The Conversation Chronicles: Dad’s Dating Advice

pops: so what’s going on in your life, Meel? anything interesting?

me: same stuff as always, Pops. mostly work.  

pops: what about social life? got something?

me: nothing worth mentioning.

pops: no? you know you not young girl anymore, Meel. you a woman now. time to get serious.

me: yeah, Pops, i know how old i am.

pops: it funny. all these years i never meet one man i think be good for my daughter. something always wrong. this one a cheat, other one a drunk, this one a gambler, this one lazy. 

me: and now you know what i deal with.

pops: but i got a feeling for you. i think somebody out there special just for you. he’s looking for you and you looking for him. but when he’s over there, you’re over here. and then you go over there and he comes over here, like you just miss each other. so far you don’t meet but you will.

me: oh yeah? and what’s he like?

pops: well, i think he a little older than you. good if he has own business. maybe married before but no kids. and he smarter than you, not too much, but enough to know how to deal with you. you know you’re not an easy woman. you need special man.

me: really? how am i not easy? this is all very interesting.

pops: you don’t like to listen to nobody. if you did, i would tell you what to do and you would do it long time ago. but you do what you want to do always. you too independent. not all men like it. they get scared, so you need special man that like it and look for it. but not a weak man. somebody strong that wants somebody also strong.

me: ok, i hope you’re right.

pops: i’m right. i got a feeling for you. take it easy, baby. you meet one day. 

Behind the Headlines

seems like i’m all too happy to write about my love life for the new york times, but when it comes to the milla times, i stay silent. not that there is so much to report. i am still very much single and very content to remain this way until someone extraordinary comes along and moves me toward a status change. currently, i’m not doing much to move myself or anyone else toward that change. i am not internet dating, nor am i actively going to bars, clubs, book stores or art shows to meet men. i’m fairly apathetic about the whole matter, which can be tricky when I have a choice between attending a party or sitting in the bath with a book.

still, there have been rumblings here and there, none of which i care to go into in any detail as 1) it’s none of your damn business, nosy; and 2) see note above about there being not much to discuss. yet through these rumblings i’ve learned quite a few things about myself and others that i am willing to discuss.

in terms of myself, i’ve come to understand that i am not going to be every man’s cup of tea, which is ok as the inverse could be overwhelming. this is not said in a self-deprecating way. it’s just that i’ve realized that only a small pool of men would be interested in me and what i have going on. it’s a realization i’ve come to after being told repeatedly by my male friends that i’m “too intimidating,” “too successful,” “kinda scary” and that i “act like i don’t need anyone.” i’m never sure how to respond to this. i’ve also been told that i need to “dumb it down,” which is probably good advice in a parallel universe but not anything i would ever consider doing in this one.

in this one, my plan is to be thoroughly myself with the hope that the right people will respond, be they friends or romantic partners. it’s taken a long time to get comfortable in my own skin, and now that i’m here i couldn’t imagine misrepresenting myself or remaking my life into something that’s aimed at attracting a husband. maybe i just don’t want it that bad. see note above about apathy. 

of course, i do want a healthy, happy partnership and believe i’ll have one again eventually, but the process of getting from here to there seems to involve a bizarro world that i don’t understand at times. for me, it’s always been pretty simple: i find someone i really like who really likes me; we decide to be together and we’re together — end of story. of course, there has always been a breakup in those stories, but the getting together part has never been complicated.

in this world of dating, however, nothing is easy. there is always a game to play, a battle to win, a oneupmanship to outdo, and the constant pretending that you just don't care. please note that i’m a 100% complicit in these games. i do plenty of pretending i don’t care. i don’t like to relinquish control of a situation and i’m great at hiding every shred of vulnerability. this game is a game of chicken and the strength of my resolve will usually crown me the winner — or loser as the case may be.

the more caught up i get in this vortex of modern dating, the more drama enters my life and the more jaded i begin to feel. this makes me nervous. being jaded is the enemy. i never want to reach the point where i’m making sweeping generalizations about men, because i am no man-hater. i have a nice daddy and know plenty of quality men so i know they are out there.

the secret is having patience and the courage to stick to my convictions. admittedly, i’ve lacked both of these things in recent years but am hell bent on getting them back. i’m also committed to restoring my no-bullshit policy when it comes to dating, as being grown means acting like a grownup. it means listening to people even when they are telling you things you don’t want to hear, which leads me to the other things i’ve learned.

i’ve learned that when a man tells you he’s messed up, he knows what he’s talking about. i’ve learned that i should never discard the obvious for the possible, that i should never force anything or chase anyone, that things either work out or they don’t, and both outcomes are perfectly acceptable.

it’s back to basics for me, where actions are more important than words, reality is more telling than fantasy, and trying too hard indicates a bad match. it will be hard for me to forfeit all the games in favor of transparency, as i’m a champ at playing the hide-your-heart game, but i’m going to try as the alternative hasn’t worked out too well. so i’m going to give this honesty thing a try as i’ve heard good things about it. i’ll let you know how it goes.

