Sick and Tired: The Worst Day to be Single

Posted on November 27, 2013 by Belle of the Library

There are a lot of things one could say about a 26-year-old professional who still sucks her thumb. “Emotionally broken” or “product of abuse” are probably the most fitting, in my case. One that’s hardly ever mentioned, however, is the bomb immune system that comes with the habit. Considering the fact that I will find a way to discreetly sanitize my hands after the “Peace Be With You” during Mass, it’s probably for the best that I’m subjected to germs through less common means, anyway. Otherwise… I would die. Mysterious ways, yo.

I use the term “discreetly,” quite loosely.

My point here, is that I rarely get sick. When I do, however, it’s always with something strong enough to break through the immune system of Achilles. About once a year, I get the opportunity to dramatically post Facebook status updates about how I am Patient Zero and everyone should say their goodbyes, because we are all going to die. I may even quote Hocus Pocus with “This is the end. I feel it. We are doomed. I feel the icy breath of death upon my neck… Goodbye. Goodbye cruel world. Goodbye to life.” It all depends on the amount of energy I have, since I spent about eight hours sleeping on my couch, yesterday. No really. I took breaks to sleep while writing this. You’re welcome.

This year, it all started with ice. You see, we don’t really get snow in my area.The weather app on my phone called it a “wintry mix,” but that just meant “lots of fucking ice.” So, I prepared. Niki came over Thursday night to marathon American Horror Story with me and we interrupted the ramblings of a group of broken souls to go get deicer. We each bought two cans and I figured I was set. That stuff works like magic. The company doesn’t specify, however, that it only does so if you put it in the car, as opposed to leaving it on the kitchen counter. Someone is going to be getting an angry letter.

So, on Friday, I left my substitute teaching job during my planning period, to get a salad for lunch. I ended up with a pack of Reese’s Bells, as well, but I’m a member of the Participation Trophy generation, so it still counts. When I got back to the school, the roads were still clear and dry. Five hours later?

Fine. I’m lying. It still, however, was far too much ice for my sad little scraper, which was proven when it snapped in half. I started the car and wondered how long it would take for the ice to melt as I regained feeling in my fingers. Then I saw the blood. I don’t even know what happened. My best guess is that the ice scraper cut my finger when it broke. I went inside, got some bandages, came out and took another try with the remaining pieces of the scraper. After a bit of struggling, I was rescued by a Big Strong Man. Suck my dick, modern extreme feminists. I take care of myself every day and I even tried in this instance, but I was thrilled to be the damsel as another teacher insisted I get in the car where it was warm, while he cleared my windows. I thanked him kindly and decided I’d go straight to the gym, because I knew I wouldn’t be getting out again, after I’d gone home. Besides, what could a little “wintry mix” do during my one hour workout?

It wasn’t actually as bad as it had been before, but I still didn’t have deicer. My scraper was still broken and the one I’d bought at The Dollar Tree was just sad. So, I decided to walk to Wal-Mart and grab another can of magic. This wasn’t gym clothes weather, folks. I walked uphill in freezing rain, wearing nothing but knee-length leggings, a t-shirt, and my Northface. Unsurprisingly, Wal-Mart was sold out of anything and everything intended for winter weather, so I trekked back to my car, this time downhill in ice, and decided on another method of dealing with this issue: avoidance. So, for the next twenty minutes, I continued texting Gaily about my latest online dating flop.

Me: I could work to fix this problem, or I could sit in the car with the heat on and eat Reese’s Bells.
Me: I am going to die alone. Right here. In my car.
Gail: Better to die alone with a Reese’s Bell than to die with Engineer whispering “I knew you’d like it” in hot breath on your neck.

Hey. At least this time I wasn’t overreacting. Even Gail thought he was clingy. EVEN GAIL.

Every man Gail has ever dated.

Finally, I realized that the ice was melting and I was free to get out of my car and scrape the windows with ease, regardless of my near-nudity.

… aaaaaand Monday morning.

There are a handful of worst times ever to be single, such as when a family member dies, when you’re stranded on the side of the road, and… when you’re sick. I have officially done all of these this year. Despite my humorous melodrama, I am not actually that high-maintenance of a patient. I don’t need someone to sing Soft Kitty to me or clean up my vomit. There is just something uniquely awful about being home alone, too exhausted to stand up and get a glass of water, and having no one there to give a shit. Furthermore, do you have any idea how difficult child safety bottles can be to open in quarantine? At one point, I could not hold my head up long enough to read a trashy romance novel I’d already read, and which therefore required no concentration, but someone had to go get medicine and run by the post office. It would have just been nice to have someone to do that and maybe even a load of dishes. It’s not a selfish wish, as I’d be more than happy to return the favor in a week when he contracted The Black Death. Soup for soup and all that. I’d just like someone with whom to trade that favor.

I suppose part of the problem was my idea to check out a bunch of movies from work, in preparation for being iced in all weekend. If you’re ever in the position to be ill and snowed in alone, do not watch Yours, Mine, and Ours and Pillow Talk.

giphy

I couldn’t have 10 kids if I wanted to, because I’m running out of time!!! I may never get to have ANY children, because I keep turning men down! He just wanted to know if he’d done something wrong when I hadn’t texted him for a few hours, even though I’d told him I had company. What’s the harm in that?!? What if I have pneumonia and it just gets worse and worse and I really DO die alone!?!?!

They’re right! The only thing worse than a woman living alone is one who insists she likes it! I couldn’t even meet a man that way, because there’s no such thing as a party line anymore! Why can’t they bring back party lines?!?

No, really. Skip the romantic comedies. The more rational part of my brain had to talk myself out of joining another paid online dating site out of distress. Believe me, that part was not particularly present as the delirium set in, either.

I’m just trying to remind myself that these are the good ol’ days. One day, I’ll be cleaning poop out of the carpet, while a two-year-old screams in my ear, longing for the days when I only had to deal with my own sickness. At one point, I woke up on the couch, in utter despair at the quiet. When I’m sick at 35, I’m pretty sure I’ll want a time machine to kick my own ass for that thought. In the meantime, I really do enjoy living alone most days. I’m aware that yarn bombing my living room and playing the soundtrack to The Great Gatsby on repeat are activities I’ll have to keep to a minimum when I live with a boy. I have no delusions that the hot pink and teal Christmas tree will be on display when I’m not the only one who has to look at it. These years will be missed and cherished. Now, to just get well and process that fully.

“So, do you still go out and meet people in person?”: The online dating stigma.

Posted on November 14, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Recently, at one of our daddy/daughter lunches, I made a confession…

Me: “Well, you’re not gonna like it, but I do mostly date online.”
Dad: “Hell, baby. Everybody dates online anymore.”

Even my 54-year-old father seems to accept that this is a legitimate effort to find a relationship. However…

Dad: “Well, we all go out line dancing all the time. It’s a lot of fun. You ought to come sometime. Your cousins meet us up there. Bret even goes with us.”

Look, daddy. I love you far too much to tell you the story about the douche bag I kissed at the cowboy club that one time… or that I ran into Step-Brother Bret the Saturday before Halloween, when I was dressed as a sexy cat… or that Gaily and I have a code word for when a guy is being creepy and it’s time to leave. I don’t need you to invite me out line dancing with the parentals and my cousins, because I am otherwise all alone Googling for a husband. I go out. I drink too much. I flirt with guys. I’ve got this shit. I also have never met a man that you’d want to meet, by going out, drinking too much, and flirting with guys. So, I’m dating online… because I’ve got this shit.

I understand that when online dating came about, it was filled with the same people who took out personal ads in the newspaper. Perhaps you’d meet a successful man, who just didn’t have the time or inclination to go out, but more than likely, you’d meet his 38-year-old brother, who works at the video store, plays D&D and lives with mom. I get that that’s what online dating was, but what people don’t seem to understand, is that nowadays, going to a bar is the equivalent of posting a hookup ad on Craigslist. I don’t date online, because I’m anti-social. I date online, because the last pickup line I got at a bar was “meow, kitty cat.” We have this expectation that dating online is somehow easier than putting yourself out there in person. In actuality, it’s usually just employed because people are looking for something more serious. Sure, I could meet a cute financial adviser who gives a presentation in my library… or I could not. I’m open to meeting someone in person. I’m just not going to waste great years counting on it. So, in the meantime, I’ll continue to date online, even though it takes some serious balls… and here’s why.

You have to learn a completely new way to communicate.
When you first start dating online, you see the word “student” and think:

Oh, he’s taking night classes and working full time.

Six months in, you think:

STUDENT IS NOT A PROFESSION!

Ward: What does BBW mean?
Me: Fat. Big Beautiful Woman. Usually the women who post it are morbidly obese, but still dress really nicely and put in effort. Don’t call it fat, but that’s what it means; so if you’re not into that, don’t message them.

There’s a ridiculous amount of subtext to online dating, because the idea is to present yourself in the best light possible. Essentially, you’re selling a product. Maybe that sentence doesn’t make you feel warm and fuzzy, so they don’t put it in the ads… but that doesn’t make it any less true. “BBW” comes off a lot better than “morbidly obese” and NSA (no strings attached) comes off a lot better than “down to fuck.” After a while, you realize that you also need to lose that little paragraph explaining your divorce or your daughter’s paternity, not because these things don’t need to be explained, but because there is a time and a place. Gradually, you even take out the superfluous demands about height and what kind of car he drives, leaving the things that really matter like religion and political affiliation. Then there is the landmine that is photographs.

There seem to be two photograph problems, which are primarily gender based, among online daters. First, there are the women who intentionally take pictures that look unlike them, because they’re more flattering. Then, there are the men who post older pictures of themselves, assuming they still look like that. Just last week, an old coworker messaged me on Facebook, begging me for help with his online dating profile. He’s 21, absolutely adorable, driven, and funny, so I was surprised when he said he never got any responses. Then I looked him up.

Me: Your headline sucks. You clearly have a defeated, last resort, attitude about online dating. You need a more current picture and more than one.
Jack: I don’t have any current pictures.
Me: Then get cute and take a selfie with the dog. Bitches love dogs. Seriously, you’re like 11 in that picture.
Jack: That was last year!
Me: I don’t care. You don’t look like that anymore. Also, only one picture says “You can’t see the birth mark from this angle.”

If your defense is that you “still look like that”, then fine. It won’t be a hardship to take a more current photo… or several. That’s the key. They must be current and plentiful. They must not be doctored or taken in a fun house mirror at a weird angle. If you can manage that, you’re probably good. But these things take time to learn. I’d love to get my hands on my first online dating profile, because I’m sure it was hilarious. Only after some real experience dating online, does it occur to you that no one is reading all of that; your profile is filled with cliches; your humor is being misread; you’re coming off negatively; you shouldn’t respond to every single person who messages you, because it implies interest. The list goes on. If you don’t have a trusty friend to assist you, you’re left to learn from blogs or online articles, often written by people trying to sell you something.

