I’m thankful for…
my voice of reason.
Textersation Tuesday
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My Scottish Highlander Time Travel Adventure Romance Satire: Why I Don’t Write Fiction
I think the thing that makes me such a great blogger is my dependability. I never just randomly disappear for weeks on end. Oh, wait…
Chiefly, my reason is that I desperately need a new computer. Every time I start to write a blog, this one spits popups at me and growls. Also, I got really into this book series… hashtag librarian woes, y’all.
Speaking of which… while Gail and I align on many levels, our literary tastes are not one of them.
As you can tell, this doesn’t stop me from making references she wishes she didn’t understand. After all, fair’s fair and if I have to read her NPR transcript, via text message, she’s gonna know the outline of my latest novel. This month, I’m stuck on the Outlander series.
Yeah… that about sums it up.
Kidding. There’s actually a lot more plot to this one than my typical werewolf porn. I mean, they had to have some basis for the Starz series. Essentially, though, it was the first in what became a slightly obscure genre (Amish romance is a thing y’all) of Scottish highlander time travel adventure romance novels. I kid you not. There are many, many knockoffs of this series and they usually focus much more heavily on the romance (sex) than the rest. This one, however, has sparked a great deal of conversation between Gail and I, for two reasons…
1. Deep down, I’m still the 12-year-old who not only knew all of the shippers for Roswellian fandom, but also the rules of chat room role play games. I will talk Gaily’s ear off about a new obsession.
2. Even the fandom I adore gets over-analyzed and mocked by me, because everything in this world is funny.
While neither Gail nor I have grown up in any true luxury, we both came to adulthood in Shetland, a middle income Southern suburb. We graduated high school in 2006, with dial up internet connections, cell phones, and three-minute microwavable pasta. So, in my chatter over my latest series, Gail the Mailman and I, Belle the Librarian, have been discussing just how very poorly we’d do in 18th century Scotland.
Naturally, this has led to plans to pen a Scottish highlander time travel adventure romance satire… because we bring the party. It’s actually been great fun trading ideas back and forth.
Braxley Engel’s Unsexy and Disappointing First Person Narrative of a Venture Through Time, by Belle Roquemore and Gail Frederickson. I think a catchy title is key.
Chapter 1: How I almost died of exposure.
For realz yo, it was 65 degrees out today… in mid-November. I feel confident stating that 18th century Scottish winter wear does not have the word “PINK” emblazoned on the butt in rhinestones.
Chapter 2: Why doesn’t anyone speak English?!?!
There actually is no universally accepted criteria for differentiating between dialects and languages. However, over 30% of Scotland speaks Scots today and no one can quite decide if it’s a language or a dialect.* It’s pretty reasonable to assume that if 2014 Braxley woke up in 1743 Scotland, she would be fucked.
Chapter 3: Wait… what the hell is my backstory?!?!
If the destruction of the personalized keychain industry wasn’t enough to make you reconsider that ridiculous damned baby name with all of its x’s and apostrophes, perhaps this will! All silly first names that aren’t actually names aside, most Americans know very little about their origins. Sure, Braxley knows that Engel is German, but does she know that Germany was Prussia? Furthermore, can she speak the language? Also, that accent doesn’t exist yet.
Chapter 4: Why is my warrior so hideous?!?!
Folks, we dose our water with fluoride for a reason. We also lose a lot fewer limbs these days. Aside from such trivial matters as teeth and arms, though, the average height of a Scottish male in the 18th century was 5’3″.* That’s like, ignore his eHarmony message short. That’s like, stand on my feet while we slow dance, short. That’s like… hope I don’t have any 5’3″ male readers, short. Not to mention, while I lack a Wikipedia article on it, I’m pretty sure 18th century warriors weren’t shy about farting and scratching their asses.
Chapter 5: Where’s the soap?
What’s toothpaste? Who’s Tampon? You guys, you’re out of toilet paper! Where are the razors? Oh my stars, what is that smell?!?! What’s 18th century for “dick cheese”? I need to buy some nail clippers. Oh, look. Pubic lice.
Chapter 6: Why am I wearing an entire winter wardrobe?!?!
Imagine traveling in the heat… or rain. Also, that tickle in your throat? It’s a rib.
Chapter 7: Um… I bring nothing to the table.
How dare they treat me this way!?! I have a Master’s in Library and Informat… um… FINE! I also have an in-depth knowledge of 20th century liter… oh.
Chapter 8: Everything is just so… hard.
The other night, I got home from both jobs (where I sit a lot, in air conditioning) and was too tired to cook, so I went to bed without eating. EASY MAC EXISTS, y’all. Poor Braxley and her expectation of only wearing an outfit once before having it clean and dry in about two hours, while she watches TV.
Chapter 9: I have some nutritional concerns.
Where are the bananas? How do I make bread out of flower, water, and this rock? Why is the water green? Should we really be eating cat? Do maggots count as protein?
Chapter 10: All my pets are food.
Why is the dog on a spit?!?!
Chapter 11: He won me in a card game?!?!
What dowry? Of course I have no dowry. I don’t need a man to arrange a marriage for me! What do you mean middle-aged?!? I’m only 27!
Chapter 12: Wait… how do I fake virginity?