Stuff and Things

the illustration accompanying my Modern Love essay in the New York Times by Brian Rea

minute 16: considering that i haven’t received any “fan” mail in about two weeks and that the high i felt right after the publication of my essay has been replaced by my usual crankiness, i think it’s safe to say my 15 minutes of fame are over. i had a hell of a ride, savored every surreal moment and will forever regard this as one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. just thinking about it now brings an easy smile to my face. it’s done much in restoring my confidence as a writer, and i’ve begun whispering “new york times, dumbass” to myself every time i feel a writer’s blockage forming. i haven’t had a chance to write much lately, but do have a working draft of what i hope will become my next published essay. it’s about porn, which means you won’t see it in the New York Times. i’m thinking Wall Street Journal instead. just kidding! it will probably fit at... ummm... i gotta think that through some more.

second issue of GEEK magazine on newsstands August 14

work: as always, there’s a ton of it keeping me busy and out of trouble. GEEK magazine is the biggest perp, so it’s good thing it’s also my favorite client. the editor and i have worked together for 10 years on five other publications so we’ve formed a strong working relationship in addition to a strong personal relationship (not that kind, perverts; he’s a taken man). i hope to be doing some writing for GEEK in the future in addition to the copy editing i do for it now. also, several of my photos from my first trip to Comic Con, which i still need to chronicle here, have made their way into the third issue, which comes out this fall, marking the first (and probably last) time any of my photos will appear in a national print publication. did i mention that the editor and i are close friends?

all dogs on deck

house: drumroll, please. still waiting. is your drum broken? fine, i’ll proceed without it. MY DECK HAS BEEN BUILT. and not just built, but painted and signed off on by an inspector from the City of Los Angeles (photos to come). it all happened so fast except that it didn’t. phase 1 of the remodel began on august 1, 2011, and stretched well past the year point. but now, with just a few weeks of finish work remaining, i’m sad that it’s about to end and find myself searching for more things for the crew to do just so they’ll stick around. of course, there is more to do, including converting my detached garage (that i never park my car in) into a guest house, but that’s a project for next year. in the shorter-term, the focus is on landscaping, so send me your referrals for great gardeners and landscape architects so they can get started immediately, as i seem to feel unsettled if my house isn’t under constant construction. plus, i really like bossing people around.

my feet and a sunset

free time: not only have i heard of this mysterious concept, i’ve indulged in plenty of it lately. it has taken the form of fancy but cheap meals with friends (thank you, dineLA), hangouts in the park with friends, live shows for bands such as Die Antwoord and Duran Duran, backyard barbecues with friends, and a day trip to San Diego that saw me purchasing a deck table and bench set from a carpenter who works with reclaimed wood, and making a stop at Stone Brewery in Escondido to fill up growlers with great beer. all in all, a great fucking summer.

next up for me is a great fucking fall. i have a few things cooking right now that will make it so. a hint is below. keep tuned.

One-Hit Wonders: July 2012

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• "amazing little bitches" stream
• fucking with tickling
• believe deep down in your heart that you are destined to do the great things
• rental cars in nort hollywood 0 millas
• spinster party
• what to write in wet cement
• family tree of sisyphus
• russian kids in diaper
• you want those credit cards working come millatime

My 15 Minutes

 

i’ve been living in a state of heightened reality this past week, where colors are brighter and food tastes stronger. i can see dancing in the shadows and the moon smiling at me. stars have been giving me high-fives just by twinkling. i know it’s the electrical current that’s been running through my body since the publication of my Modern Love essay in the New York Times. it’s a mighty powerful current, one that’s thrown my head into the clouds, feet off the ground, hands in the air, wave ’em like you just don’t care.

about an hour after my essay was up, i made my way to San Diego to attend Comic Con International 2012, where i worked the GEEK booth (i copy edit the magazine), wandered the main floor taking photos, attended one panel, and went drinking every night with the GEEK squad. being at Comic Con only intensified the surreality with its costumes, crowds, noise, events and general overstimulation (more on that in a future post). i spent three days there, having a ridiculously enjoyable (yet exhausting) time, and returning home the night before my essay came out in the sunday print edition of the Times.

