Crawfish and Friends

Posted on January 29, 2016 by Belle of the Library

Jake and I had our first weekend away together.

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For a never-married guy, Jake has a weird number of married and engaged friends, particularly since most of them are younger than he is. When we first started dating, he informed me that his last single friend had just gotten married, only to ask after Christmas, if I wanted to go see his friends out of state for an engagement party. Now, coming from the wealthy folk I do, I was picturing h’orderves, at a venue of some sort. Maybe it would be in a barn and the guests of honor would include some lace and burlap, as a shout out to their country roots and Southern locale, but there would definitely be a cello. I’m not being irrational here. My aunt and uncle had an anniversary party just months ago. Just to privately mock him later, I took a mighty pretentious photo of my cousin playing his cello in the corner. Naturally, I was stressing out a bit about meeting Jake’s friends under such formal circumstances. Being a clueless boy, Jake didn’t share, until the week prior, that said engagement party meant beer and crawfish by the lake.

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The respite to my nerves was temporary, though, as I realized that Jake hasn’t introduced a girlfriend to his friends. I mean, sure they knew some of the girls he dated in high school and college, because they were around, but Jake has never taken a girl across states lines to meet his best friends and their wives, ever. This was likely a bigger deal than meeting the parents, because while you can rationalize that your parents are from a different time, your friends often have the exact same priorities and aspirations you do. In Jake’s case, he’s told me quite a bit about his friends’ marriages, the way they relate to their wives and their goals in general, and expressed a pretty clear desire for something very similar. If we didn’t get along, that could be a big conflict. What if they hated me? What if I said the wrong thing? Actually, to reword, what would happen when I said the wrong thing? What if I was too much of a city girl, despite every person I work with thinking I’m too much of a country girl? What if they thought I was after Jake’s money? What if I was too nerdy? Should I wear a dress, like I always do, or would I look too big for my britches, like when I met Jake’s sister in a friggin’ prom dress (not really). Why didn’t I own any t-shirts without things like “Super Librarian” of “Trek Yourself, Before You Wreck Yourself” on them?

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I tried not to think about these things, as I packed, telling myself that they were Future Belle’s problems. That girl has a lot of issues. She could handle one more. The plan was to leave for the three and a half hour drive on Friday, after I got home from work, which was at about 6:45. Jake would already be at my apartment, waiting for me. I wasn’t aware that this would mean that the second I walked through the door, I’d be greeted with only a moment of pleasantries, to be immediately followed by “You got everything packed? You ready to go?” and rushed out the door. This meant I forgot things, namely my toothbrush and some ibuprofen. Y’all, I don’t get health insurance for another two and a half months. My glasses are almost three years old. I pretty much have a daily headache, when I get off work, because I stare at a computer screen for a living.

Jake and I headed out, quickly stopping by a steakburger fast food restaurant that Jake had been adamant would be amazing, despite my informing him that it was pretty much just fast food. He would not be deterred, being about three times as stubborn as I am, so he ordered while I ran inside to pee, because there was no way he was stopping again, in as much as a hurry as he was… that is, until about two hours later. I tried to play it off, but as the headlights flashed in my eyes, one after the other, I’m pretty sure my brain started to bleed out of my ears.

Me: “I know you don’t want to stop, but I don’t think I can make it. If I don’t get some kind of medicine, I’m not gonna be much fun, when we get there… and I might throw up in your truck on the way.”
Jake: “Is it really that bad?”

I’ve exaggerated my fair share, but it really was. I don’t even think Jake realized this until he pulled into a truck stop and I couldn’t handle the lights long enough to go inside and pee without deep breathing, while he insisted I wait in the truck for him to buy some Aleve (awww). Fortunately, by the time we got to the house, where we were staying, I was no longer near tears. Jake and I walked in together and Jake, despite his many wonderful qualities, completely neglected to introduce me. I was a little uncertain, at first, until three women started hugging me. Apparently, Jake has been quite chatty.

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Mindy: “I’m a hugger. I just have to give you a hug!”
Me: “Hi. I’m Belle. I’m sorry we’re so late. I didn’t get off of work until 6:00.”
Hailey: “You’re a librarian, right?”
Aaron: “Jake, you didn’t even introduce her. Be a better boyfriend.”

We sat at a table, where there was clearly a drinking game in progress… I was pretty sure. I’d never played a drinking game, unless you count the one where I’d see how quickly I could finish my paper after taking three shots of everclear, to hide from my marriage. I also didn’t announce this, so three gold stars for normal socialization skills!

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These people were so friendly. I was a little worried that the women might be catty or at the very least, a little exclusive, since I was an outsider. I knew it was unlikely Jake would put up with people who practiced the former, but it was equally unlikely he’d even notice the latter. As we chatted and shared embarrassing Jake stories, though, I didn’t feel excluded at all. The girls and Jake explained the drinking game to me and didn’t pressure me to drink the entire bottle of beer when it was my turn to do so. We shared stories and told jokes, until finally Haley interrupted to announce…

Haley: “I’m sorry, but it’s just so weird to see you touching him.”
Me: “What?”
Callie: “I know! I thought that when he had his hand on her back as they walked in!”
Me: “What are you talking about?”
Haley: “Jake hates to be touched. He won’t even hug us. Did you not see him duck out of the way when he came in?”
Me: “Seriously? He’s the touchy feely one!”
Jake: ::scoffing:: “I am not.”
Me: “You hugged me on our first date. I remember, because I thought you were really sweaty.”
Jake: “What? I wasn’t sweaty.”
Me: “It was June, you were so. You’re the snuggler in this relationship. You pretty much lay on me when we sleep.”
Mindy: “When you were touching his beard, I thought that must be driving him crazy.”
Me: “Well, if it is, it’s been doing so for a while, because I do it all the time.”

His friends weren’t only really nice, but they were also funny. They’ve known each other since the beginning of time and had dozens of stories about growing up in a small town and going to college together. I could tell why Jake hung out with him, particularly because they had such similar senses of humor.

Me: “He thinks it’s hilarious to use his Bane from Batman voice, when we’re fooling around.”
Mindy: “Ugh. Aaron does the same thing! He pretends I’m a Russian prostitute.”
Aaron: ::stereotypical Russian accent:: “Prostitute. Get on the bed.”

This was obviously the funniest thing Jake had ever heard and if I’d had a quarter for every time I heard that sentence over the course of the three day weekend, I’d have been able to fund the gas to get home.

Gradually, the men drifted outside and the women to the living room, where everyone chatted about their careers and guys. Haley was the engaged friend and her fiance, Clyde, was outside with Jake. Mindy has been married to Aaron (Jake’s Gail) for almost three years now, after having dated for only five months from the first time they met, when Aaron asked her to dance at a wedding. Callie was alone, because her husband, Sam, was at a varmint hunt… no really. He was shooting raccoon for sport. Jake assures me it’s a fantastic time.

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For probably an hour, we chatted easily, in part because I’d had a beer or two. They seemed surprised by some of the things I told them about Jake, how gentlemanly and sweet he is, but pleasantly so. It’s clear these women, two of whom Jake lived with in college, think of him as an older brother. I give them extra points for not being too fond of him to give me a chance. That night, Jake and I went to bed in a room of our own, since Callie offered to take the mattress on the floor of the pantry, because Sam was shooting gorilla rats. As nice as the privacy was, however, our bed pretty much felt like a bouncy house. So, despite downloading an app that plays the sound of a fan, because I’m just high-maintenance, I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep.

The next day was the day of the actual party. I hadn’t realized, but numerous other people would be arriving around 2:00, so prep work was in order. Having forgotten my toothbrush in Jake’s crazed rush, I tagged along with the girls to Walmart. I wouldn’t say that I had a lot of interests in common with these women, as I’m quite sure they’ve no idea who Spock is and I mightily loathe Nicholas Sparks, but we did seem to share a lot of values. They were very… Southern. They clearly have really traditional relationships, which was a change of pace compared with my Women in Power family. Jake and I have a dynamic I haven’t discussed at length, but it is very traditional. He generally takes the lead and I generally follow. It works for us and I’m aware it wouldn’t for others. Trust me. Jake’s friends seemed to have pretty similar relationships to ours, though more permanent. The men were all very sweet to their wives/fiancees. At one point, not realizing everyone could see them from outside, Aaron grabbed Mindy’s hand and danced with her in the kitchen. Amy, who I would meet later, over-imbibed and her fiance, Taylor, spent at least a couple of hours away from the party, making sure she was alright. There was certainly a shared element, though, and I can’t even put my finger on what exactly it was, but it was pleasantly… relatable.