Fish bladder full of blood. Google it. It was a thing. Just don’t overdo it. The scene from The Shining is going to look awfully suspicious.
Chapter 13: Marital rape… and punishment.
1993. That’s when it was illegal for a man to rape his wife in all 50 states.* Furthermore, there are still some mighty creepy corners of the internet using the phrase “Domestic Christian Discipline”. I shudder to think what 200 years ago felt like.
Chapter 14: Woot. Scurvy.
What’s an orange? You know what else sounds fun? Smallpox… and plague.
Chapter 15: At least I won’t live past 40.
It’ll probably be due to the rampant STD’s, but at least Braxley won’t have to look at that scabby, pussing torture device again. Ooh! It could be because the baby tries to come out sideways. That’s always fun. This is all, of course, only if she can keep her mouth shut about time travel and they don’t burn her for a witch.
Who wouldn’t buy this book?!?!
Psh. Nothing’s too trivial for citations.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scots_language
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_height
https://www.rainn.org/public-policy/sexual-assault-issues/marital-rape
http://www.nber.org/bah/spring06/w11963.html
Pretend Poise: The Time I Got Stood Up
Me: “Ugh! I’m so tired of being alone, but all the men are losers!”
Gail: 
That pretty much sums up my dating attitude over the last few months: lots of hyperbole from me and put-upon sighs from Gail. I haven’t actually been trying since the disaster that was Assistant Manager giggling over my breakfast pastry Savior, though. I’ve mostly been enjoying the single life, that is drinking entire pots of coffee by myself, staying up all night to create dance routines with the dog, and having Once Upon a Time marathons for days on end.
Single life.
Once the shock that was another solo birthday had passed, I felt a lot less pressure to fall in love right now, right now, right now. Again, I vowed that, if I reached a point in my life where I felt like my chance for family was slipping away, I’d just have children on my own. After all, why would I pass up one of life’s great joys just because some stupid boy couldn’t follow a schedule? So, I was enjoying my time alone. I was absolutely not in Panic Dating Mode when Corrections Officer came along.
Gramma: “A corrections officer? Oh, that means he’s mean.”
“When my Gran tells me to run, I run.” – Sookie Stackhouse
Sigh. The one time Sookie Stackhouse had something useful to say.
Corrections Officer was an OKCupid user with a blank profile. He’d messaged me once before and I’d ignored him, because he was military and that’s all his profile really said. Then, he messaged again, about a month later, clarifying that he wasn’t in the service any longer and that he worked for the government. Men are usually terrible at choosing photos and his weren’t half bad, so I messaged back and asked him to tell me a little about himself. For the next couple of weeks, he’d text me briefly each day, letting me know he was interested, but not sitting outside my apartment with his hands down his pants. It was a nice balance, because clinginess freaks me out like Chandler Bing.
“Three text messages in two days?!??! Dude, crawl out of my ass! I have a life!”
While no longer a true military man, Corrections Officer was still in the Reserves, so the first weekend we chatted, he had to go out of town, or we would have met then. Instead, we talked for an additional week, with the intention to meet last Saturday. I texted a day before to tell him that I thought we should probably make some more specific plans, so we decided on 7:00 and he asked what I liked to eat. Not wanting to be pushy, I again waited until about 1:00 on Saturday to ask exactly what he wanted to do. After a touch of “What do you want to do?/I really don’t care” – Dude, just let your testicles drop and make a fucking plan – he said to meet him downtown at the outdoor store and that we’d walk to a popular restaurant from there. The last time I heard from him was around 4:30, when I was still at the library.
I was excited, y’all… like legitimately reminding myself that we might not hit it off, excited. I even told all of my coworkers that I had a date. Despite the fact that Saturdays at the library are rough, I rushed home, redid my makeup, put on one of my many, many, Zooey Deschanel costumes (pretty much all I own), straightened my hair, and headed out. I arrived at the outdoor store five minutes ahead of time, stowed my purse in the trunk, and found a visible bench to sit on out front and waited…
… and waited…
At 7:10, I sent a text asking if I was in the right place…
… and waited…
At 7:20, I sent…
So, I’m not sure what happened, but without a response, I think I’m gonna head home.
Just to be certain, I tried calling Corrections Officer and got voicemail, doing a quick walk through inside, just to make sure he wasn’t browsing boats with his phone on silent. After trying to call a couple more times, I headed to my car, just ready to go home and plot my blog post over this horrendous event. Then my phone rang.
Y’all, I have a predate prayer. It goes a little something like this:
Jesus, please let this go well. Let this be someone worth my time and maybe even someone I could fall in love with… I mean, ‘with whom I could fall in love.’ I’m sorry ’bout that. If that’s not possible, could you please just let it not be awful? I’m so tired of terrible date stories. Finally, if it is awful, could you please give me the strength to conduct myself with grace and poise, no matter how horrifying things are? Thank you.
The above prayer is exactly why I’m proud of the way I responded when I heard Correction Officer’s cartoon redneck voice for the first time. I’m not even being petty. My daddy has spoken the words “That bobcat come flyin’ out from underneath” and I thought this guy’s accent was over the top.
Me: “Hello?”