that morning felt like christmas — or what i imagine christmas would feel like if i weren’t a jew and actually celebrated that silly little pagan holiday. i woke up early after barely having slept, excited to unwrap the sunday paper as though it were the lego set i wanted all year. my parents took me to brunch and told the waiter about my essay. i spent the afternoon with friends celebrating my big day at a local bar and returned home to find my inbox flooded with emails from people who had read my drivel.

i’m not gonna lie, that part has felt pretty damn good. of course, i expect my friends and parents to sing my praises as readily as i would sing theirs, but having strangers reach out to congratulate me has been the icing on an already very sugary cake. the emails i’ve received have been overwhelmingly positive, with only a handful of downers in the bunch, which is expected and doesn’t at all diminish the awesomeness of this experience. they seem to fall into a few general categories:

• the other Goldenbergs: to date, i’ve heard from about six, all of whom told me my essay had been forwarded to them by numerous people and one of whom tried to sell me an “obama watch.” (?)
• the writers: most have been single women in their thirties, though there have been a few men as well. the emails usually offer a warm congratulations and discuss the writer’s own desire to also be published in the Modern Love column; a few have included questions.
• the married men who agree: i’ve been most surprised (and delighted) by these. in fact, i think more married men than women have emailed me to say their spouse didn’t change her surname upon marriage and couldn’t understand why any women would. sweet!
• the single dudes asking for a date: i’m assuming this happens to anyone who writes about love and relationships, but i’ve received a number of invitations, some subtle, some direct. none will be accepted.

i’ve also been monitoring the noise on twitter and was happy to see my essay retweeted countless times. depending on who you believe, it’s either the best modern love column ever or the worst. some people found it hilarious, others found it sad, some thought it was lame, and still more thought i sounded crazy. one of my favorite tweets from the week: “that’s a lot of thinking before a first date.”

regarding all that thinking: i’m not saying i didn’t mean every word, but i definitely played up the “crazy” to make for a punchier essay. despite the neuroses i parade for your amusement on this blog, i like to think i’m fairly down to earth in real life and i think (hope?) my friends would affirm this assessment of myself. of course, i was excited to meet my namesake and hoping for the best, but i was also well aware that things could go south and not all that terribly devastated when they did. i bounced back rather quickly, as i tend to with these things, and now think about the events from that time not at all.

my larger point, which i hope doesn’t get overshadowed by all the gratuitous crazy, is that whole name-changing thing, which i feel very strongly about — not enough to picket weddings or try to pass laws forbidding women to take their husband’s last name, but enough to write this essay and hopefully get people thinking. it’s something that’s never felt right to me and i feel beyond lucky for the opportunity to express my viewpoint on such a big stage. 

other cool things that have happened as a result of the essay:

• i was interviewed by the Highland Park-Mount Washington Patch, which i’ve also blogged for, in an article titled Highland Park Writer Published in The New York Times. 
• for a friend, i signed my first (and what will probably be my last) autograph. 
• one of the other Goldenbergs wrote this awesome piece about our surname for Jewcy.com: My Life as a Goldenberg in Five Charts. (my parents really dug that one.)
• i received a request to be interviewed for a project about love and relationships, which amuses me to no end as i’m hardly an expert on the matter. i know as much or as little as the next person and am really just making it up as i go along. still, i agreed to the interview as i’m a fame-hungry whore who wants to put my surname everywhere.

sadly, the one email i most hoped to receive, the one offering me a book deal, never came. i guess that means i’ll have to keep writing to keep my good name out there, which i intend to do. as always, thanks for reading. please don’t ever stop.

So Much in Common, In Name Only

it's no exaggeration to say i've been dreaming about this day for years. when i meditate, i often visualize the things i want to manifest in my life. for this, i would picture my byline under the New York Times logo and Modern Love column header. it's a sight i've stared at with my eyes closed numerous times and to see it replicated now is surreal. there's certainly a more eloquent way to describe it, but it all feels like a dream. i've been thinking about dreams a lot lately, and if there is one lesson i will take away from the story of how this essay came to be, it's that the failure of one dream can lead to the realization of another. i hope you enjoy the piece.

“THIS man is going to be the father of my children,” I announced to my friends before I had even met him in person. “He has to be. It’s not like I’m going to meet another one again in my lifetime.” What I meant was another man who had my last name: Goldenberg...        

