First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

40 Reasons To Be Single

If you are afraid of loneliness, don’t marry
– from The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov

Continue reading »

Upside of Single

An excerpt of my post published today in Double X, a new site for women launched by Slate:

Hair length is not up for discussion
Your chores are your own
Decision when to leave parties is completely up to you
You get to choose between the window and the aisle
No in-laws to ingratiate yourself with
Far less laundry
Temperature in the house (and car) is exactly as you like it
Flirt away!
No one to tell you not to wear that sheer blouse
Music selection (and volume) is your call

(Check back tomorrow for 30 more reasons. And please add to the list!)

Pleasures of Cooking for One

An editor works behind the scenes, but Judith Jones has been in the foreground lately. She’s best known for “discovering” Julia Child as a young editor at Knopf, but now we can discover her on the big screen in the popular film, Julie and Julia.  I love the scene in which Jones (portrayed by Erin Dilly) and Julia (Meryl Streep) move index cards on a bulletin board to come up with the perfect title, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I’m leafing through Judith Jones beautiful new cookbook, The Pleasures of Cooking for One. Jones, who was also the editor for James Beard, starting compiling recipes for this book after her husband died in 1996, and she found herself eating alone. I find it deeply satisfying to cook meals for myself. It gives me a lot of confidence to know that I can stay well nourished and nurtured.

The Pleasures of Cooking for One has so many delectable recipes (from Boeuf Bourguignon to Icebox Cookies) with tips for shopping and menu planning. It belongs on every cook’s shelf.

Here’s to Glee

My Jewish New Year’s resolution for 5770 is a lot more optimism and joy (and while I’m at it, more love and sex.) I found this happy photo on the site, Gazpachot, an inspiring spot for beautiful visual images and deep thought. Check it out!

Post Traumatic Dating Syndome

On this site yesterday, I acknowledged how the prospect of a blind date makes me want to throw up. As to why, who knows? That is, until I showed the post to William, the blind-dating Maestro, who also happens to be one of L.A.’s finest psychotherapists. He suggested I try EMDR.

EMDR stands for “Eye Movement Disensitization and Reprocessing,” and is considered by leading psychiatric organizations to be an effective treatment for patients with post traumatic stress. Really? Could my response to blind dating be rooted in a horrible incident from the past? EMDR works with bilateral stimulation (as in moving the eye back and forth), whatever that does, and William has been using the technique with his clients for years. I’m excited to try it. Check back shortly for my post-EMDR report.

(Image: The Scream, by Edvard Munch, 1893)

Do You Hate the Blind Date?

My friend, William, is fearless when it comes to blind dating. I’m in awe of his technique. He casts a wide net, checking out almost everyone who shows interest, with his usual optimism, “You meet for an hour. How bad could it be?” (He’s also successful at it, and by successful I mean, he has been in a loving relationship for over two years now, with someone he met that way.)

I wish I could be so blasé. Before a blind date, I feel like I’m on my way to the gallows, about to throw up. The odd part is, I’m a natural schmoozer, ordinarily very comfortable swapping small talk with people I’ve just met.

But there’s something particular about the blind date, with its built-in expectations of “maybe he’s the one,” along with preemptive frustration about being disappointed AGAIN (or worse, disappointing) that makes me want to sidestep the whole business entirely, and stay home cuddling with Rose.

What about you? Do you have blind-date phobia?

(Illustration by Nicole Maloof)

An Homage to the Skinny Girl

I was a shrimpy kid, and used to get teased for being short and flat-chested with legs the size of toothpicks. (The boys would call me chicken legs.) I got my revenge. As I grew older and kept my girlish figure, I realized that skinny genes come with advantages. To this day, I can eat whatever I want and not gain weight. But in moments of self doubt, I’ve wondered if my boyish body is attractive to men. Would I have achieved long-lasting romantic success with a curvier silhouette, let’s say, like Joan from Madmen?

It’s not surprising that my all-time favorite movie goddess is Audrey Hepburn. I draw inspiration from her gamine look, the pixie haircut and how well she wore her clothes. Here’s to the woman who showed us how to look good in flats.

Photo from 1954 on the set of Sabrina.

Happy 5770!

In honor of the Jewish New Year, which starts at sunset, I’m preparing stuffed cabbage. Though I never saw my mother or grandmother make this dish, it has its roots in Eastern Europe, and brings them sweetly to mind. This is hearty peasant food, and perfect for a crowd. The trick I learned from Joan Nathan’s indispensible Jewish Holiday Cookbook, is rather than boil the cabbage, you freeze it for 2 days, defrost the night before, and the leaves will be the right consistency to fill and roll.

I’ve tried a number of recipes. My favorite is from the Barefoot Contessa At Home.

Continue reading »

Farmers Market in Los Angeles, 1947

One of the pleasures of living in L.A. is hanging out at the Farmers Market. In 1934, it was a dirt lot where farmers would sell fruits and vegetables out of the back of their trucks. Today it’s a mammoth food emporium, always packed with locals and tourists. There are stalls stocked with organic meats and poultry, hot sauces from around the globe, and a vendor that sells the best homemade gefilte fish in town. This 1947 photo was shot inside the Market, by the renowned French photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson.

I Need a Massage

Here’s how my day started: At 5  AM, I was awakened by a high-pitched beeping, not continuously, but every 10 minutes or so, with just enough time in between for me to wonder, “do I have to get up for this?” Rose, who is usually impervious to loud noises, went whimpering under the bed.

I was never concerned about an intruder, more likely the alarm system was malfunctioning. I threw on some clothes, with no hope of going back to sleep. I couldn’t find the instruction manual, and kept punching the code into the alarm keypad. 45 minutes later, the noise stopped. And since I was already in a foul mood (and it was 9 AM on the East Coast), it seemed the perfect time to phone the IRS in search of a refund I should’ve received a month ago. After 50 full minutes on hold, I got a live person, who apologized, not for the wait, but because she hadn’t been trained on the form I’d filed, and would have a supervisor call me later in the day. (Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.) To round out the morning, I checked my prospects on Match.com.

Calgon, take me away.

Late update: The beeping is back, the IRS supervisor returned my call, and no match on Match.