CO: “Hey. What are you doing?”
Me: “Excuse me?” I was genuinely confused, not being sassy.
CO: “What are you up to?”
Me: “Ummm. I’m waiting outside the store for you.”
CO: “Oh. Yeah… I just got off work.”
Me: ::silence::
CO: “I got called in. It was like, a mandatory thing. There was a riot at the prison.”
Me: “Um. You could’ve told me.”
CO: “Yeah… I uh… didn’t have a phone.”
Me: “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go home now.”
CO: “Um. Okay.”
Me: “Have a good night.”
I get that things happen, folks. I do. But this guy could not have been less apologetic about the fact that I’d been waiting downtown (which is about 20 miles away), all dressed up, for over 30 minutes. I’m not even accusing him of lying. However, he’d texted me at 4:30. I know he isn’t allowed a phone inside the prison, but he absolutely had access to one before he entered. I deserved, at the very least, an “I just got called into work. I don’t know when I’ll be out and I won’t have a phone. Let’s postpone until 8:00.” Instead, he left me to feel more and more dejected by the minute, waiting for some kind of call. When he did call, I didn’t even get an apology… except as an afterthought.
I am really not a dramatic person, folks. I make wildly exaggerative declarations, as a joke, all the time; but short of insisting that eating the candy on the break room table was the worst thing that’s every happened to me, I’m pretty low-maintenance… until I crack. I’m not gonna lie, either. The poise totally ended with that text.
Me: “I’m gonna die alone!”
Gramma: “What happened?!”
Me: “I just got stood up! Now I’m gonna go home and eat cotton candy jelly beans for dinner and suck my thumb and start the process of dying alone!”
Gramma: “Well, who was it?”
Me: “The corrections officer that you said was mean, because he was a corrections officer, and you were right! It’s never gonna happen! I’m never gonna meet anyone and I can’t even be a cat lady, because the apartments won’t even let me have a cat! I’m never going to be able to have babies!”
Gramma: “Well, if he’s not more considerate than that, Belle, it’s for the best that you didn’t waste your time on him.”
Me: “I’m not crying over one stupid boy I’ve never even met, Gramma! I’m crying because they’re all stupid boys and I’m not gonna be able to have children!”
Gramma: “Oh, stop it. You are, too. When you least expect it…”
Me: “Oh, Gramma, I can promise you that sitting alone in front of an outdoor supply store, slowly realizing that you’ve been stood up, is exactly when you least expect it.”
The conversation didn’t exactly improve from there. It was pretty much just a lot of me exclaiming that there was no one left and my ovaries were rotting, with my Gramma offering to call Corrections Officer up and “give him a piece of [her] mind!” Eventually, I let her go, took off my makeup and set the dress aside for church in the morning. I curled up on the couch and ate my Jelly Belly dinner…
I took out a cheesy romance novel…
… and I cuddled the dog and told him all about how he was the only boy I’d ever need.
Me: “I’m so tired of awful dates.”
Gail: “Yeah… this one was exceptionally bad.”
How You’re Empowering NO ONE
I don’t call myself a feminist. I don’t call myself anything. I just don’t think that respecting other people’s decisions and hoping for the same needs a title, especially not one with such vastly different definitions… most notably, it seems, ones that completely contradict this statement. Gaily, now… Gaily loves the word “feminist.” Gaily has a tramp stamp of the word feminist. The semester she took a women’s study course, I wanted to push her out of her ’97 Bonneville… but that’s because she was insufferable, not because she was wrong. See, Gail! I SAY NICE THINGS!
Gail sees feminism as an expression of female empowerment to truly do whatever we want in life… only with a lot more words, citations, and angry ranting.
As much as I provoke her, though, we do generally agree on this topic. I’m down with her definition and the many people who share it. I am not, however, down with the ACLU’s definition that I can’t have a dissenting political opinion without discriminating against women.* I’m not down with Wendy Luhabe’s claim that it’s empowering to stay-at-home moms to suggest their contribution is worth exactly 10% of their husband’s earnings and every family needs to follow the same financial model.* I’m not down with the gals who think LEGO is anti-women for creating gender specific toys*. I’m not down with a lot of “empowering” statements made in the name of misguided, so-called feminists. For instance:
Educating women on keeping themselves safe is not vicitim blaming.
If you keep up with current events at all, I’m sure you’ve read about the nail polish that was created to prevent date rape. Pretty simply, the polish will change color when it meets a laced drink, warning the wearer not to sip. That’s great, right?!? No. Apparently, not. According to some, this effort is completely misguided. In fact, one activist responds to this development by stating that “we need to think critically about why we keep placing the responsibility for preventing sexual assault on young women.”* Waaaait, a minute. Did you just tell me that it’s anti-woman to protect myself? We prepare men to defend themselves all the time, usually starting with some kind of exotic personal combat lessons at age 4. Teaching a man how to ward off a bully or a mugger is commonplace, but women? Noooo. We should use passive, ladylike if you will, methods to teach people not to attack, instead of taking our fate and safety into our own hands. Women have been taken advantage of, as the generally physically weaker sex, since the beginning of time. FINALLY, someone has stumbled upon the brilliant idea to ask that bad guys just not be bad anymore.