It’s confusing and frustrating to navigate the waters of both creating and reading online profiles, just like it was confusing ten years ago to gauge whether or not the man at the bar was winking at you or the hot chick behind you. It’s not easier. It’s different.

You really don’t know what you’re getting.
Fortunately, I’ve only had one instance where I had to do a double take when the guy walked through the door. I’ve been lucky enough, that I can honestly say everyone I’ve met online has been (more or less) exactly who they say they are. Yes, there was the guy who said he was getting his degree in business, but happened to be in his first year at community college. He looked like his picture, though. He worked the full time job he claimed to work. It was fine. But as with the aforementioned subtext, you just don’t know if you’re reading into things properly.

When he says he’s “family oriented”, does that mean he wants five kids, he’s close with his brothers, or that he’s a mama’s boy? He’s posted seven pictures, but which one does he actually look like? Is there a reason he doesn’t smile in his photos? How religious is “religious?” Does the fact that he likes to be fit mean he won’t eat cake with me? Why does he want to wait so long to meet? Why hasn’t he asked to text message yet?

Sure, there’s some definite advantage to knowing if someone is divorced, has a kid, considers themselves liberal, or what-have-you; but just like if you were told those things in a bar, you don’t know why they’re divorced, what their parenting style is like, or which political stances are most important to them. We online daters haven’t taken the guess work out of all dating. We’re not ordering Chinese food. These are still incredibly complex individuals with their own interpretation, their own way of doing things, and their own relationship goals. This doesn’t even touch the possibility of someone lying about all of those things.

This is a solo gig.
Oh, my gosh. Do you remember that episode where everyone went out and flirted in groups? What was that show. again? Oh, yeah. It was everything.

Even five years ago, people usually met their significant others by mingling in groups. Today, even if you have a girls’ night, it’s gotten to the point where anyone who wants anything real is too hesitant to actually approach, because you are in a bar. The men I’ve talked to about this have even told me that they feel uncomfortable hitting on a woman in such a setting, because she’s out with her friends. Does she really want to be bothered by some guy making a pass at her? The same, apparently, goes for any other setting. She’s clearly at the library to study. Maybe he should leave her be. She’s working out. She’s in her zone. Best not to bother her. Men are afraid to be assertive, because they’re used to having all of the facts beforehand, via Facebook or Twitter or even Plenty of Fish, so these dating scenes really don’t exist anymore. That leaves us single folks alone to wander.

Unlike with the sitcom group at the bar/party/park/coffee shop, with online dating, you’re on your own. Sure, you can do it in teams and share the bad profiles with a pal. You can be catty about the fact that this guy called himself “about average” or rant about the number of men in their forties messaging you, but when you walk into that coffee shop, to meet a total stranger, you have no wingman. You have no one to keep you company if you get stood up or things don’t go well. Again, picture the traditional dating scene of going out to a bar or club, only this time, it’s just you. How dare you tell me I’m anti-social for dating online? Do you have any idea what kind of social balls it takes to walk up to a man anywhere and ask if he’s the guy from Plenty of Fish? How about how embarrassing it is to go into a pub and announce that you’re there for the Match.com event? That’s about as far from sitting in your mom’s basement, enjoying an AOL Instant Message chat, as you can get.

There’s still a stigma.
There are 54 million single people in this country. Of those, 40 million have tried online dating.* That is 74%! Match.com, however, uses different figures and claims about 40%. Either way, it’s an enormous section of society. I have actually never come across a single woman, my age, who hasn’t tried at least one dating site. Maybe she didn’t love it or take it too seriously, but the attempt did happen. So, why, when 74% of available people are doing this, is my blog the only place I meet individuals who are comfortable with their status as an online dater? Wouldn’t it be more embarrassing to be the person lamenting over their singlehood, while doing nothing to change it? Wouldn’t it be more embarrassing to go trolling for dick in a club every weekend? Wouldn’t it be more embarrassing to be alone forever?

My cousin Delia: “Yeah. I know a ton of people who’ve met online. So, do you still go out and meet people in person?”

Apparently, the answer to those questions is no.

http://www.statisticbrain.com/online-dating-statistics/

Life Lessons from a Chick Flick

Posted on November 11, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I am not a fan of chick flicks. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good romance, but I usually take it in book form. For one, I’m a librarian and can easily find ones with an engaging plot; but mostly, I can add my own tone and cadence to the lines, so they don’t come off quite so cheesy. Not to mention, in my head, every single male lead is played by one of three actors:

I’d pterodactyl that trio.

1. pterodactyl
When a woman performs oral sex on a man in front of her, while at the same time is giving hand jobs to men on her right and left. The resulting motion looks like she is attempting to fly. (Much like a pterodactyl.)

Too far? I went too far, didn’t I? Who let me on Urban Dictionary?!?! Also, is this the correct verb usage?

Regardless of my distaste for the over-the-top romantic gestures of most RomComs, there are one or two that truly resonate with me. Sweet Home Alabama tells the story of a woman balancing her Down Home Girl roots with her City Girl career. I can totally relate. No Strings Attached emphasizes the importance of friendship in romantic relationships, while also acknowledging that you can’t tongue a pal’s genitals without developing feelings for them (the pal, not the genitals… though those too, I suppose). Bridget Jones Diary acknowledges that sometimes, no matter how bad we claim to want something, we’re just too fucking lazy to make good decisions. 500 Days of Summer has me screaming “BITCH! HOW COULD YOU TURN DOWN JOSEPH GORDON-LEVITT!?!?! YOU REALLY THINK YOU’LL FIND SOMEONE BETTER?!?!” Hmm… I may have veered a bit on the last two. I should probably end the list now. You get my point, though. Aside from the love stories that are not about love – The Vow? Really? They hate each other and cry and then go on a date?!?!?! FUCK YOU, HOLLYWOOD! I WANT MY $7 BACK!

…

Ahem…

…

Despite all of the bad love stories, there is one that actually strikes a personal cord with me: My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It’s not just my huge, loud, gossipy, overly-concerned family that allows me to relate to this cute, but somewhat forgettable title. It’s that I, too, went through a “phase” through the first 23 years of my life. I was also “frump girl” before a YouTube video and a Gail taught me to apply eyeliner. Many days, I feel like Toula in the last half of this movie. So, while Carl and Ellie take the cake, here are the many lessons present in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, making it one of the best love stories of all time.

It’s never too late to start your life… and you’re the only one who can do so.
So take a class, get a better job, put on some makeup, and do whatever else you have to do to make yourself happy.

Not all men want skinny blondes.
If you can’t change it, work it.

There is no “standard” for beauty, but you do have to try… and that’s okay.
Nearly ever other woman is also wearing contacts and waxes her lip.

Adult strangers are rarely as mean as they were in middle school.
So smile. Introduce yourself. Sit down. Chat.

Your family is yours and you are theirs, but their claim on you does not extend to your life decisions.
So date the white guy, the republican, the atheist, or what have you. If you’re okay with it and they treat you well, hopefully the family will get on board.

Regardless, some battles just aren’t worth fighting. An ugly dress never killed anyone.
Nor did an embarrassing comment or bad first impression. Laugh. It’s fine.

Most families are nosy, pushy, and embarrassing. It means they love you.
If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t pry. Thank them.

Relationships don’t have to be dramatic. You can just be nice to each other.
Fights move a plot along, but they end an actual relationship.

Third date sex is not the norm.
If he likes you, he’ll wait.

The people who are already in your life love you and think you’re worth their time. It’s not a stretch to think someone of the opposite sex will, too.
Chin up. People like you.

A wedding is just a party. There’s no reason to hurt anyone’s feelings over a party.
The worst wedding day is the best blog post.

You should hide a relationship until it’s serious enough to justify the hassle of introducing them to your ridiculously large and in-your-business family.
I may have misinterpreted that.

Life Without Soulmates

Posted on November 8, 2013 by Belle of the Library

The Saturday before Halloween, I had a night out with a high school friend and some of her pals. The initial plan was to go to the downtown parade, but we ended up at the cowboy club instead. Halloween at the cowboy club was not my intention. Ladies, just so you know, when you take those angel wings off, you’re just wearing sequined panties and heels on the dance floor. That’s not a costume. And Gentlemen, the half-assed cat ears I threw on with a homemade “Salem Saberhagen” collar do not suddenly morph “meow” into a sexy come-on. Sigh. I will never be a party girl. So, after said exhausting evening, I looked forward to chilling in my T-shirt and leggings with Ava and her mother, on Halloween night; where we gossiped about boys, while horror movies played in the background.

… and now, I’d like to introduce Ava and Trent.

Everyone has those friends who’ve been together since they were teenagers and have only really dated each other. We love them, because they’re so very happy and that’s awesome. We also hate them, because even if we found a wonderful partner tomorrow, we’d never share that level of history. Bitches.

My senior year of high school, I shared one class with Ava, as she was a year younger. When she told me there was a job opening at Walgreen’s, where she worked, I applied and accepted the position; and we worked together for the next year. Ava is that girl that I’m always surprised is still in my life. It’s not that she’s not wonderful. Quite the contrary, Ava is such a genuinely sweet person that she has trouble making friends, because they’re all waiting for the catch. I’ve known her for eight years, though. This kitten just has no claws.

Ava

It would be sort of difficult to be a nasty person when your family performed in community theater together. They really are a nauseatingly and adorably functional group. That’s actually part of the reason I’m surprised we’re still close. I’m sort of a bitch. I’m not cruel to my friends or anything. In fact, my loyalty is damned near impossible to match. I just have an abrasive sense of humor and women are rarely receptive to it. For instance, one day in high school, Ava had a rare catty moment, when a girl she didn’t like was mentioned in conversation. She went on and on about how fake and grating this person was, including doing an impersonation. It was dead-on, too, because the girl in question truly was irritatingly false. Only when she finished her rant, did I bother to catch my breath from laughing, to inform Ava that the girl’s boyfriend was sitting right next to her. She was mortified. It was fantastic.

Regardless of our differences in personality and background, we just mesh. I get along great with Trent, as well, having known him in middle school during his chubby, talkative phase. Today, he’s the one who will assist me in prank texting Ava’s mom that they’re expecting twins. He’s a good guy and, most importantly, he’s good to Ava and she’s good to him. I was at their wedding. I celebrated Ava’s last birthday with them. They’re good people and they are as genuinely happy as Ava’s adorable parents. That having been said, it was shocking to hear Ava’s take on soulmates. She doesn’t believe in them.

You see, all around the world, single men and women are looking for “the one.” I suppose this is pretty strictly the developed First World, as everyone else is looking for a meal or less cholera, but you get my point.

I know she dropped her glass slipper somewhere in here.

Though Ava is an endlessly practical person, I sort of expected her religious background and her experience with Trent and her parent’s relationship to put her firmly on the side of “we were destined”, when it came to the soulmates discussion. I, however, was entirely wrong and her insight was fascinating. Hopped up on candy and sleep deprivation, Ava and I discussed exactly why we don’t believe in soulmates and what the implications for their make-believe status means for relationships.

