go. Where does that leave you?

  6. Errrr . . . the lovely and attractive (and a “7.5” would be just fine!) woman? Surely not too much to ask for?

    Though therein, seemingly, lies the rub (also so to speak): While the “attractive” is less of a problem, dating single (here meaning never married) mid-to-late 30s women in Tel Aviv is to take a ride through a handbook on psychological disorders!

    Hence, my general preference for divorcees (even with one or two kids) . . . though many of them are suspicious of the single man.

    The basis, perhaps, for Part III . . .

  7. I think attraction can develop when you get to know a person. Incredible attraction, even. Rather than the big bang in the first moment.
    One person’s 7.5 is another’s 2.5.
    Intelligence, humor, kindness, warmth, the look in his eye – often those things make up for physical ‘flaws’.
    If you had really wanted to like her, there must have been something that drew you to her.

  8. Oh stop kvetching and analysing – live and let live and enjoy yourself and someone will come along when you least expect it – I know it – trust me I am a fxxxing yenta and I know these things. I reckon you will go full circle and end up with someone you dated in your 20s.

  9. How can a self-declared “fxxxing yenta” tell someone else to “stop kvetching”?! 😉

    My marking system, Opinionated, is entirely subjective and, therefore, meaningless. And I have never gone for ‘objectively’ attractive women, either. So, don’t take me too literally! Anyway, in most women’s marking systems, I am probably only a “7” at very best (i.e., with my clothes on!)

    All of which reminds me of my old mate, Ellis, from uni days. He used to have a formula for working out his chances of success, in percentage terms, with any particular woman. This involved him multiplying how much he fancied her, out of 10, by how much she fancied him, also out of 10. The first figure, however, was always extremely close to 10, with the second much nearer to zero, leaving a very small percentage indeed!!

    I will e-mail Ellis for his comments . . .

  10. I don’t recall .. I must have dementia .. although given half the chance I’d rather have had Elena Dementieva ….

  11. Ellis was at the Poly.

  12. As were you Mike .. until you dropped out the course after the 1st year !

  13. Yes . . . for a real degree, down the road at the Uni! I just didn’t want, in my first job on graduation, to constantly be hearing: “Big Mac and fries to go, please.”

    Much like Mervyn and Rio, in fact, who, after such humble beginnings, went on to bigger and better things.

  14. Mike, maybe you’re answering the questions on the dating site incorrectly.

    The question reads ‘what do you most like in women?’

    I don’t think ‘my dick’ is an acceptable answer at such an early stage.

  15. I was really struggling, Jeremiah – any tips? – and Mrs. Fisher (Menorah Primary) always told us “Honesty is the best policy.”

  16. Charles Philip Lehrer

    (S????????)hagrin. What a slip of the tongue (Pardon the BUN).

  17. Ellis Feigenbaum

    Dunno about the other Ellis, but eventually these things work themselves out. And like me if you wait long enough you find someone that makes you smile in the morning, drives you nuts on occasion but understands the neccesity for having a 50 inch led in the bedroom that gets turned on at strange hours to coincide with UK football matches in the Pacific time zone.

  18. Mike, Mike, Mike!
    It’s “chagrin”, not “shagrin”. Did Mr Bloomberg teach you nothing??
    Otherwise, a nice piece. (Article, not Jennifer).
    A

  19. Anthony, Anthony, Anthony!

    Seeing as the post was largely about shaggin’, I thought I could get away with a bit of poetic license and shagrin” . . . though it seems I may have overestimated the quickness of certain of my readers! 😉

    After seeing the photos here, I have now amended my JDate search criteria to merely “rabbi’s daughter”.

    As for Cyril, why? Did he teach you something?!

  20. Mike
    The reference to Cyril was because I assumed the word “chagrin” was French word in origin. I may be wrong. Unlikely that Cyril would have taught us that word because it might, one day, have been useful. Instead, the only French words I now remember are “le perroquet” (the parrot) and “l’encrier” (the inkpot). On my last business trip to Paris I told my colleague how I was anxiously scanning the horizon in case a low flying avian creature could be tempted into our office where I would have a large vat of Quix (isn’t that what it was called?) at the ready to coax them into a rapid dive. So that I would then be able to utter a perectly constructed sentence. Anyway, I did look at your referred pictures. What a brilliantly adaptable name “Pearlperry” is; so appropriate for her new profession.

  21. Yes, Anthony, I understood the reference to the Legend-ary Swansean. My “why” related more to whether he taught you something (“Did Mr Bloomberg teach you nothing??” you asked).

    You see, if you weren’t such a frummer, a nice bottle of French white wine would have availed you of Cyril’s favourite “Un bon vin blanc”, which he used (to death) to exemplify the Frogs’ “un”, “in” and “an” sounds.

    It is so weird (sad?!) how often I think about Cyril. His expressions will often just pop into my head as I am walking along the street. I have added these as comments (after Hasmo Legends III) as and when I have thought of them. Last week I remembered “He isn’t like an idiot . . . he is an idiot”, and also his referring to a boy whose shirt collar was open as “half naked”. Brilliant!

    And you don’t have to worry about writing “pearl necklace” on melchett mike!! 😉

    PS See you on seder night?

  22. I think you summarized nicely. Happy evenings in oiling and tuning up your gearbox.

    Next time you are in Modiin and looking to escape give me a call

  23. A certain frequenter of these pages has, for some time, been imploring me to forget Israeli women and date only English speakers.

    Heeding his advice (which, when given in his office on matters tax, reportedly costs more per minute than one of Dominique Strauss-Kahn’s lady friends), I last night met an American woman for a first date.

    “So where are you from in England?” she asked, after we had exhausted all other avenues of conversation (i.e., after approximately 10 minutes).

    “London,” I said . . . to which my date – keen to show that she, unlike the stereotypically insular American, was familiar with even foreign cities’ suburbs – followed up with:

    “Oh . . . Manchester?”

    Any further gems of advice, Jonathan? 😉

  24. John Fisher

    Unfair. When you told her you would call her back because you were far too busy lunching with me I told you that you need an English girl.

    I had an e-mail from an American over the weekend asking if I had heard of the island of Cypress (sic) which she had just learnt was off the coast of Israel.

  25. “When you told her you would call her back because you were far too busy lunching with me I told you that you need an English girl.”

    Yes, yesterday! Isn’t that like telling a client to choose a different tax vehicle (i.e., to that already advised) with the revenue banging on his door?!

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