When we got back from Walmart, Callie started shredding a rotisserie chicken and she and I paired up to make her Pinterest buffalo chicken pinwheels. The women hung out in the kitchen, cooking, while the men goofed off in the back, but it was a mutual decision and really quite nice to be able to talk freely as girls. I don’t know if it was the standing or the bouncy castle bed, but after a few hours, my back was really bothering me. I hurt it about four years ago and it can occasionally be a real problem. Jake was having a great time, so I disappeared into the bedroom to lie down, so he could enjoy himself.

I’m not used to being so… on, as a weekend away with strangers. It took such constant effort to be friendly and sociable that by the time the party had really started going, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. We’d gotten up so early, for a Saturday, probably around 8:00, that the day felt endless. The one person I knew, was having a grand ol’ time with his high school buddies and the last thing I wanted was to make Jake feel like I needed his constant attention. I liked Jake’s friends. They were fun. It was also a lot of stimulation and I was in pain. After about 30 minutes, Jake came in to check on me and I put on my big girl panties and went back to socialize. It was then I met Amy, a newbie to the group, having been engaged to Clyde’s brother, Tanner, only a month ago, after eight months of dating. Amy, coincidentally, teaches home-ec (my bachelor’s degree), while pursuing her master’s in library and information studies. Not only was she a doll, but it was great to see how inclusive of her Jake’s friends already were. These were just really kind people.

I chronicle every detail of my life, so clearly, I’m a total narcissist, but one of my favorite parts of the weekend was the quiet pride Jake took in me. Despite his friends comments about his touch-phobia, he was just as giving with hugs and kisses and “I love yous” as always. He even bragged to someone that Callie and I had made the pinwheels. At one point, as I stood outside, listening to Aaron tell the story of how his made up game had been brought to the USA by the Titanic swim team, Jake came from behind and wrapped his arms around me.

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I’m pretty sure these are the sweetest hugs ever.

Haley: ::looking to Jake:: “You are a completely different person.”
Jake: “Why?”
Haley: “You’re touching her.”

As sweet, chivalrous, and physically affectionate as Jake is to me, he’s not a blatantly romantic guy. He pays for every date we ever go on, opens the truck door for me nine times out of ten, and shows up at my door less than 24 hours after I call him crying. He’s generally a pretty practical, tough, oil man, so that’s our hearts and flowers. For him to do this stuff in front of his best friends, rubbing my back while insisting I sit down, hugging and kissing me and telling me he loves me, openly bragging about some Pinterest food I helped make… that’s like the equivalent of that scene where Noah and Ally dance in the street, only I’m not an abusive, elitist snob. He’d been the same way, when I was sick during the drive, but that was in private. Seeing Jake value me the way his friends valued their wives and fiances made me picture forever with him in a way I never have. I’m talking about the consideration of compromises like uprooting my career and moving away from my family and friends, one day. It was big.

Not quite as profound, but also very important to me, was the chance to see Jake interact with his friends. Though he’d been drinking pretty steadily, all day, at no point was he out of control drunk. I never felt like I had to act as his babysitter or stay sober so I could take him to the hospital. He didn’t make any hateful comments to anyone or get angry. He was having fun, but he was being an adult while doing so. I never thought I’d say that about someone playing beer pong.

One of the many red flags waved by my ex-husband, was his lack of friends. My mother has a similar problem. I’ve never met an emotionally healthy person who just doesn’t have friends. I consider it a big warning sign that people just don’t like them. I had trouble even keeping up with Jake’s friends and he was loved. It sounds over the top to say that, but they adored Jake and were thrilled to have him there. These are people who’ve known him for 15-20 years. They’ve not only heard the drunken bathroom story, but were there to clean it up. It was awesome to know that he’ll always have his own social circle and that, if the day comes, it’s a pretty welcoming one.

The morning after the party, Jake was, surprisingly, not even hungover. When I asked him about it, he said he’d kept it in check, because he didn’t want me to feel awkward if he was sick. We ate breakfast, as a group, and then we lounged in couples and watched movies for a few hours. After that, everyone packed up and headed on their way. Jake and I chatted on the drive back and I was genuinely sad to leave. As stressful as meeting so many new people was, it was so… normal. I never had a weekend like that in all of my marriage. I’ve never gone away with a man. I’ve never had anyone hug me from behind while his best friend tells me some ridiculous tale. I’ve never even considered uprooting my life for anyone, not even Jake. It was sad to see it all come to a close, but it was pretty great to get all the insight I did from it.

Why My Boyfriend Will Never Be at Christmas

Posted on January 1, 2016 by Belle of the Library

The holidays are my very favorite time of year. Jake enjoys them, too, though not with quite the overwhelming enthusiasm that I do.

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I’m insufferable during the last four months of the year and I know it. My text tone has been sleigh bells since mid-November, when I put up my hot pink tree and started playing Christmas movies around the clock. Every time I saw Jake, I talked him into watching at least one Christmas movie, and he did so in good spirits, even when said movie was Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. We did our holiday shopping together and Jake even waited in the obscenely long line to drive through the Springfield Christmas lights, just for me, despite having been awake for over 24 hours for work. He even did the walk-through portion. We traded gifts and had our own little celebration, after Jake made a trip to the mall the weekend before Christmas, just to get my present. Despite all of this mutual cheer, however, neither of us attended the other’s family festivities… and we spent the entire holiday season defending that choice.

Mrs. Granger: “We’re doing Christmas the 23rd. Is Belle coming?”
Jake: “That’s actually when her family is doing their thing.”
Mrs. Granger: “Is that going to be a problem?”
Jake: “What? No. We’re not married. Neither one of us is going to miss Christmas for the other.”

Dad: “Well, maybe if you guys had been dating longer…”
Me: “No. There is no period of time that we could date, when I would be willing to miss my family Christmas for him, nor would I expect him to do so for me.”

Cousin Delia: “You do have to bring him around eventually.”
Me: “Sure, but we’re not married. I’m not asking him to miss Christmas for me. Would you guys be okay with me ditching our Christmas for him?”

Jake’s Family: “So, where’s The Librarian?”
Jake: “Well, first off, she has a name. Second, she also has her own family, that she wants to spend Christmas with.”

Why is this such a foreign concept?!?! Why must it be the case that Jake and I aren’t serious enough if we’re not willing to split our holidays?

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My whole family knows that, not only does Jake work one week on and one week off, but his family lives well out of town, with his parents actually living in another state. Had my family done one of their smaller Christmas parties on the 20th, he’d have gladly come, but since they did it the same day as his family, it wasn’t an option.

Laura: “Well, we used to spend less time at each and do both.”
Me: “No. That’s for married people.”

That, right there, pretty much sums up my and Jake’s views on the entire issue. I recently followed a link on Facebook, leading to an article dictating what not to say to newlyweds, because Guides to Not Offending Me were to 2015, what doomsday prepping was to 2012. One of the numerous reasons to sit in awkward silence with the Just Married was to avoid asking “Do you feel any different?” The article went on to elaborate that for most people, there’s really not much difference between their dating life and their married life.

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Now, I’m not knocking the decisions of other people. On the contrary, my entire point is one of “to each their own.” If my 15-year-old cousin gets to bring her boyfriend to the family Christmas party without hearing complaints of how she’s ruining our photos with that random kid who won’t be around in five years, or concerns about why he’s not with his family, though, then why can’t I come solo without insinuations that Jake and I must not be that serious?

I love Jake and he loves me. We’re actually planning to go away for a weekend together, to attend an engagement party, so I can meet every friend he’s ever had. We also acknowledge, however, that there are perks to dating, over marriage. One of those perks is not having to divide Christmas family time. If things keep going well, then the day will come when we do have to choose a Christmas day destination. We may be able to schedule my individual grandmothers’ parties around some of Jake’s family gatherings (something completely unreasonable if we’re not married, I might add), but on December 25, we will not be able to attend two different gatherings, in two different states.

As much as I love Jake, I’m really not looking forward to hiding tears over missing my own family’s giant Christmas gathering, for the first time in over ten years. We rent out the church gym for our crazy Catholic soiree. The kids usually put on a talent show and we play Dirty Santa and board games and eat until we all want to die. Sometimes, a few of us even go to a movie afterward. It’s a blast… and one that I’ll likely have to sacrifice, in the near future, on rotating years. Jake feels the same loving nostalgia for his own family get together and dreads missing it just as much. So why would we voluntarily sign up to do this a year or two earlier than absolutely necessary? To make a statement about our level of commitment to one another? Really? That’s worth missing Christmas?

