Nine years ago, today, I turned 25 and celebrated by starting a blog. Since then, I’ve posted fairly consistently, making this one of the greatest commitments of my life. I’ve been writing this blog longer than I was in college, longer than I’ve been with my library system, longer than I’ve known Jake. In those nine years, it’s chronicled the tales of a brokenhearted divorcee, a single gal navigating the dating scene, a clueless and inexperienced girlfriend, a career woman and a boss lady, an apathetic fiancé, a new wife, a shattered woman facing infertility amidst a pandemic, and now a mom to twin girls. In the last nine years, blogging has gone in and out of fashion, but I’ve always been here to share my laughter and tears, my rants and musings. I don’t know what the future will hold, but I can almost guarantee that I’ll report it all, as the Belle of the Library.
With exception to the extremely liberal political beliefs (libertarian, here – both sides be cray), I would openly admit that I fit most stereotypes of librarianism. I post more pictures of my cat on Instagram than I do of my husband, mostly because the former is more photogenic. Children toss my gifts aside, knowing that they’re books or hats I’ve crocheted. I care more about your Hogwarts House than your astrological sign and own more than one item that brands me a Ravenclaw. I wear more cardigans than Mr. Rogers and am forever the proud nerdy girl… with the 20/1100 vision to prove it.
I got my first pair of glasses in the second grade and if my parents had been present enough to make me actually wear them, my vision probably wouldn’t have been near as bad as it was by middle school, when I finally got contacts. By high school, I’d embraced my bespectacled nerdy identity, though, and rarely chose contacts over glasses. I actually enjoyed glasses as an accessory and still miss the bejeweled red cats eye pair I wore in the 10th grade. As an adult, I’ve owned several cute pair and once readily and confidently told a man off for trying to “neg” me about them.
Him: “You look cute without your glasses.”
Me: “Thank you. I look cute with my glasses, too.”
I bought my favorite pair last year and regularly received compliments on them, with their touch of sparkle on the corners and on the temples. I like wearing glasses. What I don’t like, is not being able to see without them, at all. When I lived alone, forgetting where I put my glasses was a unique hell. I’d stumble around checking all the routine places I could’ve left them: on the back of the couch, the kitchen counter, the shelving in my headboard. Since Jake and I got married, it hasn’t been a rare occurrence for me to call to him from the other room, because I’ve misplaced my dark brown glasses on our dark wood furniture, before getting in the shower.
Awkwardly adding glasses to any activity best enjoyed sans glasses isn’t much better. Fortunately it wasn’t too cold when Jake and I went skiing, because wearing goggles over glasses didn’t work nearly as well as placing 3D glasses over them… which also sucks. Just last month, Jake and I went canoeing with my family and when the canoe tipped, I was lucky I didn’t lose them entirely, especially considering the fact that I hadn’t brought another pair. Sure, contacts might be an option, but they cost $50 per set and aside from my wedding day, I could never justify them as a priority. Even then, I wore the trial pair and never actually bought any, because while I might prefer the photos and can generally enjoy outdoor activities with contacts, they don’t allow me to focus on anything up close. My vision is just not sharp enough for anything but glasses. Or it wasn’t, until now.
After 10 years of longing for it, I finally got Lasik last Friday. It was actually one of my conditions for having children. Yes, I want kids, but I don’t want to chase them around the bathtub or the lake or my grandmother’s pool without the luxury of sight. I’m also not fool enough to think $4,600 elective eye surgery is going to be anywhere on our list after we buy a house and have babies. It was sort of a now or never deal in my mind and the realist in me had begrudgingly accepted it as the latter, until this past June, when I had the opportunity to max out my flex account. I made an appointment with the major Lasik provider in the area, was approved for $2000 in zero interest financing, and the surgery was scheduled. After years of frustration that I couldn’t even function without my glasses, of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this would be my demise in the zombie apocalypse, it was actually happening!
Y’all, for a long time, I have prided myself on my awareness of advertisments. My bachelors degree was heavy in marketing and nutrition, so I’ve always been critical of claims like “gluten free” and “natural” and “30% free!” There’s never been gluten in sugar; the word natural has no legal definition; and it’s not free if it’s more per ounce. So I’m a little disappointed in myself for being as surprised as I was by some of the consequences of Lasik that don’t seem to be widely published. Such as…
It fucking hurts.
Zetus, lapetus, you guys, Lasik is painful. Everyone I’ve ever spoken to downplayed how awful this procedure would be. All of the ads and doctors told me I’d feel some “discomfort.” My “discomfort” expectation was having a tooth pulled. My reality, however, was having all of my wisdom teeth out. While the actual surgery didn’t hurt, by the time Jake and I got from the Metro to Cherokee, I actually thought something had gone wrong, I was in so much pain. My eyes were on fire and Jake immediately turned around and drove back to the surgery center, where they told me everything was fine. I was healing “beautifully” and “discomfort” was to be expected.
As much as I wanted this procedure, at one point, I actually told Jake that I wouldn’t have gotten it, had I known how much pain I would feel. When I texted the doctor to tell him I felt like I had sand in my eyes (downplaying that it really felt like someone had ground sand into my eyes), he said it was totally normal. Every source online agreed, stating that while it wouldn’t be painful, I’d feel like I had something in my eye. SINCE WHEN IS THAT NOT PAINFUL?!?! They all suggested I just sleep all day, but it’s hard to sleep when your eyes are melting out of your damn head like you’ve just looked at the Ark of the Covenant. It’s also hard to sleep sitting up in sunglasses, which is required for the first 24 hours.
Perhaps it’s just me. Maybe I’m a little bitch and Lasik isn’t that rough. Maybe, though, everyone just forgets how much it hurts, because they’re so glad to be rid of glasses. Which brings me to my next point.
I kind of miss my glasses.
I’m a librarian, folks. Glasses are part of the uniform. I’m like a superhero without a cape, over here. Without my glasses, my hair falls differently and my face looks weird. I’m seriously considering bangs, because I have too much visible forehead. I’m a makeup every day girl, for the most part, but with glasses, it’s not super obvious when you skip out on the eye makeup… which you have to do for two weeks after Lasik.
Glasses were a pain in the ass, as a necessity, but they were kind of fun and cute as an accessory. I just got health insurance in the past two years, so my cutest pairs are relatively new and stylish. Jake has always liked me in glasses and has suggested I get the lenses replaced with clear glass, but that feels a little silly… like wearing a fake cast and we all know where Ted Bundy ended up.
