Monthly Archives: June 2014

Textersation Tuesday

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Gail has discovered that she still has the phone numbers for all of the douche bags she’s dated…

textersation Tuesday 6-24-14

I love her to death, but that girl will argue about the silliest things.

During our Netflix binge…

Me: “I still say that, in that town, the sex trafficking cop wasn’t all bad.”
Gail: “I think you’re speaking in word salad.”
I actually thought she didn’t realize what I meant.
Me: “The whole town is corrupt. He’s just your average Joe at this point… only he’s hot and he has power.”
Gail: “I really don’t think you’re saying the words you mean to say.”
Me: “So it’s a wee bit of sex trafficking. There were worse options. Everyone has flaws. I think I could overlook it.”
Gail: “No really… you’re not saying the words you mean to say.”

You try and think out of the box for one villain…

Me: “I know you’re not caught up on The Walking Dead yet, but when you get there, just consider this. The Governor? He got shit done.“

Five Things to Immediately Remove from Your Dating Profile

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Recently, I downloaded Tinder.


That about sums it up.

There have been some promising results… or like two. Regardless, I wasn’t even expecting that much, based on blogs I read, and just figured it would be amusing. Don’t worry. Indeed, it has been.

tinder 1

 Tinder 5

Tinder 4

 OH, THE MAN CHILDREN!!!!!!!

Besides leaving me brokenly muttering the words “I can’t… I just can’t,” Tinder has helped me to refine a list I’ve been forming for quite some time: Five Things to Immediately Remove from Your Dating Profile. I am, of course, referring to men, but ladies, it probably wouldn’t hurt to heed this advice, as well.

Age Inappropriate Photos

One of the things I’ve enjoyed about Tinder is the snide comments that caption each new match, such as “I’m sure they’re better looking in person” and “You’re not getting any younger.” A day into using the app, I was matched with the poster boy for Man Children, at least according to his pictures. While I won’t post a picture of a stranger, this man wore a flat-billed cap, tight black coat with a fur-trimmed hood, wife beater, and bling. He was also white as the driven snow, and lived 12 miles from me (read: suburbia). The photo was captioned “Rockin’ this party 8 days a week!” He was 31 years old. I sent Gail a screenshot with the following:

Yeah… I may not be getting any younger, but he sure is. 

This outfit was the male equivalent to a bedazzled, frayed jean skirt, that was so short as to reveal butt cheeks. In other words, it really wouldn’t even be appropriate on a 19-year-old, but at least it would make more sense. While this was an extreme case, I see instances of this sort of thing all the time. For example, making a duckface (ladies), wearing a flat-billed trucker hat (gentleman), throwing up pretty much any faux gang sign, flipping off the camera, lolling your tongue right out of your head like an overexcited dog…

I have a picture of myself from about a year and a half ago, wearing oversized sunglasses, with my winter coat’s faux fur-trimmed hood pulled forward, making a kissy face, with too much lipgloss. While I know that I took it ironically, that guy looking at my profile may very well assume I was going for Diva, over Dork. So if that slutty Halloween costume was a fluke or in jest, it’s a terrible representation of who you are as a person. These people don’t know you and your photo is likely the very first thing they’ll notice and use to form opinions. That means, if you’re a homebody bookworm, don’t use that photo of you pretending to down a bottle of Jack, because a woman you might have been quite interested in cannot be expected to conclude that you were poking fun at your naturally reserved nature. You were going for fun loving, but it’s one picture, so it comes off as juvenile. Don’t misrepresent yourself, either way. While you’re at it, nix…

The Phrase “between jobs”, or Anything Similar

I think everyone goes through times when they’re just plain tired of being single. They want someone to curl up with at the end of a long day, to hold their hand at a family funeral, to help them carry the groceries from the car. I’ve been there. You’ve been there. Sometimes, however, this longing occurs when we just have to admit that it’s a bad time to get into a serious relationship. Maybe you really want to be ready to date after your divorce, but you just aren’t. Maybe you’d love to have time for a relationship, but with school and the second job, it just isn’t possible. Maybe, just maybe, you’re unemployed.

