Category Archives: Dating

What I Bring to the Table

Posted on by
3

For the most part, all I ever write about is bad dates… because that’s all I ever have. I also just don’t feel comfortable writing much about a guy I’m still getting to know. My blog is 99% humor and I don’t feel like it’s particularly respectful to tell the blogosphere about any of the embarrassing or funny things he might have done or said on a good date… so I’ll tell you all about the ones I managed. Enjoy.

Belle on a date:

Do the fleece-lined leggings make me look like Gail when she wears support hose to bars? 

He’s three minutes late. I’m so getting stood up again. 

“Hi there. I’m glad you made it.”
Shit. It just sounded like I was giving him hell for being late. I’d better explain.
“Oh, I wasn’t like giving you a hard time for being late. I meant I was glad you were able to find it. I didn’t get us a table yet.”
Umm… yeah… cuz I’m not at a table. So glad I clarified that. 

Am I saying dude too much? I feel like I’m saying dude too much. Stop saying dude.

I don’t want to swear, in case he finds it offensive, but I feel like it’s just too soon for “oh, em jingles.” 

“I just love Seth Rogen’s dry sense of humor. That’s very much my humor. I was at Thanksgiving, talking to my cousin, who’s really artsy…”
No. No, no, no. You are not telling this story. STOP telling this story. 
“I asked him if he had any tattoos, yet.”
Find a way out of this story!
“When he told me no, that he wasn’t really into tattoos, I told him, very straight-faced, that I just had the two on my feet…”
Oh, there’s no way out. Just don’t grab your breasts for emphasis as you say it. 
“… and of course the bear claws under my breasts.”

How dorky is the “Awesome Librarian” t-shirt? Is it less dorky if I wear a football sweatshirt over it? 

Why did I suggest bowling?!?! I have to wear pants! I never wear pants, especially not on a date! I look like a fucking hobo! 

Oh, em jingles. Owning my own bowling shoes does not make me look cool. 

Wow. I am really bad at bowling for someone who owns their own bowling shoes. Is it cheating to use the eight pound ball if I still suck this much? 

“One time, I don’t even remember why we did this…”
Noooooo. Not another story!
“Gail didn’t have any plans and I had this date at the pub downtown. She was in a bar mood, so….
Say something else. Say, literally, anything else.
“… she basically secretly tagged along to spy on my date.”
NO MORE TALKING ON DATES!

Engineer 104: The Date I’ve Already Forgotten

Posted on by
4

I’m just numbering the engineers by tens now.

Gail: “Judging by the men you skip over, that’s probably pretty accurate.”

For some time, I’ve been operating under the rule that if a man meets no deal breakers, I’ll give him a shot. I know I haven’t written about a date since the night I was stood up downtown, ultimately ending up crying over a bag of jelly beans, but that’s not because I’ve vowed to recruit my gal pals in some sort of eventual Golden Girls arrangement. There’s just nobody left. Every man I meet in person and online is perpetually 12 years old. I’m dating in The Children of the Fucking Corn and there is not a grown up to be found. Thanks a heap, Generation X, for raising a society of men who can’t put down the XBOX controller long enough to fill out a job application.

I jest, of course… sort of… at least about the choices and laziness of grown men still being the responsibility of their parents. Everyone in the dating world, though, has that one stat that they look at before all others. For some, it’s physical attractiveness. For others, it’s whether or not they have children. For me, it’s career. I’ll respond to a man with an otherwise blank profile if he has a legitimate and promising career. It’s not about money. I make my own money, proudly. It’s about security and knowing that I won’t be the sole bread winner, pretty much ever. What can I say? Young divorce broke me.

 

In 2014, when the Peter Pan Generation reigns supreme, it seems the number one profession for men under 35 is “student.” In the South, second to that is “oil.” Finally, at least in my experience, it’s “engineer.” I won’t, under any circumstances, even respond to the first. The second, rarely, because no further specification usually means blue collar rig worker who likely won’t have a job in 10 years, because the oil field just sort of works that way. So, I date engineers. Apparently exclusively.

Engineer number 104 had messaged me multiple times over several different dating sites. He wasn’t especially pushy, doing so with a significant amount of time between each, but he was persistent in his interest. I… wasn’t.

Gail: “What’s going on in your dating world, by the way?”
Me: “Meh. There’s this one guy who keeps messaging me, but there’s really not much there. He’s also too old for me, built like Uncle Fester, and has scary teeth.”

uncle festerNot one time, have I claimed to be sweet.

Ultimately, I decided I was being shallow, because I totally was, and I should give this guy a shot. He didn’t meet any of my deal breakers and I did say I would actually start trying, so as to lessen my chances of getting a Daddy in a Jar at 32 and raising a child alone. I finally responded to his offer to text, with some lie about why it took so long, and tried to get a conversation going. There still wasn’t anything there, but whatevs, in for a penny…

Engineer 104 told me to choose a place to meet, which obviously lost him some points right away, but I was pretty adamant that I was going to give the guy a chance and not go in with any assumptions that the night would be a disaster. I chose a local sports bar and ate beforehand, because however dedicated I was, I knew I’d felt little connection in our digital communications and didn’t want him to buy me dinner if there was no spark in person.

I got to the bar first and, after my tearful night of jelly beans, I most definitely thought I might be stood up again. Engineer 104 was about 15 minutes late, with no text message, but had told me he was on his way earlier. I mentally calculated the money in my bank account and planned to leave and buy a cat at 30 minutes after. No joke, because that is definitely an impulse buy to make after a bad date. When he finally arrived, I realized that Engineer’s pictures didn’t really do him justice, as is often the case with men. They suck at selfies and he’d only posted a single very unflattering one. He wasn’t a Winchester, but he also wasn’t an Addams, so woot. We chose a high top table in the middle of the bar and he started talking… about himself… and didn’t stop.

In all fairness, 104 wasn’t awful, but he also wasn’t interested in engaging me in the conversation in the least. I make an effort to ask questions on a first date, so as to avoid a a nervous Buffy the Vampire Slayer fangirl rant, and did so this time as well, but it really wasn’t necessary. Engineer was happy to tell me all about his father/sons camping trip, his problems with deceased family estate drama, the dog his ex-girlfriend kept in the breakup. He even did a few racist impressions of the past clients he name dropped. Let me tell you, you don’t know romance until you hear a Southern white man’s imitation of the Sultan of Dubai.

Now, I like to exaggerate, y’all. It’s kind of my thing.

Gail: :: shivering in the cold grocery store ::
Me: “No one has ever been this cold. I feel like I’m in the hedge maze at the end of The Shining.”