I wore contacts off and on through high school, but as an adult, it’s been a rarity to see myself without my glasses. It’s not that I don’t like the look. I chose to wear contacts at my wedding for a reason. It’s just that I don’t look like me yet and it’s honestly a little jarring. It’ll take some time to get used to Belle Sans Glasses. However…
It really was worth it.
I’m not gonna downplay it, because half the frustration was in the surprise. I had a bad weekend, y’all. A coworker told me the night before my surgery that I’d smell my own eyeballs burning and he was right. What he didn’t know, though, was that the sheer terror of moving a millimeter in the wrong direction, outweighed any disgust I’d feel. Everyone talks about Lasik like an in-and-out thing and it is… but it’s really scary. I wasn’t just awake for the procedure. I was an active participant. If I looked away from the green light, I can only assume that the laser plastic surgery scene from Logan’s Run would’ve been the result. It was tense and nerve wracking and there was only one chance to get it right. After the fact, for whatever reason, having my corneas burned down was shockingly painful and I was miserable for three days.
On Monday, though, Jake and I went to the movies. We saw Annabelle: Creation and for the first time, I was able to shove my face in his shoulder during the scary parts, without skewing my glasses. My eyes were tired and dry afterward, but I couldn’t wait to see a 3D movie wearing only one set of glasses! That night, I was able to read in bed for the first time, without worrying about falling asleep in glasses. I woke up and reached for glasses, but they weren’t there.
In February, Jake and I are planning a ski trip. I’ll be able to wear the goggles this time. The next time we go hiking, I won’t have to suffer through contacts, because I can finally wear just $10 sunglasses. When I give birth, I’ll actually be able to see my baby, cuz no one keeps their glasses on during childbirth. I’ll have slightly better chances of survival in the ZA, because sight or no, I’m still so much The Indoor Girl. The pain has mostly subsided one week later and while I wish someone had informed me of the cost, they were right about the benefits. Still, this librarian misses her cape a bit.
If you’ve been following my blog for the past year, then you know my professional life has been a bit hectic. Last January, I started as a Supervisory Librarian at the Northside Library. Finally full time, I was able to quit substitute teaching for a new position that was envisioned as 20% supervisory and 80% librarian. Sadly, the title quickly evolved and my true role ended up being 100% supervisory… and still 80% librarian. In addition to acting as manager at all times, I was also the adult librarian, in charge of local and off-site book clubs, building the adult programming department, working the reference desk, maintaining and weeding a quarter of the collection, and performing readers’ advisory. After eight exhausting months, I tearfully explained to my manager that a good week was one in which I was the only person crying in my office… and that I was stepping down, internally.
This took a bit longer than I thought it would. I assumed I was the obvious choice for the adult librarian position in Cherokee and was rather overdramatically devastated when the job went to a woman who I now know was the more qualified candidate. Then, just north of Cherokee, a position opened in Jackson, also for an adult librarian. While teens have always been my passion, my experience at the Northside Library in adult librarianship just seemed to go further than my bachelor’s degree in education or my six years of substitute teaching or even all the teen-centered classes I took in grad school. No one cared about my goals or theoretical experience as much as they did my actual experience. Since I enjoyed working with seniors and I hated being a manager, it seemed unwise to be picky. Exactly 11 months after my first day, I celebrated my last as a Supervisory Librarian, before starting as just a Librarian at the Eastside Library. Life was good… for a fucking minute and a half.
Towards the end of January, came the announcement: my library system is undergoing a grassroots restructuring. Literally everyone’s title and job description are changing… no matter how new they might be. Less than two month’s, y’all. I had my position at a small town library with a touch of adult programming for less than two months… which was still enough time to relocate.
The Jackson Library is unique in that it’s grouped with the Lakeville, Harmon, and Nada libraries, which all serve small, almost rural, communities around a thriving metropolitan city. Together, these libraries comprise the Satellite Libraries of my system, which until very recently, have been treated as the Hillbilly Annex, when it comes to resources and funding.
Me: “I just hate the way everyone talks about these libraries. My bachelor’s degree was in home-ec. I constantly had to defend it, even to those in the education field, and here I am again, defending the Satellite Libraries to the rest of the system.”
Boss: “How do you mean?”
Me: “We’re part of a fifty million dollar system and we didn’t have color printing here, until 2017. I had a color printer in 1997.”
This is one reason why I asked my managers to see if I could be transferred to a new branch as part of the restructuring, since it seemed at least two librarians would be moved from the Satellite Libraries and no one else wanted to leave. Additionally, despite my asking before the interview and during the interview, if my position would require traveling to every Satellite branch and being told no, it seems this position has also evolved. Instead of doing the occasional adult program and working as a librarian, as promised, I would be expected to spend my days in meetings with city officials and schmoozing business owners in four different communities.
Me to my boss: “This is exactly why I got out of management. I spent all my time in meetings, talking about changing the world instead of actually changing the world.”
The restructuring, however, isn’t just about revising the positions themselves, but also deciding who fits best within them. We were asked to evaluate our strengths and truly consider with which population we could make the biggest difference: children, adults, or teens.
Children’s library has never even been a consideration of mine. I only like the children I’m required to like and sometimes, not even them. I’ll like my own. I probably won’t like their friends. As a whole, I don’t like kids and I’m not sorry.
While I sort of fell into adult librarianship, I did enjoy it, especially seniors. I had a group of ladies I visited at the nursing home, and they fun, sassy, and opinionated. I was the first stop at the Northside Library if a senior needed help with an iPad or Kindle Fire, because I loved reassuring them that they weren’t stupid, technology is hard, and they could do it. Still… my heart has always belonged to teens.
For the same reason I love seniors, I love teens. They’re the forgotten population. We push them aside in favor of the most active tax payers. When they’re children, we love them because they’re cute (or so I hear) and we cater to them because their parents are watching and voting. As teens, however, they come in alone, make a ruckus, and can’t vote. Most people view teens as little adults who have not yet learned to behave. I know that their brains are just as different from adult brains as those of children. One of the most miserable parts of management was watching the teen librarian plan and orchestrate programs and mentor volunteers, when I had missed the chance.