If you know my history, you’re aware that my ex-husband did not work… like at all… for four fucking years. I realize that this makes me particularly sensitive to any level of unemployment, but in all honesty, for a 28 year old man to tell me he’s “between jobs,” as an opener… I can’t… I just can’t.

I know we make up the boomerang generation, where it’s totally common (I refuse to call it normal), for adults to move back in with their parents, but that doesn’t make doing so any more stable. Everybody has setbacks. Gail, herself, spent two years living with her parents after her daughter died. I mean, really, if you have a better excuse, I’d love to hear it. Sometimes, we have to crawl even after we walk. That’s life. Is it the foundation for a healthy and long lasting relationship, though?

No. Take a break, sort your life out, and then decide if you want to pursue even more responsibility and stress, because you’ll be reading profiles with obvious specifications like…

“No Cheaters”

This actually applies to any given that only succeeds in broadcasting your baggage before the first date. Recently, I’ve also seen a demand for “no liars”, the declaration that they “don’t want to be used”, and brief snippets about their past relationships that “didn’t work out” because “mistakes were made on both sides.” Far and away, the most popular, however, is an insistence for “no games.” Here are the flaws with these statements:

  • Few, if any, men or women would self identify as “liars.” No one wants to date a liar. It’s understood.
  • Few, if any, men or women would consider themselves “users”, even if they do take more than they give. No one wants to date a user. It’s understood.
  • If you’re dating now, your past relationship didn’t work out. It’s understood. “Mistakes were made on both sides” totally sounds like “revenge cheated.”
  • Finally, no one thinks they’re “playing games.” We’re all just making an effort to figure out what we want, without getting trampled and sometimes, it leads to trampling. No one labels themselves this way and no one wants someone to “play games” with them. It’s understood.

Dude, I’m so sorry that your previous wife slept with your best friend and lied about spending all of your money on designer handbags. It’s awful that you felt the need to sleep with her high school nemesis to make her pay and now all women look the same to you. One question, though:

WHY THE FUCK IS THIS ON YOUR PROFILE?!?!

We all have baggage. That’s a safe and reasonable assumption. In fact, lately, I’ve been sleeping less and less, because I keep having nightmares about my marriage. It’s been three and a half years and I’ve slept with the light on twice in the last month. I’m considering getting therapy if and when I get health insurance. You know what, though? That’s a terrible pick up line.

Sure, there are some facts that cannot and should not be withheld. If he’s been married, has a daughter, or cares for his ailing grandmother, I want to know, so that I can make a decision as to whether or not this is something I can handle long-term. The facts are necessary (marital and parent/caregiver status). Almost without fail, the emotions attached to them are better left for another date, because these people are still strangers. Speaking of which, you should also leave out…

Anything Sexual

While sexuality is all over our televisions, magazines, and somehow even radio, I find it is still generally expected that we, as individuals, will not share intimate details of our private lives with strangers. Of course, there are certain facts worth sharing in a dating setting, in regards to sexual health. These could include being HIV positive, saving yourself for marriage, physical incapability of sexual performance, or possibly even a broad description of personal appetite. All of these things could be potential deal breakers for a romantic partner, so full disclosure is probably the best idea. You’re in luck, too, because there’s a private messaging option for that, if you STILL don’t want the whole world to know. Beyond these somewhat reasonable topics, though, OKCupid has asked questions on all of the following…

History of anal sex
Enjoyment of performing oral sex
Willingness to be collared
Opinion of pain during sex
Pornography preference
Masturbation habits
Willingness to kiss after receiving oral sex
Interest in group sex

Regardless of anyone’s answers to these questions, why do these things need to be shared? Even if you’re looking for a hookup, do you really want that guy from high school to be able to read about your history of anal sex? This shit is public, yo. Furthermore, while I haven’t actually had stranger sex, isn’t half the fun in discovery? I mean, aren’t you sort of ruining the mystery of shamelessly sexting about these things? Even if you’re looking for something serious and are just particularly open and honest about these things, the person you’re trying to entice may not be. It is unbelievably awkward to sit at dinner with a nice man and have the following running through your head:

He prefers softcore porn. What exactly is softcore porn? Does he realize the possibility that he’s watching live sex slavery acts for his entertainment? Ew. His entertainment. Do not think about him masturbating. Do not think about him masturbating. 

