Five Things to Immediately Remove from Your Dating Profile

Posted on June 20, 2014 by Belle of the Library

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.

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

Posted on June 13, 2014 by Belle of the Library

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.

Peter Pan and the Reason I Moved to 1954

Posted on June 6, 2014 by Belle of the Library

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?!?!

I quit.

Posted on April 25, 2014 by Belle of the Library

A couple of weeks ago, I went to my cousin Delia to get my hair done. I’d been visiting a stylist at Ulta until recently, due to a… “mishap” about a year and a half ago. Now, I am not a gal who particularly stresses over her hair. Delia’s cut it shorter than I intended, done the bangs in a different style, made the highlights too bright, and so has her sister Emily. They’re both professionals, but sometimes the message isn’t clear, because I don’t know anything about hair. Either way, it looks fine, even if it’s not what I originally pictured… until a month before my 25th birthday.

Oh em jingles, I am not even exaggerating, because I wasn’t the first person to make the comparison.

Delia realized her mistake (how could she not?) and apologized profusely for my uneven, way too short bangs. I waved her off and declared “It’s just hair,” because there was nothing to be done about it.

Delia: “I could like… try to do something edgy and cut them at a diagonal.”
Me: “NO! I mean, no this is fine. My hair grows fast. It’ll look fine in a couple weeks and I won’t have to cut them for awhile!”

She felt terrible. An Epic Tantrum was not going to suddenly give me Zooey Deschanel bangs. So, I left with a smile on my face and called my Gramma… crying.

Coworker: “What did you do to your hair?!?”

Customer: ::after it grew out:: “You look better with your hair like that.”

So, naturally, I took a break from Delia’s salon for awhile. Perhaps that’s why I forgot that Delia, God bless her, is the absolute worst with the Time’s A Wastin’ speeches, when it comes to my dating life. I’m not entirely sure why, since we do live in the suburbs and we’ve multiple aunts who married when they were in their late 20’s and early 30’s and have functional, happy relationships, children, and fulfilling careers. We’re not that country, y’all. Regardless, every time I get my hair done, Delia’s first questions are about whether or not I’ve been on any dates, if I’ve gone trolling for dick with any girlfriends recently, what online dating websites I’m using, if I’ve considered a ~~rape cruise~~ singles cruise, when I’ll get a full time librarian position, why I haven’t bought a house…

lalalala

I. Am. 26. I have a master’s degree and a professional career I love. I somehow managed to get both while married to a man Lord Voldemort looks at and says “Dude, that’s fucked up.” I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. On an average day, I don’t feel behind at all. Then Delia tells me that my cousin Kayla, who’s two years younger than I am, has met a nice man online.

Delia: “It’s about time, too. I mean she’s 24.”

That’s right. My baby cousin, who tried online dating as an afterthought (she wasn’t considering it at Thanksgiving) has apparently found a man she’s “never felt like this about, before.” Never mind that I haven’t put any real effort into dating until… well, like this month, because I’ve been busy and just generally happy single. Forget that while she’s been without her ex-boyfriend for far less time than I’ve been divorced, she wasn’t working two jobs and in grad school during that time. Disregard the fact that she’s a different person, with different life goals, and a different plan. I still felt behind 24-year-old Kayla. So I did it. Although I was fully aware that Delia is the family megaphone and every single one of my aunts would hear about it within the hour, I told her about my one good date with Air Force.

As you’ll recall, Air Force was the last installment in my latest series “Three and Half Men.” He was polite and gentlemanly and he asked me on a second date as we walked to our cars. So, that weekend, we arranged to meet at the Springfield theater, which was nowhere near him, but more convenient for me.

As for the date? Well, it went great. Air Force was polite and just as gentlemanly as before, even offering to get my water for me after we’d been seated. Captain America was good and we went to lunch afterward. The conversation flowed well enough, until…

Me: “You said you can pretty much stay in the state as long as you like?”
Air Force: “Yeah. I’m thinking like 5-8 years, then maybe I’ll move on… is that like a deal breaker for you? The moving around thing?”
Me: ::slight nod:: “I pretty much want to stay here.”

Aaaaand… it was over. The conversational flow just completely stopped. I finished up my meal, tried to continue being friendly, but could tell it was done. AIr Force drove me back to my car, and told me to drive safe. There was no mention of meeting again, though he was still polite. I got in my car, called my Gramma and told her I wouldn’t be seeing him again. She didn’t even argue, knowing what a deal breaker it was for me to leave my family and career. She was just disappointed, hoping she’d finally married off her little girl. Gail was the balm I needed, once I’d relayed what happened.

Gail: You were clear. That was kind of inconsiderate of him.
Me: Yeah. Maybe a little. I think we probably both heard what we wanted to hear, to an extent. I’m so genuinely disappointed. I can’t imagine how I’d have felt after three months. Ugh. Emotions belong with the last fucking Horcrux.
Gail: What’s a Horcrux, again?
Me: It’s where Voldemort stored each of the seven parts of his soul and hid them at the ends of the earth, you loser.
Gail: Yes. I’m the loser.
Me: I’m going to die alone.
Gail: No. You’re going to die HERE, which is exactly what you want.

We tease each other, but I am so truly blessed to have the bond I have with Gail. There’s nothing I can’t tell her, no time she won’t be there for me, and vice versa.

As I’ve always said, I’ve learned something from each and every man I’ve dated. I learned that “we were just better friends than husband and wife” isn’t a good enough reason for a divorce, from the furry pawed analyst. I learned that I have to be with a man who takes my degree and profession seriously, from Engineer. I learned that attraction is a must, on even the slightest level, from Geologist. I learned that I won’t be dating men younger than I, from Civil Engineer. From Air Force? Well, I’m reminded why I don’t date current military. I’m also recalling the fact that I’m not willing to date someone with whom I have no future. Most importantly, I’m willing to concede that maybe I’m not doing a great job of choosing matches for myself. I’ve always “joked” that I wish I’d lived in a time of arranged marriages, because my daddy would do a much better job than I did the first time. Obviously, that’s not a feasible option. Oh, to be a Duggar. In lieu, though, I’ve decided to try eHarmony, once again.

The thing about eHarmony, is that it’s really not a dating service. It’s a matchmaking service. You’re only able to view the profiles of those who are compatible, making the options limited. I tried it two years ago, when I was just looking for casual dating and it was a terrible idea. I only met one man (because of the limited choices) and he was clearly ready to settle down, while I was realizing that I wasn’t, in fact, ready to date after my divorce. Today? Well, today I’m done wasting my time with drunken 25-year-olds.

Speaking of immature men, Producer, who pretended he didn’t remember our correspondence when I met him at The Last Match Event… Ever, has been messaging me on Match. When I responded and tried to get a conversation going, he told me he was busy with work. When I didn’t, he seemed fascinated and after a week of ignoring him, he’s finally asked me to dinner. I thought about it. “Give him a chance” and all those delightful Jane-isms, but… no. Just no. I’m ready to put quality above quantity. The next time I get my hair cut, I may decide that I need to meet someone a year ago if I want to be on the required path for a Southern 26-year-old, especially when Delia asks about Air Force. Today, though, I quit. eHarmony can take the reins and Delia, as much as I love her, can just stick to hair.

Three and a Half Men: Air Force

Posted on April 11, 2014 by Belle of the Library

The trilogy and a half started with Engineer No. 94. He was nice. The conversation flowed. He didn’t live at home, unlike half the men my age. I was totally willing to overlook the fact that I wasn’t attracted to him, because he looked like my pal Ward, and go on a second date. Then… radio silence.