As much as I didn’t want to travel to a different library every day, I decided to chance it. I tossed my hat into an unknown ring and claimed teens. I could end up staying and travelling or leaving for any of our other 14 system libraries… but I’d get to be a teen librarian. Management has assured me the decision isn’t permanent, but I don’t see how it couldn’t be. No one will ever be more qualified for a position than someone who’s already doing it. Nevertheless, I was assured that they could probably still find a new place for me to serve teens, in system, but outside of the Satellite Libraries… or so they thought.
The next week, I was informed that I would probably be staying with the Satellite Libraries, as the teen librarian, despite the fact that two librarians will still need to leave and no one else wants out. I felt like management was trying to make a point that this wasn’t about me, but was it really so unreasonable to think I could still benefit, if someone had to leave anyway? Furthermore, why did they even open the Jackson Library in December, filling three positions, if they knew they were going to pull the rug out from under us all? After what happened with the Supervisory Librarian position, how could they do this to me, again? For the last six months, I’ve had no idea what my professional future holds. On the one hand, I understand the importance of the restructuring and I’m thrilled we have a director will to take it on to keep our libraries relevant… on the other, I’m trying to move and plan a wedding and prepare for marriage and management is ruining my life!
I’ve gotta give some credit to Jake, here, y’all, because as much as I tried to keep my cool, I… so… horribly… failed. You have not seen dramatic Belle, until you’ve threatened her future as a librarian and at this point, the back and forth was just too much. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to do teens for sure. There was still a chance I’d have to spend all day in meetings with city officials and lead book club discussions over boring grownup books about the Civil War and economics. If they made me travel and sit in meetings all day, I was seriously considering look for teaching jobs… and education in my state is not looking good. I’ve said it before, folks. I am the old man declaring that what you do is who you are and if I’m not a librarian, who am I? I spent days in bed, sleeping and crying over the stress of just not knowing.
Finally, I was able to sit down with my own Supervisory Librarian and the manager above her, where they explained that it’s unlikely anyone will be leaving the Satellite Libraries, but if they do, it just wouldn’t make sense for it to be their only passionate teen librarian. I was even informed that no one actually knew the restructuring would be so drastic, until after the Jackson Library was opened. My manager also made the point that, despite all this stress and upheaval, the teens in these communities need someone to champion them and I could be the best person to do so, considering the similarities between these towns and Shetland, my upbringing and theirs.
As icing on the cake, amidst all of this craziness, we received some other news: IMLS (Institute of Museums and Library Services) might lose their funding, because President Donald Trump is ignorant and shortsighted and wants to give the appearance that he’s cutting real spending when the only impact from defunding libraries at a federal level, will be a negative one. It’s a drop in the bucket as far as government spending goes, but if it’s eliminated, libraries all over the country will have to cut staff, hours, and resources and some will probably have to close their doors for good. I, myself, am fortunate enough to work in a library system that receives zero federal funding. While we benefit from a state database resource funded by IMLS, my job and that of everyone in our system, is secure.
So, over this past weekend, I was really able to process what my manager said, now that I’ve been assured that there are no hidden agendas and I can at least count on being the teen librarian for the Satellite Libraries. Maybe I really can make a difference out here and be truly fulfilled. Would the traveling even be so bad, once I’ve gotten used to each branch? After my talk with management, I realized that everyone in the system is facing major changes in their title. If I moved, I’d just be in the same trailer, different park. I told my Supervisory Librarian as much on Monday morning only to hear that the wheels are still turning and the Cherokee Library is now considered a Satellite Library, as well. I may end up working there as a teen librarian after all.
As exasperating as they may be, however, these changes are the reason we’ll be thriving in five years. They’re going to be the reason we’re still standing as other libraries fall, because while I’ve been crying in bed like a fucking Disney Princess, because I don’t know the future of my library, others in my field have been crying because their library has no future. This isn’t just a great chance, because it’s my opportunity to work with teens.
– I GET TO BE A TEEN LIBRARIAN, Y’ALL! –
It’s reassurance that I can still even be a librarian… because for many in my field, it ain’t looking good.
If you haven’t been following me since I was a graduate student, you might not be familiar with the fact that I can be a little high strung. Okay, so maybe that was also apparent when I started dating Jake… and then when I started sleeping with Jake… or when I got my new job… or when I realized how much I hate my new job. Know what? Not that big of a mystery. As much as I’d love to be able to, I simply cannot describe myself as a laid back person.
I want to, at least occasionally, be the girl who’s up for anything, who just goes with the flow when plans change… and I have been at times. I was that girl when I talked Gail into getting tattoos on a whim. I was that girl when Gail called in the middle of the night to tell me Terry was stuck in a ditch two hours away and I went along for the ride, entertaining her by reading aloud from satirical reviews of Fifty Shades of Grey. I was that girl on all those impromptu nights out with Catherine. I was even that girl when Jake wanted to go on a weekend ski trip in February, with little notice and having never skied. Lately, though… lately I just haven’t been able to muster up the gumption to be that girl, at all.
You see, I wouldn’t say that 2016 has been bad. It’s just been in a constant state of change. When I was 21 years old, I moved for the 10th time in two years. Every time someone knocked on the door, my heart leapt out of my chest, because I was certain my ex-husband had gotten us evicted again. After I left, things settled down a bit, but life wasn’t exactly what I’d call “steady” as I worked two jobs and attended graduate school. When I graduated, I was promoted to half time librarian and my pay at the library nearly doubled, but I was still dependent on my substitute teaching check. The harrowing world of dating wasn’t exactly a balm to my nerves, but I was no longer a student, so it was still an improvement. Then, I met Jake and was promoted to full time Supervisory Librarian. Finally, I would have the chance to settle in and get comfortable… except that’s not what’s happened at all.
Jake is wonderful and everything I’ve ever wanted, but his work schedule and the distance have been an endless battle. I thought his quitting the oil field might free up some time, but until he gets a job in the city, he spends his weekdays in another state working on the Granger Ranch. As for me, $50,000 a year in one of the cheapest states in the country sure has been nice, especially with all that health insurance, but… I hate being a manager. Here I am, almost one year from the announcement that I’d been promoted and everything was falling into place and I’m back to my “please let me get the job” prayer mantra.
Life certainly isn’t as stressful as the days of packing up all of my belongings in four hours, before the landlord calls the police. It’s not even as stressful as working two jobs and relying on the Almighty for health insurance. A surprise middle management position, major relationship milestones, months of illness, a year and a half of schedule conflicts with the love of my life, Jake’s unemployment, and now both of us applying for new jobs, however, does not a laid back Belle make… and I’ve gotta admit, my crazy’s becoming harder and harder to hide.