I must clarify, however, that I do not exaggerate when I say that this man checked his phone at least 10 times in the hour we spent together. He explained that his dad was sending him score updates for the high school game his brother was coaching, but dude, you are on a date. Either this is important enough that you need to leave, or you can put away the fucking phone for one hour. I thought my generation was supposed to be the iGeneration. Which brings me to his age. Engineer was only 34, but to listen to him, you’d think he was nearing 40. I’m 27 years old. I do not feel old and I’m not going to for some time, so the last thing I want is to be with a man who is constantly talking about burial plots. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but he did keep saying things like “now that I’m older” and talking about how hard it was to get around these days. I’d rather be with a 35-year-old, who realizes he has all the time in the world, than a 28-year-old who talks nonstop about the dreaded 30. The golden ticket with 104, however, was when he got out of his seat to stand next to the table for a moment.

104: “I’ve gotta stand for a minute. My butt’s asleep.”

Engineer 104 just may not have been that interested in me and felt no need to impress or engage. I can’t imagine this was his best behavior. Maybe I was too young and spry. Possibly, I just didn’t do a great Arabian impersonation. I don’t know, but after just an hour, I told him I had to get up early the next morning and he didn’t seem particularly disappointed. I feel no need to leave a date with false hopes and simply told him to have a good night. He moved in for a hug and told me we should do it again sometime. I likely just looked confused, because I didn’t think the date went all that well. He either agreed or I’m not great at hiding my emotions (I am so not great at hiding my emotions), because I never heard from him again and I was not sad.

Engineer 104 was… forgettable. You know what, though? That was kind of nice. It wasn’t a good date, but I also didn’t leave in tears, which is, sadly, an accomplishment after these last few months. He did not insult my religion. He did not drink five beers in one hour. He actually showed up. He was just some guy and I assume I was just some girl. Sometimes, it’s kind of nice to have a forgettable date, as it reassures me that I’m not just overly critical and eager to buy myself some sperm for my 32nd birthday. Had he asked, I might have gone on a second date with 104, just to give him another chance. In hindsight, I realize it would’ve been a disaster, but I’m proud of myself for not letting his incorrect usage of the word “literally” write him off as a person. No, it was definitely the racism.

So, here’s hoping that things might go more smoothly with the new guy I’m texting. He’s an engineer, y’all!

That Time I Died Alone: Screenshots That Were Worth Saving

Posted on by
6

With Christmas break coming up and a good chunk of my income coming from substitute teaching (all I want for Christmas is a full time librarian position, yo), I’ve had to work a lot lately. Fortunately for me, my jobs are pretty pathetically first world. Don’t get me wrong. It takes a lot of energy to not cry after giving a technology class to a dozen elderly people, when you expected maybe half that.

The effort required however, is all cerebral and emotional. I’m patiently (and awkwardly) waiting for this woman to stop yelling at her husband for touching her iPad, not hauling oats. You see that, there? Hauling oats. That’s the first example of physical labor that came to mind, because the majority of my jobs involve sitting. This is good news, of course. My daddy climbs poles for a living and like all southern men, my brother works on oil sites. They spend all day in the freezing cold. I went outside for three minutes the other day and I felt like I was being peeled. 

Everything hurts and I’m going to die.

While the library certainly requires a significant amount of mental exertion and emotional control, I can’t really say the same for substitute teaching. Sure, the administration tells us our job is important, but at the high school level, I am a glorified babysitter. Like with any babysitting job, boundaries have to be set and many, many people don’t make it that far, but I’ve been doing this for five years. Those kids know me. They know what they can and cannot get away with, so it is a really bad day when I have to do anything beyond sit there… and that is dull. So it was, that I decided to delete some photos on my phone yesterday, starting with the screenshots folder. That’s when I realized what wonderful online dating gems I’ve screen capped over the last several months, to send to Gail and Catherine. Now, I share these with my dear (somewhat neglected, lately [promise to remedy that]) readers. While I try to be direct in my online dating encounters, I generally avoid straight rudeness unless the comment is offensive or sexual in nature. After that, it’s fair game.

ladybugs

He’s either got a great sense of humor… or a dungeon. Who wants to roll the dice?!?!

ian

Awww. He came with a sermon on the dangers of… technology?

jeremy

gaston

“How can you read this? There’s no pictures!”

deer head

“You wanna come home with my friend and I? He’s really into ladybugs and we share a dung-… I mean… studio.”

cody

He had sent me a copy and pasted message of this a week or two earlier. Instead of being direct, I’d just encouraged conversation, because I thought it would be funny to waste his time, since he didn’t even bother to read my very short profile, which answered his question. When I clarified that, no, I would not be letting him lick my lady bits, he told me I was confused and should be on Christian Mingle.

sexy legs

The response for when “inappropriate and weird” doesn’t cut it.

proposal

“Who wants to get shankraped?!?! Anyone?”

confused guy 2

SOMEONE had to tell him… clearly… and I felt I was really quite nice in doing so.

ew 2

I… um. No.

dog

Dude. That actually is pretty clever. I totally felt guilty for rejecting that dog. Also, if she stops responding on one dating site, it’s probably best not to track her down on another and ask why.

open minded

“You’ve made your values and deal breakers clear. I don’t think any of those things are important, but if you want to take the bait when I imply you’re close-minded for meaning them, I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked while you prove me wrong. Oh, yeah… thus.”

married

“I’m cheating. You up for that?”

34

No, really. There’s a character limit on Tinder profiles. It’s not that long and specifically mentions Jesus and love and no hookups. Also, the cut off for using the phrase “fwb” was two years ago… for me.

butt

Dude. Fucking marry me.

Pretend Poise: The Time I Got Stood Up

Posted on by
9

Me: “Ugh! I’m so tired of being alone, but all the men are losers!”
Gail: 

That pretty much sums up my dating attitude over the last few months: lots of hyperbole from me and put-upon sighs from Gail. I haven’t actually been trying since the disaster that was Assistant Manager giggling over my breakfast pastry Savior, though. I’ve mostly been enjoying the single life, that is drinking entire pots of coffee by myself, staying up all night to create dance routines with the dog, and having Once Upon a Time marathons for days on end.

Single life.

Once the shock that was another solo birthday had passed, I felt a lot less pressure to fall in love right now, right now, right now. Again, I vowed that, if I reached a point in my life where I felt like my chance for family was slipping away, I’d just have children on my own. After all, why would I pass up one of life’s great joys just because some stupid boy couldn’t follow a schedule? So, I was enjoying my time alone. I was absolutely not in Panic Dating Mode when Corrections Officer came along.

Gramma: “A corrections officer? Oh, that means he’s mean.”

“When my Gran tells me to run, I run.” – Sookie Stackhouse

Sigh. The one time Sookie Stackhouse had something useful to say.

Corrections Officer was an OKCupid user with a blank profile. He’d messaged me once before and I’d ignored him, because he was military and that’s all his profile really said. Then, he messaged again, about a month later, clarifying that he wasn’t in the service any longer and that he worked for the government. Men are usually terrible at choosing photos and his weren’t half bad, so I messaged back and asked him to tell me a little about himself. For the next couple of weeks, he’d text me briefly each day, letting me know he was interested, but not sitting outside my apartment with his hands down his pants. It was a nice balance, because clinginess freaks me out like Chandler Bing.