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Quite frankly, the same goes for living together before marriage. Jake and I have discussed it and it’s not going to happen. One of the joys of being in a serious relationship, that is not marriage, is continuing to live alone. If we marry, eventually, we will have to give that up and say goodbye to midnight CW Netflix marathons/Fallout 4 binges, at least on the scale we enjoy them now. I’ll have to start folding clothes and Jake will have to own furniture. I won’t get to have a pink Christmas tree anymore and Jake will have to deal with me decorating his hunting trophies. Why do that for any reason other than marriage, though? Ideally, we don’t get to go back, to be alone again. Why shouldn’t we enjoy the perks now, instead of playing marriage without any of the actual lifelong commitment? I don’t condemn those who do it. Gail and Terry have lived together for more than three years, scheduling hobbies and holidays around one another, and they’re happy. I’m happy for them. It just doesn’t appeal to me, and that’s okay too. One day, Jake and I might decide to join our lives, trading in all of the aforementioned for the joys of being husband and wife. In the meantime, though…my boyfriend won’t be at my Christmas and his girlfriend won’t be at his.

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“… an Eskimo kiss for the road.”

Posted on November 20, 2015 by Belle of the Library

So, why haven’t I written? Well, I could make excuses about work stress and car trouble, and while both would be valid, they wouldn’t be completely honest. The real reason I haven’t written, is because I’m sill suffering from the dreadful Girl Brain.

Things with Jake are super. He is the bees’ knees, peachy keen, dreamy, and every other pre-1960 reference I’ve made in the past. A few days before Halloween, he came out to Shetland and spent an impromptu two days with me, both of us taking off work to enjoy cuddling up during a rainstorm to watch scary movies and eat pizza. On Halloween evening, I drove to Wellston to spend the holiday with him and met his parents.

Jake: My parents will be here, by the way.
Me: Okay. Does that mean you don’t want me to come or that I just shouldn’t dress all whorey?
Jake: What? No. Stop reading into things.
Me: I’m not reading into anything. I’m trying to figure out if you’re saying you want me to meet your parents or if you want to cancel so you can spend time with them alone.
Jake: If you don’t want to meet them, I’ll understand, but I wasn’t telling you not to come.

Jake’s parents are southern cattle ranchers through and through. Just… picture a couple of southern cattle ranchers and that’s the Grangers. It was a nice dinner, at a local fast food chain. Jake was proud to introduce me. He joked about the fact that I was sort of in costume, in my red jeans and Superman shirt. His mom hassled him about the length of his beard, while his dad talked about politics. They discussed rodeos and deer hunting. They both laughed, when I teased Jake for looking like Yukon Cornelius.

After dinner, Jake watched Hocus Pocus with me, under strict orders that I not recite it. We cuddled on the couch before going to bed, where we also cuddled, until he had to leave for work at 6:00 in the morning and I had to make the drive back to Shetland.

After Halloween, I was all geared up to tell you this great story about meeting the parents. Then I got busy. Then I started overthinking things.

Y’all, if Jake ever proposes, I’m pretty sure my response is going to be “I didn’t even think you liked me.”

Due to distance, family obligations, work, and us both generally having lives, Jake and I get about one sleepover per week. In the meantime, we talk on the phone two or three times and I send a series of anecdotes or Internet memes that rarely get a response… via text message, that is. When we see each other in person, he’ll mention the things I send him and joke about them or discuss them. Jake just doesn’t put as much value on texting or even phone calls as I do. He’d rather spend time together in person… because he’s a dude. I can’t think of a single guy who would want to spend large quantities of time on the phone… but he does it for me, a few times a week. Still, by the time I’m ready to post a blog, I’m worried that Jake is losing interest and that I’ll look back on the post I’m writing and wonder how I was so blind.

The week after Halloween, Jake and I weren’t planning to see each other. He was going to spend his days off hunting and we were going to get together the next week. It was all good, though I knew I’d miss him… until the Thursday following the holiday. I got out of work early and decided I’d finally go get new tires. It couldn’t cost more than $200.

New Tires: $370
Replacement Wheel Strut: $55
New Break Shoes Immediately or I Die: $255
New Struts That are Future Belle’s Problem: $750
New Break Pads That are Nearer Future Belle’s Problem: $300

Me: I don’t think I can do anything next week.
Jake: Why?
Me: I’m just having some financial issues and I think I’m going to have to work. I may be able to take off Friday. I’m not sure.
Jake: Tomorrow or next week?
Me: I meant next week. I’m sorry. I miss you. It’s just been a tough week.
Jake: I can come tomorrow.
Me: I work tomorrow… and every day after that and it’s still never enough.
Jake: What time?
Me: I get out at 3:35.
Jake: I’ll be there.

After I got that text, I called Jake to assure him that he didn’t need to come to Shetland. He was in another state, y’all, yet he was willing to drive to Shetland the next afternoon, knowing I was on my period and that we both had to work Saturday, so we’d be getting a maximum of 16 chaste hours together.

Me: “You don’t have to come here. Enjoy your time with your family. I’m fine.”
Jake: “You just called me crying. I’ll be there, tomorrow.”
Me: “I’m not crying! I’m fine.”

Gail: “You’re right. He probably doesn’t even like you.”

The following night, we went out for pizza and cuddled on the couch to watch Zombeavers on Netflix (he now has his own profile on my account).

Jake: “To save your life? Yes. I would throw your dog to a pack of zombies.”

What do I do? Do I swoon or break up with him?

We didn’t get to see each other for another week, after that night. Once again, instead of blogging about the astounding chivalry and genuine care Jake showed me, after I called him bawling about money troubles, I spent the week deciding that the rarity of his messages obviously meant he just wasn’t that into me. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t tell him these things. I don’t act clingy or crazy or ask what he really means, when he says he loves me. I’m aware that these are my insecurities to deal with and not his problem. It’s just that every other woman in the dating world needs a book called He’s Just Not That Into You and I’m wondering where I can get a copy of No Really, He Actually Likes You. He says he loves me. He shows he loves me. Yet, here I am, scratching my head and wondering what he’s thinking. He’s not a complex guy! He’s thinking exactly what he tells me he’s thinking!

This past weekend, Jake came to Shetland, once again at the end of his three days off. He had been hunting with his brother and saw a giant buck on his way out to see me, but still kept his commitment to our plans. I made us crock pot taco soup and talked him into watching an episode of Supernatural, while I sprawled on top of him on the couch. The next morning, Jake came to church with me for his very first Catholic Mass. We went to lunch and then he humored me while I browsed the outlet mall for a couple of Christmas presents, even carrying my bags after I’d made my purchases. We went back to my place and watched The Devil’s Advocate (his choice).

Me: “I made you a present.”
Jake: “You made me a present?”
Me: “Yeah. You probably won’t wear it and that’s okay. I just thought I might make you one. You said red is your favorite color.”
Jake: “It’s a hat. Why wouldn’t I wear it?”
Me: “I don’t know. It’s really bright and maybe it’s kind of lame to wear a hat your girlfriend crocheted for you.”
Jake: “No. I’ll totally wear it to work.”

Definitely swoon.

A few minutes after he left, I called to tell him he’d forgotten some things. I packed them up and ran out to meet him in the parking lot of my complex.

Me: “Open the door. Give me a hug for my troubles.”
Jake: “I would’ve come up and gotten it.”
Me: “That’s okay. I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”
Me: “Hold on. You need an Eskimo kiss for the road.”
Jake: ::laughing::

Gail’s right. He probably doesn’t even like me.

“Would it freak you out if I told you I loved you?”

Posted on October 23, 2015 by Belle of the Library

Me: “You make me really happy.”
Jake: ::silence::
Me: “Does it freak you out, when I say stuff like that?”
Jake: “What? No.”
Me: “Would it freak you out, if I told you I loved you?”
Jake: ::laughing:: “No.”
Me: “I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”

Y’all, I said it first. I later informed Gaily that I didn’t feel insecure about it, because Jake’s a very strong-willed guy and there’s not a soul on Earth that can manipulate that man into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. Also, though, as I was leaving…

Me: “Did I push you into saying anything you didn’t want to say, before?”
Jake: “What? No. You didn’t.”

Despite this, I had horrible moments of insecurity over the next week and a half, rationalizing that “I love you” is practically an ultimatum. The other person either says it back or the two of you break up. So, by that logic, Jake wasn’t saying he loved me. He was just saying he didn’t want to break up with me.

Well. I made that significantly less romantic.

