So, it's been awhile. I can't promise that this blog will be a regular thing, although I hope it will because I'm having a killer time here and laughing about 90% of what is happening to me on a daily basis.
Let's jump right in. Dating here is a different animal than it is in other countries, and I'm going to argue that dating in Be'er Sheva is even more different than dating in the rest of Israel. First of all, the selection here is...sub par, perhaps? At least, the good guys are proving hard to find. Second, the mentality down here is a little more basic-conservative-primitive because this is the equivalent of the "country" back home. Let me also throw out there that I may be a little rusty at this whole dating game, and Israeli men are hard to handle even when you're at the top of your game.
My first story comes from the first time I ordered pizza here. It was Thanksgiving Day, which proved to be a little depressing as all of the Thanksgiving plans had fallen apart because of the mini-war that ended the night before, and I was also coming down off of some pretty intense emotions. I decided that a fitting impromptu Thanksgiving dinner would be pizza and coke, so I placed my order. My apartment is actually behind this building of four houses, so logically, the pizza delivery guy called me to ask me to come out and get my grub. I arrived, and his eyes grew wide as he began rambling on to me in Hebrew about how gorgeous my hair and eyes are. He then stumbled into asking me if I would go have a drink with him the following night, which isn't creepy or weird, but I just wasn't in the mood and didn't find him attractive in the least. So, I politely turned him down and made some excuse that my parents were waiting to Skype with me. Cut to midnight on the first night that I was actually able to sleep soundly and peacefully without the threat of rockets and air raid sirens. I had just coaxed my tired and traumatized self to sleep when my phone rang, showing a phone number that I didn't have stored. I ignored the call, since it hadn't fully woken me up (hey, it wasn't a siren, so I could ignore it!), and then the number called again. And again. And so, on the fourth time, I sleepily answered and asked who the hell was calling, and he told me, "It's Ron, the pizza guy." What. The. Fuck. It didn't stop there. This guy continued to call the next day until I had one of my close guy friends answer the phone in an intimidating voice. Thank goodness, the calls stopped after that.
I wish I could say that that was the end of the Pizza Guy Saga, but it wasn't. I cautiously ordered pizza from the same place two months later, and of course, same dude delivered me the pizza. And of course, he called me the next day to ask me out. I did give him an A+ for figuring out that calling in the middle of the night was unacceptable, but seriously? Israeli men don't give up.
Next on the list of awkward male encounters, I was in Tel Aviv, enjoying a much needed day alone on the beach. The sun was brilliant, so I bought a beer, stuck my toes in the sand, and tanned my alabaster white self on the beach. As I was walking to change location, find some water, and possibly buy another beer, this guy ran up to me screaming, "Excuse me!" My first thought was, lost tourist, since they all seem drawn to me, like I have all the answers of where they need to go, but he was not. He claimed to be a new immigrant, as well, although he had been here 15 years ("new" immigrant from France). Within the first two minutes of talking to him, he told me that he saw me and knew immediately that we had chemistry together but that he was worried that I didn't speak a language he spoke. Let me say this - he was cute albeit very forward. I was amused but not interested in carrying on further, so I said that I was on my way to meet my boyfriend. Random Dude then started grilling me about my "boyfriend," saying, "You've only been here 5 months! How do you know if he's the one? I'm cuter, aren't I? You need to look at all your options." What? Number 1, my made-up boyfriend was way better than his creepy ass stalking me on the boardwalk, and number 2, who has the nerve to ask those questions? Israeli men, that's the answer. When I tried to leave, he hugged me, tried to kiss me, and insisted that I give him my phone number. No. Why does it seem like the crazies flock to me?
I've decided to split this post into two parts. I promise that the second part is even better than the first. Stay tuned!
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