A few weeks ago, I lay on Jake’s bed, distraught:
Me: “Everything’s in flux and it has been for so long. I just feel like there are no constants anymore.”
Jake: “I’m a constant.”
The only reason he gets away with putting his foot in his mouth so often, is because when he does say the right thing, he nails it.
The next weekend, Jake walked through the door as I announced:
Me: “I’m getting an elective C-section.”
Jake: “Please stop reading those articles.”
After a weekend of arguing about C-sections versus natural birth, I ended up in tears and Jake finally asked the obvious question.
Jake: “Why are you so upset about something that’s not even happening for at least two years?!?”
Me: “Because you told me just last week that you’re absolutely opposed to elective C-sections and I agreed with you. Then Catherine and Laura both told me that natural childbirth will rip you in half and to definitely get a C-section. You have such a big personality and you’re so opinionated that I figured if I started arguing about it now, I’d have a better chance of winning!”
Jake: “Okay, I promise you that when the time comes, I will consider all of the options, if you’ll promise me that you’ll stop reading those articles.”
He also has the patience of a saint.
My irrational fear of eventual childbirth all started when my (former) OBGYN brushed off my birth control side effect concerns, despite my months of pain. Fortunately, though, I had better luck with my new chiropractor… after my hip popped out of place the morning of Jake’s birthday… because I bent over to pick up a pair of shorts.
One of the things no one ever really talks about, when they’re busy glorifying living alone, is how much it sucks to be hurt or sick and not even have the luxury of company. Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about being alone that amplifies any and all ailments… though apparently not nearly as much as finding out that I didn’t get that job I wanted.
I admit, the day I found out that I didn’t get the Cherokee job, I hit a breaking point and had something of a meltdown. While Jake is great at being supportive in person, he’s simply at a loss when his verbal skills are the only arrows in his quiver. Through a haze of pain, I babbled incoherently into the phone about hating my life, which I’ll admit was needless melodrama, but days earlier my hipbone was tucked behind my tailbone while I grimaced through a fishing trip. I’ve been under a lot of stress y’all.
Here I am, though, with an empty uterus and realigned spine, declaring that I will take the rest of 2016 in stride!
I will stop working myself up over Future Belle’s problems!
I will do my best to accept that the ever changing landscape that is my life these days, will ultimately lead to something good!
I will stop taking advantage of the fact that Jake is experienced in the management of high strung, over-achieving women!
I will reign in my crazy and I will force myself to enjoy my favorite time of year, because I will be that girl who goes with the flow!
I’m not single and I haven’t been for quite some time. I met Jake last June and I wouldn’t have called myself single past August or so. As Jake and I move closer and closer to marriage, shopping for rings and spending more and more nights together, though, I’m starting to realize how much harder it was when it was always just me.
I’ve shared, previously, the number of blogs, articles, and comments I’ve come across on the difficulty of marriage, which are usually followed by new parents telling me I ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I have a lot of friends who have been sharing this article on the difficulty of parenting on Facebook and I applaud the author for choosing not to discuss how easy everyone else has it… because that’s all I ever hear about being young and on your own. I don’t know if everyone is simply looking at their past through rose colored glasses or if young, single people feel pressured to insist that their lives are fulfilling in every way, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard or read a discussion on how truly difficult it can be to be alone.
Now, I’m certainly not pitying those enjoying the single life and the freedom that comes with it. I had a great time going to movies alone and enjoyed many all night Vampire Diaries marathons over the sound of a whirring sewing machine, when I was single. When Jake visits his parents or goes to Wellston for a few days, I even try to remind myself to enjoy the last chances I’m going to get to be, well… a little bit single. It’s a great time… but it’s also a tough one and no one ever gives anyone credit for the strength it can take…
… to be the sole earner.
As a single woman with an advanced degree, my entire adult life has been something of a financial struggle. In college, I was married to a man who refused to work, so perhaps I had a skewed view, but everyone remembers those years as the Age of Ramen. After I received my bachelor’s degree, however, that stage had already ended for most of my classmates and not because they got jobs, but because they got married.
As I entered graduate school, more and more of my high school acquaintances were choosing to stay home with their babies. These women posted funny YouTube videos about how their friends without children knew nothing of responsibility as I worked 13 hour days and came home to finish a research paper while eating off brand spaghetti rings, because who am I, the Queen? I still don’t buy the name brand. I paid for everything on my own, from my rent, electric bill, and groceries, to the rare nights out with Gail. Student loan payments, car trouble, chiropractor visits, that time my phone was stolen, my $70 asthma inhaler, trips to the vet… they all fell to me, while my peers showed off their new houses and $300 highchairs and longed for my stress free life.
As a successful young woman, I can’t discuss money when sharing my desire for marriage and family, without giving people the impression that I just want a man to take care of me. The women I’ve mentioned above had their own financial hardships. I understand that, I do, but they weren’t solely their burden or responsibility either. When you’re on your own, you’re the only one available to talk yourself out of that designer purse or that second drink, because you’re the only one funding the inevitable emergency. At the end of the month, it’s just you and whatever remains in your bank account. While this is a really great learning opportunity, it’s also really scary. It’s almost as scary…
… to be the sole everything else.
American culture has grown strangely proud of poor time management skills, with everyone from stay-at-home-moms to childless professionals competing to see who can claim the least amount of free time. Never was this more apparent than when I rushed home from a substitute teaching job to take my dog outside, before heading to the library, where I worked circulation until 9:00. When I’d get home at 9:30, it was often to an apartment that looked like an F1 tornado had hit it.
When you’re living with another person, it’s easy to take for granted the things that get done with little to no effort on your part. When Jake and I are married, whoever gets home first will start dinner. If one of us has more free time in the week, we’ll help the other out by doing the laundry, vacuuming, or mowing the lawn. If the Internet goes wonky, there will be two people who could potentially take the morning off to wait for the service call, and two people to compensate for any lack of income that might cause.
When it was just me, every day, working two jobs, I was lucky if I had the energy to microwave dinner, let alone clean up the kitchen or do the laundry. Thank God I didn’t have a lawn. Two years ago, a day off of work to wait for a service call could ultimately have been the difference between being able to afford that Internet or not. Even something as simple as company has become a given, now that I’m in a relationship. It’s easy to forget all those times I ran to the drug store sick or went home after a bad day to an empty and lonely house, now that someone’s available to pick up the prescriptions and cuddle up to during bad Netflix movies. It’s almost as easy to forget how hard it is…
… to have to face the unknown solo, with a smile on your face.