I really can’t speak for Ava’s lack of conviction in the soulmates smokescreen. I can only assume that she doesn’t believe, because she’s a friggin’ Chemist. Her entire career is rooted in science and practicality. Ain’t no room for unicorns and pixie dust. I am just not a romantic. At all. My lack of belief, is almost always worded the same way:

“Everyone believes in soulmates, until they’re crying in the judge’s office.”

Please. Let me speak at your wedding.

This conversation really got me thinking, though. What does it mean for us, to live in a world without soulmates?

We are not the only influence in this person’s life.

Throughout our lives, we’re growing and developing. Just as I am not the 16-year-old Belle who wore overalls every day of high school, neither will I always be the 26-year-old Belle who watches three episodes of Bewitched and dramatically texts Jane about how she’s going to die alone. Even after I remarry, making (ideally) a lifelong commitment, who I am as a person will shift over time. I, literally, will no longer be the woman my husband married after 25 years. The same will be true for him… and that’s okay. People should grow. We should move forward. Life is fluid.

Scientists say that personality is 50% hereditary and I agree with that. I am just as willful, at 26, as I was at 6 and 16. My opinions, my passions, my belief systems, however, have been shaped by the people and world around me. Yes, I have a mind of my own, but we are all a product of our environment. My marriage to a man, who once tried to blackmail me into getting on food stamps for him, developed many of my political stances on social services. The excruciating experience of losing my baby without any pain medication, at nearly my second trimester, helped form my opinions on socialized healthcare, as I was on state aid at the time. Watching Gail sleep at her dying infant’s side and gazing at a tiny pink casket days later, cemented my faith in Christ. Working with the public has shaped my thoughts on how we treat our elderly in this country. A thousand experiences and dozens of people are creating Belle and the addition of a romantic relationship will not change that.

Sure, when I do find someone, I’ll have an additional voice and more love and care urging me in one direction or another, but I’ll still have Jane, Gail, my Gramma, my dad, my faith, my work experiences, and the media I consume shaping who I am. Similarly, he’ll still have his brothers, his uncles, his mother, and his career moving him on his path. It will take constant effort to make sure those paths regularly intersect, to avoid veering in completely different directions… because we won’t be soulmates. We’ll be two people who found someone, fell in love, and decided to make it work. As a religious gal, I believe there is the magic of Christ in any spiritual union, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need cultivating. That doesn’t mean it can’t become withered and trampled if two people let it.

So, we have to work harder, emotionally;

You come home from work and trip over his boots in the entryway and snap at him to clean up after himself. You head into the kitchen and see that he did not take the trash out, as he said he would, and now the trucks have already run and you’ll have to wait another week. You sarcastically thank him for his contribution. He sees the shopping bags you carried in and comments on how strange it is that you couldn’t afford his fishing license, but apparently had the disposable income for new shoes. The two of you argue over who will fix dinner and spend the night taking care of your own chores or melting into your own media and don’t bother to connect at all, before turning in for the night.

Everyone has bad days. They do. If you’re not destined to be together, however; if there’s no fairytale pull over you, enough of those bad days and your relationship begins to degrade and morph into something less beautiful. You can’t make catty remarks about his belly, nor can he ask if you’re too old to be wearing that, without consequences. His confidence takes a hit. Yours takes a hit. Neither of you feels safe and protected from criticism after years of wearing each other down.

Then, one day, you find another of the millions of people with whom you’re also compatible. Only, this person doesn’t think your sudden passion for Going Green is stupid. He doesn’t think there’s an age limit on hot pink. Unlike his wife, you don’t think his receding hairline should be covered. You both even like Indie movies and Thai food. Though you still love your husband, this man makes you feel better about yourself than your spouse has in years. Pretty soon, your heart is being pulled in two different directions, because you let your bond wilt… and he wasn’t your soulmate. He was just someone to whom you chose to make a commitment. He’s just the man who held your hand, while you brought your babies into the world. He’s just another person with whom you could’ve developed effective communication skills while you built and cherished a life together. Only you didn’t cherish it, because you thought destiny would take care of that.

… and we also have to work harder, physically.

A few years ago, I was talking to my aunts and cousins, at Christmas. I declared that I felt like a person (not a woman, specifically) owes it to their spouse to remain within a certain weight range in relation to what they were when they married. My cousin was horrified and declared that NO, you should love your spouse unconditionally, no matter what they look like. I didn’t say 70 pounds is a valid reason to stop loving someone. It just might, however, be reason enough not to want to see them naked, any longer. I’m not advocating a return to the days where Fred makes jokes about the size of Ethel’s girdle in public. Despite what anyone tells you, however, physical attraction is an important part of a relationship. I understand that a woman’s bones shift during childbirth. Weight displaces and we all earn our battle scars, otherwise known as stretchmarks. Just as he’ll put weight on in the middle, my breasts will dip with each child. That’s fine. Wear your age proudly. I said proudly, though. He shouldn’t wear those pajama pants in Wal-Mart and neither should you, if it’s not something you did when you initially became attracted to one another. Put on some make-up, buy a flattering blouse, and actually try, every now and then, whether you’re 28 or 48. Hopefully he’ll throw on a button-up and some nice jeans, once in awhile, too.

In regards to weight? I don’t know why this should be the exception to keeping the attraction alive. Maybe it’s because we’re in an obesity epidemic and damn near everyone has put on a good 50 pounds since the wedding day. Fifty pounds on my 5’5′ frame, though, completely changes the way I look. I know. I once weighed 260. Furthermore, when I was so overweight, there were many things I couldn’t do, from sexual positions to taking the stairs. Unlike wearing those pajama pants in public, weight affects both physical attraction and quality of life. I think it’s fair to set some limits. I’m not saying it’s good enough reason to leave your marriage, but it is one of those things that adds up over time. When coupled with a tendency to bitch at her, constantly complain about money, and never wanting to leave the house, that 80 pounds and those pajama bottoms can really kill the spark. The same goes for that 60 pounds and oversized t-shirt.

… because love is conditional.

Seriously, Disney won’t even let me in the park, after typing that. I am not talking about the love I have for my dog, my Gramma, my daddy, or my Gail, here. That’s a different discussion. What I’m talking about is the idea being sold to me by Nicholas Sparks, that there is nothing I can do to make a man who loves me turn away from me, and vice versa. Don’t get me wrong. It works beautifully in a country song, but it’s just not a reasonable expectation.

Me: “What if she sleeps with your bother?”
Jay: “I would never marry someone who would do that.”
Me: “That’s not what I asked. What if she does?”
Jay: “She wouldn’t…. and he wouldn’t.”
Me: “Which proves my point. If you’re not even willing to consider the possibility that someone could tear you apart like that, then clearly, it’d be a deal breaker.”

No seriously. Let me speak at your wedding.

The idea of a one for us, or a soulmate, is actually super appealing. They’re huge in paranormal romance. In fact, many of those characters have nothing in common and often start out hating each other, and no one cares, because they must love each other. It’s a biological law. I, however, am not half Greek princess and fortunate enough to stumble upon a super hot descendant of Heracles, who has been cursed by the Goddess Hera.

I could probably make this shit up if I tried. There’s just no need.

There is no magic that says a man is compelled to love me. Just as my love for my ex-husband withered and died with every item he stole from me, every job he fabricated, I understand that I can, absolutely, turn my next significant other away from me with similar acts. This ain’t a fairytale. If we don’t treat each other well, there are other people who will. If we don’t put in a genuine effort to communicate, there are are other people who might. If we don’t try to appeal to each other sexually, there’s an entire friggin’ industry dedicated to filling that gap. Just as we can’t take our friendships for granted and expect them to thrive, we can’t treat our romantic relationships as a given. Whatever magical or Godly aspect there may be in a marital bond, we still have to care for it, because that is life without soulmates.

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Me: “All I want is someone who’s nice to me and likes his job. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
Gail: “That is not all you want.”
Me: “Yeah, it is.”
Gail: “Fine. I challenge you to go home and message every single person who fits the description you just gave me.”
Me: “Fine. I will… as long as you give me the chance to revise that list.”

In my last two posts, I addressed the (often ridiculous) demands of women on online dating sites. More often than not, my issue was with presentation, rather than intent. For example, at my last-ever-on-Earth Match event, one of the friendly gals who invited me to sit with her made the statement “… but I have really high standards.” My concern was not with said standards, so much as the wording. What are high standards? Are you looking for someone tall, broad, and wealthy to boss you around in the bedroom and bend to your will in daily life? Do you want a man who will not only change the oil and mow the lawn, because those are Boy Chores, but also do the dishes and make sure the vacuum lines are even, because of Equality Yo?

Honestly, when I hear the words “high standards” from a woman, the above is what I conclude, because this is such a blanket term. This is no double standard on my part, either. I read the words “I know what I’m looking for” on a man’s profile and nastily think “… certainly not a girl who knows not to end a sentence in a preposition.” It rubs people the wrong way when you give the impression that you have a clear test or checklist and if they don’t pass with satisfactory results, you’re not interested. That may not be what you intended, but until you meet, online dating is 100% about presentation. It’s important to remember that anyone who does not fit any clearly stated requirements probably won’t bother to contact you. So, if you’re going to list absolute deal breakers for the dating world, then you need to make damn sure that they are, indeed, absolute deal breakers.

This week, I’ve decided I’m serious about dating. Maybe this is because Aerospace has not yet sent me a picture of his tinkle. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading too many Red Pill blogs. Maybe it’s because I’ve been on another paranormal romance kick. I don’t know. Next week, I’m sure I’ll decide that I want to stay single forever, eat Fruit Loops and sweet potato fries for dinner, and buy a lot of boots. For now, however, I’ve decided that Gail has a point. I’m actually trying… but for me that still entails never dating anyone with whom I cannot see any future. So, here are my absolute deal breakers.

Appearance

I like to fancy myself someone who puts more stock in career focus and lifestyle than appearance, but I’d also like to fancy myself as having the body of a porn star with wings.

Google that. I dare you.

I have to be attracted to someone. It doesn’t have to be a swooning moment from the get-go, but it has to be possible. Physically, however, men, are horrible at representing themselves online. They’re either topless in the bathroom mirror or they have no idea how bad that lighting/angle/ex-girlfriend/blow-up doll in the picture makes them look. I try to keep that in mind. I’ve even regretted doing so, such as when I went out with Gollum from The Lord of the Rings… three times.

Seriously, guys, lose the fucking hat. It completely changes the way you look.

So what are my requirements from someone’s appearance? Well, for starters, I’m short. I am a whopping 5’5.5″ tall and I just want someone taller than I am, if I’m wearing heels. Assuming he’s not barefoot in this scenario, that means 5’7″-5’8″ and that’s not very tall. I just don’t think I could be attracted to man shorter than I am, because that’s really short. Do I prefer 6’4″? Why, yes. Yes, I do want to be a dainty little lady, but I also want to be…

We’ve talked about this.