Suddenly, I was worried about every text I sent. Was I annoying him? Was he not texting back, not because he’s always been more of a phone guy, but because he’s over me? Did he really want to spend his birthday with me? Would the effort I put into his birthday celebration freak him out? Should I send everything back and act like I hadn’t planned anything? Would buying him beer that he’d undoubtedly keep at my place be too long term? What about starting such an epic series as The Lord of the Rings? Zetus lapetus, I may as well have just proposed!

I kept this all to myself, of course. I’d already essentially asked Jake if he was sure he loved me. I’ve also heard him say numerous times that women need to just take the things men say at face value instead of over-analyzing them. I know he’s a forthright guy. So, at this point, my vulnerability is not Jake’s problem. It’s Gail’s.

Me: “He told me he loved me. He told me he was sure he loved me. He cooked me dinner that he killed personally. He doesn’t care that I left a toothbrush, some shampoo and conditioner, a comforter, and a stand-up fan at his place. He was willing to go with me to have my dog put down if he had puppy cancer. He’s a bearded oil man who gives Eskimo kisses and coos at my beagle like he’s a baby. He’s not getting laid until Valentine’s Day! Still, I’m over here with Girl Brain, tearing it all to pieces.”
Gail: “When he said ‘What? No.’ when you asked if you’d pressured him, what he meant was ‘What? No… and I hope that’s the end of that drama.’ You’re being totally and completely irrational and you’re right. You don’t get to talk to him about it, because that’s not his problem. I can tell you this, because I know it’s exactly what you need to hear. You talk to me about this stuff, not him.”

Despite Gail’s reassurance, I vowed that I was just going to stop saying it. Clearly, this goes on the very short list of things at which Belle does not excel: modesty, sports, and vulnerability. So, the next time I saw Jake, I was going to just pretend the whole thing never happened. On Wednesday, when I drove to Wellston after work, I was determined not to say it.

Me: “What if February comes and I’m really bad at sex?”
Jake: ::laughing:: “Meh. You’ll learn.”
Me: ::laughing:: “I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”

modesty
sports
vulnerability
filtering thoughts to speech

It’s definitely best that we haven’t had sex, yet.

The First Time He Sees You Have a Panic Attack in Bed…

Posted on October 9, 2015 by Belle of the Library

That’s a relationship milestone, isn’t it? Wasn’t that an episode of Sex and the City?

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know that, in addition to my dated television references, I have… difficulty processing negative emotions.

Me: “All kidding aside, I genuinely think that if we just bury our negative feelings, without discussing it, there won’t be any long term consequences as long it doesn’t happen often.”
Gail:

So, last Wednesday, when I topped off my already terrible day by running into my ex-husband for the first time since he signed the papers five years ago, I coped as only Belle can… which is to say I didn’t. It was only 4:00 in the afternoon, y’all. I was already overwhelmed and still had a night at the library head of me. I chose not to process such unpleasantness. After all, no words were spoken. We only made eye contact and kept walking. It was easy enough to compartmentalize and label it Future Belle’s problem.

Indeed it was. That night, after work, lying in bed, I had an… episode. Though it’s been almost five years, occasionally, I still have nightmares about my marriage. Usually, I’m still married, he’s still a sociopath, and the worst part is that I have trouble waking. Even more rarely, I wake and have trouble convincing myself that I’m in the present day and in no danger. Last Wednesday, however, was… severe.

I’m talking, Lifetime Original Movie severity, here. It was epic, in a way it has not been in years. So, naturally, once I’d come to my senses, emotionally and physically exhausted, I assumed the drama was out of my system. Everyone gets one meltdown every decade or so. Fortunately, I’d had mine that night, as opposed to the next, when my boyfriend would be staying over. What luck!

Jake came to town the next day and I conversationally explained a bit about why the previous day had been so awful, including that seeing my ex-husband “rattled” me. We went to dinner, watched a couple of movies and an episode of The Walking Dead, and we went to bed. Once there, we fooled around for a little bit and then I started to feel a bit… off. I feared I knew what was happening and went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I told myself to get control and went with my usual inner mantra.

It’s 2015. Your’e 28 years old. It has been almost five years and you are safe.

It wasn’t working. Of course, I shifted my focus to hiding my breakdown from Jake as I got into bed. It seemed easy enough to do with the lights off, even if that was making my little PTSD-worthy flashback worse. I told myself to keep my feelings where feelings belong: on the inside…

… as I started shaking. To Jake, there was no catalyst. The room was cold and he assumed the shaking was shivering… for the first few minutes.

Jake: “Are you okay?”
Me: ::nod::
Jake: “Belle? Are you alright? Say something.”
Me:

Without a response, Jake reached for the light… and I lost it.

Me: ::hysterically crying:: “I’m fiiiiiine.”

I don’t remember a lot of the conversation, honestly. It’s sort of a blur beyond Jake finally getting frustrated with all of my apologies for crying.

Jake: “Will you stop apologizing and just please tell me what’s wrong?”
Me: “Sometimes, I just… I feel really panicked and just get really… scared. I’m sorry. Yesterday just really freaked me out. I promise this never happens!”

Jake was impossibly sweet, as he stroked my hair, told me I was okay and that I was safe. At one point, he actually feared I couldn’t breathe as my throat started to close and I wheezed through my cries. He just held me as I apologized again and again for showing negative emotions.

Me: “Do I have too much baggage?”
Jake: “No. Jude’s not too much baggage. He’s close, but not quite.”

He made a joke. The guy realized how much I don’t like to talk about feelings and he joked about my clingy dog being too much baggage, instead of forcing me to take the situation seriously.

Once I’d calmed down, Jake kissed the top of my head…

Jake: “I want my tea.”
Me: “What?”
Jake: “I’m thirsty.”
Me: “There’s a water bottle right there.”
Jake: “I know, but I have tea in the fridge and I want to get it.”
Me: “Okay? Why are you telling me this?”
Jake: “I just didn’t want you to think that I was getting up to put on my boots and leave, because I would never do that.”

More than once in the night, Jake actually woke me to make sure I was alright. The next morning, I brought it up first.

Me: “So, did I freak you out too much last night?”
Jake: “What? No. I’m just glad I was here.”
Me: “Yeah. Me, too. It was a lot worse the night before last. Don’t worry, though. I only cry once a year. If feelings were meant to be talked about, they would be called talkings.”

The Fault in Our Deal Breakers

Posted on September 25, 2015 by Belle of the Library

Things with Jake are going really well. He’s funny, smart, hardworking, and chivalrous. We enjoy enough of the same things to be compatible and have a good time, but have enough of our own interests not to bore one another. The sexual chemistry is as good as it can be for two people who are not actually having sex. Simply put, after three months, he is still the bee’s knees.

It’s funny how such chemistry works, though. When I met Jake, we’d barely chatted on Plenty of Fish, both eager to just meet and see if there was anything there. At first sight, I remember thinking that he was, indeed, 5’8″, which was both a positive and a negative, in that he was being honest and 5’8″ is fine, but was not secretly a very sexy 6′ tall. I noticed that he was clearly a country boy and drove an attractively ridiculous pickup. I supposed the red hair wasn’t so bad, but I did wonder what he looked like without the hat. Yes. Those are the initial physical impressions I had of the guy with whom I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love. These observations were without negativity or distaste. I considered Jake the way I assume most people consider an online date, comparing him with the image I’d been given and assessing whether or not the result was workable. It’s almost… scientific. Looking back, though, I find it somewhat fascinating what does and does not actually matter in our relationship, in regards to the deal breakers I initially set forth, even after reading the book that helped me to completely reevaluate my priorities in January. For example…

What Doesn’t Matter

His Hairline

Two years ago, I went to a festival with Ava, a friend from high school. Ava’s married to her second boyfriend, so as much of a doll as she is, she’s not really capable of exchanging dating experiences. She had, however, brought a friend from work along, Sheila. I’d been discussing some of my latest dates with Ava, when Sheila shyly admitted that’s she’s tried some online dating as well. We started to specify, in a little more detail, what we will and won’t accept in a profile or photo, when Sheila announced with disgust “I don’t want bald guys.”

At the time, I was still in the midst of my Shallow Phase and even I thought that was a little harsh. I mean, bald can be attractive, particularly when worn with confidence, but I figured everyone has their limits and I didn’t want to be judgemental toward a woman I’d just met. That was then. Today, I’ll say with certainty that if you’re turning men down because of their hairline, you’re making a mistake. Statistically speaking, over two thirds of men will experience significant hair loss by age 35. It truly is only a matter of time and wouldn’t it be a damned shame to be single at 33 (disclaimer: assuming you want to be married at 33) only to realize that the petty reason you had for turning down potentially great guys five years ago is now a quality shared in most of the men you meet?

