Dating within a minority can be difficult—ask any Jew looking for a Jewish partner outside of Israel. So being another minority within such a small group can be really frustrating. It’s unclear how many LGBTQ Jews live in North America, but assuming they’re proportionate for the population, and keeping in mind that the numbers grow smaller as we adjust for preferences—gay women, for example, want to date other women, not gay men—the options can be limited.

Thankfully, a new website is here to fix all that. It’s called “Saw You At Stonewall,” and while its mission is to set up LGBTQ Jews, by doing so it also brings to light specific issues queer Jews face when straddling multiple worlds.

Jewcy is on a summer residency! To read this piece, and our others for July and August 2017, go to our big sister site, Tablet Magazine!

The post New Dating Site Helps LGBTQ Jews Find Love, No Pictures Necessary appeared first on Jewcy.

I’m not impressed, folks. I have been on this app for less than 12 hours and already I have a LOT of advice for you, dudes. And I’m not even talking about the shirtless pics. Because everyone’s probably already told you to stop that. No disrespect meant to your hot Israeli IDF bod — it is quite spiffy, but JSwipe isn’t really Grindr.

Here are some other things you should really not be doing:

1. No bio.

I mean, come on. Even if your pics are hot as hell, if I have no clue who you are, bye. This is basically 80-90% of profiles I’ve seen.

2. A bio that just says “I hate bios” or “there’s too much about me to fit into a bio.”

Oy, aren’t you special. Newsflash: we all hate condensing ourselves into a tiny pinprick but hello, if I can be bothered to put in the effort, so can you. Put on your big boy pants and deal with it. And yeah, I would hope there’s more to you than can fit in a bio, but if you can’t even come up with enough info or personality to fill half a phone screen, things are not looking great for the rest of you.

3. A bio of only emojis.

Wow. Much impress. “That menorah emoji really speaks to my soul,” said no one ever.

4. One word bios.

“Hi.” “Adventure.” “.רְצִינִי” “CPA.” “NJB [Nice Jewish Boy].” “INFP.” If you’re going to use one word, it had better be something that represents you, and if these are the most interesting things you can say about yourself, that does not bode well.

(Fun fact: The Most Interesting Man in the World is Jewish. Up your game.)

5. Bios that say, “I’m new at this!” and nothing else.

Well, guess what, boychik – so am I, and I’m already way better at it than you.

6. Bios that place a weird emphasis on your height.

Like either it’s the only thing in the bio, or one of less than 5 characteristics you’ve listed. I get that we are a people populated by men of small stature, so you feel special if you’re 6 feet tall, but again, if your height is the most interesting thing about you, you need some more hobbies. (I don’t care at all about height so personally any bio with height listed makes me roll my eyes.)

7. Bios that tell me you have a sense of humor but back it up with nothing.

Just because comedy and sarcasm is seemingly hardwired into our ancient culture and our less ancient celebrity icons, does not mean that you are automatically gifted with it. I too can claim to have a sense of humor. I included examples of it in my bio. Did you?

8. Bios that include one sentence about you and then a trite inspirational quote.

Great, I can have a date with my shul’s wall calendar that has as much to say as you do.

9. Bios where your primary interest is traveling.

Look, traveling is great. I’ve done it. I too have pictures of myself surrounded by Jerusalem stone and silhouetted against the Western Wall! Imagine that. But I want to know what makes you interesting aside from the places you can afford to visit. I want to know that if we’re stuck at home, you have enough conversation skills that I won’t be bored to tears. Travel is not a substitute for personality.

10. Bios that start in on what “most girls” like or want and how you’re different and special and shouldn’t be judged by the standards “most girls” use.

Just stop. Your bio is a space to tell me about you, not about all your past failures with women and your subsequent bitterness and Nice Guy Syndrome, you schmuck.

Sarah Meira (SM) Rosenberg is a jill-of-all-trades, including but not limited to: publicist for the bestselling Unofficial Hogwarts Haggadah, co-host of the Nice Jewish Fangirls podcast, freelance editor, former teen novelist, and retired auto mechanic. If you need stuff done, try her.