After two weeks of regular and daily texting, I heard nothing from Engineer No. 94 all weekend. When I did, there was no excuse for the absence and I’d already talked myself out of him. I wasn’t attracted to him and silence is exactly the protocol for completely blowing someone off, when you meet online. If that wasn’t what he’d been doing, then clearly he was playing some kind of game. So, though I tried to get a feel for him again, just… no.

Then, a couple of Sundays ago, I went to church and lunch with my lifelong acquaintance, Andy. We grew up together, as some of the only Catholic kids in town, but never actually spent time alone. It wasn’t so much a date, as catching up with an old friend, but it was wonderful to truly enjoy company with a man, sans pressure. Thank the good Lord it was, because, that evening was my date with Civil Engineer. An hour and a half, five beers (all him), and about 37 insults later, I was done. This wasn’t concealed by my claim that I had to leave to get to bed, because I had to work the next day… even though it was only 7:30.

Meh. He was too drunk to have feelings.

So, that left me with one more date, which had actually been planned when I started this series. His name was Mailman and he lived about an hour away. He seemed eager to meet and we made arrangements for that Saturday evening. We were going to get coffee… until he changed his name to The Flake. The Flake had an emergency come up with a friend and canceled on me, promising to get in touch to reschedule. Fulfilling my commitment to actually try, I messaged him my schedule. He said that would be great, he’d let me know, and…

Sigh. It’s a part of online dating, one with which we’re all familiar. The Flake is the Mellenial version of the man you meet in a bar, who asks for your number and says he’ll call. Perhaps Mailman realized, as did I, that he lived an hour away, was thrilled with the house he’d been restoring, and loved his job; while I lived in Shetland, working for the best library system in the state, a mile from my Gramma, just a few from my best friend, and a few more from my daddy. I’m not going anywhere. Neither was he. Well, then… I guess he shouldn’t have freaking messaged me in the first place.

The plan was to try to get another date before I posted this. If I couldn’t, I was going to open with “That’s right. You’ve been How-I-Met-Your-Mothered, bitches!” Then, came Air Force.

Air Force

I met Air Force on OKCupid. I saw his profile, thought he seemed nice, but he had that whopping flaw: he was in the service. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what these men have done for our country. I do. I just don’t want to be the carry on item, while they do it. It takes a lot to be a military spouse… and I don’t have it. I went to school for seven years to be a librarian. I’m very attached to my family and have just mended some very important relationships. My Gramma is my favorite lady and Gaily and I have been conjoined since the 9th grade. I’m. Not. Leaving. So why bother starting something?

I imagine Air Force realized this would be a concern to women, because his first message explained that he’s ready to settle down and lucky to have a position where he can stay for as long as he likes. At this news, I figured, why not? He didn’t open like this…

That’s right. It’s a friggin screencap, because that happened.

I figured I’d see where it led. So, we had the normal online dating conversations. By that I mean…

Air Force: The last book I read wasn’t anything impressive. There’s nothing wrong with a little light reading, though.
– He’s nervous. Librarians might be literature snobs, who only read classics. –
Me: One time, I read this paranormal romance novel about a dragon shapeshifter, who falls in love with a unicorn shapeshifter.
…
…
…
Air Force: I have a bit of a nerdy side. Do you have a limit on that?
Me: I just told you about my dragon meets unicorn paranormal romance book. So not really.

Print this off, for your First Date Conversation Cards.

So, after a couple of days, Air Force gave me his number and told me I could text him. How very confident and decisive of him… and how very unfortunate that I had to give the lamest (albeit true) excuse: I don’t have a phone. You see, my Samsung Galaxy S 3 completely died on me Friday night, right around the time Air Force wanted to start texting. I had already ordered the Galaxy S 5 when it happened and was stuck with a Go Phone/carrier pigeon/smoke signals until it arrived. Fortunately, Air Force didn’t take this as the brushoff and we continued to message online. Eventually, he asked to meet. I expected the usual “I don’t care. What do you want to do?” crap, when he asked what kind of food I liked. I told him sushi, because I gave up meat for Lent.

Air Force: “Is Wasabi good?” – Shetland’s sushi restaurant –
Me: “The food is great. The service is meh.”
Air Force: “Alright. Would you like to meet there Thursday at 6:30?”

I shit you not. The man actually just named a time and place, instead of forcing the back and forth “What time is good for you? Where do you want to meet?” nonsense. He was polite enough to ask what I like and enough of a man to make a freaking decision. Furthermore, Wasabi is nowhere near him. He chose Wasabi, strictly because it’s in Shetland and so am I. He didn’t demand I meet him in the middle. He came to me.

So, I went all out. I figure, even if I’m only cautiously optimistic about a man, it’s a waste of both of our time if I don’t put in effort and vice versa. I donned my cowboy boots, the cute $5 dress I bought at Goodwill with Gail a few months ago, and my new jean jacket. I did my hair and full makeup, with the brown eyeliner that makes my eyes look eerily green and headed out.

On the way, I got a text message asking me to let Air Force know when I arrived. Rather than just wanting to know when to look up from his phone, when I texted, Air Force actually came out to the parking lot to meet me. He opened the door for me and directed me to the table, where he already had menus for us. He was patient while I decided what to order and after the orders were taken, we talked… and it was great. The conversation flowed. He was nice looking and certainly didn’t look like Ward. He was clearly into his job and talked about the countries he’d visited and the cultures he’d experienced. I not subtly mentioned that I was divorced and he seemed cool with it. I, of course, rambled like a moron at times…

Air Force: “I lived in Virginia for awhile. That was nice.”
Me: “I’ve never been further east than Arkansas. It looked beautiful in Hocus Pocus.”

Air Force had plenty to say, though, including offering dessert. We talked and ate for over an hour and a half. After he paid, on the way to our cars, he asked…

Air Force: “Have you seen Captain America yet?”
Me: “No, but I was just talking to a coworker about how it looked good.”
Air Force: “Would you like to go?”
Me: “Tonight?”
Air Force: “Well, no. This weekend.”

He just asked, y’all. There was no…

Does he like me? Do I even like him enough to want him to like me?

He didn’t ignore me for a few days to seem aloof. He didn’t make vague “let’s do it again, sometime” plans. I texted him when I got home…

Me: Thank you again for dinner. I had a really nice time.
Air Force: I enjoyed your company. I will look at the weekend movie schedule for Captain America. Do you have any conflicts?

Again, he just made plans. He asked if a time didn’t work for me and then chose the Springfield theater, just north of Shetland, because it’s closer for me. A man mastered the gentlemanly formality that came off stilted and awkward when Geologist called me “enchanting.” So there you go. There’s actually a second date happening.

Air Force: How does noon on Saturday, in Springfield sound? Then a late lunch?
Me: That sounds great. Springfield has lots of good lunch places.
Me: Or restaurants, as they’re more commonly called.

Three and a Half Men: One Half and Civil Engineer

Posted on April 4, 2014 by Belle of the Library

So, my winter dating hiatus has ended and once again, I’ve gifted you with a ~~cliffhanger~~ series chronicling why I’m about to just delete all of my profiles and buy a bucket of cats. A few weeks ago, I jumped right in with Engineer No. 94. He was nice. He wasn’t particularly attractive. He was successful. The conversation flowed. Then he ignored me all weekend and, after two weeks (a fortnight, y’all!) of regular texting, it came off as game playing. I tried to get back into the idea of him, but I couldn’t shake the thought that he’d had another date lined up and I was his second choice… or that he was following some lame three day rule. I want someone who’s interested in me and I’m past the game playing age. Also, he looked a little like Ward. I love Ward like the little brother I never wanted, but I think of him about as sexually as I do…

I am literally looking around my living room to find something that I think of with as little sexual interest as my good pal Ward… huh… apparently he’s the yardstick by which to measure all things asexual. Good to know.