Personally, it took me a little while to get used to Jake without his hat, not because I found his hairline unattractive, but because he just looks like a different person without it. The fact is, however, that when he does all of the sweet things he does for me, such as taking my dog out while I’m in the shower, cooking me dinner, or walking around the fair for 30 minutes looking for the chicken and waffles I just had to have… it never really registers which guy he looks like anymore.

His Height

If they’re going to lie, women lie about weight and men lie about height. This generalization is usually true, regardless of age and no matter who’s telling tales, the logic is the same:

I’m only rounding and once they meet me, it won’t matter.

We all know that lying in online dating is unfair, but we do it because no one responds to us, otherwise.

I’ll just post that more flattering photo from last spring. I look basically the same.
I’ll say I’m 5’10”. As long as she’s below 5’8″, she won’t care.

You don’t look the same. You’re not 5’10”. They’re going to care, because you’re lying by introduction.

We’ve been over this, though. What I haven’t really acknowledged, however, is how little height matters in the long run. When I first started dating online, I stated that prospects must be six foot, not because I was being shallow (okay, not just because I was being shallow), but because my dad and brother are both six foot. At 23 years old, I genuinely thought that six feet tall was average height for a man. When I learned otherwise (less than 15%*), however, I only lowered my requirement to 5’10”, because I wanted to be a dainty little lady next to my guy.

Now, as I mentioned, Jake is 5’8″. That means he has about two inches on me… only two inches on me… and it’s fine. Being an oil man, while not tall, Jake is stocky, so I do still feel quite small next to him, particularly since I wear ballet flats everywhere and he wears work boots that add an inch to his height. I’m not saying that I’d necessarily be just as attracted were he 5’3″, but I think I would even if he were just my height. Attraction is important. I’m not claiming otherwise. Just as with his hairline, though, when Jake pays for dinner, chases his giggling nieces, or laughs at my dad’s jokes, I don’t give one fig how tall he is. Eventually, the individual features that you’re considering on that first date just add up to a whole person. Hat or no hat, 5’8 or 6′, today, Jake just looks like Jake… and I find him pretty darned cute.

His Hobbies

When I started dating, I had this image in my mind of a man who reads non-fiction and perhaps high fantasy. He’d like to fish and hunt, but wouldn’t mount trophies. He wouldn’t really care for video games or have such a juvenile sense of humor as to watch stereotypical boy comedies.

Not only does Jake love South Park and tell me all about each new episode, he thinks Austin Powers is hilarious. He likes to golf and despises cats. We have an ongoing dispute over whether or not his deer mount has a name (it’s Buzz) and he loves to camp. Y’all, when it comes to camping, the only thing I DON’T have in common with the mom from Troop Beverly Hills, is that I will never love my daughter enough to camp.

Take my kidney, but I ain’t sleeping on the ground.

We share a lot of commonalities as well, though. We both like old cheesy science fiction and love the holidays. We enjoy horror movies and Jake doesn’t even mind that I screech like a rape victim whenever anything jumps out at me (at home or in a crowded theater). We share a dry and sarcastic sense of humor and I, in fact, do understand most of his South Park references, because I used to watch the show. I like older video games and can even be coerced into playing some newer ones. We both love to learn and Jake will more or less humor me in regards to any outing I suggest.

Having different interests gives us something to talk about and allows each of us to try something new. Jake’s really enjoying The Walking Dead and I’ve learned some fancy new hunting lingo. Did you know that a successful dove hunting outing does not equal “catching a lot of birds”? Because we work in entirely separate fields, there’s never a competition to be the expert. Perhaps, most importantly, Jake’s silly hobbies allow me mine. I can always crochet or read a trashy romance novel while he plays his new video game or watches the latest political debate. Just as my affinity for paranormal romance says nothing about my intelligence, his South Park quotes say nothing about his. Everyone wastes time in different ways and it’s just been really nice to sit next to someone while doing so. He’ll just have to deal with it, when I get a cat.

What Does Matter

His Weight
When I read my one and only dating guide, I was convinced that weight didn’t matter. Like height, weight was just part of the initial attraction and eventually, I wouldn’t notice anyway. Then, I had my date with Dell, who blatantly lied about his weight. This wasn’t 10 pounds, but 40 on a man who was only 5’7″. Jake isn’t a wisp of a guy, but he’s nowhere near obese, as Dell was. The thing is, as we’ve been dating, I’ve realized how much it matters to me that he’s not excessively overweight.

Unlike height, weight isn’t about attraction so much as physical capability. Never have I sat in a booth with Jake only to realize he doesn’t quite fit. Not once has he had to sit down and catch his breath from leisurely walking, as my ex-husband did, because he was morbidly obese. Being with someone so young, yet so out of shape is inconvenient and embarrassing. When Jake and I went to the zoo, on our 6th date, I was the one who needed the break, when my asthma started giving me trouble. Last Friday, we spent the whole day walking around the fair and Jake kept pace just fine. He doesn’t have high blood pressure, or bad knees, or trouble maneuvering in bed.

I think the most important issue in the long run, is that I don’t feel pressured to eat poorly around Jake. When we went the fair, sure, we stuffed ourselves with bottled beer and syrup drenched chicken. In fact, I appreciate his ability to enjoy a day without calorie counting. I also appreciate his generally healthy habits, though, as they more or less match mine. We may not be talking forever just yet, but if it’s ever up for discussion, I don’t want to spend the next 50 years fighting about pouring gravy over everything.

His Time

From our first date, Jake has done something that’s set him apart from any man I’ve ever met. He’s made me a priority. When we first started messaging, I was hesitant to get involved with a man in oil, as ubiquitous as it is around these parts. Engineer 114 had been in oil and his schedule and priorities had both been problematic. Jake had assured me that distance wasn’t important to him and he’d travel to Springfield to meet me and buy me lunch. For our second date, he traveled even further to meet me at the mall in the heart of the Metro. For our third date, when we went to the Fourth of July festival in Springfield, he mentioned to me that he was supposed to spend time with his parents, but they’d arrived several hours later than planned. Rather than postpone or cancel with me, he explained to them that he’d made a commitment and he was leaving. He chose to forgo time with his family to keep his plans with me and not ruin my holiday.

Sure, when I was looking, I mentioned that I wanted someone who had time to date, but I never expected the level of commitment that Jake displayed from the beginning. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with me or clingy, so much as if he said he would be somewhere, he meant it. Yes, Jake’s been late when he’s come to see me from his family’s ranch, but he’s never bailed on me. In fact, last Friday, when he hadn’t messaged or called to tell me for sure if he’d still be able to come to the city for the fair, I assumed he’d been caught up in the rig check he’d done that morning. Dejected, I told myself that this is part of dating an oil man and I either am or am not up for it, but that Jake wouldn’t just stand me up without a damned good reason and I didn’t get to guilt trip him for it. I took care to keep my texts neutral.

I’m gonna go to the gym. Let me know when you’re able. Miss you.

Almost immediately, Jake called to tell me that he was halfway to Shetland and hadn’t answered the phone, because he was driving through a thunderstorm. On the surface, I’m dating a guy who won’t ditch me when he knows I’m looking forward to the fair. I look deeper, though, and I see a guy who won’t tell me he’ll mow the lawn and yell at me for guilt tripping him by doing it myself two days later… a guy who won’t get fired for staying home to play video games… a man who won’t leave me to miscarry alone and scared.

His Respect for My Field

To be fair, I did list this as a requirement in dating, but I never realized how important it was to me to not only be with someone who didn’t openly mock my field, but who genuinely seemed to respect it. As a librarian, in the dating world, I’ve received some pretty danged appalling comments about my degree and profession. I’ve written entire posts about them. In short, there’s just no quicker way to end a date with me than to to mock libraries and/or librarians… after I lecture you about how wrong you are.

Jake has never belittled me, especially in my career. On our first date, he naturally asked a lot of questions, and I think the stress involved in my job still surprises him. The other night, when he asked me how work was, I answered “over stimulating”, which threw him for a second. He’s hardly the only one who pictures a peaceful library instead of a night of secretarial work, in-depth research, information technology, education, babysitting, customer service, and the occasional call to the police. The difference is, he asks and listens. He processes what I’m telling him and believes me.

As an engineer, Jake has a very stressful job, sometimes working for 24 hours at a time, in a hole in the ground. Never once, though, has he responded to my exhaustion with a comparison to his own. He respects my field and my stress level for what they are, even if he doesn’t fully understand. Not only that, but when I excitedly told him I’d applied for a full time position at a library in a dangerous part of the city, he didn’t imply that he didn’t want me to take it… just that I needed to stop defending it with stories of how all libraries are sketchy and telling him about the bullet holes in the window next door. He knows my job isn’t just important to me, but part of who I am as a person.

