“I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Me: “All I want is someone who’s nice to me and likes his job. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
Gail: “That is not all you want.”
Me: “Yeah, it is.”
Gail: “Fine. I challenge you to go home and message every single person who fits the description you just gave me.”
Me: “Fine. I will… as long as you give me the chance to revise that list.”

In my last two posts, I addressed the (often ridiculous) demands of women on online dating sites. More often than not, my issue was with presentation, rather than intent. For example, at my last-ever-on-Earth Match event, one of the friendly gals who invited me to sit with her made the statement “… but I have really high standards.” My concern was not with said standards, so much as the wording. What are high standards? Are you looking for someone tall, broad, and wealthy to boss you around in the bedroom and bend to your will in daily life? Do you want a man who will not only change the oil and mow the lawn, because those are Boy Chores, but also do the dishes and make sure the vacuum lines are even, because of Equality Yo?

Honestly, when I hear the words “high standards” from a woman, the above is what I conclude, because this is such a blanket term. This is no double standard on my part, either. I read the words “I know what I’m looking for” on a man’s profile and nastily think “… certainly not a girl who knows not to end a sentence in a preposition.” It rubs people the wrong way when you give the impression that you have a clear test or checklist and if they don’t pass with satisfactory results, you’re not interested. That may not be what you intended, but until you meet, online dating is 100% about presentation. It’s important to remember that anyone who does not fit any clearly stated requirements probably won’t bother to contact you. So, if you’re going to list absolute deal breakers for the dating world, then you need to make damn sure that they are, indeed, absolute deal breakers.

This week, I’ve decided I’m serious about dating. Maybe this is because Aerospace has not yet sent me a picture of his tinkle. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading too many Red Pill blogs. Maybe it’s because I’ve been on another paranormal romance kick. I don’t know. Next week, I’m sure I’ll decide that I want to stay single forever, eat Fruit Loops and sweet potato fries for dinner, and buy a lot of boots. For now, however, I’ve decided that Gail has a point. I’m actually trying… but for me that still entails never dating anyone with whom I cannot see any future. So, here are my absolute deal breakers.

Appearance

I like to fancy myself someone who puts more stock in career focus and lifestyle than appearance, but I’d also like to fancy myself as having the body of a porn star with wings.

Google that. I dare you.

I have to be attracted to someone. It doesn’t have to be a swooning moment from the get-go, but it has to be possible. Physically, however, men, are horrible at representing themselves online. They’re either topless in the bathroom mirror or they have no idea how bad that lighting/angle/ex-girlfriend/blow-up doll in the picture makes them look. I try to keep that in mind. I’ve even regretted doing so, such as when I went out with Gollum from The Lord of the Rings… three times.

Seriously, guys, lose the fucking hat. It completely changes the way you look.

So what are my requirements from someone’s appearance? Well, for starters, I’m short. I am a whopping 5’5.5″ tall and I just want someone taller than I am, if I’m wearing heels. Assuming he’s not barefoot in this scenario, that means 5’7″-5’8″ and that’s not very tall. I just don’t think I could be attracted to man shorter than I am, because that’s really short. Do I prefer 6’4″? Why, yes. Yes, I do want to be a dainty little lady, but I also want to be…

We’ve talked about this.

After height comes weight. This is where I’ve noticed men, in particular, suffer from the most unreasonable expectations. They want “slender” or “athletic and toned” regardless of the fact that hauling around all of their weight does not, in fact, make them “athletic.” You cannot ask for something that you do not offer. Furthermore, if you think it’s possible to be attracted to someone a little further to the chunky side of average, regardless of your own standing, make sure your profile reflects that by either not mentioning weight, such as on Plenty of Fish or selecting “curvy” or “a little extra” on Match. I’ve said it before: after reading a man’s “No Fat Chicks” paragraph, I don’t want him to see me in a parka, let alone naked. However, my ex-husband was morbidly obese. I’m not talking about size 3XL shirts. I’m talking about 6XLT. When we met, he was closer to the former, but by the time we divorced, the man could not sit in your average booth, ride a roller coaster, or walk up some stairs. He was 23. Now, I was no pixie in those days either. I was a big gal, particularly for my aforementioned height, topping out at 260. I have no idea how whales have sex, because I’ve tried it and those parts don’t fit together particularly well when both people are 100+ pounds overweight. Because of our weight, all fun things ever were off limits and it sucked. I mean, the guy was a soulless prick, too, but had he not been, the weight would’ve still been a problem

So, for me, a man needs to be, at most, overweight. I, myself, weigh 174 pounds, today. I can tell a man’s weight from a picture, though, so I don’t include any kind of description in my profile. Honestly, I really don’t mind a little bit of a belly. I can even be attracted to it, though I’m sure you’re not allowed to tell a guy that. I’d just like someone active, so if he’s a little chubby, but doesn’t mind walking around the zoo all day, we’re good. If we can try more than the three sexual positions I’ve ever experienced, we’re golden, Ponyboy. My celebrity crush is Seth Rogan. I’m talking from his Knocked Up days. I don’t need the man off the cover of my romance novels. In reality, the wings would get in the way, regardless of who’s wearing them.

No joke… I have read this book.

Education

This one is a touchy subject. First off, I’d like to clarify that Gaily does not match my level of formal education and she’s the person with whom I’m closest on Earth. She’s far from unintelligent and I’ll admit she dwarfs my knowledge on politics, finance, and how to disappoint your family by wearing the pants in a relationship.

Oh, come on, Gail. I can’t praise you without insulting you. That would be far too emotional. Don’t be obscene.

She’s huge on self-education, to the point that it makes her an exhausting best friend some days. Additionally, Niki drives a school bus for a living and not once have I thought our conversation would be more enlightened if she had a greater level of education. That being said, I’m never marrying either of them. I value formal education, in part, because our society values it. I’m actually horrified by the level of education required by many careers, but it is a fact of life and after a marriage to a man who would not work, I just can’t do it. I can’t attach myself to someone I feel does not have a secure career and education helps provide said security. In the Midwest, many, many men who date online, work on oil rigs. They bring in more money now than I ever will. What happens next, though? Oil work is notorious for coming and going and most of these men are lucky to have an associate’s degree. What happens when he’s out of work and everyone requires a bachelor’s degree? I’ve been there. I didn’t want the fucking t-shirt. Just no.

It’s not just job security. There was also that date with the guy who was clearly threatened by the fact that I was getting a master’s degree. He had a bachelor’s degree, in a field about which I know nothing. I don’t even know what an engineer does. The reason I have my master’s degree, is because librarians have to have a master’s degree. When I enrolled in the MLIS program, there was no regard for status or bragging rights. I just wanted to be a librarian and that doesn’t happen without a shit ton of student loans. Them’s the rules. The end. Choosing someone with a bachelor’s degree, preferably in a field far from information studies, so we’ll never feel as though we are in competition, will help me avoid another awkward moment where a guy mocks my fucking master’s degree. It also increases the likelihood that we’ll be an intellectual match and educational gap is a factor in divorce statistics.

Career

He’s got to enjoy it. I don’t want to have to worry about a “change in plans” just after I announce my second pregnancy. I don’t want to have the conversation where I declare that no, it is not worth it for him to take this time to figure out what he enjoys doing, because he’s committed himself to a family. I will never again be the woman begging a man to fucking do something to contribute to his home life. No. Not happening. He must have his career chosen and intend on keeping that path for the forseeable future. When we’re in our 50s and he decides he wants to open a specialty store selling handmade classic television show figurines, what-the-fuck-ever. At least the mortgage will be paid and the kids gone.