Me and Modern Love

the day after my 36th birthday, i got an email from the editor of the Modern Love column, which runs in The New York Times every Sunday and examines contemporary issues in dating, parenthood, marriage and “any subject that might reasonably fit under the heading ‘Modern Love,’” according to the submission guidelines.

i had submitted a personal essay to the column about a month ago and waited impatiently for it to be rejected, as all the other essays i submitted there were. instead came the email notifying me that the editor, Daniel Jones, would like to “talk” to me about the essay. i was at work at the time and replied quickly with something clumsy that amounted to: “yeah, OK!!!! Let’s talk!” then i went downstairs and walked around the block.

i told exactly no one about this email despite wanting to tell everyone because i’m very superstitious and didn’t want to jinx myself by talking about something that was far from certain. by the end of that day, i had convinced myself i was only a contender, maybe one out of 10, vying to have their essay published. after all, the editor said only that he wanted to “talk” to me about my essay, not “publish” it. my keen sense of observation managed to find a few other indicators in his three-line email that made publication an impossibility, things like “thank you” and “talk to you soon.” i was sure i had no chance.

being a writer is a lot like like being an actor in that you’re constantly being rejected. i’ve been rejected plenty and by much lesser publications than The New York Times. it’s demoralizing every time, akin to someone using the thing you have painstakingly slaved over as toilet paper. with each “thanks, but no thanks” form email i received, i feared that my writing career would never extend beyond blogspot.com and several times considered leaving this writing business to the professionals. not helping matters was the fact that i got very close to getting an essay published on a well-known website earlier this year, only to get shot down after a round of edits.

so when the New York Times email came, disbelief was the only emotion i could muster. we scheduled a phone meeting that following monday for 8am pacific, five days from the day i got the email — days that felt 85-hours long. that week held my annual birthday party, a dodger game with my pops and hangouts with various friends, so i had plenty of distractions, yet still filled my time between them thinking of little else. by sunday night, i was pacing my house like a madwoman and bargaining with god to please make this happen at any cost. (now that this is really happening, i’m a little worried about what i offered to give up.)

on monday morning, i was up at 5:30am and trying not to hyperventilate as the clock struck and then passed 8am, with the call coming 10 minutes late. i spent those final minutes giving myself yet another “it’s ok, you’ll get past this” pep talk. when the phone finally did ring, i took a deep breath and become eerily lucid during the 20-minute conversation that followed, as though i had become possessed by a less neurotic version of myself. it’s a girl i’ve seen plenty but cannot always count on in a jam. but she served me solidly this time.(thanks for coming through, higher self. i owe you big time.)

the chat with the editor was quite pleasant. i answered his questions, cracked a few jokes, went over his edits (very minimal) and even discussed a piece that he wrote for the Times on being bald, which i read and sincerely loved. i had even signed my submission email with a note that read “p.s. Baldies are the hottest” as a nod to his article. a big risk, to be sure, one i thought about at length and went for in an effort to stay authentic or something, though he assured me that my p.s. didn’t influence his decision in any way.

sensing my disbelief, he also assured me that YES, this was really happening, YES, he wanted to publish my essay in the New York Friggin Times. it was not a joke. with that, we hung up and my disbelief turned into a joy i have never before known in my life. overwhelmed, i did the thing i always do when any emotion, however happy or sad, floods me: i started to cry. then i called my parents, who also started to cry. soon after, i told facebook and then laughed as a handful of men pinged me to ask if the essay was about them.

what the essay is about i am not saying. it can be read in the july 15 print edition of the Sunday New York Times. it could be online sooner. i will say it is about one person, whom i already notified and who was a super champ about the whole thing. i will also say that this essay does not paint me in a wonderful light, but i’m ok with that since, you know, New York Times.  

i’m certain that the way i portrayed myself helped its publication prospects since the ugly truth is way more interesting than a sanitized version, which i probably too often try to project in this space. with that in mind, i will try to be more honest here, if only to make myself more interesting (and publishable).

the only downside to the ugly truth and the publication of this essay is that it will ensure i will be single forever. i suspected as much before, but now i’m pretty certain of it. the other downside is that i may offend some people, particularly a few of my closest girlfriends, with the beliefs i outline in the essay. i apologize in advance for any offense caused, though i don’t apologize for believing in what i do. i stand by everything i say and hope others do the same. we don’t always have to agree.
 
and here comes the part where i should tell everyone to keep pursuing their dreams because they can come true with enough patience and perseverance, just as mine did. but the reality is that i’m sure much more rejection lies in my future. there will be more demoralizing days when i want to chuck my computer out of the window and go live on a farm. there will be days when i want to use my own work as toilet paper and will question the sanity of Dan Jones from the New York Times for publishing any of my drivel.

but for now, i will not allow myself to worry about that. i will not think that this may be the apex of my career and that it’s all downhill from here. instead, i will allow myself to feel excited as all get out to see this essay published. i will cry, rejoice, celebrate, tell everyone i know, and i will feel like a million bucks. i will take my time returning to earth. because this is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me and i’m happy beyond measure.

thank you for being part of this moment with me. it means the world.

