The Week of 1004 Dates: O&G

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

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

Date 2 – Tuesday – O&G

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

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

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

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

Psh… I don’t need your help, Gail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I finally found the place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That.

I never heard from O&G after that night.

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

Gail agreed.

Surprise, surprise.

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

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

I got lost on the way home.

City life

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

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.

Sometimes… I’m still a little broken.

Posted on August 28, 2013 by Belle of the Library

When 10 family members like this post on Facebook…

So, this past week, I went on 1004 dates (blog entry both pending and a lot funnier than this one) and decided that my bias toward the free sites was unfair. There could be good men on there, if I’m patient enough to weed through all of the 28-year-old “students” living at home. So, as a tester, I reactivated my OKCupid account, since that was easier than building a new one on Plenty of Fish. Within just a few minutes I sent Gaily the following text:

Reactivated my OKCupid account. First Message:

Hey ur beautiful how r u doin? U look really nice n sweet n i am nice n sweet n wanna be friends?

She thought it was hilarious and I decided I’d deactivate again once the site would allow me to in a week. I wasn’t willing to completely delete the information of whom I’d been in contact with and whom I hadn’t.

In the meantime, I chatted with one guy who lives a few hours away (briefly, because he lives a few hours away) and giggled over the profiles of some obviously crazy people, which naturally led to… my ex-husband’s OKCupid account.

Upon seeing a picture of the man who… oh I can’t even outline his sociopathic tendencies again!!!!! I started to hyperventilate and immediately deleted my account forever. I was intensely freaked out that he might have had the opportunity to open my profile and read anything about my life. Everything about me has changed. I am unrecognizable both physically and personality-wise. The idea that he knows I like guns and college football and that I actually became a librarian? It has my heart racing as I fucking type the words.

So, naturally, I immediately turned to my human security blanket, The Great and Powerful Gail.

Can you believe a female Wizard of Oz costume doesn’t exist?!?! No, seriously. I’m bothered by this. There’s a sexy Tin Man, a sexy Cowardly Lion, a sexy Scarecrow, and a sexy Glinda for crying out loud. Glinda was 55 years old in that movie! I fucking checked! What? A woman can’t be the leader of a magical city? Fuck you costume makers of America! FUCK YOU!

Ahem. See? I’m avoiding the point of the blog, because it’s making me nauseous.

Anyway…

As I was informing Gail of my e-run-in, I realized that I really wanted to know what my ex-husband’s profile said. I couldn’t quell the curiosity over what a man who refused to work for four years lists under “profession.” Gaily’s ex-husband, Shane, claims to be the manager of his parent’s pet store… as he did when he never went to work while they were married. Welcome to the Midwest, y’all: Home of the Commonplace 22-Year-Old Divorcée . I once texted Gail in regards to my ex:

Me: His Facebook says he has a job.
Gail: Hahaha. Sure. I’ll bet he was “hired” to burn down the pet store Shane “manages.”

Given our oddly similar mental fractures from our previous marriages, Gaily was in full support of my creating a fake profile just to see what my ex-husband’s said. FYI, you don’t need a valid e-mail address to create a blank OKCupid account under the name Mobetterdogs and stalk people. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that I looked. I really don’t. I will say his profile name had both the word “nerdy” and the misspelling of the word “than.” His profile also included:

What are you doing with your life?

“putting it back together after a tough divorce left me homeless, jobless, and pennyless.”

WHAT?!?!?!?

One, Captain Asshat, it’s penniless, not pennYless. No wonder you failed senior English!

Two, Spawn of Hell, you were penniless and jobless the entire time we were married! That’s like saying our divorce left you fat and white! Also, you can’t talk about how you’re putting your life back together after your divorce 104 fucking years later!!!!

Gail: “How does a divorce make someone jobless?”

Three, Bag of Dicks, homeless?!?!?! You had months to make arrangements, because that’s how long you refused to leave after I asked!!!!! That’s how long it took for Jay to advise me to threaten to call the Sheriff and remind him of the WARRANT out for those checks you “didn’t write.” You were only homeless, because you were no longer welcome in the homes of your family after their shit went missing!!!!!! That’s quite similar to the reason you weren’t welcome in MY home anymore!!!!! It was, indeed, MY home, since I was the only one paying for anything EVER!!!!!! You even kept breaking into my apartment long after I kicked you out, so you could steal my shit!!!!!