I don’t know where things are going to ultimately go with Jake. In two years, I could be blogging about my new boyfriend or my new baby. It’s really too soon to tell. If this doesn’t work out, though? I feel like I know a lot more about what actually matters and what just… doesn’t.

Citations

http://gladwell.com/blink/why-do-we-love-tall-men/

Birthdays and Boyfriends: Meeting the Parents… and Best Friend

Posted on September 18, 2015 by Belle of the Library

So, I celebrated my 28th birthday last week and I did so with such enthusiasm, I’m going to have to have that Logan’s Run themed 30th birthday party I keep talking about… and that city-wide lantern release.

Remember, Gail. This one’s on you.

As I mentioned last week, in my brief Blogiversary post, two of the most significant celebrations I had planned for my birthday were the introduction of Jake to Gail and Terry and his introduction to my dad and Lena. After my late evening at the grown-up arcade with my work friends, on Wednesday night (my actual birthday), I went home to get ready for Jake’s arrival on Thursday morning at nine, as we’d planned. In fact, the previous week, when I’d driven to Wellston and Jake had made me dinner, we discussed this plan, in depth. I told Jake that I intended to take a half day substituting job if I could find one, assuming he’d arrive in Shetland around noon, as he usually does when coming from his family’s cattle ranch.

Jake: “Well, I’ll be there at 9:00.”
Me: “You will? I thought you were leaving that morning.”
Jake: “Yeah, but I’ll leave early.”
Me: “Okay. Are you sure? I don’t mind taking the day off, as long as it’s to spend time together, but otherwise, I need to work.”
Jake: “I’m sure. I’ll be there at 9:00.”

I wasn’t just being pushy, here. While the only times Jake has ever postponed plans have been when he’s driving back from his family’s ranch, it’s also been every time he’s driving back from his family’s ranch. That’s why I was just short of nagging when I asked. So, imagine my frustration to receive this text at 7:00 on Thursday morning.

I’ll be there around lunch.

Even I know that three months is too soon to threaten to throat punch the boy, but I was just so frustrated. I could have been working. I haven’t subbed all summer and I could have really used a half day’s pay. Jake, though… well, Jake’s in oil. We have substantially different incomes and likely always will. Half a day’s pay means very little to him and I’m not super eager to admit how difficult September has been, especially with the Gardasil vaccine that I’m getting, at least partly, because of him. I tried to look at things a little differently. Now I had a whole morning to finish sewing my flannel Star Trek pants… for which no one would be paying me. Nope. I just couldn’t get over it, so I kept my texting brief, for fear of sounding bitchy. Verbal and textual chatterbox that I usually am, Jake noticed and called. He said he wanted to make sure the plans were still the same, that we’d be going to the botanical gardens and to the outdoor store. He clearly wanted to see if I was mad and I’m just not all that great at hiding emotions, but I was polite, if brief. When he arrived around noon, I was still a little reserved. Jake actually had to stop me and ask to see the Spock shirt I’d raved about getting with my birthday money: “Trek Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself.” Ultimately, I decided the best bet was just to say something to him, rather than let it stew.

Me: “I’d have worked this morning if I’d known you’d be late.”
Jake: “Ugh. Yeah. My brother was being a dick, so I didn’t get out until later.”

He clearly didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want to pry, but I quadruple checked that he’d be there early in the morning! Still annoyed, I set it aside and we started our day with lunch. Midway through our meal, I’d forgotten all about my frustrations with Jake and was just so glad to be with him. I always convince myself in our time apart that he’s not as great as I remember and I’m always wrong.

We had a great time. I stole my country boy’s new phone and changed his theme to pink and his ringtone to Turn Down for What, the latter of which I’m still not sure he’s been able to fix. We joked and talked about politics and I, again, took his phone and pretended to change his Facebook relationship status (he doesn’t Facebook at all), only to have him tell me to go ahead. After lunch, we went to the gardens, which were, quite honestly, boring. Did you know that botanical gardens just equals “trees and bushes”? When we’d gone to the zoo, Jake had been strangely gifted at naming the plants, so I’d thought it would be a fun activity, but I was wrong… except for the Jake part. That part was nice.

After the gardens, we went to the outdoor store and Jake asked if I wanted him to buy pretty much everything I touched. While it’s sweet that he wanted to get me a birthday gift, that’s not really how that’s done, so I declined everything but a bag of cotton candy jelly beans. We played a shooting game and Jake told me the official names of the fish in the tank. As much of a city girl as I can be, there’s something so… familiar about Jake’s country roots. All my life, I’ve grown up around men who hunt and fish. My ex-husband wasn’t into any of those things at all and there’s something almost… comforting in Jake’s down home side. He’s so friendly and laid-back, but at the same time, he can argue Lord of the Rings vs. Harry Potter (he’s wrong). Ultimately, you’d think I’d find discussing types of fish dull, but it’s almost… soothing.

By the time we were supposed to meet Gail and Terry at the bar, I was pretty tired, but Jake had other ideas, which made us later than a nap would have. Regardless, everyone seemed to hit it off quite well. Terry and Jake are both from small towns, with farmer/ranchers for parents. The conversation was easy and fun and my three margaritas put me so far over the limit, by the end of the night, that I jokingly programmed a sex shop into Jake’s GPS… and he drove there, when I refused to tell him what it was.

Finally, we went home and crashed for the night. The next morning, we woke up late for Jake and at normal human hours for Belle.

Jake: “It’s 8:00. We’ve wasted half the day.”
Me: “Shut up. It’s like the middle of the night.”

I made breakfast and somehow, the topic of my taking a job the day before came up again.

Me: “I was just frustrated because I asked for that very reason. I could’ve worked a half day. I don’t even know if one would’ve been available, but I couldn’t look because you said you’d be here at 9:00 and I blocked out the day.”
Jake: “I can like… give you money if it’s that big of a deal.”

Me: “Duuude. Noooo. I’m pretty sure that’s prostitution, so let’s not.”

I’m pretty sure that is the boyest thing he has ever said and that’s saying something. Ultimately, however, he got my point and understood the level of frustration I felt, so I feel the communication was successful. It wasn’t a fight, but it was our first disagreement and I think it was a productive one.

After breakfast/brunch, we went to see The Gift and then to meet my parents. I was a little nervous, but I didn’t want to make Jake more nervous by admitting so.

Jake: “I can’t believe I forgot my beard trimmer.”
Me: “It’s not that bad. Besides, I set the bar really low. They’ll love you.”

That’s me… being supportive.

I was right, though. Lena enthusiastically talked about my steps and both she and my dad told stories of their numerous trips to Mexico. My dad was thrilled to have a cattle/hunting/camping conversational companion and Lena and I bonded over how awful all of those things sound. Both of them loved when Jake told them how he doesn’t care for tattoos, piercings, and colorful hair.

Dad: “Are you going to go to the rodeo with him?”
Me: “Oh, I’m sure I will. His whole family is into rodeos. His dad was a rodeo clown.”
Jake: ::laughing:: “That is not true.”
Lena: “You’ll learn that Belle is her father’s daughter. They’re both dramatic story tellers.”
Jake: “Oh, I got that one a while ago.”
Me: “Hey. The difference is, I want you to realize I’m being dramatic. My dad wants you to believe that he saw a cricket the size of a pony.”

It was great. They liked him. He liked them. It was a little loud with the live music and that was a damned shame, but it was just… fun. No one liked my ex-husband, so this is new and I’ll tell you, it’s awesome. I’ve always hated the idea of being with someone who doesn’t click with my family again and I’m pretty sure Jake with his stuffed deer head (who he’s refusing to let me a) decorate for Christmas or b) name Buzz) fit in better than me with my Ravenclaw Quidditch sweatshirt.

So that was my birthday and Jake’s introduction to some of the most important people in my life. I’m not sure it could’ve gone better, either. My daddy likes him. My stepmomma likes him. My Gaily likes him. Perhaps most amazingly, after three months, I still like him.

Textersation Tuesday

Posted on September 1, 2015 by Belle of the Library

Compliment accepted…

That time I dated Ron Swanson…

Toothbrushes, Insecurities, and Meeting the Family

Posted on August 28, 2015 by Belle of the Library

Me: “So, I bought you a toothbrush on clearance, since you didn’t have one the last time you stayed over… unless that freaks you out, in which case I already had it, cuz of all the men I sleep with.”

