The Week of 1004 Dates: Insurance Salesman

Posted on August 29, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Fine. I’m lying. It was more like three… almost. The reason for such outlandish exaggeration, however, is that three dates in one week is only one less than the total amount of dates I’ve been on this year. This was mostly because, after I failed… ahem… excuse me; I mean “did not pass” my graduate portfolio back in November, I went full-on Miss Havisham and sequestered myself until May.

Pictured: Typical graduate student

I set the goals of passing my portfolio, getting my degree, and accepting a Librarian postion. Then… I would date. So, despite my online presence in profile format, it was not until June, that I actually met anyone… after I had been offered a job. Even then, I wasn’t super eager to take on the dating world, since the free dating sites involve far too much weeding and, frankly, I kind of hate dating. I already told you about how shocked my GP was at my startling lack of a sex life and how that led to my match.com membership, but I must give credit where credit is due when it comes to my sudden motivation, to, you know… try.

While there are some outstanding disaster stories in the world of online dating, and really just dating in general, there are success stories. I haven’t actually had any and the bad stories are just so funny that I can’t keep them to myself, but make no mistake; I don’t specifically hate online dating. Actually, I think it’s awesome to be able to let someone know, upfront, that I’m a divorced, practicing Catholic Librarian with somewhat conservative political views and a love for dogs that jeopardizes my own safety.

“It’s a PUPPY!!!!!!”

I love the reverse, too. I enjoy knowing before I spend time with a guy, that he’s single, has a career, his own place, and a functioning relationship with his family. When you meet a nice guy in a bar, it could take up to a half hour of pleasantries to find out he’s not quite divorced. Hell, it could take a few dates, as it did with Gail and the guy who lied about his name. Torturing herself after receiving a call from his crying wife, she called me, knowing I’d tell her what she needed to hear and then make her laugh with offensive jokes.

Me: “Please. You had no idea and you only made-out with him a little. It’s not like you fucked him… surprisingly.”
Gail: “Bitch…. Ugh!!!! I just feel so awful… motherfucker!!!!”
Me: “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘husband.'”

See. Crazy people exist in the real world. The difference is, that guy’s dating profile/Craigslist ad, might be completely open about the fact that he’s married, because someone might just take him up on it and save him the trouble of lying. That’s the real perk of online dating for me. The facts are listed and no one has to talk about it.

Maybe that’s the reason for all of the success stories I’ve read on blogs and received in the comments from people who understood that my Freshly Pressed post … and then I died alone: My latest online dating pet peeves was not a spew of hatred for men online or online dating, but humorous venting. One success story in particular struck a cord, though. For awhile now, I’ve been reading the blog of a 28-year-old Canadian woman who’s really just thrown herself into the dating world. She’s had bad dates, good dates, hilarious dates, and heartbreak, but she’s kept at it. Just last week she announced that she met a guy she really liked. They may not get married and have lots of babies or anything, but it is a success story and her determination was inspiring. I started to think about how I’m going to be 26 in a little over a week. I’m okay with being single right now, but at 28 (in the Midwest that’s every one else’s 31), I think I’d be pretty disappointed. So why wait? Why not throw myself into the dating world right now and see what happens? This led to… The Week of 1004 (::cough:: three… almost… :::cough:::) Dates. I’ll remind you that I call all men by their job title, not because I’m a gold digger, but because I like knowing they have one.

Date 1 – Saturday – Insurance Salesman

Encouraged by the aforementioned Jane at Single, Not Hopeless, I decided to be a little less picky about height. Sure, I’d love a towering guy with broad shoulders…

… oh let’s not bother with the description. Him. I’d love him, but that’s not realistic and it’s a little unreasonable since I’m a whopping 5’5.5″/5’6″, myself. My profile hadn’t been too unfair, listing 5’10” as a minimum height, but we are talking minimum here. So, I changed it to 5’8″, which means I can still wear heels without dwarfing him and I’m a girl who likes her heels. So, when Insurance Salesman messaged me, I was cool with the 5’8″ height. He looked pretty cute in his photos and he was personable in his e-mails and texts. We arranged to have coffee after I got off work on Saturday.

Oh. Em. Jingles. This was the bad date from sitcoms, y’all. For starters, I had texted Insurance Salesman about going to Starbuck’s, after he e-mailed “So when do you want to get coffee?”, though we hadn’t even mentioned meeting. He said he wanted “real coffee.” I said Starbuck’s was fine with me, but we could go somewhere different instead. He responded with…

cool beans

… and gave me an intersection. Well, there is a coffee shop called Cool Beans on one of the streets he mentioned, but it was on a different cross street. I texted and told him I was on my way, but was confused by the address and he said we’d agreed to Starbuck’s. He had been using the expression “cool beans,” not naming a coffee shop. I was a little irked, because I’d told him I was on my way to Cool Beans, which was probably less than a few miles away and he’d previously said he didn’t mind driving any distance, so I could choose where I liked. I felt like he should’ve offered to do Cool Beans instead, since he wanted “real coffee” anyway, because that would’ve been the chivalrous thing to do. I let it go, though, because it was a small thing and he thought we’d agreed to Starbuck’s. Then I couldn’t find the Starbuck’s, because I’m a ‘burbs girl and we were meeting in the city. I got there about five minutes late and, though he’d been texting me with directions, he wasn’t even there yet. He said he had been waiting in a parking lot nearby… weird and probably a lie, since he was just late and totally could’ve gone to Cool Beans. Again, though, whatever. These would be stupid reasons not to give him a chance.

I have never met anyone online who did not look like his picture. This guy had either Photoshopped his pictures or he was the most photogenic person alive. Honestly, it’s likely the pictures were from several years ago. I think he was honest about his age (28) and just didn’t realize that he no longer looked like that. For one, he was not 5’8″. I’m starting to think that 5’8″ doesn’t exist, because no one who says they’re 5’8″ is ever actually 5’8″. He also had about 30 more pounds on him and far less hair than his pictures showed… and he was sweating… a lot. It’s August and I understand that. The guy was nervous. Okay. But his clothes were also visibly dirty, sort of like they’d been worn the previous day. I stood, shook his hand and introduced myself. In closer proximity, I realized he also kind of smelled. He introduced himself and then dropped my hand and turned around and walked away.

Huh?

I wasn’t even sure what he was doing at first, because he hadn’t commented. When I realized he was walking across the store to the counter, I followed. He ordered and just waited.

Okaaaay. Am I ordering or is he done and going to pay for only his order?

IS: “You want anything?”

After we sat down and started talking, he told me that he’d spent the day recovering from his hangover after staying up drinking with his friends all Friday night. He had some kind of nervous tick and kept squinting… constantly. However, that didn’t hide his painfully obvious physical assessment of me as he looked me up and down.

I asked what Insurance Salesman thought of his job and he told me it was boring and he talks to assholes all day. My profile specifically says I want to be with someone who enjoys their career. He doesn’t even like his and went on to talk about how it didn’t matter, because he makes so much money. Then… he started swearing. You read my blogs. You know I swear. I’m not particularly offended by it… when I’m familiar with someone. I didn’t even know this guy and he kept saying “shit” and “fuck” loudly in a Starbuck’s. It was awkward and embarrassing, but I kept trying to talk to him. Soon, the topic of T.V. shows came up.

Okay, okay. I know that “Team Shane” is not a popular Walking Dead standpoint. I’m not saying it is. I have such a strong tendency to sympathize with villains that I once told Gaily she’d love Game of Thrones, because the Kaleesi is a badass heroine. Her response was to ask if I was sure she was a heroine, because I don’t have a strong history of siding with the intended protagonist, bringing up the time I defended Cruella DeVille for doing her part to combat over-breeding. So… when I expressed my viewpoint that Shane was the stronger character in Walking Dead, I didn’t really expect agreement. I also didn’t expect downright anger.

Me: “I just felt like they sort of had him go bad overnight. It seemed like they just got tired of the love triangle and decided to make him the villain.”
IS: “NO. It was obvious that he was the bad guy when he was looking through the scope at his friend!”
Me: “Um… not really. He was upset that his new family was being taken from him. He didn’t kill him.”
IS: “NO.You knew he was thinking it! You knew he wanted to!”

Duuuude, it’s fiction and this is a date. Are you seriously getting pissed at me over my defense of a fictional character in a show about the fucking zombie apocalypse?!?! You don’t know anything about these people, because they aren’t real! Also, I’m sorry, but the world is overrun with folks who are eating each other. It’s survival of the fittest, yo, and I would’ve let that guy get eaten so I could save the kid, too. Hell, I would’ve left the little girl behind after two friggin’ days. Ain’t no place for bleeding hearts.

When we’d brought up The Walking Dead, I’d told Insurance Salesman how frustrated I was when one of my students told me about a character dying in the season I hadn’t seen.

IS: “Well, next season…”
Me: “Well, don’t tell me.”
IS: “No, but it hasn’t even happened yet.”

Then he went on to ruin The Walking Dead for me, because he read about a main actor leaving. Double ewe tea eff, dude?!?! I just told you not to tell me! After that, he’d bring up movies and I’d tell him I hadn’t seen them, like with This Is 40 and he would ruin the entire fucking story for me! I’d tell him not to and he’d just say…

IS: “No, but…”

Stop talking! By this point, I was more or less done and trying to figure out a polite way to leave. Then, Insurance Salesman mentioned Firefly and I told him it was a shame it got canceled. Then, he started getting pissed again.

IS: “Well, Fox fucking ruined Firefly. It was all their fucking fault!”
::The lunatic shouted in a Starbuck’s”
Me: ::confused by and totally over his rage:: “How’s that?”
IS: “They aired it during fucking football season and it kept getting rescheduled. People were like ‘There’s this awesome fucking show on… sometimes’, so no one watched it and they had to fucking cancel it.”

