A Kosher Dating Odyssey: One Former Texas Baptist's Quest for a Naughty & Nice Jewish Girl by van Wallach Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t believe a woman would ignore me when we seemed to be such a good initial match, but I learned that’s the way the world works, that I should not even expect an acknowledgment. I described online dating as a social version of the Rubik’s Cube. All the parts are turning, and at any one time you can see only a few of them. While I was dispatching my heartfelt notes, others did the same, and I could only try and hope. Most were ignored; of course, I also sent plenty of thanks-but-no-thanks notes to women—but I always responded. I gave them credit for reaching out, and these women merited at least an acknowledgment. Some were gracious:
     
    I do have to tell you one thing, just so you know… I actually just started dating someone from town here. The whole crazy thing was he found me on JDate exactly the same time you did—but I keep running into him for bagels. It’s been very pleasant as he’s basically down the street! We have no idea if it will amount to anything … but I’m a lousy multiple-dater!
    I’d love to keep getting to know you as a friend if you’re comfortable with that .... I really truly enjoyed your company, and often have friends who are looking to meet somebody. So I just wanted to throw that out to you and see how you felt about it.
     
    Receiving a positive response merely started the process. The exchange of real-world contact details, the IMs, the phone calls followed. And even then, surprises inevitably lurked. Consider my encounter with a woman I’ll call Spacey Stacy. We set a 7 p.m. rendezvous on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. The vibe turned strange that afternoon, as I walked to the train station near my apartment. She called my cell phone to nail down the details, then said she’d had “a rough day” and “too many margaritas” the night before (Halloween). Finally she said we could get coffee “and if it worked out, maybe dinner.” The words and tone rang alarm bells, but I shrugged them off.
    I arrived first at the appointed Starbucks and grabbed a table. I recognized Stacy when she came in—hair a little shorter than in her picture, but the same cute pug nose. She sat down and abruptly asked about a grueling work project I had endured that week. We complimented each other on how closely we resembled our profile photos. We talked about her job search and smiled through strained silences. I offered to get some drinks. She waved me off. “Just get one for yourself.”
    “ Do you want to go someplace else?” I asked.
    “ No.”
    After I returned with my Tazo iced tea, we spoke about her relations with her ex, her dancing classes, get-to-know-you stuff. Finally Stacy declared, “I don’t sense this is a love connection, so I’m going to go. Good luck with your search.”
    I was stupefied. We had been together fifteen minutes, if that. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll talk to you later,” I muttered. That sounded moronic. “No, I guess I won’t be talking to you later.” Stacy strode into the New York night, leaving me speechless. Finally, I took the dregs of tea and hit Broadway, now swarming with happy couples touching, strolling, snacking, laughing—or so my eyes told me. On this night, I was not among them.
    From the churning mass of possibilities, contacts emerged in thematic waves. There were the Latina therapists, the little white liars (regarding age, location, number of kids, Clinton-era photos), and the creative collective of designers, P.R. mavens, teachers, writers, and even rabbis. I surfed the Princeton wave, meeting and sometimes dating women whose son, brother, or cousin graduated—also a few Princetonians. The Tiger connection on my profile definitely attracted attention—no coy “Ivy League graduate” description for me.
    Over the years I learned how online contacts can swell quickly into rainbow-colored intensity, enveloping a man and woman in a virtual intimacy of nightly gossip and revelation. But like a soap bubble, what feels like the