The post 10 Jswipe No-No’s from a Newbie appeared first on Jewcy.

In theory, sure, why not? If prefer to swipe right for another Jew, that’s your prerogative. But in an effort to reach out to diverse Jews, JSwipe’s publicity strategy falls into catering towards the lowest common denominator, which usually means a lot of jokes about matzah ball soup, unfortunate puns on the word “Jew,” and Seinfeld references.

But sometimes these awkward/annoying attempts to be hip bleed over into offensive. Take this recent  Facebook post:

It’s hardly worth explaining why this is offensive (to keep it brief: it’s an overly stereotyped image of a Mexican person on Cinco de Mayo, and also the joke is rooted in the idea of a Mexican Jew being incongruous when there are totally Jewish Mexicans).

But most of the offensive online content is rooted in sexism, because, well, it’s a dating app.  For example, JSwipe was recently the partner at a “#CrazyJewishMom” event, because there’s nothing funnier than an overbearing Jewish woman, am I right?

Or take a recent tweet, since deleted, that joked that you should marry a Jewish woman, since it would be the last decision you’d ever make.

(To be fair, I once heard a similar joke made by an officiant at a Jewish wedding. It wasn’t funny then either.)

If JSwipe is trying to make good-natured in-jokes about Jewishness, they’re missing the mark, and attacking the very women they want to be part of its clientele (and the app itself isn’t sexist). Rather than letting dating in the faith be what it is (complicated), JSwipe has to represent men there by coercion, women as nagging shrews,

Maybe it’s an effective strategy, but that doesn’t make it not stupid.

Nor is JSwipe the first Jewish dating program to be embarrassing.  JDate (which acquired ownership of JSwipe some months ago), has been using flimsy stereotypes as part of its marketing for ages.  Take this commercial from 2014:

(That blonde will never understand you, Jewish man, because the entirety of your identity can be summed up by a Jewish summer camp experience that all like-minded Jews know and love.)

All that pandering, and JDate can’t even spell “bashert” right in an ad:

Sounds like “sherbert…”

Also, guys, since you like Yiddish 101 catchphrases? Try “shandeh fur di goyim,” which means, non-Jews on the Internet can see you being awful when you’re claiming you represent young Jewish adults so stop embarrassing us.

Plus, you’re alienating young Jewish adults. You know, people you want to use your service?

@JSwipe using a damaging stereotype about jewish women to boost it’s popularity?! now that’s a shonda. #deletejswipe https://t.co/J9g1TNjfok

— Sandy Fox (@sandy__fox) May 18, 2016

So even if its service is fine, is the advertising such a turnoff that you should swipe left on JSwipe in its entirety?

Ah, well. JWed it is.

Image Credits: Facebook and Michael Spitzer-Rubenstein

The post Should You #DeleteJSwipe? appeared first on Jewcy.

My first real grown-up date, when I was 20, was an absolute calamity. Before agreeing to go, I had what felt like a 40-minute panic attack. “How do you expect to ever find a husband if you’re scared of a coffee date?” asked my Mom. She was right.

I was a ball of utter chaos: Was I supposed to offer to pay? What would happen at the end of the date? What was I supposed wear? What is dating? As we walked into the coffee shop, I tripped for no apparent reason. A kid laughed. Later, my date—a tall, dark, handsome Jewish law student—drove me through a cemetery. We did not go out a second time.

A lot of people are nervous on first dates, but I seem to experience excessive anxiety—or at least, I used to. Why? Because I grew up Modern Orthodox. I attended a yeshiva where there was no opportunity, really, for boys and girls to learn about the secular dating world. My school was co-ed, but it didn’t help the matter. Following halacha, the school’s message about was sex was firm: none of it before marriage. One of the main administrative goals each day was to  keep boys and girls away from each other.

Modern Orthodoxy is kind of a gray area, encompassing was wide range of religious practice. When people ask about my parents’ practic, I hesitate about how to describe them. They keep Shabbat, but my mother wears pants, and they eat vegetarian food at non-kosher restaurants. Some members of my extended family who also call themselves Modern Orthodox are strictly kosher, and cover their hair after marriage. Most Modern Orthodox people venture into the secular world for study and work, but many only socialize with other Orthodox Jews. The level of familiarity with pop culture varies greatly from family to family and person to person.

