In time, accelerated very likely by my realization that I am not a cougar, it ended because I was half on purpose, behaving more like an auntie than a girlfriend.  I saw myself as more a perverted mentor…a dirty old lady taking advantage even though I am physically and psychologically incapable of actually taking advantage of him.

After he gave me the it’s-not-working-for-me speech, I couldn’t even muster upset-ness.  It was something I expected to happen.  At the time, I thought it was because he’d taken a liking to one of my very few female friends who, despite her being a nice person, was a bit of a bumbler when it came to the men whose hearts and egos she was breaking.  I felt bad for him because that was going to be doomed since she’s a Lesbian.  However, I felt relieved that I would be out of the way before that imploded.  I’d nursed Kahuna through the fallout of her rejecting him during her confused phase and his painfully beta phase.  I was not looking forward to doing that again.

I was just happy that at least he didn’t break up with me over my ethnicity.  This was a normal I’m too old thing.  I could deal with that.  It was fun and respectful while it lasted.

So about a month ago, he called.  He’s in the military now, and he likes it (no surprise there).  The night before last, since he has some time off because of spraining his ankle, we met and talked for awhile.

Crap…usual stupid SMS from Slick.  “You don’t even answer anymore.”

I have nothing to say to him.  Anyway, Papa II and I talked.  For some weird reason, he apologized for being a jerk.  He says he was manipulating my friend because he figured it would get back to me and I’d end it myself so he wouldn’t have to do the breaking up, but I don’t really buy that.  I don’t really care what that was, and am just glad he didn’t get caught up to get his soul crushed.

I told him that he had nothing to apologize, and that compared to how a couple of other guys here have broken up with me, he did rather well.  There’s no fun way to break up with someone.

Between the lines though is that it was an abomination that never should have happened.  I prefer older men.  The only reason anybody younger than me had a snowball’s chance in hell is due to some excusably bad advice given to me by men who care about me and don’t understand why anyone would want to harm me.  They didn’t even imagine that there were some men in this world who weren’t so evil that they were visibly defective, who would dream of exploiting me or intentionally or due to severe sickness of some sort, breaking my heart.

This is why I was a spoiled bitch princess.  Too many men love the hell out of me, some platonically, and some with inappropriate sexual tension.  Papa II was just part of an important lesson I needed to learn: show no mercy.

A woman should be like a cat…prone to whimsy, and frightened of anything that moves or looks as if it may cause harm, whether it is rational or not.  She should be courageous in defense of her cubs, but a coward in defense of her self.  Flee often.  Fight only when it’s really worth it.

I was too much fight and not enough flee…too much explore and not enough hide and wait.  So in my phase of sniffing kittens, I gained way too many scars on the nose…but I learned.  I learned that no matter how great a younger guy is, he is going to either fail me or dump me if he feels he has better options.  It doesn’t even have to be so, but if he thinks it is, then that is enough to make him no good to me.

Even older guys can be this way.  It’s just that they usually have enough experience with women by 40+ to understand that women as cool and down to earth as I am are very few and far between.  The only problem with older men is prior entanglements.  So that’s a numbers game.  One day I’ll meet Mr. Respectful S. Affair, and we’ll be cool with each other until one of us ages out.

Either way, a younger guy is like volunteering for pain, so when that was over as expected, I had nothing to say when he asked me how I felt about it but, “That’s not your business anymore.”

It’s no surprise that it took him 2 years to speak to me.  He says it’s because he was embarassed and felt guilty, but I think it’s more that he felt he had better things to do than talk to me.  So I do appreciate the gesture.  I’d expect nothing less from a great guy like him, than to try to make whatever women are in his perceived sphere of influence feel okay with themselves.

…but it’s kinda irrelevant.  It’s like a formality when you ask someone how they’re doing, but you don’t really care.

So I’m not really sure what he wants from me, though I hope that it’s friendship.  His mom isn’t very mentor like, so he probably need someone to fill that role.  I don’t mind.  I’d just like to conduct that as if nothing ever happened…add him to my collection of bros, and just forget that whole time except the lesson.

She has already tried to get paperwork to the effect of his and his parents’ property passing to herself exclusively rather than to her sons in the event of their and/or his death.  This is a woman who would take bread from the mouths of her children when she is already stuffed.  I wouldn’t put the neck of a man I cared for at all, under the hatchet of a harpy.

I am however, happy to keep in touch with him as, for some strange reason, I give him some “alpha cred” that keeps her putting out despite their physical incompatibility.  The smell of me is still all around them in a subconscious sense.  His parents and a couple of his trusted friends know we were seeing each other while they were separated, but they haven’t told her.  So they and he knows he can do better.  She’s hustling to try to keep her place.

Meanwhile, he has upped the ante.  At the moment, I’m working from the lobby I share with LE.  Whenever he’s in town, it’s his office.  When he’s not, so as not to suffocate from the fumes of Fimo and lacquer, the window has to stay open, and Wizard and I are shoo-ing cats constantly.  We need a studio.  Cuz thinks he’s going to come to the rescue.

He actually expects me to allow him to pay to rent a place on Massada St. (the alternative area of town) for our workshop/studio/store.  In his fantasies, this would bring us closer, and I wouldn’t be able to resist his charms.

