I’ve dated only one Jewish woman in my life. This isn't due to personal preference, but rather the fact that Rhode Island’s Jewish population is less than 2%. You are far more likely to meet people of Italian or Portuguese descent here than anyone else. Most are brunettes (except for those who bleach their hair) and stand under 5’7”. Some even have that distinct, 'whiny' Cranston accent.
For a time in the early '90s, I used to hang out regularly at The Last Call Saloon, on Elbow Street in Providence, for its blues music and the fact that it had the best sound system in the state. The other saving grace was that the cover charge was reasonable, as was the price of the beer.
In ’96, I met 'Scituate Girl' at the Last Call, whom I’ve written about here before. She was out of my league. Prior to that, in ’92, I met Maya, the first Jewish woman I ever dated
**
As the band played on stage I noticed a girl, in front of me and she had noticed me looking at her and then turns quickly back to watch the band. A few moments later, she turns to look at me once more and our eyes met and hers darted away. Then it happens again minutes later.
I want to talk to her but the speaker array is about three feet from us and there’s no way I’m going to open a conversation by shouting over that at her. I have to wait for the band to take a break.
The band finally broke, and I quickly got to her side and said, 'Hi!' She responded in kind, and we started talking. I found that we were both relaxed, which I took as a sign that things were going well. If either of us had started to tighten up, the conversation wouldn't have gone anywhere.
We spent the rest of the night together, but we moved to the back to talk. I found out she was a RISD graduate who worked at a bank with an 'Oh, I don’t know what I want to do yet' attitude. I didn’t judge her because I felt the same way. In my head, I was parsing everything I learned about her: RISD student, bank teller, blew off her friends to talk to me most of the night, held her own with my referencing a hundred different topics, and a pretty snappy dresser as well .
It’s near closing so I ask for her number and she quickly writes it down for me. Cool! I tell her I’ll call her in a few days and that I’d like to take her out next Saturday.
“Next Saturday? Ohhh..I can’t.” she says.
“Why?” "At that point, I thought she was already backing out.
'Saturday is Tisha B’Av, and my family kinda wants me to be there for it this time,' she told me.
'What’s Tisha B’Av?' I asked.
'A Jewish holiday... an event,' she said.
'OK,' I said to myself. 'She’s Jewish... and so what?' I suggested the following Saturday instead, and she was cool with that."
I called her a week later, and she was more than happy to meet me. I had been trying to find something to do for a 'date night,' but before I could suggest anything, she said she’d like to go to the Wickenden Pub. 'OK, fine,' I thought. I had never been there, but I'd heard it was a decent place.
She gave me her address and said, 'I’ll meet you outside... I’ll flag you down when you arrive.'
'Meet me outside?' I wondered. I guessed she didn’t want me knocking on her door or coming inside. I brushed that aside, feeling more hopeful about the date than worried about any odd red flags that cropped up
Later on, I looked up her address on a map and saw it was right off Blackstone Boulevard.
'Holy shit... she lives in the most expensive neighborhood in Providence.' I began to wonder if I could even compete with that, being a 'slug' from Pawtucket. Saturday came, and I went to pick her up anyway in my ten-year-old, beat-up Dodge 400 convertible.
As I pulled off Blackstone to head down her street, I saw her waving at me up ahead and stopped to pick her up. However, I did notice that I was still three houses away from the actual address she had given me.
The Wickenden was cool that night. It’s a small bar with a great neighborhood feel. Maya and I seemed to be hitting it off; we were both getting a bit buzzed from their beer selection when she asked if I’d do a 'half-yard' with her. I had never heard of that, but she ordered two anyway. They arrived in these jumbo, test-tube-like glasses with wooden stands. Maya warned me not to tilt the glass too far back as I drank, or I’d shower myself in beer when the air bubble hit and the beer came rushing out.
My first sip resulted in a good three ounces splashing down the front of the best Oxford shirt I owned. Maya laughed and said she saw it coming. I tried to dry it off, but I wasn't really worried; we were having more fun than the usual nerves of a first date would allow.
She looked incredible. Her bangs formed a sharp line just above her brows, while the rest of her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. Between the spray-on jeans and the off-the-shoulder Christian Dior top, she didn’t just look expensive—she smelled like money. She was magnetic. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering all over her, but I couldn't help myself. I, however, did not smell like cash. I’d done my best with a decent shirt and my newest Levi’s 501s, even going so far as to douse my sneakers in Lysol so they wouldn't reek of foot. It’s amazing what a guy will do for a date. On a normal day, my "caveman chic" was good enough for me.