Me: “So, can I call you my boyfriend now or is that question crossing some kind of boundary?”

:: 6:00 am and completely incapable of early morning thought processes ::
Jake: “Is this your baby blanket?”
Me: “No. It’s… something very mature.”
Jake: “Is it like your teddy bear?”
Me: “No. It’s nothing.”
Jake: “It’s obviously not nothing, since you brought it with you.”
Me: “I didn’t. You already had it here. Don’t worry about it.”
Jake: “What is it?”
Me: ::speaking into pillow:: “It’s the remnant of a baby blanket. The rest was lost in the fire.”
Jake: “Why are you so embarrassed? That’s not weird.”
Me: ::incredulous:: “It’s not weird that I hold it when I suck my thumb?”
Jake: “Okay. The thumb sucking is a little weird, but it doesn’t bug me. It’s not like I don’t have quirks.”

Me, playing it cool.

Things have been going really well with Jake. He’s mostly been commuting to me from Wellston, which is about an hour away, in part because there’s more to do in my area, but also cuz he’s just super. I’m so dedicated to keeping this blog anonymous, while also allowing for proper spatial visualization, that I created a map for you. Y’all, I am no cartographer and this was a bitch to do in Microsoft Paint.

Who relocates if and when that becomes an issue? That sounds like a problem for… FUTURE BELLE!

Two weeks ago, Jake came to Shetland with no firm plans. We were just going to spend the day together and I was going to make him dinner. I bought all the fixins for meatloaf, one of the few main courses I can cook that wouldn’t be pure experimentation. I live alone, folks. I consider it cooking when I throw things in EasyMac. I’m sort of kidding. My bachelor’s degree was in Home Ec. I know how to cook… in theory. Jake and I started the day with lunch out, though. We had sushi and, as per usual, redheaded Jake paid.

Me: “Ew. I hate the ginger… the pickled ginger, not you.”
Jake: “I was gonna say, I hope you brought your wallet, then.”

I love that our dry humor meshes so well.

When we got back to my apartment, we watched Logan’s Run and I had my first genuine faux pas of the day. You knew it was coming.

Me: “Is she naked?!?”
Jake: “Isn’t this one of your favorite movies? Haven’t you seen it like a hundred times? How did you not notice that?”

No really. HOW? Those people were wearing see-though clothing through most of that movie.

After Logan’s Run, Jake put on Flight of the Navigator… which we ignored.

Finally, I made dinner, which turned out great and we decided to go to the drive-in… which we ignored.

I don’t remember kissing being so much fun. I think my ex-husband must have been really bad at it. Eventually, though, I fell asleep lying on Jake’s chest while he watched the ending to Mission Impossible. When I crawled over the seat for the ride home, I promptly fell asleep again, waking briefly to hear Jake order something at McDonald’s and ask his phone for directions back to my apartment instead of waking me up. Awwww.

Jake: “You were asleep in your little dress over there and I’m pretty sure the people at McDonald’s thought I’d drugged you.”
Me: ::droswily:: “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sigh. Again, with the semi-conscious date rape jokes. It’s a good thing he thinks I’m funny.

When we got back to my apartment, Jake carried all of the blankets and pillows upstairs and I asked if he wanted to just stay over, since Wellston is an hour’s drive and it was 2:00 in the morning. He’d made the same offer the first time I’d driven to him a week before, when we had our Gardasil talk, but I declined for canine reasons. He accepted and I learned that Jake’s a cuddler, which I surprisingly love. I’ve always wanted my space in the past, but curling up with Jake felt very comfortable and natural. I also learned that he’ll be a morning sex guy when we get to that point. It’s not a bad way to wake up and I did what I could to give as good as I got without making the vaccine wait obselete. Then he left… and the crazy kicked in.

This is why I didn’t write last week. Jake has a crappy phone, hasn’t been in a serious relationship in five years, and is a boy, so he doesn’t overthink things. However, I was getting shockingly little response, less than I ever had. If I didn’t text first, he might ask how my day was, but even then, I’d mostly get one word answers in return. By Thursday, when I texted to see if he still wanted to come over Friday, which he planned, I was convinced he was coming to Shetland to tell me he was over it. That’s how rarely I was hearing from him. I even called him to ask if everything was okay and make sure he still wanted to come. In typical boy fashion, he had no idea anything was wrong and assured me he’d be over the next day. I vowed not to bring it up, unless he did first.

:: two girly beers into Blazing Saddles ::
Me: “So, you should text me a little more this week. I kind of thought you were coming here to tell me you didn’t want to see me anymore. That’s actually why I called last night. I figured if that was the case, you didn’t need to make the drive. I’m not trying to be crazy or clingy, but you kind of just left and barely talked to me all week. It doesn’t have to be constant, but I wouldn’t mind hearing from you a little more. I even thought maybe I did something wrong when we were fooling around.”
Jake: “What? Why? Because of something I said?”
Me: “No. I just… I dunno. Maybe I give really bad over-the-pants handjobs or something and you didn’t want to see me again, because of it. I don’t know how this crap works.”
Jake: ::laughing::

Zetus lapetus. Someone shut me up.

So, after that fucking eloquent speech, we sort of dropped the subject, finished the movie, watched Back to the Future, and went to dinner. Being Friday night, Chili’s was packed, so we had a drink in the bar while we waited for our table. I am a total lightweight, y’all. After two margaritas, I could barely get into Jake’s truck for the ride home and kept giggling uncontrollably and calling him keen. When we got back to my apartment, I put on Back to the Future II… which we ignored.

Things ended up a lot more R rated this time, so I’m gonna spare you that GIF. I asked Jake to stay the night again, told him about his toothbrush, and asked if he was my boyfriend.

The answer was yes, which has renewed my ability to hide any and all insecurities.

I made him breakfast the next morning and he told me he had a bachelor party float trip planned for this weekend, so we wouldn’t be able to see each other for a while. We were both disappointed, so I offered to make the trip to Wellston on Sunday, after church, allowing him to get his work done that day. That, my dear readers, is how I ended up driving to Wellston, beagle in tow, and meeting Jake’s family… or at least his sister, the only family that lives locally. Still, it was a pretty big deal and Jake initiated it, so he must like me.

Me: “They live on a farm. I look ridiculous. I’m wearing a fucking prom dress.”
Jake: “It’s not a prom dress. It’s like… an Easter dress.”
Me: “Oh, thank you. That doesn’t make me look like an asshole.”
Jake: “You did come from church.”
Me: “Who are you kidding? I would have been wearing this anyway. Dude, I don’t own pants.”

Fortunately, the beagle was chilling out on Jake’s couch (where he was not supposed to be, the little rebel) while we were at dinner. After chatting for a bit, Jake declared that we should go get Jude, so he could play with his sister’s dogs. Planning for a possible overnight stay, I’d brought a change of clothes and jumped at the opportunity to take off the dress and don some leggings and a t-shirt.

Me: “Ugh. I didn’t think this through. Now your sister knows I brought a change of clothes. She’s going to think I’m a total whore.”
Jake: ::fucking laughed at me::

By the grace of God, I did not embarrass myself in front of Jake’s sister, brother-in-law, or nieces. Jude didn’t make the best first impression, when he got a single sticker, lay down in the field for 10 minutes, and waited for his mommy to rescue him, but I felt like I came off just fine, and Jake’s sister gave me some free cucumbers. It was still pretty early when we got back to Jake’s duplex, so we watched a couple of horror movies, which we both enjoy, but find no pleasure in watching alone.

Me: “Do you mind if I stay the night? I have horrible night vision and I’d rather drive back when the sun is rising.”
Jake: “You can stay, if you let me sleep. I have to be up by 6:00.”
Me: ::deepened voice, imitating Jake:: “You can stay, if you can quell your insatiable craving for my dick.”
Jake: ::laughing:: “That is not what I said.”
Me: “Dude, it was verbatim.”

After watching both Clown and Annabelle, we went to bed and not only did I keep my hands to myself, but I also kept to myself how much I cannot sleep without white noise. Jake had to work in the morning. All I had to do was drive to Shetland and pass out, so I lay awake in bed, only falling asleep when the air conditioner kicked on and ultimately waking up to Jake cuddling up to me with clear intentions. That boy makes for the best good mornings, but I’m buying him a fucking fan.

After we got out of bed and Jake quizzed me about the “something very mature” baby blanket I brought with me, he took Jude outside while I dressed. He carried my bag to my car and I drove home. Later, I met Gaily for grocery shopping and gossip.