The messages we received in my community about dating were confusing. Only certain activities were acceptable, and the rules seemed arbitrary. “Dating” meant that you walked to class together and maybe went over to their house for Shabbat lunch. My first boyfriend—who I ogled for three years before we actually started hanging out—lasted all of two weeks. We rode our bikes and sometimes sat next to each other when the whole gang went to the movies. Romantic. As far as the physical aspects of the relationship, hugging was about as far as it went. Maybe the occasional touching of the elbow. No hand-holding and certainly no kissing. It wasn’t just us.

When I was 15, a friend told the entire neighborhood that I was a whore because I sat next to a boy on a shul trip to Hersheypark. I was comfortable hanging out with boys in a friendly, platonic context, but unfortunately, some people in my Modern Orthodox neighborhood did not feel the same. (That same “friend” later got sprung sneaking out with boys, which led to some difficulties getting into seminary. The neighborhood covered for her.)

Every love connection I had was accidental. When you grow up together, you just get thrown together. You don’t date in a traditional sense, you simply hang out closer, with an almost imperceptible increase in frequency.

My first “real” relationship started just before eleventh grade, with a guy whose religious observance swung from eating at Olive Garden and making out with girls, to Orthodoxy, to some variation of the two. The first and only time he spent a weekend at my house, he showed up with a giant black hat that he had spent too much money on, which scared my parents, who wanted me to be observant, but wanted to make sure I stayed true to my own beliefs. With him, I got a taste of almost every type of Judaism.  I thought it would broaden my relationship horizons, that I wouldn’t be so scared of guys and dating. It didn’t. He was the first guy that I had any sort of physical relationship with. Most of that had to do with the fact that he was from a different community and wasn’t raised Modern Orthodox.  When I started dating him I kept most things from my friends, but a few warned me that being with someone who wasn’t religious was a bad idea.

Once I left the bubble of yeshiva and found my footing in the secular world of college and dorms and parties, I realized that those other folks in my community—the ones who attended Orthodox, single-sex high schools—had it easy. My friends whose schools were more Orthodox than Modern were having an easier go at college life because all they went to the same schools (Queens, Stern, YU), never completely leaving the bubble. They dated within their community, with people who had the same level of romantic experience and the same expectations. Their rules of dating were clearly delineated. Most of them are married now. I was the one with the problem: I was dipping my feet in dating pools beyond my depth, with people who were far more experienced and comfortable than me.

In my freshman year of college, my sculpture TA caught my eye. He walked into the studio with his newsboy cap and glasses, making me want to marry him. I lost all motor skills each time he approached my table. Once I accidentally smashed my little statue. My friend Sammi would stand next to me molding her clay and I’d nudge her, asking “What do I do?” The semester was grueling and I was in jeopardy of not finishing my final work of ‘art.’ The closest I got to flirting with him was lying to him about liking to fish. (I saw it on an episode of Gilmore Girls.)

When the semester ended and we all went home for the summer, my big move was sending the TA a Facebook message confessing that I had a big-league crush on him—something a sixteen-year-old might do. Needless to say, the relationship never blossomed, though we did stay in touch.

My yeshiva left me with a pretty solid education, but almost no life skills. It wasn’t until I was nearly done with college that I started to feel at ease in the world of dating, and that was because I decided to work on an ethnography-type thing about the culture of online dating for credit. I actually picked dating as my writing project for the semester so that I’d be forced to learn how to go on a date.

And so, I went on dates. Many dates. I became a student of flirting, plate-sharing, coy glances, teasing. Each dinner or seat at a bar taught me something new. I learned that people who have been dating since they were 14 still get nervous. One of my first dates couldn’t seem to remember the college he went to. Another spilled beer all over the bar counter. And more than a few of them, jittery and clumsy, confessed to me that they were “a bit nervous.” So if I didn’t know how to answer a question or if I spilled my drink or tripped (which happened a lot), it was okay. More importantly, it was pure immersion therapy: the more I pushed myself, the more comfortable I became. After a while I stopped walking into glass doors. Making conversation became much easier. One guy even called me a good “verbal-spatting partner,” which I considered a win.