It was not long before I declared that I had to get home to my dog. We’d been talking for less than 30 minutes and I assumed it was obvious that I was uninterested as Insurance Salesman walked me to the car.

IS: “So, um… I’d like to… I’d like to um.. I’d like to… you know… take you out to dinner sometime… or like… maybe watch a show together.”
Yeah. I totally want you to scream at me over another T.V. show. My panties are already wet.
Me: “Yeah. Sure. Text me.”
What the fuck?!? Don’t encourage him if you’ve no intention of seeing him again, Belle!!!!

I called Gail and my Gramma after the date and declared…

“I’m going to die alone!”

Gail’s response was to give him a second date, because she got a much abridged version. Gramma’s response was…

“Well, you don’t need to be goin’ out with a man with a dirty mouth like that!”

Insurance Salesman never did text me. It appears his only redeeming quality was the ability to take the hint.

I initially planned to write this as one blog, but I’m seeing two more dates is going to be a novel. This has just been upgraded to a series. Stay tuned.

“I’m not lying about how many people I’ve been with…”: A Speculum and an Epiphany

Posted on August 9, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I don’t actually have a gynecologist. I’m not having sex, so why bother when my general practitioner will perform the yearly exam? Well, Wednesday was my appointment with said doctor and it went a little something like this…

Doc: “Are you married or single?”
Me: “I’m divorced. I’ve been divorced for two and a half years.”
Doc: “Do you have a new sexual partner?”
Me: “No.”
Doc: ::pause:: “Well, when was the last time you had sex?”
Me: “When I was married.”
Doc: ::raised eyebrows::
Me: “Like three years ago?”
Don’t say it, Belle. Don’t say it.
Doc: ::raised eyebrows:: “Well, if you’ve been abstinent for three years, there’s really no need to run a test for human papillomavirus. Typically, if you’ve had three normal tests and you haven’t been sexually active, the chances of you contracting it are almost none.”
Don’t say it, Belle.
Me: “Well, you can run it if you like. It’s all unpleasant, so it doesn’t really matter to me.”
Now shut-up. Just stop talking.
Me: “I’m not lying about how many people I’ve been with…”

You just had to keep talking. If she didn’t think you were lying before, she sure as shit does now.

Me: “I mean, I’d tell you either way.”
That’s right. Keep talking. That’ll make it better.

Doc was neither rude nor unprofessional. It was just clear that she didn’t believe me. I’m not even offended by the idea. I’ve read articles about the percentage of people who lie to their doctors. Maybe that’s why I’m not getting laid. The one-night-stand thing has just never been for me, in part because I used to be fat. I’ve just recently grown accustomed to being with myself naked, let alone anyone else. I think as the exam wore on, though, the doctor began to realize this, as she babbled to take my mind off the breast exam. As I nodded and “hmmed” and answered questions about work, I couldn’t help but think…

I wonder how many times her assistant has heard the story about her new pool. I wonder how many vaginas her assistant has seen. Is it just, like, no big deal anymore? Why would anyone want this job? This is disgusting and I’m not the one knee-deep in vag on a daily basis. Wow. I haven’t had sex in a really long time. How embarrassing would it be to get turned on right now? How is this not over yet?!?! At what point should I be concerned that she’s just enjoying this?!?!

I suppose my discomfort convinced Doc that I was, indeed, pure as the only slightly yellowed snow, because she began to talk about how I hadn’t missed anything in my celibate years. She told me about how she’ll have patients in their forties and fifties who hooked up with some young guy at a bar and then they come in confused at all that gonorrhea, because they didn’t have to worry about those sorts of things when they were younger. I think she felt bad about doubting me as she sang the praises of not fucking.

Sitting on a bench is also nice.

Regardless, the whole visit got me thinking about how I need to get out there more and date. I’m just so sick of the free dating sites. Student is not a profession. Fill out the fucking profile. Why would you post that picture? You look like a fart. I hate that word and poop humor, but that is just the only way to describe how sloppy and gross you look in that photo. Take it down. While you’re at it, lose the negativity in your profile, quite lecturing me, and spell out the word “you.” I haven’t even been taking prospects seriously, because of these frustrations, so I deleted my OKCupid and PoF accounts days ago. What’s left, though? My church doesn’t really do social events and when they do, they’re family-oriented. My two total female friends are attached, so barhopping is out. I hate bars, so barhopping is out. Guys in bars are only looking for sex and I can barely touch myself, so barhopping is out. I go to the gym to work out and so do the men there. All those things people used to do to meet, like taking pottery classes or going bowling, those things are now occupied by couples who met online. How I Met Your Mother shows people living in the city and going out and meeting members of the opposite sex in person, but that’s not what the dating world actually looks like. It looks like a single girl sneaking to the bathroom of a Starbucks to send her best friend a reassurance that she’s not in pieces.

Ted’s famous Two Minute Date…

Ted takes Stella on a super romantic date… concentrated.

Belle’s famous Two Minute Date…

– He just asked me to kiss his fake leg. I am not even kidding. I’m sneaking out the fire exit. Pray it doesn’t set off the alarm. Text in 10 to make sure I’m alive. –

Okay. That hasn’t actually happened… yet. The Meet Cute is dead, though. I’m not going to turn around in the 300s at work and bump into a cute psychologist. Wanna know why? He already has a girlfriend that he met online.

So that’s the story of how the spreading of my legs led to a match.com membership that will (hopefully) eventually lead to further spreading of my legs.

Friendly advice: Google match.com coupons before signing up. I saved over $25.

… and then I died alone: My latest online dating pet peeves.

Posted on August 1, 2013 by Belle of the Library

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I started my very first Librarian job this week, so I’ve been less focused on dating. Here was the (somewhat hierarchical) list I created back when I wrote Online Dating: Holy S#!+, I Don’t Have Time for This in March.

Portfolio

Graduation

Career

Boys

I still have nightmares about failing my graduate portfolio, even after a semester of nothing but studying and rewarding myself with “reading for fun” breaks. Regardless, my presentation was met with congratulations and passed with flying colors. I almost missed my graduation ceremony when I face-planted into the grass in my rush, because I was running late. I, however, still walked across that stage (wheezing, since I’m asthmatic) and received that pretty empty maroon diploma holder. I called Gaily the night of my grandpa’s funeral weeping the following…

“My grandpa’s dead and everyone’s sad and I’m never going to be a Librarian!”

… into her voicemail. The next day I got a panicked text asking if I was alright. Four days later, I got the call from Human Resources inquiring about the last position for which I’d interviewed. I had been quite frustrated with the lack of “thanks, but no thanks” E-mail. I’m pretty sure my Gramma is still hard of hearing after I screeched “I’m a librarian!!!!!” in her ear.

So here I am: boys. I did just start my job, so I’m a little overwhelmed, but I’ve definitely been half-assing any online dating efforts. Fortunately for me, I’m not the only one and that also gives me blog material. Here are my latest online dating pet peeves.

Take a Hint.
I try really hard not to be bitchy when I’m dating online, which is ironic, because I totally fail at that when I’m dating in actuality. The thing is, when we’re awkwardly walking to my car, I can’t just block his screen name and be on my way. I have to actually, you know, interact with a man in whom I’m not interested… and I’m terrible at it.

That’s some of the beauty of online dating. If I read a guy’s profile and he’s just not for me, for whatever reason, I just don’t respond. No big deal. He gets it… usually. Every now and then, I’ll get someone who sends a second or a third message and I usually just block them. So that’s what I did when I got the third or fourth message from the guy who’s profile opened with “I LIVE WITH MY PARENTS!!!!!” There was no explanation. He wasn’t getting his life together after his divorce. He was able-bodied and worked full time. He wasn’t taking care of someone disabled. He was just one of the characters from Step Brothers, only less funny… and that’s fine for him and his family if they’re cool with it. I’m not dating him, though… ever. A few weeks after I blocked him, I got this message from his new profile:

Him: Remember me?
Me: Yeah. I blocked you.
Him: Why?
Me: “College educated or passionate about learning, have your life and career together and you’re happy, but want to add to it.” That’s a direct quote from my profile. You live with your parents at 28 and have no intention of ever leaving. You’re not for me. Don’t message me again, please.”

What?!? He asked.

Can’t we just all agree that the initial lack of response is the most polite way to say “nah”?

Less is more.
This is not your blog, yo. If I’m in a reading mood, I’m… you know… reading. Tell me how you pay your bills, what you do for fun, and how close you are with your family. Then stop typing. This rule still applies once we’ve started messaging each other. I was talking to a nurse, at one time, and the conversation was going alright. We’d traded a few messages when he sent me this:

I almost could not get that to screen cap and those are all him. The basic gist of that message is a lot of useless information, but some other key phrases were “So far what do I think about you?” “Answers to my own questions.” “It looks like the last paragraph got cut off. Here it is, may not be word for word.”

Dude, give me a chance to ask about you and Plenty of Fish cut you off for being weird!

The best part was his in depth description of his last relationship and the reason it failed. Apparently, his girlfriend of one year had been cheated on in her two previous relationships and it damaged her ability to grow and trust in future relationships. When he asked her to see a therapist about “her wall”, she said she would and then blew him off.

Don’t worry, pal. She’s just confused at how to work that lamp in your apartment. You know, the one made of human skin.

“But I’m wearing my best suit!”

I have not even met you!
Recently, I was messaging a guy I felt was a bit young for me (24), but this is the Midwest and Catholics are few and far between. Message number two from him included the intensely off topic “So did you get an annulment for your divorce?”