“Three text messages in two days?!??! Dude, crawl out of my ass! I have a life!” 

While no longer a true military man, Corrections Officer was still in the Reserves, so the first weekend we chatted, he had to go out of town, or we would have met then. Instead, we talked for an additional week, with the intention to meet last Saturday. I texted a day before to tell him that I thought we should probably make some more specific plans, so we decided on 7:00 and he asked what I liked to eat. Not wanting to be pushy, I again waited until about 1:00 on Saturday to ask exactly what he wanted to do. After a touch of “What do you want to do?/I really don’t care” – Dude, just let your testicles drop and make a fucking plan – he said to meet him downtown at the outdoor store and that we’d walk to a popular restaurant from there. The last time I heard from him was around 4:30, when I was still at the library.

stood up

I was excited, y’all… like legitimately reminding myself that we might not hit it off, excited. I even told all of my coworkers that I had a date. Despite the fact that Saturdays at the library are rough, I rushed home, redid my makeup, put on one of my many, many, Zooey Deschanel costumes (pretty much all I own), straightened my hair, and headed out. I arrived at the outdoor store five minutes ahead of time, stowed my purse in the trunk, and found a visible bench to sit on out front and waited…

… and waited…

At 7:10, I sent a text asking if I was in the right place…

… and waited…

At 7:20, I sent…

So, I’m not sure what happened, but without a response, I think I’m gonna head home.

Just to be certain, I tried calling Corrections Officer and got voicemail, doing a quick walk through inside, just to make sure he wasn’t browsing boats with his phone on silent. After trying to call a couple more times, I headed to my car, just ready to go home and plot my blog post over this horrendous event. Then my phone rang.

Y’all, I have a predate prayer. It goes a little something like this:

Jesus, please let this go well. Let this be someone worth my time and maybe even someone I could fall in love with… I mean, ‘with whom I could fall in love.’ I’m sorry ’bout that. If that’s not possible, could you please just let it not be awful? I’m so tired of terrible date stories. Finally, if it is awful, could you please give me the strength to conduct myself with grace and poise, no matter how horrifying things are? Thank you.

The above prayer is exactly why I’m proud of the way I responded when I heard Correction Officer’s cartoon redneck voice for the first time. I’m not even being petty. My daddy has spoken the words “That bobcat come flyin’ out from underneath” and I thought this guy’s accent was over the top.

Me: “Hello?”
CO: “Hey. What are you doing?”
Me: “Excuse me?” I was genuinely confused, not being sassy.
CO: “What are you up to?”
Me: “Ummm. I’m waiting outside the store for you.”
CO: “Oh. Yeah… I just got off work.”
Me: ::silence::
CO: “I got called in. It was like, a mandatory thing. There was a riot at the prison.”
Me: “Um. You could’ve told me.”
CO: “Yeah… I uh… didn’t have a phone.”
Me: “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go home now.”
CO: “Um. Okay.”
Me: “Have a good night.”

I get that things happen, folks. I do. But this guy could not have been less apologetic about the fact that I’d been waiting downtown (which is about 20 miles away), all dressed up, for over 30 minutes. I’m not even accusing him of lying. However, he’d texted me at 4:30. I know he isn’t allowed a phone inside the prison, but he absolutely had access to one before he entered. I deserved, at the very least, an “I just got called into work. I don’t know when I’ll be out and I won’t have a phone. Let’s postpone until 8:00.” Instead, he left me to feel more and more dejected by the minute, waiting for some kind of call. When he did call, I didn’t even get an apology… except as an afterthought.

stood up 2

I am really not a dramatic person, folks. I make wildly exaggerative declarations, as a joke, all the time; but short of insisting that eating the candy on the break room table was the worst thing that’s every happened to me, I’m pretty low-maintenance… until I crack. I’m not gonna lie, either. The poise totally ended with that text.

Me: “I’m gonna die alone!”
Gramma: “What happened?!”
Me: “I just got stood up! Now I’m gonna go home and eat cotton candy jelly beans for dinner and suck my thumb and start the process of dying alone!”
Gramma: “Well, who was it?”
Me: “The corrections officer that you said was mean, because he was a corrections officer, and you were right! It’s never gonna happen! I’m never gonna meet anyone and I can’t even be a cat lady, because the apartments won’t even let me have a cat! I’m never going to be able to have babies!”

Gramma: “Well, if he’s not more considerate than that, Belle, it’s for the best that you didn’t waste your time on him.”
Me: “I’m not crying over one stupid boy I’ve never even met, Gramma! I’m crying because they’re all stupid boys and I’m not gonna be able to have children!”
Gramma: “Oh, stop it. You are, too. When you least expect it…”
Me: “Oh, Gramma, I can promise you that sitting alone in front of an outdoor supply store, slowly realizing that you’ve been stood up, is exactly when you least expect it.”

The conversation didn’t exactly improve from there. It was pretty much just a lot of me exclaiming that there was no one left and my ovaries were rotting, with my Gramma offering to call Corrections Officer up and “give him a piece of [her] mind!” Eventually, I let her go, took off my makeup and set the dress aside for church in the morning. I curled up on the couch and ate my Jelly Belly dinner…

I took out a cheesy romance novel…

… and I cuddled the dog and told him all about how he was the only boy I’d ever need.

Me: “I’m so tired of awful dates.”
Gail: “Yeah… this one was exceptionally bad.”

Best and Worst Places to Date Online: An Unashamed Review

Posted on by
11

Unlike a lot of singles, I am not shy about my online dating. I’ll openly admit that I date online, because I think it’s far less pathetic than complaining that I haven’t met anyone, because I’m not even trying. I go to bars. I drink. I flirt. I have nights out with Gail and Catherine. I try to talk to people at church, if I don’t have to rush to the library immediately afterwards. I mingle at work functions. I wear dresses nearly every day of the week, so I always look like I’m putting in more effort than I really am. In short, while I do date online, I also have a full life. I think that if more people would openly admit that the two aren’t mutually exclusive, all of these attached people, who met in the days of Central Perk and MacLaren’s, would stop assuming all online daters look like this…

I’m always amused by how many women hesitantly admit to online dating after hearing a few of my stories. Read some statistics, y’all! It’s what the cool kids do: read statistics AND date online, that is.

Untitled

So, because of my openness, it’s not uncommon for people to ask what sites I use. Recently, I realized that I’ve used just about all of them. I’ve also realized that my readers, who often come for the online dating humor and stay for my inability to take anything else seriously, might benefit from an honest, experienced review. In addition, I’ll add one simple piece of overall advice. Always buy the bulk pack on any online dating site. It takes time to meet someone with whom you have any chemistry, even if it’s just online, and even more time to set a date to meet. The objective is to go on as many first dates as possible, until you find someone with whom you’d like a second date, so never sign up for less than six months. It won’t be worth it and you’ll end up wishing you’d just spent that extra $20, when your 30 days are up.

