Vol. 1, Post #36 Icky

Maybe YOU'RE the cringeworthy one. My ongoing sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds, AKA, people with readers.

Over the past few weeks, I bet you or your pals are hearing a lot about Nobody Wants This, the new Netflix rom-com series that is Hot Rabbi & SO NOT JEWISH Sassy Blond Meet Cute And Sparks Fly, set in the modern Los Angeles communities of practicing/culturally engaged Jews and jaded Singletons who only speak in zingers.

Did you see how I just wrote “zingers”? Goddamn, I am old.

I didn’t like the show, and I’ll get to that, but I want to draw your attention to Episode 6, called “The Ick.” I’m gonna talk about it below in the most generic terms, since I think some of you are watching and I’m NOT about spoilers*

(*Except that time I was at my doctor’s getting my physical. I love him, and we just yap and yap constantly during my exams, and we were discussing Homeland and I said, “Still, I never expected them to kill him” and Doc. looked like he wanted to kill ME. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. I sent him apology brownies from Fat Witch Bakery, which are always good for what ails you.)

Joanne and her sidekick sister Morgan — who DO have incredible dialogue and manage to make fun of positively everything there is to make fun of in the world of Modern Dating, as well as themselves — realized that after Hot Rabbi did something sweet and endearing if not a little ridiculous, Joanne was grossed out. She got “The Ick.” Photo at the top of this page from Joanne and Morgan sitting outside her apartment, discussing the AWFUL things that Hot Rabbi did that made her want to run.

Elle Mag UK wrote a piece about this, about bouncing back from “The Ick,” which includes this line, if you need some clarification about Icks, the tiniest things that can set someone off: “And then there’s the list of historic 'icks' she’s had, which [Joanne] reels off to Morgan, including deciding not to move in with someone because he once chased and failed to catch a ping pong ball. 'Could have been the love of my life, but no regrets, you can’t unsee something like that,' she quips.”

I also wrote about “The Ick” before, because it’s the basis of a long-running bit that comedian Jared Freid does. Here’s the primer on this if you need some background — weirdly enough, he ALSO references an ick via a ping pong ball fail. Is this a thing????

Ok, so now, I think we’re all up to speed on this, yes?

Nobody Wants This is 10 episodes and they are all under 30 min, so if you decide to dive it, it’s a quickie. The Boyfriend and I watched the first three and both thought that the Jewish tropes and stereotypes were kind of boring (and I thought the portrayals of the Jewish women were, overall, pretty offensive, the same way I felt about Mrs. Maisel, btw. Yawn.) but BF finished it on his own because he liked the Rabbi. I was sticking to my guns about not liking it until Rosh Hashanah, when my pals Suzanne and Michael were discussing how they enjoyed it and Suzanne mentioned that since there is so much dark material on TV, she enjoyed the lightness as well as the chemistry between the Rabbi and Blondie. Ditto for some friends of mine in an online group who liked it, whose opinions I also respect. So I watched a bit more and that’s how I stumbled onto “The Ick” episode.

We’ve all been here, right? Well, at least I have, and some of the icks that are still active make not one bit of fucking sense. Here’s one:

I cannot STAND when someone says, “You’re rockin’ it!” Or, “You’re rocking (fill in the blank) ____________” or “Hey, you wanna rock the _______________?” Like, this is how much I cannot stand it. You know those old-school balls of twine? The ones with the little “hairs” on the fibers?

I feel like someone is pulling that twine through my nipples when I hear “….rock it….” I. CANNOT. HANDLE. IT. And yet, I can think of at least two friends who say that, as well as, um, my boyfriend.

Similar, as well documented in my long-term friend group, I HATE the word “awesome” since it is wildly and constantly misused — The Grand Canyon is awesome; those yuzu pepper wings on the new menu at the local tavern are not — and I HATE most emojis (along with LOL — so does one of my besties Andrea; she just texted me, “If u ever see LOL from me, call 911 bc I am stroking out.”) I’ve had partners use emojis in a way that didn’t make me gag, but most of the time, emojis shut down my vagina quicker than the idea of staying up past 930 p.m. on a weeknight.

Guess whose problem that is to manage? MINE.

Again, as I mentioned, I’ve touched on this before and as a Young Old, there are plenty of things we can and should manage when we date that makes us more attractive/compelling, which include dumbass “DUH!” stuff like ask questions, don’t bash your ex, and pay attention to the cues your date offers up as a way of staying engaged. I’m assuming — dare I assume? — that at our age, ridiculous Icks like "his shoes” are already worked through on your end, yes? If not, perhaps you need to repeat 7th grade.

Back to Nobody Wants This. I won’t tell you what Icks pushed Joanne’s buttons, nor will I tell you the Rabbi’s response to them, but what I will say is that all Icks originate in the same place, and that’s the place of us putting up walls to keep people away.

Now, before you get all “But wait, Abbe, I hate cats. I hate litter boxes and cat hair and all of it and no, I’m not allergic but I DON’T LIKE CATS and I won’t date someone with cats…” that’s not the same thing. As Young Olds, we get to decide what are bona fide deal breakers for us and even that needs to be addressed at times (looking at my friend M. who hates cats and continues to date a woman who has them and considers them her other children. M.’s just gonna have to deal.)

I’m talking about all the dumb shit that the person you are dating, or thinking about dating, does that makes you just go “ew” and conversely, the shit that YOU do that makes them wonder if they are making a colossal mistake themselves.

