Tag Archives: online dating

Disastrous Dates with Dell: the Importance of Honesty and Attraction

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There was a time, when a truly awful date for me was a delightful blog post. Lately, though, I’ve noticed a shift in my thinking. I suppose it started with Engineer 114, around the New Year. After he bailed on me for no reason, after weeks of texting while he was out of the country, I was both furious and completely done with him. So, I got back on PoF and, by chance, reconnected with Politician, who I happened to have just begun messaging before I got involved with 114.

Politician and I met after a few weeks of messaging He was 35, had never been married, worked at the state capitol, was protestant and didn’t appear to take issue with my Catholicism. But… he was 35 and unmarried and he hadn’t been engaged, or in extensive schooling, or serving his country. When he talked about settling down, it was in a vague sense, like a man 10 years younger. “One day”, he might like to get married and have children. I’m sorry dude, but if you’re from a small town in the South and you’re saying “one day” at 35, it’s just not something you want. That’s cool and all, but don’t date the gal who’s aiming for that. Perhaps he realized this mistake, though, because I never heard from him after our date. We didn’t have a bad time. We talked. It was nice. I left on the thought that I’d be willing to go on another date, if he asked, but knew I wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t. I was right. I wasn’t.

After Politician came Oil. Oil and I had chatted on Tinder last fall. We’d been texting and I dropped off the face of the earth, because seriously, dude, it’s Tinder. I recently found him on Match, and although he looked familiar, I couldn’t recall where I’d seen him and sent a message. When Oil explained that we’d talked before, we quickly set a date to meet. This time, I thought things went really well. We met for coffee at the Starbucks inside Barnes and Noble and walked around talking and looking at books. He’d gained some weight since his pictures were taken, but he wore it well. We laughed and seemed to get along. I left with a good feeling about the whole thing. Then, he began the Fade Away. For realz, yo, if you don’t intend to see someone after a first meeting, just shut the hell up. Don’t string them along. It’s worse than just never talking to them again. I quickly realized what he was doing and responded just enough that he could build on it and sent no more when he didn’t. If a man’s not interested in me, I’m sure as hell not chasing after him. I was disappointed, though. I mean, he’d gained at least 20 pounds, so any issues with my appearance would’ve been downright hypocritical. The conversation flowed. Why was that not at least worth a second meeting?

…. aaaaaand there it is. I’ve officially reached the point I’ve been trying to force myself to reach for the last year. I am finally to a place where I’m willing to go on a second date with anyone who wasn’t a mountain troll or a complete ass. Therefore, when someone else isn’t, that’s a bad date, because what could he possibly be seeking, beyond laughter and surprisingly few awkward pauses? Did we just not have that “spark”? Because that’s bullshit. The “spark” is another word for Love at First Sight or Soulmates. It’s pretend. It was crafted to sell YA novels about teenagers dying of cancer. The only real connection one can hope to have with a stranger is conversational. If that exists and you aren’t willing to pursue it, then have fun dying alone… which is exactly the sentiment that lead me to the other extreme in my absolutely disastrous dates with Dell.

Dell was 33 years old and not very attractive in his photos. He was successful and had a lot of nerdy hobbies mixed with a lot of country hobbies. He was sociable and seemed to be putting in a real effort. I told myself that appearance was secondary to these characteristics and I still feel that that was correct. The man wasn’t hideous in his photos. He was shorter than I’d prefer, but taller than I am, at 5’7″. He was stocky and appeared to be a little heavy, but mentioned a lot of active hobbies. Almost every photo had his niece in it, so he was clearly close to his family and liked kids. I had high hopes that personality would ultimately take over and then I would find him attractive.

Dell and I first met for dinner at the same restaurant where I met Politician. I got out of the car, headed for the door, and my first thought was that it couldn’t be him.

Y’all, there have not been a lot of dates where I’ve considered just turning around and leaving. This was probably only the second… because this man was not “a little heavy.” He was easily 40 pounds heavier than his least flattering photo… at 5’7″. I’m 5’6″, so 40 pounds on him is the equivalent to 40 pounds on me, and it was all in his belly. I wasn’t going to be shallow, though. It wasn’t even Gaily’s voice this time that asked me if I was really going to write this guy off over something trivial. I mean, clearly, I was just focused on appearance because it was our first meeting. If I wasn’t going to give him a chance, then I needed to leave right then and not let him buy me dinner.

As we took our seats and I fervently told myself that I was being too critical, Dell struggled to slide into the booth and, I am ashamed to admit, the first thing that popped into my mind was…

I wonder if his erect penis even clears his belly.

I felt horrible for even thinking that, but my ex-husband was morbidly obese and it’s a thing, folks. I spent four years with someone who had to ask to be seated at a table every time we went out and that’s all I could think about for the first 10 minutes of our conversation as I distractedly answered so many questions it felt like I was being quizzed. Finally, I realized that Dell wouldn’t be playing Quizmaster if I’d join the fucking conversation and I pulled my irreparably damaged by divorce head out of my ass. From that point on, I was a delight. I asked questions about his life and his former career as a policeman. I told him about my career and was pleased that he was respectful and interested. The conversation felt a little forced, but I blamed my lack of physical attraction. We talked about our hobbies and ironically, staying in shape came up.

Dell: “I’ve actually gained 20 pounds in the last few months.”

Um… yeah. I noticed. Apparently, so did he. It, however, was still not only 20 pounds since his photos. I would not be surprised to discover that the man was just barely into the morbidly obese category. Now, I’ve been morbidly obese, y’all. A few years ago, I lost over 90 pounds. It’s not that I hate fat people. I’ve been fat people. I’m still not skinny people at a size 8/10. I have also never lied about it. He clearly knew that his photos were not an accurate representation of him. After all was said and done, I even showed Gail.

Gail: “Well, yeah. You can kind of tell he’s heavy in this one. He looks pretty big there.”
Me: “No, no, no. I saw that one. I was prepared for that one. It was that plus 40 pounds.”
Gail: “Oh. Wow.”

At this point, I was legitimately frustrated with him. I was in a really awkward place, because he wasn’t honest. I didn’t want to blow off what was otherwise a very nice guy just because of his size, though, so I agreed to a second date the following week.

Over the next week, I ended up convincing myself that I’d exaggerated the entire thing. It wouldn’t be the first time. I mean, the guy was nice and chivalrous and successful. Surely, I was just being a bitch and I’d realize the error of my ways when we met again. Spoiler alert: no.