Wha???

I addressed the rest of the message and curtly replied that I wasn’t married in the church the first time. The next message included “What happened in your divorce if you don’t mind me asking?”

Duuuude. I don’t know your name. You cannot ask a stranger to regale you with stories of that time their ex-husband burned the house to the ground with all the pets inside! I know that’s not always the case for divorce. Even I want a brief explanation to make sure it’s not “Eh. She put on like 17 pounds. For realz.” I also don’t ask until we’ve been talking awhile and it comes up. That’s not a fucking opener! I responded with:

“I do mind. That’s a very personal question and I don’t recommend you ask it so soon if you speak to divorcees in the future. I feel like it’s too big of an issue for you to keep messaging. Best of luck, though.”

My profile also expresses my interest in guns, something boys around these parts like. Every now and then, I’ll get:

“Wanna go shooting?”

Do I want to meet up with an armed stranger and $2000 worth of guns? Um… no. Actually. I need to go. I think I… left my house on fire.

Then… there are the penises. There are men on dating sites who open with something vulgar. I once had someone include the word “pussy” in his opening line. I did not accept his offer. Then there are men who just casually bring up their junk. I had been texting one guy briefly (less than three hours) when he asked what I was looking for in a relationship. I gave him an honest answer about needing someone with a sense of humor, but who has their life together. I returned the question and got “Someone sweet, funny, intellectual, naughty, responsible and clever.”

Ummmm….

Do you think I missed that one? Double ewe tea eff, dude?

Another:

“Nice pictures! You look incredibly beautiful! I’m Michael, recently single, confident, educated, clean, honest, well endowed, lots of fun! Did you do anything fun this weekend?”

Ummmm….

Do you think I missed that one? Double ewe tea eff, dude?

I’ve also gotten the opposite, self-deprecating comments.

“I am not a very experienced lover or relationship holder.”

At least the other guys were trying to sell themselves. This reminds me of that time when I sold generic Warheads in high school with the pitch “You want to buy any of these? They taste like crap, but they made my friend’s tongue bleed.”

Sold every single one.

This is your introduction. Make it count.
Oilfieldtrash is not an appropriate screen name. Neither is anything with the number “69”. That is my very first impression of you, followed closely by scrolling down to see what you do for a living. I’m not being a snob, here. I don’t care if you make shit as a teacher. I care that you care about your career and that you have one. That being said, don’t put “I work” or “ask me” or “does it matter?” Also, actually spell shit out. Don’t tell me I look “cute n sweet”, you lazyass. Certainly don’t open with:

Him: You caught my eye. You look so cute and innocent.
Him: You look so cute and innocent too.
Me: You said that already. It was creepy then, too.

I got a message from one guy, prompting me to view his profile. He wasn’t unattractive, but didn’t have a profession listed and his entire first few paragraphs were about how none of this mattered, because women are all too shallow to get past looks.

Me: I feel like I should respond, based on your profile. You’re not unattractive, but I’m not interested because you refuse to list your profession and your profile is incredibly negative. You should revamp it to be more positive or delete the whole thing.
Him: Don’t judge me based on a rant. Get to know me.
Him: I’m a lube tech, by the way.

On what the hell am I supposed to judge you?!?!? This is the only impression I have!!!

Don’t be a bag of dicks.

Him: Do you believe being divorced at 25 bodes well for future dates with you? You’re the information theorist; enlighten me please. Librarians are my choice for dates…they strike me as demure ladies in the streets but utter freaks in the sheets. True?
Me: You’re an incredibly offensive person, you live in Arkansas and you’re 102. Those things don’t bode well for YOU.

My dog is the only boy I like and his longevity does not compare to mine. Commence the dying alone.

Posted on July 15, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Ugh. Maybe he’ll be an asshole so I can leave sooner. I hope I’m the first one there. I hate that moment looking around for the other person. I’m pretty sure I look like a meerkat every time.

Is that him?

Maybe I’d have more options if I’d stop mentally correcting everyone’s grammar when I’m looking at profiles. Who knows? Last night’s date wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. If I had to be unkind, I’d call Extruder Technician “a little blue collar.” He’d likely call me a little pretentious, though. He was a nice guy, who worked forty hours a week, and his profile stated that he was working on a bachelor’s in business and finance. I don’t usually date undergraduates, but he’d spent five years in the Marines, so the delay in his education and career planning was more understandable. Extruder Technician clarified that he was in his first year of community college and hoped to eventually transfer to a four year university. When I asked what he planned to do with the degree, he said..

Extruder Technician: “My brother and I are going to open a business.”
Me: “Oh? What kind of business?”
Extruder Technician: “Building guns… maybe… at least that’s what my other brother wants to do. We’d have to get the start up money first.”

Then, he mentioned how his goal is to move up into management, at his current job, in four or five years.

This is neither the administration nor the economy in which to start “building guns… maybe.” Also, dude, you’re 28. You’ve been out of the Marines for five years. How do you not have this figured out yet? This reaffirmed the “no students” rule. It relates closely to my “no fixer uppers” rule. I don’t want a work in progress. I want the end result. I want the guy who already did that and has his shit sorted. If he’s also working on a graduate degree or a supplementary skill, I’m cool with that, but the career has to be firmly set.

I wasn’t unkind to Extruder Technician. We, in fact, had a nice conversation. He was passionate about making insulation and seemed happy with his life. I, however, am passionate about my career doing something entirely different. It’s not that I’m being a snob… okay, fine… it’s not just that I’m being a snob. I was a 23-year-old divorcée . I come from divorced parents, who also come from divorced parents. My home state regularly ranks number one in divorce for statistics that don’t include Nevada, which, fun fact: most don’t. I have enough against me! It is a statistical fact that education plays a major part in divorce, including educational gap between partners. The other day, I opened my freezer and my first thought was…

Did I put the sherbet there? Has someone been in my apartment?!?!

For realz, yo. My first divorce fucked me up enough. No thank you.

A person can be quite intelligent without a formal education. Gail doesn’t have a degree and she’s one of the smartest people I know. She wouldn’t have found intellectual stimulation in Extruder Technician either. His half an associate’s degree and expressed distaste for learning is light years away from my Master’s in Library and Information Studies, but also from Gaily’s audio books on finance. He was perfectly nice and so was I. I just didn’t connect with him and when I told him it was nice to meet him and thanked him for my frozen yogurt, neither of us mentioned ever seeing each other again. He didn’t text me. I don’t have his number anymore. However… I also didn’t mark his number as spam. Points for me. It was a nice enough date that went nowhere. That, in itself, was quite nice. I’m getting better at this and learning about myself and what I need in a partner.

On that note, I treat you to a list of my worst excuses for no longer speaking to men. Don’t misunderstand. There was always some deeper issue. These statements, though, always got raised eyebrows of disbelief from Gaily, before I clarified the real reason.

“He was wearing silver board shirts.”
One: Those silver board shorts were coupled with an Affliction t-shirt. I could see my reflection in them.

Two: The man actually spoke the sentence “There is no way your divorce was worse than mine.” Who the hell even wants to compare those?!?! I don’t owe you any damned justification for my divorce. I just fucking met you. Go suck a bag of dicks!

“He had furry hands! It was like he was wearing his September mittens!”
One: All I could think about was having those plush claws on my breasts. I know that’s weird, but I kept imagining what it would feel like to be felt up by my older brother’s Teddy Ruxpin doll.

Two: The guy had very liberal beliefs, countering my personal conservative ones in regards to my profession. It wasn’t just that we disagreed on gun control (though that would’ve been a deal breaker), but he told me that parents shouldn’t be allowed to control what their children read if their reasons are stupid. For example, if a parent feels Harry Potter is “of the devil” (a common and genuine statement in the Midwest), they shouldn’t be allowed to keep their child from reading it. Who decides what reasons are valid? Him? They’re the parents. It is their call. No. Just no.

“He keeps texting me.”
One: He was an air traffic controller. He worked for an hour and would have an hour off. He texted me every other hour. No one should ever text that much unless they have a vagina, coupled with a chemical embalance.

Another one?!?! Oh. Em. Gee.

Two: He swore constantly. I just used the phrase “go suck a bag of dicks” and this guy’s potty mouth offended me. That is impressive. When I told him I wanted to buy a Schwinn, he told my I was an idiot if I spent less than $2,000 on a bike. He told a story of a time he ran over a cat and killed it and was pissed because he thought it messed up his wheel. Dude, I like domesticated fuzzy, cute shit, and the correct response to accidentally killing it is uncontrollable tears! We met at a bar and grill and accidentally stayed for 20 minutes past closing time. He did not tip. He then tried to tell me why God isn’t real. I told him I was going to Mass the next day and he responded with his speech about why God isn’t real.

“He loved the movie Christmas Vacation.”
One: I was talking to the guy on Plenty of Fish. We never actually met in person.

He’s financially irresponsible and it’s funny! Get it!?!?!

Two: He was clearly using this as a tester movie. It’s like when I tell a guy I like Seth Rogen. If he disagrees, then he’d better have money. Kidding. He loved this movie enough to bring it up in June, though. I figured, since I do not get the appeal of Christmas Vacation (or the other stupid movies he named), it was a sign of our intensely differing senses of humor… that and he didn’t like Seth Rogen!

“His grammar is too good and he called me ‘enchanting.’ I’m not even enchanting. I’m kind of a bitch.”
One: In addition to “enchanting”, he used the word “thus” in a casual e-mail, in poor context. He. Used. The. Word. THUS. BADLY. Also… who says “enchanting”?!?!