Because I’m not a whore, such a gesture would endear him to me a little too much, and I wouldn’t be able to keep a professional distance and string him along.  It’s not so much that I’d feel obligated so much as taken care of.  Especially since leashing my inner bitch, I like being taken care of.  Yes, please do be concerned enough about my wellbeing to put your money where your mouth is.

…but not if it’s going to put you at risk of a thief.

This is a small country, and as big as Haifa might seem, it’s a kind of small town.  News travels fast.  We could do everything right and not shag each other, but if someone thinks we might be, the news is going to get back to her.

This is difficult for a couple of reasons.  First, because I care about him as a human being, and not just one part of him.  I would constantly worry about inadvertently causing harm to him and his children.  Second, because he is exactly my physical type, it will be really really hard for me not to flirt at all.  My mouth could be saying one thing, but my eyes another, and well…

So the whole thing is just best avoided.  I’ll just keep saying no until he gives up.

Wizard says I should just go on and let him pay, but I think it’s just because he hasn’t met Cuz yet.  One of Cuz’s arms is like one of Wiz’s legs.  If Cuz decides we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it.  I think Wiz is thinking “big and tall” in narrow-butt average Israeli terms.  Cuz is a freak of nature compared to most guys here.  In the dark, one would think he was Black like deep south break a bitch in half Black…like my ex husband.

So he’s a dangerous guy to tease, and I’m not doing it.  Maybe he’ll stop trying to get me an apartment and bring me some Saint Anthony statues instead.

In other news, my protege called to let me know he’s okay.  He’s 20 and in the army now. I’m glad he’s well, and hope that continues to be the case.  Things are happening, and Egypt seems to be headed for a civil war.  The instability could mean that certain things that were being looked after, won’t be.

We’re not sure how things are going to turn out, but the way things were wasn’t good for Egypt at all.  The poverty was way too widespread and way too deep.  The government figured they could keep control of things by jailing and torturing people en masse, but when people feel they have nothing to lose from fighting back, they fight back.

Facing death every day forces people into a martial state more than even meditating on death daily like a samurai.  When the government presses people beyond a reasonable tolerance, they think they are oppressing them, but what they’re really doing is training them to become revolutionaries.

Those who benefit from the system and conform are the untrained and ill equipped.  Those who ran afoul of the system and survived the consequences become stronger, and if they breed, pass this to their children.  How ever many generations it takes, sooner or later, it will break, and the stronger warriors will win.

People who lived in tombs or learned to live without much if any infrastructure between the desert rocks aren’t afraid to lose their pension.

It’s easy for me to say that someone should have come out of certain experiences unscathed, but I haven’t exactly come out like a champ either.  Underneath my patently chill surface seethes a monster just waiting for sufficient levels of self pity to override her prime directive.

She has a beak of gold, a silver tongue, and a hydraulic vagina.  She is my inner non sexual whore.  Some guys say that there’s a little whore in every woman.  Well, mine is honest enough to admit that if she ever took over, sex would be the last thing on her mind, and manipulating vulnerable people into turning over their cash would be the first.  Every time a new trend is on the horizon, she thinks of many ways to exploit sheeple with it.

As an example, some years ago I started thinking of designs for butt crack shavers.  You’ll know I have lost my ethics when I start marketing them.  You’ll know I have basically blasphemed the Holy Spirit when the electric version comes out.

So I must forgive Fender his momentary lapse into dealing-with-spider-hoes-ness.  He has a right to his suspicions and fears as I do mine.  We should both just not let those paralyze our relationship.  He’s found out that I’m not into micromanagement of grown men, and I’ve found out that he values me enough to stick around to find that out.

The game is indeed over.  Now things are getting serious.

What this means is that I can’t cook for him except in his kitchen, since my kitchen is not kosher.  That’s not only annoying the crap out of me, but triggered some mistrust about the “not good enough” issue that he probably doesn’t deserve.

I avoid religious guys like the plague.  Even though he was giving me supposedly rational reasons, I couldn’t help worrying that this was the beginning of the end.  He assures me that it’s not, and that it’s just that he feels that his recent distress was due to non kosher eating.  We’ll see what happens.  If I catch him eating shrimp, all bets are off.

…but then again, there’s a difference between an occasional indulgence, and how one runs their kitchen.  Fixing up my current kitchen wouldn’t be that hard since I actually have enough kitchen equipment for a small catering service.  I also found out that you don’t have to throw everything out, just boil and scrub them well to “neutralize” them.  Staying organized would be the problem.  I don’t have enough space for things as it is.  If I had to keep milk things and meat things separate, I wouldn’t have where to step in my kitchen.

IMO, the separation bit is an unnecessary step that was made for people who are lazy and don’t clean things properly.  I get psychotic when someone dips bread directly in the hummus container instead of putting some in a bowl.

The other thing that makes me nervous is the idea of having to pay a rabbi to inspect my kitchen.  I don’t want to give money to any organized religion.  So I sincerely hope Fender doesn’t ask that of me.

I hope he comes to his senses.  If not, it’s not such a big deal, but let’s just say that my trust of him will be a little less blind.  I hope this is just a nutrition choice, and doesn’t turn into a wedge that will convince him that I’m not worth staying with because of something other than my own behavior.