Religion

Growing up Catholic in the Midwest sucks balls. My freshman year, I was taken aside and asked to stop telling people that we sacrifice lambs on the alter at Mass. I was so sick of correcting the misconceptions that I thought it would be funnier to encourage them. It’s sort of like that time I accidentally spread the rumor that I gave myself an abortion so that people would stop asking why I’d been out of school so long after my breast reduction. Oops.

I don’t expect to find a Catholic man. Sure, it would be glorious not to explain Advent, because then I’d have to Google Advent. It would be nice to avoid the “birth control is a sin” discussion and just have it be understood that we’re getting married in the church where my grandpa’s funeral was held. All of that would be terrific, but of the 11 Catholic men I actually know, only one is single and he’s gay. I actually bought a subscription to Catholicmatch.com and I’m thrilled that it supports the archdiocese, because it is entirely useless in this part of the country.

The thing is, Catholicism isn’t that different from most Protestant religions. There are a couple of theological issues that really aren’t up for debate, but the big picture about Jesus and Mary and the cross and such… that’s all the same. I’m cool with that. If he can believe the big picture, we don’t have to discuss the details. That big picture, however, is far too big to ignore. Not only do we worship Jesus in my house, we don’t giggle at people who worship Jesus in my house. I’m not even going to try that relationship, because I know it will end in tears.

Politics

I sometimes wonder if this would be on my list if I worked in a less liberal field. I hear so many extreme political views in a day that, I swear, it’s actually pushed me further right. I would consider myself Libertarian more than anything, but libraries are tax funded and staffed by Democrats who want to help people. We got degrees to help people and regardless of political affiliation, we all mean well. I just disagree that a lot of their ideas are practical. On rare ocassion, I disagree that their opinions aren’t supernaturally stupid. For example, I once told a pretty conservative coworker that I thought it would be a good idea to itemize food stamps, as WIC checks are done. Her rebuttal was that “you can’t tell people how to spend their money.” I did not respond.

It’s not their money!!!!! It’s taxpayer money and it shouldn’t be spent on fucking chips and soda!!!!! I even know many, many far left individuals who agree with me. It was infuriating.

I don’t want to get into a political debate with you, because I don’t fucking care. You won’t change my mind. I won’t change yours. So, instead, let’s just look at a picture of a puppy to calm our nerves.

It’s just so wittle!

Better? Good. I am not printing out said picture of a puppy and holding it up every time my beau and I disagree on fundamental political values. I understand that we won’t agree on everything, but the core points have to line up. Part of the reason is because political values tie in so closely with religious values and we’ve already talked about that. If we don’t agree on abortion, what happens when I get pregnant after three months and his solution is vastly different than mine? If we can’t see eye-to-eye on gun control and he’s uncomfortable with the fact that I sleep with my Smith and Wesson 681 revolver, what happens when I tell him to suck my big fat furry dick? Sure, I may be willing to put the gun away, since it’s only in my bed because my ex-husband broke me, but I’m not fucking selling it. I named it, for crying out loud. I can’t even imagine being in a relationship with someone who’s opinions on Obamacare and the shutdown are polar opposites, regardless of what I believe. I don’t like to fight. I also don’t like to debate over core political values that reflect core religious values, when no one is going to change their mind. I spent such a large portion of my first marriage fighting, in general, that I now shut down when conflict arises. I stop talking and figure we can agree to disagree, especially if it’s about politics. I can’t do that with an entire relationship and maintain it. No one can.

So, there you have it. I’ve narrowed it down to five absolute deal breakers. I am, of course, not including obvious factors, such as a racist comment in a profile or a confession of crippling loneliness during message three. I focused on the things people get hung up on and I’ve set some reasonable guidelines. Jane will tell me I forgot age, because I recently told her I wouldn’t date anyone younger than I am, but I’ve come around. If I can find a guy in the same place in life that I am, at 25, I’ll give him a shot. The important thing is, I’ve barred the collectible model airplanes, the love of Seinfeld, baldness, or affinity for tabletop board games from this list. That’s only fair since I wouldn’t want a guy to list things like no thumb sucking, singing to the dog, or wearing wings during sex, amiright?

The Last Match Event… Ever

Posted on October 10, 2013 by Belle of the Library

The romance novels told me that it would happen like this:

I’m walking through the woods one day, when suddenly, I’m surrounded by a pack of feral wolves, growling and foaming at the mouth. Out of nowhere, the large, proud alpha appears and his pack stands down. I stumble and fall as I take a step back, and look up to see, not a wolf, but a beautiful naked man in his place.

You really don’t want me to continue. I’d be a horrible erotic romance writer.

Me: “Why do you still have his number? He was a such a dick.”
Gail: “I don’t know. I just never deleted it.”
Me: “We should text him something wildly inappropriate, like… ‘Hey there… copper. Why don’t you haul that big… penis on over here and… put it in my mouth… big boy?’ Wait. I used the word ‘big’ twice. That’s kind of redundant.”

Gail

Alas, Disney lied. More accurately, all media ever lied, along with every single person who’s ever said ‘It’ll happen when you least expect it” or “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.” That works so well with every other aspect of our lives, like our education, careers, and friendships, right? Success takes effort and dating is no different. So, I went to another Match event.

I cannot stress the balls it takes to go to these stupid things. Y’all, I am a pretend extrovert, because my job requires it. Despite my energy and humor in any social setting, unless I’m with a small group of friends or family, I can pretty much promise you that I would much rather be at home reading… in a blanket fort.

The original plan was to go to the Match event with a friend from high school, who’s kept in touch via Facebook and has also been navigating the harrowing waters of online dating. When that didn’t happen, I decided I’d still go, since I’d gone to another Match event alone and the world didn’t crumble around me. The problem is, I had been looking forward to having a gal pal with me and was having trouble readjusting the plans in my mind for a solo event. I was dreading it. I couldn’t decide whether or not I even wanted to go and wavered all day long. When it was time to leave, all of my clothing turned to ash and I had nothing to wear. When I finally chose an outfit, it ripped as I put it on. Though I was tempted to give up and get out the chairs and linens, I made the repairs and forced myself out the door.

The event was held at a Spanish grill downtown, which I had trouble finding at first. I decided to go to the nearby outdoor supply superstore to use the restroom and fix my makeup before giving the search a second go. I spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom, trying to come up with an excuse to just browse the guns and go home. Finally I promised myself that, if I was that unhappy after 10 minutes, I’d just leave.

On the way, I tried to figure out why I was so miserable over the idea of going to a bar, when I feel nothing close when meeting someone. I realized that, when you go on a date with someone you’ve met online, you’re only making yourself vulnerable to one person. At a Match event, you’re vulnerable to about 50 people. Not to mention, on a date, you know exactly with whom you’re supposed to be socializing. There is no guess work. Quite the opposite, at this Match event, I sat alone and worked up the nerve to talk to the girls behind me, reminding myself (with the help of Jane by text) that this was not the first day of sixth grade at lunch time. When I introduced myself and was invited to sit with them, I figured if the worst case scenario was engaging in some meaningless girl talk, I’d be okay.