After height comes weight. This is where I’ve noticed men, in particular, suffer from the most unreasonable expectations. They want “slender” or “athletic and toned” regardless of the fact that hauling around all of their weight does not, in fact, make them “athletic.” You cannot ask for something that you do not offer. Furthermore, if you think it’s possible to be attracted to someone a little further to the chunky side of average, regardless of your own standing, make sure your profile reflects that by either not mentioning weight, such as on Plenty of Fish or selecting “curvy” or “a little extra” on Match. I’ve said it before: after reading a man’s “No Fat Chicks” paragraph, I don’t want him to see me in a parka, let alone naked. However, my ex-husband was morbidly obese. I’m not talking about size 3XL shirts. I’m talking about 6XLT. When we met, he was closer to the former, but by the time we divorced, the man could not sit in your average booth, ride a roller coaster, or walk up some stairs. He was 23. Now, I was no pixie in those days either. I was a big gal, particularly for my aforementioned height, topping out at 260. I have no idea how whales have sex, because I’ve tried it and those parts don’t fit together particularly well when both people are 100+ pounds overweight. Because of our weight, all fun things ever were off limits and it sucked. I mean, the guy was a soulless prick, too, but had he not been, the weight would’ve still been a problem

So, for me, a man needs to be, at most, overweight. I, myself, weigh 174 pounds, today. I can tell a man’s weight from a picture, though, so I don’t include any kind of description in my profile. Honestly, I really don’t mind a little bit of a belly. I can even be attracted to it, though I’m sure you’re not allowed to tell a guy that. I’d just like someone active, so if he’s a little chubby, but doesn’t mind walking around the zoo all day, we’re good. If we can try more than the three sexual positions I’ve ever experienced, we’re golden, Ponyboy. My celebrity crush is Seth Rogan. I’m talking from his Knocked Up days. I don’t need the man off the cover of my romance novels. In reality, the wings would get in the way, regardless of who’s wearing them.

No joke… I have read this book.

Education

This one is a touchy subject. First off, I’d like to clarify that Gaily does not match my level of formal education and she’s the person with whom I’m closest on Earth. She’s far from unintelligent and I’ll admit she dwarfs my knowledge on politics, finance, and how to disappoint your family by wearing the pants in a relationship.

Oh, come on, Gail. I can’t praise you without insulting you. That would be far too emotional. Don’t be obscene.

She’s huge on self-education, to the point that it makes her an exhausting best friend some days. Additionally, Niki drives a school bus for a living and not once have I thought our conversation would be more enlightened if she had a greater level of education. That being said, I’m never marrying either of them. I value formal education, in part, because our society values it. I’m actually horrified by the level of education required by many careers, but it is a fact of life and after a marriage to a man who would not work, I just can’t do it. I can’t attach myself to someone I feel does not have a secure career and education helps provide said security. In the Midwest, many, many men who date online, work on oil rigs. They bring in more money now than I ever will. What happens next, though? Oil work is notorious for coming and going and most of these men are lucky to have an associate’s degree. What happens when he’s out of work and everyone requires a bachelor’s degree? I’ve been there. I didn’t want the fucking t-shirt. Just no.

It’s not just job security. There was also that date with the guy who was clearly threatened by the fact that I was getting a master’s degree. He had a bachelor’s degree, in a field about which I know nothing. I don’t even know what an engineer does. The reason I have my master’s degree, is because librarians have to have a master’s degree. When I enrolled in the MLIS program, there was no regard for status or bragging rights. I just wanted to be a librarian and that doesn’t happen without a shit ton of student loans. Them’s the rules. The end. Choosing someone with a bachelor’s degree, preferably in a field far from information studies, so we’ll never feel as though we are in competition, will help me avoid another awkward moment where a guy mocks my fucking master’s degree. It also increases the likelihood that we’ll be an intellectual match and educational gap is a factor in divorce statistics.

Career

He’s got to enjoy it. I don’t want to have to worry about a “change in plans” just after I announce my second pregnancy. I don’t want to have the conversation where I declare that no, it is not worth it for him to take this time to figure out what he enjoys doing, because he’s committed himself to a family. I will never again be the woman begging a man to fucking do something to contribute to his home life. No. Not happening. He must have his career chosen and intend on keeping that path for the forseeable future. When we’re in our 50s and he decides he wants to open a specialty store selling handmade classic television show figurines, what-the-fuck-ever. At least the mortgage will be paid and the kids gone.

Religion

Growing up Catholic in the Midwest sucks balls. My freshman year, I was taken aside and asked to stop telling people that we sacrifice lambs on the alter at Mass. I was so sick of correcting the misconceptions that I thought it would be funnier to encourage them. It’s sort of like that time I accidentally spread the rumor that I gave myself an abortion so that people would stop asking why I’d been out of school so long after my breast reduction. Oops.

I don’t expect to find a Catholic man. Sure, it would be glorious not to explain Advent, because then I’d have to Google Advent. It would be nice to avoid the “birth control is a sin” discussion and just have it be understood that we’re getting married in the church where my grandpa’s funeral was held. All of that would be terrific, but of the 11 Catholic men I actually know, only one is single and he’s gay. I actually bought a subscription to Catholicmatch.com and I’m thrilled that it supports the archdiocese, because it is entirely useless in this part of the country.

The thing is, Catholicism isn’t that different from most Protestant religions. There are a couple of theological issues that really aren’t up for debate, but the big picture about Jesus and Mary and the cross and such… that’s all the same. I’m cool with that. If he can believe the big picture, we don’t have to discuss the details. That big picture, however, is far too big to ignore. Not only do we worship Jesus in my house, we don’t giggle at people who worship Jesus in my house. I’m not even going to try that relationship, because I know it will end in tears.

Politics

I sometimes wonder if this would be on my list if I worked in a less liberal field. I hear so many extreme political views in a day that, I swear, it’s actually pushed me further right. I would consider myself Libertarian more than anything, but libraries are tax funded and staffed by Democrats who want to help people. We got degrees to help people and regardless of political affiliation, we all mean well. I just disagree that a lot of their ideas are practical. On rare ocassion, I disagree that their opinions aren’t supernaturally stupid. For example, I once told a pretty conservative coworker that I thought it would be a good idea to itemize food stamps, as WIC checks are done. Her rebuttal was that “you can’t tell people how to spend their money.” I did not respond.

It’s not their money!!!!! It’s taxpayer money and it shouldn’t be spent on fucking chips and soda!!!!! I even know many, many far left individuals who agree with me. It was infuriating.

I don’t want to get into a political debate with you, because I don’t fucking care. You won’t change my mind. I won’t change yours. So, instead, let’s just look at a picture of a puppy to calm our nerves.

It’s just so wittle!

Better? Good. I am not printing out said picture of a puppy and holding it up every time my beau and I disagree on fundamental political values. I understand that we won’t agree on everything, but the core points have to line up. Part of the reason is because political values tie in so closely with religious values and we’ve already talked about that. If we don’t agree on abortion, what happens when I get pregnant after three months and his solution is vastly different than mine? If we can’t see eye-to-eye on gun control and he’s uncomfortable with the fact that I sleep with my Smith and Wesson 681 revolver, what happens when I tell him to suck my big fat furry dick? Sure, I may be willing to put the gun away, since it’s only in my bed because my ex-husband broke me, but I’m not fucking selling it. I named it, for crying out loud. I can’t even imagine being in a relationship with someone who’s opinions on Obamacare and the shutdown are polar opposites, regardless of what I believe. I don’t like to fight. I also don’t like to debate over core political values that reflect core religious values, when no one is going to change their mind. I spent such a large portion of my first marriage fighting, in general, that I now shut down when conflict arises. I stop talking and figure we can agree to disagree, especially if it’s about politics. I can’t do that with an entire relationship and maintain it. No one can.

So, there you have it. I’ve narrowed it down to five absolute deal breakers. I am, of course, not including obvious factors, such as a racist comment in a profile or a confession of crippling loneliness during message three. I focused on the things people get hung up on and I’ve set some reasonable guidelines. Jane will tell me I forgot age, because I recently told her I wouldn’t date anyone younger than I am, but I’ve come around. If I can find a guy in the same place in life that I am, at 25, I’ll give him a shot. The important thing is, I’ve barred the collectible model airplanes, the love of Seinfeld, baldness, or affinity for tabletop board games from this list. That’s only fair since I wouldn’t want a guy to list things like no thumb sucking, singing to the dog, or wearing wings during sex, amiright?

The Last Match Event… Ever

Posted on October 10, 2013 by Belle of the Library

The romance novels told me that it would happen like this:

I’m walking through the woods one day, when suddenly, I’m surrounded by a pack of feral wolves, growling and foaming at the mouth. Out of nowhere, the large, proud alpha appears and his pack stands down. I stumble and fall as I take a step back, and look up to see, not a wolf, but a beautiful naked man in his place.

You really don’t want me to continue. I’d be a horrible erotic romance writer.

Me: “Why do you still have his number? He was a such a dick.”
Gail: “I don’t know. I just never deleted it.”
Me: “We should text him something wildly inappropriate, like… ‘Hey there… copper. Why don’t you haul that big… penis on over here and… put it in my mouth… big boy?’ Wait. I used the word ‘big’ twice. That’s kind of redundant.”

Gail

Alas, Disney lied. More accurately, all media ever lied, along with every single person who’s ever said ‘It’ll happen when you least expect it” or “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.” That works so well with every other aspect of our lives, like our education, careers, and friendships, right? Success takes effort and dating is no different. So, I went to another Match event.

I cannot stress the balls it takes to go to these stupid things. Y’all, I am a pretend extrovert, because my job requires it. Despite my energy and humor in any social setting, unless I’m with a small group of friends or family, I can pretty much promise you that I would much rather be at home reading… in a blanket fort.

The original plan was to go to the Match event with a friend from high school, who’s kept in touch via Facebook and has also been navigating the harrowing waters of online dating. When that didn’t happen, I decided I’d still go, since I’d gone to another Match event alone and the world didn’t crumble around me. The problem is, I had been looking forward to having a gal pal with me and was having trouble readjusting the plans in my mind for a solo event. I was dreading it. I couldn’t decide whether or not I even wanted to go and wavered all day long. When it was time to leave, all of my clothing turned to ash and I had nothing to wear. When I finally chose an outfit, it ripped as I put it on. Though I was tempted to give up and get out the chairs and linens, I made the repairs and forced myself out the door.

The event was held at a Spanish grill downtown, which I had trouble finding at first. I decided to go to the nearby outdoor supply superstore to use the restroom and fix my makeup before giving the search a second go. I spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom, trying to come up with an excuse to just browse the guns and go home. Finally I promised myself that, if I was that unhappy after 10 minutes, I’d just leave.