Plenty of Fish

Highlights:
It’s free.
You don’t need a screen name and can window shop anonymously.

Plenty of Fish is the Xanga you created in the 9th grade and completely forgot. It’s a mess and no improvements have been made to it in the two years I’ve been on it, which is a lifetime when it comes to the Internet. The Advanced Search option will remember everything you specify except religion, which I have trouble believing is an accident. The matches given appear to be completely random, because they rarely even fit the desired age range listed, let alone relationship status or common interests.

When you create your profile, you’re allowed to add up to 8 photos, the first of which must clearly display your face. This isn’t enforced particularly well, so you still get matches who appear to be muscle cars or white domestic shorthairs. The standards for your matches are set remarkably low with questions like “Do you have a car?” and they don’t have a character limit under the About Me section, so you’ll spend a lot of your time screaming “JUST FILL OUT THE FUCKING PROFILE!” at the computer, because that’s the 14th time you’ve seen nothing but “Ask me.”

That being said, I’ve met some nice guys on Plenty of Fish, who were genuinely seeking something serious. I’ve also met some bags of dicks who asked if I’d like to buy some weight loss supplements.

Summary: It’s free, so why not?

OKCupid

Highlights:
It’s free.
It’s set up much like many paid sites.

OKCupid is a much more impressive effort at a free dating site than Plenty of Fish. Here, you lose the ability to anonymously window shop, unless you make a fake profile, but said profile comes complete with the option to answer user created questions and compare them to those of others. These questions can be really useful in discerning political, faith, ethical, or even sexual differences. They can also be bizarrely personal and inappropriate, so your abortion dilemma may be directly followed by an ass to mouth dilemma. Fortunately, you can skip questions and your answers can only be read by those who have also answered. Unfortunately, it’s suuuuuper awkward to go on a first date with a man, when you know he’s tried anal.

Each match on OKCupid comes with a percentage, based solely on the aforementioned questions. I’m not a statistician, but I’d still recommend taking these numbers with a grain of salt and reading individual responses. Some questions are less important than others, particularly if you answered them a while back, after binge watching Bewitched and deciding that the man really should be the head of the household. There are a lot fewer men on OKCupid who’ve left their entire profiles blank, but it’s still a free dating site. This means plenty of unemployed and/or married men, so it pays to read every bit of information given.

Summary: This is a great introductory to online dating, because it doesn’t cost a dime, but comes with an interface similar to paid sites.

Tinder

Highlights:
It’s a free phone app.
You sign in through Facebook, but it won’t post to your page.

Tinder is just the place for “ask me” guy. It requires nothing but a Facebook login, from which it pulls your age, gender, About Me, and a few photos. The last two can be edited. Once you’ve logged in, you’re given photos of users in your area and age range, which is set to everyone as an alterable default. Each photo allows you to swipe left for no and right for yes. If you tap the photo, you’ll get any others that have been added and if you’re super lucky, a short bio. Most of these are blank, but some include helpful tidbits, like the fact that this guy is in a plural marriage or wants to “see your tits.” That’s right, you’re basing all interest almost purely on appearance. It’s a great way to feel better about yourself if you’re even mildly aesthetically pleasing. It’s also a great way to view an accidental dick pic.

The real problem with Tinder is that no one takes it seriously. You’ll see guys from other sites, where they’ve put in real effort, and they’ll leave zero information here. The perks of online dating, like weeding out the unemployed and guys with No Fat Chicks paragraphs, don’t apply. If you do try to use it as a legitimate dating tool, you have to cover all of the important things in conversation and you’ll feel like an ass when you stop talking to a guy, because he’s just an assembly line worker or has two different baby mommas. Unless you’re looking for a hookup, Tinder serves no real relationship purpose. We’re all just bored and shallow and this is where we hang out now, because there’s no cover charge and we don’t have to wear pants.

Summary: If you need a laugh, it’s free, so why not?

Catholic Match

Highlights:
While the service costs the same as most sites, proceeds benefit the Church.
There are approximately 28 people in my area.

Catholic Match requires subscribers to answer questions specific to the Church, such as whether they accept mandates on contraception and are free to marry in the faith. In theory, it would’ve been a great way to find someone who lined up perfectly with my religious beliefs. In reality, Catholic Match was a terrific opportunity to view the profiles of the 14 Catholic men in my area and age range, who haven’t been called to the Priesthood. If I lived in a different part of the country, say Massachusetts, which has the largest concentration of Catholics in the nation, I’d be on kid number three by now. Get it? Because we’re Catholic? Anyway, here in the South, Catholic Match was just far too specific, as I imagine JDate would be, as well. I don’t regret trying it, because the proceeds benefited the Church, but I also did not get even one date in my six months as a paid member.

Summary: If Catholicism is important to you, make sure that there’s more than one place in your city to buy a Rosary, before subscribing.

Christian Mingle

Highlights:
It costs about the same as other dating sites.
Choices are fewer.
You’re encouraged to be pickier about things, when you wouldn’t normally care.

I tried Christian Mingle, because I figured I’d be religious specific, without being denomination specific and get more results. Sadly, it’s just like any other dating site, only judgier. Even if you wouldn’t typically mind denomination or relationship status or children, it’s hard not to notice and form opinions, because the information is displayed so clearly in a religious environment that encourages you to find a religious match. You fill out the same profile that you do anywhere else, only you’re asked which church you attend: quite specific information that you shouldn’t divulge to strangers who might be crazy. There are chat rooms and message boards available to subscribers, but they don’t work well and there are free Christian social networking options all over the Internet. However, they can be helpful for questions like “What is wrong with my profile?” and “Would you date a virgin?” Additionally, the staff encourages responses to every message, regardless of interest. Come, now. We all know the rules of online dating: whoever loses interest first, wins. Also, no one wants the Thanks, but No Thanks email. That’s just rude.

As a divorced, 26-year-old, Catholic girl in the South, I’ve no idea what I was thinking when I decided to try Christian Mingle. Again, even when you wouldn’t care about such things normally, Christian Mingle is pressuring you to find a very specific match. If I’m going to date a Methodist, why not find him on OKCupid? We’re in the Bible Belt. It wouldn’t be that hard. I suppose that one of the reasons I decided to try this site was the sheer number of men only interested in hook ups. I figured a Jesus-centered dating service would at least get me respectful men. WRONG. I never had a single date from Christian Mingle and one of the two men I ever texted asked, completely off topic, how short my shortest dresses were and if I enjoyed giving and receiving massages.