One woman was 24, energetic and friendly, but something she said did rub me the wrong way.

24: “My man’s gotta love Jesus. I mean love Jesus. I don’t like hypocrites, either. You’ve gotta practice what you preach.”

… then…

24: “We met on Christian Cafe.”
Me: “Is that free?”
24: “It is for a little while and then you have to pay. I just kept using new e-mail addresses, though.”

Wait. He’s gotta be a Christian who practices what he preaches, but you’re stealing online Christian dating? I wouldn’t normally nitpick the misuse of a free trial. To each their own. These statements were back to back, though. I told Gail this story at breakfast, wondering if I was being unfair.

She didn’t think so.

Her friend was 26 and we agreed that, although we’re not really in a hurry right now, we probably will be in four years. Still…

Me: “So, how long have you been on Match?”
26: “Two years.”
Me: “Any luck?”
26: “None. But I have really high standards.”

What exactly does “high standards” mean? Do you mean you’re looking for someone who works in education, so he’ll understand your career concerns? Do you really need to be with a member of the Church of the Latter Day Saints and that’s hard to find in this part of the country? Are you looking for someone with ambition and drive, who has accomplished some of his goals? All of those are completely reasonable, but you have to specify that. Grand generalized statements like “I have really high standards” come off as “No one’s good enough for me”, regardless of gender. I had just finished researching the poor online dating habits of women, so maybe my head was in the wrong space for this, but I can’t stand to see a statement like that on a man’s profile either. It’s a huge turnoff to read that or similar comments like “I know what I want.” Why bother trying if they’re that particular?

Despite the above irksome comments, I had fun getting to know other women who dated online and I really did appreciate them letting me sit at their table. They had some good stories and interesting experiences and we had a nice conversation. Eventually a couple of men came over and struck up some conversation and we started comparing who was worse at deception, men or women. One guy was drunk, but funny and nice. Had he messaged me after the event, I’d likely have responded. He even took my correction of his usage of who/whom in stride. Eventually, though, the older of the two shared a humiliating story about a woman having a breakdown when he refused to come inside after a first date, stating that he was actually still friends with her.

Confused, I asked how they were still close and he said that she’d just been going through a really hard time. I didn’t comment further, but dude, if she’s a friend, it is beyond hateful to tell a humiliating story about her to get a few laughs, especially from a time in her life when she was feeling low. If you come off as a shit friend, I really don’t want to date you.

As the event neared it’s end, I noticed a man I’d been messaging and decided to introduce myself.

Me: “Hi. I’m Belle. We chatted for awhile, not too long ago.”
Producer: “Oh… I don’t remember. If I’ve slept since then, I’ve forgotten.”
Me: “I’m a libarian. My screen name has that in it.”
Producer: “No, I don’t remember.”
Me: “Oh, well then, this is a terrible introduction.”

We talked for awhile online. I think he did remember me, but felt slighted when I stopped responding, because he never asked to meet. Still, we chatted for a few minutes, until the older man who cruelly mocks his friends came over, stood way too close to me, and obviously interrupted a conversation to ask where my friends went. Curtly answering his question, I told him I hadn’t known them, pointedly only told Producer it was nice meeting him, and left. Still, I got a message from him less than an hour later, saying how nice it was to meet me. I didn’t respond.

So, that was my second Match event. At this point, I’m thinking it’s going to be my last. The perk of online dating is knowing the fundamentals of who a person is before getting to know them. At the last event, I devoted two hours to a man, at a loss for why I’d never messaged him. Finally, I realized it was our different religious beliefs that had turned me off and it was still a valid reason. A Match event is pretty much just going to a bar and trying your luck, hoping someone will even want to talk to you and that you’ll have anything in common if they do. It is literally the face-to-face version of Match. You have to deal with the creepy people and the rude people and the pushy people just the same, only you have to do it in person. No thank you.

We B*tches Be Crazy: Women of PoF

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Belle of the Library

When Gaily and I met in the 9th grade, we had this mutual friend named Abby. Abby was kind of surly and sarcastic, just like us. She was also batshit crazy. As high school wore on, that last bit became more and more apparent, but the true mark of insanity was when Gail, forced to take on a roommate after her divorce at 22, let Abby move in with her. Not only was Abby constantly shoplifting and never paying any rent, but she once walked in on Gail showering, looked her up and down, and said suggestively “Well… you look better than I do.” Gail had to actually ask her to leave the bathroom. Not long after, Gail woke up in the middle of the night, her boyfriend by her side, to see Abby standing in the doorway staring at her.

So, when Gail and I were crafting and marathoning Under the Dome, I decided to search Plenty of Fish for Abby. Her horribly misleading Facebook pictures alone are hilarious. I couldn’t imagine what her Plenty of Fish account looked like and after she screwed Gaily out of hundreds of dollars when her daughter had just died, I don’t mind being catty… not that I did before, when it came to Abby.

16-year-old Gail: “She rides her horse a lot.”
16-year-old Belle: “Yeah, I noticed the dip in his back was pretty low.”

The girl was awful and crazy. After making jokes about using the skin of Gail’s daughter to make a pool table and telling a high school acquaintance that Gail mistreated her as a roommate, it’s apparent she hasn’t gotten any better. Her online dating profile sounded like a fun read. Unfortunately, I was not able to find her brand of crazy. Instead, I found several new brands.

I pick on men a lot in my online dating blogs, because I date men. I feel like the poor guys get a bad rap in online dating, though, and not just from me. It’s not that I don’t think women do crazy shit. Quite the contrary. I’ve even done my fair share.

Now, there were certainly a number of good profiles, where cute girls advertised themselves well, just as how some good men advertise themselves well. End disclaimer. Looking for Abby’s profile, however, brought to my attention something I hadn’t really considered, and that is just how horrible some of us women are at making profiles. For example…

Insulting Online Dating

I’m finding women do this a lot more than men. Regardless of gender, there are two versions of this statement.

1. I’m out of school. My office has a no fraternization policy. People are only looking for hookups in bars. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I’m trying online dating.

2. I’m fed up with online dating, but it’s the only way anyone meets anymore, so I’ll stick with it.

I understand your frustration with the dating scene in general. No one meets in person anymore and efforts to disprove that statement are expensive and time consuming; but the story you tell your grandchildren is going to be so unromantic compared to the one your grandparents told you if you meet someone online. I get it. I do… but get a blog, because your profile isn’t the place for that negativity. If you’re declaring that you’re embarrassed by online dating as a whole, you’re implying that every person who might be interested in you should also be embarrassed to be dating online. Also, don’t be embarrassed. Just yesterday, I confessed to my redneck daddy that I mostly date online. His response? “Hell, baby, everybody dates online, anymore.” I expected a lecture about being shankraped and I pretty much just got a fist bump. Don’t feel bad that you’re dating online, because everyone is dating online. Besides, your grandparents story likely left out the part where they only got married at 17, because he knocked her up and her daddy owned a shotgun. Romanticism is about presentation, exaggeration, and well… lying.

If you’re just frustrated with online dating, because no one’s actually 5’8″, everyone’s allergic to your cat, all the men are divorced, that guy called you stupid for believing in Christ, or whatever it is that’s not going well, again get a blog, because your profile isn’t the place for that. Do you really think opening with “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to fill this out, since no one reads these anyway” is going to make anyone want to message you? Yes, a bad date is disheartening, but if it is legitimately enough of a reason to give up, then delete your account. If it’s not, then actually try to appear interested.