36

this birthday seemed to creep up on me, linger for a minute and then whiz right by. it occurred during a whirlwind week where so much other stuff was happening that it became just another thing to check off the list. “turn 36,” the agenda item would have read. so i turned 36 on june 26, right on schedule, another deadline met. 

it fell on a tuesday this year, which i spent away from work and at the korean spa getting scrubbed, rubbed and pampered. the evening was spent with my parents who bought me dinner and gave me a gift card. the next day i returned to work and to new deadlines. a party at my local bar followed that friday, where friends came to watch me get sloshed and meet my parents, who were the real stars that night. on saturday, i was at a dodgers game with my pops, talking to him about the next 36 years.

overall, it was a very good birthday that topped off a very good year of a very good life. this is something i will remind myself of this every time the mood to be melancholy tugs at me, which it often does. i blame all those years of being a teenage goth. if i could just go back to tell her how much better life would be at 36, how she could be happy by choice instead of consumed by a “depth” she thought was impenetrable and unique. not that it would have mattered when her middle finger was waving in front of my face. 

now that finger rests idle at my side, replaced by a smile. it’s been a good fucking year, ending on a good fucking note as something i have written will soon be published in The New York Times. (more on that in a future post.) 

it’s been a year of hard work and dedication, a year of an endless home remodel that still has no end in sight. it’s been a year of family and good friends who are like family. it’s been a year of up all night and hikes in the fresh air, of getting rowdy and sitting quietly while watching the horizon. it’s been expensive and decadent, full of triumphs and missteps and, at times, it’s been incredibly lonely.

but above all else, it’s been a year when i finally grew into my own skin and learned how to trust myself. it’s been a year when i stopped apologizing for every damn thing in my personality, when i’ve squashed those nagging self-doubts like i’m playing a game of Whac-A-Mole, when i learned how to not feel awkward in a room full of strangers. it’s been a year of razor-sharp intuition and bursts of creativity, a year when i could high-five the universe, when i could walk along my path and separate the light from the shadows.

if the last 36 have taught me anything, it’s that i have both more and less control over my life than i think. it’s still a balancing act i’m learning how to master, this art of manifesting what i want while also stepping back to make space for the divine surprises. my inclination is to take over every situation. letting go is still so hard for me. but my faith is strengthening and all this LA asshole mumbo jumbo i’ve been incorporating into my life these past few years has helped me grow as much as it’s humbled me. through it, i’ve found a religion of sorts, the “everything’s gonna be ok” religion where everything really does happen for a reason. 

sure, it’s a cliche, one i’ve rolled my eyes at numerous times as a teenage goth and probably last year, too, but simplicity makes sense to me now. nature is simple, emotion is simple, and life can also be simple if i stop resisting. that’s the goal for next year (and every year): to live simply, fearlessly, ethically, honestly and with my whole heart. 

One-Hit Wonders: June 2012

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• freckled kid
• the joy of working
• glazed over eyes of landmark educaiton
• how to make a 1000square feet houselook big
• my head hit on a cupboard overhead and giving me tingles
• pervert cupcake
• the meaning of patoose
• dating@hotmail.com
• lactating hypnotic tit stories

The Conversation Chronicles: From My Birthday Dinner

dad: so i have little joke for you. i just remember it.

me: ok.

dad: it’s from Benny Hill. i was watching it long time ago, old show.

me: i know that show. i used to watch it with you when i was little. i don’t think i understood it at the time.

dad: oh, good. but you understand it now?

me: yeah, pretty sure i do now.

dad: ok, so Benny is in bed with his old wife after seeing young girls in the little skirts. you know how he chase girls. and he look at his wife all sad and say mean to her, “goodnight, mother of three.” and she look at him and say, “goodnight, father of one.” get it?

me: i think i do. very nice, pops.

dad: ok, so now let’s toast to your birthday.