About three years after I confessed my crush to the TA, he messaged me on Facebook and asked me out. Butterflies were swing-dancing in my stomach, but I kept my cool and it went well. I accidentally called him by a codename Sammi and I had given him, but I covered it up with a cough and a smile. I didn’t feel uncomfortable and I didn’t feel as though I was playing dating catch-up. I felt normal. We didn’t get together, but I finally felt as though I had finally graduated into the adult world of dating.

There were many awkward moments along the way, but I think I have finally leveled off with my peers in the school of love. I am more comfortable now. Not confident all the time, but not frightened whenever I have to talk to a guy.  I’ve found someone to be with who, I think, would be surprised to know what a disaster I used to be. I’ve spoken to a lot of people who grew up in communities similar to mine, and learned that we all share a common naïveté when it comes to the world of secular dating.  But everyone has their ‘thing,’ no? Every person goes into a relationship with baggage or quirks or expectations—so it’s a process of consciously keeping those neuroses in check and not letting them hinder the progression of a relationship (or even that one date). There’s no formula to what works, it’s just a process of trial and error until you one day realize “Hey, this ain’t so bad.”

Daniella Bondar is a MFA Creative Writing Nonfiction student at The New School. Wandering New Yorker. Insomniac. She’s working on a memoir about her gold dress phobia. Follow her on twitter and find her writing at DaniellaRobin.com.

(Image: Shutterstock)

Related: I Hid My Non-Jewish Boyfriend From My Family For Over A Year

The post “50 First Dates”: Learning About Love After Modern Orthodoxy appeared first on Jewcy.

“Find someone who wasn’t on your Birthright trip.” “Shiksappeal is overrated.”

JDate has a new advertising campaign, and—much like the experience of online dating—you’re either gonna love it or hate it. The ads, which launched today online and in New York’s Times Square, have elicited a mix of responses from the Jewish community. For some, the punchlines evoke cheesy (but benign) borscht belt humor. For others, they reinforce negative cultural stereotypes about Jews and gentiles.

Jeff Newelt, comics editor at Heeb and social media/public relations consultant, described the campaign as “obvious and hackneyed,” and many on Twitter agreed:

If my eyes roll any harder they’re gonna roll right out of my damn head http://t.co/F0sjJxKbvS

— Daniel Sieradski (@selfagency) February 13, 2014

Cringeworthy is too polite – @JDate‘s Brash New Advertising Campaign: Clever or Cringeworthy? http://t.co/oUxhUKjrTm via @tabletmag — Tema Smith (@temasmith) February 13, 2014

*cringe* RT @tabletmag .@JDate’s brash new ‘Get Chosen’ ad campaign: clever or cringeworthy? http://t.co/x8GRJOaOVE pic.twitter.com/AhkWZqlF3l — liprap (@liprap) February 13, 2014

But responses were positive too:

A genius is behind the brilliant advertising of @JDate http://t.co/ygUQwNQxkG via @tabletmag

— Andria Kaplan (@Andria_Kaplan) February 13, 2014

I think the @JDate ad is funny and clever, but consider my comedic track record. Also, still not subscribing http://t.co/Oy0HdqQyXa

— Rabbi Josh Yuter (@JYuter) February 13, 2014

Tablet Magazine put the question to their readers on Facebook, and a comment war basically erupted.

Nu, what do you think? Clever or cringeworthy? Would you ditch OKCupid for JDate?

The post JDate’s New Advertising Campaign Launches Today appeared first on Jewcy.

Well, well, well. There’s a new online dating site in town. The mostly free website, Jzoog, launches on November 7, and depending on how it fares, JDate might have some competition.

Rabbi and dating coach Arnie Singer, who wrote From I to I Do: How to Meet, Date and Marry Your Mr. Right, created Jzoog as a way to help single Jews find each other, but without the “online shopping” feeling that’s often experienced on so many dating sites. On Jzoog, users see each other one at a time, and they’re unable to check out the next person until making a decision on the current one, according to Jzoog.com.