Two: He was the spitting image of Gollum and there was no connection. He was perfectly nice, but that communication was standard, because he was just so socially awkward and dull.

– My dog is the only boy I like and his longevity does not compare to mine. Commence the dying alone. –

I posted that on Facebook. Bo recommended a parrot, because they live longer. I’m terrified of birds. Perhaps an exotic turtle.

I look this shit up.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/christine-whelan/pew-research-marraige-gap_b_758272.html

You’re alone for a reason, Bridget Jones…

Posted on July 10, 2013 by Belle of the Library

… and it’s not the Ben and Jerry’s.

I am not a chick flick person. In the year 2010, all of the following things happened:

Gaily’s little girl died at 8 months old.
I did not give birth to the child that was due in March.
My ex-husband went out of town “on business” and didn’t have a job.
Gail’s divorce was finalized.
My ex-husband swore he changed the oil and the engine fell out of my car for no reason.
I learned that sometimes “I want a divorce” is met with the word “no.”
Gail made me watch the movie The Women.

Me: “I’m pretty sure that movie was the worst thing to happen in all of 2010.”

As much as I like my romance novels, I cannot watch that crap unfold on-screen. The lines are too over-the-top and emotion is gross. There’s a difference between imagining things and seeing them acted out. Just like I don’t want to watch porn, I don’t want to see people cry. What is wrong with the degenerates supporting these industries?!?

… and then, insult all of your readers.

There are, however, a few chick flicks I love and a few I love to hate. Bridget Jones’s Diary is actually in the first category and I’m just an overly-analytical person. I haven’t read the book and don’t intend to, precisely because of how much I like the movie. So, when I checked it out from the library (because I’m too cheap to rent it if it’s free at work) I enjoyed it immensely… while simultaneously tearing apart the lead. Not having seen the movie in years, it was fun to analyze as an adult and realize exactly what was wrong with Bridget Jones. I don’t claim to be an expert on men or what men want, but I don’t enjoy being around most women either, and I found many of the reasons for that personified in Chubby Zellweger. For example…

If you don’t like, change it.

There are a lot of things Bridget Jones doesn’t like about herself and her life, so she vows to change them… for like a day and a half. The main focus of this film is that Bridget Jones is a little chubbier than she’d appreciate. Renee Zellweger put on a confusing amount of weight for the part (20-50 pounds – does Hollywood even know what weight is?). Like most women, Bridget Jones wants to lose twenty pounds. Like many women, she doesn’t actually commit to doing so. Unlike most women (I choose to believe), she constantly bitches about it and blames her size for unhappiness. If you want to lose weight, quit smoking, drink less (7 calories per gram compared to fat’s 9), then fucking do it. If you’re comfortable with who you are and that person isn’t intensely unhealthy, in which case Bridget Jones should be more concerned with the smoking and drinking anyway, then stop obsessing over something you’re not going to change. I would like to be 15 pounds lighter. I really would. I also really like red gummy worms. I’d rather have hips and red gummy worms than no hips and no red gummy worms. This is the concession I make, so I’m pretty content in my size 8 shorts, rather than bitching about the 6’s in my drawer that don’t fit anymore. Bridget Jones’s issue wasn’t her weight. It was her unwillingness to change the things that made her unhappy.

If he proposes with these, I don’t need a ring. Ell oh ellsies. Just lying. The last one was surprise-fake. Gaily knows the next ring must include a diamond the size of a cow’s eye, so pure and magnificent that the blood is still actually on it.

Be nice to people.

A few weeks ago, my precious five-year-old niece, Layla, told me she doesn’t have any friends. She’s right. She doesn’t, because she’s mean. Here’s a snippet of her conversation with my brother, Bo, from her birthday party last year.

Layla: “He hit me!!!!!”
Bo: “Why’d he hit you?”
Layla: “Because I pushed him down.”
Bo: “Why’d you push him down?”
Layla: “Because he hurt my feelings! He didn’t want to play with me!”

So, when Layla told her Aunt Belle that she had no friends…

Me: “‘Be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy, and they’ll be nice to you.'”
Layla: “I’m nice to the gentleman and the ladies!”

What? It’s not like a five-year-old realizes I’m referencing a song about prostitution. It’s sound advice. It’s also advice Bridget Jones needs to take. I am not referring to the times she embarrasses herself in these movies. There’s little to be done about the fact that no one told you the party no longer required a slutty costume or fumbling your words during a speech. There is, however, plenty to be done in regards to not insulting a group of people with whom you’ve chosen to spend your time, by calling them “fat, balding… upper middle-class twits.” You can express an opinion without telling everyone to go fuck themselves. It’s also kindest not to assume that every well-poised, attractive woman is after your boyfriend. When you’re mean to people, they and others don’t want to spend time with you. Regardless of your size or ability to embarrass yourself, if you laugh about it and move on, if you’re kind to people, they’ll enjoy being around you.

There is a time and a place.

Bridget Jones was 33 years old in the first movie. She was single and beginning to feel hopeless about that fact. Despite that, she presented herself horribly in most situations. Again, I’m not talking about the embarrassing or desperate moments, like running out into the snow without pants, because she was terrified Mark Darcy was leaving for good. I’m referring to introducing yourself to someone by telling them how hungover you are, New Year’s Day or not…. about having the gall to be upset that they think little of you when you’ve done so. I’m talking about getting smashed at the company party, rather than saving it for a night out with your friends. I’m talking about slutting up to get some attention from the opposite sex at work. Bridget Jones was 33 years old and she really should’ve known better.

Value yourself.

Despite the fact that Bridget Jones was a little chubby, men still found her attractive. Hugh Grant slept with her, after removing her tummy tucker panties. Her new boss cast her as sex appeal. Collin Firth/Mark Darcy told her that he liked her “just as she is.” Regardless of all that positive feedback, she still blamed all of her problems on her weight. Bridget, you’re not unattractive, because you’re fat. You’re unattractive because of your whopping self-esteem issues. Bridget sleeps with her boss, pretty much just because he pays her inappropriate attention, which he’d have done to a floor lamp. This doesn’t just happen. She considers the option, acknowledges it as a bad decision, and does it anyway. On a similar note, she’s lamenting her single status at age 33, but she doesn’t actually try to meet anyone. She meets Mark Darcy, only by her mother’s introduction, bemoaning the fact that this is a regular occurrence. She sleeps with Hugh Grant because he’s present. Those are the only men she dates in the entire two or three years in which these movies take place. If you don’t want to be single, stop spending all of your time with your gay friend and gal pals and go date.

Gail is a brilliant gal and an amazing friend (currently she’s preening from reading that) and gave me a wonderful piece of advice a year ago.

“Go on a hundred first dates. Go on bad ones and good ones and meh ones. If you do that, eventually you will meet someone and it’ll click for you and it’ll click for them.”

She’s right. I’ve been on a dozen bad dates, because of that advice. It hasn’t clicked yet, but I’m trying. You know where I’m not going to meet anyone?

Here.

Forcing it with Gollum the Awkward Geologist

Posted on July 2, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I met Geologist on OKCupid a few weeks ago. He messaged me first and since his profile said he had a big boy job and seemed to like some of the same things I like, I messaged back, despite the fact that he didn’t look terribly attractive in his single headshot.

It was possible that he just didn’t photograph well, a recurring theme with men who date online; so I kept responding to his messages, though he wasn’t really leaving much of an impression and when he asked to meet, I figured I’d give him a chance. Then things started to get a little… awkward. I gave Geologist my phone number, figuring the communication had progressed enough to text message. Maybe then the conversation wouldn’t seem quite so stilted, because we’d be chatting in real time. The first text he sent me, however, was about how he was just going to continue e-mailing through OKCupid, because he finds letters to be more personal. I thought it was weird, but I also thought my death might one day be discovered only due to the downstairs neighbors complaining about the stain on the ceiling from the fluids evacuating my body, so whatev. I obliged. The conversations didn’t get any more engaging and I considered canceling our meeting, because this guy was dull and had a weird aversion to text messaging. Enter Gail.

While I tend to never give men a first chance, let alone a second, Gail has the opposite problem with… well people in general, but it was particularly prominent when she was dating. Gail would go out on a first date with a guy and come home with architectural drafts for the energy efficient home they would build together and information on domestic and foreign adoption. This was possible, because she completely ignored major turn-offs. Nine times out of ten, it was a highly entertaining disaster…

Gail: “Then, finally, he left the diary on his nightstand, so I figured… what the hell? I’m gonna read this fucker. So I open it to the last page…”
Me: “Wait, wait, wait… did you have to use a bobypin to pick the butterfly shaped lock?”
Gail: “No. It was leather. Anyway, the last sentence says ‘I don’t find Abigail to be particularly attractive, but I’m pretty sure I can get her have sex with me, so I will continue to date her.'”

This led to the purchase of a dollar store children’s diary filled with fake entries that went something like this…

Dear Diary,

Today, after I got out of the shower, I looked down and sighed sadly. But then I remembered that I am a beautiful (butterfly sticker) no matter how small my wings are.

XOXO,
Zaccc

You’d think that the tenth out of ten times would have been her boyfriend Terry, but no. The tenth time was the time Gail almost got supermudered by Post Office Mike, the man she dated for about six weeks and whose ex-wife may or may not be in stew. Post Office Mike was the only guy for whom she repeatedly ditched her best friend of ten years. For realz, y’all. I didn’t see Gail once for those six weeks and then she showed up on my doorstep covered in blood and cat fur.

Fine. I’m lying. But in all seriousness…

Gail: “So, he started yelling and I cringed away and he jutted his chest and shoulders toward me and screamed ‘Don’t act like I’m gonna fucking hit you!'”