Four, you Son of a Whore, “tough divorce”?!?!?! Try free divorce, since I’m the one who paid for it!! I went fucking crazy during said divorce and refused to sleep for two weeks while I threw out all of your shit and realized all you had stolen from me!!!! I found a card that proved that, after all those times you yelled at me for the implication, my wedding ring was indeed fake!!!! I still can’t watch Firefly because it reminds me of how you stole the boxed DVD birthday present from me when I forgot to pack it up with the valuables I had to store for safekeeping!!!!!! I LOVE FIREFLY!!!!!!!! How about my tough marriage?!!? I owe six digit school loans from living off financial aid when you wouldn’t work! You pulled roadrunner-esque schemes to FAKE JOBS!!!!! I lost 12 pounds the summer I worked at the movie theater, because free popcorn was the only food we had! I MISCARRIED THAT SUMMER!!!! You left me alone while I did, so you could go to a party!!!!!!

Then I read his questions.

Do you like cats or dogs?

Both. As long as they’re trained and not pains in the ass.

My precious little “pain in the ass” still cannot get through bathtime without my singing, because you used to beat him on the rare occasion you would bathe him, despite not working or being in school! He’s finally over his fear of men! YOU HURT MY PUPPY!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?!?!?!?!?

Gaily was right. Under profession, it said “student.” Not only that, but the text of his profile actually clarified that he’s “planning to go back to school soon.”

That’s still unemployed! You were “planning to go back to school” when you got kicked out of college at 19. At one point, YOU FAKED BEING IN SCHOOL!!!! Higher education is not for you. Get a fucking job.

Yes. I feel validated. I won the divorce. Clearly. It’s been two and a half years and I have a Master’s degree and burgeoning career, wonderful friends, an adorable apartment. I’m also 100 pounds lighter and know what eyeliner is. I did everything I said I would and then some. Go me. Most days, I feel wonderful and free and blessed.

Then, there are other days, when I’m still a little broken. I say the name of the beloved cat that died in the unexplained fire that got my nineteen year old husband a bunch of cash the day he lost his job… and I can’t breathe. I open a DVD case with soot on it and that smell puts me back on a charred futon, crying into a burned, wet stuffed animal because my pets look like they’re sleeping on the front lawn. I walk down the baby aisle of a Target and know it’s for the best that he has nothing to do with a child… but it’s a child I lost. I look for a movie on my shelf and realize it’s one he stole when he was breaking in at night. I have a nightmare that I’m still married and I wake to a panic attack. I cuddle the dog and promise no one will ever hurt either one of us again. Most days, I’m an upbeat, happy Librarian with a thriving social life and a skill for random Pinterest crafts. On rare occasion, I’m a morbidly obese, 23-year-old, sitting in a judge’s chair, holding back the tears. Another person who was supposed to love me had hurt me.

… but thank the Lord for good friends.

I’m pretty sure I’m done with the free dating sites. I also feel completely justified in my refusal to date anyone with the profession of “student.”

Yeah. That’s a fucking thing.

“It’s just like that episode of My Little Pony!”

Posted on August 19, 2013 by Belle of the Library

As a teen, I could talk until I was blue in the face about my favorite book series, Fearless. Gaia was born without the ability to feel fear, so her CIA agent father trained her to kick ass since she wouldn’t have the common sense to not confront the super villains of the streets of NYC.

I was so much worse about Roswell, watching the same episode every morning before school all week. Max, the brooding teenage alien saves the life of small town girl, Liz, and all hell breaks loose in the form of FBI car chases and alien teen pregnancies.

At 20, there was no better way to escape that toxic marriage (shhhh… don’t say divorce) than by immersing myself in a world of sparkly vampire teens who hadn’t made the biggest mistake of their lives by marrying sociopaths before they were legally able to buy alcohol. For realz, I read those books like eight times.

Gaily bought an NRA membership for me in support of gun rights. They sent me a smushed hat in the mail. I have more sexual chemistry with that hat than these two had.

These titles sound so much worse when described, but I didn’t write them. No, my fiction always got me one-on-ones with the creative writing teacher. It’s not like I actually made a preacher kill his daughter with a shot-gun for engaging in premarital sex. Jeez. Calm down.

If you think I’ve forgotten talking your ear off about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gail, you’re wrong. Five foot nothing Sarah Michelle Gellar saves the world from power hungry high school geeks and giant snakes, flanked by her outcast sidekicks and badass Librarian mentor. That’s right. Librarians: We get shit done. No, I didn’t forget. It’s just still awesome.