Zetus lapetus, dating sucks. If there is one aspect of being a single twenty-something that none of us feel compelled to talk up, it’s dating and that’s because no one looks back on it fondly… unless they just didn’t do it for very long. I remember getting ready for what was unsurprisingly another dead end date, with Gail’s help, a few years ago. She told me how, although she loves Terry, she sometimes misses that feeling of anticipation and excitement. In hindsight, I’ll admit, there were times when it really was exciting. Toward the end, however, it was just… emotionally exhausting.
The entire time I dated, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to admit that the one thing I wanted more than anything was a loving husband and children. I didn’t want them immediately or solely, but it was a goal of mine to be well on my way by the time I was 30. For some reason, I was supposed to leave something so important up to “fate” or “timing,” while being told my career goals were only subject to effort… even though the former was dependent on how one random person felt about me and the latter hung on how several very specific people felt about me. As a result, not only was I terrified that I may never attain what mattered so much to me, but I felt like I wasn’t even allowed to discuss it, for the sake of all womankind.
Not every woman shares my priorities. Some focus more on career or travel or general life experiences, but most people want to eventually find someone to love and care for and with whom to make all the big life decisions. There was a time when making all of those decisions by myself was freeing. Eventually, however, what I yearned for was a little less uncertainty in the world, some assurance that I would eventually put down the roots I wanted with someone I wanted. In your twenties, there are a thousand unknowns in your existence and when finding someone is no longer one of them, you feel a little more grounded, because you’re not facing the other 999 alone.
I look fondly on the time I spent single, because I made a genuine effort to enjoy it while I could. I had a great time thinking only about me and bettering myself and my career. My Gramma once commented on how exciting it must be to have my whole life ahead of me with all that freedom and all those decisions yet to be made. She was right. It was and still is very exciting. It’s also a lot to take on alone, because no matter how many amazing friends and family members you have, it’s not the same as being in a committed relationship. I don’t doubt that being newly married, having young children, or raising teenagers is stressful. I imagine every stage has its battles and tears. I just get really tired of hearing about how the post college, pre-marriage stage isn’t one of them… because going it alone is, quite often, really very hard. I hope I never forget that.
It’s always easy to remember my blogiversary, because I started this blog on my 25th birthday. Today, I turn 29, which means I’ve hit something of a personal record in blogging. Not only have I been chronicling my life and personal soap boxes for four years, but I’ve done so consistently. I don’t think I’ve ever gone a full month without an update, even when I was working two jobs and going to grad school. Here’s hoping the anonymity I’ve employed allows me to do so for years to come and that I’ll have even more reason to celebrate each and every birthday, because I love birthdays. I don’t just mean my own, either. Nope. I’ve already chosen gifts for both Gail and Jake, each of whom I fully intend to celebrate with next month, despite the fact that the former finds birthdays only vaguely appealing and the latter insists that they’re downright juvenile. No one spends a birthday alone on my watch.
My love of everyone’s birthday stems from the fact that my mother always did them up big, when I was a kid. Still, I always sort of assumed, that as I grew older, mine would lose their appeal, as everyone’s eventually do. I mean, my Facebook feed has been flooded with comments about how old we’re all getting since we were 24. I, myself, used the phrase “staring down the barrel of 30” just weeks before I hit 27, much to Gail’s horror. Surely, birthdays would lose their novelty in time.
On the contrary, I have come to the very last birthday of my twenties and I could not be more excited about getting older… and this blog deserves much of the credit. For four years, I’ve been sharing every triumph, every failure, every heartache, and every cheesy lovey dovey thought with the 1,400 or so followers who subscribe to my blog. At times, I haven’t known if anyone but Gail was even reading, going off of likes and comments, but I’ve told the tale anyway, because I know one person who will always read and that’s Future Belle. I love to look back at the stories and thoughts I shared in a different time, as a different person. At 25, I never realized how much could change in four years, but here I am struggling to remember what it was like to be the single grad student rushing from one job to another, praying I’d have enough money to make it through the summer without substitute teaching. In another four years, I’m sure I’ll be looking back, wondering what it was like to go home to an empty apartment and have the entire evening to myself… and that’s just so exciting.
At 16, if asked, I’d have predicted college, career, marriage, home ownership, and babies years ago, because that’s how it’s supposed to go in the South. Certainly, I wouldn’t have anticipated reentering the dating world after a divorce at 23, in tandem with starting graduate school. I wouldn’t have even guessed at the possibility of meeting the love of my life at 27 and still being unmarried at 29, let alone waiting until my 30’s to start a family. I’d have been horrified by what the timeline actually looks like.
I have so many thrilling moments ahead of me, so much to accomplish and yet, so many achievements to boast. If my life has changed this much in the last four years, I can’t imagine how amazing it’ll be in the next four. Given the choice, I’d so much rather be 29 and where I am than 25 and where I was and I imagine I’ll say the same at 39. Being an adult, moving forward in life, just generally getting older is awesome!
At 19, nine years ago today, I came home from work to find my house burned down, my pets dead on the lawn, and my ex-husband suspiciously profiting from the tragedy on the same day he lost another job.
At 20, I woke to pounding on my front door and an officer telling us we’d been evicted… with my ex-husband suspiciously insisting he’d been paying the rent.
At 21, I spent an ice storm in a motel room after being evicted, again… with my ex-husband, suspiciously insisting he’d been paying the rent, again. Later that year, we lived in another motel room for two whole months.
At 22, I had just lost a baby, my ex-husband totaled the truck my Gramma gave me for my 16th birthday, Gail buried her infant daughter, and the engine blew up in my car right after my college graduation… with my ex-husband suspiciously insisting he’d changed the oil.
At 23, 24, and 25, I worked two jobs and took grad school classes online, while coping with the fall-out from an emotionally exhausting divorce and attempting to date.
At 26 and 27, I continued working two jobs, with my only emergency fund and healthcare provider being prayer.
My entire adult life has been spent looking toward the future, because the present was at best unsustainable, and at worst made me near suicidal. For years, I told myself that things would be different in X amount of time. In five years, I’d be done with school/have steady income/be married to a good man. If I could only get through the present, the answer to my prayers was just on the horizon. This line of thinking was, quite literally, the only thing that kept me going, at times. I lived for the future, because I had no choice. It was pure survival.