Soooo… when I mentioned to Gaily that I was considering canceling on Geologist, she admitted the texting thing was he-has-a-secret-wife weird, but encouraged me to ask him why he didn’t want to text before canceling. His explanation was basically just that he preferred e-mail, because he’d been in the military and learned to appreciate actual letters. It was still weird, because, dude, I’m not showing my grandkids the OKCupid e-mails I’ve printed off and stored away in the cedar chest, but whatev. It was an answer that didn’t sound like he didn’t want his girlfriend to know about me. My stand-offishness leveled out with Gail’s everybody’s-made-of-rainbows-and-daisies horseshit and I met Geologist.

The first date really wasn’t bad. He was really awkward, but I assumed it was because it was a first date. Everything he said was new information on a new person, so he seemed interesting. Spoiler alert: wrong. It was actually a pretty good date with someone I had met online. He wasn’t terrible looking and I did a lot of the talking, because I tend to ramble when I get nervous…

Me: “… and I have my Gramma’s signature on my foot.”
::silence::
Me: “It’s a tattoo. She doesn’t, like, come over daily and sign it.”

… but Geologist didn’t seem to mind and we made plans to meet again the next day, because he works two weeks on and one week off the oil rigs. That’s sort of a thing here in the Midwest and a ton of those guys date online. I eagerly called Gail to tell her I liked the guy and had a second date.

Date two was at a suburban bar on a Monday night, at 10:00, because I’d come straight from the library, and since it’s not football season, it was deserted. Geologist wasn’t a drinker and I’m a lightweight and just had water while we played pool. This time, I was careful to talk less and give Geologist a chance to speak… which was a mistake. Not only was that not just first date awkwardness, but the man was… well, really dull. What he was saying was so un-engaging that I found myself looking at him and critiquing him…

What’s with the hat? He was wearing the same one last night.

Neither of us had spoken for a while, when I blurted “What’s with the hat? You were wearing the same one last night.”

Gaily is gleeful, because this supports her “broken filter” theory.

Then he took off the hat…

That’s when I realized, it wasn’t an issue of being skilled or not at taking selfies. The guy just actually looked like that and the baseball cap concealed the fact beautifully. The conversation continued… sort of… while thoughts drifted through my head, along the lines of…

He is really unattractive. Should I ask him to put on the hat again?

Stop being such a judgmental cunt. He’s being really nice… if not terribly interesting.

I don’t want him to kiss me.

… the second in the voice of Gail. I knew I was being unfair and, more importantly, I possessed the self-awareness to realize that I just do this with men. So I fought through it and chatted with Geologist… about nothing. He talked about being homeschooled a lot and told me how he was close to his family and I realized he’d said the same things the previous evening. The only people in his life seemed to be family. He even works alone in a trailer for two weeks at a time. Don’t get me wrong. I work in a public library. I’ve met droves of homeschooled people and many of them have great social skills along with superior intelligence, but Geologist explained that he’d lived in a rural town and was not a part of any teams or social groups. His whole world was only his family. He even told me his brother got his wife pregnant just because their sex education was so unbelievably lacking that they were using her mother’s old wives’ tales as birth control. That is not even homeschooling. That is intense isolation of the “MY LUCKY STARS: A NEGRO!” variety.

Listening to Geologist talk was like counting sand. Other than his family, he talked about credit and math and that is all. We’d already discussed the single T.V. show we both liked the previous night. While we played pool, he explained the geometry behind the game and seemed enthralled by it. I don’t even like pool or math and he was enthralled by the math of pool. Still… Gaily’s voice thrummed in my brain…

No one is going to be mad at you if you don’t like this guy, but give him a chance.

So at the end of the night, he told me to keep in touch. When I woke the next morning, I sent a hope-you-arrived-safely text, knowing he’d driven to the rig after we’d left the bar. He sent me an oddly formal text message…

Well, hello there. I hope you’ve had a good day. I did get to the rig safely, thank you for asking. It was lovely to see you before I had to leave town. I hope you’re well.

I assumed we’d text while he was out of town, now that we’d met in person. Then I logged onto OKCupid and saw his latest e-mail.

How’s your day going? It’s been an interesting day already for me, I’m not one to get lost easily but I admit that it was a little difficult finding the access road to this rig at 3 AM this morning. I could see the rig’s tower illuminated against the night sky my phone’s map app kept taking me to someone’s drive way. With a little time and doubling back once I was able to find the gravel road that lead to the rig. It’s by far the longest access road I’ve had to use thus far. Usually the rig is close to a main road but this time it was quite a ways off the beaten path. Also my monthly performance test arrived in my company email today. Aced it, though it was a little trickier than the others have been. I don’t think I’ve ever had a first date that I enjoyed as much as Sunday’s. Good conversation is hard to come by, don’t you agree? I would like to see you again on my next week off, I find you enchanting. How did the carpet cleaning go at your grandmother’s? Did the cleaner work fine after it’s tumble down the stairs? Off topic, do you have a favorite poet?

Holy shit. Even this guy’s e-mails are awkward and boring. I didn’t respond, because, frankly, who the fuck sends e-mails?!? I send e-mails for professional reasons and professional reasons only. Writing formal e-mails is a chore. Being with the guy was already a chore. I’d done enough chores. A day later I got…

I’m going to disable my account for now. Simply because I rather enjoy chatting with you and have no need for the account at this time. If you’d like to continue using email along with texting to touch base then my email is geologist@gmail.com.

I hope this email finds you well Belle,

Geologist

I immediately thought that was creepy. I’d met the guy twice and the second time was about as fun as dropping a carpet cleaner down the stairs onto my own head. He responded to said meeting by deleting his online dating profile? Since then, I’ve told others this story and they’ve all agreed it was crazy early for that. Gail, however, insisted it was just “flattering.”

Y’all, meet Mike.

If I don’t like someone I’ve met online, after our first meeting, I’m pretty comfortable with no longer contacting them. If he’s not interested, I’d much rather never hear from him again than get a brushoff text. I’ll get the point and so will he. I couldn’t quite bring myself to this conclusion after date two, however, in part because of Jiminy Fucking Cricket in my head going by the name of Gail.

Gail: “I understand you no longer talking to them after the first date. It’s unbelievably rude after a third date, though. Really, it’s pretty rude after a second date.”

Through the Belle filter…

Ugh. Fine. The guy knows where I work. There may be a face-to-face confrontation.

In all honesty, I know I’m bad at this and I legitimately try not to date like an asshole. I want to be respectful of the people I date, as long as they aren’t a bag of dicks. I just freak out, act, and then realize there were better ways to handle things. So, I promised myself that if I didn’t like this guy after the third date, I would tell him so, nicely… via text message. Baby steps, y’all.

It turns out, three weeks was the perfect amount of time to talk myself into never seeing Geologist again, then decide that I’m just broken and he was nice, looks great on paper, and I need to give him another shot. One good date and one bad date even out. I needed something to tip the scales and our bland-as-raw-flour text messaging wasn’t doing the trick.

Maybe he’s just not a good communicator via technology… I thought optimistically.

No. He’s just not a good communicator, which I learned on date three.

We scheduled date three for this past Friday. He wanted to take me two-stepping, which he’d mentioned during date two. I thought this sounded potentially astronomically uncomfortable, in the instance that I really just wasn’t feeling it, so I asked if we could do something else. When he asked for a suggestion, I mentioned dinner and a movie. He told me a late movie time and said we’d meet 15 minutes early to get seats. Okaaaaay. I’d mentioned dinner, because I figured it’d give us the chance to talk and recapture whatever connection we may have had, but didn’t want to press and appear as if I just wanted him to buy me a meal. I didn’t tell Gail about the date, because I figured it was best to remain entirely neutral and not freak myself out with her expectations and the requirement that I report back.

On the way, I told myself I’d exaggerated his unattractiveness and that he was just technologically awkward and we had the possibility of really hitting it off. Then I saw him and the first thing I thought was…

Oh. He does look like that.

I felt like an ass for thinking it, but I’d psyched myself up to believe that he wasn’t terribly unappealing only to realize that… well, I was wrong. I just was not attracted to the man and that hat must have belonged to Frosty the Fucking Snowman, because Geologist looked like a totally different person wearing it on the first date. I had initially described him as “well, you wouldn’t pick him out of a crowd, but he’s not bad looking” and now I’m astounded by how much the dude looked like Gollum, because I’ve never even seen The Lord of the Rings and still placed it.

Feeling like a superficial bitch, I was really friendly and charismatic and tried to get the conversation going… to no avail. The guy had to have had conversation cards or something, because he’d bring up a topic and then jump to a completely unrelated one, just like in his e-mails. For example…

Geologist: “How were your interviews?”
Me: “Oh, they were were good. I had one on Monday and one yesterday. I didn’t get the one from Monday, because of scheduling and I haven’t heard back from the other.”
Geologist: “I misunderstood when my benefits would kick in.”
Me: “Huh?”
Geologist: “Yeah, it’s not until July 1st, so I’ve had to wear broken glasses for a couple of months now.”

He just didn’t respond to any conversational cues and had nothing to talk about, because he spent two weeks alone in a trailer in the sticks. The movie started and Awkward Turtle over there had speed walked into the theater, not giving me the chance to grab any kind of refreshments, so I spent the movie thirsty. I would’ve gone to get something, but I really didn’t trust myself to come back. That’s how done I was with forcing something that just was not there. Halfway through the movie, I was dreading the end of it and simultaneously hoping time would go triple speed, because I wanted to be home, but knew the walk to my car would be tense. After, I tried to start up some conversation, while keeping my hands occupied so he couldn’t take one of them. He barely responded and speed walked to the car (I struggled to keep pace), which I hoped was because he was done as well, but no… he was just that much more of a reason for me to Google synonyms for awkward.