We both got through about half the tube when she asked, 'Can you do this?' She then proceeded to 'open throat' the rest of the beer, finishing the tube in one continuous pour. Great—now I had to keep up. I tried it, but I could only manage several large gulps. I was surprised she could do that; I’d only ever seen one guy back in my hometown pull that off, and that was just with cans of shitty Budweiser.
At the end of the night, when we left, I realized I was totally pickled—and so was she. I managed to drive her home, and while we were in the car outside her house, we kissed. Since I wanted to be a 'good boy,' I sent her off into her house.
Riding home, I thought, 'Wow, she can drink! But she’s fun, too.'
I planned a second date for the next weekend and told her I'd gotten two tickets for the Comedy Connection to see some comedian I’d never heard of. It didn't matter; neither of us had ever been there, and it sounded like fun. This time, she didn't tell me to pick her up outside. I arrived, walked up to her door, and knocked. A petite, 60-ish woman—about 4'11" with steel-gray hair and an Eastern European look—answered the door.
"“Yeah?” she asked.
“Uh, is Maya home?” I asked.
She turned around and shouted through the house, “Maya, that goy is here!”
In about ten seconds, Maya came through the door and quickly ushered me to the car.
“I’m sooo sorry... I thought she wouldn’t be home!” she said.
“Who was that?”
“My mom,” Maya said, sounding a little perturbed.
I didn’t ask what goy meant, but I figured her mom had already taken a dislike to me, given how brusque she was.
About halfway to the Comedy Connection, Maya opened her purse, and I saw about eight little nip bottles in there. She handed me one, unscrewed one herself, and said, 'For a head start!' before gulping it down.
I didn’t know the tickets I’d bought were so damn close to the stage. By the time the headliner finally came out, Maya had already ordered three rounds of Snake Bite shots along with our usual beers. She was getting pretty gooned.
I noticed the comedian was eyeing Maya during his bit. I could read him and started to wonder what he was up to. He then came down from the stage to our table to rib me about my very obvious salt-and-pepper hair. I got the usual 'elderly' jokes, as I did look like the oldest person there... at twenty-eight. This went on for a good three minutes, and I 'went along' with it out of courtesy.
He then walked over to Maya and said, 'My... you’re having a good time tonight, aren’t you?' He looked at the three empty shot glasses and the bottles of beer. She giggled. He then cupped her chin with his hand, lifted her face to his, and said, 'You’re wicked pretty... you know that, right?'
Maya, smitten with his flirtation, started giggling and returned his eye contact—locking on and following his eyes as he moved.
Watching this unfold three feet from me, I thought, 'You FUCKIN’ PRICK! You’re hitting on MY date?!!'
I also got pissed at Maya for going along with it. I started to stew, but I realized I couldn't blow up while inside the club, so I just stuffed that anger down.
Finally, I drove her drunk ass home. I helped her through the door and got in that second kiss, but I didn't bother trying to stay inside with her parents there.
**
I told Barney about Maya, and he said, 'You know, goy isn’t really a pejorative; it’s just a name for a non-Jew. However, it can be pejorative depending on how you say it. And the way her mom said "that goy," I suspect she doesn't like you at all.'
It then hit me why Maya had told me to pick her up away from her house the first time. I wasn't supposed to meet her mom.
He asked, 'Do you still like Maya?'
'Yeah... I guess... she’s cute.
Barney went on. 'OK... think this through, Einstein. She got visibly drunk on her first date with you. On the second, her purse was filled with nip bottles and she got wasted enough at the club to forget she was on a date and flirt with the headliner. You see a problem here?'
'She’s... not worth it? Not stable? Is that what you’re trying to say?'
'Duhhhhhh! Did you just now figure that out?' he said.
To tell you the truth, I sort of had. Barney had no problem burning me with blistering reality, then shoving hot salt into the very wound he’d opened. He was merciless with the truth more often than not. In short: 'Wake the FUCK up!
There was no third date.
Honestly, I didn’t care what religion a person was raised with. I’d dated Catholics, Protestants, hardcore atheists, Jews, and one Taoist girl from Fall River. None of those were ever on my 'deal breaker' list. What would be a deal breaker? Alcoholism, liking cocaine a bit too much, or having massive credit card debt.
I once paraphrased that last bit to a woman I met at the Celtic. I don’t know how the hell our conversation got around to finances, but I jokingly said to her, 'I hope you don’t have $10,000 in credit card debt!' As soon as she heard that, she shot me a truly bitter look. In my head, I thought, 'Wow! Thanks for that reaction... you just telegraphed that you DO have ridiculous debt!”
Maya was pretty, at least to me. I just hope she eventually stayed off the bottle; lushes tend to lose their beauty when they turn sloppy.
Maya sorta, kinda looked like this...but not model quality like this chick. Close enuff i guess.