On the way, I tried to figure out why I was so miserable over the idea of going to a bar, when I feel nothing close when meeting someone. I realized that, when you go on a date with someone you’ve met online, you’re only making yourself vulnerable to one person. At a Match event, you’re vulnerable to about 50 people. Not to mention, on a date, you know exactly with whom you’re supposed to be socializing. There is no guess work. Quite the opposite, at this Match event, I sat alone and worked up the nerve to talk to the girls behind me, reminding myself (with the help of Jane by text) that this was not the first day of sixth grade at lunch time. When I introduced myself and was invited to sit with them, I figured if the worst case scenario was engaging in some meaningless girl talk, I’d be okay.

One woman was 24, energetic and friendly, but something she said did rub me the wrong way.

24: “My man’s gotta love Jesus. I mean love Jesus. I don’t like hypocrites, either. You’ve gotta practice what you preach.”

… then…

24: “We met on Christian Cafe.”
Me: “Is that free?”
24: “It is for a little while and then you have to pay. I just kept using new e-mail addresses, though.”

Wait. He’s gotta be a Christian who practices what he preaches, but you’re stealing online Christian dating? I wouldn’t normally nitpick the misuse of a free trial. To each their own. These statements were back to back, though. I told Gail this story at breakfast, wondering if I was being unfair.

She didn’t think so.

Her friend was 26 and we agreed that, although we’re not really in a hurry right now, we probably will be in four years. Still…

Me: “So, how long have you been on Match?”
26: “Two years.”
Me: “Any luck?”
26: “None. But I have really high standards.”

What exactly does “high standards” mean? Do you mean you’re looking for someone who works in education, so he’ll understand your career concerns? Do you really need to be with a member of the Church of the Latter Day Saints and that’s hard to find in this part of the country? Are you looking for someone with ambition and drive, who has accomplished some of his goals? All of those are completely reasonable, but you have to specify that. Grand generalized statements like “I have really high standards” come off as “No one’s good enough for me”, regardless of gender. I had just finished researching the poor online dating habits of women, so maybe my head was in the wrong space for this, but I can’t stand to see a statement like that on a man’s profile either. It’s a huge turnoff to read that or similar comments like “I know what I want.” Why bother trying if they’re that particular?

Despite the above irksome comments, I had fun getting to know other women who dated online and I really did appreciate them letting me sit at their table. They had some good stories and interesting experiences and we had a nice conversation. Eventually a couple of men came over and struck up some conversation and we started comparing who was worse at deception, men or women. One guy was drunk, but funny and nice. Had he messaged me after the event, I’d likely have responded. He even took my correction of his usage of who/whom in stride. Eventually, though, the older of the two shared a humiliating story about a woman having a breakdown when he refused to come inside after a first date, stating that he was actually still friends with her.

Confused, I asked how they were still close and he said that she’d just been going through a really hard time. I didn’t comment further, but dude, if she’s a friend, it is beyond hateful to tell a humiliating story about her to get a few laughs, especially from a time in her life when she was feeling low. If you come off as a shit friend, I really don’t want to date you.

As the event neared it’s end, I noticed a man I’d been messaging and decided to introduce myself.

Me: “Hi. I’m Belle. We chatted for awhile, not too long ago.”
Producer: “Oh… I don’t remember. If I’ve slept since then, I’ve forgotten.”
Me: “I’m a libarian. My screen name has that in it.”
Producer: “No, I don’t remember.”
Me: “Oh, well then, this is a terrible introduction.”

We talked for awhile online. I think he did remember me, but felt slighted when I stopped responding, because he never asked to meet. Still, we chatted for a few minutes, until the older man who cruelly mocks his friends came over, stood way too close to me, and obviously interrupted a conversation to ask where my friends went. Curtly answering his question, I told him I hadn’t known them, pointedly only told Producer it was nice meeting him, and left. Still, I got a message from him less than an hour later, saying how nice it was to meet me. I didn’t respond.

So, that was my second Match event. At this point, I’m thinking it’s going to be my last. The perk of online dating is knowing the fundamentals of who a person is before getting to know them. At the last event, I devoted two hours to a man, at a loss for why I’d never messaged him. Finally, I realized it was our different religious beliefs that had turned me off and it was still a valid reason. A Match event is pretty much just going to a bar and trying your luck, hoping someone will even want to talk to you and that you’ll have anything in common if they do. It is literally the face-to-face version of Match. You have to deal with the creepy people and the rude people and the pushy people just the same, only you have to do it in person. No thank you.

We B*tches Be Crazy: Women of PoF

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Belle of the Library

When Gaily and I met in the 9th grade, we had this mutual friend named Abby. Abby was kind of surly and sarcastic, just like us. She was also batshit crazy. As high school wore on, that last bit became more and more apparent, but the true mark of insanity was when Gail, forced to take on a roommate after her divorce at 22, let Abby move in with her. Not only was Abby constantly shoplifting and never paying any rent, but she once walked in on Gail showering, looked her up and down, and said suggestively “Well… you look better than I do.” Gail had to actually ask her to leave the bathroom. Not long after, Gail woke up in the middle of the night, her boyfriend by her side, to see Abby standing in the doorway staring at her.

So, when Gail and I were crafting and marathoning Under the Dome, I decided to search Plenty of Fish for Abby. Her horribly misleading Facebook pictures alone are hilarious. I couldn’t imagine what her Plenty of Fish account looked like and after she screwed Gaily out of hundreds of dollars when her daughter had just died, I don’t mind being catty… not that I did before, when it came to Abby.

16-year-old Gail: “She rides her horse a lot.”
16-year-old Belle: “Yeah, I noticed the dip in his back was pretty low.”

The girl was awful and crazy. After making jokes about using the skin of Gail’s daughter to make a pool table and telling a high school acquaintance that Gail mistreated her as a roommate, it’s apparent she hasn’t gotten any better. Her online dating profile sounded like a fun read. Unfortunately, I was not able to find her brand of crazy. Instead, I found several new brands.

I pick on men a lot in my online dating blogs, because I date men. I feel like the poor guys get a bad rap in online dating, though, and not just from me. It’s not that I don’t think women do crazy shit. Quite the contrary. I’ve even done my fair share.

Now, there were certainly a number of good profiles, where cute girls advertised themselves well, just as how some good men advertise themselves well. End disclaimer. Looking for Abby’s profile, however, brought to my attention something I hadn’t really considered, and that is just how horrible some of us women are at making profiles. For example…

Insulting Online Dating

I’m finding women do this a lot more than men. Regardless of gender, there are two versions of this statement.

1. I’m out of school. My office has a no fraternization policy. People are only looking for hookups in bars. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I’m trying online dating.

2. I’m fed up with online dating, but it’s the only way anyone meets anymore, so I’ll stick with it.

I understand your frustration with the dating scene in general. No one meets in person anymore and efforts to disprove that statement are expensive and time consuming; but the story you tell your grandchildren is going to be so unromantic compared to the one your grandparents told you if you meet someone online. I get it. I do… but get a blog, because your profile isn’t the place for that negativity. If you’re declaring that you’re embarrassed by online dating as a whole, you’re implying that every person who might be interested in you should also be embarrassed to be dating online. Also, don’t be embarrassed. Just yesterday, I confessed to my redneck daddy that I mostly date online. His response? “Hell, baby, everybody dates online, anymore.” I expected a lecture about being shankraped and I pretty much just got a fist bump. Don’t feel bad that you’re dating online, because everyone is dating online. Besides, your grandparents story likely left out the part where they only got married at 17, because he knocked her up and her daddy owned a shotgun. Romanticism is about presentation, exaggeration, and well… lying.

If you’re just frustrated with online dating, because no one’s actually 5’8″, everyone’s allergic to your cat, all the men are divorced, that guy called you stupid for believing in Christ, or whatever it is that’s not going well, again get a blog, because your profile isn’t the place for that. Do you really think opening with “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to fill this out, since no one reads these anyway” is going to make anyone want to message you? Yes, a bad date is disheartening, but if it is legitimately enough of a reason to give up, then delete your account. If it’s not, then actually try to appear interested.

The Ridiculous Expectations

I once read the profile of a man demanding that any interested parties must have no divorces, tattoos, or children, not wear make-up and be a virgin from the Church of Christ. Furthermore, he wasn’t paying for Match.com, so prospects should wink at him and then he would pay to talk to them, if he deemed them worth it. Welcome to the Midwest, y’all.

This guy, however, stood out in all his crazy glory, because it’s not super common for men to be so specific in their demands. Women, though? Wow. Gail’s boyfriend, Terry, once complained that women were just looking to fill in their check-list and I thought he must have just had a bad experience, but after one search on Plenty of Fish, I see that he’s right.

Now, don’t misunderstand my point here. There are some things that are genuine deal breakers and these should really be listed. If you just cannot have a relationship with a Christian, make that clear. If you don’t want to be with someone who is not politically aware, say so. If you do not and will never want kids, state that upfront. These facts cannot be derived from a photo and they could genuinely affect the outcome of your relationship and your own personal happiness. Make sure they’re understood. What I’m concerned about is over-the-top statements like:

looking for a man to make me dinner just cuz, take my kids to the park cuz i’m tired, buy me flowers just cuz

I want a man who knows how to take care of a woman in her emotional needs. Opens the door for me, says please and thank you, tells me I look nice when I get all dolled up for a date. Also, not 100% sure I want to have my own kids in this society, but for the right guy who takes care of me and shows me that I’m the most important thing I would be willing to have kids. I want to feel like the most important person in the man’s heart. I like PDA so you have to be willing to hold hands, hug, kiss, snuggle.

What I’m reading in these profiles is a lot of the word “want”. Why would a man want to date someone he’s never met, when she’s already making some pretty big demands, such as taking her kids to the park while she relaxes or taking charge of her “emotional needs”, with no real explanation for what that entails? I’m not saying that’s an unreasonable hope from an established relationship, but the men viewing your profile are going off a few pictures and what you type. They don’t know you. They don’t have any obligation to you. You’ve sort of just told them that they would be taking on a lot, from day one. One or two of these statements wouldn’t be so bad, but these women are making actual lists. Then there’s:

2) You drive a…
a. Jeep (3 points)
b. Truck (2 points)
c. Car (1 point)

We all have our trivial preferences, sure. I’d like a guy who is tall and broad and rugged and… oh, we’ve had this conversation already.

Are you really going to deny yourself the opportunity to get to know someone because you’ve set up a fucking quiz assigning points for something as inconsequential as what he drives? I love me a big, intimidating truck. I do. It’s not a requirement, though. I drive a freaking hatchback. I am the last person to demand a sexy car. In this gal’s defense, she really liked camping, so I think that had something to do with the Jeep preference, but you can drive a car to a campsite, so I still declare this a trivial desire based on physical attraction. The fact remains that he loses points if he doesn’t check the box she’s already picked out for her perfect man. He doesn’t quite fit the clearly stated mold. Just like with this woman, who states…

No Black Men. Not attracted. Thanks.