I showed Geologist my front end damage and thanked him for the movie. I gave him, what I intended to be, a quick hug, but he clung and started rubbing my back.. for an oddly lengthy amount of time. I had deliberately turned my face away to avoid a kiss, but in all his finesse, Geologist still leaned in a bit as I turned away from him. He, quite sincerely, told me he really enjoyed himself and I thought WHY?!?!

Then, I had my own moment of finesse. I was just searching for something to say and blurted…

Me: “So, when do you leave for work again?”
SHIT! Now he’s going to think you want to see him again in the next few days!
Geologist: “Tuesday.”
Me: “Oh. Um… you… uh… have a good time… with… that… and all.”
Geez, Belle. Seriously? You might as well scream “MY PRECIOUS!” and run, you ungainly twit.

Then I drove away as Geologist speed walked to his vehicle. I texted Gail, but she was asleep, so I recruited the reinforcement I should’ve recruited after bad date two… Jane.

Me: “I give up on dating. Clearly I just want to turn down nice guys and die alone.”
Jane: “Haha, aw. You’re not broken. He is. Someone you can’t have a conversation with, without wanting to stab yourself in the wrist, is not the guy for you. You can’t want to die alone. You enjoy talking too much. That isn’t a jab in any way, by the way. He sucks for you. That’s all there is to it.”

Gaily pretty much agreed, at this point. She said I’d given Geologist a fair chance and it was okay to not be into him. She even agreed with mine and Jane’s conclusion that a fourth date would imply some real interest in moving things forward. I wouldn’t want to lead him on in my desperation to not be a ceiling stain one day.

Gail: “So, are you going to tell him you’re not interested?”
Me: “I’m pretty sure he got it. I mean, if he texts again, I’ll let him know, but there’s no way he could not get it after my exit.”

Sunday night, via text…

Geologist: “How was your day, today?”
Me: “It was good. I worked. I should be honest with you and tell you that I don’t really feel a connection. It was nice getting to know you, though.”

Yes, it was a text message, but the only other option was apparently e-mail. Seriously, what guy, who works out of town for two weeks at a time, expects to carry on a relationship without texting?!?!

Ahem… It’s an improvement, though. This guy got a third date and an explanation. Considering my original idea was to stop talking to him, because I’d likely get a new job soon, I’d say I’m improving.

What did he say in response? Oh, I don’t know, because I marked his number as spam to avoid any unnecessary discussion or confrontation, before realizing that there was a better way to handle it. This is why I am an asshole.

ceiling stain
“Really. It smells bad and it’s dripping. We need Maintenance, yesterday.”

The “Ideal Woman”… probably isn’t drunk at 4:00 on a Wednesday.

Posted on June 14, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Wednesday was my day off and, as the result of some Hellmouth-level bizarre occurrences, the fates lined up and Gail and I actually had the chance to hang out… in person! Usually when we spend time together, it’s via phone, text message, or the occasional surprise Facebook annoyance of her ex-boyfriend until Gail deletes the damn conversation just as it was starting to really piss him off. Bleeding hearts of the world unite, Jiminy Fucking Cricket.

We met up after Gail got off work, with the full intention of laying out by the pool at my apartment. I didn’t press that plan, because I’d been doing so for two hours and could later prove it with the spots I missed when putting on sunscreen. It’s not truly summer until you’re rubbing aloe into your ass, wondering why exactly your ass was showing at a public pool, amiright? Since it was 93 degrees, Gail works outside, and I had been laying out reading for long enough to end up in the ER again – being yelled at because that’s apparently “not text message news” (true story) – we decided to lounge in my living room, in our bathing suits, enjoying air conditioning… and liquor. We truly are classy Southern gals, so I supplied ice cream bars and Gail brought Taco Bell sodas and Patron. She refuses to drink cheap liquor, even if it is just going into cherry soda. For realz… it’s like drinking with the Queen… of the trailer park.* She won’t drink anything out of a plastic bottle. Fucking princess.

Oh, unhappy marriage, how I miss you. You can’t even taste the tears through this stuff and it’s like eight bucks a gallon.

* I’m totally allowed to make this joke, since I spent my first eight years in a trailer. Fucking disclaimers. There. This entry is no longer offensive.

Gail has always been a hopeless lightweight and my prime drinking days took place when I was about 90 pounds heavier, so after just a a few sips, we were both giggling maniacally in my living room.

It was at this point, I began reading OKCupid profiles. You see, Gail and I used to browse the Craigslist personal ads for entertainment, because they are fucking hilarious. Seeking serial killers is actually how she came across Terry (see above photo). Advice: don’t open the ones with pictures… or wait… maybe I totally want you to open the ones with pictures. I can’t decide.

Drunkenly, I suggested informing individuals on the site exactly why no women responded to their messages. For example…

“I’m not like, interested in you or anything. Just so you know, though, you aren’t getting any attention on here, not because you open with ‘Hi, how are you?’ but because the first paragraph of your profile is a lecture about how I shouldn’t be so picky about my prospects because of their openers. Change that.”

Even drunk, Gail is all gum drops and lollipops and the Spirit of Fucking Christmas and kept telling me this would be mean. Frankly, I’m sober now and still think it would’ve been a great idea. Maybe that’s why she calls me “The Instigator”… or maybe it’s because I wanted to mail her creepy sex toys from Terry just to see what she’d do. Who knows, really? The girl’s an enigma. Ultimately, she managed to talk me out of it, only because I decided to blog about the following instead.

Me: shouting for some reason “Okay, okay, okay! This one is for you! ‘Ideal woman’.”

Then Gaily’s feminazi head exploded and I just cleaned my fucking carpets. FYI, one of those industrial rental carpet cleaners will totally survive a tumble down a flight of stairs… and if it doesn’t, you don’t have to tell the clerks at Lowe’s. Wait. Where was I? Ahem…

The following is copy and paste (complete with oddly placed punctuation).

Ideal woman:
Please note: This is not his ideal woman, but rather the ideal woman and you should probably just print this out and staple it to your to-do list.

She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go for it;
Translation: She’s adventurous in bed… early and often.

she likes her man to be a man but still be able to show his emotions.
There’s his very first contradiction. Don’t worry. Even if you disagree and think men should be able to comfortably cry at sad movies and ultimately turn into walking vaginas, there are many, many more contradictions to come. Also, what the fuck, Google Chrome? How is “vaginas” not a word? Is it like “deer”? Is the plural of “vagina”… “vagina”?

Balance is important to her; she works hard enough but her job doesn’t consume all her energy. She enjoys the nice things in life, but is also spiritual and doesn’t get fully caught up in the quest for material goods.
Okay. Here’s my big issue with this little tirade of his. Who is going to describe themselves as any of the negative things he’s listed? How many profiles say “My job consumes all of my energy, but when I am awake, I’m the most materialistic person you’ll ever want to hit”? Even Carrie fucking Bradshaw would’ve described herself as simply “enjoying the nice things” and all that woman ever did was demand things she didn’t deserve from people she didn’t deserve.

Remember when he hit her? Sigh. He was the best.

She wants a man in her life, but doesn’t need one.
I could totally get on board with this declaration if it weren’t for…. wait for it….

She knows that she and her man will be worth more together than apart.
Well, there’s part of it. If she doesn’t need a man, how/why is she to be convinced that she’s not worth as much without him? That’s sort of the definition of needing a man.

She enjoys the simple things in life but can also be spontaneous.
How is that a “but”? Those two are completely independent of each other. That’s like saying “she likes macaroni and cheese, but also enjoyed the movie Ferngully.”

She likes to travel to far-off places, relax on sandy beaches under a hot sun, and then cool off in the sea, but she also likes the hustle and bustle of a busy city.
That’s the deal breaker for me. You see, I hate traveling to far off places (particularly when they include a superfluous hyphen) and I’d rather swallow my own tongue than relax on a sandy beach under the hot sun. Whew. It’s a good thing he was so specific in his requirements. Many women hate exotic vacations.

This contrast and balance are part of her character. She is centered and content, but being with people that she cares about is important to her. She is kind and considerate and would like to be her naturally caring self with people who have earned her trust.
Wait. She’s supposed to be caring, right? Also, isn’t it sort of a given that his description of her character should be a part of her character? For realz, yo. That whole thing is just redundant.

Me: still shouting for some reason… I’m a loud drunk “Well. I certainly don’t fit the bill then. Kind and considerate, I am not. I’m kind of an asshole.”
Gail: guffawing on my floor “Yes, yes, indeed you are… but we love you anyway.”

She wants a man who understands her–one she doesn’t need to tell what she wants, but who just knows.

This was the most obvious lie to get Internet poontang (one word… I checked). I’ve hung out with a lot of guys. They hate “I shouldn’t have to tell you. You should just know.”

A man who can be the closest person to her, to help her make decisions, and to always be there and offer her his strength when she needs it. She doesn’t expect to find him right away, but she’ll know when she does.
Aaaaand…. there it is. He actually fucking used the word “needs.” I thought she wasn’t supposed to need a man, yo? What’s up with that? Also, just reading that sentence made me claustrophobic. That sounds like Christian Grey putting tracking devices in my phone, battered wives shelter crap.

Oh, let’s start this love story now!

… and then God reminded me that online dating was at least funny.