We met last Friday at a local sushi restaurant and I was actually looking forward to realizing how wrong I was. Dell was going to walk up and I was going to see that, although he was slightly heavier than his photos depicted, it was nothing so drastic. Then, I saw him walking to the door and thought that his size just couldn’t be healthy. He looked physically uncomfortable and was visibly sweating. At 33 years old, I was already looking at this guy and worried about his physical well-being. It’s not just appearance. I want to be able to chase my children around the backyard. I want to be able to go to Disney World and not stop every 30 minutes for a rest, because the cardio of leisurely walking is just overwhelming. I know what that’s like, because I’ve fucking done it. I’m not going to lie, either. It’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to explain to someone that your reasonably young husband is breathing so hard because of walking. It’s upsetting to never be able to go on a roller coaster because the belt won’t fit across his lap. It’s embarrassing to watch your date’s booth slide across the floor from the table as he sits, because the seat isn’t bolted down and he doesn’t fit.

This time, the conversation did not flow, at all. It was much more obvious that we were forcing it along. I wished I hadn’t come. I felt just as lied to as I did on the first date and I felt like a horrible person for the fact that this was such a deal breaker for me. I’m not delusional. I know that pretty much everyone looks better with clothes on. I even prefer a slightly overweight man to a slender one. I just wasn’t attracted to Dell at all and felt genuine resentment at his blatant dishonesty. Again, I was sociable and fun and polite. I tried. I really did try, but when Dell asked if I needed to get back to my niece (where I’d been before the date) or if I still wanted to go do something together, I bailed. I couldn’t let the man spend another dime on me, when I knew I was done. I told him I’d promised Catherine I’d meet her at the bar for her birthday. He walked me to my car and we talked about going minigolfing this week, as a third date. We made tentative plans. He leaned in for a hug….

… went to kiss me…

… I turned away…

… and it was the most uncomfortable thing that has ever happened in time. 

I went to the bar that night, where Catherine and our friend Laura both asked how the date went.

Me: “Um. It was fine.”
Laura: “Fine?”
Me: “He was really nice. There just isn’t really anything there. He wasn’t very honest in his photos and there’s really no physical attraction. I don’t know how important that is.”
Laura: “It’s important. It may not be the most important thing, but it is important.”

Dell didn’t message me after that.

Me: “He went in for a kiss and I… um… may have turned it into an awkward hug.”
Gail: “Yeah. THAT’S why he hasn’t messaged you.”

I told Gail about the guilt I felt over not continuing to see him.

Gail: “It’s not as if you were married to this man and then ditched him when he gained weight. You’re just not willing to date a man who lives an unhealthy lifestyle. You’re not willing to start a relationship with all of the problems that come with that and that’s okay. You don’t owe him anything after two dates.”

So, obviously he picked up on my lack of interest, which is most definitely for the best. I hope he realizes why, even subconsciously. I hope he gets the spontaneous urge to upload some honest and recent photos, so that the next date he goes on goes better. So many stereotypes about online dating focus on women lying about their weight, but never (straight) men. It is equally and quite fairly frustrating to a member of either gender, though, to be shown a picture of someone to whom they think they can develop an attraction and be faced with a completely different person. I stand by both the man and the woman who feels angry or misled, because it really is an awkward place to be. We insist that appearance doesn’t matter at all and while I do believe we over emphasize it, if you can’t imagine wanting to see someone naked at 33, it’s unlikely to be any better at 43. I don’t regret that second date, because I’m left with no doubts that there wasn’t anything there; but also because I realize that while it’s great to put aside aside the trivial and meet the guy who’s 5’7″ or losing his hair or doesn’t have model good looks, ultimately attraction cannot be forced. I maintain my policy of going on a second date unless absolutely certain it’s not happening. I just may need to be a little more accepting of the latter. There were certainly less substantial reasons not to consider him.

Me: “I know it’s stupid and I would never blow someone off for just this, but… he said he loves Christmas Vacation. You know how much I hate Christmas Vacation.”

If I’m gonna sit through that terrible fucking movie, he’d better be even the slightest bit attractive to me.

Textersation Tuesday

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We have not yet reached the Panini Press Owning stage of life.

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We have, however, surpassed the I’m Moving to Hollywood stage of life.

Are we seriously having this conversation in 2015?

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Y’all know I’m a librarian. It’s in the URL. It’s in the tagline. I practically introduce myself with it to everyone I ever meet, in person and online, because I am the old guy declaring “What you do, is who you are.”  Maybe it’s because I’m so passionate about my job. Maybe it’s because everyone in my family has that mentality. Whatevs. Just as some people are doctors and proud, nurses and proud, lawyers and proud, I’m a librarian and proud. It took seven years of college and an embarrassingly high amount of student loan debt for me to earn this title, so it feels pretty redundant when I have to ask that people not fucking mock it. 

I get that to other people, who don’t work in the field, it doesn’t sound like the coolest job. Fine. They’re wrong, but fine. Regardless, I’m horrified by the number of men who contact me on online dating sites and openly insult my career.

“So you’re a librarian, huh. I bet that’s tough with the internet now.”
Why, because you Googled free access to Ancestry.com, the entire archive of National Geographic, free e-media downloads, books a 14-year-old boy will actually enjoy and receive credit for in class, a complete resume that will get you an interview, and that news article about your grandmother from 1956? Google is a keyword search. If anything, the ubiquity of Internet access has given me more to do, because most people’s research and fact checking skills suck, because of GOOGLE. Obviously, if I’ve just gone into this field, it’s not dying. Perhaps you should Google that.

“I don’t think I could work in a quiet library all day. I’d get so bored.”
Thanks for calling my job boring, even though I clearly love it enough to include the title in my screen name. By the way, at first glance, “oil” has me on the edge of my seat.

“I didn’t even know there were still librarians.”
“Obsolete.” I think that’s my favorite pet name.

“It takes a master’s degree to do that? Why?”
Please. Inject a little more dismay into that question. Obviously, if it’s required, it’s necessary, and there are respectful ways to ask about my specific duties.

“My dad tells people I have a master’s degree, even though I’m not finished with school yet.”
“I’ll bet he doesn’t tell them what it’s in.”
Dude, did you just tell your date that her dad is secretly ashamed of her? It’s been two years since that date and I’m still at a loss for words beyond “bag of dicks.”


There is a flash flood in my pants, right now.

The responses toward my bachelor’s degree in family and consumer sciences are just as appalling.

“What’s the technical name for a home-ec teacher? Domicile Engineer? LOL.”

As frustrating as these misunderstandings are, I’m relatively used to them. I’m happy to explain why I needed a master’s degree to be a librarian or sing the praises of family and consumer sciences, when asked politely. I love talking about my work. I’m horrified, however, that anyone thinks it’s okay to talk down to me about my field, especially when I’ve already explained what it entails. Just last week, I was trading messages with a man on Plenty of Fish. I’d told him all about my field, how I had to get my MLIS to work in the position I love, and that I was trying to work my up to full time, because it’s extremely competitive.

