Dear Goldy:
I’m feeling down on myself. The last three guys I went out with were so off the mark; it was like they were from a different planet. But, of course, each shadchan had great things to say about each of them, and each reference... I guess these shadchanim don’t know me or what I need.
In a nutshell: One was so egotistical, every sentence began with “I,” “My,” “I’m,” and “I can also...” I was just trying to make conversation, get to know him, have him get to know me. Half the time it felt like playing “I can top that,” when I wasn’t trying to top anything. I was just talking about what I like, what I’ve done, where I like to vacation, what my friends and I do, etc., but I kept getting cut off. I know all about how he is the oldest child and grandchild (on both sides, but why does that matter to me?), how he excels at every sport, was valedictorian in high school and college, had multiple job offers, is sought after by other companies, and loves going away on lavish vacations with friends. That’s all great. But how can anyone measure up to him? Or how can he even give someone a chance to try to impress him when he doesn’t give anyone a chance to speak before he interrupts after 20 seconds?
The next guy didn’t know how to put two words together. He asked simple questions, and he gave simple responses to questions I asked. I was trying to put together a puzzle every time I said something to him. I even asked if he was shy or uncomfortable. He said he wasn’t much of a talker, but he likes listening. No thank you. I could talk to a mirror if I wanted to hear myself speak. I want the back-and-forth of a conversation. I want to have a good time with the person I’m with. I don’t want to have to be the one to fill the silence.
And the third guy? The date ended after one hour – by me calling an Uber to go home. I’ll leave it at that.
Why is it so hard? Why do I try so hard? I ask the shadchanim and all references questions that matter to me – not just typical ones. Like you said, I don’t care how good of a student he was; he’s 42 now. No one is going to tell me that he’s mean to his neighbor and steals the WSJ. One of the shadchanim was my friend’s husband. He set me up with the one I took an Uber home to escape from – due to his ick factor.
Goldy, cheer me up. Tell me something to make me smile. Tell me something about one of your bad dates that you haven’t shared with anyone yet. My misery wants company. I need to laugh, so I don’t cry. I need to keep going and not stop dating. Help! Make me laugh!
Sharon
*****
Thank you for your email, Sharon.
Wow. Yup, I see it. You’re close to taking a break from dating in order to reset yourself and get your head clear from the last few dates. (Maybe it’s not a bad thing so you don’t burn out.) I’d love to know why you took an Uber home. I didn’t have that luxury when I was dating. Sure, I could have called a car service, but they took forever to come and cost more than I had on me. But your Uber story may bring a smile to others who need one.
Your comment makes me feel like I’m being called for a command performance for the Queen. Or like when someone hears someone else is a comedienne and says, “Tell a joke. Make me laugh.” It’s not how it’s done. You can’t be put on the spot. The joke is more like a story and needs to be set up. But I’m here for you. You asked for something I haven’t shared with readers yet. That’s a tough one. I’ve shared everything.
So, back to my dating journals. I found a date that never made it into the book because it happened after the book was published. I have spoken or written a little about it, but I’ll provide more details here. Here goes.
I was set up by someone who knew me for over a decade, who had discussed dating with me and knew about my book. He said he always had this fellow in mind, but the fellow was always busy. Anyway, “The boy’s mother called me the other day asking if I knew anyone for Michael.” Right away I should have known something was off because “Michael” was 40+ and his Mommy was still making all the calls for him. You see, “Michael’s very busy and can’t be bothered with trying to weed through all the girls who want to date him,” so his mother was his momager. Whatever.
I knew something was wrong during the first 15 minutes, and things just went downhill from there. I’d need another book to write all about the date, but here are some highlights:
While we were speeding down the Long Island Expressway, Michael started playing air drums and guitar. So much so, I actually grabbed the wheel because we were veering into the next lane! Michael may have thought I was trying to make a move, so he’s all like, “Hey, hey, watch it.” I explained I was only trying to save my life – not anything else. He begins to explain how he was “feeling” the music, and when the emotion takes over, he acts out the music. What?