Posted on May 31, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I caved. If you don’t recall, here was the hierarchical list, in the sense that I must accomplish one task before moving onto the next:

Graduate Portfolio
Master’s Degree
Librarian Job
Boys

I passed the portfolio and I got my degree. Then I had a panicked fit that went something like this…

“I’m never going to be a Librarian! Because I’m not dating, I’m going to die alone and not even Gail will be there, because she’ll be on a fucking couples’ cruise with fucking Terry! She signs onto CRAIGSLIST to giggle over serial killers looking for love and fucks a trucker in a Buick and it turns out perfectly (even though it’s the obvious set-up for a horror movie) and I’m going to be the lady from Mona Lisa Smile crying about how life wasn’t supposed to be this way! Gail won’t even be there to console me like Julia Roberts did! She’ll be too busy playing Pictionary with The McIntyres, even though they have the personalities of plates and wear too much pastel, because they have kids the same age as hers, and she’ll have outgrown me and my rotting ovaries! Motherfucking Terry!”

1. I graduated two weeks ago.
2. I’m 25.
3. I don’t know anyone with the last name McIntyre and neither do Gail or Terry.
4. I really like Terry.
5. I’m an eensy bit high-strung.

Soooo, I talked myself down from the bell tower and decided to change the list up, taking my mind off the job search with a little online dating… which I have not legitimately engaged in since November, when I failed my graduate portfolio presentation the first time. I got an OkCupid account and then I got a PlentyOfFIsh account… and then God reminded me that online dating was at least funny. Don’t get me wrong. There have been some promising guys and I’m continuing this effort, despite the guy who told me he was looking for someone “naughty” after three hours of standard Q&A texting… or the guy who explained that he got a divorce because there was nothing good on T.V. that day, my only ever reason I cannot dignify such a decision, outside of the obvious cheating with heroine stuff.* The promising ones, however, are not funny material for blogs. So, the following are copy and paste openers from profiles and personal messages.

*He actually said that there was no chemistry or passion in his marriage, because marriage is a tingly feeling and not a lifelong committment. Okay. He didn’t say that last part.

The Profiles

-I LIVE WITH MY PARENTS!!!!!-
Okay. There are extraordinarily rare scenarios where I’m cool with this and I think it’s best to be open about the fact that your mother can’t get around by herself after her stroke, before getting involved with someone. That’s fair and quite responsible e-dating, in fact., and I can get on board with such selflessness as this.You, however, offered no explanation for this living arrangement at twenty-fucking-eight. You did state that you worked full time at a clothing store. Dude, you have a full time job. We live in the South, where you can buy a decent house for $60,000 and rent a meh apartment for about $600 a month. Stop taking advantage of your clearly too loving parents. Grow. The. Fuck. Up.

-To those that have already seen my profile I want to apologize my crazy psycho ex somehow managed to get my password and talk crap about me?!-
Oh, please, please, please tell me you have issues with your ex-girlfriend!!! You do?!?!? There is a flash flood in my pants right now.

For realz, yo, I do not know your name. If your ex did this, start creating more unique passwords and get on with life. Anyone who actually saw what she wrote, probably won’t be back. Opening with a rant about your “crazy psycho ex” tells me that you thrive on that sort of drama. In other words…. NEXT!

-I’m a genuine gentleman at heart but I can also be a NAUGHTY BAD BOY ;]-
Telling me that you’re a gentleman “at heart” sort of implies that I can’t really see it upon the first meeting, which is not particularly gentlemanly; neither is calling yourself a “naughty bad boy” in an introduction. I sure as shit do not want to shake your hand without some kind of glove.

-I went through a divorce all of 2012. finally got my divorce papers a few weeks ago. I use to have a motorcycle, but i lost it in the divorce.-
“Von. Two. Three! Three uses of the word divorce in your first two sentences! Mwa ha ha ha ha ha!!!”

Wait. You’re divorced, aren’t you? Is there a clearer way to tell me that you are sooooo not over your divorce? My general rule for online dating, regarding exes: if they’re mentioned in a profile, they’re not ex, because they are still very much a current variable in your life.

The Personal Messages

-Hi I’d like to tell you more about myself My father was a beekeeper before me, his father was a beekeeper. I want to follow in their footsteps. And their footsteps were like this. (Runs screaming) AAAAAAAH! I’m covered in beeeeees!-
Ummm…. okaaaay. I get it. I do. He’s opening with a joke… a bad one. The thing is, I’ve gotten this from him before. It was months and months ago on PlentyOfFish (this was OkCupid). It was weird then (enough so that I remember it) and it’s weird now. This is also clearly his default opener and he’s sticking with it. He thinks this is funny and encourages conversation… even though it says nothing about him and inquires nothing about me. All this tells me about the guy is that we do not share a sense of humor and that is a deal breaker.

-You seem entirely like someone I could be interested in.-
I do not think this guy could’ve sound more pretentious if he tried. For one, this was worded… awkwardly at best, as if in an attempt to sound intelligent, though it ends in a preposition. Two, it sounded like he was inviting me to impress him, though he sent the first message. It was just short of “dance, puppet, dance!”

-You asked for a guy who is in a career…unfortunately I left a career to go back to school to do what I’m passionate about.-
He went on to tell me that he was studying vocal music performance and I think he thought I would admire this, despite clearly stating otherwise. Then again, he said “unfortunately”, so I don’t know. I honestly do not care what other people do with their lives. If he’s paying his bills and singing for his supper, what-the-fuck-ever. He’s not going to date me while doing it, though. My profile makes it clear that I want someone who has an obvious career and knows where their life is going and it does so because my ex-husband’s “career” was stealing from his wife. I have no idea what sort of future someone sees for themselves majoring in “vocal music performance”, because that’s not how I operate. In the movie Across the Universe, the old man tells the young man “what you do is who you are” and he’s clearly stuffy and unenlightened. Yeah. So am I. I’m into practical fields and that’s what attracts me, because I feel that means someone could potentially take care of more than just themselves. I also don’t see why someone needs a degree in music performance. If they’re good, why not just go sing? Mostly, I don’t get what this guy thinks he’ll have in common with someone so corporate as a librarian. I work for the man.This job is stationary and nine to five. His clearly will not be once it’s started, whatever it is. There is zero future there and my profile was just shy of saying so verbatim. He sent me another message a few minutes later telling me he added to his profile and wanted me to check it out again. No. I stated I wanted a career guy and he is the antithesis of that. That’s cool and all, but no.

-Is that the face your pup makes when he looks into the future?- (he was referring to a photo of my dog)
“Crazy man” was taken as a photo title in the folder where I save images for this blog. That should tell me something about my life.

-Good evening miss. So I read your profile and I am very interested in getting to now you. Maybe we could be like to comets in the night sky burning brightly in the night sky showing off are passion for each other . That is if we hit it off. Which I bet we would.-
I legitimately screen capped this and texted Gail to ask if she thought he was kidding. Upon reading his profile, I realized no, he was not. I recently read a great blog post by an online dater about a guy who awkwardly petted her head and asked for permission to kiss her. I’m pretty sure this is the Southern version of that guy and dating him would’ve made for a great blog post, though that would’ve been cruel. First, there are the spelling mistakes. Shudder. Second, there’s the somewhat creepy use of “miss” and the whopping romantic clichés. Third, there’s the use of the word “passion” in an introduction. Another, completely different, shudder.

In conclusion…

There are clearly many other reasons why I will be dying alone.

Four Dating Profile Clichés I Just Can’t Use

Posted on May 16, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Profile clichés seem to be a hot button for many online daters. Personally, as long as no one uses all of them, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the occasional well-used verse, if it’s accurate. I do want someone who works hard, because my ex-husband never had a fucking job. A generalized request such as this weeds out men for whom a 401(k) will never be on the table. I include many more specific details about myself as well, so if throwing in my commonly-shared desire for a man with a career sounds generic enough to pass me up, fine. That guy can suck a bag of dicks, because he’s obviously too particular anyway.

In general, online daters just aren’t all hobby-writers. They don’t realize that everyone would call themselves loyal, because they have other hobbies that are keeping them from heavily researching the dos and don’ts of profile creation. That’s a good thing. By declaring themselves loyal, they’re expressing a desire to be with someone who will make them a priority while still enjoying their own life. It’s called subtext and expecting everyone to be a bomb writer like myself would be just plain ludicrous. That being said, there are some well-worn clichés that don’t necessarily turn me off, but which I just cannot use, because they would be damnable lies.

“I know how to have a good time, but I still know when to be serious.”
Me: “I don’t even know if I can have kids.”
Gail: “Belle, that was one time and there were extenuating circumstances.”
Me: “Psh. You don’t know. I could have a Hamilton Beach blender in there.”

That was a serious conversation about my miscarriage. I definitely know how to have a good time, but I’d rather experience a treatable venereal disease than any sort of dramatic emotional display. I cope with the most crushing parts of my life, not by delving deeply into my psyche, but by giggling about them.

Me: “What the hell is up with therapy? Everyone wants to talk about shit, like that’s gonna help. You don’t talk about it. You bury it and pile inappropriate jokes on top. So sometimes you cry after you masturbate? Big damn deal. Who doesn’t?”
Malik: “How the fuck am I the most well-adjusted person in the room right now?”

Don’t get me wrong. If someone else’s grandpa is dying, I don’t respond with a chuckle. I sort of just awkwardly pat them on the back while standing at an acceptable conversational distance and make some facepalmingly obvious statement like “I’m sorry you’re sad.” I get that other people don’t want to hear knock knock jokes about their dying family members and want to actually feel and appropriately respond to their own emotions. I respect that bizarre tendency. Is it too much to ask for more people to accept my far more reasonable coping mechanism? Maybe so, but in the meantime, I’m not going to advertise my ability to take things seriously, because it just doesn’t fucking exist and when I try to force it…

“I’m hardworking, but laid back.”
::phone rings… it’s Gail::
Me: :defeatedly: “Hello?”
Gail: “Hey… are you okay?”
Me: “No. I’ve been looking for the honey for ten freaking minutes and the guy was a jerk when I asked where the oats were, so I didn’t want to ask him anything else. I just found the honey and there are seventeen different kinds! Why are there seventeen different kinds of honey?!?! I just want normal honey! I’m gonna buy some bees, open a honey factory and call it JUST DAMN HONEY!!!”