So, from Engineer No. 94, we move on to my one half.

One Half/Andy

What the hell is a half date? Wait. Why does this one have a name?

If you’ve read any of my dating posts, or like, the introduction to this one, you’ve realized that I don’t give actual names to the men I date. Part of that is anonymity. Part of it is a refusal to acknowledge that they’re real people, wielding real rejection and/or disappointment. Part of it is that my ex-husband refused to work and I value employment that much. Mostly, it’s a lot easier to remember their professions, than their names, likely because of the previous reason. So, I call them by their job titles… and now there’s Andy.

Andy gets a name, because he’s not Auto Parts Manager. He’s Andy. I’ve known the guy my whole life and I mean that literally. There are many facets of growing up Catholic in the South; so many, actually, that I have a post I’ve yet to write, titled “Catholic in the South.” One of these is knowing every single Catholic kid in town… because there’s only the one church. So, Andy and I shared preschool, first communion, our 5th grade class, confirmation, and junior year Biology II together. He’s just… Andy.

So what earns him a whopping .5? Well, it wasn’t actually a date. Andy and I have been chatting on Facebook, for the past few months, about our faith, dating mishaps, Netflix recommendations, dogs… the works. Having grown up in the same church, we both eventually gravitated toward the parish in a neighboring town, because we didn’t like the priest at our childhood church. So, when said priest retired, Andy asked if I’d been to the new guy’s Mass yet. I said no and he asked if I’d like to go.

You know, to be fair, this isn’t really a thing people do, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t really a date. Andy and I didn’t hang out in high school. We got along. He was a band nerd and I was just a nerd. Our friends hung out, but not once did Andy and I ever spend time alone. So, he gets a .5, for this thing that’s not really a thing.

Why was it noteworthy, then? Well, we had a great time. I enjoyed hearing about Andy’s job, family, and what he’s been doing since high school. We found out we were both downtown for similarly crazy New Year’s Eves in 2011. He’s a mile tall and wasn’t bad to look at, with his scruff and church clothes. It was just… pleasant. It was also a reminder of what it’s supposed to be like, spending time with someone of the opposite sex. It wasn’t awkward, and no one yelled at me about The Walking Dead, or had furry hands, or told me I was a dumbass if I spent less than $2,000 on a bike… because it was with Andy. I don’t know if I’ll ever find quite the same connection and comfort on a first date, as I did with a man who attended all of those confirmation retreats with me, but that sort of camaraderie… it’s nice to occasionally have someone correct my aim. As I’ve said before, every date (or .5 date, as it may be) has served some purpose in my life. Andy, the reminder that fun could be had with a man, got me through my date with Civil Engineer.

Civil Engineer

I met Civil Engineer on Plenty of Fish and we progressed to texting fairly quickly. Too late, I realized he was a year younger than I, but Jane is always insisting I’m going to miss out on the man of my dreams, if I let something so superficial stop me. So, I persevered, telling myself that one year, does not a man make.

After texting for a bit, I realized that Civil Engineer was, indeed, just really… young. It was just the tone of his text messages and his only stated hobbies of TV and video games. I told myself, however, that unless a potential date actually did something to turn me away, like asking if I like to be rubbed (true story), I’d continue contact and see where it went.

Now, in the past I haven’t accepted dinner from men. I don’t know if we’re going to like each other. I don’t want to feel like he’s invested both time and funds, if it’s not going anywhere. Men, however, don’t seem to get that. Every single one of them wants to meet for dinner, so I’ve just stopped fighting it. If they want to spend $20 on a stranger they may never see again, whatevs. So, when Civil Engineer suggested dinner at one of the more expensive chain restaurants in the city, I just went with it. I dressed appropriately, in the same dress I’d worn to church with Andy, just a few hours earlier. I looked pretty danged cute, if I do say so myself. So, I gave myself the usual you will not die alone pep talk as I walked into the restaurant and gave the hostess Civil Engineer’s name.

Now, in addition to his emotional age, I had one other suspicion about Civil Engineer: that he was somewhat effeminate. The night I texted him while waiting for my dad to change my tire, he responded with…

Oh, that sucks girl.

Again, unless he clearly did something to turn me off, I was going to keep talking to the guy. Besides, my dad calls me “girl” sometimes… like he does Bea. The man has literally spoken the words “that bobcat come flyin’ out from underneath.” He’s as far from effeminate as they come. I told myself it was the same.

No, y’all. It was not the damned same. My daddy calls my stepsister and I “girl”, because we’re his girls. Civil Engineer called me “girl” because…

Oh. Em. Jingles. Remember that time I went out with the geologist, who looked like Gollum? I didn’t realize it, until I wrote the blog about our dates and posted a picture of Gollum? Zetus lapetus. I should’ve gotten an autograph.

I can say one thing in Civil Engineer’s defense. One fucking thing. He did not lie. He had the job he claimed to have and he looked like his photos. So, when I introduced myself and he gave me an oddly loud, “heeeeey”, I told myself to stop being such a superficial bitch and ignore the tenor of his voice. I sat down and he continued to talk very loudly. I am not a quiet person, y’all. My dad is mostly deaf in one ear. I’ve got a high tolerance for volume and I thought this dude was loud. Again, I decided to ignore the trivial first impression stuff. So we started talking… and it all went downhill from there.

Me: “I hate to drive. I don’t know why. It just stresses me out.”
CE: “Oh, I know what you’re sayin’. It’s bad news bears out there.”

It’s what now? Okay. I know. I just quoted Zenon: Girl of the Twenty-First Century, like a paragraph ago. I’m also a chick and I didn’t say it in the voice of Herbert the Pervert.

At this point, I still had both Jane and Gail in my head telling to be nice, so I said nothing each time the man exclaimed that something was “bad news bears.” However, I started to think about how I could never introduce this man to my family. My dad is Jed freaking Clampett. Even if I could bring myself to be attracted to someone so effeminate, I could not even picture sitting down and introducing my dad to him. The same goes for pretty much every other person in my family, as the man would be the butt of every joke.

When I’d arrived, CE already had a beer in front of him, which I took as an indicator of nerves. That’s fine. I’ve nothing against a little alcohol. As the date progressed, however, CE… appeared to have a problem. Our date lasted approximately an hour and a half. In that time, CE had five beers. I counted. Not only is that a ton of alcohol, but a lot of cash as well. This wasn’t a cheap restaurant. His stories didn’t make this sound like any less of a regular thing, either, as he shouted tale after tale of his grad school binge drinking. The man was practically performing the vitameatavegamin commercial by the time the check came.

Perhaps, that’s why he was such an ass.

CE: “Wait. What year did you graduate high school?”
Me: “2006.”
CE: “Wooooooooow. You’re like a whole year older than me. How do you feel about that?” -winces-

He fucking winced. Now, after my date with this metrosexual frat boy, I won’t be dating anyone below the age of 28, ever again. That’s my personal preference. If, however, it was his personal preference to date someone younger, he should have done so. My age is no secret. It’s on my profile. You can search by age. If it’s an important enough issue to get drunk and insult me, you should probably do some better weeding, douche nugget.