Don’t think I won’t.

So, you’re seeing a trend here, right? I’m an obsessive person. I never grew out of that phase, because it wasn’t a phase. I’d like to say I control it better, but I’d be lying. Honestly, I credit this personality trait with having my master’s degree at 25 and losing 100 pounds in a year. I get something in my head and I won’t quit, be it a graduate degree or deciding to make all of my Christmas presents by hand. A couple of months ago, I decided I’d make custom photo albums for all of the pictures I’ve been taking since my life really started after my divorce in 2010. I am very much of the Mellenial generation, y’all. I sleep with my phone next to me. I carry my Kindle in my purse at all times. I bought my Gramma a Nook and taught her to download library books from home. Translation: I take a shit ton of pictures. Some are frame-worthy, some were taken to embarrass Gaily the day you could totally see her two granny bras under her spaghetti strap dress, some are screen caps of Facebook posts that I send to Gail so we can be catty. There’s a lot to sift through, but I finished two whole years worth of albums in one week.

This is me on a project:

“Great. I got a full forty minutes… and I had time to build that rocking horse. “

Additionally, when I get on these tangents, failure is not an option. I’m pretty sure I can blame my daddy for that one, after he sternly asked the ten-year-old

“Now, why is that A so low? You need to get that 93 up, before it drops down to a B.”

On the one hand, thanks for the 4.0, Dad. On the other, Gaily would like to punch you in the head for the time I called her crying because I got a 98.5% on that project…. less than a year ago.

For this reason, when I set a new goal, instead of sharing my enthusiasm, Gail’s response usually goes something like this…

Me: “So, now that I’m a Librarian, after I get full time and do that whole boy thing, I’d like to publish a book one day.”
Gail: “Motherfucking damn it! You’re gonna call me at 28 crying hysterically” ::begins hyperbolic impression of me freaking out:: “‘… and I’m not even published! My life is over, because I’m too stupid to get published and now I have to join the Air Force!!!!'”
Me: “Okay. One: I can’t join the Air Force after my 27th birthday and I was only talking about it if I failed my graduate portfolio, because I couldn’t do anything else…”
Gail: “You have a bachelor’s degree in education! You could teach!”
Me: “AHEM! Two: This is a long-term goal. It’s after I get full time and maybe even get married again. I don’t even have an age attached to this. It’s just one day in the possibly distant future.”
Gail: “Uh huh. I’m sure.”

Gaily’s impression of 28-year-old Belle:

Soooooo, it is with this… determination… that I took on a new project this week: genealogy.

As a Librarian, my job is research. People call and ask questions like “Did James Dean have one wife or two? Who was the mother of his children? What was his highest grossing film?” or “My neighbor is selling his condo, but the price he’s given me is really high. Can you tell me how much it’s worth?” I’m not kidding. Obscure research is my gig, yo. Soooo, between customers, we’re encouraged to surf the Internet, as long is we stay off Facebook. Since the library has free access to Ancestry.com and two of my coworkers are really into genealogy, I figured “why not?” When I told my dad about some things I found, he was really excited… like oddly so for a conversation that didn’t include the words “ammo” or “holster.”

So, I decided to look further into things that night at work. I figured, if I could get enough information on Grandma Kay’s family, then I might be able to form a Christmas present out of it. My daddy may be a blue collar guy, but he’s a hard working one and when it comes to gifts, if he wants it, he can pretty much buy it himself. If he can’t, I sure as hell can’t. It was beyond sweet the day he wore his college dad shirt, just for me, when it had clearly not be been worn in the year since I’d given it to him. Even better, he pretended he didn’t even realize he was wearing it. Still, I’m always trying to find something I can give him that he’d actually like.

Me: “Well, I can show you how to look this stuff up.”
Dad: “Now, why would I wanna do that, when you can do it for me?”

So, with nothing to go on but my great grandpa’s name, I spent my shift tracing my ancestry, with the help of another Librarian. I found a lot, too. Despite wanting my Christmas present to be a surprise, I decided I’d call my Grandma Kay and ask for some names to assist me. She’s a night owl, so I knew she’d be up. That was when she told me that my great great grandfather’s name was indeed Clayton, as I’d thought, but his middle name was Harold… not Preston. I’d traced the wrong family back to the 1700’s and had nothing on my own. I’d also already told my grandma that I found a lot for her and felt terrible about the prospect of disappointing her after she’d been so excited, not to mention, idiotic for making the mistake in the first place. Even the small piece of information that my dad had been so thrilled about was false. So, after I hung up with my grandma, at around 11:00, I signed up for the ancestry.com free international trial. I figured I could match at least what I thought I had found.