At the restaurant, I followed the host to the table and Michael lagged a little. I thanked him and sat. When Michael finally made his way to the table, he had the nerve to complain, “You got the better seat facing out. Now I’m facing the wall and all I have to look at is you.” Excuse me? Sorry, not sorry, I was glad I had a smorgasbord of things to look at: other diners, the front door, wait staff zipping about, etc. and wasn’t stuck looking at Michael and only Michael all night long. He just made it sound like I was Cousin Itt and he was being forced to look at me all night.
Let’s not forget that Michael got up to use the bathroom and stretch his legs four times during the meal. He readily admitted to having FOMO (fear of missing out) and wanted to see who was in the restaurant, seeing if he could network or catch up with friends. Etc. I busied myself with my phone during those moments alone.
After dinner, we went for a walk. While passing by a homeless man creating “music” with empty cans, buckets, and sticks, Michael had to stop and join in because he was “feeling the music.” I snapped two pics with my phone for actual proof of this, because no one was going to believe it. I didn’t even believe it was happening.
We escaped the cold by ducking into a Barnes & Noble. We got kicked out of Barnes & Noble ten minutes later due to Michael’s erratic behavior. The security guard told us that Michael was making customers uncomfortable, so they were complaining to staff and therefore we had to leave. I have never been kicked out of any place ever – well, except class, but that was for a good reason. This was weird. I wasn’t embarrassed or humiliated, but it was very weird. Michael had been singing and dancing along with whatever music the store had been playing.
Michael asked what type of movies I liked and what celebrities I enjoy watching. It was small talk, so I answered. Apparently, Michael didn’t understand his own question because his response was, “________! You think you look like ____? No, you don’t. She looks good. You’re not that good.” Sharon – and others – look at my little picture next to the column. I didn’t name a supermodel, but you aren’t looking at a picture of Jabba the Hutt or Chewbacca!! And the question was who I like watching in movies, not who I think I look like. All I said was that I was just glad I don’t look like Oliver Hardy (a Hollywood star from the 1940s-1950s).
This would have been when I would have ordered an Uber for my ride home. But it was at least a decade before Uber, and I wasn’t waiting for a car service, and I wasn’t about to overpay for a yellow cab to drive me from Manhattan to Queens. Didn’t I pay enough that night? I kept my mouth shut and told him, “Date is over. Drive me home.” The car ride home was full of him singing with the radio and rocking out. Was this him feeling the music or just wanting to annoy me? Maybe both. I was about to scream and hit him in the middle of the Midtown Tunnel, but that could go awry in so many ways. Plus, G-d forbid I get a bad reputation in the dating world. I’d never date again if I were labeled “violent and unhinged” – although those labels may be better than “being a jerk with ADHD.”
When I called the shadchan the next day, all I said was that Michael wasn’t for me, but I appreciated him thinking of me. And what did the shadchan respond? “He was a handful, right?” If he knew, why didn’t he warn me?! When I asked, he said he didn’t know if Michael would be himself on dates or be on his best behavior and save his best self for when he gets to know someone. Uh, no. That’s not the case. Michael is Michael 24/7, not changing for anyone or anything.
BTW, when I spoke with the shadchan a couple of weeks later, he said that he never heard back from Michael’s mother, so maybe Michael would still call. Again, no. Not a joke. Not funny. But it makes for a funny story – or so I hope it does.
Sharon, I’m here for you and any other person who needs to laugh and find motivation to get back out there. But if you need it, take a little sabbatical. Don’t get burned out while trying to keep your eye on the prize.
Hatzlachah to you all.
Goldy Krantz is an LMSW and a lifelong Queens resident, guest lecturer, and author of the shidduch dating book, The Best of My Worst and children’s book Where Has Zaidy Gone?
She can be contacted at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..