Gail: “Wait. Go back. You forgot to tell me how you responded to that.”

Me: “Well, when’s your birthday?”
CE: “September 12th.”
Me: “Woooow. You’re a year and three days younger than I am.”

As most first meetings go, the conversation led to a brief discussion of our online dating history. I told CE that one of the problems I have, is that most men seem to want to leave my home state. I’m not game, because my whole family and career are here, so it’s hard to find common ground on this issue.

CE: “Yeah, I don’t want to leave the state. I mean, sometimes I do. Like, sometimes I think it would be great to just pick up and leave the country.”
I’d decided, at this point, that I was going to be polite, but I was never going to see this man again.
Me: “Well, now’s your chance. You’re single… no wife, no kids.”
CE: “Yeah. I’ve got friends with wives and kids and they’re just stuck. Like, they’re trapped. Forever. The old ball and chain.”

Dude, why are you here?!?!

After CE missed the fact that I was trying to get him to leave the country, we moved on to discuss TV shows.

Me: “Well, I like True Blood and-”
CE: “Oooooh, you’re a Twilight fan aren’t you? You watched all the movies and loved ’em.”
Me: “Well, I did read the books and I liked them well enough, but-”
CE: “Oh, don’t lie. You know you loved ’em. I’ll bet you went to all the midnight releases.”
Me: “Actually, I didn’t really care for-”
CE: “Oh, that’s what they all say. Every girl I dated was like ‘I don’t like them that much,’ but then when the movie came out, guess who had to sit through them.”

I’m sorry. Was that permission to speak?

CE: “So what’s in Shetland? Are your girlfriends there? Your gee effs?”
I shit you not. He phonetically pronounced GF’s, either stereotyping all women (I am so wet right now) or being über gay. I lean toward the former.
Me: “Well, um, my best friend lives there.”
CE: “Oh, yeah? What’s she do?”
Me: “She’s a mail carrier.”
CE: “Well… …. …. it’s a job.”

Listen, you drunken elitist asshole, not everyone wants to be an engineer, teacher, librarian, nurse, or scientist. Not everyone needs to go to college and spend thousands upon thousands of dollars to find a career they love. Some people are lucky enough to find that without a degree and it’s pompous bags of dicks like you that are making those degrees redundant in our society anyway, by suggesting everyone needs one to be of value. Someone has to deliver your reminder postcard from AA and enjoying doing so does not make her any less intelligent, worthwhile, or pleasant. Asshat.

At this point, the date was pretty much over, though CE yammered on about how much more successful he was than anyone else in high school, after ordering dessert… because obviously the date was going so well. I had reached that point, where all I could think was…

I want to be home. I want to not be here. I don’t want to go through the awkwardness of leaving, when he’s clearly enjoying his own company (as everyone can hear), but I want to be gone.

So, I subtly… pssshhh. I can’t even type out the lie. I was subtle as a pipe bomb when I cut him off mid-sentence as he announced how badly he had to pee (again), because the beer was “flowing right through” him, to declare…

Me: “I actually have to go.”
CE: surprised “Oh. I’m sorry to keep you. I didn’t mean to make you stay longer than you wanted.”
Ooooh. Guilt tripping. Haaaawt.
Me: “It’s fine. I just have to work tomorrow. Thank you for dinner.”

He insisted on a hug and I turned my head away. I quickly walked to my car and realized that I’d just used the excuse “I have to work tomorrow” to leave a date at 7:30.

Jane: You didn’t! That’s as bad as flat out rejection!
Me: Psh. Whatev. I’m sure he was too drunk to notice.
Jane: Be nice.
Me: What can I say? It’s bad news bears out there.
Jane: Oh, that’s just really bad.

If I can get get Jane Give-Him-Another-Chance Williams to tell me it was a bad date…

Three and a Half Men: Engineer No. 94

Posted on March 27, 2014 by Belle of the Library

The good news: My winter dating hiatus has ended!

The bad news: My winter dating hiatus has ended!

I doubt I’m the only woman with a first date, internal pep talk. I may, however, be the woman with the most ~~negative~~ forthright one.

Dating is awful. Dying alone is worse. You will give him a chance. You will be nice. You will try. You will not die alone.

Apt.

As I’ve explained in the past, my desire to date is directly related to the weather. Well, here in the South, spring has arrived… mostly. In true Belle form, I’ve reached Panic Dating Mode and have once again opened accounts on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, in addition to Match and Christian Mingle. I’ve vowed to continue talking to any man who has no deal breakers, unless he scares me… but that’s another blog post. I’ve even been successful… if successful means dates.

Engineer No. 94
For realz, yo. They are all engineers.

No. 94 messaged me on Match, before I hit Panic Dating Mode. He wasn’t particularly attractive, but that’s never been the most important thing to me, as long as the person isn’t completely repellent. Love at first sight is a myth, y’all. We messaged back and forth online for about a week and a half, which is more than my norm, but I hadn’t actually been on a date since September and was a bit hesitant. It’s possible I was looking for reasons to blow him off, but I stuck with it and he seemed really nice. We ended up texting every day for about two more weeks.

No. 94 seemed to have a good balance between nerdy and country. He liked science fiction and guns. I wear cowboy boots with my Gramma’s pearls. He read articles on Reddit for fun. I’ve told 22 people about the article I read detailing Samuel L. Jackson’s involvement with the Civil Rights Movement. Honestly, the guy seemed pretty promising, so we met at a Panera Bread, when it was 60 degrees out. Sixty degrees means a choice between cute and warm, around these parts. Don’t worry… I chose cute and felt pretty good about the amount of effort I was expending.

When No. 94 asked which location I wanted to meet at, I gave him a guesstimate intersection, specifying that I wasn’t sure, but it was between Shetland and the far side of the city. Well, apparently, the north/south cross street did, indeed, have a Panera Bread on it… about 15 miles north. Oops.

I was a little afraid that No. 94 would be ticked off about the misdirection, particularly when he didn’t respond to my apology text.

I may have been the wrong person to choose a location. I got lost on the way to my dad’s house once. No joke. I’m sorry.

I was wondering if I should head north, but eventually received a text telling me he was five minutes away. I briefly considered telling him I’d gone to the other location, but decided there’s a time and a place for my weird sense of humor. I thought it was kind of him to come to me, though I’m the one who made the initial mistake… more or less. The Panera Bread he chose was a completely irrational location for either one of us, but you get the idea.

I’ll say this for No. 94. The guy looked just like his pictures. He had very large ears and wore an unflattering haircut for them, but was otherwise pretty nondescript. He wasn’t a mile tall, but he was taller than me in cowboy boots, so that was enough. I noticed these things while choosing something meatless (never giving up meat for Lent again) from the menu. Then came the awkwardness.

I’m not sure if No. 94 intended to pay for my meal or not. I am sure, however, that he asked me, he chose the restaurant, and he was the only one in possession of a penis, so he would be paying, unless he was willing to clearly declare otherwise.

Cashier: “Is this together or separate?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
– No. 94, who had been staring at the menu, realized we were waiting for him. –
Me: “Awkward.”

You know what makes everything more awkward? Blurting out the word “awkward.” Sigh.

No. 94 either intended to pay the entire time, or realized the pressure was on and manned up. Don’t get me wrong. Had he not, I would’ve paid for my own meal, without further comment. However, I do think that, in The Conservative South, his refusal to do so (on a first date, initiated by him) would speak volumes about our difference in opinions on gender roles. While I would’ve stayed and made the best of the evening, it is extraordinarily unlikely I’d have considered going out with him again.