Instead of glossing over you in a race to scroll through as many matches as possible, Jzoog users get the opportunity to give every potential match a chance. That’s good for both parties.

Online dating shouldn’t be like online shopping. You shouldn’t be treated like a piece of merchandise. Everyone deserves to be the center of attention

Often times, online daters will message the hell out of everyone they see because there’s nothing to lose, wasting the time of people seriously looking for relationships. To avoid that burden, JZoog tried a different approach: users don’t pay a fee unless they want to actually contact someone, NY Blueprint reports.

With Jzoog, users pay for tokens, which are used to contact someone. A smile, which is similar to a poke, is 50 cents, while sending a message is one dollar, or two tokens. There is no charge to respond to a message and there is no charge for sending additional messages to a person, once the conversation has begun. A smile may be a common choice for women who don’t want to appear aggressive but want a guy to notice them.

And, keepin’ it old country, Jzoog has a matchmaker feature, which allows users to set each other up.

Only time will tell if Jzoog has got the moxie to make it in the online dating game. Let us know about your experiences with Jzoog come November 7. If you meet, date, and marry Mr. or Mrs. Right within a week, we’ll buy each of you a soda.

(Still image from Jzoog.com)

The post Jzoog: A New Spin on Jewish Online Dating appeared first on Jewcy.

Online dating is all the rage. Men swiping through pictures of girls, based on their hotness, within proximity on Tinder, and women making kissy faces in their OKCupid profile pictures, describing themselves as “adventurous” and other fun-loving adjectives.

In Islam, however, online dating is purely for marriage, decided the Supreme Council of Religious Ruling in Palestine on Tuesday. Given the success of sites like JDate, the council could not ignore the pervasiveness of couples meeting online, but it included numerous ground rules, reports the Times of Israel.

Women, continues the religious opinion, may not describe themselves in detail to men and may not share photos of themselves, nor may they meet the potential groom alone without a male family escort.

“These permissions do not substitute for the formalized, traditional methods of encounter for the purpose of marriage,” the council underscored. “It is better for those wishing to marry to enter the house through the front door.”

For the man, that would entail meeting the prospective bride at her family home in the presence of her custodians.

Eek, meeting the parents on the first date. Hopefully the people on the Islamic dating sites are better adjusted than some of the ones we’ve got stateside.

(Photo by Shutterstock)

The post Online Dating Allowed in Islam, But With Restrictions appeared first on Jewcy.

Two weeks ago, somewhere in our nation’s capital, seven young Jewish men and seven young Jewish women got together for a Shabbat dinner. But it wasn’t just any dinner—it was the now infamous Craigslist Shabbat dinner, organized by seven very confident young Jews who took to the ultimate online personals section to find their besherts. We spoke with Elissa*, one of the seven lucky “chosen” female attendees, about her experience.

So, you’re a chosen ‘chosen one’—mazel tov. How did you find the Craigslist ad? And why did you decide to apply?

I honestly thought the entire thing was a joke. I’m fairly incompetent using the Internet (I just found out that there were articles written about this before it happened), and when my former college roommate posted this on my Facebook wall, I thought, ‘How ridiculous.’ He (ah, liberal arts education) and I decided to apply purely out of curiosity and because we thought it would be hilarious. Never did I ever think this would actually take place, that I would be invited to join, or that I would go. I’ve never met anybody on the Internet (I meet enough creeps in real life), I’ve never been on a blind date, and I’ve never dated an American Jew. So this was way out of my comfort zone.

How long did you spend on your application? Did you take it seriously or just fire something off?

It probably took me longer to read the posting than to write a response. My ‘application’ began with “Dear circumcised gentlemen” and ended with “Pick me and make my bubbe kvell.” I used Maimonides and Zach Braff in the same sentence and told them they better not be schmucks. They asked for a picture so I sent one of me at a prayerbook vending machine in Jerusalem. 

How did you find out you were selected?

A few days later, I got the ‘acceptance’ email:

Following strip bingo night with the local Hadassah chapter, we carefully reviewed your application, engaged in Talmudic discussion over the merits of your presence at our Shabbat dinner table, and Googled the hell out of you.