“So, are you planning to make a career out of it?”

Um… what? Is this an attention span issue? I just explained that. Also, dude, you just told me you’d be working again “when oil picks up,” so I really think there are more pertinent questions regarding your career than mine. No one would ask a nurse if she was planning to make a career out of it. No one would ask a teacher that.

Karol: “Yes, they would. ‘Are you just doing this until you get married and have kids?'”
Me: “Fine. No one would ask a biologist that. No one would ask an accountant that.”
Karol: “What you mean is that no one would ask a man that.”
Me: “Ew. If that’s the case, then just ew. It’s 2015!”

You know, it’s really something that never crossed my mind. I thought people mocked my career because of a stereotype. Then again, there’s a pretty persistent stereotype among accountants, too, and they require less education than librarians. Sure, they’re assumed to be boring, but even with e-filing options, no one insists they’re redundant. Everyone concludes there must be more to the field than tax time, so why don’t librarians get the same respect? Why, before insulting me, don’t these men think ‘Wow. I’ve clearly got the wrong idea about this’? Well, according to Karol, the reason I’m not taken more seriously is…

Google this: “vagina gif”

It’s a frustrating idea and I sincerely hope Karol is wrong. Could it really be that the reason so many men mock my passion is because I’m female? Are these comments actually an effort to diminish my accomplishments, because I brought my ovaries with me? Is the “sexy librarian” line not only tacky, but actually a 1950s slap on the ass? Are we seriously having this conversation in 2015?

Ultimately, I’m just pleased to have met men who are impressed by my level of education, admire my passion for my career, and are open to learning more about a topic they don’t understand. It has happened, as many times as (if not more than) the above incidences. I can just let the probable sexists continue ranting about how they can only meet gold diggers and be thankful that they’re so transparent.

Still… ew.

 

The Time I Wasn’t Overreacting: Update on Stabby McStabberson

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So last week, I had a pretty terrifying online dating experience… or at least I was pretty sure it qualified as one, when I wrote The Time I Almost Got Shankraped by Online Dating. Bee tea double ewe, the day someone slips “shankraped” into casual conversation or a presidential speech, you heard it here first, so you’re welcome.

As my original post indicated, I immediately called Gaily and told her everything. As is her way, she flipped the fuck out and started talking about protection orders and staying at her house for a little while.

I figured it was all good, though. I mean, surely he didn’t think I was interested after all of that awkwardness, right? Then I got a message on Plenty of Fish, after I deleted my OKCupid account.

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“A little while back”?!?! Dude, this was two fucking days later!

Okay. So he didn’t understand it the first time. There’s no way he could’ve missed the point after that message. Until he did. Unfortunately, I don’t have that screenshot, because I was so freaked out that I immediately blocked him and the message was erased. It went a little something like this, though:

Stabby McStabberson: “Hey, I can’t read your message for some reason. Just text me and maybe we can get to know each other a little better.”

Shetland’s not Mayberry, y’all, but it’s not exactly Chicago either. I could see this guy anywhere, but most especially at my gym. So, I was literally shaking with fear… hence the typos when I responded.

05-01-15 2He “dropped the whole thing awhile ago.” I mean, sure I’d gotten that message, literally 20 minutes earlier, but that was “awhile ago.” I am soooo sorry, Stabby McStabberson, for making you uncomfortable. I’m aware that my response was aggressive and downright mean, but I was terrified and I wanted a response to clarify that he understood. I was way beyond letting him save face, at this point. Perhaps he was less crazy and just not that bright, but it’s also not like a dimwitted man can’t still skin me and wear me.

I tried to be polite and subtle. I tried to be polite and direct. Both attempts failed. So for now, it seems that Leatherface considers me a complete bitch, which is fine by me… as long as he doesn’t seek revenge. Keep an eye out for that news story, though.

The Time I Almost Got Shankraped by Online Dating

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My dear blog has been and will be many things, including divorcée blog, grad student blog, librarian blog, humor blog, opinion blog, and dating blog. That last one has been recurring, and lately even prominent. I’ve shared tales of men who insulted my faith, my degree, my best friend… of men who lived with their mothers, stood me up, and who I wished had stood me up… and even of men who’ve been perfectly nice, but for some reason, it just wouldn’t have worked. Rarely, however, has it ever been my emphasis that I met a man online. I didn’t almost end up in Tupperware, because I met the first Engineer on Plenty of Fish. I just didn’t put two and two together and realize how sketchy it was that a man who claimed he didn’t own a TV would want to watch Arrow together at his place.

It’s not online dating’s fault. It’s dating’s fault. People be crazy (and others impossibly naive for 25), regardless of where you meet them. What can you do? The Peach Pit and Central Perk are closed and MacLaren’s was an inaccurate portrayal of the dating world for at least the last three seasons. Unless someone’s willing to take me for a joyride in their DeLorean at 88 miles per hour, this is where we are… ‘cept Wednesday. Wednesday, this is where I was.

It all started out innocently enough. I was at the gym, on the elliptical, reading some harmless vampire porn, when I heard something from behind me. I turned to see a man was talking to me.

Me: “I’m sorry?”
Stabby McStabberson: “Are you on OKCupid?”
Me: “Um… yeah.”
Stabby McStabberson: “I thought you looked familiar. I’m on there, too.”
Me: …
Stabby McStabberson: “Have you ever seen me on there?”
Me: “Um… no. I don’t think so.”
Stabby McStabberson: “Well, I’ve seen you.”
Me: “Okay. Sorry, I don’t think I remember you.”