This is totally one of those Just Me moments, isn’t it? You know what? These things still beat…

Your Tired Anchorman Quote

The most private thing I’m will to admit…

“I wear a special cologne. It’s called Sex Panther, by Odeon. It’s illegal in nine countries. Yup. It’s made with bits of real panther, so you know it’s good. 60% of the time, it works every time.”

The Time I Didn’t Have Coffee with Plant Manager

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Me: Remember the guy from eHarmony that I said I might meet? I haven’t heard from him since Friday and now he’s asking if meeting tomorrow still works. Thoughts?
Gail: That’d be fine with me. That’s pretty much just the weekend. People get busy. *Shrug* At the very least, it’s a meal.
Me: It’s a coffee. Today’s Tuesday and I last heard from him Friday at noon. That’s a little more than the weekend.
Gail: It’s a coffee. I’d do that with a guy I didn’t remember meeting at a bar a month ago.
Me: You’d do a lot of things with a guy you didn’t remember meeting at a bar a month ago.

I am going to be completely honest about my motivation to join eHarmony. I follow an über conservative blogger, who has some really great points and sometimes, some really crazy ones. He’s a truly unique guy and just a touch fanatical, but he met his wife on eHarmony and, based on what I read on his blog, they seem genuinely well-suited and happy. Sooooo, if eHarmony could find a match for this just-a-touch-nuts guy, surely my chances would be improved. That’s right. I read a story about a guy who claims to have a good marriage, so I spent $135 on a year of eHarmony.

Plant Manager was my first eHarmony date. He was 30 and transitioning out of the teaching profession. I always prefer for a guy to have a pretty set career, but both options were Big Boy Jobs, so whatever. He also had a roommate, which is always a turnoff for me. In the South, you can get an apartment for less than $700 per month, so it always comes off as a bit juvenile to me when someone doesn’t live alone. Regardless, I understand that different people have different preferences, so whatever. He was particularly religious, which seemed potentially problematic, since he was protestant, but I figured I’d give it a shot, because whatever. Finally, I wasn’t really feeling much common ground or interest, via text message. He hadn’t made much effort to contact me or get to know me at all, prior to meeting; but different people do this online dating thing differently…. so whatever.


I feel like this gif pretty much sums up my dating life.

As you can tell, I wasn’t overly enthusiastic about this date. It wasn’t so much my dating attitude, as of late, as it was Plant Manager, himself. I suppose I was hoping that there might be this great face to face connection and we’d have an amazing conversation. Then again, I did send my dad the following text, in regards to visiting my uncle and family at the hospital.

Me: Well, after this date goes badly, I’ll head that way.

The date was sort of just on the way.

When I got to Starbucks, Plant Manager opened the door for me and greeted me. While I tried to put the trivial stuff aside, I immediately noticed that this man could not look like more of a hipster if he had a fedora and knitting needles. Also… 5’8″ DOES NOT FUCKING EXIST! Seriously, if one more man tells me he’s 5’8″, I’m just going to pretend I have a date with Tyrion Lannister.

Are these people just used to the metric system and having difficulties with the conversion? Are they rounding up by two inches? Am I not realizing that they’re barefoot? I am 5’5. My cowboy boots are not three inch heels. We should not be the same height, when he is wearing shoes… even if they were burlap loafers (I shit you not).