On behalf of Seven White Single Jewish Males, I’d like to stomp on a glass and wish you a Mazel Tov! You are officially one of the seven chosen people.

The challah is practically in the oven, the gefilte fish are swimming about, the Manischewitz is on ice, and you’ll want to give up your birthright for this lentil soup. We just need to know by noon tomorrow, how much herring to cover in wine sauce.

Also, if you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions, please let us know too. For the sake of inclusion, all food will be kosher.

We also trust that you will use your discretion, and keep this in the family (of 14).

This invitation is non-transferrable, unless you are transferring it to Bar Refaeli or Elena Kagan.

David Ben Gurion

Clearly, I’m not keeping this in ‘the family’ (that’s how Jewish genetic diseases started, after all), but this whole experience was too absurd not to share.

So how did the actual event go down?

I love a good story and routinely get myself into strange predicaments, but I truly didn’t know how to handle this and was debating whether or not I should go. It started to get even more surreal as the plans were being made. The guys were extremely vague and secretive in their communication with us. They continued using the alias David Ben Gurion and waited until the last minute to provide us with an address (they were contacted by several media sources and were understandably worried about guests showing up to the dinner unwelcome), and I started to get freaked out.
 
I demanded that they meet me in a public place first (it turned out that I was the only one with this requirement), and established a “safe word” with a friend who, if I called or texted, would either come to my rescue or notify the authorities. Not to be outdone, the father of one of the chosen Jewesses even hired a bodyguard to be on call a few blocks from our location. I was still extremely anxious (it’s part of my heritage, okay?), although the guys did their best to quell my fears before the event. Their mothers clearly raised them right.
 
The dinner took place at a very nice apartment, and at first we just sat around having drinks and discussing the absurdity of the situation. Our hosts admitted they sifted through hundreds of responses to the ad—one enthusiastic woman offered to fly in from the Midwest and a group of “Protestant Princesses” even reached out to them. It was kind of a hilarious ego boost, except that I learned just how much they gleaned from a simple Google search of my name. Excuse me while I reconsider my relationship with the Internet.

According to the ad, the group of male hosts included five good-looking guys and two ugly guys. Was that true?

Well, disappointingly, there were only five guys there—two of them ended up not being able to make it—and six of us Jewesses (one bailed at the last minute). We joked that it was the ugly guys who had dropped out. One particular guy and I had our differences: he made a joke early on about it being good that we had all met on “Craigslist and not Schindler’s list,” to which I responded, “Too soon.” From that moment on, he seemed to openly dislike me. Oh well.
 
The quality of the company overall ended up being quite enjoyable, though, and I think that’s what counts the most. No one was remarkably schlubby or nebbishy, though the fresh babka was the biggest turn-on for me. Yum.
 
Tell us a little about the dinner. How was the food? How were the other chosen ladies?
 
The dinner itself was surprisingly comfortable. The guys cooked and served a delightful multi-course meal, the wine was flowing, and the people were funny and interesting. I was honestly shocked. I don’t have many Jewish friends and am not yet part of a Jewish community here in D.C., so it was refreshing to be around people with shared backgrounds and experiences.
 
And the other girls were lovely. We all engaged each other and it never felt like one of those catty reality shows where the women are competing for the men or vice-versa. Having gone into this half-expecting to be murdered by a serial killer (and yet I went, sigh) or be so bored that I’d try to gouge my eyeballs out with a Shabbat candle, I was pleasantly surprised. It’s not often that a bunch of guys cook, clean, and entertain a group of ladies completely of their own accord. Note to gentlemen everywhere: this should be done more often.
 
The evening was so “normal” in fact, that during dessert we joked that we needed to do something to spice it up, like perform an impromptu brit milah at the dinner table.

So, did you hit it off with any of the guys? Was your beshert at the dinner?

The dinner ended up lasting more than five hours, at which point us Jewesses all left together (we’re all still in touch and actually got another dinner party invitation—so, to be continued!). Interestingly, no phone numbers were exchanged across the genders at the actual event, though three of the girls were later contacted by three guys and are seeing each other again. Yentl the matchmaker would be so proud!
 