Now, I’m 28-years-old. I’ve finished my master’s degree and and have a full time supervisory librarian position. I have healthcare and a hearty retirement fund. I have the money I need and even some extra I want. I met the man I’m certain I’ll marry and he’s perfect for me (not for anyone else, because he can’t keep his foot out of his mouth). I even got the black kitten I’ve yearned for, Thackery Binx. I’m living what will most certainly be some of the most exciting years of my life and it’s so ingrained in me to look forward that I’m afraid I’m missing it.
Last week, I wrote about my readiness to marry Jake. I don’t begrudge myself the eagerness to start our lives together. I think it’s healthy, at this point in our relationship and that’s truly not what I’m referencing. I just worry that I’ll look back and see myself always longing for another time, never enjoying the moment, because of a time when there were so few moments to enjoy. It’s not just me, I don’t think. We, as a society, treat life’s many stages as though half should be spent waiting, the other half reminiscing, with only a few years in between intended to be enjoyed. I was miserable for so long that I want to take the time to enjoy it all. I don’t want to marry Jake and count the days until we can pay off the debt, buy the house, have the babies, get them in school, get them out of the house, have grandbabies. I’ve been wishing my life away and for a time, it was necessary, but it’s just so good right now, that I wish I could be truly content.
Over the Fourth of July, I downed half a pitcher of margaritas and drunkenly fell on my ass while trying to get Jake to dance with me, in the park. I lit sparklers for his nieces and watched them chase their pigs. His mom and oldest niece both hugged me for the first time, before we left and I felt like one day we’ll really be family. Last week, when I drove to Wellston to enjoy a few hours with Jake, he tackled me to the couch, when I announced that his friends were going to think he was super sappy, as I tried to share Facebook’s “Friendiversary ” video from his phone. He cuddled me on his bed and let me give him Eskimo kisses. I’m terrified that I’m going to wake up one day, old and grey, devastated that I never truly appreciated these insignificantly beautiful moments and I pray for the ability to just… be.
At 24 years old, I sat in a Sonic drive-through with Gail.
Gail: “What do you wanna do?”
Me: “Let’s get tattoos!”
Now, perhaps, if I’d actually had a tattoo in mind, this wouldn’t have been such an inevitably regrettable decision. I am not anti-tattoo. My first was not my last. I also have my Gramma’s signature of her first name, which is my middle name and hopefully one day my daughter’s middle name, on my left foot. I will genuinely cherish that tattoo for all time, particularly when she’s gone, though she still insists that she’ll live forever. At 24, though, I had just divorced my ex-husband, lost 90 pounds, was dating again, nearing graduation for my master’s degree, and felt like I’d gotten my whole life back. I wanted to commemorate that, so when put on the spot, I chose something that spoke of life to me. The fact that it was a Logan’s Run reference was just an added bonus.
Today, I look at this tattoo and you know what I see? I see a girl who needed to start her life over and all the reasons why. I see a 260 pound 22-year-old fantasizing that her psychotic husband will kill himself. I see two part-time jobs substitute teaching and cleaning gym equipment with a bachelor’s degree. I see myself driving around with all of my valuables in my trunk, because the man I live with will pawn them. I see a 24-year-old who desperately wants to distance herself from the most terrifying years of her life, by getting a tattoo that symbolizes their end.
You know what, though? I did get my whole life back. I got to be young and reasonably fit. I got to go to bars with my friends and giggle through bad date stories. I finished my master’s degree and built a career. I fell in love. I’m going to get married and have babies and buy a home and it’s just going to be… my life. I don’t need a reminder that I ever had another one. I’d love to say that I came to this conclusion, gradually, over the last four years, and in a way, I did. However, I also went home from the tattoo parlor, looked at my cliché white girl ankh, and Googled how much it would cost to remove it. Maybe a part of me knew, even then, that this symbol wouldn’t be relevant for the rest of my life. Knowing removal would be costly and painful, of course, I tried to rationalize. This was my Gail tattoo. This was something crazy and impulsive we did together. Had I just gotten something silly and fun, like an elephant or a flower, then sure, it would be. But, as Jake and I have become more serious, I can’t deny that this is a reminder of a time in my life that it hurts to remember. Those years still cause me nightmares and I think about them every time I look at this tattoo. I just… don’t want it anymore. I also know that, when it comes to removal, it’s now or never. If I still have this tattoo when I get married or especially when I have kids, it’s not going to be a financial priority. So, a couple of months ago, I bit the bullet and scheduled my first consultation.
Speaking of time and finances, do you have any idea how long it takes to get a tattoo removed or how much it costs? Perhaps I shouldn’t have built my expectations for this procedure on a season of How I Met Your Mother, but I felt like it was a two to three month process, of 10 sessions. No. In fact, there must be eight weeks between each laser removal session and patients are advised to expect 10 sessions. So, in a year and a half, I can hope to see a mostly clear-skinned foot. That’s right. Results cannot be guaranteed, so the decision must be made to pay the price and hope for the best. That price, at the only clinic in the city, is $35 per square inch, with a $50 minimum. Because my tattoo is thankfully small, that makes it $50 per session. I’m no mathematician, but even I can figure that it’s going to cost more than $500 to get this tiny little ankh off my foot. So, how much does it hurt?
The first picture is of the scorch marks from the laser. The second is of the blistering that happened later. I did a little bit of research online, about how much the procedure hurts, trying to get an idea of whether or not it would even be bearable, before investing money. The comparisons ranged from “popping like a rubber band” to “small droplets of hot grease hitting your skin.” In my personal experience, the latter was dead on. Fortunately, I have a great technician, who will stop and let me take a break. The first session took me three goes, the second only two.
Does it hurt more than getting the tattoo? Yes, but it’s a much quicker process. Because my tattoo was so small, it would’ve taken, literally, about 30 seconds to do the whole thing, had I not needed breaks. Getting the tattoo took about five minutes and was also quite painful. Personally, I’d rather the extreme pain of removal for 30 seconds than the substantial pain of application for 10 times that. That being said, were this tattoo any bigger, I’m not sure I’d bother, partly for the price and partly for the pain.