Victim blaming is a disgusting tactic. Telling your teenage daughter that she shouldn’t have been alone in that boy’s dorm room, as she sits on the exam table crying, is horrible and you should have your mommy card revoked. There, however, is nothing wrong with a freshman orientation that warns young women about being in dorm rooms alone with strange men. Encouraging women to take self-defense classes, carry pepper spray, use a gun, wear detective nail polish, is no different than teaching a man to prepare and protect himself. You are not moving us forward or building us up by fighting these things. You are weakening us, by teaching us to put the responsibility for our safety on others, male or female. Yes, it is important to teach young men that no means no, but why can’t this be done alongside a discussion about watching your drink and not walking home alone? Can we not both empower men and women? Did I wake up in 1954 where only the boys get to take karate lessons? Are you fucking kidding me?!?!
It is not empowering to tell me that my vagina makes me easily susceptible to brainwashing.
Recently Mayim Bialik posted an article about why she hated Disney’s Frozen.* To sum things up, she felt it wasn’t as feminist as people claimed, because there was a love story and that it was even guilty of man-bashing, because the villain is male.* This is hardly the first anyone’s ever heard of the irrevocable harm of Disney Princess movies. It seems every mommy blog has an opinion on the subject. That’s not all, though. Little girls are also in danger from Barbie, LEGO, and shirts from The Children’s place. Psychology Today even published an article about the damaging effects of the Twilight Saga. As a society, Americans are just petrified of the influence our female children are getting from the entertainment industry.
Hold on, just one second…
There. I’d like to introduce you to the men of my childhood. Up top, there’s He-Man. Next, Lion-O. Then, of course, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Donatello (not pictured: Leonardo). Finally, Goliath. Did you, perchance, notice any commonalities here? Yes, yes, indeed, I think there might be one. What could it be…? Oh, there it is! Even the gargoyle looks like he’s got roid rage! Do we care? Are there any Time magazine articles on the dangers of 80’s cartoons on male body image? No. I’d love to say that the reason is because we’ve found other, more admirable traits, in these characters. They’re heroes, y’all! Who cares what they look like, when they inspire our boys to want to save the world?!?! But the same can be said for Barbie’s career success, Cinderella’s work ethic, Bella Swan’s literary fascination. So… what’s the difference? Why, we’re women, of course. Our fragile pink brain matter is just so susceptible to the negative influences of toys, that we need a national boycott against LEGO.
Let’s not stop with toys and movies, though. Nope. According to the National Organization for Women, “persistent stereotypes that steer women and men toward different education, training and career paths” are a true threat to our livelihood in general. They’re actually the entire reason I make less money than a petroleum engineer! I haven’t favored care giving careers my entire life, such as when I wanted to be a nurse, a teacher, and finally a librarian, because of my choices and individual personality. It’s because I’m weak-minded and was busy doing my nails, reading Teen Beat magazine, and desperately trying to work up the courage to ask Danny to the Sadie Hawkins Dance. Gail didn’t choose not to go to college, because she didn’t want loans with no clear career path. It’s because she was never told that she could be a paleontologist or a computer engineer.
Hmmm…
Even when presented with the statistical facts that the wage gap is closer to 5 cents on the dollar than their reported 21, NOW is there to remind me that I’m not really in control of my own destiny, because I’m a woman. Wow. I feel so empowered. Maybe, Barbie is just a doll. Maybe, Repunzel is just a story. Maybe, some women want to be stay-at-home moms, or nurses, or dare I say… librarians. Maybe, if your daughter is getting the wrong ideas from Disney movies, Barbies, and our society as a whole, you just need to spend more time with your daughter.
My political opinions are not anti-woman, just because you disagree.
You can disagree with my libertarian, pro-life stance. We can even still be friends. We all have different values and opinions and that’s fine. That goes both ways, though. You cannot insist that, because I don’t think the government should regulate healthcare, I want to hold women back by refusing to pay for their birth control and abortions. If you’d ask before making these assumptions, you’d realize that I’m just as against paying for teeth cleanings, back surgeries, and biopsies for anyone. You cannot tell me that, because I acknowledge that science considers a fetus a completely unique life form, I am anti-woman. My pro-life stance is entirely scientific, not religious, and I resent the implication that I can’t form an opinion without a priest telling me what to believe. I have not quoted scripture on this issue and I will not. My argument is secular. Your disagreement does not equal my sexism or religious intolerance.
Similarly, according to the American Civil Liberties Union, if I believe that a private business, which does not receive any taxpayer dollars, does have the right to discriminate for non-life saving services (baking a cake, printing a t-shirt, hosting a ceremony), it’s because of my church attendance.* It couldn’t possibly be that I don’t think the federal government should be micromanaging private business. There’s no way I’ve considered all angles, like the fact that a car dealership could refuse my service because I’m a woman. Except… I have. Nowhere in the constitution was I granted the right to a car. It’s not there. Nor was I granted acceptance into an all male university or service in a restaurant where someone thinks my dress is too short. If a business employs completely despicable tactics, such as these, I simply do not feel that the U.S. government has the right to play recess monitor.