Okay, first of all, I’m pretty open about the fact that I date online. I don’t think we’ll ever get rid of the stigma as long as my aunts are insisting they met their husbands at the cowboy bar. Even so, the first thought that went through my head when this guy shouted “OKCupid” over the noise of the fan was “SHHHHHH!” Second, what exactly was the purpose of this? Clearly he was interested, but “You date online, don’t you? I date online, too!” is not how you date in person. If you’re interested in someone you see online, you message them online. You don’t memorize their stats and accost them face to face! But… I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, I texted Gail about the exchange and returned to my vampire porn, refusing to let a little awkwardness interrupt my workout… until…

Stabby McStabberson: “So, can I introduce myself?”
Me: “What?”
Stabby McStabberson: “Can I introduce myself?”
Me: “Um… sure.”
– If you’re going to introduce yourself to a person, you just do it. You don’t ask permission. Furthermore, if they’re as bad at hiding their discomfort with you doing so as I am, you keep it brief. –
Stabby McStabberson: “Hi. I’m Matt.”
Me: “Hi.”
Stabby McStabberson: “What’s your name?”
Me: “Belle.”
– Why did I tell him my name? Am I exaggerating this? I am intensely uncomfortable. Is this unfounded? –
Stabby McStabberson: “Belle. That’s a pretty name. Do you come here often?”
– To the gym, which requires a membership? –
Me: “Yeah. I have a membership.”
Stabby McStabberson: “Yeah, me too. I pay monthly. I’ve seen you here, before.”
– Oh, that… doesn’t make this better. –
Me: “… oh.”
Stabby McStabberson: “So, have you met anyone on OKCupid?”
– Does he mean am I available? Should I tell him I have a boyfriend? No. I’m overreacting. I am not going to fake a boyfriend. –
Me: “Yeah. I’ve met a few people.”
Stabby McStabberson: “Oh. Your screen name is UniversityLibrarian, isn’t it?”
– Oh, this just got so much worse. That hasn’t been my screen name for months and he remembers it. I should’ve left. –
Me: “Um… something like that.”
Stabby McStabberson: “You have a master’s degree.”
– AND YOU HAVE A HUMAN HEAD IN YOUR TRUNK! This is the worst thing. I’m going to be on the news, a cautionary tale for all young women who date online. –
Me: “Um… yeah. I do.”
Stabby McStabberson: “I’m getting my associate’s. I wanna be a youth pastor or a helper or something.”
Me:
– Wait. A “helper”? That takes an associate’s degree? Why hasn’t he figured out what he’s doing for a living? He’s at least 30… NOT THE FUCKING POINT, BELLE! –
Stabby McStabberson: “So are you still active on there?”
– How does he not see that I am visibly afraid of him? I am not even trying to hide it. –
Me: “Nope. Not lately.”
Stabby McStabberson: “Oh. Did you meet someone?”
– Fuck, yes. I most definitely met someone. –
Me: “Yup. I’ve been talking to someone for awhile, now.”
Stabby McStabberson: “Oh. Okay. Well, good luck.”

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Gail: “Next time: ‘Are you on OKCupid?’ ‘No.'”

“We need to get you a man!”: How to Get Throat Punched by a Single Woman

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The other night, as I was leaving the library with my coworkers/good friends, Janet heard me badgering Dana about how she needed to get a smartphone so we could properly fangirl over Outlander. What Janet didn’t realize was that Dana and I regularly text message about this series and there’s a major delay, so we’d previously discussed her plans to get a new phone. Because of this, we’d even been looking at them online earlier that evening as I joked about what a disservice she was doing me with her 1999 technology. Really, though, I was just encouraging Dana to take a plunge she’s been planning for months, when Janet jokingly snapped:

“Oh my gosh, Belle, get a boyfriend!”

The good news is, I don’t throat punch my jesting pregnant friends. The bad news is, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this statement and after a while, it’s kind of begun to fill me with rage.

You see, there really is just no good reason to say this to a woman, not even…

… when we love our pets… 
About a year ago, I posted a picture of myself cuddling the dog on Facebook, with the following caption:
Top 5 things I say to my dog, that I can never say to my kids.
1. I will put you on Craigslist!
2. Get off me. I don’t love you that much.
3. No. You don’t need any, Fatty McFatfat.
4. I will skin you and wear you!
5. Shut up. No one cares what you think. You’re adopted! 

Most people just liked the photo or commented that they weren’t surprised, but my cousin decided to declare, on a public forum, “We need to get you a man! You are having way too many conversations with your dog!” I only commented that my dog was much better company than my last date, since Facebook is a public forum, but I did so while seething.

Don’t MAKE me come through this computer!

For starters, to everyone who has ever spoken the above sentence, “we” ain’t gotta do shit. You are not my gal pal. You are not my matchmaker. You can mark we right off of your to-do list, because I got this. 

Furthermore, if getting myself “a man” means I no longer talk to or cuddle my dog, then I’m sorry, but there’s just no room in my life for one. My dog is used to cuddles and ear tugs and Midnight Dance Hour. He wags his tail when he hears my voice, even when I’m threatening to put him on Craigslist. I’m not going to suddenly neglect my pets for dick. If that’s how things work in your world, then I feel sorry for your dog.

… when we love our best friend…
Every person in my life gets one lesbian comment about Gail and I before I commit a federal crime. Fortunately, Gail’s been living with Terry for a couple of years now, so the risk is pretty low these days, but comments like this were rampant in high school. I get it. I wore a lot of overalls back then and our high school was somewhere between Mean Girls and Varsity Blues, but believe it or not, I have heard suggestions since graduation and all I have to say is, them’s fightin’ words.

You know who listened to me fall apart when my ex-husband burned down our house and killed all of our pets… and slept in my car with me the Thanksgiving I drank eight Long Island Ice Teas and finally confessed that my marriage was over… and talked me out of joining the Air Force while I wept over a pizza cookie after failing my graduate portfolio… and has hugged me during every single mommy drama for the last 12 years? Well, I’ll tell you one thing. It sure as hell wasn’t some boy. 

I’m not fond of the “you’re just jealous” tagline, but in this instance it fits. There is no possible reason for someone to suggest that what I have in my friendship with Gail is anything beyond sisterly loyalty, other than a lack of understanding that it is possible to love someone that much when you don’t share a bloodline. In fact, if you’re suggesting that my being attached means no more PJ and Dog days at Gail’s house, then you just don’t understand friendship in general. Most importantly, though, it is not my duty to get a boyfriend to prove my sexuality to anyone.

… when we have cool hobbies…
One of the most common scenarios in which I hear someone declare that a woman “needs a boyfriend” seems to be when they’ve done a damned good job of proving they don’t. Perhaps your single friend taught herself to cross stitch, took up community theater, designed her own cosplay costumes, planned a trip across the world alone, or bought tickets to Comicon. Maybe she just crocheted a sweater for the dog on a snow day, while binge watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and making herself sick on Easter candy… ahem. 

Whatever the interest, it seems an excuse to insist it be replaced with… what exactly? Sex? If I’m in a relationship, I won’t have time to crochet because of sex? What, am I dating Christian Grey? Do people in relationships not have individual passions and obsessions and hobbies? Can I not hateread alien erotica while he tinkers with his computer? Must we spend all that time cuddling, fondling, and saying ‘I don’t care, whatever you wanna do”? Y’all, I felt suffocated just typing that.