The Ridiculous Expectations

I once read the profile of a man demanding that any interested parties must have no divorces, tattoos, or children, not wear make-up and be a virgin from the Church of Christ. Furthermore, he wasn’t paying for Match.com, so prospects should wink at him and then he would pay to talk to them, if he deemed them worth it. Welcome to the Midwest, y’all.

This guy, however, stood out in all his crazy glory, because it’s not super common for men to be so specific in their demands. Women, though? Wow. Gail’s boyfriend, Terry, once complained that women were just looking to fill in their check-list and I thought he must have just had a bad experience, but after one search on Plenty of Fish, I see that he’s right.

Now, don’t misunderstand my point here. There are some things that are genuine deal breakers and these should really be listed. If you just cannot have a relationship with a Christian, make that clear. If you don’t want to be with someone who is not politically aware, say so. If you do not and will never want kids, state that upfront. These facts cannot be derived from a photo and they could genuinely affect the outcome of your relationship and your own personal happiness. Make sure they’re understood. What I’m concerned about is over-the-top statements like:

looking for a man to make me dinner just cuz, take my kids to the park cuz i’m tired, buy me flowers just cuz

I want a man who knows how to take care of a woman in her emotional needs. Opens the door for me, says please and thank you, tells me I look nice when I get all dolled up for a date. Also, not 100% sure I want to have my own kids in this society, but for the right guy who takes care of me and shows me that I’m the most important thing I would be willing to have kids. I want to feel like the most important person in the man’s heart. I like PDA so you have to be willing to hold hands, hug, kiss, snuggle.

What I’m reading in these profiles is a lot of the word “want”. Why would a man want to date someone he’s never met, when she’s already making some pretty big demands, such as taking her kids to the park while she relaxes or taking charge of her “emotional needs”, with no real explanation for what that entails? I’m not saying that’s an unreasonable hope from an established relationship, but the men viewing your profile are going off a few pictures and what you type. They don’t know you. They don’t have any obligation to you. You’ve sort of just told them that they would be taking on a lot, from day one. One or two of these statements wouldn’t be so bad, but these women are making actual lists. Then there’s:

2) You drive a…
a. Jeep (3 points)
b. Truck (2 points)
c. Car (1 point)

We all have our trivial preferences, sure. I’d like a guy who is tall and broad and rugged and… oh, we’ve had this conversation already.

Are you really going to deny yourself the opportunity to get to know someone because you’ve set up a fucking quiz assigning points for something as inconsequential as what he drives? I love me a big, intimidating truck. I do. It’s not a requirement, though. I drive a freaking hatchback. I am the last person to demand a sexy car. In this gal’s defense, she really liked camping, so I think that had something to do with the Jeep preference, but you can drive a car to a campsite, so I still declare this a trivial desire based on physical attraction. The fact remains that he loses points if he doesn’t check the box she’s already picked out for her perfect man. He doesn’t quite fit the clearly stated mold. Just like with this woman, who states…

No Black Men. Not attracted. Thanks.

It’s okay not to be attracted to someone. It really is. I’ve met black men who will openly declare that they’re not attracted to black women. My problem with this statement is that, if she doesn’t want to date a black man, it’s always an option to… you know… not date a black man! You can tell from a person’s profile, through pictures and/or text, if he’s black, white, bald, tall, short, fat, Asian, has glasses, or a weird-shaped head. Why sound so judgmental by listing those things and being somewhat offensive to the people who don’t fit those parameters if you can tell without doing so? This is like men who include a “No Fat Chicks” paragraph. Why tell Ola that’s she’s not good enough, because she’s 200 pounds, when you could just not date Ola?

The Detailed Description of Baggage

The search I ran was for women ages 24-28, within 35 miles of Shetland. I’m not going to mock a demographic I don’t fit. A surprising number of the women I found opened with statements such as…

Someone said to me “you’re too pretty to be single” I said “no, I’m too pretty to be lied to, cheated on, and played games with.”

I am actully working on getting back in shape so I would like someone with this same goal or who would support me in this goal, prior to having my children I took ballet and was healthy I have never been a size 2 and I don’t want to be but I do want to be smaller then I am

Dont let my outside bubble fool you I am very sweet and have a lot to offer…. if you can break down my shields.

Yeah… those were copy and paste and it pained me not to fix the grammar, but you get my point. We’re in our twenties. A little baggage and some insecurity is implied. I understand that there are some pieces of information that you have to get out there, despite how much I throw a tantrum about it.

I do list myself as divorced and, when prompted, I explain briefly.

I was married at 19 and divorced at 23. He was just a really bad person. I finalized two and a half years ago and there are no attachments.

It’s a weird question to answer without sounding like I got bored with marriage one day, but also without being that crazy person ranting in the mechanic’s office about her ex-husband being a prick. Oh, yeah. That was me. After I gave Aerospace that explanation, he gave me a brief account of his last relationship and we stopped talking about it. If you’re divorced, mention it. If you have a son, say so. If you’re overweight, make sure your pictures reflect that. More explanation is not needed until the other person gives a shit. I loved this advice book as a teenager, and the author, Carolyn Hax explained that you have to lay your cards out on the table one by one. “You can’t just shout ’52 card pickup!’ and expect someone to care about the mess.”* Stating painfully obvious deal breakers, like lying, cheating, and stealing, is the equivalent to talking about how your ex lied, cheated, and stole from you. No one wants a liar, cheater, or thief, just as no one wants someone who can’t even put their past betrayals behind them long enough to make a profile. You sound like the personification of a headache.

The Batshit Crazy

I think my favorite profile belonged to the unemployed, six months pregnant, mom of one, with her twin daybed in the background of her profile photo, as she flipped off the camera, showed her boobs, and made a duck face. You can’t ask for something you don’t offer, such as employment or pride.

My second favorite was:

first off if ur just lookin at my profile cause I’m in a bikini top in one my pics an thats the only one u noticed then dont bother with sending me a message i am more then just boobs!

Perhaps, little lady, if you’re looking to express that you’re “more then just boobs” (::cough:: than ::cough::), you shouldn’t be displaying them in your profile.

“How dare you message me for sex!?!?”

Citations
Tell Me About It: Lying, Sulking, Getting Fat… and 56 Other Things Not to Do While Looking for Love, by Carolyn Hax.

“Your funeral is going to suuuuuuck.”

Posted on October 4, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Malik was just a friend of a friend, until one day in 10th grade, when he decided that we were close enough that he could address a nagging concern. He stomped up to my 15-year-old self, clad in red suede Sketchers, overalls, and a long-sleeved red shirt, (me, not Malik) ripped the red bandanna print headband from my hair and snapped “Okay, Belle. Wearing the same red headband, every single day, is not fashion!”

We’ve been friends ever since.

Throughout the years, Malik drifted in and out of my life, keeping closer tabs with Gail, particularly as we all worked to shred our individual existences in our early twenties. Where Gaily and I had destructive marriages, crushing money troubles, and dead babies, Malik had DUI’s, restraining orders, that teensy weensy felony, and copious drug usage. Still, every now and then, we would get together and we were 15 all over again. We giggled about which celebrities we found attractive, made catty remarks about how all the cheerleaders who picked on us in high school got fat, and made fun of each other and ourselves.