Summary: If you’re a single, virginal Christian girl in the South… you probably don’t need Christian Mingle, because there are plenty of opportunities in this area to meet other Christians and they’re free.

eHarmony

Highlights:
It’s the most expensive mainstream dating site.
There is no browsing. You can only look at assigned matches.

eHarmony will spend your entire subscription period telling you that there is no one out there for you, because you’re just too danged picky. No really. Despite my acceptance of all denominations of Christianity (ubiquitous in these parts), all races, and all men who will consider having children, several times a week, I still get an email telling me that my distance limitations are just too specific. At the moment, they’re strictly set at 60 miles. I live in a suburb of a thriving metropolis. Sixty miles in any direction gives me a lot of people… but no. eHarmony can’t find anyone in a 60 mile radius that could be a possible match. If I loosen the parameters, I get men in other states, which is not a minor thing in the middle of the country. This ain’t Jersey, folks. I can’t just drive to New York to meet a great guy. When I do get matches (maybe once a week), they’re usually identified as not being quite what I was seeking, which means they’re younger than I, have no photo, or might want kids. In fact, the one man I did meet was awful. He was one of my least compatible and worst dates ever. Consequently, several times a week, eHarmony gets an email telling them how much they suck and that I’ll never recommend them or subscribe to them again.

Summary: If it’s given as a gift, say thank you, but don’t expect to mean it, unless you’re perfectly willing to relocate for luuuuuuv.

Match

Highlights:
Online coupons and bulk rates make it reasonably affordable.
Matches must be able to afford the subscription fee.

My first year of Match.com has just expired. I signed up for the 6 Month Match Guarantee one year ago, after my GP acted shocked and amazed that I wasn’t getting laid, right before my birthday. Thanks a heap, Doc. I wasn’t already having trouble with entering the last half of my twenties. Anyhoo, the guarantee required that I contact at least five new people each month, keep my profile visible, and always have a photo displayed. Included, was a monthly progress bar, verifying what still needed to be done. After six months, in which I admit I really didn’t even use the subscription, I was offered a free six month renewal and accepted. Because of a coupon code I found online, I paid only $76 for the entire year. Yes, I’m still single, but I must say, it was worth it.

Match.com combines the best features of all of the above sites. By charging a fee, it weeds out most “students” or unemployed men. By keeping the fee affordable, there are still plenty of matches available. Each match has a percentage, rating compatibility. Though daily matches are provided for approval or dismissal, they don’t necessarily match up with your specifications. While you can’t cater said matches to your choice of height, relationship status, or religious denomination, you can easily perform and save searches specific to all. Important information cannot be left blank, so there is no “ask me,” and instead just the occasional “I’m only filling this out, because there’s a character limit.” Dude, why did you pay for this?

One thing Match offered that no other sites did was Stir Events and I even went to a couple. While they would’ve been more fun with a friend, they weren’t near as horrible and awkward as they sound. They were free, you could bring friends for free, they often included a drink for each person, and were held in popular venues in the city. I have every intention of renewing and actually using my subscription, in the next month.

Summary: If you’re going to pay for online dating, this is the only site I recommend. Take advantage of the Stir Events. It’s a free drink.

An Open Letter to My Engaged Teenage Cousin:

Posted on by
7

Recently, you announced to the world, via Facebook, that you are engaged. I thought you were joking, not only because you just celebrated your first boyfriend, first job, and 18th birthday, but because you’re regularly announcing engagements to your best girlfriends. But no, you clarified… this time you’re serious. There’s even a ring. I had a ring as a teenager, too. I didn’t say that, though. I didn’t respond at all, because I had a ring as a teenager, too. You are a brand new baby adult and there is absolutely no reaching you on this subject. I’m sure that your aunts have tried… your dad… your grandmother. My name was possibly even brought up as a cautionary tale.

If I thought you would hear me, I’d remind you of what you’ve surely heard in health class: that 60 percent of marriages for couples between the ages of 20 and 25 end in divorce.* I won’t though, because you’ll insist (as did I) that your relationship is different. What I’d like to tell you, is that it isn’t. Your relationship is not different from any other young marriage, in that you are not the people you will be in 10 years… not even close. We live in a society where individuals are encouraged to grow the absolute most between the ages of 18 and 25. So, while you’ll grow as a person throughout your life, you’ll likely never change so much as in the next seven years or so. Everything about who you will be, who he will be, is unknown. You are working with unmolded clay, and the odds are infinitesimal that, after seven years, you’ll exist as two pieces who properly fit together. It is entirely possible that this teenage boy, through much influence from the world beyond his teen bride, will be molded into a screaming liberal, a soldier, a vegan, a drug addict, an online gamer, an Atheist, a smoker, a pro-lifer, a techie, a role player, a devout Christian, an alcoholic, a workaholic, a thief, a cheater, or an abuser.

Maybe you won’t be crying over another mysterious phone call, wondering where the Blu Ray player went, or icing a fat lip. These are obviously pretty extreme scenarios. Perhaps you’ll just find, at 22, that you love British comedy and sushi, have a strong passion for animal rights, and aren’t totally sure if you want to bring children into this world. Your young husband will grab a beer, sit down on the couch next to you, ask what the hell you’re watching and bring up the baby conversation again. You’ll look at the man you once considered adorable and see a simpleton… the reason you can’t join the Peace Corps or take that job out of state… the only adventure you’ve ever had. 

I know, I know. I’m jaded and broken, after two years of sleeping with my wallet in my pillowcase and wondering why the dog was bleeding. I’m hardly one to give marital advice. Maybe you’ll be just as in love at 28 as you were at 18. Then what will I have to say? Then… I’ll be happy for you. I’ll be thrilled that you don’t know the soul crushing effect of divorcing a monster in your early 20s, or the fear and nerves of going on your first Grown Up Date at 23, the awkwardness of stumbling over the “I’m divorced” conversation in a new relationship. However… I’ll still be thinking of all that you missed; like the vacation you never got to take with your girls, that trip abroad that wasn’t even up for consideration, the boy at that party you had so much in common with, maybe even the bachelor’s degree that got pushed aside when the babies came.

You can always get married and have children (pre-menopausal), but you can never undo the decision you’re making right now. You’re only 18, which means that you’ve never made any decisions that will effect the rest of your life and, happiness or despair, getting married will effect the rest of your life. You will make more choices, based on that decision, and they will effect the rest of your life. Perhaps the wedding won’t be soon, but then why even get engaged? Engagement is a time to prepare for marriage, not a pseudo commitment to provide security in a time of upheaval. Your life is supposed to be scary and unknown right now. I guarantee that it’s a lot more fun right after high school, than it is at 23, when everyone else is finding stability in the world.

Those are the things I would say, but I know they’ll fall on deaf ears. I know they already have as other family members have made the same points. If I could get just one thing across, though, it would be that they’re saying these things for a reason. They love you. They’ve watched people make this choice again and again. Maybe they even speak from personal experience. They want you to be happy, just as they wanted me to be happy. Your engagement announcement shouldn’t require the assurance that you’re serious, because you’ve barely outgrown faux relationship status updates to your best gal pals. It shouldn’t be met with cautionary tales and pleas to wait. Marriage, under the right circumstances, is a wonderful thing and your family wouldn’t warn you off a wonderful thing. It hurts them to see you make this mistake, just as it hurt them to watch me do the same. I just hope you don’t shut them out, because you will need them, if the worst occurs and your world falls apart, leaving you to start over as all of your friends announce that theirs are finally coming together. I wish you could understand this, but I know you can’t, because I had a ring as a teenager, too.