Beyond these initial hiccups, No. 94 and I had a really good time. We talked about television shows, some political opinions, our families. He wasn’t Sexy Like a Disney Hero, but we had things in common. He was successful. He didn’t make fun of my master’s degree. It seemed promising. We left, only because the restaurant closed, and I told him…

Me: “I had a great time. I’d love to do it again. Message me if you’d like to get together.”

If you’ve read this blog, pretty much ever, you’ve probably witnessed my claim that “emotions go with the last fucking Horcrux.” I don’t do heart-on-my-sleeve. In the interest of trying, though, I made it crystal clear that I was interested. He seemed the same… and then I didn’t hear from him all weekend.

Now, don’t misunderstand. I don’t want to be with a man who texts me constantly. In fact, I’ve stopped talking to men for just that reason. – He was an air traffic controller, worked for an hour at a time, and texted me every hour he wasn’t working. – Clingy freaks me out. You keep your feelings on the inside, dude. The thing is, No. 94 and I had been texting daily and conversationally for two weeks. We didn’t necessarily have lengthy conversations, but we did restate our interest quite regularly. Then, I meet the guy in person, we have plenty to talk about, and I don’t hear from him for an entire weekend? Not even an…

I had a great time. Let’s do it again, sometime.

By Sunday night, I’d pretty much decided my usual. There’s a lid to every pot and it’s okay if I’m not his. There wasn’t a lot of physical attraction; maybe he felt that, too. I’d even attributed my own interest to the possibility that I was ovulating, blaming my eggs for screaming at me to find someone, anyone, now. Late that night, I got…

I had a really good time on Friday. I’d love to go out again.

That’s it? I don’t warrant any kind of explanation for sudden lack of contact, right after our first meeting? Seriously, I wouldn’t care if we hadn’t been texting multiple times a day for a fucking fortnight, which he had been initiating. I wouldn’t care if he worked on the weekends. I wouldn’t even care if it had been a second date. However, the way you blow someone off, after a first meeting, is to ignore them. So, naturally, in my inability to make grown up decisions all by myself, I asked Gaily.

Gail: “Either he’s playing games, following some kind of dating rule, which is exhausting and we’re too old for that crap; or he had someone else lined up for Saturday night and wanted to see how it went with her.”

Remember, Gail is the reason I went on a third date with Gollum the Awkward Geologist. She once continued spending time with a man who grabbed her nipple on a date, insisting she was sure he understood they were just friends. She doesn’t hand out ‘nah’s’ lightly. Regardless, I did eventually respond to No. 94. Despite his renewed efforts, I was very much feeling what Gail had suggested, and had been even before she verbalized it. I want a man who’s interested in me. I want to be interested in him, also. By that point, I had just talked myself out of him and I couldn’t find it again, no matter how hard I tried. Even my boy pal, Ward, when told about why I wouldn’t be seeing him, gave me a man’s perspective with…

“What an ass.”

Ultimately, every man I’ve ever dated has served a purpose, has helped me to learn something about myself. Texan Engineer taught me that similar faith is not optional. Insurance Salesman taught me that bathing is not optional. Engineer No. 94 taught me that obvious interest is not optional. He was a good reintroduction to the dating world, though. I’ve certainly had worse dates… like last Sunday, when Civil Engineer taught me that masculinity and manners are not optional. As with my last series, The Week of 1004 Dates, if I told you about all 3.5 of my most recent dates, it’d be a novel. So stay tuned.

Okay, Cupid, your aim sucks.

Posted on February 21, 2014 by Belle of the Library

My eagerness to date seems to be directly related to the weather. The second temperatures drop below fifty, it’s all “Fuck love! My pink Christmas tree is plenty of romance for one! Should I cook the cookie dough or just eat it raw? What would it taste like if I covered it in chocolate and peanut butter?”

I’m pretty sure it tasted like sex. I’m not certain, though. It’s been awhile.

Now that temperatures have risen above fifty, I’ve decided to spend my free six months of Match, you know… actually trying… with spunk. Gail calls this Panic Dating. I call it Counting. Counting is when I think “Well, I’d like to have my first child at 30. So, I guess I’d like to get married by 28. I suppose I’d like to be engaged for six months before I get married. It’d be best to date someone for about a year and half before getting engaged. So that means, I need to meet someone… two months ago.”

.
I try to keep a handle on this, to avoid the moment where my dramatic rant turns from a joke to tears, which is a surprisingly sudden occurrence. I’m 26 years old. I won’t be 30 until September of 2017. That’s nearly four years away and four years ago, I was in the middle of my student teaching, had just gazed into the casket of a child I loved, and was married to a man who… well, let’s not get into that. My point is, the whole world can change in just four years, so I should calm the fuck down.

Regardless of the little pep talks that sound suspiciously like Gail, I decided to try OKCupid once again. Everyone on the dating blogs seems to have good luck with it. It’s certainly set up better than Plenty of Fish, which my librarian brain cannot ignore, because organization is hawt. So why not?

I’ll tell you why not. Y’all, the Fates do not want me using OKCupid. If you follow this blog religiously (pretty much only Gail), you’ll remember that the last time I was on this particular free site, I found my ex-husband’s profile. Freaked out by the idea that he might see my information, I promptly deleted my profile and declared myself a Paid Sites Only gal. The paid sites haven’t even been going poorly. I just haven’t really met anyone that seems worth meeting. I’ve also been busy sucking my thumb and reading romance novels under my favorite chair. There’s just no time for dating, peeps!
.

I’m just really busy, right now!

So… realizing that I haven’t been on a date since September, I decided to give it one more shot… and the Fates chimed in, once again. Here we have, the first conversation I had, upon returning to OKCupid.

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OKCupid, your aim sucks.

Him: You wanna play? 888-888-8888
– I was nice enough to change that number.
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Me: So fucking creepy.

– Any time I start a story with “I barely even said anything…” Gaily starts laughing. Apparently, my definition of verbal innocence differs greatly from hers.

Him: Why is that?

Me:

– There is no actual way to send reaction gifs, a grand flaw in online dating.

Him: Are you a virgin or somethin? I guess I could have been more detailed but I figured I shouldn’t say that much dirty stuff until after you text me

– For the sake of blog humor, I’m kind of wishing he’d been more detailed.

Him: Tell me something though and don’t lie because I’ve tried several ways on her to get someone’s attention…would you have even responded if I said “hi I’m Andrew. What’s your name”? And was really nice? Truthful I wouldn’t have heard anything back from you and I already know it! Because every girl is the same on here and nice guys always finish last! Sorry if I offended you. But it really didn’t matter what I said to you because you already made up your mind way before we even talked. Hope you find that special jackass;)
– Alright, alright. I’m never mean to anyone online without reason, but he asked.

Me: I’m going to be honest, because you asked. I saw your profile before and didn’t write first, because there wasn’t a lot of information. If you’d sent me a normal message, yeah, I’d have responded. What little was there seemed okay. I’m not a virgin, but you’re a total stranger and I would never appreciate sexual implications from any stranger. You clearly have a negative attitude toward women and online dating, based on your reaction to my disturbance when you suggested whatever the hell you were suggesting. I would’ve responded if you’d been a nice guy, because they don’t finish last. You finish last, because you’re rude.
– Dude, you can hardly accuse me of being shallow toward the “nice guys”, when you opened with the words ‘down to fuck’. I also wasn’t lying. He had a kid, which was a turnoff, but I’d have still responded.