Look! I found a picture of great great great grandpa!

Um….

Though the names my grandma had given me were misspelled and she wasn’t even sure of the relations, I found a wealth of information, this time verifiable with U.S. Census documents. I was even able to trace one branch back to the year 1660 in France. It was probably about 1:00 in the morning by this point, but I decided to keep going with another branch, so I could say I’d actually found more.

That was when the last name Barron showed up and the leads kept coming, all verifiable with Census documents. You see, the way family trees work is that you trace back until the information runs out, because the common folk had no reason to record their families. Apparently, however, the last name Barron was used, because my great X 8 grandfather was an Irish baron, or the lowest class of British royalty, so they did keep records. At this point, it was just names and dates, but I kept recording them until about 4:30 a.m. I was in the 10th century when I finally went to bed, still not finished, exclaiming to the dog “Whatev. They’ll still be dead in the morning.” I woke the next morning and sent my dad the following text.

Clayton is the descendant of a baron, or the lowest class of British royalty and the names and dates go back to the year 10,000. Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass that was to research and record?!?!?!

Having had about 5 hours of sleep, I got up and continued to research while drinking coffee… and was not paying attention to the amount.

It was about the time I started roaring at the dog and praising God that my downstairs neighbor moved and could not hear my stomping, that I realized I probably could’ve done without the second pot of coffee.

It was also at this point when I sent Gail the following text…

Me: I’m a descendant of low British royalty. It’s just like that episode of My Little Pony!
Gail: …? I didn’t watch My Little Pony, your highness.
Me: Capitalize that, peasant.

This also led to a text argument with Jane over whether or not it was fair to claim she and Gaily had no childhood for not having seen My Little Pony, including the following:

Jane: I never had any interest in ponies. I wanted a whole horse.
Me: Ponies are not HALF a horse. Geez, I’m glad you aren’t a vet.
Jane: Ponies aren’t horses. They’re ponies. They have a different name for a reason. I wanted a horse. They kinda are half of a horse. They’re bitchy too.
Me: No. They’re colorful and they have special powers. You’d know this if you weren’t raised in a Nazi boot camp.

So, not only has my tunnel vision focused my genealogy efforts for one thousand years, it’s also stimulated intellectual conversation and quality pet time.

Win. Win.

“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

181

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.

How much do I NOT want to be a princess?

Posted on July 26, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Thiiiiis much.

Every little girl wants to be a princess… or, in my case, an Olsen twin. I also wanted to be Belle, though, since she had talking dishes and furniture. I was so disappointed when they all turned into humans in the end. True story. Despite everything I’m about to say, honestly, I’d still totally let Beast inflict emotional abuse and trauma on me for that kickass library. I’m tellin’ ya, Anastasia Steele did that all wrong.

Fuck your iPad, Christian Grey. Chain it up and fuck it with a pool stick.

For Halloween, playtime, birthdays, a Tuesday, we all went as princesses, because as Americans, we were raised to view a monarchy as magical and, perhaps, even mythical. My surprise when I discovered princesses really existed was almost as profound as when I discovered little people did. What?!?! They existed alongside witches and fairies!!!! It was a perfectly rational conclusion!!!!

Blame him.

Eventually, however, we grow up and rewatch all of those movies and, if we’re lucky enough to have been born in the right decade, we watch a woman our own age live out her own princess fantasy… and we realize (if we over-analyze always)… it sucks.

For the most part, I think the idea that little girls get any truly negative messages from Disney is horseshit. However, even as a child I thought it sucked ass that poor Jasmine wasn’t even allowed to choose her own husband. I also wondered why she wanted a liar and a thief, but who am I to talk about that one, amiright?!?

Hmmm… maybe Disney did cause my divorce.

When I was nine years old, I got my second indication that princess wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. It was in the form of a roar of discussion and debate on the death of Princess Diana and how her prince had her murdered… or didn’t. Who knows? Either way, she died way too young and wasn’t brought back by True Love’s Kiss. The princess gig was sounding less and less appealing.