It’s alright if you disagree with me on these issues. I’m not looking for a political debate. Your insistence that I have, once again, been brainwashed by men or faith… that I have no right to my own opinion without joining some kind of war on women, though, is offensive. No matter how vehemently you disagree, you cannot decide what my motivations are or insist that I just haven’t thought these issues through. I am a strong and intelligent person and refusing to acknowledge that and my right to my own mind is not empowering.
In short, I am not opposed to the word “feminist.” I am simply opposed to anyone who tries to “empower” women by telling them how to live and think, while calling it feminism. It is not empowering to tell women to leave their protection up to someone else. It is not strengthening the female cause to declare that little girls can’t play with gender specific toys without their fragile minds crumbling to the influence of a patriarchal society. It is not building anyone up to insist that any woman who disagrees with your political viewpoint is the victim of male mind control. Perhaps, instead of tearing each other down for our self-defense classes, Cinderella obsessions, or voter registration cards, we should work on building each other up… you know, empowering.
https://www.aclu.org/using-religion-discriminate
http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/13/living/mothers-salary-wendy-luhabe/
http://thinkprogress.org/health/2014/08/25/3475190/date-rape-nail-polish/
http://www.kveller.com/mayim-bialik/mayim-bialik-why-my-sons-and-i-hate-frozen/
http://www.sparklingadventures.com/index.php?id=667
Barbie Lead Designer Blames Moms, Not Doll’s Crazy Proportions, for Girls’ Body Issues
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/psychologist-the-movies/201111/relationship-violence-in-twilight
Textersation Tuesday
It still counts, as long as I get it in before midnight.
I almost never get sick. It happens maybe twice a year, but when it does, it’s always an exotic plague. In fact, one of the few things that brings me any joy during these times is using my few waking hours to come up with ridiculous hyperbolic statements about my health… and also, watching Hocus Pocus on repeat. That last one may just be in general.
Me: “We’re going to watch… wait for it… HOCUS POCUS!!!! Aren’t you EXCITED?!?! ‘Twist the bones and bend the back…'”
Gail: “So, it’s your birthday and you want to do… the same thing you do every other day of the year. Shocker.”
Lessons in Parenting from Social Media
I don’t have children. For the time being, I don’t lament that fact. I, however, do work with children and have a bachelor’s degree that required quite a bit of child development and child psychology. As a research-oriented person, a Ravenclaw if you will, it’s a guilty pleasure of mine to read up on the latest case studies and articles on child development, such as the effect of technology on children, effective rewards and punishment strategies, how to deal with bullying, even color psychology. Things get cray up in here on a Friday night.
So, unlike many single twenty-somethings, I really don’t mind the constant Facebook updates from my mom friends. It’s a lucky thing, too, because in Shetland, that uterus has a much earlier sell by date than it would in say, any place that exists in 2014, as opposed to 1964. Fortunately, this allows me access to real time parenting research. As a result, here’s what I’ve learned about parenting from social media.
The names Prezlee, Ecstassi, Vyce, and Rebel will look great on resumes.
If he’s not old enough to drive, he needs to be in a rear facing car seat.
If I vaccinate, my baby will die.
If I don’t vaccinate, all the babies will die.
Walking through the room of a child in possession of Legos is like taking a barefoot stroll through the cobblestone streets of hell.
Leaving an infant alone for any period of time is extremely dangerous… unless it’s with an aggressive breed dog, in which case it’s adorable.
If I don’t breastfeed my baby for one year, they’ll probably die. If they survive, they’ll never truly love me.
If I breastfeed for one year and one day, they’ll picture me on their wedding night.
There are men who intentionally leave their toddlers in cars on a hot day. There are women who snap and drown their babies. Neither of these will compare to the day I call my daughter a princess. Surely, she is now doomed to grow up with no sense of self worth, no goals, no knowledge of the world beyond what her overbearing husband allows her.
God doesn’t know how to make children. I must help him via copious amounts of Photoshop. If no one’s wondering about my child’s glowing blue eyes and porcelain skin, I’m doing it wrong.
My toddler can have a concrete sexual orientation, but only if he’s gay.
If my kid doesn’t get a certificate or trophy, I should have one made, so he’ll feel accomplished, even when he isn’t.
If my child doesn’t have an iPhone by age 8, I’m depriving him of an understanding of modern technology and he’s likely to be kidnapped, because he was unable to call for help.
Teasing is not normal. If someone teases my kid for being short, there should be an assembly, a news story, and possibly a national campaign to ban the word “short.”
If my daughter plays with Barbies, she’ll develop unhealthy and unrealistic standards of beauty. The best way to combat this is by making her feel confident in her sexuality as young as possible.
If I spoke to people about their careers, the way they speak to me about mine… – The Librarian
You’re an engineer? I hate trains.
You went to school to be a lawyer? Seriously? Why do you need a degree for that?
You’re an architect? I love Legos! It must be so much fun to build things with them all day!
Why would you become a teacher? Doesn’t everyone just Google everything now?
How old do kids have to be to be left at the bank?
Wow. I would hate to be a cop and just sit in a car all day. That sounds so boring.
Wait. Pharmacies still exist? There are still actual pharmacists?
A meteorologist? Isn’t there, like, an app for that now?