Personally, I did not find my beshert that night (and later met up with a French goy I’ve been casually dating…oops. My mother would be so disappointed). While I met some great people, my first foray into Jewish dating didn’t end up successful in the traditional sense. I guess it’s back to the land of the uncircumcised for me for now. Oy.
 
That weekend (after Shabbos ended, of course), I sent the guys an email thanking them for not being serial killers and for hosting a lovely evening, and they sent the chosen few a “shaynem dank” email:

Thank you for indulging our Shabbat fantasies. It was the ultimate double mitzvah. We had a great time hosting you, and may these experiences be fruitful and multiply. Never forget.

*Last name omitted so her mother never finds out.

(image via Shutterstock)

The post Tales From the Craigslist Shabbat Dinner appeared first on Jewcy.

Anyway, I decided to join JDate for a few reasons. 1. My dad said he would pay me to do it although I have yet to see that money direct deposited into my account. 2. My roommate from college met her now fiancé on it (although when she joined we all made fun of her NON STOP). Now the bitch is laughing all the way to the chuppah. In addition, everyone’s cousin, including my own, has met their wife on JDate, so I realized I gotta keep up with the times. I don’t have an Instagram so the least I could do is keep up in other ways. The last straw came when I read a quote from Robert Frost or JFK or someone and it said, “Your destiny is not something to wait for, it’s something to be achieved.” Clearly, he was talking about JDate. Or the Cold War. Whatever.

So I made a sexually appealing profile and let me tell you, I found so many people who I know in real life and would never expect to see on the site. The problem is instead of looking for new guys, I just sit there and send sexual messages to the people I already know (both male and female) because I find it humorous. I just imagine them thinking they got a message from some hot bitch, and it’s just little old me sexually harassing them … usually in Hebrew. My roommates will often call me from their rooms and say “what are you doing?” I answer with a simple “Ohhhh, nothin. Just JDating in the living room.” It’s my new favorite verb and lately, I’m constantly tempted to put a J before everything. Whenever I use the word J-Walking I laugh to myself.

So … there are a few guys worth mentioning. One is the guy who messaged me and the subject of his email was “NINNNNJJJJJJAAAA.” ENOUGH SAID. Then there was the gem whose personality profile is fine but looks like the spitting image of The Craigslist Killer. Too much, too soon. My favorite was a guy from New York who could not have been better looking. His profile seemed cool and I was starting to think he might be my other half when I noticed that he may or may not have been 5’5’’. That isn’t just short, that’s minuscule. Really rude of God to do to him. If he was an Atheist, I would get that. Last but not least, came “Dimitry.” Dimitry had a name that immediately gave away that he was a Ruski. Ever since my Russian ballet teacher had no sympathy for me—the poor child with a red, hand-me-down leotard when everyone else had a regal pink tutu—I just haven’t been able to connect with Russians. Sue me.

Anyway, Dimitry looked identical to my ex boyfriend, so logically, I wanted to give him a try. Always a healthy decision. So he seemed cool, we messaged back and forth a little and then he asked for my number. I gave it to him with the rationale that Time Warner and the Gas company have my social security number, so what’s one more asshole knowing my personal info. He texted me right away. Like within 5 minutes. Eh. We chatted and then the convo was over and I said bye … and after my bye … he sent A SMILEY. No, no, no. It was over. Long story short, he left me a voicemail the next day. Let’s just say his voice was at an octave I don’t think Susan Boyle could reach. So high pitched. My soul mate doesn’t have a mouse voice. He just doesn’t.

The point is I’m gonna J-Wait and see if there are any gem stones for me to meet on JDate because that’s what my look-a-like Gisele would do … if she wasn’t married to Tom fucking Brady.

A version of this post originally appeared on Another Day in Paradise on May 31, 2012.

Gabriela Marcus graduated NYU Tisch School of the Arts a few years ago with a degree in drama. She is an aspiring actress and writer living in Los Angeles. If you want to know how that’s going, you can read her blog.

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