High school has been over for seven years. Gail has a career she loves and a live-in boyfriend that she found on Craigslist, while looking for serial killers for a laugh. I have my master’s degree, two librarian jobs, and a handful of bad date stories. Our lives are moving forward and Malik… well, Malik is headed back to rehab for the second time this year. He’s losing the car he just got and will have to struggle to find a new job when he gets out, because if he returns to IHOP, he’ll have unfettered access to drugs, once again. He’s watching everyone he loves have a life while he sneezes chunks of cartilage out of his nose, his skin turns gray, and he explains to me that getting clean is just so hard, he doesn’t know if he even wants to anymore. He told me, in all seriousness, that he didn’t understand why suicide would be considered selfish. He’s tired of fighting. He’s tired of hurting the people he loves.

Malik: ::defeatedly:: “It’s all my fault. I know my problems are entirely self-inflicted, but hearing all these people have so much hope for me…”
Me: “Well, I don’t know if it’ll make you feel any better or worse, but you’re not going to disappoint me. I could definitely be proud of you if you get clean, but if you don’t, well… it’s not statistically surprising.”
Malik: “God… thank you. It’s so nice to have someone be so practical and point-blank about it, instead of assuring me I can do it like everyone else.”

After two and a half years, I had the courage to ask a question to which I desperately wanted an answer.

Me: “About two and a half years ago, when you and Gail were over at my apartment… did you steal money from us? The next day, Gail was missing $40 from her purse and I was missing $5 that my Gramma had given me. It really upset me not knowing where it had gone, since my ex-husband used to steal from me so much.”
Malik: ::silence:: “Oh my God. I think I did. No matter what I’ve done, I’ve always prided myself on not stealing from individual people. How could I do that?!?”

As Malik cried, I told him to remember that, because of his addiction, he’d stolen from Gail, a woman who’s heart is made of rainbows and pixie dust, a woman he loves unconditionally. I told him that if he needed motivation, he should consider that. I told him that if he killed himself, because of this information, I’d bury him in pleated plaid pants and pink Crocs. Then, we went to my apartment and we giggled about which celebrities we found attractive, made catty remarks about how all the cheerleaders who picked on us in high school got fat, and made fun of each other and ourselves. When most people hear about my friendship with Malik, they just don’t get it. They see this…

meth … and they’re right. Malik is a user and a felon. He deserves everything he’s getting, because he’s continuing on a destructive path. Maybe I deserve to have money go missing if I continue to have him in my life. He’s also the boy who cried when the football players tossed his CD’s all over the parking lot, because he was openly gay. He’s the boy who drew me a portrait of Marilyn Monroe for my 17th birthday. He’s the guy who told off Gail’s ex-husband for taking advantage of her and abusing her daughter. He’s the guy who told me I had nothing to be embarrassed about after my divorce, that my ex-husband was the failure, not me. He may have whopping self-esteem issues and a case of Peter Pan syndrome to rival the Lost Boys, but when I look at him, I still see this…

If Malik ends up in prison, I won’t be horrified and think our justice system done him wrong. Neither will he. He knows he’s had every opportunity handed to him and he never had a particularly bad lot in life… but he still can’t get his shit together. So, if that does happen… I’ll write. I’ll visit. So will Gail. Convict or not… he’s still just Malik, the sweet kid who could talk his way out of anything… the boy who danced with us at prom… the guy who insisted we claim the makeup was ours if his mom found it… the boy who was near tears when we convinced him my house was haunted in the 11th grade… the guy who believes every conspiracy theory he’s ever heard and thinks Meth addicts are a sign of the rapture.

Malik: “Everyone knows a different Malik.” ::sighs dramatically:: “Who is the real Malik?”
Me: “I’m pretty sure that, deep down, you’re still the same chubby, 15-year-old Malik, wearing a popped collar in our redneck high school.”
Malik: “Two popped collars, thank you.”
Me: “… with a tie tied around his waist. Two ties… but that’s because you had to tie the ends together so they’d go all the way around you.”
Malik: ::laughing::
Me: “Well, on the bright side, when you’re done with rehab, maybe we’ll get Fat Malik back! I loved Fat Malik!”
Malik: “Oh, my god. If there is one thing that is going to keep me from rehab, that’s it.”
Me: “You’re gonna miss Carrie!”
Malik: “I know! I was heartbroken about that! I was crying to a coworker about how I’d miss Carrie and when they asked who that was, I’m like ‘Hello! Carrie? The remake?!?!”
Me: “Rehab is gonna suuuuck.”
Malik: “Seriously, Belle. You are terrible at this.”

…

Me: “You could drive a truck!”
Malik: “I have two DUI’s, Belle!”
Me: “We just need to get you a job where there are no drugs and no one cares that you’re a felon or a recovering addict.”
Malik: “Okay, Belle, but the places that will hire me are going to have drugs, because everyone else there is going to be an addict.”
Me: “Ugh. I know! We’ll Google it!!!”
“Um… wow. The Internet… has no answers. I think you broke Google.”
Malik: “You suck at this!”
Me: “I’m a librarian, not a substance abuse counselor!”

…

Me: “Have you ever had sex with a married man?”
Malik: “Yeah. I found out and told him I couldn’t do it anymore, even though he was paying me.”
Me:
Malik: “Excuse me. I guess I was prostituting myself to a married man.”
Me: “Ooooh! You could do that!”
Malik: “All of your ideas are things that could get me put in prison!”
Me: “You know, the guys from Sons of Anarchy were all addicts and felons and they seemed to be doing okay. Illegal gun running? Sex trafficking? I know, I know ‘I have two DUI’s, Belle!’”

…

Me: “Wait… if it doesn’t do anything for you anymore, then why don’t you just stop doing it?”
Malik: “Because I’m an ADDICT.”
Me: “I would’ve made a bomb therapist.”

He’s vain, lazy, self-indulgent, and irrevocably flawed… but he’s Malik. The day he overdoses and they lower his 29-year-old body into the earth, something in me will break.

The Week of 1004 Dates: The Match Event

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I’m still adjusting to my new, somewhat split-shift, work schedule and have (mostly) been enjoying birthday plans. Therefore, it’s been a week of decorating Toms with Gail, cupcakes made by my step-momma not being hurled at my front door, lunch and shopping for Dollar Tree fall decorations with my Gramma, and doing crafts and downing a half-pint of For Realz Moonshine with Niki. It is because of these wonderful events that I haven’t been on any dates since The Week of 1004 Dates. I’ve also delayed the final installment in this series. It’s called suspense. You’re welcome.

The story started on Saturday, with Insurance Salesman, an offensive and unattractive Peter Griffin. Yeah. That’s my point. It continued on Tuesday, with O&G, a kind and chivalrous Bostonian who played lots of tabletop board games, had an extensive knowledge of trivia, and thought it would be wonderful to one day live somewhere that’s not right the fuck here. It was a good date and a good time, but neither of us saw any foundation on which to build a relationship, so we never contacted each other again. All this time, I’ve been clear that it wasn’t really 1004 dates ::gasp!::, declaring that it was “almost” three. How does one have an “almost” date? Why, with a Match Event, of course!

Date 3… Almost – Thursday – The Match Event

In addition to the typical online dating features, match.com offers Stir Events. Before my date with Insurance Salesman, I RSVP’d for one of these face-to-face get-togethers.