You’re a radio show host? Does anyone even listen to the radio anymore?
Nursing? Huh. Do you think you’ll still have a job in 10 years? I mean, everybody can just buy their medicine and bandages over the counter now.
Damn. You really fit the Sexy Logistician stereotype.
Accountant? Who even uses numbers anymore?
No offense… it’s just… what do you do all day?
Textersation Tuesday
This one requires a disclaimer. Gail and I are both extremely pro-breastfeeding. That’s their friggin’ purpose. I don’t even care if I catch a glimpse of your nipple in public, as long as it’s because you’re feeding your baby and not using him as a prop to make a point, which seems to be a prevalent attitude these days. Gail knows this, so I didn’t have to qualify my whopping exaggeration of “most women” to her.
Staring Down the Barrel of 30… at 27?
Me: “He’s 29 years old, lives with his mother, and plays video games all day. He is staring down the barrel of 30 and has nothing to show for it.”
Gail: “Wooooow. That is a really unhealthy way to think about your 30’s.”
My 27th birthday is just a couple of weeks away. I’m big on birthdays. Every year, I exhaust Gail with birthday hoopla and insistence that we celebrate not just mine, but also hers a few weeks later. Not only is it a holiday that’s all yours, it’s also a time for reflection. Reflection is sort of like a self-imposed grading system and there’s nothing I like more than grades, y’all.
So birthdays, for me, are a time to judge my accomplishments thus far and set new goals for the next year. Most people have a list of things to accomplish by 30. I have a list of things to accomplish by 27 and a half. For now, however, I think I’m just going to start with the things that I should probably stop doing before everyone in town releases their fire lit lantern into the sky on the eve of my 30th birthday.
Gaily, I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that, in addition to bridal and baby showers, coordination of the Synchronized 30th Birthday Disney Lantern Release, also falls to you.
… using the phrase “superraped” to describe a dangerous situation. i.e. “I am so going to get superraped.”
… ironically answering the phone with “Whaddup gangsta?”
… using Xenon’s “zetus lapetus” as a swear word.
… excitedly exclaiming “Oh em jingles!”
… typing out “bee tea double ewe” in text messages.
… watching (and reciting) Hocus Pocus more than 20 times per year.
… arguing with people about Titanic.
… marathoning CW teen dramas and declaring myself a team member. C’mon, Elena. TEAM DAMON!
… engaging people in the Superman vs. Batman debate, only to angrily shout that Superman wins “… BECAUSE HE’S SUPERMAN!”
… deciding a man is just not right for me, because he clearly hasn’t researched the above Superman vs. Batman topic enough for an educated discussion.
* I’m sorry, but he used the phrase “brain beats brawn.” Duuuuuude. No. Superman absorbed all of the knowledge of Krypton, a far more advanced civilization, which included Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Jor El programmed it into his ship, so he knew those things by age three. I don’t care which private school Bruce Wayne went to, he’s not beating that.
… calling everyone dude for emphasis. i.e. “Duuuuuude. No.”
… referring to sketchy scenes as “a wee bit rapey.”
… blurting “That’s what she said!” to the wrong audience. “No, Gramma. It’s a joke. You see, you don’t mean it sexually, but it can be taken that way… never mind.”
… shouting “Emotions belong with the last fucking Horcrux!” when things get dramatic.
… reading fiction that almost exclusively costs 99 cents on Amazon, because it’s about an alien race that saved the people of earth for the low, low cost of our ladies.
… only getting 2 hours of sleep, because I’m almost done yarn bombing the living room, while whispering “… just one more episode.”
… hoarding original packaging and warranty information for everything. Was I really planning to return the kitchen knives I got for Christmas three years ago?
… going to the grocery store just for the free samples and leaving with a bag of cheese cubes and dried okra.
… driving 20 miles to the mall to get assorted bags of candy.
… somehow offending people in sex shops.
… addressing problems with the phrase “I tried to make it better. That wasn’t working, so I figured I might as well make it worse.”
… picking fights with Jane about Disney.
… provoking strangers in sports bars, when they cheer for free throws and field goals, by drunkenly ranting about the Trophy Generation.
… using the phrases “sucks balls” and “go suck a bag of dicks.”
… trying to talk unwitting people into watching Human Centipede, by insisting it’s “a tale of surgical exploration and sensual teamwork.”
That, folks, is how I am going to become one classy lady… in three years.
Best and Worst Places to Date Online: An Unashamed Review
Unlike a lot of singles, I am not shy about my online dating. I’ll openly admit that I date online, because I think it’s far less pathetic than complaining that I haven’t met anyone, because I’m not even trying. I go to bars. I drink. I flirt. I have nights out with Gail and Catherine. I try to talk to people at church, if I don’t have to rush to the library immediately afterwards. I mingle at work functions. I wear dresses nearly every day of the week, so I always look like I’m putting in more effort than I really am. In short, while I do date online, I also have a full life. I think that if more people would openly admit that the two aren’t mutually exclusive, all of these attached people, who met in the days of Central Perk and MacLaren’s, would stop assuming all online daters look like this…
I’m always amused by how many women hesitantly admit to online dating after hearing a few of my stories. Read some statistics, y’all! It’s what the cool kids do: read statistics AND date online, that is.