* http://www.drphil.com/articles/article/351

How the Word “Biscuit” Made Me Cry: the Beginning of a Dating Hiatus

Posted on by
12

I’ve had some really bad dates, y’all. You know this. You were there for them. There have even been a few that have left me crying in frustration, because I’m convinced that “I am going to die alone!” Just as Gaily knows that “I wish Kitty Foreman were my mom!” means a mommy issues day, the above sentence is code for “ask me about my bad date.” That’s all the tears have ever been, though: the product of frustration. I’ve never actually been so hurt or offended as to cry… until my last date with Assistant Manager.

Assistant Manager was the 34-year-old Catholic, with whom I had a decent first date last Thursday. We chatted at Starbuck’s and seemed to get along well. As much as I wanted to take some time off from the dating world, the situation seemed promising, so I made a second date. Once again, I’d talked myself into dreading meeting up with him. He’d seemed a bit over eager (wanting to plan multiple dates at a time) and had some mildly irritating mannerisms and habits, like calling every time I texted him. Dude, if I wanted to talk to you, I’d call. You pretty much have to be related by blood or offering me a job to get me on the phone.

However, I knew I was being ridiculous. I prayed about it and tried to get myself into a good mindset, since the plans had already been made. When Assistant Manager asked what I wanted to do, because men are incapable of making plans anymore, I just said that getting a drink would be fine, because I had somewhere to be the next morning at 9:30. I even got cute and actually put on shoes, despite the fact that it’s summer.

On the phone, Assistant Manager had mentioned that he’d been working all day and was “nasty,” because it’s so hot. Way to turn a gal on, dude. I gave him plenty of time to shower and even mentioned that that’s what I was doing, but he still showed up to the bar looking disheveled and unwashed. He didn’t smell much better, but I felt like I was being shallow to fixate, though he’d been quite polished on our first date. He asked where I wanted to sit and seemed put out when I chose a table instead of a booth. So far, he’d done a complete 180 from our first date, but I sat and we talked, as I breathed through my nose and sipped my Diet Pepsi. We chatted about what jobs he’d held before his current one and he essentially gave me his life story, which was fine, because I’d wondered why he wasn’t further in his company at 34 if that was his goal. Then, I brought up another issue I felt was important: religion.

Y’all, I have atheist friends, Protestant friends, Christian friends who don’t call themselves Protestant, Jewish friends, et cetera. I legitimately do not care what other people believe, but this man’s main attraction was Catholicism and the fact that he was specifically seeking a devout Catholic woman. I’m also not raising kids with my atheist and Jewish friends and think I could accomplish doing so with someone who was any of the others. I just feel that any major theological disagreements, such as The Jesus Thing, are too big of an issue for a romantic relationship. End disclaimer.

On our first date, Assistant Manager had made a quick comment about disagreeing with a lot of ideas and practices within the Catholic Church. As someone who is pretty Catholic and has few to zero problems with the Church doctrine, I wanted to know more about this. Does he resent the Church? What exactly does he think should be changed? Well, in addition to admitting he didn’t even own a bible, the short answer is… yes and everything. Here are just a few problems he has with the Catholic Church:

Women can’t be priests.
Priests can’t marry.
You must confess mortal sins to a Priest to receive Absolution.
Homosexuality is a sin.
You must receive six months of marital preparation to receive the Sacrament of Marriage, or it’s not a Sacrament and is not recognized by the Church.

Assistant Manager: “So, have I made you mad yet?”
Me: “I’m not mad or offended. Most of my friends don’t agree with those things. I just don’t understand why you identify so strongly as Catholic, if you disagree with everything the Church teaches. The main thing that sets Catholicism apart from Protestantism is the acceptance of the authority of the Pope and all of those things are under his authority.”
Assistant Manager: “Well, I don’t disagree with everything.”
Me: “Do you believe in transubstantiation? Do you believe that the bread actually becomes the Body of Christ?”
Assistant Manager: “It’s just symbolism. Everybody does it. They all take Communion, but it’s just symbolism.”
Me: “But that’s like the defining feature of the Catholic Church. It’s one of the primary teachings.”
Assistant Manager: “It’s still just symbolism. Do you seriously believe that a biscuit becomes the Body of Christ?” :laughingly:
Me: “Yes. I do.”

Ass: “Well, um… those are your beliefs and that’s fine, of course.”

Um, dude, that would hold a lot more weight, if you hadn’t guffawed at one of the fundamentals of my faith. He laughed y’all! He called the Eucharist a biscuit and laughed at me! Texan Engineer unwittingly implied that I was unintelligent for believing in Christ, but as an atheist, he did not laugh in my face. I could actually deal with the fact that Assistant Manager didn’t believe in Transubstantiation. I just didn’t understand why he still considered himself Catholic, if that were the case. In fact, the only answer he ever gave to that was that he likes traditional service. When I pointed out that many Protestant churches offer traditional service and described Janet’s church, he mocked her for believing the earth was only 6,000 years old. You don’t have to agree with someone (unless it’s the Pope, the issue is Transubstantiation, and you call yourself Catholic), but you don’t get to openly mock them. You sure as heck don’t get to giggle about my spell casting and call Christ a biscuit!!!!!!

biscuitThe Second Coming.

Assistant Manager: “How do we even know he ever existed? What proof do we have?”
Me: “We don’t. That’s what faith is.”
Assistant Manager: “Fine. You have all the faith in the world. What if, when you die, you close your eyes and there’s just nothing?”
Me: “Then I’ve lived a good life. I’ve helped people and done as little harm as possible. The flipside of that is ‘what if, when you die, you burn in Hell for not accepting Christ?’ That’s obviously not a reason to believe, but that’s the counterargument.”
Assistant Manager: “Well, people will accept him when they get there and they see him. I don’t believe Jesus is enough of a dick to do that… to cast them into Hell just because they don’t believe. If he wanted them to believe, he should’ve proven he was real when they asked.”

…. anaaaand now I wanna know how you identify as Christian, when you open a conversation with debating whether or not Christ ever existed. Once again, I don’t care what other people believe, but this guy made it clear that he wanted a devout Catholic. The Church teaches that the only way into heaven is through the acceptance of Christ. You know what, though? I could deal with his disagreement on that. Most Catholics have one or two teachings they don’t fully accept. If he believes that being a good person will get someone into heaven, regardless of their acceptance or denial of Christ, fine. He’d hardly be alone in that. But this man disagreed with every issue I mentioned, which makes him, by definition, not Catholic. If you do not recognize the teachings or doctrines of the Catholic Church, it doesn’t matter how you were raised. You aren’t Catholic. I can date a non-Catholic (who is aware of this fact), though. That’s fine. We’ll do Wednesday night Protestant service and Sunday morning Mass. I cannot emphasize enough, though, that Assistant Manager called Christ a biscuit and laughed in my face.