… when we actually want a boyfriend…
So I’ve shared another disastrous dating attempt. It was the one who tried to sell me weight loss pills… or maybe the one who didn’t technically have a job… or the one who told me he lived in a room and the “homeowner” was present. [Spoiler alert: It was his dad. The homeowner was his dad.] For some reason, I’ve opened up to you and shared some of my laughs and frustrations in the dating world and now you’ve finally come to a conclusion: I need a boyfriend.

Why thank you. Thank you so much for closed captioning my pain.

If you are involved enough in someone’s life to know that they’re tired of being single and actively dating, the “you need a boyfriend” comment is particularly obnoxious. You’re just reaffirming the idea that a woman’s life is incomplete without a man, that there’s not much to enjoy in the meantime, and that she’s in a game of musical chairs and the music is about to stop. Even if you believe these statements, your contribution is redundant at best. It is not helpful. Set her up with a friend. Offer to help her take pictures for her online dating profile. Encourage her hobbies. Don’t tell her how much it’s going to suck to die alone.

… when you have no idea whether or not we actually want a boyfriend…
Believe it or not, there are women who refuse to ruin a perfectly good song by fighting over a chair. My friend and coworker, Carla, is one of them. She’s in her mid-thirties and perfectly content to be single forever. She goes to plays, teaches herself obscure hobbies, and is easily the most well-read person I have ever met. That last one is a feat in my field. Telling her that she needs to find a man is, at best, confusing…

… and at worst, implies that her very complete and satisfying life is less, because she’s doing it solo. I am not Carla. Sometimes I wish I were content to dance alone, but I’m not. That doesn’t mean everyone needs or wants a partner.

… when the clock is ticking…
A woman’s life is incomplete without a man. There’s not much to enjoy in the meantime. She’s in a game of musical chairs and the music is about to stop…

Oh go suck a bag of dicks. My uterus is not riddled with IEDs. There is not an expiration date on living a happy and full life, even if my definition of that changes over time. Perhaps, instead of being presumptive and judgmental, we should all be a little more open to the many different lifestyles people choose. Perhaps, we should be a little less concerned with the wear and tear on someone else’s genitals, because as I said this is not a we situation.

“Whatever happened to the last engineer?”

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… not to be confused with The Last Engineer. I’m sure I’ll date more, seeing as how that’s all that exists among men, but this is the dating story I never really told, despite once regular hints that things were going well.

If you’ll recall, I first met Engineer 114 (we’re numbering by tens now) around Christmas break… in person, that is. We’d been texting for well over a month, because he’d been working a job in Texas. While I don’t normally chat with men for so long before a first meeting, E114 was super apologetic about how long he’d been gone, insisting that he almost never works out of state. Since Christmas was nearing and I was buried under piles of burlap and nursing hot glue burns, I figured I didn’t have anyone else pursuing me, nor the time to pursue anyone else, so why the hell not?

By the night of our first date, however, Christmas was only days away and I had run myself ragged with substitute teaching, working at the library, crocheting four Olaf hats, two Elsa hats, a football beanie, and crafting four personalized burlap wreaths. I knew I’d agreed to dinner, but I just… didn’t wanna.

On my thirty minute commute from work, I gave myself the usual pep talk, which is almost always in the voice of Gaily.

Be nice. Give him a chance or cancel now and don’t waste his time. The worst that can possibly happen is you pay for your own meal and you go home. You will meet someone new. You will be pleasant. You will not die alone. 

Despite said pep talk, though, I was exhausted and postponed the date by about 30 minutes. E114 was perfectly fine with that and it gave me some time to decompress from what is a surprisingly stressful job and get a little cuter. Even more convenient, the restaurant E114 had suggested was directly behind my apartment, so the commute was minimal. Not surprisingly I arrived first… and was absolutely convinced I’d been stood up again. Finally, my date walked through the door and he looked just like his picture and didn’t seem disappointed in me. We all know that’s the first test.

E114 was friendly and just opinionated enough to manage a conversation with me, without it turning into an argument. He didn’t seem to mind my awkwardness and laughed at my jokes. That’s a rare find, folks. I’m funny, but I’m not exactly P.C. I told him about being a librarian and he told me about the commercial pumpkin farm he ran with his dad. What can I say? It’s the South, y’all. In general, it really was a great date. It was a dinner that lasted three hours and he seemed eager to meet again, when he walked me to my car. While I, of course, told Gail everything, I wasn’t up to blogging about it. I was pleasantly surprised and I’ll admit, I had my hopes up.

Our next date didn’t happen right away, but E114 kept messaging and asking about my Christmas. We shared pictures of family get togethers and planned to meet again before he went out of the country after the new year. He assured me, once again, that this wasn’t the norm and I figured I couldn’t very well complain that a man hadn’t turned up an opportunity to make bank just so he could get to know the girl from Plenty of Fish. I even assured him that my divorce was primarily caused by a refusal to work, so I truly didn’t mind his schedule. Finally, we set a plan. We would do something the Sunday after Christmas. It was vague, but he was willing to commute, so I wasn’t too upset that he wasn’t willing to be the one who made the plans in an unfamiliar city. So, Sunday morning we messaged back and forth with a touch of “what do you want to do?” and seemed to have settled on a movie at the mall, followed by dinner. I went to Mass and the gym and then received a message explaining that E114 had to help his dad with taxes involving the pumpkin farm and he needed to postpone “if you don’t mind.”

“If you don’t mind”, at this point in a relationship, is a total throwaway comment. If I mind, I’m clingy and crazy and I don’t understand familial obligations. As annoyed as I was with being ditched at the literal last minute, I texted Gaily and Catherine about it, and was perfectly polite to E114, figuring a one time occurrence was forgivable. My coworker even made the point that he might have been uncomfortable explaining to family that he was seeing someone he’d met online so soon. Fair enough.  A couple of days later, however, he still hadn’t suggested new plans, so I had to inform him that if he wanted to do something before his trip, we needed to set something up, so I could plan my week. We settled on dinner in Springfield, just north of Shetland and bowling in the city. I wore jeans. I was appalled at the idea of wearing jeans in general, let alone on a date.

Dinner and bowling went great. During dinner, I caught myself searching for flaws (read: being a judgmental bitch). While even in hindsight, I still think blowing your nose at the dinner table is unforgivably disgusting, The Voice of Gail intervened and asked if I was really going to let something so minor keep me from getting to know this guy.

I loosened up a bit over bowling. We laughed and talked and really had a great time. It was a fantastic activity to share with someone you’re considering in a romantic capacity. I can be extremely competitive, but with sports, it’s always in jest… because I suck at them. I don’t want someone coaching me on bowling, because I don’t care that I suck. I don’t care if I lose. I enjoy ridiculously over-the-top smack talk if I win. It’s just fun. I was pleasantly surprised to find that, while E114 was a former athlete and had a strong work ethic, he didn’t seem put off by my “meh” sports mentality. It was a good night and I hoped we’d get together again when he got back from Aruba.