Me: “I’ll probably just flake out and skip it at the last minute.”
Gail: ::laughing:: “Uh… yeah. I’m sure you will.”

Despite Gaily’s obvious attempt at reverse psychology…

… on Thursday morning, I still hadn’t made up my mind. I didn’t have to work that evening and I didn’t substitute teach, but I had had relatively regular plans with Niki to watch The Walking Dead and crochet. When she messaged earlier in the week, however, I declined, telling her that I didn’t want to make it quite so easy to ditch the Stir Event. Regardless, the event started at 7:00 and when Gail texted me at 5:30, I still wasn’t sure.

Gail: What are you wearing?
Me: I haven’t decided if I’m going.
Gail: Seriously? Get dressed and go.
Me: But sucking my thumb and reading this trashy romance novel is also nice.
Gail: While sitting on a bench?

I’d spent the whole day making new candles from the remnants of my old candles, like a boss, and figured that if the last candle was finished melting in time to go, it was a sign that I should get off my ass and socialize with some real life people. So, I put on the Magic Dress I wore to Grandpa Geff’s funeral. A Magic Dress is one that can be either “good little Catholic girl” or “sex kitten”, depending on accessories. At Grandpa Geff’s funeral, I wore sensible interview heels with my grandmother’s opal and got numerous compliments. To the Stir Event, I wore heeled leather boots with gun-metal jewelry and… got numerous compliments. I’m getting ahead of myself.

The event was at a pub in the city and I was more or less broke, as I’ve been trying to catch up from the time I spent looking for a job this summer. Admission and a single drink were free, however, so all I had to be concerned about was the gas to get from Shetland to the northern part of the metro, about 30 miles away. I have no idea why I was so nervous when I got there, but I felt more jittery than I ever do when I’m just meeting a single person. Maybe it’s because, here in the Midwest, we still attach a lot of stigma to online dating. Despite the fact that everyone is doing it, we’re not allowed to talk about it and entering a Stir Event sounded a little embarrassing. As is usually the case, however, Gail’s voice sounded in my head…

Why do you care what these people think? Even if they do think anything of you going to a match event, which they won’t, because they’re worried about their own crap, big damn deal. Go and talk to people and get your free drink. You won’t be the only one doing so. If it sucks, you’re allowed to leave.

Then my own voice sounded out loud into the car…

“Suck it the hell up. You can’t afford to waste the kind of gas it took to get here to just turn around and go home.”

I was still looking for reassurance and texted Gail while fixing my makeup:

Me: I can’t do it. I can’t go in there. Maybe next time I’ll make it in the door. This was progress, though. Yay me.
Gail: Ugh. Fine. I guess I’m not really surprised.

Gail misread my sarcasm and search for encouragement as a quest for approval and support for my decision. I rolled my eyes at myself, put on my big girl panties, and headed inside… only panicking a little.

On my way, I heard the bouncers make approving comments about my outfit, and that eased my nerves a bit.

The Stir Event was held in the upstairs bar area, which had been reserved for just this occasion. There was a lady positioned at a podium, who took my name and gave me a slip of paper with a unique characteristic on it. The idea was to encourage conversation, because if you found someone who had lived in another country or was a vegan, you could put your name into some kind of drawing. It was a nice option, though I didn’t really participate.

The first thing I noticed about those in attendance was the ratio of men to women. While I’ve read that speed dating in this area often has higher female participation, there were far more men than women at this event. Match only allows for so many to RSVP and splits it by gender; for example, 30 men and 30 women can plan to attend, including guests. So, basically, women are just flakes. At least I wasn’t alone in that idea. The age range was pretty wide as well, but Match had reported that online, stating it would vary from 21-43. I appreciated the warning and would’ve been uncomfortable with the variation, had I not known what to expect.

I sat at the bar to get my free drink and started talking to Texan Engineer, who was in his late 20s/early 30s and friendly enough. He wasn’t my preferred type physically, but as I’ve stated, I’m trying not to limit my associations with people based on trivial factors. Is it really fair to look at a man and think I wish he were a little bulkier if I don’t want him looking at me and thinking I wish she weren’t quite so bulky?

When I told Texan Engineer that I was a librarian, he said he’d messaged me, as I have the word “librarian” in my screen name. As we chatted, I could not, for the life of me, figure out why I hadn’t messaged him back. I looked at his profile later and realized that a small part of it may have been the fact that he was clearly one of those men who just does not know how to take his own picture. Though he wasn’t a man you’d give a double-take, he wasn’t unattractive. His pictures not only didn’t do him justice, they disgraced the poor guy.

Still nervous, I decided I could go ahead and buy one drink to loosen up. Now, I rarely drink, y’all. It’s expensive and it makes you fat, which may have been part of the reason I was about 100 pounds overweight in my heavier drinking days, which was the apparent sole reason I could handle my drink of choice so well: Long Island Iced Tea. I only had one. I swear.

“Well, it’s funny, because Gail doesn’t even read erotica…”
Geez, Belle. You are not seriously telling this story!
“… and she’d tell me if she did. I mean, we tell each other everything…”
Change the subject! NOW!
“… but one day, we were browsing Amazon together and she had this idea…”
Stop talking. Just stop talking.
“… that we should start a super creepy book club…”
Oh, don’t fucking sugarcoat it.
“… where we read the most disturbing erotica we could find. It was a terrible idea. I recommend you avoid the words ‘dubious consent’ at all cost.”
If the words ‘tailed butt plug’ come out of your mouth, you’re immediately setting yourself on fire.

Do not Google “humiliated gif.” Will someone let that poor girl out of the cage?!?!?! Is that a woman on a Lazy Susan?!?!

I blame Gail for ever creating that two-person book club. Still, I eventually texted her to let her know that she was right.

Me: This isn’t so bad.
Gail: ?
Me: I got dressed up. I went out alone. I talked to people. I’m proud of me. I’d never have been able to do this a year ago.
Gail: You went!!
Me: Well, duh. I was kidding about leaving. I’m far too cheap to waste that gas.

Even though I’d confessed to the reading of disturbing porn, Texan Engineer told me all about living in New York during college and how he desperately wanted to leave my home state one day, as he’s only here for the job. Clearly, this was important to him, because he even asked if I’d be willing to leave. In hindsight, I realize that my answer wasn’t as honest as it could have been, since the words “hell no” were not employed. You see, it’s not just that I love my Gramma, Gail, and my daddy. I am a Librarian in two of the few library systems that are not facing budget cuts in this economy. Our primary funding sources are neither state nor federal, but ad valorem taxes in communities where the Libraries are heavily advocated and much-appreciated. I’m not leaving my family. I’m not leaving my calling. I’m. Not. Leaving. I gave Texan Engineer a far less passionate explanation of that and we continued to get to know each other.

As we were talking, Texan Engineer enlightened me to a legitimately shocking trend: apparently… women are bitches. I’m aware that I’m not the best at letting someone down easy or you know, not marking their number as spam after a first date, but I was genuinely surprised by some of the things this man reported women having said to him. We were discussing our online dating experiences and he was telling me what some of the women he’d met had cited as deal-breakers. I was horrified. Even if he were a bag of dicks, I cannot imagine actually telling a man that he’s not stocky enough, let alone grabbing his bicep and saying “you need to put a little more meat on right here.”