It’s okay not to be attracted to someone. It really is. I’ve met black men who will openly declare that they’re not attracted to black women. My problem with this statement is that, if she doesn’t want to date a black man, it’s always an option to… you know… not date a black man! You can tell from a person’s profile, through pictures and/or text, if he’s black, white, bald, tall, short, fat, Asian, has glasses, or a weird-shaped head. Why sound so judgmental by listing those things and being somewhat offensive to the people who don’t fit those parameters if you can tell without doing so? This is like men who include a “No Fat Chicks” paragraph. Why tell Ola that’s she’s not good enough, because she’s 200 pounds, when you could just not date Ola?

The Detailed Description of Baggage

The search I ran was for women ages 24-28, within 35 miles of Shetland. I’m not going to mock a demographic I don’t fit. A surprising number of the women I found opened with statements such as…

Someone said to me “you’re too pretty to be single” I said “no, I’m too pretty to be lied to, cheated on, and played games with.”

I am actully working on getting back in shape so I would like someone with this same goal or who would support me in this goal, prior to having my children I took ballet and was healthy I have never been a size 2 and I don’t want to be but I do want to be smaller then I am

Dont let my outside bubble fool you I am very sweet and have a lot to offer…. if you can break down my shields.

Yeah… those were copy and paste and it pained me not to fix the grammar, but you get my point. We’re in our twenties. A little baggage and some insecurity is implied. I understand that there are some pieces of information that you have to get out there, despite how much I throw a tantrum about it.

I do list myself as divorced and, when prompted, I explain briefly.

I was married at 19 and divorced at 23. He was just a really bad person. I finalized two and a half years ago and there are no attachments.

It’s a weird question to answer without sounding like I got bored with marriage one day, but also without being that crazy person ranting in the mechanic’s office about her ex-husband being a prick. Oh, yeah. That was me. After I gave Aerospace that explanation, he gave me a brief account of his last relationship and we stopped talking about it. If you’re divorced, mention it. If you have a son, say so. If you’re overweight, make sure your pictures reflect that. More explanation is not needed until the other person gives a shit. I loved this advice book as a teenager, and the author, Carolyn Hax explained that you have to lay your cards out on the table one by one. “You can’t just shout ’52 card pickup!’ and expect someone to care about the mess.”* Stating painfully obvious deal breakers, like lying, cheating, and stealing, is the equivalent to talking about how your ex lied, cheated, and stole from you. No one wants a liar, cheater, or thief, just as no one wants someone who can’t even put their past betrayals behind them long enough to make a profile. You sound like the personification of a headache.

The Batshit Crazy

I think my favorite profile belonged to the unemployed, six months pregnant, mom of one, with her twin daybed in the background of her profile photo, as she flipped off the camera, showed her boobs, and made a duck face. You can’t ask for something you don’t offer, such as employment or pride.

My second favorite was:

first off if ur just lookin at my profile cause I’m in a bikini top in one my pics an thats the only one u noticed then dont bother with sending me a message i am more then just boobs!

Perhaps, little lady, if you’re looking to express that you’re “more then just boobs” (::cough:: than ::cough::), you shouldn’t be displaying them in your profile.

“How dare you message me for sex!?!?”

Citations
Tell Me About It: Lying, Sulking, Getting Fat… and 56 Other Things Not to Do While Looking for Love, by Carolyn Hax.

F*#% you, I’m festive.

Posted on September 23, 2013 by Belle of the Library

“Have you put up any (fall/Halloween/Christmas) decorations, yet?”
“Oh, I don’t decorate, since it’s just me. You really put up seasonal decorations?”

I have had that conversation at least 20 times, since my divorce. I’m aware that there are several reasons not to decorate for the holidays. Maybe you’re working 11 days a week and you’re neither home enough to put up decorations, nor are you around to enjoy them. Maybe you’ve just announced your divorce by knocking on your dad’s door and blurting “I’mgettingadivorceI’msorryIruinedChristmas” and you don’t feel like tainting such a wonderful season with bad mojo. Maybe you don’t already have those decorations and really don’t have the funds to devote to something with no function. Maybe you just don’t enjoy the holidays, because you have no soul. Fine. Whatever. You know what’s the worst fucking reason ever, though? That you’re single.

Lack of seasonal decor is not the only scenario in which I’ve heard people use their solo relationship status as an excuse for missing out on something. I hear it when someone didn’t get the chance to see a movie in theaters, eat at that new restaurant, go to the state fair, or see that live show. Being single has stopped these people from going shopping, having a night out on the town, and attending that reunion. Maybe your distaste for eating alone at a restaurant has nothing to do with embarrassment and you just think that sounds impossibly dull. Maybe the fair is expensive and makes you fat. Fine… but if the reason you’re not enjoying yourself is because you think everyone is staring in horror at the single person buying a Christmas tree, I assure you, they’re all equally self-absorbed and probably don’t even realize you exist.

I’m not preaching the virtues of being single over being in a relationship. Far from it. I want to write the “Did I really just agree to get married again!?!?!” and “Holy shit, I’m someone’s mom!” blog posts, eventually. Statistically speaking, as long as I’m trying, I will. So… I’m going to enjoy being single while it lasts. I love the fact that I can curl up underneath my favorite chair, suck my thumb, and write a blog post, without anyone there to tell me how incredibly weird that is. If I want to shout “POTTERTHON!” and tearfully sniff the words “Emotion should be hidden like the last fucking horcrux!” when Cedric’s dad yells “That’s my boy!”, I’m not interrupted to share the TV during Duck Dynasty or whatever stupid boy show someone wants to watch. I can sing and dance to songs about how awesome the dog is, while blaring 50’s Pandora and no one gets a say. I’m even going to do so with some fake pumpkins and cheap garland in the background, damn it!

If I’m not supposed to decorate for the holidays, because I’m alone, at what point do I get to start enjoying myself? Are we still so stuck on the archaic idea that life does not truly begin for a woman until marriage? That’s a silly question, because we sure as hell are in the South. Is it not enough that I go on all of these awful dates, but I also have to sit staring out the window alone on Halloween night, longing for the days I get to dress my kiddos up in cute costumes they hate? Horseshit. In 10 years, I’m going to be trudging up a sidewalk, sleepy toddler on my hip, freezing my ass off to beg for candy I’ll probably trash and replace when the internet convinces me it’s all poison and razor blades. I’m not going to be regretting the time I spent wishing my life would start. I’m going to be remembering the night I spent watching Everwood on DVD with a friend, while we ate far too much candy and she kept snapping at me to stop swearing, because children existed and could be just outside the metal door that was at least 10 feet away from me.

Geez. They were so much subtler when we were kids.In 10 years, I’m going to listen to screams and giggles and arguments in the living room and remember that time I tried to teach myself the Thriller dance from YouTube… and failed. I’m going to stay up all night wrapping my presents with special Santa paper and bitching about how creepy Elf on the Shelf is, while longing for the days of my hot pink Christmas tree and half naked, semi-drunken, over-analyses of the stop-motion Rudolph movie.
“There are more important things than comfort: self respect! Santa can’t object to you now.”

Being single isn’t better than having a family of your own. It’s just a completely different and equally valid stage of life. Even if you want to find a long-term relationship, you’re here right now, regardless. You might as well enjoy it. I spent enough time wishing the world could spin faster, to know now how much I was missing in that moment. I almost missed all of this by getting married at age 12, so I’m not turning down the opportunity to enjoy it today and not just by going on bad dates or dancing with douche bags in bars, either. I’m going to watch Hocus Pocus before September even hits, dress up the dog, and decorate my purple foil Halloween tree, all for myself, because fuck you, I’m festive.

The Week of 1004 Dates: The Match Event

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I’m still adjusting to my new, somewhat split-shift, work schedule and have (mostly) been enjoying birthday plans. Therefore, it’s been a week of decorating Toms with Gail, cupcakes made by my step-momma not being hurled at my front door, lunch and shopping for Dollar Tree fall decorations with my Gramma, and doing crafts and downing a half-pint of For Realz Moonshine with Niki. It is because of these wonderful events that I haven’t been on any dates since The Week of 1004 Dates. I’ve also delayed the final installment in this series. It’s called suspense. You’re welcome.

The story started on Saturday, with Insurance Salesman, an offensive and unattractive Peter Griffin. Yeah. That’s my point. It continued on Tuesday, with O&G, a kind and chivalrous Bostonian who played lots of tabletop board games, had an extensive knowledge of trivia, and thought it would be wonderful to one day live somewhere that’s not right the fuck here. It was a good date and a good time, but neither of us saw any foundation on which to build a relationship, so we never contacted each other again. All this time, I’ve been clear that it wasn’t really 1004 dates ::gasp!::, declaring that it was “almost” three. How does one have an “almost” date? Why, with a Match Event, of course!

Date 3… Almost – Thursday – The Match Event

In addition to the typical online dating features, match.com offers Stir Events. Before my date with Insurance Salesman, I RSVP’d for one of these face-to-face get-togethers.

Me: “I’ll probably just flake out and skip it at the last minute.”
Gail: ::laughing:: “Uh… yeah. I’m sure you will.”

Despite Gaily’s obvious attempt at reverse psychology…

… on Thursday morning, I still hadn’t made up my mind. I didn’t have to work that evening and I didn’t substitute teach, but I had had relatively regular plans with Niki to watch The Walking Dead and crochet. When she messaged earlier in the week, however, I declined, telling her that I didn’t want to make it quite so easy to ditch the Stir Event. Regardless, the event started at 7:00 and when Gail texted me at 5:30, I still wasn’t sure.

Gail: What are you wearing?
Me: I haven’t decided if I’m going.
Gail: Seriously? Get dressed and go.
Me: But sucking my thumb and reading this trashy romance novel is also nice.
Gail: While sitting on a bench?

I’d spent the whole day making new candles from the remnants of my old candles, like a boss, and figured that if the last candle was finished melting in time to go, it was a sign that I should get off my ass and socialize with some real life people. So, I put on the Magic Dress I wore to Grandpa Geff’s funeral. A Magic Dress is one that can be either “good little Catholic girl” or “sex kitten”, depending on accessories. At Grandpa Geff’s funeral, I wore sensible interview heels with my grandmother’s opal and got numerous compliments. To the Stir Event, I wore heeled leather boots with gun-metal jewelry and… got numerous compliments. I’m getting ahead of myself.

The event was at a pub in the city and I was more or less broke, as I’ve been trying to catch up from the time I spent looking for a job this summer. Admission and a single drink were free, however, so all I had to be concerned about was the gas to get from Shetland to the northern part of the metro, about 30 miles away. I have no idea why I was so nervous when I got there, but I felt more jittery than I ever do when I’m just meeting a single person. Maybe it’s because, here in the Midwest, we still attach a lot of stigma to online dating. Despite the fact that everyone is doing it, we’re not allowed to talk about it and entering a Stir Event sounded a little embarrassing. As is usually the case, however, Gail’s voice sounded in my head…

Why do you care what these people think? Even if they do think anything of you going to a match event, which they won’t, because they’re worried about their own crap, big damn deal. Go and talk to people and get your free drink. You won’t be the only one doing so. If it sucks, you’re allowed to leave.