So, because of my openness, it’s not uncommon for people to ask what sites I use. Recently, I realized that I’ve used just about all of them. I’ve also realized that my readers, who often come for the online dating humor and stay for my inability to take anything else seriously, might benefit from an honest, experienced review. In addition, I’ll add one simple piece of overall advice. Always buy the bulk pack on any online dating site. It takes time to meet someone with whom you have any chemistry, even if it’s just online, and even more time to set a date to meet. The objective is to go on as many first dates as possible, until you find someone with whom you’d like a second date, so never sign up for less than six months. It won’t be worth it and you’ll end up wishing you’d just spent that extra $20, when your 30 days are up.
Plenty of Fish
Highlights:
It’s free.
You don’t need a screen name and can window shop anonymously.
Plenty of Fish is the Xanga you created in the 9th grade and completely forgot. It’s a mess and no improvements have been made to it in the two years I’ve been on it, which is a lifetime when it comes to the Internet. The Advanced Search option will remember everything you specify except religion, which I have trouble believing is an accident. The matches given appear to be completely random, because they rarely even fit the desired age range listed, let alone relationship status or common interests.
When you create your profile, you’re allowed to add up to 8 photos, the first of which must clearly display your face. This isn’t enforced particularly well, so you still get matches who appear to be muscle cars or white domestic shorthairs. The standards for your matches are set remarkably low with questions like “Do you have a car?” and they don’t have a character limit under the About Me section, so you’ll spend a lot of your time screaming “JUST FILL OUT THE FUCKING PROFILE!” at the computer, because that’s the 14th time you’ve seen nothing but “Ask me.”
That being said, I’ve met some nice guys on Plenty of Fish, who were genuinely seeking something serious. I’ve also met some bags of dicks who asked if I’d like to buy some weight loss supplements.
Summary: It’s free, so why not?
OKCupid
Highlights:
It’s free.
It’s set up much like many paid sites.
OKCupid is a much more impressive effort at a free dating site than Plenty of Fish. Here, you lose the ability to anonymously window shop, unless you make a fake profile, but said profile comes complete with the option to answer user created questions and compare them to those of others. These questions can be really useful in discerning political, faith, ethical, or even sexual differences. They can also be bizarrely personal and inappropriate, so your abortion dilemma may be directly followed by an ass to mouth dilemma. Fortunately, you can skip questions and your answers can only be read by those who have also answered. Unfortunately, it’s suuuuuper awkward to go on a first date with a man, when you know he’s tried anal.
Each match on OKCupid comes with a percentage, based solely on the aforementioned questions. I’m not a statistician, but I’d still recommend taking these numbers with a grain of salt and reading individual responses. Some questions are less important than others, particularly if you answered them a while back, after binge watching Bewitched and deciding that the man really should be the head of the household. There are a lot fewer men on OKCupid who’ve left their entire profiles blank, but it’s still a free dating site. This means plenty of unemployed and/or married men, so it pays to read every bit of information given.
Summary: This is a great introductory to online dating, because it doesn’t cost a dime, but comes with an interface similar to paid sites.
Tinder
Highlights:
It’s a free phone app.
You sign in through Facebook, but it won’t post to your page.
Tinder is just the place for “ask me” guy. It requires nothing but a Facebook login, from which it pulls your age, gender, About Me, and a few photos. The last two can be edited. Once you’ve logged in, you’re given photos of users in your area and age range, which is set to everyone as an alterable default. Each photo allows you to swipe left for no and right for yes. If you tap the photo, you’ll get any others that have been added and if you’re super lucky, a short bio. Most of these are blank, but some include helpful tidbits, like the fact that this guy is in a plural marriage or wants to “see your tits.” That’s right, you’re basing all interest almost purely on appearance. It’s a great way to feel better about yourself if you’re even mildly aesthetically pleasing. It’s also a great way to view an accidental dick pic.
The real problem with Tinder is that no one takes it seriously. You’ll see guys from other sites, where they’ve put in real effort, and they’ll leave zero information here. The perks of online dating, like weeding out the unemployed and guys with No Fat Chicks paragraphs, don’t apply. If you do try to use it as a legitimate dating tool, you have to cover all of the important things in conversation and you’ll feel like an ass when you stop talking to a guy, because he’s just an assembly line worker or has two different baby mommas. Unless you’re looking for a hookup, Tinder serves no real relationship purpose. We’re all just bored and shallow and this is where we hang out now, because there’s no cover charge and we don’t have to wear pants.
Summary: If you need a laugh, it’s free, so why not?
Catholic Match
Highlights:
While the service costs the same as most sites, proceeds benefit the Church.
There are approximately 28 people in my area.
Catholic Match requires subscribers to answer questions specific to the Church, such as whether they accept mandates on contraception and are free to marry in the faith. In theory, it would’ve been a great way to find someone who lined up perfectly with my religious beliefs. In reality, Catholic Match was a terrific opportunity to view the profiles of the 14 Catholic men in my area and age range, who haven’t been called to the Priesthood. If I lived in a different part of the country, say Massachusetts, which has the largest concentration of Catholics in the nation, I’d be on kid number three by now. Get it? Because we’re Catholic? Anyway, here in the South, Catholic Match was just far too specific, as I imagine JDate would be, as well. I don’t regret trying it, because the proceeds benefited the Church, but I also did not get even one date in my six months as a paid member.