Him: You’re wrong lady. So wrong. You have no idea

Me: You opened with solicitation. There is no other logical conclusion for me to draw, based on the information you gave me, your declaration that all women are the same, and your best wishes for me to end up with a jackass, because YOU’RE a nice guy. I’m sorry you, so severely, lack self-awareness.
– Psh … and Gail claims my apologies aren’t always “real.”

Him: Whatever. If you find a guy that doesn’t want to use you out there you let me know k;) at least I was nice and up front about it.

Me:

– If this is nice, what’s this guy like when he is being a jackass?

Me: Giving your phone number out is going to be so much fun.
– There are stronger women out there than I. Those women would not have started creating a Craigslist ad for male group sex, with every intention of posting it.

Him: Hahaha so it’s like that huh?

…

Him: Please don’t do that. I said I was sorry anyway

…

Him: Can we just start over? Lol

….

Him: Hi I’m Andrew. What’s your name pretty lady?

…

Me: Ugh. Fine. I deleted the Craigslist ad. It could’ve been an adventure for you. It was for a group of men and included the words “your pic gets mine.” But, no. We can’t start over. You should be less sexual with people you haven’t met, especially if you don’t want whores. Good luck out there.

Him: Aww okay

Him: There’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind?

So, um… what’s the DOWNSIDE to dying alone?

Posted on January 16, 2014 by Belle of the Library

Alright, alright, despite the January 1, 2014 milestone, I’ve not been trying that hard to secure actual dates. In part, I can’t really muster up the desire. I know I should want to date, because in a month I’ll be “panic dating” as Gaily puts it. My entire New Year’s resolution was to date consistently, which means no longer spending alternating months yelling “Fuck it! I’m just going to buy boots and have Gossip Girl marathons in my underwear for the rest of my life!” and “… then, I’m going to be in a horrible car accident and you won’t even be at my deathbed, because you’ll be on a fucking couples’ cruise!”

Fuck you and your happiness, Gail!

In my defense, though, there has been some effort. Since just before the New Year, there was some promise with one guy from Match. I realized, however, that he was the guy who spoke only in $$$. Don’t get me wrong. I want a man who makes decent money, but did he seriously have to mention it every single time we texted? I really gave this one a shot. I promise. I didn’t even flee when he told me about how the “love of his life” died, but he was ready to find someone again, after we’d texted for like a minute and a half. Really, dude? I’m sorry and all, but you should probably stop opening by calling someone else “the love of my life.” Just sayin’, nobody wants to be Dick York.

Really, what did she see in either of them?

Buuuuuut, I realized that there’s just not an ideal for that situation and he had no control over it, so I’d see how it progressed. If he couldn’t stop mentioning her, big red flag, just as with any past relationship. He never did, though… because he was too busy counting. Like most Southern online dating males, $$$ worked on oil rigs. He lived an hour away, sent me like nine random selfies (not an exaggeration), and this…

$$$: Catholic church is kinda boring. Lots of up down kneeling and sitting lol. I’ve been to other churches that get straight to the point and not in 1 1/2 hours lol.

No. No loling about my Church. My profile makes that clear. It’s your fault if you didn’t freaking read it… but I was still willing to see how things went. See! I totally tried!

Ahem…

I get that oil is lucrative. I’ve seen the’ Beverly Hillbillies. After the initial statement of decent pay, though, you shut-up about it! You certainly don’t pepper all conversation with…

$$$: I’m pretty excited about this job now we are gonna make about 8 grand in bonus have about 600 hours on overtime and 700 bucks in per diem each of us!!!!
$$$: Basically for 1800 bucks a day you get to be the head honcho over everything that goes on out here
$$$: One of my best friends made 418k his first year
$$$: Bought a 300 dollar cell phone booster today… it better work lol
$$$: We’ve been going on about 2 hrs of sleep every 24 hrs. Anything for a 12k check in 2 weeks.

I changed the subject each time, trying to make it subtly clear that I wasn’t interested in how much money he makes, but he would stop responding and text another time, only to bring it up again. Um… no. I’m done. He’s in Texas for at least two more weeks, anyway. I am not messaging him about the gospels of Bank of America for two whole weeks, on the off chance that he won’t talk about nothing but money in person… and refuse to respond when I change the subject. Soooo, what seemed promising was another bust, before even meeting. It’s just like the Power Lifter who opened our text conversation by asking me if I thought Chris Hemsworth was attractive, because he was also super built, somehow coming off as both insecure and arrogant. Then he immediately ranted for several texts about how much he hates Miley Cyrus and never messaged me again. Sorry I don’t feel the need to berate a lost 19-year-old with no guidance. Best of luck to them, I suppose. Lid to every pot and all that. In the meantime, it’s back to pretending I want to date and considering trying ChristianMingle, because it will at least be funny, where CatholicMatch was completely ineffective. The prospects aren’t looking so great, though. Men, listen up, because this is what’s wrong with your advertising, since I’ve already told you what’s wrong with ours.

Fill Out the Damned Profile

The purpose of your profile is to express yourself in limited characters (if you’re doing it correctly and not writing a novel that no one will read). This is really the perk of online dating, period, not having to wade through small talk to find out about whether the other person’s been married or votes Democrat. From the beginning, you know if the fundamentals match up, or if you should both keep looking. That is, unless the other party has refused to actually answer any of these questions. I’m not talking about the important details two people share once they start dating. The problem is not the lack of explanation as to who the baby’s mother is, but rather, whether or not there is or ever will be a baby. There is no reason for ambiguity in these responses, either. If you don’t identify with party politics, “some other viewpoint” is a choice. If you don’t really go to church or pray, but consider yourself a believer, “spiritual but not religious” and “agnostic” are listed as well. If you haven’t really considered kids, “not sure” is a great response. Just fucking pick something.

Furthermore, when you have to type out a response, stop being so damned vague. “Sales?” You can tell me that you sell medical equipment without saying for whom. “Law enforcement?” ‘Police officer’ hardly gives away a precinct, but clarifies that you’re not the guy driving the security car around the Wal-Mart parking lot. “Other profession?” What? Pot dealer? Concert pianist? Mime? “Student?” THAT’S NOT A FUCKING PROFESSION!!!!!!

Ahem….

Regardless, “I’ll tell you later” pretty much guarantees that you’re not going to get the chance. I already asked the question. You refused to answer.

Get Your Ex-Girlfriend Out of Your Profile Picture

I get that men don’t just have hundreds of selfies in their phones or posted to Facebook. I practically had to draw pictures of my step-brothers in Grandma Kay’s Christmas photo album, because there are almost none on Facebook. I admire men for this. It’s really quite healthy. You are, however, using your online dating profile to seek a realtionship. So, if you don’t just happen to already have a current solo photo, make arrangements. I don’t care if you have to take a selfie on the golf course or if you want to post that picture of you and your grandma at Christmas, but your last Facebook photo with half of some chick’s cheek in it, isn’t gonna cut it. Worse? You left her whole cheek in it and you look deliriously in luuuuuv. I once actually saw the caption, “me and an old girlfriend.” No. No one wants to see a photo of the last vag you tasted, so get off your lazy ass and use your forward facing camera phone to take a new friggin’ picture. If you do post a picture of you with your hot sister at Thanksgiving, that’s totally acceptable, just clarify the relation.