Ahem…

After greeting me, Plant Manager just kind of… stood there. He didn’t direct me to a seat, though he’d already been waiting. He didn’t ask me if I’d like anything to drink. In fact, it went something like this:

Plant Manager: “Were you gonna order a drink or anything?”
Me: “Um… I guess not. Did you not want anything?”
Plant Manager: “Well, I thought I might get something if you were gonna get something. If not, I guess not.”
Me: “Um.. okay.”
:: silence… still standing in the doorway ::
Me: “You wanna sit?”

Y’all, I am pretty big on letting the boy be the boy. Not only does that include offering to buy me a coffee after inviting me to Starbucks, but it also includes asking me to sit with him, like a gentleman. I’ve no interest in leading this dance, so I will stand there in the doorway until he gets the point… or someone opens the door (as was the case).

Plant Manager: “I teach at a vocational school.”
Me: “Have you never taught at an actual school?”
Plant Manager: “An actual school?”
Me: “NO! I mean a public high school. I wasn’t insulting career tech.”
Plant Manager: “Okay. Sorry. I’m a little sensitive about that.”
Me: “I actually got my bachelor’s in Family and Consumer Science education, so I understand career tech more than most.”
Plant Manager: “Family and Consumer Science?”
Me: “Home-ec?”
Plant Manager: “Huh. I didn’t know that took a whole degree. Really? Just for home ec?”

Duuuuuude. You just got offended when I accidentally made it sound like I didn’t take your job seriously! Also, remember this.

Me: “So, what was your major in college?”
Plant Manager: “Bible.”

Okay, I don’t know if this is a Catholic versus Protestant communication breakdown or if he’s just wording that incorrectly, but it did bring up religion.

Me: “Ministry is certainly a Calling. I’m Catholic, of course, so that was obviously off the table for me.”
Plant Manager: ::clearly surprised:: “Oh? You’re born and raised Catholic?”

Okay, I am almost certain it’s not just the librarian in me saying this, but an online dating profile is not that long. Read the whole damned thing, so we can both avoid moments like this! Somehow, we got on the subject of homosexuality being considered a sin in most Christian churches, as his was also very traditional.

Plant Manager: “It’s only mentioned in the bible like, four times. I don’t know what it is, but something about that whole issue really doesn’t sit well with me.”
Me: “Well, some theologians have pointed out that Jesus was a devout Jew, so he would’ve been against homosexuality.”
Plant Manager: “I guess that’s the difference between Catholics and Christians. We go off of scripture.”

Um, nice jab at my Church, douche. Also, judging from your burlap shoes, the denim shirt that’s so tight I can see your nipples, and your mannerisms, I think I know what it is that doesn’t sit well.

Honestly, y’all, I don’t want to cry homosexual toward every man I date. Air Force was straight as an arrow. I didn’t get any gay vibes at all from the much less manly Engineer No. 94, but I thought this the second I walked through the door and and noted Plant Manager’s khaki colored skinny jeans. In addition to his inability to discuss religious ideas, without being an ass, I’d already realized things would never work, because while I adore my gay friends, I don’t want to date them. I genuinely felt like the man had some things to figure out about himself, so I moved the conversation to some more neutral territory.

Me: “I love my job, though.”
Plant Manager: “Yeah. That’s good. I can’t imagine it being too stressful.” :: chuckles and scoffs ::

Excuse me?!?! I’m sorry, but if there was any doubt of this man’s homosexuality, it was laid to rest upon discovering his ability to be that much of a bitch. What the fucking hell? I did not get my damned master’s degree in shushing people and pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. My job is heavily rooted in customer service, research, and information technology. Any given day, I could have a woman on the phone asking me to read her full articles about anal fissures, while I have two people in front of me listening to this conversation, waiting for assistance with reader’s advisory and downloading e-media, and two other people sighing and waving their hands at me to help them reformat that resume and figure out how to print that conversation from Facebook. Furthermore, Plant Manager had already declared that the field couldn’t be that competitive, via text message, when I told him I was half time. I’d already given him the benefit of the doubt. Dude, if you’re basing your knowledge of a profession on a scene from a movie, go suck a dick!!!!