Then my own voice sounded out loud into the car…

“Suck it the hell up. You can’t afford to waste the kind of gas it took to get here to just turn around and go home.”

I was still looking for reassurance and texted Gail while fixing my makeup:

Me: I can’t do it. I can’t go in there. Maybe next time I’ll make it in the door. This was progress, though. Yay me.
Gail: Ugh. Fine. I guess I’m not really surprised.

Gail misread my sarcasm and search for encouragement as a quest for approval and support for my decision. I rolled my eyes at myself, put on my big girl panties, and headed inside… only panicking a little.

On my way, I heard the bouncers make approving comments about my outfit, and that eased my nerves a bit.

The Stir Event was held in the upstairs bar area, which had been reserved for just this occasion. There was a lady positioned at a podium, who took my name and gave me a slip of paper with a unique characteristic on it. The idea was to encourage conversation, because if you found someone who had lived in another country or was a vegan, you could put your name into some kind of drawing. It was a nice option, though I didn’t really participate.

The first thing I noticed about those in attendance was the ratio of men to women. While I’ve read that speed dating in this area often has higher female participation, there were far more men than women at this event. Match only allows for so many to RSVP and splits it by gender; for example, 30 men and 30 women can plan to attend, including guests. So, basically, women are just flakes. At least I wasn’t alone in that idea. The age range was pretty wide as well, but Match had reported that online, stating it would vary from 21-43. I appreciated the warning and would’ve been uncomfortable with the variation, had I not known what to expect.

I sat at the bar to get my free drink and started talking to Texan Engineer, who was in his late 20s/early 30s and friendly enough. He wasn’t my preferred type physically, but as I’ve stated, I’m trying not to limit my associations with people based on trivial factors. Is it really fair to look at a man and think I wish he were a little bulkier if I don’t want him looking at me and thinking I wish she weren’t quite so bulky?

When I told Texan Engineer that I was a librarian, he said he’d messaged me, as I have the word “librarian” in my screen name. As we chatted, I could not, for the life of me, figure out why I hadn’t messaged him back. I looked at his profile later and realized that a small part of it may have been the fact that he was clearly one of those men who just does not know how to take his own picture. Though he wasn’t a man you’d give a double-take, he wasn’t unattractive. His pictures not only didn’t do him justice, they disgraced the poor guy.

Still nervous, I decided I could go ahead and buy one drink to loosen up. Now, I rarely drink, y’all. It’s expensive and it makes you fat, which may have been part of the reason I was about 100 pounds overweight in my heavier drinking days, which was the apparent sole reason I could handle my drink of choice so well: Long Island Iced Tea. I only had one. I swear.

“Well, it’s funny, because Gail doesn’t even read erotica…”
Geez, Belle. You are not seriously telling this story!
“… and she’d tell me if she did. I mean, we tell each other everything…”
Change the subject! NOW!
“… but one day, we were browsing Amazon together and she had this idea…”
Stop talking. Just stop talking.
“… that we should start a super creepy book club…”
Oh, don’t fucking sugarcoat it.
“… where we read the most disturbing erotica we could find. It was a terrible idea. I recommend you avoid the words ‘dubious consent’ at all cost.”
If the words ‘tailed butt plug’ come out of your mouth, you’re immediately setting yourself on fire.

Do not Google “humiliated gif.” Will someone let that poor girl out of the cage?!?!?! Is that a woman on a Lazy Susan?!?!

I blame Gail for ever creating that two-person book club. Still, I eventually texted her to let her know that she was right.

Me: This isn’t so bad.
Gail: ?
Me: I got dressed up. I went out alone. I talked to people. I’m proud of me. I’d never have been able to do this a year ago.
Gail: You went!!
Me: Well, duh. I was kidding about leaving. I’m far too cheap to waste that gas.

Even though I’d confessed to the reading of disturbing porn, Texan Engineer told me all about living in New York during college and how he desperately wanted to leave my home state one day, as he’s only here for the job. Clearly, this was important to him, because he even asked if I’d be willing to leave. In hindsight, I realize that my answer wasn’t as honest as it could have been, since the words “hell no” were not employed. You see, it’s not just that I love my Gramma, Gail, and my daddy. I am a Librarian in two of the few library systems that are not facing budget cuts in this economy. Our primary funding sources are neither state nor federal, but ad valorem taxes in communities where the Libraries are heavily advocated and much-appreciated. I’m not leaving my family. I’m not leaving my calling. I’m. Not. Leaving. I gave Texan Engineer a far less passionate explanation of that and we continued to get to know each other.

As we were talking, Texan Engineer enlightened me to a legitimately shocking trend: apparently… women are bitches. I’m aware that I’m not the best at letting someone down easy or you know, not marking their number as spam after a first date, but I was genuinely surprised by some of the things this man reported women having said to him. We were discussing our online dating experiences and he was telling me what some of the women he’d met had cited as deal-breakers. I was horrified. Even if he were a bag of dicks, I cannot imagine actually telling a man that he’s not stocky enough, let alone grabbing his bicep and saying “you need to put a little more meat on right here.”

Are you fucking kidding me?!?! That is the equivalent of a man grabbing my roll and declaring that I need to tighten things up a little! I’m not a violent person, but if a man did that while touching my body, I would actually slap him. What the hell makes a woman think that this is okay?!?! If he asks why you’re not interested, tell him there’s just no chemistry. Hell, just ignore him like the coward I am. Do not tell him he’s not “man enough” and squeeze the reasons why. Texan Engineer said he understood that this is just the stereotypical ideal for men in this part of the country. I agree. I would be more attracted to a man who made me feel dainty, but ladies, if he can’t have a No Fat Chicks paragraph, you don’t get to have a No Scrawny Guys conversation. Thems the rules!

Even though I was getting along with Texan Engineer, I did feel a little irritated that I’d put myself in a situation where I wasn’t able to mingle more, without being rude. I commented on the ratio of men to women and Texan Engineer told me that this is the norm at Stir Events. Woot. We chatted about politics (surprisingly agreeing on our more Libertarian stances) and shared our online dating thoughts. Then, I realized why I’d been ignoring Texan Engineer’s messages. It wasn’t his atrocious photos.

Me: “It drives me crazy when people put ‘I’ll tell you later’. Don’t tell me later. Tell me now. That’s the whole point.”
TE: “Yeah, that’s what I do on religion. I just say that I’m agnostic straight out.”

At this point, I had already mentioned multiple times that I was a practicing Catholic. I realized that the differing religious beliefs was my main reason for ignoring Texan Engineer’s messages from the beginning. Don’t get me wrong here. I have numerous friends with different religious commitments. I don’t care if they’re atheist or agnostic or Jahova’s Witness or what-have-you. That’s their business. I’m also not considering raising children with any of them. I had a coworker once tell me “I could never date a Christian. No offense.” None taken. I think it’s a completely valid point if your religious beliefs are important to you and this girl was a strong athiest, just as I am a strong Catholic. Just like she knows that there is no higher power, I know Christ died for my sins. I have every intention of sending my children to Catholic school. I don’t really want to go to Mass alone every week. I feel it’s just too big of an issue on which to disagree that strongly, so I usually don’t respond to people who who make that stance apparent in their profiles. Texan Engineer and I had been getting along, though. I decided it would be unfair to just write the guy off without giving it a shot.

TE: “I grew up Methodist and I used to believe. Then, I went to college and I just can’t believe in any of it now. I know too much about science. It’s just too ridiculous.”

Did you just call me stupid for believing in Christ?!?!?!?! Also, if all that school made you sooooooo smart, maybe you shouldn’t be declaring yourself an agnostic, or “a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God”*, when you’ve just quoted beliefs that are clearly atheist, or “disbelief or lack of belief in the existence of God or gods.”* You’re not agnostic. You’re an atheist with commitment issues. I’m not just too busy scratching my head over the conundrum that is science to realize that my religious beliefs are illogical. I believe in spite of that. That’s what makes it faith. I was so taken aback by the implication that I just hadn’t been paying enough attention in college, that I didn’t comment before Texan Engineer elaborated.

TE: “I even went out with this girl once and we seemed to get along great. We talked for like two hours and then she just kind of stopped talking to me. So when I asked why, she said it was because I wasn’t a Christian. I mean, she really doesn’t want to be with me over that? That’s just stupid. She was an engineer too, so I didn’t even get how she could believe.”

She was an engineer, too?!?!? So, what? Obviously you guys are supposed to be the same level of so fucking brilliant that you know the secrets of the universe and all the little morons of the world are still fumbling around in the dark, worshiping Santa Claus?!?!? She can’t have faith and work in the sciences, because being intelligent and believing in God are mutually exclusive? You’re not only intolerant, but an elitist as well? Dude…. fuck off. The fact that you can even say it’s stupid is exactly the reason she doesn’t want to date you. You don’t get the importance of those beliefs and that’s the whole friggin’ problem. Maybe some atheists out there could understand how passionate those beliefs are, but I imagine that would be because they passionately disagree… and that’s okay. They’re still probably not the best matches for devout Christians. I’m not even comfortable being friends with someone who thinks I just haven’t opened my eyes to atheism, because I’m not that bright. In fact, If that’s how he feels, he should probably clearly state a “non-Christians” preference on his own profile. You can’t ask that someone respect your lack of faith if you’re going to imply mine is the product of stupidity. Dick.

I felt really uncomfortable at this point and didn’t talk a whole lot more. Texan Engineer had just put me in a really awkward place by stating that I’d be closed-minded not to want to date him for his religious beliefs. It really wasn’t even that he didn’t believe. At the first mention of the word “agnostic”, I was still interested in talking to him. I’ve never actually dated someone with completely different thoughts on the subject, so I might as well give it a go if we were getting along. After hearing his explanation that he was surprised an engineer was stupid enough for prayer? No. Just no. I was polite to Texan Engineer and wasn’t sure how to express my disinterest, so I went ahead and gave him my number before leaving about fifteen minutes later. The next day, when he texted though, I sent him the following:

I really enjoyed talking to you and getting to know you last night, but I don’t think I could have a relationship with someone with such different religious beliefs. Good luck with Match.

I should’ve just used the word “intolerance”, since that was the real issue. After I sent that message, I spammed his number. I’d already heard plenty of what he had to say. I wasn’t sure if he was going to be a dick or not, but I didn’t want to deal with that, knowing his opinion on a woman not wanting to date him for the same reason. It’s a shame that this will encourage him to think women are being closed-minded about his thoughts rather than being insulted by them. Oddly enough, before the Stir Event, my profile already said:

“I try to go to Mass every week. I’m realizing that, while meeting someone Catholic would be great, the only deal breaker is a non-Christian. I respect your beliefs as a person, but ‘the family that prays together…’ and all that jazz.”