Over the next few weeks, E114 messaged daily. Early on, I asked point blank if he wanted to do something when he got back. I wasn’t interested in being entertainment while he was bored in another country. He said definitely and when he received a wayward text to Gail, accidentally demanding his presence at a local bar and grill in 15 minutes, he said he’d love to when he got back. Finally, the week of his return, nearly a month after our second date, E114 eagerly made plans. He’d get back on Thursday, spend time with his family on Friday and Saturday and we’d go to a museum on Sunday. What a fun date… that that would have been.

E114’s flight was delayed until Friday, about which he was texting me up until he landed at our local airport. At no point did he mention changing Sunday’s plans, so I didn’t think to ask. It was his idea. On Saturday, though, I sent a text to confirm. When I didn’t get a response, two hours later, I sent another.

stood up again

So, that was the end of E114. There was no apology, not even the throwaway “if you don’t mind” and I never heard from him again. It turns out “women just can’t handle my schedule” really meant that they can’t handle being such a low priority that they get stood up without reason or apology. I love a hard worker, don’t get me wrong. I made an effort to keep in contact for nearly a month in order to get to know this guy, not once complaining about the fact that his return date kept getting pushed back. We’re not kids anymore, though. This isn’t just another day with no responsibilities or plans. I cleared my schedule for him, on my only day off, at his request. Not only did I not get a response when I asked, but his only reason was that he made better plans. Seriously, dude? Go suck a bag of dicks. I’m not a show on your fucking DVR, there to entertain you when you’re ready. We had plans.

Gail is… well, she’s just the perfect best friend. She was rightfully outraged and has declared E114 to be her least favorite of the men, because he led me on for a month. Looking back, I realize now that while E114 mentioned children numerous times, he never seemed interested in the wife part of that equation. Maybe he claimed he’d be willing to move from his hometown, but considering the fact that I was ditched twice for non-urgent family plans, I don’t see that happening. He doesn’t want a wife. He wants an incubator.

I wish now, that I’d been more forthright in my response to that last text message. The next woman will just get a story about how women can’t handle E114’s commitment to his family. I wish I’d been clear and told him how disrespectful that was to my time and feelings, how I’m no longer interested in getting to know him because he’s inconsiderate and has poor time management skills. I don’t want to date the guy who’s gonna bail on me two hours before my Gramma’s birthday party, because he has to help his brother move a sofa. He’d even mentioned the fact that planting season was nearing anyway, so I can’t imagine how he thought he’d fit in dating a few months later. I’m not even gonna lie. I totally fantasized about getting Catherine to find E114 on Plenty of Fish, make plans, and cancel at the last minute for a ridiculous reason. “I’m so sorry. I have to drive my roommate’s sister to get her dog groomed.” The only reason I didn’t ask is that she probably would have done it.

That is why I never told my beloved readers about E114. He wasn’t very nice and it hurt. I felt embarrassed and very much like I’d been used to ease his boredom while he was in Aruba. I cried and I’m not really a crier. Fortunately, God gives us what we need when we need it and just an hour or two later, Andy messaged me. That relationship has become as platonic as it can possibly be, with me giggling like mad over the misunderstanding that led Andy to have sex with a woman who’d slept with his brother and Andy explaining that that he “levels up” with every woman he dates. He calls it “Pokemoning.” So E114 ditched me hours before our museum  date. Whatevs. I got to zoo with Andy.

What Deal Breakers Do I Possess?: Reasons Not to Date Me

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10912929_10204491640828512_775329358_nI totally forgot to cut my employee ID badge out of this photo the first time.

One of my Super Librarian duties is to create displays. Naturally, as 2015 takes root, I’ve put up a resolutions display. In doing so, I found the above title and I was just too curious to let it go. While the title is intentionally scandalous, a good deal of the advice within is pretty sound. Directed toward older single women, in the 35-dead bracket, the author’s perspective is pretty damned defeatist. I mean, for realz yo, were I single at 34 and reading this, I’d take up cutting again. Basically, the author is telling women to get off their high horses and acknowledge that the men they’re dating are human, while there are still men to date. It’s advice from a woman 15 years older, who wishes she’d known this stuff 15 years ago. Fascinating point of view. So, thinking back over my dating history, I tried to decide if there were any good men, who I may have passed up prematurely.

Geologist. This was perhaps the meanest post I’ve written about a man, chiefly because I admitted that the guy looked just like Gollum. It wasn’t just that he was unattractive, though. I mostly didn’t feel like I could relate to him on a personal level, at all. If I’d been less judgmental, could something have formed? Would it have been fair to continue seeing him, regardless of my lack of interest after three dates? I really don’t know.

Engineer No. 94. This guy was nerdy, not particularly attractive, loved anime and I was totally cool with that. We had a great conversation and I really put myself out there, by making it crystal clear that I wanted to see him again, but didn’t hear from him all weekend. In the online dating world, that really felt like the brush off to me. Just a text telling me he had a good time would’ve kept me from feeling rejected and I definitely would’ve been more encouraging when he mentioned meeting me again, rather than doing a fade away. Should I have addressed the issue instead? Was there possibly an explanation that he didn’t offer for some reason? I don’t know, but if I had it to do again, I probably would’ve gone on date number two.

That’s pretty much my list beyond Soldier, who was my first date after my divorce and helped me to realize that I was so not ready to date. In hindsight, I’m really not plagued by what might have been with anyone else I’ve met. There was always a clear deal breaker that I still find relevant, more often than not being that he was an asshole. I am a good practicing Catholic girl, though and very much believe that God brought this book into my life at this time, for a reason. I’m also pretty damned sure that that reason is Electrical Engineer. I’ve vaguely hinted that I’ve kinda, sorta, maybe got something going with a new guy and while I’m sure I’ll share the details at some point, that’s a different blog post. This one is about keeping a healthy, non judgy perspective while I get to know him.

I’ve already realized, in the past year or so, that I need to give guys more of a chance. So, as I’ve gotten to know Electrical Engineer, I’ve reminded myself to look beyond stupid little things that I might’ve dwelled on in the past. After reading this book, however, I realized something: I’m not the only one looking past inconsequential issues in an effort to get to know someone. That’s gotten me thinking. What, exactly, is Electrical Engineer looking past? What will he (or anyone else I get serious with) have to deal with in a relationship with me? What deal breakers might I bring to the table? Well, in the interest of self-awareness, here’s what I’ve got.