As a teen, I went back and watched all of those other Disney movies about how Cinderella marries a man she barely knows; Ariel has to go from being an awesomefuckingmermaid to a boring ol’ human just for her prince; Snow White has to friggin’ die to be with hers; Belle has to develop Stockholm Syndrome to be with hers. What the fuck?!?! Being a princess sounds horrible!!!!!

Today, I am 25 and there’s Kate Middleton, a completely un-animated “Princess.” I’ve met a lot of women who love to follow the “fairytale romance” of Prince William and a commoner. It’s just “soooo romantic!” Well, for starters “commoner” my butt. Maybe her great-grandparents were cloth merchants and miners, but the Middletons founded their £30 million company in 1987, when their eldest daughter was six years old. I admire hard workers who carved out their own place in society, rather than just taking what the taxpayers hand them, so frankly, the Middletons are the bomb. Those folks started out as friggin’ flight attendants and now their mail order party supply business is worth so many U.S. dollars that I can’t find a currency calculator to tell me how much that even is. My point, though, is that their daughter was not a “commoner” in any sense beyond her lack of royal blood. She was poised and privileged for the majority of her life and could hardly relate to your average middle-class American woman watching the royal wedding at 3:00 in the morning, raw cookie dough in hand. After all, she did go to the same college as the future KING.

Now she was a true commoner.

So yes, technically Catherine Middleton had no royal blood, but were there a whole lot of other options? Marriage between cousins is sort of frowned upon these days, yo. Fun fact: it wasn’t when Queen Elizabeth II married her third cousin in 1947. Regardless of the recent lack of inbreeding, here are the reasons I don’t even kind of want to be the Duchess of Cambridge.

Prince William
I’m divorced and jaded. Having admitted that, I honestly just don’t buy the whole “… and they lived happily ever after” fed to us, about this couple, by the media. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think this is some kind of set-up or scheme. I just don’t think that this couple would even have been able to truly fall in love with all that was at stake. We’re talking about dating the future King of England, y’all. Kate’s an intelligent gal, so there is no way she missed that her future late mother-in-law (did I get that right?) was “tested for virginity.” No one gave a fig if Prince Charles was pure as the driven snow. They just didn’t want him sullied by Diana’s rotting womb in fucking 1981.

Okay, officially channeling Gail. Anyway, that’s a lot of pressure. Even if Kate and William truly did fall in love, can you even imagine the trust exercises involved in that relationship? Normal people fall back and hope their future spouse catches them at the marriage retreat. William had to hope Kate didn’t go to the media about how big his tinkle was and Kate had to hope he eventually got over his tendency not to let her get too long of a look at his tinkle. No wonder they dated for eight years. I hope they are in love, now. I genuinely do. I just think there’s a good chance that they were just really good friends and William felt Kate was the only trustworthy “candidate” (see above animation); that Kate felt a responsibility or obligation to her good and loved friend (romantic or not) and her country. I hope it’s the former, but I wouldn’t want to be Kate on the off-chance that it’s the latter. Additionally, Prince William was so damned handsome when he was younger. I remember thinking how cute he was when I was a little girl and lamenting that he was six years older, because that’s why we wouldn’t work.

Oh, my…

These days, he’s still six years older, but…

Oh… my.

… now he looks like a Family Guy skit.

The Eyes
There is a whatkatewore.com. That sight fucking exists. That is how much people give a shit what this woman does. In addition to opinions on her bedroom traffic and clothing choices, there are articles on Kate’s pregnancy, diet, and even her topless sunbathing. Photos are included in that last one. I, a Southern American Librarian have seen the future Queen Consort’s boobs. That’s royalty. Within hours of pushing a human being from her much-speculated vag, a hair dresser showed up to get a tired new mom photo ready. That’s royalty. Ariel combed her hair with a fucking fork and Kate Middleton isn’t allowed a ponytail?

You lied to me, Disney!!!!!! Mickey Mouse will die aflame and screaming!!!!

The Parenting
Let’s just ignore the sexism inherent in the birth of an heir. Okay. Let’s not.