Gail: “So, have you said it, yet?”
Me: “What? You mean out loud?!? He might hear me!”

Um… yeah. I totally care who knows it.

In actuality, I don’t think I’m quite to the “I love you” point yet. It’s still early and I’d like to make sure this isn’t just infatuation. I’d also like to wait a bit longer to see if Jake is going to come to the realization that I’m both awkward and loud and get out while he still can. He’s mentioned the future quite a few times, though. For instance, he joked about dressing as an astronaut for my high school reunion in May, forbade me to participate in No Shave November, and has mentioned the point when my vaccine is up a few times. He doesn’t seem afraid to imply that we’ll be together in six months. He’s talked about his mother asking where exactly Shetland is, in relation to Wellston. His family and friends know about me and now his sister, brother-in-law, and nieces have met me. He’s even made a clear effort to text me more this week, despite his busy schedule with work and his weekend trip. Best of all, he’s agreed to go to Disney on Ice for my birthday, assuming he can get off work!

I still think he’s pretty danged keen and I’m hopeful that the feeling is mutual.

At 27, I am too old to protect myself from cancer.

Posted on August 14, 2015 by Belle of the Library

I was 21 when the Gardasil vaccine was widely released in 2008, amidst controversy over its microsecond of testing; it had only been approved by the FDA two years earlier*. At the time, I was married and like anyone who marries at 19 for all of the wrong reasons, I assumed I’d never be single again.

Couple this fact with my lack of health insurance and some of the more unnerving reports of the vaccine effects and I didn’t find it worth the cost or risk. Don’t misunderstand me. I am by no means an anti-vaccer. I plan to pump my children full of life saving hormones the second they enter the world. There is a reason we’ve eradicated diseases like polio and, until recently, measles. I wasn’t against vaccinating for HPV, but rather doing so with a formula concocted in some dude’s garage last week. I assumed that by the time I had children, there would have been more tests verifying the safety of the vaccine, but for me, it wasn’t necessary, cuz happily ever after and all that jazz.

Then… I got divorced. At 23, with my divorce finalized and now with health insurance through my dad, Gardasil was once again on the table. It still scared me, though. I mean, this was only 2011. It had been widely distributed for only three years. How many times have we watched public service announcements about some miracle drug causing irreparable harm or even death? So, once again, I passed on the vaccine. I was in grad school and working two jobs. I wasn’t getting laid any time soon. In time, when I actually had the energy and desire to date, I could reconsider. Even when my health insurance was about to lapse, I still wasn’t comfortable getting the Gardasil shot. No. I wasn’t sexually active. I’d really only even kissed my ex-husband. I could private pay and get the shot later… or so I thought.

Things have been going really well with Jake, y’all. Like, he’s the bees’ knees and all that other nauseating sentiment. There have been fucking Eskimo kisses. It’s disgustingly cute and unquestionably white. I think I’m really falling for him and I’m getting a lot better at this making out thing, particularly since I’ve stopped apologizing for my lack of skill. At this point, he’s got to find the awkwardness endearing, because there’s absolutely no ignoring it. As patient and sweet as Jake has been over my lack of experience, though, he’s had a far more typical sexual history. I don’t want to know how many people he’s been with, and I’ve told him as much, but he’s admitted that he wasn’t always the poster boy for safe sex. In short, he’s been exposed to HPV, which according to the CDC most men and women will have at some point in their lives.* As there’s no way to test for this like other STI’s, it appears it would be time for me to schedule that private pay vaccine course for Gardasil. Sure, it’s expensive, but I’m willing to pay for my sexual health… if someone will let me.

After my conversation with Jake, I began to look into getting the vaccine. I discovered that, had I received the shot when I had insurance, it would’ve been Gardasil-4. This year, they’re switching to Gardasil-9, which includes protection from five more types of cervical cancer. Score! I can be even better protected for my money! I soon realized, however, that not only does the FDA only recommend vaccination up to age 26, under the assumption that most have already been exposed by this age, but many doctors will not approve the shot for “off label use” in anyone older. That’s right. Because it’s assumed that everyone over 25 has had more than four sexual partners, anyone who hasn’t is just too old to protect themselves from cancer.* Thank you, Food and Drug Administration. That is an awesome reward for my self-restraint and concern for my own sexual health.

Despite the many discouraging stories I found online, I decided to see if my general practitioner might make an exception, based on my personal circumstances.

Me: “… and I was wondering if Dr. Davidson might be willing to give the HPV vaccine to a 27-year-old. I know that the FDA only recommends it up to age 26, but I can pay for it out of pocket.”
Receptionist: “Well, I’ll have to discuss it with him and call you back.”
::calls back::
Receptionist: “You are over age. The FDA only recommends the vaccine up to age 26.”
Me:
::Didn’t I just…?::
“I understand, but I’ve only had sex with one person five years ago, in a monogamous relationship. I’ve had less sex than most 24-year-olds. I’m trying to find out if the doctor will let me private pay for the vaccine as my own personal choice.”

The back and forth went on for an unreasonable length of time, before the receptionist finally told me that the doctor might give me the vaccine, but I’d have to pay for an office visit first. Having no health insurance, this was going to be $80 for a possible no, but I made the appointment with the PA anyway, for one hour later. I was so nervous and terrified that I’d be denied, that I arrived 30 minutes early and feared my blood pressure alone would disqualify me. I tapped me foot and read story after story of women being told no by doctors, on my phone, unable to find any with different results. This didn’t help the nerves, bee tea double ewe. Finally, my name was called, 15 minutes earlier than my actual appointment, but it felt like an eternity.

I’m lucky, y’all. As I sat, near tears over my own procrastination, I explained to the nurse why I wanted the Gardasil vaccine and why I felt I was still a good candidate. Though she gave me some information that I knew was incorrect, from having just read the entire CDC website, (the vaccine does so protect from genital warts, and quite effectively at that, as confirmed by the PA*) she also gave me some wonderful news: my doctor’s PA loves Gardasil and encourages anyone who wants to get vaccinated to do so. In no time at all, she arrived to tell me so herself. She agreed that I had little chance of previous exposure and while she couldn’t legally guarantee effectiveness, she saw no reason why Gardasil would not benefit me just as much as a 24-year-old in the same situation. If I was willing to private pay, I could receive the Gardasil vaccine. The consensus all over the Internet seems to be the same. Gardasil is effective as a vaccine against HPV for anyone with little sexual exposure, as HPV is primarily an STI and an extraordinarily common one at that. Having only slept with my ex-husband and having received normal results on all my gal exams, it’s unlikely I’ve been exposed. Yet, the FDA refuses to approve the use of Gardasil in the 26+ sexually inexperienced. Once again:

I thank my stars that I found a PA who is more considerate of individual circumstances, because she agrees that at 27, I still have every right to protect myself from cancer. Am I still afraid of the Gardasil vaccine? A little. I’m more afraid of cervical cancer and genital warts, though, so I had my first shot on Wednesday and I’m not dead yet. In fact, as frustrated as I am with the FDA, I’m also pretty irritated with the fear mongering anti-vaccers who keep insisting Gardasil would have killed me five years ago. I feel fine. Most people who take this vaccine feel fine. The one in a million outliers really aren’t a sound reason for me to risk cancer, which has a much higher likelihood of killing me.

So, fuck the FDA for telling me that statistically I should’ve put out more by now and fuck the granola-eating helicopter parents who insist that one of the best decisions I could’ve made for my sexual health would end me. Thank you, though, to the medical professionals who are willing to consider each patient’s story, because in no time at all, I’ll be protected. Speaking of which, there is one caveat that I hadn’t really discussed with Jake when I was doing my research.

::text message::
Me: So, the good news is, they’ve ordered the INSANELY expensive shot. The bad news is, no matter how well things go for us, I’m not having sex with anyone for like 7 months.
Jake: Good things come to those who wait. Lol.

He’s just… keen.

Citations

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gardasil

http://www.cdc.gov/std/HPV/STDFact-HPV.htm#a7

http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2012/06/left-out-why-is-it-so-hard-for-older-women-to-get-the-hpv-vaccine/258611/

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.

Tag Archives: Dating

Crawfish and Friends

Why My Boyfriend Will Never Be at Christmas

“… an Eskimo kiss for the road.”

“Would it freak you out if I told you I loved you?”

The First Time He Sees You Have a Panic Attack in Bed…

The Fault in Our Deal Breakers

Birthdays and Boyfriends: Meeting the Parents… and Best Friend

Textersation Tuesday

Toothbrushes, Insecurities, and Meeting the Family

At 27, I am too old to protect myself from cancer.

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