Another unacceptable caption: “Me. A couple of years ago, but basically the same.” If it’s basically the same, then there will be no hardship to take a current picture. You know what, though? It’s probably not basically the same. You see, people age. A picture of Belle at age 24 is inaccurate. If I posted it, a man would be disappointed and rightfully so. I may still be able to pass for 21, but my hair, my weight, my fashion choices, are all completely different than what was expressed in that photo where I excitedly presented my fully loaded gun magazine. In short, for whatever reason, I look like someone else. Photos are the only thing we have to go off of, when it comes to physical representation. Just as you should be updating your education or profession or age, you should be updating your photos to give the most accurate depiction of who you are, so we can avoid that awkward moment at Starbuck’s where I’m doing a double take, because the man in the photo was 20 pounds lighter and had a lot more hair.

Obscure Movie References and Humor

If I met a man at a bar and he recognized that I was wearing a golden snitch necklace, I would drop to my knees, then and there, performing glorious Stranger Fellatio as camera phones flashed. Really. As someone who spent her middle school years in Roswellian RPG chat rooms, I totally get the appeal of finding someone who also loves that random thing you love. In person, though, if a guy doesn’t get the reference, it just looks like I’m wearing some kind of kitchy golden ball with wings around my neck. There’s no need for comment, because that’s hardly the focus of getting to know each other. When you make your headline “Cellar Door,” however, you don’t just attract Donnie Darko fans, as I’m sure was the goal. You scare away every single woman who does not get that reference. Seriously, dude? Cellar fucking door is the headline of your online dating profile? Did you not think this through at all?

Not only can these references be misunderstood, but when you make “I love lamp” the sentence with which you identify yourself as a person, you risk an otherwise interested woman deciding that you just must have different senses of humor. You may really click one on one, but she never starts a conversation, having already realized that Anchorman was the worst comedy in the history of time. Bee tea double ewe, Gail, you’ve yet to return the $2 I spent renting that on your recommendation. Bitch. See? It’s totally possible for two people to get along, even though one recommends shitty movies. Why not just name it among a handful of favorites, rather than introducing yourself with it? I certainly don’t immediately tell men in bars that I have a replica of the cross Angel gave Buffy.

On a similar note, your primarily text profile is not the place for sarcasm or subtle humor. I once saw a man write “I used to have ‘often’ under drug use, but clearly some people are too stupid to get the joke.” Um, why would I assume you’re joking? I don’t know you. There are people who use drugs often. Until we adopt a sarcasm font, as the Internet has suggested numerous times, I have only your word to go on, here. You were asked a multiple choice question. It’s no one else’s fault that you don’t understand that there is a time and a place for your humor. If you feel humor lightens the mood, that’s great, just make it clear that that’s what’s taking place.

Man the Fuck Up

One of the most frustrating things about online dating is sending 11 messages to 11 different people and getting back three messages from three other people, who still think the “sexy librarian” comment is clever. I am seriously about to change my online dating screen name. You know how I know that’s so discouraging, though? Because it happens to women, too.

Often, I’ll see a man’s profile state something like this…

“I know you get a lot of messages from a lot of douche bags with their shirts off in the bathroom mirror, so here’s how it’s gonna go. If I like what I see, I’ll favorite you and you can send me a message if you’re feeling it.”

Marry me. Marry me, now. You see, I had to ask, because all he’s willing to do is favorite my profile.

Online dating is a different world than meeting in person. People think the same basic rules apply and they don’t. Here in the South, most women would agree with the statement that a man not paying means no second date. In fact, while I would be perfectly polite to a guy in that scenario and just feel we had separate views of gender roles, a lot of women would be downright offended. Obviously, this practice doesn’t really transfer well to online dating. If a woman never sends the first message, she’s not going to get a lot of attention, so I’m hardly saying a man should always do so. However, rejection is a part of the dating scene and online rejection is about as mild as it comes, so let the testicles descend and message a gal when she catches your eye. Don’t tell her that librarians are sexy because they’re so uptight (cough:: suck my dick ::cough), but don’t just send “hey,” either. Put in a little effort, just as would be expected in person. Say hi, ask how she is, throw in a question about something more specific, like the vacation depicted in her photos. If she doesn’t answer? Don’t be a little bitch about it. I guarantee she just got ignored by someone, too. Move on. She’s not even real until you meet in person, anyway. But don’t just send the next gal a wink, hoping she’ll take the bait and open the conversation. Certainly don’t refuse to eventually send a message if she winks back. Even if she contacts you first, you don’t have to wait for her to ask to talk on the phone, or meet, or what have you. You’re still the boy and if you consider yourself chivalrous, that’s the place for it in an online setting: effort. If she says no, fine. As I’ve said, there’s a lid to every pot…

… or at least that’s what I tell myself when I decide it might be best to let the maggots eat my face, postmortem, until the neighbors complain about the smell.

Looking Back: The Men I Didn’t Date in 2013

Posted on January 2, 2014 by Belle of the Library

Today, my Facebook newsfeed, like many others’, is equally filled with photos of newly healthy meals and bitching because the gyms are crowded. I, myself, am a goal-oriented person. I set goals weekly, so it would just be poor characterization if I missed an opportunity to set them annually. This year, I’m keeping it simple with the following five:

1. Perform more service work. Dedicate a minimum of one day, per month, to helping someone else.
2. Attend church more consistently… and punctually.
3. Swear less… or more creatively, by cutting back on the more universally unacceptable words.
4. Lose twenty pounds… because it’s New Year’s and you have to choose a cliche.

and finally…

5. Put some actual and legitimate effort into dating.

Numbers 1, 2, and 4 have clear guidelines. They’re pretty attainable. Let’s face it though; in regards to number 3, “suck my dick” is a pretty universally unacceptable phrase, from a woman. It’s likelier that I’ll lose twenty pounds by next Tuesday than it is that I’ll suddenly be a Sesame Street extra. I do, however, tend to mix dorky Disney-worthy swears with the worst ones in my vocabulary.

Me: “Zetus lapetus! Fuck. Do you think it’s been long enough since Zenon: Girl of the Twenty-First Century for me to use that?”
Gail:

So, I’m half there. Which brings me to number 5.

2013 was a year of sporadic dating, vacillating between the two extremes of “I CAN FEEL MY EGGS ROTTING INSIDE OF ME!” to “My next wedding will take place ON A SNOW-COVERED MOUNTAINTOP IN HELL!”

Before I got my promotion to librarian, I really hadn’t been dating at all. Sure, I claimed to be putting in effort, but I just didn’t have the time, between finishing graduate school and rocking in a corner, chewing on my own hair. I went on a couple of dates, but that’s about it. So, this year, I’m going for consistency. For the past couple of months, I’ve really had no interest in meeting anyone, because the holidays are busy for losers who crochet their own Christmas presents; and every single guy who tells me Christmas Vacation is hilarious, is just plain wrong. I feel like, if I’d hit the dating scene with half the vigor I hit that bottle of bourbon on New Year’s Eve with Gail and Terry, I’d be madly in love in no time.

::drunkenly discussing Charlie Hunnam::
Terry: “He’s okay looking, I guess. He looks like…”
Me: “Like he fell from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? I know. I would give that man a rim job in front of my grandma. Admit it. You would totally go gay for him.”

Facebook status New Year’s Eve 2013:
Let’s get CRUNK! It stands for crocheting while drunk.

Note to self: don’t drink on any future dates.

In my defense, however, it’s not like the prospects have been great, lately. In fact, I’ll treat you to some of the guys I didn’t date this year.