Me: “Well, I think I’m going to go see my uncle in the hospital. It was nice meeting you. Have a good night.”

That’s right. The best part of my date night was a hospital visit.

Textersation Tuesdays

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Gail and I are hilarious. I know I’m biased, but judging from the response I get when I post a screenshot of one of our text message conversations on Facebook, I’m also correct.  Like this one, with the caption “All a girl needs is one friend who truly believes in her.”

June 10, 2014

Gail: My parents know I suggested you prostitute yourself. Could you please check with me before posting stuff about me online?

Me: I’m sorry. It was just a silly funny text. You suggested that was the way to get into the mob, not just like a good life decision. I’ll take it down, though.
Me: It’s no longer up, but it’s not like I said “What’s should I have for dinner?” and you said “Dick… but charge for it.”
Me: Bee tea double ewe, that was a popular post. People think you’re funny. Preen.
Me: Don’t be mad at me?
Me: That time I sent your dad a picture of my nipple was waaaaaay worse, Gail. Have some perspective.
* I forgot that he was reading her text messages during our inappropriate photo war.
Me: Not to mention the time I accidentally told his boss to fuck off.
* I made a sarcastic remark about how his Facebook post was cheesy, thinking I was teasing him, and only later realized it was his boss’s post and she was really offended.
Me: Or when I “accidentally” kept calling you Megan in front of your mom.
* The Musician once called Gail “Megan”, during sex. 

Gail: Oh, I’m not angry, just would rather it not be up and have an idea of what IS before I hear about it from my fam. Lol. Sorry. I didn’t see your texts.

Me: Well, I took it down, but it really didn’t strike me as bad. It was your suggestion for how to join the mob, not how to spend a Tuesday. But I’ll let you know in the future and not post anything you don’t want.

So, since Gaily’s taken to censoring me on Facebook, I will now be posting my favorite textersation screenshots on Tuesdays… possibly sporadically. They may not always be from Gail, though that’s likeliest, since we coined the phrase “textersation”, simply because we can send each other any random message at any time, without the forced awkwardness of opening a conversation.

So begins, Textersation Tuesdays.

Peter Pan and the Reason I Moved to 1954

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I have dated a lot of men. Just dated, not “dated.” No air quotes are necessary, unlike with some people I know… ::cough:: Gail ::cough::

I’ve dated short chubby men, tall skinny men, unusually surly men, men who were probably gay, Atheists, men who look like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings, men with furry hands… okay, those last two probably shouldn’t have been plural. Even I have not managed to date two men who look like they’re wearing September mittens. My point is, however, that I’ve had an… eclectic dating history. When I first started dating, newly divorced at 24, I was “overly specific” (air quotes totally necessary) with my dating goals.

“I just want an educated, gainfully employed, Catholic man, who’s 6’4″, well hung, can protect me if society breaks down, but still likes to debate Superman vs. Batman! IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?!?!” Over time, though, I’ve become both more serious in my dating ventures, and more reasonable. Today, he only has to enjoy intellectual conversations (no degree required), love Jesus, and clear 5’7″. I’ve added a couple of things to the list, naturally, as I’ve discovered them to be issues. For example, military is out, because I’m not leaving my Gramma, Gaily, daddy, or career. He must be older than me, because zetus lapetus, I will be telling my great granddaughters of the horror that was my date with Civil Engineer…

::wincing:: “Wooooooooow. You’re like a whole year older than me. How do you feel about that?”

… but I’m not being superficial anymore. If there’s even a chance I could develop a physical attraction to the man, over time, s’all good. The one thing I have not relaxed on, and will not relax on, though, is that “gainfully employed” bit.

Now, y’all probably know I had a particularly disturbing marriage. I’ve hinted and outlined and, even though the divorce was finalized three years ago, I cuddled my gun and slept with the light on just two nights ago. That kind of behavior is extremely and increasingly rare, but it does still happen… because my marriage was fucked up. One of the many ways in which it was, was my ex-husband’s refusal to work. By refusal, I mean that this man went to bizarre measures to actually fake employment. This is why I refer to men by their job titles. I’m much likelier to remember that he was a teacher, than I am to remember that he was called Matt. Also, I like the reminder that he does have a job, because of one freakish phenomenon I have noticed among the men of my generation: rampant Peter Pan Syndrome.