Texan Engineer just chose to either not read that, or ignore it before liking several photos, messaging me, and winking at me. Once I looked at his profile and realized who he was, I remembered that I’d been seconds from sending him a message that stated I wasn’t interested, because I didn’t think two people could have a successful relationship with such different faiths. I actually decided not to, because I wanted to give the guy a chance if we met at the event.

So, for date number three… almost, I tried my very first Stir Event and realized that it was quite similar to just being at a bar with guaranteed single people. I recognized the importance of mingling from the start and learned that one LIT has me telling masturbation stories. I found out that I’m not nearly as bitchy, when it comes to dating, as I thought… at least not by comparison. I gave a guy a chance, despite my theory that religious beliefs are too important for debate… and that opinion was validated. I decided I would still talk to a guy who told me he was agnostic, in the future… especially if he knew what agnostic meant. On the way home, I stopped by a gas station and the man told me how nice I looked. Yay for the Magic Dress.

In one week, I went out and talked to people and put some real effort into the dating world. It was exhausting and I don’t know that I’d do two dates and a match event in a week in the near future, but I feel like I’m putting in some real effort and learning things about myself. Go me.

Last week, I was searching PoF for old classmates and stumbled on my adored Facebook friend/high school acquaintance, Catherine. Oddly enough, we were best friends in daycare, when we were four. I messaged her:

So… I did something creepy and found your PoF account. Have you ever tried Match?

It looks like I might have a new online dating gal pal and an accomplice for the next Stir Event. Go me.

http://www.google.com/#q=define+agnostic&safe=images

http://www.google.com/#q=define%20atheism&safe=images

The Week of 1004 Dates: O&G

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So, I’m kind of off dating for the next couple of weeks. I just got a job working at a second library, and I’ll have to adjust to the new schedule. Three cheers for never substitute teaching again!!!!! My birthday is also coming up, so I have a lot of family plans. I don’t really want to start talking to a great guy, have him ask to get together and have the perfect excuse to sabotage things and start hoarding cats. Fortunately, the week before last I went on three dates… almost… and that’s enough to feel I’m not in any danger of having my rotting corpse consumed by felines.

Date 1 was with Insurance Salesman on Saturday and it was abysmal. But… I powered on and made a date for Tuesday with O&G, who managed the equipment for an Oil and Gas company.

Date 2 – Tuesday – O&G

I had previously seen O&G’s profile on Plenty of Fish, before I completely gave up on the free dating sites and bought a match.com membership. His pictures looked awkward, but that’s not really unusual for men. Whereas we women are stereotypically guilty of taking misleadingly flattering pictures of ourselves, men seem completely unaware that the lighting is terrible in that picture or their ex-girlfriend’s face is pressed against theirs. Regardless, O&G’s photogenic awkwardness was not my reason for never having initiated contact, as his profile explained that he did not live in my state, but rather, was moving here in mid-August. Why bother striking up a conversation in May, if we can’t meet for three months? I did that with Soldier, my first ever online date, and things could not have been more uncomfortable when I met this man who knew tons about me, but with whom I had zero chemistry. He also declared that there was no way my divorce was worse than his, though, so there was that.

As I prefer, O&G and I chatted very briefly online, before he suggested getting together. After I gave him my phone number to text me, he was assertive in choosing a location, which was great. I can’t stand that “What do you wanna do?” crap from a man. You’re asking me out. Fucking choose. For realz, y’all .The day Hell freezes over and I ask a man out, I’ll choose, because whoever asks chooses. I had the day off and surprisingly, so did Gail and Malik, so we went to a movie and I completely lost track of time. I was supposed to meet O&G at 7:00 and looked at my watch at 5:45, when were still at the mall. Shetland is about a 30-40 minute drive from the city, depending on traffic and I had yet to drop Gaily off at her place or get ready for the evening. I texted O&G to tell him there was just no way I would make it on time and he told me that was alright and we agreed on 7:15.

On the drive, I asked Gail what to wear, since I cannot dress myself without her help and we went over my wardrobe, but she wasn’t sure of which outfits I was mentioning. We decided the easiest thing to do would be for her to come over and give me input and then I’d drop her off on the way to the pub O&G had chosen.

As I shaved my legs and painted my nails, Gail told me how, although she’s madly in love with Terry, she envies me. She misses the excitement of the unknown with a new guy, even if it just ends in a funny story to tell me later. It was a great reminder that this is fun. Maybe the dates don’t always go well, but when they don’t, they’re at least amusing. I almost missed all of this by getting married at 19. This is my second chance to enjoy the dating scene, awkwardness and all. Even when I was deluded enough to think my marriage might actually work, I was disappointed that I’d skipped so much. A lasting relationship is the end of a chapter. It’s the beginning of a new one, but it’d be a shame not to enjoy this one while I can. Hopefully, I won’t get a third chance. Spirits lifted, I fixed my hair and did my make-up, ready to go. Then, Gail pointed out that the dress I was wearing was horribly and visibly wrinkled and I had to change.

Psh… I don’t need your help, Gail.

I texted O&G once more to tell him I was on my way and we headed out. He was really nice about my tardiness and seemed totally normal. It appeared there would be no crazy people on this date. Oh, wait…

I don’t quite know how it happened. Gail had been talking about how she envied me. She said I’d put her in a bar mood.

Gail: “Too bad Terry’s working. We could go to the pub and have a secret double date. I may just go to JJ’s alone, feel awkward and go home.”
Me: “Yeah, when you’re not single that’s sort of asking for people to hit on you. Damn, it. If I didn’t have what is bound to be a terrible date scheduled, I’d say we should go to a bar. We haven’t done that in ages. I’ve never stood anyone up, though. I’m proud of that. I don’t have a lot of dating attributes of which I can be proud.”
Gail: “Yeah. I’ll probably just have a drink and leave, since there’s not a game on or anything. I wouldn’t really have any reason to be there.”
…
…
Me: “You know who also has drinks? The pub.”

Oh, yes. I did. I took my best friend, my Sister from Another Mister, on a date with me.

“Hi. I’m Belle. It’s great to meet you. Really? Nothing like my picture? Hmm…”

Yes, it was crazy. It was also funny as hell. Gail went home and got dressed, and because I got my ass lost in a city I drive in daily, she arrived first. I was embarrassingly late, because I missed the exit and that street apparently doesn’t go through, but O&G texted me directions. Gail began texting me with her assessment of O&G while I suffered the consequences of accepting that peach from Hoggle.

Seriously. I’ve lived here my whole life. This is pathetic.

Gail: He looks exactly like the German kid from high school!!! Do you remember him?!?!?
Me: What? Not really. I don’t think 9th street goes through.
Gail: How sure are you that he’s not German?
Me: How the fuck am I this lost?!?!

I finally found the place.

Gail: I see you! He’s inside, but I’m outside right now. Spying is fun!!!!

“What? No. I’ve never seen her in my life.”

As I started talking to O&G, I tried to ignore the constant buzzing of my phone that was Gail and eventually answered her texts once he got up to place our order. She told me we seemed to be getting along really well and he seemed into me. She gave me a text message thumbs up for being friendly and approachable. It was nice to get that feedback that I don’t suck at dating. How often do you get the chance for that sort of input? Only when you secretly bring your best friend on a date with you! I told Gail that O&G was nice, put my phone on silent, and tried not to look her way. I checked my phone again, when I was able, without being rude, and Gail had reported that she was leaving.

O&G was cute in a Big Bang Theory, yuppie sort of way. I’ve been trying to avoid being too picky when it comes to having a “type.” As I’ve said before, I am a complex individual who owns guns, but has also been to several showings of Disney on Ice as an adult. Why cater to the country girl when there’s plenty of nerdy girl to go around? Girls may marry men that remind them of their dad, but my daddy doesn’t only tell stories with the phrase “that bobcat come flyin’ out from underneath…” He’s also charismatic and hardworking and loyal. Those traits don’t describe Jed Clampett any more than they do Leonard Hofstadter.

So, O&G was an exercise in branching out. He was from Boston and had traveled all over the country, and even some of Canada, both for work and growing up. His parents had relocated just for fun and his extended family was spread across several states. I was a little intimidated as we played Pub Trivia, because he was really into trivia. I didn’t even know Pub Trivia was a thing. I didn’t grow up in a trivia family, y’all. When I was a kid, I took it upon myself to remember the actual names of the entire cast of Saved By the Bell. I think I owned the Disney Trivia game… and thought it was boring as hell. That’s it. I’d also say that about 80% of my family is less than one hour’s drive away at this very moment. I have a godfather/second cousin in the northeast and a few aunts and uncles in Texas. That’s it for geographic diversity. At Christmas, we rent out a gymnasium and there are a good 60 people there. I’m related to every single one and we are all in each other’s business all the time. I’ve no desire to leave them or Gaily and if that makes me too down home girl, then so be it.

O&G also told me that many of his friends were people he knew online. He was into role playing games and board games. We didn’t seem to have a lot in common, but he was kind and friendly. He was nice about the fact that I knew a humiliatingly few answers to the random questions being asked and never seemed too full of himself, despite that fact. We talked a little about online dating, the good and the bad. He was chivalrous and bought me dinner. We stayed until the pub closed and O&G walked me to my car. He stood several feet away as he told me good night, neither of us mentioned seeing each other again. I admit, I noted that he did not, in fact, drive a sexy truck.

That.

I never heard from O&G after that night.

Jane: Have you contacted him?
Me: That’s his job. He’s the boy. If he wants to see me again, he’ll let me know.
Jane: Seriously? Please. You should text him.
Me: I can’t, because I don’t pee standing up.
Jane: Peeing standing up is a matter of cleanliness and hygiene. It is irrelevant, here.

Gail agreed.

Surprise, surprise.

Gail: “If you like him, you should text him.”
Me: “Yeah… maybe you guys are right.”

… but I didn’t. I’m not great at reading signals, but he just wasn’t feeling it at the end of the night and I don’t really blame him. I was cute. He was cute. That is all we had in common. I’m not encouraging something I don’t really want. He was pretty old-fashioned, too. If he wanted to see me again, he would have let me know. A year ago, I’d have been convincing myself that he thought I was fat, was secretly furious at my tardiness, or decided my lack of obscure trivia knowledge meant I was stupid. Today, I don’t really care what his reason was for not wanting to see me again after one meeting. The simple fact is, when the best part of the date is that your best friend is sitting a table away, playing Nancy Drew, you should probably move along… to a renowned institution.

I got lost on the way home.

City life

To be continued with The Week of 1004 Dates: The Match Event.

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

Sick and Tired: The Worst Day to be Single

“So, do you still go out and meet people in person?”: The online dating stigma.

Life Lessons from a Chick Flick

Life Without Soulmates

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

We B*tches Be Crazy: Women of PoF

F*#% you, I’m festive.

The Week of 1004 Dates: The Match Event

The Week of 1004 Dates: O&G

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