Are you fucking kidding me?!?! That is the equivalent of a man grabbing my roll and declaring that I need to tighten things up a little! I’m not a violent person, but if a man did that while touching my body, I would actually slap him. What the hell makes a woman think that this is okay?!?! If he asks why you’re not interested, tell him there’s just no chemistry. Hell, just ignore him like the coward I am. Do not tell him he’s not “man enough” and squeeze the reasons why. Texan Engineer said he understood that this is just the stereotypical ideal for men in this part of the country. I agree. I would be more attracted to a man who made me feel dainty, but ladies, if he can’t have a No Fat Chicks paragraph, you don’t get to have a No Scrawny Guys conversation. Thems the rules!

Even though I was getting along with Texan Engineer, I did feel a little irritated that I’d put myself in a situation where I wasn’t able to mingle more, without being rude. I commented on the ratio of men to women and Texan Engineer told me that this is the norm at Stir Events. Woot. We chatted about politics (surprisingly agreeing on our more Libertarian stances) and shared our online dating thoughts. Then, I realized why I’d been ignoring Texan Engineer’s messages. It wasn’t his atrocious photos.

Me: “It drives me crazy when people put ‘I’ll tell you later’. Don’t tell me later. Tell me now. That’s the whole point.”
TE: “Yeah, that’s what I do on religion. I just say that I’m agnostic straight out.”

At this point, I had already mentioned multiple times that I was a practicing Catholic. I realized that the differing religious beliefs was my main reason for ignoring Texan Engineer’s messages from the beginning. Don’t get me wrong here. I have numerous friends with different religious commitments. I don’t care if they’re atheist or agnostic or Jahova’s Witness or what-have-you. That’s their business. I’m also not considering raising children with any of them. I had a coworker once tell me “I could never date a Christian. No offense.” None taken. I think it’s a completely valid point if your religious beliefs are important to you and this girl was a strong athiest, just as I am a strong Catholic. Just like she knows that there is no higher power, I know Christ died for my sins. I have every intention of sending my children to Catholic school. I don’t really want to go to Mass alone every week. I feel it’s just too big of an issue on which to disagree that strongly, so I usually don’t respond to people who who make that stance apparent in their profiles. Texan Engineer and I had been getting along, though. I decided it would be unfair to just write the guy off without giving it a shot.

TE: “I grew up Methodist and I used to believe. Then, I went to college and I just can’t believe in any of it now. I know too much about science. It’s just too ridiculous.”

Did you just call me stupid for believing in Christ?!?!?!?! Also, if all that school made you sooooooo smart, maybe you shouldn’t be declaring yourself an agnostic, or “a person who claims neither faith nor disbelief in God”*, when you’ve just quoted beliefs that are clearly atheist, or “disbelief or lack of belief in the existence of God or gods.”* You’re not agnostic. You’re an atheist with commitment issues. I’m not just too busy scratching my head over the conundrum that is science to realize that my religious beliefs are illogical. I believe in spite of that. That’s what makes it faith. I was so taken aback by the implication that I just hadn’t been paying enough attention in college, that I didn’t comment before Texan Engineer elaborated.

TE: “I even went out with this girl once and we seemed to get along great. We talked for like two hours and then she just kind of stopped talking to me. So when I asked why, she said it was because I wasn’t a Christian. I mean, she really doesn’t want to be with me over that? That’s just stupid. She was an engineer too, so I didn’t even get how she could believe.”

She was an engineer, too?!?!? So, what? Obviously you guys are supposed to be the same level of so fucking brilliant that you know the secrets of the universe and all the little morons of the world are still fumbling around in the dark, worshiping Santa Claus?!?!? She can’t have faith and work in the sciences, because being intelligent and believing in God are mutually exclusive? You’re not only intolerant, but an elitist as well? Dude…. fuck off. The fact that you can even say it’s stupid is exactly the reason she doesn’t want to date you. You don’t get the importance of those beliefs and that’s the whole friggin’ problem. Maybe some atheists out there could understand how passionate those beliefs are, but I imagine that would be because they passionately disagree… and that’s okay. They’re still probably not the best matches for devout Christians. I’m not even comfortable being friends with someone who thinks I just haven’t opened my eyes to atheism, because I’m not that bright. In fact, If that’s how he feels, he should probably clearly state a “non-Christians” preference on his own profile. You can’t ask that someone respect your lack of faith if you’re going to imply mine is the product of stupidity. Dick.

I felt really uncomfortable at this point and didn’t talk a whole lot more. Texan Engineer had just put me in a really awkward place by stating that I’d be closed-minded not to want to date him for his religious beliefs. It really wasn’t even that he didn’t believe. At the first mention of the word “agnostic”, I was still interested in talking to him. I’ve never actually dated someone with completely different thoughts on the subject, so I might as well give it a go if we were getting along. After hearing his explanation that he was surprised an engineer was stupid enough for prayer? No. Just no. I was polite to Texan Engineer and wasn’t sure how to express my disinterest, so I went ahead and gave him my number before leaving about fifteen minutes later. The next day, when he texted though, I sent him the following:

I really enjoyed talking to you and getting to know you last night, but I don’t think I could have a relationship with someone with such different religious beliefs. Good luck with Match.

I should’ve just used the word “intolerance”, since that was the real issue. After I sent that message, I spammed his number. I’d already heard plenty of what he had to say. I wasn’t sure if he was going to be a dick or not, but I didn’t want to deal with that, knowing his opinion on a woman not wanting to date him for the same reason. It’s a shame that this will encourage him to think women are being closed-minded about his thoughts rather than being insulted by them. Oddly enough, before the Stir Event, my profile already said:

“I try to go to Mass every week. I’m realizing that, while meeting someone Catholic would be great, the only deal breaker is a non-Christian. I respect your beliefs as a person, but ‘the family that prays together…’ and all that jazz.”

Texan Engineer just chose to either not read that, or ignore it before liking several photos, messaging me, and winking at me. Once I looked at his profile and realized who he was, I remembered that I’d been seconds from sending him a message that stated I wasn’t interested, because I didn’t think two people could have a successful relationship with such different faiths. I actually decided not to, because I wanted to give the guy a chance if we met at the event.

So, for date number three… almost, I tried my very first Stir Event and realized that it was quite similar to just being at a bar with guaranteed single people. I recognized the importance of mingling from the start and learned that one LIT has me telling masturbation stories. I found out that I’m not nearly as bitchy, when it comes to dating, as I thought… at least not by comparison. I gave a guy a chance, despite my theory that religious beliefs are too important for debate… and that opinion was validated. I decided I would still talk to a guy who told me he was agnostic, in the future… especially if he knew what agnostic meant. On the way home, I stopped by a gas station and the man told me how nice I looked. Yay for the Magic Dress.

In one week, I went out and talked to people and put some real effort into the dating world. It was exhausting and I don’t know that I’d do two dates and a match event in a week in the near future, but I feel like I’m putting in some real effort and learning things about myself. Go me.

Last week, I was searching PoF for old classmates and stumbled on my adored Facebook friend/high school acquaintance, Catherine. Oddly enough, we were best friends in daycare, when we were four. I messaged her:

So… I did something creepy and found your PoF account. Have you ever tried Match?

It looks like I might have a new online dating gal pal and an accomplice for the next Stir Event. Go me.

http://www.google.com/#q=define+agnostic&safe=images

http://www.google.com/#q=define%20atheism&safe=images

The Week of 1004 Dates: O&G

Image

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

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

Date 2 – Tuesday – O&G

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

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

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

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

Psh… I don’t need your help, Gail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I finally found the place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That.