Aerospace
I’ve briefly mentioned Aerospace in previous entries. He was 27, educated, enjoyed his big boy job, and never sent me a penis picture. He seemed promising through text message… for six weeks. After three, even I had decided it was time to be a little forward. I mean, I didn’t actually ask him to meet me, because I don’t posses my very own set of testicles, but I did ask what his normal time constraints were. When Aerospace said he usually talks to someone for about a month, before meeting, I decided to give it a bit longer. He regularly messaged first and encouraged conversation. He seemed interested. During week six, however, I was just tired of receiving news of how his day went, when I’d never even met him and he was showing no inclination to change that. If I’m not worth meeting, fine. Find someone who is, because I’m not looking for a fucking pen pal. I’m not your chat buddy, when there’s nothing on TV. Suck my big fat furry dick.

There goes number 3.

Clingy Catholic Engineer… because there was already a Catholic Engineer
If Jane were not an engineer, I would seriously be judging this entire profession. It seems every engineer I’ve dated is batshit. CCE was a year or so younger than I, and after having discussed that issue with Jane, I decided to give him a chance. We messaged for a couple of days online, before trading numbers. The next day, after quite a bit of text messaging, I didn’t respond after work, because I was working out. We’d been texting all day, and I’d messaged on my break, to tell him why I couldn’t talk, so I figured that was fair. The next morning, I woke up at seven o’clock to…

I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.

The voice of Gail sounded in my head and it was stronger than my fight or flight response, so I kept chatting with him. At one point, he asked me to send him pictures. I wasn’t sure what kind he meant, and I’m thinking that was the point, to allow for my own creativity. I told him there were current photos online and I wasn’t sending more, but I was a little creeped out by the vague request, coupled with his… enthusiasm. Then, the next evening I got home from work, after having traded a few messages…

CCE: You make it home okay?
Me: Yeah. I have a friend coming over. We’re going to hang out and watch Netflix.
CCE: Ah. Sounds fun.
CCE: You still want to talk, right?
Me: Sure. Just not right now, since I’m about to have company.
:: two hours later ::
CCE: Watching the game?
Me: Nope. Watching Netflix with a friend.
CCE: Oh. A marathon. Cool! Watcha watchin?

First, aside from the obvious issue of clinginess, who has someone over for less than two hours? That’s not a thing. Second, “Nope. Watching Netflix with a friend.” was a nice way of saying I was busy, he knew that, and he needed to leave me alone. That was his chance to feign forgetfulness and apologize. Still, I heard Gail telling me to give him a chance… until the next night.

CCE: You wanna watch the game and maybe have dinner tomorrow night?
– dude, you’re coming on strong right now and that’s several hours together, making it super awkward if I’m still not feeling it –
Me: I’m cool with meeting, but why don’t we do something low-key, like coffee?
CCE: Coffee Sunday sounds great!
– okay, he’s receptive to just coffee; good sign –
Me: How about Monday, since the weather is supposed to be bad on Sunday?
CCE: Sure. We can work out the details then.
– whew… I really was reading into things –
Me: I’m disappointed by the weather. I really don’t want to miss Mass again.
CCE: Oh! We could go to Mass together.

… aaaaand scene. I tried. I did. But the guy asked me to meet him at the chapel. Fine. I’m intentionally wording it dramatically, but we had only been chatting for a few days and he wanted to meet at church, after I’d told him dinner was too much? Dude, calm down, you are making women uncomfortable. I sent him a text telling him that he seemed to want something much more serious, much more quickly and that I wasn’t interested in meeting. Then I spammed his number. Later, I saw he’d responded, but didn’t read it past the “Okaaay. You said…” There was nothing to say. He made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t happening. A week later, I got a “Hey, how are you?” message in my inbox, like we’d never had the “thanks, but no thanks” conversation at all. Um… no.

Kinda Sorta Catholic
KSC and I had been messaging on and off for awhile. I don’t think either one of us saw the other as a real prospect, but we couldn’t pinpoint a reason to blow each other off. We’d each send an “Oh, sorry I didn’t get back to you… blah, blah, blah” type of message every 10 days or so and try to pick things up again, over the course of a couple of months. He had a real job and his profile said he was Catholic, so despite the mutual lack of interest, I decided to give him a chance when he gave me his number. Naturally, since his common religion was a main appeal, I brought it up.

KSC: I’m Catholic because my dad was. The topic of religion is a fun one for me, but I’m not sure where I stand. I think it’s really personal and those beliefs are private.

Um… well, for one, if you’re Catholic, because your dad is, you’re not really Catholic. Unless you go to Mass and receive Reconciliation and Communion and all that jazz, the Catholic Church does not consider you a practicing Catholic. That’s fine and all, but know where you stand. Two, if we’re talking about dating, I think it’s a fair question to ask what someone’s general beliefs are. I didn’t sick the Quizmaster on the guy. Finally, if this is a “fun” topic for you, why are you being such a little bitch about it?

The Quizmaster. My dated references are downright nostalgic.

We continued to chat, and KSC asked to meet at the cowboy bar the next night. Okay, I’ve told ya’ll stories about the cowboy bar. One involved Gaily nearly being dragged forcibly to the parking lot and the other involved damned near nudity on the Saturday before Halloween. This bar can be fun in the summer, with the right crowd and attitude, but it’s pretty sketchy. I told my dad that I’d let Woody Harrelson “stick it in my ear” and he laughed, but the man doesn’t want to hear stories about the cowboy bar. People get raped there.

Me: I really don’t like the cowboy bar.
KSC: 😦 Oh. Well, what do you like, then?
Me: It’s not even that I don’t like the cowboy bar, really, but that I just feel like it’s a really sketchy place for a first meeting.
KSC: Oh. Well, I see it differently, but that’s okay.
Me: I’m also a woman. I have to be more careful.

We made vague plans to meet for coffee and then neither of us ever talked to the other again. That’s fine by me. If Jesus gives you the heebie jeebies, but meeting a stranger at a place I recently described as “a little rapey” doesn’t, this is what I picture…

Just… ew.
I opened the new year with this gem, from a guy I messaged a few weeks ago, but who didn’t really return a lot of interest.

Ew: I’m gonna throw this out there and hope I don’t scare you off. Would you be interested in coming over to my place and having some fun? I guarantee you will have fun.
Me: If you’re “looking for a real relationship,” you should probably keep the hook-up pleas to a minimum.
Ew: I am looking for a real relationship. I still would like to have fun though. I’m not a bad dude I just figured I’d take a chance and ask you.

Um… no. You’re not looking for a real relationship if you’re comfortable with being seen as that guy who begs for sex online, because no one looking for a real relationship will respond. His profile opened with talk about wanting to settle down. If that’s how he puts up a white picket fence, I’ll pass.

Belle of the Library

… the musings of an overly organized thirty-something, married, southern librarian turned stay-at-home-mom with too many opinions, too much ambition, just enough kids, and a stubborn, mouthy, redheaded country boy to accompany her through life.

Category Archives: Dating

Five Things to Immediately Remove from Your Dating Profile

The Time I Didn’t Have Coffee with Plant Manager

Peter Pan and the Reason I Moved to 1954

I quit.

Three and a Half Men: Air Force

Three and a Half Men: One Half and Civil Engineer

Three and a Half Men: Engineer No. 94

Okay, Cupid, your aim sucks.

So, um… what’s the DOWNSIDE to dying alone?

Looking Back: The Men I Didn’t Date in 2013

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