Ultimately, I changed the subject. He told me about how great his people skills are and how wonderful of a communicator he is, after offending the waitress with the way he told her that his beer was warm. We spoke on that topic for about 10 minutes and then I sort of just gracelessly got up and left. I have never left a date more offended or upset, and that includes the guy who had five beers in one hour. 

Ass: Well shall we go out again?
Me: I don’t think so. I’m really just not feeling it. I think I’m gonna take a break from dating for awhile. It was nice meeting you, though, and I wish you luck.
Ass: I figured you just bolted
Me: Well, I actually do have to be up tomorrow. Honestly, I deleted my free profiles a little while ago. I really do just need a break. 
Ass: So if I may ask what was it
Me: It really wasn’t anything. About a week into talking, I decided I wanted to delete all my profiles, but I felt like I should give it a shot.
Ass: You really are a great girl. I hope you find what you are looking for.

Part of what I’d prayed for was to be kind, no matter how the date went. So, I did not respond with “SERIOUSLY?” when he asked why. I did not tell him that I hope he realizes what he’s looking for, because it ain’t a devout Catholic… or even just a semi-serious Christian. I lied. If I’d have told the truth, he’d have continued with his pathetic backtracking efforts and nothing he could have possibly said would have made up for cackling about my pastry worship.

Through my tears, I told several friends what had happened, none of whom are Catholic or believe in Transubstantiation.

Never-Swears Karol: Sounds like a douche.

Catherine: How are you going to SPECIFY that you are a Catholic and that you WANT A CATHOLIC GIRL and then blaspheme the entire concept of Catholicism?!?!?!?! And I’m not even Catholic!!!

Lacy: I am sorry he laughed at you. I realize we have some instances where our faiths/denominations differ, but I would never laugh at someone it’s disrespectful and cruel.

Gail:

gail text 07-24-14

The Reluctant Dater

Posted on by
3

Me: He called me beautiful, as an endearment. We haven’t even met. Is that creepy?
Gail: It’s not creepy, but it is hollow. He has no idea what you actually look like. Just don’t respond to it. You don’t want to make him feel self-conscious or like you’re reading into things.

Assistant Manager: I haven’t heard from you in awhile and was wondering if I’d said something to upset you.
Me: No. Everything is fine. I do think that, since we haven’t actually met, using endearments (beautiful) is uncomfortable.


I take instruction well.

Me: “I am totally wasting this guy’s time. I’m just not feeling it at all. Like, not even against him, just dating in general. He’s all ‘What would you like to do?’ and I’m all ‘Hang out with my best friend, while you text someone else.’ He hasn’t even done anything wrong. I just want to delete all of my profiles and take a break!”

Me: “Help get me into the mood to go on a date tonight.”
Gail: 
Me: “No. Wait. That came out wrong. It’s just that, every time I try to psyche myself up, it comes out really… mean. You’re able to make me look forward to things, when I’m just like ‘DO YOU WANT TO DIE ALONE?!?! DO YOU WANT TO HAVE CHILDREN OR NOT?!?!'”
Gail: “Ummmm… maybe this is why you’re not enjoying your dates. It’s not a chore, Belle.”
Me: “You know, lately it really is. I just cannot do another bad date. I can’t. I’m half tempted to just text him with ‘I’m not coming tonight. I’m just not feeling it. Sorry.'”

I’m not sure what the catalyst was, or if there even was one. I just woke up one day and was completely over dating. The problem was, I’d been talking to Assistant Manager for a week already. We’d even made plans to meet and just hadn’t worked out the details. In fact, he’d wanted to spend Fourth of July together, but the last thing I wanted to do on my holiday was have a possibly awkward romantic date with no way out. However, bailing wasn’t really an option, particularly with my recent insistence that if things progressed to a first meeting with a man, I would meet him.

Originally, I was hesitant over the age difference. Assistant Manger just turned 34 and I turn 27 in September. Before I started looking for any way out at all, I’d messaged my friend Lacy, whose husband is 35. She told me that while it’s weird to think about if she considers that he graduated high school when she graduated elementary school, day to day, their age difference doesn’t really come up. Furthermore, Assistant Manager wanted kids, but not tomorrow, which would usually be my concern in regards to age. Most men I’ve dated or spoken with, in that age range, either don’t want children or feel like the clock is ticking. Additionally, this guy has a career he enjoys and makes fair money. He’s never been married, but was engaged once and is looking for something serious. And finally… he’s Catholic.

Y’all, the man is Catholic. You have to understand that, growing up, I knew every Catholic kid in town… because there were like eight of us. It’s just not common in the South. Christianity spreads like the clap, but specifically Catholicism? Please. I still occasionally get accused of worshiping Mary. So, age being the only real concern, and not even really one at that, I decided I needed to see this through… more or less.

Me: When did you two break up?
Assistant Manager: January 09.

– Whoa. What? That was like… yesterday. January wasn’t even six months ago. I knew there was something wrong with this guy. Every fucking time! I should just stop talking to him altogether. 

Me: He just told me his fiance left him in January.
Lacy: Wow. Maybe there’s an explanation? 

– Don’t be an asshole, Belle. Just ask him about it.

Me: That’s… recent.
Assistant Manager: Five years ago. Not that recent.
Me: OH! January 2009! I read January 09, 2014!

Even with that cleared up, I was looking for red flags. I don’t know why. The guy looked great on paper. His pictures were a little blurry and, based on my Facebook stalking, didn’t seem to be current. He was nice and wanted the same things I do, though. He didn’t send a dick pic or ask if I like massages. It was just the idea of another man who insults my career… another hovering moment where I’m not sure if he’s going to pay… another guy who lives with mom… another weepy and hysterical phone call to my Gramma or Gail… another I SHAVED MY LEGS FOR THIS?!?!… another funny blog story.

So… I acted like an asshole and figured if he put up with it, I was obviously meant to meet the guy.


No, really. Just put that sentence on the headstone above my solo burial plot.

I’d like to just claim that I didn’t want to get to know this guy through text message. That really was the bulk of it. The first guy I ever dated, after my divorce, I messaged for two months while he was in Afghanistan, only to realize that 1. it was super awkward for a stranger to know so much about me and 2. I wasn’t actually ready to date, anyway. So, yes, that was my primary concern… but it doesn’t explain why, in addition to ceasing most communication with the man, I totally postponed a date to play Bunco with a bunch of middle aged women last Friday.

That’s right. Assistant Manager wanted to meet for dinner a week ago. I told him I’d get back to him about the time and then claimed I had already had evening plans with Ava, because she’d just texted and asked if I could play a dice game with her, her mother, and her mother’s friends. I was just dreading another date so badly… with anyone. 