As it stands, now, I’ve been through two tattoo removal sessions and I deem it bearable… but only just. I’m cheap, though, so even if it did get more painful, I’d be completing the process, because I’ve already invested $100. Fortunately, it’s supposed to get less painful, but pretty much always be awful. I keep having nightmares that I have larger and uglier tattoos to remove. Will this one be worth the time, pain, and expense? For me, yes. My advice overall, is simply not to accompany a divorce with at tattoo.
The trouble with my blogiversary is that it’s actually on my birthday…
… not that my dad remembers when that is. After I sent the “what’s up?” text, I checked my voicemail to receive his happy birthday wishes.
The man is a parody of himself.
Anyhoo, the blogiversary post is always a tough one to fit in, because I love birthdays. I birthday myself to death. Saturday, I got together with Gaily, Catherine, and Laura. We stuffed ourselves with cookie cake, pizza, and liquor and talked about boys. I told them all about how I drove to Wellston after work on Thursday to see Jake, who made me the boyest and sweetest dinner ever: pork chops and canned peas and corn on paper plates that got soggy before I was finished eating. It was wonderful and he obviously missed me as much as I missed him, so I stayed the night and drove home at 6:00 the next morning.
Monday, Gaily and I drove 40 miles for donuts that aren’t as epic as everyone claims and I illegally downloaded Trainwreck for us to watch while crafting. Last night, Niki brought sushi over and we gorged on leftover cookie cake and caught up on each other’s lives. Tonight, on my actual birthday, I get dinner with my favorite lady in the whole world: my Gramma. Later, I’ll see my work friends at a grown-up arcade. Tomorrow, my guy comes to town for two days to see me and meet Gaily and Terry and then my dad and Lena.
So, if this week is any reflection on how 28 will go, I feel like I’ve come a long way. I started this blog on my 25th birthday, a grad student carefully navigating the dating world, while still coping with a young and tragic divorce. While I’m hoping I’ll get a full time position at the library soon, I’m pretty darned content with my life right now. I have wonderful friends and family, a career I love, and a blog I’ve maintained for three years to the day. I’m excited to see my future entries. It’s not the life I planned at 18. It’s better.
Unlike a lot of singles, I am not shy about my online dating. I’ll openly admit that I date online, because I think it’s far less pathetic than complaining that I haven’t met anyone, because I’m not even trying. I go to bars. I drink. I flirt. I have nights out with Gail and Catherine. I try to talk to people at church, if I don’t have to rush to the library immediately afterwards. I mingle at work functions. I wear dresses nearly every day of the week, so I always look like I’m putting in more effort than I really am. In short, while I do date online, I also have a full life. I think that if more people would openly admit that the two aren’t mutually exclusive, all of these attached people, who met in the days of Central Perk and MacLaren’s, would stop assuming all online daters look like this…
I’m always amused by how many women hesitantly admit to online dating after hearing a few of my stories. Read some statistics, y’all! It’s what the cool kids do: read statistics AND date online, that is.
So, because of my openness, it’s not uncommon for people to ask what sites I use. Recently, I realized that I’ve used just about all of them. I’ve also realized that my readers, who often come for the online dating humor and stay for my inability to take anything else seriously, might benefit from an honest, experienced review. In addition, I’ll add one simple piece of overall advice. Always buy the bulk pack on any online dating site. It takes time to meet someone with whom you have any chemistry, even if it’s just online, and even more time to set a date to meet. The objective is to go on as many first dates as possible, until you find someone with whom you’d like a second date, so never sign up for less than six months. It won’t be worth it and you’ll end up wishing you’d just spent that extra $20, when your 30 days are up.
Plenty of Fish
You don’t need a screen name and can window shop anonymously.
Plenty of Fish is the Xanga you created in the 9th grade and completely forgot. It’s a mess and no improvements have been made to it in the two years I’ve been on it, which is a lifetime when it comes to the Internet. The Advanced Search option will remember everything you specify except religion, which I have trouble believing is an accident. The matches given appear to be completely random, because they rarely even fit the desired age range listed, let alone relationship status or common interests.
When you create your profile, you’re allowed to add up to 8 photos, the first of which must clearly display your face. This isn’t enforced particularly well, so you still get matches who appear to be muscle cars or white domestic shorthairs. The standards for your matches are set remarkably low with questions like “Do you have a car?” and they don’t have a character limit under the About Me section, so you’ll spend a lot of your time screaming “JUST FILL OUT THE FUCKING PROFILE!” at the computer, because that’s the 14th time you’ve seen nothing but “Ask me.”
That being said, I’ve met some nice guys on Plenty of Fish, who were genuinely seeking something serious. I’ve also met some bags of dicks who asked if I’d like to buy some weight loss supplements.
Summary: It’s free, so why not?
It’s set up much like many paid sites.
OKCupid is a much more impressive effort at a free dating site than Plenty of Fish. Here, you lose the ability to anonymously window shop, unless you make a fake profile, but said profile comes complete with the option to answer user created questions and compare them to those of others. These questions can be really useful in discerning political, faith, ethical, or even sexual differences. They can also be bizarrely personal and inappropriate, so your abortion dilemma may be directly followed by an ass to mouth dilemma. Fortunately, you can skip questions and your answers can only be read by those who have also answered. Unfortunately, it’s suuuuuper awkward to go on a first date with a man, when you know he’s tried anal.
Each match on OKCupid comes with a percentage, based solely on the aforementioned questions. I’m not a statistician, but I’d still recommend taking these numbers with a grain of salt and reading individual responses. Some questions are less important than others, particularly if you answered them a while back, after binge watching Bewitched and deciding that the man really should be the head of the household. There are a lot fewer men on OKCupid who’ve left their entire profiles blank, but it’s still a free dating site. This means plenty of unemployed and/or married men, so it pays to read every bit of information given.
Summary: This is a great introductory to online dating, because it doesn’t cost a dime, but comes with an interface similar to paid sites.
It’s a free phone app.
You sign in through Facebook, but it won’t post to your page.
Tinder is just the place for “ask me” guy. It requires nothing but a Facebook login, from which it pulls your age, gender, About Me, and a few photos. The last two can be edited. Once you’ve logged in, you’re given photos of users in your area and age range, which is set to everyone as an alterable default. Each photo allows you to swipe left for no and right for yes. If you tap the photo, you’ll get any others that have been added and if you’re super lucky, a short bio. Most of these are blank, but some include helpful tidbits, like the fact that this guy is in a plural marriage or wants to “see your tits.” That’s right, you’re basing all interest almost purely on appearance. It’s a great way to feel better about yourself if you’re even mildly aesthetically pleasing. It’s also a great way to view an accidental dick pic.