Summary: If Catholicism is important to you, make sure that there’s more than one place in your city to buy a Rosary, before subscribing.
Christian Mingle
Highlights:
It costs about the same as other dating sites.
Choices are fewer.
You’re encouraged to be pickier about things, when you wouldn’t normally care.
I tried Christian Mingle, because I figured I’d be religious specific, without being denomination specific and get more results. Sadly, it’s just like any other dating site, only judgier. Even if you wouldn’t typically mind denomination or relationship status or children, it’s hard not to notice and form opinions, because the information is displayed so clearly in a religious environment that encourages you to find a religious match. You fill out the same profile that you do anywhere else, only you’re asked which church you attend: quite specific information that you shouldn’t divulge to strangers who might be crazy. There are chat rooms and message boards available to subscribers, but they don’t work well and there are free Christian social networking options all over the Internet. However, they can be helpful for questions like “What is wrong with my profile?” and “Would you date a virgin?” Additionally, the staff encourages responses to every message, regardless of interest. Come, now. We all know the rules of online dating: whoever loses interest first, wins. Also, no one wants the Thanks, but No Thanks email. That’s just rude.
As a divorced, 26-year-old, Catholic girl in the South, I’ve no idea what I was thinking when I decided to try Christian Mingle. Again, even when you wouldn’t care about such things normally, Christian Mingle is pressuring you to find a very specific match. If I’m going to date a Methodist, why not find him on OKCupid? We’re in the Bible Belt. It wouldn’t be that hard. I suppose that one of the reasons I decided to try this site was the sheer number of men only interested in hook ups. I figured a Jesus-centered dating service would at least get me respectful men. WRONG. I never had a single date from Christian Mingle and one of the two men I ever texted asked, completely off topic, how short my shortest dresses were and if I enjoyed giving and receiving massages.
Summary: If you’re a single, virginal Christian girl in the South… you probably don’t need Christian Mingle, because there are plenty of opportunities in this area to meet other Christians and they’re free.
eHarmony
Highlights:
It’s the most expensive mainstream dating site.
There is no browsing. You can only look at assigned matches.
eHarmony will spend your entire subscription period telling you that there is no one out there for you, because you’re just too danged picky. No really. Despite my acceptance of all denominations of Christianity (ubiquitous in these parts), all races, and all men who will consider having children, several times a week, I still get an email telling me that my distance limitations are just too specific. At the moment, they’re strictly set at 60 miles. I live in a suburb of a thriving metropolis. Sixty miles in any direction gives me a lot of people… but no. eHarmony can’t find anyone in a 60 mile radius that could be a possible match. If I loosen the parameters, I get men in other states, which is not a minor thing in the middle of the country. This ain’t Jersey, folks. I can’t just drive to New York to meet a great guy. When I do get matches (maybe once a week), they’re usually identified as not being quite what I was seeking, which means they’re younger than I, have no photo, or might want kids. In fact, the one man I did meet was awful. He was one of my least compatible and worst dates ever. Consequently, several times a week, eHarmony gets an email telling them how much they suck and that I’ll never recommend them or subscribe to them again.
Summary: If it’s given as a gift, say thank you, but don’t expect to mean it, unless you’re perfectly willing to relocate for luuuuuuv.
Match
Highlights:
Online coupons and bulk rates make it reasonably affordable.
Matches must be able to afford the subscription fee.
My first year of Match.com has just expired. I signed up for the 6 Month Match Guarantee one year ago, after my GP acted shocked and amazed that I wasn’t getting laid, right before my birthday. Thanks a heap, Doc. I wasn’t already having trouble with entering the last half of my twenties. Anyhoo, the guarantee required that I contact at least five new people each month, keep my profile visible, and always have a photo displayed. Included, was a monthly progress bar, verifying what still needed to be done. After six months, in which I admit I really didn’t even use the subscription, I was offered a free six month renewal and accepted. Because of a coupon code I found online, I paid only $76 for the entire year. Yes, I’m still single, but I must say, it was worth it.
Match.com combines the best features of all of the above sites. By charging a fee, it weeds out most “students” or unemployed men. By keeping the fee affordable, there are still plenty of matches available. Each match has a percentage, rating compatibility. Though daily matches are provided for approval or dismissal, they don’t necessarily match up with your specifications. While you can’t cater said matches to your choice of height, relationship status, or religious denomination, you can easily perform and save searches specific to all. Important information cannot be left blank, so there is no “ask me,” and instead just the occasional “I’m only filling this out, because there’s a character limit.” Dude, why did you pay for this?
One thing Match offered that no other sites did was Stir Events and I even went to a couple. While they would’ve been more fun with a friend, they weren’t near as horrible and awkward as they sound. They were free, you could bring friends for free, they often included a drink for each person, and were held in popular venues in the city. I have every intention of renewing and actually using my subscription, in the next month.
Summary: If you’re going to pay for online dating, this is the only site I recommend. Take advantage of the Stir Events. It’s a free drink.
Belle of the Library 