Saturday, February 12, 2011

Tales of the motorcycling Buddhist Beau.

29 years ago I was born to Jewish parents and have since taken every opportunity to prove that I am not, myself, Jewish. I dropped out of Hebrew School. I’ve claimed atheism. I’ve dated outside my faith. So, so many people outside my faith. Commonly known in some circle as Goys, non-Jews have always shone a little brighter for me. I’ve dated every kind of Goy and then some. I’ve dated black Christians. I’ve dated Irish Catholics. I’ve dated half Asian Episcopalians. I’ve dated WASPs from the suburbs of Northern California.

And so when I recently began studying Buddhism, it seemed natural that I should add Christian turned Buddhist to my list of non-Jewish romantic partners. I spotted Joe from across the circle of chairs on Day 1 and decided that he was probably the cutest little practicing American Buddhist I could ever hope to meet. Smart, calm, the kind of person who doesn’t waste words or get excited very easily. He also had some nice ink on his biceps and the sweetest blue eyes. Done.

Before our weekend of classes was complete I’d orchestrated a means to get my email to him if he wasn’t going to ask for it. Cut to the success of my manipulation and a dozen or so emails later and Joe and I were on our way to a first date—class extra credit if you will. Joe planned the kind of picture perfect date that most people only dream of. He picked me up on his beautiful Harley motorcycle at 9 am. He had with him an entire outfit for me that screamed safety and zero sex appeal (but what a sweet gesture). And he had a whole itinerary planned that involved crossing county lines, riding along the California coast and a perfectly timed sunset at the park. Score. Score, score and a million times score.

Something about Joe’s authentic nature brought out the same in me. I want to see you again, I told Joe as he was dropping me off 12 hours later. When your midterms are over. (Joe’s back in school to study social work. Be still my easily swooned heart.) I’d like to see you before then, he replied. Oh, my achy breaky Buddhist love organ.

Date No. 2 with Joe is planned for tomorrow. While some other gentlemen have entered the picture in the last week (oh, I have so very much to catch you up on friends!), stay tuned for tales of my motorcycling Buddhist beau…

Hear this, Gals: Ballsy is better. Guys don’t always have metaphorical balls that mirror their real ones. Sometimes you need to make the first move. Or at least gently guide them toward making one themselves.

Listen up, Guys: Sometimes the nice guy does win. Gentle is good. Authentic is awesome. Sweet can be sexy.

[Image via LIFE]

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