Here are a few of the hideously unattractive things that I do on the regular:

• I check social media too much. Yes I manage a dozen or more accounts, but make no mistake, I also keep too much of an eye on my own bullshit for a 56 yo, and for that matter, I overpost. I can think of at least four people who are laughing at me and high fiving right now. Sometimes they bet on how many posts I’ll do when I’m on vacation.

• I never wash my hair. I mean, I do, but not until bats are flying out of it.

• I sound just like my dead mother when I’m nervously questioning something on an emotional level — in that I sound not only peeved, but extra Jew-y, extra bossy, and my voice gets revved up in a a really really speedy obnoxious way.

  • Likewise, and I see this in band rehearsal: if I make a mistake on the drums, I usually “explain why” I did it that way before I attempt to correct it. It’s not a great look.

• I cannot function in the morning for even a second if the house is remotely dirty or messy. I can go to bed with a full load of dishes in the sink after a party and will fight you if you wanna stay up and clean, but come 7 a.m.? Nope, not a thing will happen until everything is hospital sanitized, which is just another way of saying I am rigid beyond belief at times.

• I run late. Even when I promise to do better. I really AM trying but it’s not good enough. And I’m such a bitch if you gently remind me that I run late, so there’s that too.

• No one can wash my clothes for me. I’m too fussy about the way stuff gets hung up to dry and GOD FORBID you put everything/anything in the dryer (Non-clothes like bedding or towels? Knock yourself out).

• I let the dog sleep with me even though, as my Lady Pearl says, he is #thevelvetbuzzsaw and his snoring can wake up the neighboring zip codes. The Boyfriend currently is dealing but there are some nights I know he can’t sleep. Also, I deny that I occasionally snore. Here’s a quieter night at home.

And for the most part, that above list? It’s almost entirely all about defense mechanisms and issues around control, and I know it. I’m not saying I don’t do other annoying stuff that is more surface-level, which is what most Icks are about, because I’m sure I do — maybe I should let The Boyfriend guest write one of these posts and he can tell you all about it?

My point being, all the bullshit to which I subject my Beloveds is born out of an attempt to keep people at bay, to not get too much feedback on the way I steer my own ship, and to keep myself safe. All of which comes from a childhood of living in a house with a bipolar abusive father and a narcissist mother who was also a compulsive liar, combo’d with having a neurodivergent sibling — I was the only one taking care of me and now? If YOU try to manage something for me? Or try to make my life easier? Well, often my first response is to behave like a cunt. And sometimes, to push you or the situation away.

And the reason I know this so well is that in my current new-ish relationship, which stands in stark contrast to my last relationship which was long-distance and therefore subject to Fantasy Island days together and long stretches apart, in this go-round, I have a hands’ on boyfriend who is generous with his time, his care, and his extremely sweet effort to make me feel taken care of, seen, and to be good and kind to the people I love, including my son. I’m more relaxed around it now, but if I were a graph, if I were a chart with highs and lows, I would look like this (you have to PRETEND I’m a chart for the next few paragraphs, but I know you’re all smart AND gorgeous, so you can handle it. Start visualizing):

When we’re starting to get to know each other/early dating, I am doing a lot of listening, am curious but cautious. I observe what you do and how I respond. That a flat line on the chart.

Next, as we get more vulnerable with each other, I am besotted by how open and giving you are. So that’s a big uptick on the chart. I love how attentive you seem.

Here comes the fucked up part. Once we are in it, and I see how great you are and how generous you want to be, I can (not always, but def. more than just sometimes) get prickly, defensive about my “own time” or about something that I perceive as you being too up in my shit. That’s a dip in the chart and then it can spike up and down for a bit as I attempt to manage this behavior, telling myself to NOT be such a cunt, but also telling myself that I like things the way that I like them and that’s just too damn bad for anyone else. This is when, for me, the Icks flow hard and fast. I start making lists in my head of what I don’t like and what if those things don’t go away?

Lemme stop here and say that just because I KNOW how I tend to get ^^^^^, it sometimes doesn’t become any easier to staunch the flow of blood on this. That’s what journeling and therapy and walks in the woods are for, in my opinion. Otherwise, you find yourself saying to your date/lover/partner, “I really hate when you use a teaspoon to eat ice cream when everyone knows that you are supposed to use a soup spoon” and then going semi-dark while you try to figure out how to break up with this teaspoon-enjoying psychopath before something truly dangerous happens, like they butter a full piece of bread and take a bite, as opposed to just serving themselves bread and butter, breaking off a small piece and buttering it as the meal goes on. What? WHAT???

And then, back to the Abbe chart, I get my shit together and realize that some of these things are in fact NOT dealbreakers and that some of these things are in fact NICE, or at least adorably quirky, and I pull my head out of my ass and therein starts a steady climb back up the chart. Therein, I realize I have skated on thin ice on the Ick Pond and thankfully, I usually smarten up. Like maybe Joanne with the Rabbi…you’ll have to watch if you’re intrigued and want to see for yourself.

So, for all you Ick-mongers, I see you and I understand you. I’m just suggesting that maybe you take a fresh look at yourself as well as your date. Prego? (Now you REALLY will have to watch Nobody Wants This to figure out what the fuck I’m talking about!)

By the way, this post is dedicated to my dearest Sister Bubbe, who talked me off a pretty steep ledge recently, AND makes a MEAN Challah.