Last night, however, was the moment of truth. I would either keep the date or cancel, get to a point where I wasn’t over dating, and always wonder what might have been. So… I kept the date. In the time when I was getting ready, I did find some peace. Whatever would be would be. If he was a chubby troll, unwashed, or just plain drunk, I could easily leave in under 30 minutes. After all, my record is only 20. So, I shaved my legs, did my makeup, worked with my hair the best I could, since I desperately need a cut and look like Mufasa, and even headed out with plenty of time to arrive at 8:30 on the dot… after getting lost in the city I’ve lived in my whole life. Sigh.

Fortunately, I found the Starbucks I needed… and Assistant Manager, who was a lot cuter than his pictures, who waited outside for me, opened the door for me, bought my coffee, and chatted and laughed with me for an hour and a half… plus an additional hour and a half in the parking lot after close.

Me: “I graduated high school in 2006.”
Assistant Manager: “… seven years after I did. I graduated in 1999.”
Me: “You graduated the same year as Buffy!”

We had a genuinely good time. Though I could hear Gaily’s voice in my head telling me to ignore it, I apologized for my flakiness, explaining that I didn’t want to get to know him through text message (leaving out Bunco). Assistant Manager even agreed that his questions about my marriage, coupled with endearments, probably came off wrong. We made jokes about it and it was no big deal. There was no confusion about whether or not he wanted to see me again, as he walked me to my car and opened my door for me. He even texted me after I left, asking me to let him know I got home safely. We set a date for Monday or Wednesday, depending on our schedules…

Assistant Manager: I’ll text you tomorrow.
Me: I’ll actually text back this time. 😀

… and I almost missed a good date, because of the sour taste from all those bad ones.

The Mommy Wars: As Witnessed by an Unwilling and Childless Casualty

Posted on by
4

As a Southern 26-year-old, I’m living a life that’s more Friday Night Lights than Sex and the City, (as evidenced by my incredibly dated television references). With that, comes a social media news feed that has long since tired of weddings and even first babies. Not only have I seen third and fourth children, but I’ve got multiple friends from high school who post about their infertility issues. Over sharing aside, this is pretty standard. We live in a land ruled by country music and religion; the former of which tells us that it’s only true romance if we make a lifetime commitment before we can legally drink and the latter of which tells us that there is no… way… out… ever. Sooooo, although I consider myself plenty young, I know a lot of moms and am completely aware of the ridiculous phenomenon that is the Mommy Wars.

If you’re unaware of the phrase, the Mommy Wars are waged between some mothers who aren’t just content to know that they’re doing their best, but feel the need to criticize every other woman’s best. While I don’t have children, I did have a pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage, in which I got just a brief taste of the Mommy Wars. You see, as a breast reduction recipient, who was still in school, I decided that breastfeeding was just not for me. In all honesty, it still isn’t, barring any out of the ordinary medical needs. For the near three months that I was pregnant, however, I got to hear endless opinions on my very personal choice. I still do. For a topic that breastfeeding moms take so seriously as being their decision, it was/is apparently not my right to decide against it. So, in addition to not really being ready for kids, I’m pretty glad to be left out of the Mommy Wars… or at least I thought I was.

Recently, there’s been a video going around Facebook and other social media, that I’m certain was made all in good fun. In it, a young mother, with her hands full, has taken to the Internet to express the difficulty she has keeping in touch and relating to her friends who don’t have kids yet.

“Wait, no. I’m actually thinking about all the free time you have. It’s so weird. You could leave here, drive to Vegas, see Britney Spears, or even take a nap.”

In my eclectic blogging tastes, I’ve read many mommy blogs expressing frustration with the assumption that stay-at-home-moms don’t “work.” These women rant about friends asking what they do all day, or insisting that they would be bored, or claiming they do all of those things and have full time jobs. Yes. All of those comments are offensive. However, they’re actually just as offensive as the many articles and blogs implying that a woman without children has no responsibilities or priorities or stress in her life.

Wait, wait, wait. How in the hell, did I get recruited into these ludicrous Mommy Wars for not having children? I hope that the women who say things like this, can remember life before marriage and children in a more respectful way than assuming that we can all just drop everything and do whatever we want. I may not have children, but I’m still working two jobs, sending out resumes, preparing for interviews, paying all of my bills, taking care of all of my errands and chores, maintaining friendships and family relationships, and looking for love.

That’s another thing, married mommies. You’ve found your partner and that’s wonderful, but can you not look back just a couple of years, and remember the stress and uncertainty of wondering if things would ever fall into place? Can you not remember being the only person who could take the car to get the oil changed, wait for the cable guy, drop the dog off at the vet, go grocery shopping, or pick up that last minute Christmas present? Can you not remember crying to your best friend about how you were going to DIE ALONE after another terrible date? Have you really forgotten the times you dug straight into a carton of ice cream and watched Bridget Jones’s Diary like a parody of the dating single woman? What about coming up with the rent, the car payment, the electric bill, the insurance, the grocery money, and every other expenditure alone? I’m accused of an inability to empathize, but you’ve been here and have apparently completely forgotten that we’re not all Carrie Fucking Bradshaw.

Speaking of empathy, this man writes a very nice letter to his friends explaining the shift in his priorities and friendships. Sure, it’s a nice thought, but even as someone with no children, I realize they exist. Dude, I know that you can’t ignore the child screaming at you to “LOOK! LOOK!” as they jump in the pool in exactly the same way they did the last 17 times. I don’t need an explanation for why you have to serve the children their hot dogs first or can’t ignore the fact that someone just took a shit in the bathtub. I get that their needs come before mine. I don’t expect you to go to bars with me until 1:00 in the morning. I don’t even do that with my childless friends. Perhaps the reason I’m acting annoyed with you, is that patronizing tone you’re using while apologizing for having to leave the conversation to deal with someone else’s bodily fluids.

I’m not saying that parents don’t have a lot on their plates. I’m saying that everyone does. We’re all busy and live in a culture where being busy is some kind of achievement to one-up. We all have different issues and problems and stresses, but for some reason, if that stress has ten little fingers and ten little toes, it’s somehow so far beyond our childless comprehension that all of our problems and priorities pale in comparison to yours. Assuming you’re not a librarian or a teacher, I don’t understand the precise stresses of your career, either. I can still listen, empathize, and be quiet while you take your work call. According to the Internet, though, if you’re a parent, suddenly everything I have to say has become about nail polish and designer handbags, because you’re talking about teething and vaccines? No. That’s not how it works. If I never have kids, my priorities still matter just as much as yours when you have child number six.

Fortunately for me, of the many mommy friends I have, no one has ever implied that my life and responsibilities are less important, or nonexistent, because they don’t involve raising children. Maybe I just have better friends. Maybe I’m just a better friend to my friends with kids. Maybe the Internet is just a place to exaggerate and vent. Regardless, I’m years away from tearing up my Mommy Wars draft notice, so it would be fantastic if I were left out of all of these battles.

*Clearly, I’m not the only one annoyed by this. Even Parenting magazine knows it gets old.

http://www.parenting.com/article/breeders

Textersation Tuesday

Posted on by
Reply

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.“