Honey, y’all. Fucking honey. That’s what led me to tears in the peanut butter aisle (for anyone who’s still wondering where the honey is located), because I am just not laid back. In actuality, I’m not that high-strung of a person, either. I just have a definable limit. For example, when I’m driving somewhere and realize I’m lost (this happens a lot), I’ll look at the GPS on my phone and try to drive one way until I recognize a street, while listening to the radio and rolling my eyes at myself. Then I’ll hit a street that I thought was in the opposite direction or realize I just drove in a circle and go from “handing it” to “inconsolable” from one heartbeat to the next. I am, indeed, a hard worker as well. Therefore, when I find out I’ve failed at something, say teaching myself a new skill, rather than putting away the knitting for another day, I’ll burst into tears and hurl the yarn across the room. There are no degrees of upset for me, because I think adults should be able to control their emotions and I try to practice that… until I just can’t anymore and I’m weeping over condiments.

Is honey a condiment?

“I have no baggage/drama.”
Ell oh ellsies. I couldn’t even manage to type this one without a hearty guffaw. One reason I like online dating is for the ability to open with ” I’m divorced” and then just stop talking about it. At 25, with a Master’s degree and no children, people just assume I’ve never been married. The last thing I want, however, is for my boyfriend of two months to ask what’s wrong and respond with “just wondering how to tell you that I was married for four years when I really should’ve brought it up ages ago.”

I suppose there are amicable divorces… but mine, sure as shit, was not one of them. I’m a happy person and my life is good, but sometimes I wake up cuddling a revolver, burst into tears in the baby aisle at Target, or hyperventilate at the smell of soot. I have six pounds of frozen meat in my fridge, along with twelve bags of vegetables and I live alone. I suck my thumb like normal adults smoke cigarettes. Soooo… while it’s undoubtedly appealing to run across someone with “no baggage”, this former 23-year-old divorcée is just gonna have to skip that claim and unsubtly avoid answering any and all questions about her relationship with her mother for awhile.

“What an interesting question! So, what’s your favorite kind of pie?”

“I’m not very good at describing myself.”
This right here is exactly why people employ clichés. They’re unsure of/uncomfortable with who they are. Maybe it doesn’t sound humble, but I have no problem talking about and/or describing myself. I can tell you my assets and flaws right here and now, because if there is one thing I’ve accomplished since my divorce, it’s self-awareness. I’m driven, successful, smart, loyal, hardworking, resilient, stubborn, socially awkward, foul-mouthed, high-strung, sexually inexperienced, obsessive, and sarcastic. I shut down the second confrontation sparks and will not apologize if I don’t mean it. If I do, it makes everything worse and goes a little something like this:

“Well, I’m sorry you chose to take it that way and upset yourself.”

My entire fucking blog is all about me and my life and the people in it. I am absolutely willing to be totally upfront with who I am as a person, because that’s the whole point of online dating. It’s such a waste of time to beat around the bush when explaining who we are and what we want, when the very purpose of online profiles is to skip the “you come here often?” bullshit we find in bars. I’m not going to claim I have any difficulty expressing myself, because the clearer everyone is, the more successful the whole venture.

The trouble with soulmates…

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Belle of the Library

“I don’t believe in soulmates, and I don’t think that you and I were destined to end up together. What I do believe is that we fell in love and that we work hard for our relationship.” – Monica Gellar

When we were kids, Gail and I were stupid and idealistic. I’ll pause so you can gasp.

We used to talk about this theory we had, where there were many people on this earth that could be increasingly right for a person on a scale of one to ten. You could get along alright with a seven, better with an eight and have a lifetime of happiness with a ten. Then, there was the eleven: your perfect match, or soulmate. It was stupid and we had an excuse for believing it. We were fifteen. Plenty of adults, however, still believe that there is one perfect person for them and I’m willing to stand up and say that they are wrong.

I’m not going to lie. I enjoy the notion of a soulmate in my smut novels and even the occasional chick flick. Nothing beats a paranormal romance where everyone has a destined “mate”. How fucking nice would that be? There would be no strangers trying to drag you by your wrist to the parking lot of the cowboy bar, insisting that “it’ll only take a minute.” There would be no awkward meetings with men you met online who make jokes about how your master’s degree isn’t a real master’s degree. There would be no heart-wrenching, soul-sucking divorce. A close second to the paranormal “mate” is Instalove. Erotica and romantic suspense are known for Instalove. Hero’s been speaking to heroine for all of nine minutes and already she’s said something so astounding or given such a delightful laugh that he’s a changed man. He can’t place his finger on it, but six days later, we all know: it’s loooooooove. In reality, it’s been nine minutes, I’ve already made one inappropriate joke and it’s a good thing he’s in loss prevention and not construction, because clearly he cannot measure for shit: 5’8″ my ass. If he dares to say “I love your laugh”, I snort in disbelief and blurt “Really? Cuz no one else does.” True story.

Fairy Tale

Reality

The reason romance novelists write about “mates” and Instalove is because we women were raised by Disney and fucked over by reality. More than once I’ve expressed my desire for an arranged marriage, because my daddy sure could pick ’em better than I can. The idea of just knowing he’s the one, without the risk that he’ll take off with your Gramma’s jewelry or torture your pets… sa–woon. But that’s all it is… a big girl fairytale. Here’s why. Quick. Describe Anastasia Steele’s character without mentioning her physical appearance.

….

I couldn’t do it either when Jennifer Armintrout made the original challenge. She’s… um… a pushover? Way behind in modern technology for a girl who just graduated college? Sexually repressed? Name some of her hobbies other than British literature.

…

Drinking? Pushing her friends around? Insulting all women ever? Feeling insecure? Sure, this is a product of piss poor writing. E.L. James mentions Anastasia’s love for art in chapter one, but then on the honeymoon has her declaring that she doesn’t really know anything about art, so I’m not sure if I can or cannot include that under hobbies. My point, however, is that any character in a book or a movie is a pale comparison to an actual human being. For example, I’ll describe Gail’s character without mentioning physical appearance.

She’s tenderhearted and loyal to an obnoxious fault, sticking by people who fuck her over, yet somehow still managing to be shocked and hurt when they fuck her over again. Despite this lack of caution, she’s beyond paranoid in all other aspects of life. She’s intelligent, with a dry and dead-panned sense of humor. She would wear house shoes and sweats to a wedding without embarrassment, as long as it wouldn’t upset anyone, because her greatest fucking fear is rocking the boat. She’s irreparably damaged from the death of her infant daughter, yet this somehow has not affected her love and kindheartedness toward children. She has a deep-seated urge to mother and protect, which positively consumes her around the wrong people, resulting in exhaustion and resentment.

I’ll name some hobbies without mentioning road head.

Gail is fascinated by finance and legitimately finds Dave Ramsey attractive, because of his radio show. She listens to rap music and can sing it… poorly. She enjoys finding ways to give to charity and loves her job delivering mail… for some fucking reason. She likes crafts of all kinds, even if she’s bad at them and this girl is so into current events, I swear she masturbates to the news. She adores feminist literature almost as much as she likes arguing with me and engaging in e-slap fights about it, because it’s okay to rock the boat when people she doesn’t know are in it.

That’s a real person. No. That’s a blurry Polaroid snapshot of a real person. Real people are complex and multi-faceted individuals. All of them, including the people we’re dating. This soulmates horseshit encourages the idea of having a “type”, which is completely counterproductive to the dating process. We’re supposed to be getting to know new people and trying new things, but instead we choose one or two exceptionally narrow aspects of who we are and buy a painting to match the sofa with no regards to the love seat or the rug.

I like books, guns, pretty pink dresses, college football, fishing, shopping, and sewing. I’m the librarian who swears like a sailor… in prison. I could be with an accountant who was captain of the academic team in high school or a police officer who played football. As I’ve said before, good budgeting skills bring this girl to the yard and he’s not a real man if I’m the better shot. Limiting myself to only one or the other aspects of my personality… IS STUPID. I might find out the cop is more fiscally responsible than I am and the accountant can nail a headshot on the first try. Furthermore, those complex people? They change over time. Fifteen years, three kids, two dogs and a mortgage later, that funny sweet man you fell in love with may now be hardened and sarcastic and sometimes even cruel. He may be a drinker with unrealistic standards for you and your kids. The delightfully old-fashioned chivalry he displayed at 25 may have morphed into an expectation that you will organize the fridge just the way he likes it or there will be hell to pay. Real love takes commitment and vigilance to grow together and treat each other well. Your “soulmate” just punched you in the kidneys nine years into your marriage. Rethinking that soulmates theory, now? Or is he just not it anymore?

Yeah, I had enough of this movie in the first five minutes.

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

The Week of 1004 Dates: Insurance Salesman

“I’m not lying about how many people I’ve been with…”: A Speculum and an Epiphany

… and then I died alone: My latest online dating pet peeves.

My dog is the only boy I like and his longevity does not compare to mine. Commence the dying alone.

You’re alone for a reason, Bridget Jones…

Forcing it with Gollum the Awkward Geologist

The “Ideal Woman”… probably isn’t drunk at 4:00 on a Wednesday.

Four Dating Profile Clichés I Just Can’t Use

The trouble with soulmates…

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