The real problem with Tinder is that no one takes it seriously. You’ll see guys from other sites, where they’ve put in real effort, and they’ll leave zero information here. The perks of online dating, like weeding out the unemployed and guys with No Fat Chicks paragraphs, don’t apply. If you do try to use it as a legitimate dating tool, you have to cover all of the important things in conversation and you’ll feel like an ass when you stop talking to a guy, because he’s just an assembly line worker or has two different baby mommas. Unless you’re looking for a hookup, Tinder serves no real relationship purpose. We’re all just bored and shallow and this is where we hang out now, because there’s no cover charge and we don’t have to wear pants.
Summary: If you need a laugh, it’s free, so why not?
While the service costs the same as most sites, proceeds benefit the Church.
There are approximately 28 people in my area.
Catholic Match requires subscribers to answer questions specific to the Church, such as whether they accept mandates on contraception and are free to marry in the faith. In theory, it would’ve been a great way to find someone who lined up perfectly with my religious beliefs. In reality, Catholic Match was a terrific opportunity to view the profiles of the 14 Catholic men in my area and age range, who haven’t been called to the Priesthood. If I lived in a different part of the country, say Massachusetts, which has the largest concentration of Catholics in the nation, I’d be on kid number three by now. Get it? Because we’re Catholic? Anyway, here in the South, Catholic Match was just far too specific, as I imagine JDate would be, as well. I don’t regret trying it, because the proceeds benefited the Church, but I also did not get even one date in my six months as a paid member.
Summary: If Catholicism is important to you, make sure that there’s more than one place in your city to buy a Rosary, before subscribing.
It costs about the same as other dating sites.
Choices are fewer.
You’re encouraged to be pickier about things, when you wouldn’t normally care.
I tried Christian Mingle, because I figured I’d be religious specific, without being denomination specific and get more results. Sadly, it’s just like any other dating site, only judgier. Even if you wouldn’t typically mind denomination or relationship status or children, it’s hard not to notice and form opinions, because the information is displayed so clearly in a religious environment that encourages you to find a religious match. You fill out the same profile that you do anywhere else, only you’re asked which church you attend: quite specific information that you shouldn’t divulge to strangers who might be crazy. There are chat rooms and message boards available to subscribers, but they don’t work well and there are free Christian social networking options all over the Internet. However, they can be helpful for questions like “What is wrong with my profile?” and “Would you date a virgin?” Additionally, the staff encourages responses to every message, regardless of interest. Come, now. We all know the rules of online dating: whoever loses interest first, wins. Also, no one wants the Thanks, but No Thanks email. That’s just rude.
As a divorced, 26-year-old, Catholic girl in the South, I’ve no idea what I was thinking when I decided to try Christian Mingle. Again, even when you wouldn’t care about such things normally, Christian Mingle is pressuring you to find a very specific match. If I’m going to date a Methodist, why not find him on OKCupid? We’re in the Bible Belt. It wouldn’t be that hard. I suppose that one of the reasons I decided to try this site was the sheer number of men only interested in hook ups. I figured a Jesus-centered dating service would at least get me respectful men. WRONG. I never had a single date from Christian Mingle and one of the two men I ever texted asked, completely off topic, how short my shortest dresses were and if I enjoyed giving and receiving massages.
Summary: If you’re a single, virginal Christian girl in the South… you probably don’t need Christian Mingle, because there are plenty of opportunities in this area to meet other Christians and they’re free.
It’s the most expensive mainstream dating site.
There is no browsing. You can only look at assigned matches.
eHarmony will spend your entire subscription period telling you that there is no one out there for you, because you’re just too danged picky. No really. Despite my acceptance of all denominations of Christianity (ubiquitous in these parts), all races, and all men who will consider having children, several times a week, I still get an email telling me that my distance limitations are just too specific. At the moment, they’re strictly set at 60 miles. I live in a suburb of a thriving metropolis. Sixty miles in any direction gives me a lot of people… but no. eHarmony can’t find anyone in a 60 mile radius that could be a possible match. If I loosen the parameters, I get men in other states, which is not a minor thing in the middle of the country. This ain’t Jersey, folks. I can’t just drive to New York to meet a great guy. When I do get matches (maybe once a week), they’re usually identified as not being quite what I was seeking, which means they’re younger than I, have no photo, or might want kids. In fact, the one man I did meet was awful. He was one of my least compatible and worst dates ever. Consequently, several times a week, eHarmony gets an email telling them how much they suck and that I’ll never recommend them or subscribe to them again.
Summary: If it’s given as a gift, say thank you, but don’t expect to mean it, unless you’re perfectly willing to relocate for luuuuuuv.
Online coupons and bulk rates make it reasonably affordable.
Matches must be able to afford the subscription fee.
My first year of Match.com has just expired. I signed up for the 6 Month Match Guarantee one year ago, after my GP acted shocked and amazed that I wasn’t getting laid, right before my birthday. Thanks a heap, Doc. I wasn’t already having trouble with entering the last half of my twenties. Anyhoo, the guarantee required that I contact at least five new people each month, keep my profile visible, and always have a photo displayed. Included, was a monthly progress bar, verifying what still needed to be done. After six months, in which I admit I really didn’t even use the subscription, I was offered a free six month renewal and accepted. Because of a coupon code I found online, I paid only $76 for the entire year. Yes, I’m still single, but I must say, it was worth it.
Match.com combines the best features of all of the above sites. By charging a fee, it weeds out most “students” or unemployed men. By keeping the fee affordable, there are still plenty of matches available. Each match has a percentage, rating compatibility. Though daily matches are provided for approval or dismissal, they don’t necessarily match up with your specifications. While you can’t cater said matches to your choice of height, relationship status, or religious denomination, you can easily perform and save searches specific to all. Important information cannot be left blank, so there is no “ask me,” and instead just the occasional “I’m only filling this out, because there’s a character limit.” Dude, why did you pay for this?
One thing Match offered that no other sites did was Stir Events and I even went to a couple. While they would’ve been more fun with a friend, they weren’t near as horrible and awkward as they sound. They were free, you could bring friends for free, they often included a drink for each person, and were held in popular venues in the city. I have every intention of renewing and actually using my subscription, in the next month.
Summary: If you’re going to pay for online dating, this is the only site I recommend. Take advantage of the Stir Events. It’s a free drink.