I’m 27 and have been divorced for four years.
I don’t intend to share this on a date, but zetus lapetus I have soooooo many psychological issues in regards to this.

I say the wrong thing… all the fucking time.
“Ugh. This pie is terrible… I mean, unless you made it, in which case, it’s just not my thing, cuz… I don’t like lime?”

Also, Gaily informs me that “shankraped” isn’t an appropriate word to use in an Olive Garden.

I’m loud and opinionated.
It’s not that I don’t respect your opinion. You’re just going to need a strong personality and voice for it to be heard… especially at family events with all of my aunts.

“It’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size 2.”
By American standards, I’m not fat, but I could stand to lose 20 pounds. There are certainly fitter women on the dating sites. 

I suck my thumb.
Not only is this super weird, but it’s also rooted in a history of abuse, which I’m sure seems less than stable.

I have mommy issues.
See above. Also, see the scars on my leg from all that cutting in high school. The plan is to hide these things until someone loves me and then he’s trapped.

I’m a know-it-all.
I base my thoughts and opinions on facts, but it can be exhausting to hear them on every single subject ever.

I’m more educated than most people.
This isn’t bragging. I have actually met men who clearly have issues with my education level.

I have a master’s degree and all the loans that go with it, but only work half time.
Between substitute teaching and my position as a librarian, I work my butt off to pay my own bills, but it’s an awful lot of school not to be full time. It’s unlikely a man will know right off how competitive my field is and that I’m moving along quite nicely. Regardless, I’ll never make the kind of money people often associate with a graduate degree.

I handle negative emotions poorly.
Seriously, there are some jokes normal people just don’t make. See above cutting joke.

I’m a terrible driver.
No, really. I will kill us all.

I’m nerdy and love nerdy things.
I have to remind myself that my Harry Potter/Superman obsession is to some, what another’s anime obsession is to me. If you’re not into those things at all, they can seem too nerdy, even juvenile. “Zetus lapetus” doesn’t help my case.

I own a lot of pink.
Me: “Can you hand me my wallet?”
Gail: “The pink thing?”
Me: “Well, that doesn’t really narrow down the contents of my purse, but sure.” 

While my favorite color doesn’t feature prominently in my decor or wardrobe, it does in my accessories. A man who’s interested in dating an educated woman could easily find this childish or annoying.

I’m extremely sexually insecure and inexperienced.
I’m like the least experienced non-virgin ever and I’m really not comfortable with that fact.

I won’t shut up.
I love to talk and, sometimes, have to make a conscious effort to listen, because I know that what I’m saying is interesting.

I’m too analytical.
Watching a movie or show with me is exhausting. I will point out historical inaccuracies and comment on how much everyone in In Time did not look 25. Not even close.

I don’t read bestsellers.
I’m a librarian. Pretty much everyone assumes this means I’ve read Gone Girl and The Kite Runner. I have not. I will not. I read articles and memoirs if I want heavy reading material. If it’s fiction, it’s going to end happily ever after with great sex. A man intrigued by my job title might be disappointed by my interest in highlander porn. 

I’m a perfectionist.
I will unravel the entire damned hat because I missed one loop. Crochet is another interest to jot down on the nerdy list. Also, who wants to take a quick trip to the mall 20 miles away and return this shirt, because one of the buttons is a little loose? Anyone?

I can be neurotic about weird things.
There is a place for the red plates. My media is organized by format and then alphabetically.

When I break, I break.
I can maintain emotional control better than most people. I really can. I can be mistakenly called “laid back.” However, when I reach my threshold, I am a complete drama queen. There are tears and wailed hyperbole. At the end of a really rough day, I require at least 30 minutes of silence and dark.

I’m redundant.
I repeat the same stories and jokes over and over again, because I forget who I’ve told.

I interrupt people.
Again, loud and opinionated from a family of same. We all talk over each other and no one thinks anything of it, but I have to put in genuine effort not to do this with everyone else and I often fail. I just get really excited about the subject. 

I listen to terrible music.
“Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes…”
I sing it… poorly… and I blare it.

I watch terrible movies.
The Worst Witch. YouTube it. The entire movie is available and I can sing along. 

I have money issues.
I hoard food, just in case. I will drive to four different grocery stores just to save a few dollars. I’ll want for something for months, before talking myself into buying it, even though I’ve had the money all along. I sleep with my wallet within reach, because I had the worst marriage ever. 

… and I’m sure there are many more. I think making this list has been really helpful. It’s certainly going to help me overlook minor issues I might have with men, because really, if they can give me a chance, I can give them one.

What I Bring to the Table

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For the most part, all I ever write about is bad dates… because that’s all I ever have. I also just don’t feel comfortable writing much about a guy I’m still getting to know. My blog is 99% humor and I don’t feel like it’s particularly respectful to tell the blogosphere about any of the embarrassing or funny things he might have done or said on a good date… so I’ll tell you all about the ones I managed. Enjoy.

Belle on a date:

Do the fleece-lined leggings make me look like Gail when she wears support hose to bars? 

He’s three minutes late. I’m so getting stood up again. 

“Hi there. I’m glad you made it.”
Shit. It just sounded like I was giving him hell for being late. I’d better explain.
“Oh, I wasn’t like giving you a hard time for being late. I meant I was glad you were able to find it. I didn’t get us a table yet.”
Umm… yeah… cuz I’m not at a table. So glad I clarified that. 

Am I saying dude too much? I feel like I’m saying dude too much. Stop saying dude.

I don’t want to swear, in case he finds it offensive, but I feel like it’s just too soon for “oh, em jingles.” 

“I just love Seth Rogen’s dry sense of humor. That’s very much my humor. I was at Thanksgiving, talking to my cousin, who’s really artsy…”
No. No, no, no. You are not telling this story. STOP telling this story. 
“I asked him if he had any tattoos, yet.”
Find a way out of this story!
“When he told me no, that he wasn’t really into tattoos, I told him, very straight-faced, that I just had the two on my feet…”
Oh, there’s no way out. Just don’t grab your breasts for emphasis as you say it. 
“… and of course the bear claws under my breasts.”

How dorky is the “Awesome Librarian” t-shirt? Is it less dorky if I wear a football sweatshirt over it? 

Why did I suggest bowling?!?! I have to wear pants! I never wear pants, especially not on a date! I look like a fucking hobo! 

Oh, em jingles. Owning my own bowling shoes does not make me look cool. 

Wow. I am really bad at bowling for someone who owns their own bowling shoes. Is it cheating to use the eight pound ball if I still suck this much? 

“One time, I don’t even remember why we did this…”
Noooooo. Not another story!
“Gail didn’t have any plans and I had this date at the pub downtown. She was in a bar mood, so….
Say something else. Say, literally, anything else.
“… she basically secretly tagged along to spy on my date.”
NO MORE TALKING ON DATES!