Why are there so many men out there who don’t work?!?! I’m not just talking about online dating. I’m talking about people I talk to at the library, men I’ve met at bars, and friends of friends. I ask a man, in his late 20s/early 30s, what he does for a living and he says:

“I’m going to school for graphic design.”

Really? Going to school for graphic design pays your bills, now?!?! Silly me, for getting my MLIS. I could have avoided an awful lot of student loans, if I’d just majored in graphic design.

I haven’t actually been on a date since Air Force, in part, because I’ve been working so much, but also because there haven’t been any men of promise. Recently, I thought I found one. He messaged me on OKCupid and told me he thought we might have something in common, since we’d also been matched on Christian Mingle. His profile said he was in finance. When I asked about it, he told me it was “way too complicated” to explain in a message. *Spoiler alert: no… it wasn’t. When we’d traded phone numbers and had the chance to text, I asked again. My phone instantly rang, though he hadn’t asked to call me.

Me: “Hello?”
Peter Pan: “Hey. Is this Belle?”
Me: “Yes.”
Peter Pan: “Hey. Sorry. I just figured I’d call, because what I do is waaaay too complicated to explain in a text message. You see, you know what the stock market is, right?”
Me: “Um. Yeah. I mean, I don’t invest, but I understand that it exists.”
Peter Pan: “Yeah, well, I grow assets for a living.”
Me: 
Peter Pan: “I invest in different enterprises and even spent a few years flipping houses.”
Me: “Okay, but you have an actual title and this is a steady paycheck, right?”
Peter Pan: “Oh, no. It’s not steady at all. I could lose everything tomorrow. I never have, though. I know people who have… but they always make it back. I mean I’ve got degrees, but it’s not like that means anything, today. Nobody cares about college degrees anymore. I’m actually planning on going back for my MBA and maybe my master’s in experimental psych.”

Me: 
Me: “Um… why? What are you planning on doing with them?”
Peter Pan: ::laughing:: “Nothing, really.”
Me: “So, um… what do you do all day, then?”
Peter Pan: ::laughing:: “Pretty much nothing.”
Me: 
Peter Pan: “I mean, I spend my days, pretty much, like… brainstorming ideas, hanging out with my nephews, taking care of my mom.”
Me: 

This man was 32 years old and lived with his mom. He was able-bodied and educated and chooses not to work. At best, he’s a professional gambler. At worst, he already has a wife he’s never met on World of Warcraft.

What the fucking fuck?!?! Why is this a thing?!?! Why are there people who don’t work?!?! Why are there parents who let their adult children live with them and do nothing?!?! 

No really. I cease my screaming at the heavens and express my sincere bafflement that there are so many adults who just choose not to join society. You haven’t read about The Guys in ages, save for Ward, because I don’t understand them. They’ll always be the boys who helped me leave my ex-husband, but it also seems they’ll always be the men who live at home. They’re my age and older. They have full time jobs. They even have degrees. Yet, my old guy friends all live with their parents for no reason and they’re not even all that exceptional in this. 

Sixty years ago, a man joined the adult world at 18, if he was lucky to last that long. Only the elite went to college and most of them were male. One thing was certain, though. Society did not pander to men who didn’t feel like growing up, just because they hadn’t decided what they wanted to do with their lives, or because it was cheaper not to do so. Men were forced to be men and women were forced to be women. I am so disgusted that this is no longer the way of things, that my next date is going to be in 1954 with a mad scientist and a DeLorean. I work two jobs to pay my way. In grad school, I still worked two jobs and once passed out from selling my blood to make ends meet on my own. I don’t need to date a cardiologist, but I am absolutely willing to demand that he makes a steady and livable wage! IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?!?!