Would the fountain have been pink? Would it? Yes, yes, I’m channeling Gaily again. Men and women are different and have different strengths and should be valued for those. Clearly, however, their ability to run a country isn’t one of them. Before writing this article, I could not have told you Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh’s name with a gun to my head. Again, Southern American Librarian here. I’m on another continent and I’m not in politics, but I could probably still tell you we were on our second Queen Elizabeth… because she’s Queen and the ruler of that country. Would we have seen such enthusiasm for a female heir, though? I mean, there’s absolutely no way to tell at this point, because the next royal child will be fourth in line and quite unlikely to ever run the country, so the enthusiasm will be lessened regardless of gender. While I know a future queen would be celebrated, I can’t bring myself to believe it would be with the same exhilaration. Everyone wanted a boy. I’m not sure I’d want to raise my child in such a traditionally sexist family. I’d like to note, however, that Queen Elizabeth II has been making strides in this, having declared in January that all children of the eldest son (not just his eldest son) be granted the title of Royal Highness.

The fountain was indeed blue, however, so we’ve welcomed Prince George Alexander Louis of Cambridge into the world. What if Kate wanted to name him Michael, after her father? I’m not talking about giving the kid an American suburb name. “Introducing King Brantlee!” I’m talking about a biblical, respected name. Maybe she wouldn’t even try to use it as a first name, but rather a second middle. Psh. Let’s just name the kid Prince George Alexander Michael Louis of Cambridge. Who the fuck is going to make fun of the future King of England, anyway? Oh. Right. She wouldn’t get to do that. Ever. She did not even get to name her own baby.

So, she’s raising Prince George the future King of England. When I was in Kindergarten, I was going to be a pilot, because they could fly. Then I was going to be an Olsen twin… then a veterinarian… then an actress… then a lawyer… then a witch… then a psychiatrist… then a marine biologist… then a nurse… then a pharmacist… then a home-ec teacher… then a nurse… then an English teacher… then a home-ec teacher.. then a librarian. If I wanted to change my mind tomorrow and go to medical school, I could do that. Prince George, however, gets to be King. That’s it. Of course, the British Military is always an option, like his father chose. Prince Harry was in the military, also, but was pulled from the front lines in the Afghan War, because people found out about it. If Prince George decides he wants to be a psychologist, a math teacher, a veterinarian, anything other than King of England, tough shit. At best, he may get 77 days on the front lines. I want to tell my babies that they can be anything they want to be, as long as they’ve the aptitude, ability, and drive (participation trophies are for pussies). I don’t want to raise them without choice. That sucks.

The Lack of Choice
Not only is the future of Prince George Alexander Louis of Cambridge (last name Mountbatten-Windsor… maybe) set in stone, so is that of Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. Kate Middleton is just as educated as her royal husband. Starting in late 2006, she was an accessory buyer for a clothing company, also working part-time for her parents’ company as a cataloger, photographer, webpage designer, and marketing officer. The article just says “until January 2011.” You know what happened in April 2011? Kate became a wife. That’s all. Ten years earlier, she had such dreams of a career as to attend a college fit for a King and take a position as a buyer. She took the job in November of 2006 and quit in January of 2011.That’s four years in a career for a woman who wanted a career. She doesn’t get to be Duchess and buyer, though. Now, she just gets to wear pretty clothes and dress up her little Prince. I’m not saying that can’t be satisfying. I’m saying that it sucks that the woman doesn’t have a choice anymore. Unless she wants to create a scandal the likes of Diana’s and Charles’s divorce, Kate will continue her life as the future Queen Consort and Royal Baby Maker, with charity work as the only reasonable option for outside fulfillment. She will behave and she will look pretty while doing so. Fuck that. I went to school to help people one-on-one. I want to be a librarian. I would rather have the option of being a middle-class librarian and a wife and a mom one day than to ever be “Princess.”

Really. I‘d rather be a badass librarian.

Wikipedia is technically just as valid as most sources.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_Philip,_Duke_of_Edinburgh

http://www.eonline.com/news/235464/will-kate-middleton-have-to-prove-she-s-a-virgin

Kate Middleton: How She’s Maintained A Healthy Pregnancy

http://www.thefrisky.com/photos/kate-middleton-topless-photos/kate-middleton-topless-closer-04/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catherine,_Duchess_of_Cambridge

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_Harry_of_Wales

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prince_William,_Duke_of_Cambridge

http://www.royal.gov.uk/thecurrentroyalfamily/theroyalfamilyname/overview.aspx

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.”

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: Relationships

The Week of 1004 Dates: O&G

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The Week of 1004 Dates: Insurance Salesman

Sometimes… I’m still a little broken.

“It’s just like that episode of My Little Pony!”

“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.

How much do I NOT want to be a princess?

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

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