Engineer 104: The Date I’ve Already Forgotten

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I’m just numbering the engineers by tens now.

Gail: “Judging by the men you skip over, that’s probably pretty accurate.”

For some time, I’ve been operating under the rule that if a man meets no deal breakers, I’ll give him a shot. I know I haven’t written about a date since the night I was stood up downtown, ultimately ending up crying over a bag of jelly beans, but that’s not because I’ve vowed to recruit my gal pals in some sort of eventual Golden Girls arrangement. There’s just nobody left. Every man I meet in person and online is perpetually 12 years old. I’m dating in The Children of the Fucking Corn and there is not a grown up to be found. Thanks a heap, Generation X, for raising a society of men who can’t put down the XBOX controller long enough to fill out a job application.

I jest, of course… sort of… at least about the choices and laziness of grown men still being the responsibility of their parents. Everyone in the dating world, though, has that one stat that they look at before all others. For some, it’s physical attractiveness. For others, it’s whether or not they have children. For me, it’s career. I’ll respond to a man with an otherwise blank profile if he has a legitimate and promising career. It’s not about money. I make my own money, proudly. It’s about security and knowing that I won’t be the sole bread winner, pretty much ever. What can I say? Young divorce broke me.

 

In 2014, when the Peter Pan Generation reigns supreme, it seems the number one profession for men under 35 is “student.” In the South, second to that is “oil.” Finally, at least in my experience, it’s “engineer.” I won’t, under any circumstances, even respond to the first. The second, rarely, because no further specification usually means blue collar rig worker who likely won’t have a job in 10 years, because the oil field just sort of works that way. So, I date engineers. Apparently exclusively.

Engineer number 104 had messaged me multiple times over several different dating sites. He wasn’t especially pushy, doing so with a significant amount of time between each, but he was persistent in his interest. I… wasn’t.

Gail: “What’s going on in your dating world, by the way?”
Me: “Meh. There’s this one guy who keeps messaging me, but there’s really not much there. He’s also too old for me, built like Uncle Fester, and has scary teeth.”

uncle festerNot one time, have I claimed to be sweet.

Ultimately, I decided I was being shallow, because I totally was, and I should give this guy a shot. He didn’t meet any of my deal breakers and I did say I would actually start trying, so as to lessen my chances of getting a Daddy in a Jar at 32 and raising a child alone. I finally responded to his offer to text, with some lie about why it took so long, and tried to get a conversation going. There still wasn’t anything there, but whatevs, in for a penny…

Engineer 104 told me to choose a place to meet, which obviously lost him some points right away, but I was pretty adamant that I was going to give the guy a chance and not go in with any assumptions that the night would be a disaster. I chose a local sports bar and ate beforehand, because however dedicated I was, I knew I’d felt little connection in our digital communications and didn’t want him to buy me dinner if there was no spark in person.

I got to the bar first and, after my tearful night of jelly beans, I most definitely thought I might be stood up again. Engineer 104 was about 15 minutes late, with no text message, but had told me he was on his way earlier. I mentally calculated the money in my bank account and planned to leave and buy a cat at 30 minutes after. No joke, because that is definitely an impulse buy to make after a bad date. When he finally arrived, I realized that Engineer’s pictures didn’t really do him justice, as is often the case with men. They suck at selfies and he’d only posted a single very unflattering one. He wasn’t a Winchester, but he also wasn’t an Addams, so woot. We chose a high top table in the middle of the bar and he started talking… about himself… and didn’t stop.

In all fairness, 104 wasn’t awful, but he also wasn’t interested in engaging me in the conversation in the least. I make an effort to ask questions on a first date, so as to avoid a a nervous Buffy the Vampire Slayer fangirl rant, and did so this time as well, but it really wasn’t necessary. Engineer was happy to tell me all about his father/sons camping trip, his problems with deceased family estate drama, the dog his ex-girlfriend kept in the breakup. He even did a few racist impressions of the past clients he name dropped. Let me tell you, you don’t know romance until you hear a Southern white man’s imitation of the Sultan of Dubai.

Now, I like to exaggerate, y’all. It’s kind of my thing.

Gail: :: shivering in the cold grocery store ::
Me: “No one has ever been this cold. I feel like I’m in the hedge maze at the end of The Shining.”

I must clarify, however, that I do not exaggerate when I say that this man checked his phone at least 10 times in the hour we spent together. He explained that his dad was sending him score updates for the high school game his brother was coaching, but dude, you are on a date. Either this is important enough that you need to leave, or you can put away the fucking phone for one hour. I thought my generation was supposed to be the iGeneration. Which brings me to his age. Engineer was only 34, but to listen to him, you’d think he was nearing 40. I’m 27 years old. I do not feel old and I’m not going to for some time, so the last thing I want is to be with a man who is constantly talking about burial plots. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but he did keep saying things like “now that I’m older” and talking about how hard it was to get around these days. I’d rather be with a 35-year-old, who realizes he has all the time in the world, than a 28-year-old who talks nonstop about the dreaded 30. The golden ticket with 104, however, was when he got out of his seat to stand next to the table for a moment.

104: “I’ve gotta stand for a minute. My butt’s asleep.”

Engineer 104 just may not have been that interested in me and felt no need to impress or engage. I can’t imagine this was his best behavior. Maybe I was too young and spry. Possibly, I just didn’t do a great Arabian impersonation. I don’t know, but after just an hour, I told him I had to get up early the next morning and he didn’t seem particularly disappointed. I feel no need to leave a date with false hopes and simply told him to have a good night. He moved in for a hug and told me we should do it again sometime. I likely just looked confused, because I didn’t think the date went all that well. He either agreed or I’m not great at hiding my emotions (I am so not great at hiding my emotions), because I never heard from him again and I was not sad.

Engineer 104 was… forgettable. You know what, though? That was kind of nice. It wasn’t a good date, but I also didn’t leave in tears, which is, sadly, an accomplishment after these last few months. He did not insult my religion. He did not drink five beers in one hour. He actually showed up. He was just some guy and I assume I was just some girl. Sometimes, it’s kind of nice to have a forgettable date, as it reassures me that I’m not just overly critical and eager to buy myself some sperm for my 32nd birthday. Had he asked, I might have gone on a second date with 104, just to give him another chance. In hindsight, I realize it would’ve been a disaster, but I’m proud of myself for not letting his incorrect usage of the word “literally” write him off as a person. No, it was definitely the racism.

So, here’s hoping that things might go more smoothly with the new guy I’m texting. He’s an engineer, y’all!