I never heard from O&G after that night.

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

Gail agreed.

Surprise, surprise.

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

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

I got lost on the way home.

City life

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

The Week of 1004 Dates: Insurance Salesman

Posted on August 29, 2013 by Belle of the Library

Fine. I’m lying. It was more like three… almost. The reason for such outlandish exaggeration, however, is that three dates in one week is only one less than the total amount of dates I’ve been on this year. This was mostly because, after I failed… ahem… excuse me; I mean “did not pass” my graduate portfolio back in November, I went full-on Miss Havisham and sequestered myself until May.

Pictured: Typical graduate student

I set the goals of passing my portfolio, getting my degree, and accepting a Librarian postion. Then… I would date. So, despite my online presence in profile format, it was not until June, that I actually met anyone… after I had been offered a job. Even then, I wasn’t super eager to take on the dating world, since the free dating sites involve far too much weeding and, frankly, I kind of hate dating. I already told you about how shocked my GP was at my startling lack of a sex life and how that led to my match.com membership, but I must give credit where credit is due when it comes to my sudden motivation, to, you know… try.

While there are some outstanding disaster stories in the world of online dating, and really just dating in general, there are success stories. I haven’t actually had any and the bad stories are just so funny that I can’t keep them to myself, but make no mistake; I don’t specifically hate online dating. Actually, I think it’s awesome to be able to let someone know, upfront, that I’m a divorced, practicing Catholic Librarian with somewhat conservative political views and a love for dogs that jeopardizes my own safety.

“It’s a PUPPY!!!!!!”

I love the reverse, too. I enjoy knowing before I spend time with a guy, that he’s single, has a career, his own place, and a functioning relationship with his family. When you meet a nice guy in a bar, it could take up to a half hour of pleasantries to find out he’s not quite divorced. Hell, it could take a few dates, as it did with Gail and the guy who lied about his name. Torturing herself after receiving a call from his crying wife, she called me, knowing I’d tell her what she needed to hear and then make her laugh with offensive jokes.

Me: “Please. You had no idea and you only made-out with him a little. It’s not like you fucked him… surprisingly.”
Gail: “Bitch…. Ugh!!!! I just feel so awful… motherfucker!!!!”
Me: “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘husband.'”

See. Crazy people exist in the real world. The difference is, that guy’s dating profile/Craigslist ad, might be completely open about the fact that he’s married, because someone might just take him up on it and save him the trouble of lying. That’s the real perk of online dating for me. The facts are listed and no one has to talk about it.

Maybe that’s the reason for all of the success stories I’ve read on blogs and received in the comments from people who understood that my Freshly Pressed post … and then I died alone: My latest online dating pet peeves was not a spew of hatred for men online or online dating, but humorous venting. One success story in particular struck a cord, though. For awhile now, I’ve been reading the blog of a 28-year-old Canadian woman who’s really just thrown herself into the dating world. She’s had bad dates, good dates, hilarious dates, and heartbreak, but she’s kept at it. Just last week she announced that she met a guy she really liked. They may not get married and have lots of babies or anything, but it is a success story and her determination was inspiring. I started to think about how I’m going to be 26 in a little over a week. I’m okay with being single right now, but at 28 (in the Midwest that’s every one else’s 31), I think I’d be pretty disappointed. So why wait? Why not throw myself into the dating world right now and see what happens? This led to… The Week of 1004 (::cough:: three… almost… :::cough:::) Dates. I’ll remind you that I call all men by their job title, not because I’m a gold digger, but because I like knowing they have one.

Date 1 – Saturday – Insurance Salesman

Encouraged by the aforementioned Jane at Single, Not Hopeless, I decided to be a little less picky about height. Sure, I’d love a towering guy with broad shoulders…

… oh let’s not bother with the description. Him. I’d love him, but that’s not realistic and it’s a little unreasonable since I’m a whopping 5’5.5″/5’6″, myself. My profile hadn’t been too unfair, listing 5’10” as a minimum height, but we are talking minimum here. So, I changed it to 5’8″, which means I can still wear heels without dwarfing him and I’m a girl who likes her heels. So, when Insurance Salesman messaged me, I was cool with the 5’8″ height. He looked pretty cute in his photos and he was personable in his e-mails and texts. We arranged to have coffee after I got off work on Saturday.

Oh. Em. Jingles. This was the bad date from sitcoms, y’all. For starters, I had texted Insurance Salesman about going to Starbuck’s, after he e-mailed “So when do you want to get coffee?”, though we hadn’t even mentioned meeting. He said he wanted “real coffee.” I said Starbuck’s was fine with me, but we could go somewhere different instead. He responded with…

cool beans

… and gave me an intersection. Well, there is a coffee shop called Cool Beans on one of the streets he mentioned, but it was on a different cross street. I texted and told him I was on my way, but was confused by the address and he said we’d agreed to Starbuck’s. He had been using the expression “cool beans,” not naming a coffee shop. I was a little irked, because I’d told him I was on my way to Cool Beans, which was probably less than a few miles away and he’d previously said he didn’t mind driving any distance, so I could choose where I liked. I felt like he should’ve offered to do Cool Beans instead, since he wanted “real coffee” anyway, because that would’ve been the chivalrous thing to do. I let it go, though, because it was a small thing and he thought we’d agreed to Starbuck’s. Then I couldn’t find the Starbuck’s, because I’m a ‘burbs girl and we were meeting in the city. I got there about five minutes late and, though he’d been texting me with directions, he wasn’t even there yet. He said he had been waiting in a parking lot nearby… weird and probably a lie, since he was just late and totally could’ve gone to Cool Beans. Again, though, whatever. These would be stupid reasons not to give him a chance.

I have never met anyone online who did not look like his picture. This guy had either Photoshopped his pictures or he was the most photogenic person alive. Honestly, it’s likely the pictures were from several years ago. I think he was honest about his age (28) and just didn’t realize that he no longer looked like that. For one, he was not 5’8″. I’m starting to think that 5’8″ doesn’t exist, because no one who says they’re 5’8″ is ever actually 5’8″. He also had about 30 more pounds on him and far less hair than his pictures showed… and he was sweating… a lot. It’s August and I understand that. The guy was nervous. Okay. But his clothes were also visibly dirty, sort of like they’d been worn the previous day. I stood, shook his hand and introduced myself. In closer proximity, I realized he also kind of smelled. He introduced himself and then dropped my hand and turned around and walked away.

Huh?

I wasn’t even sure what he was doing at first, because he hadn’t commented. When I realized he was walking across the store to the counter, I followed. He ordered and just waited.

Okaaaay. Am I ordering or is he done and going to pay for only his order?

IS: “You want anything?”

After we sat down and started talking, he told me that he’d spent the day recovering from his hangover after staying up drinking with his friends all Friday night. He had some kind of nervous tick and kept squinting… constantly. However, that didn’t hide his painfully obvious physical assessment of me as he looked me up and down.

I asked what Insurance Salesman thought of his job and he told me it was boring and he talks to assholes all day. My profile specifically says I want to be with someone who enjoys their career. He doesn’t even like his and went on to talk about how it didn’t matter, because he makes so much money. Then… he started swearing. You read my blogs. You know I swear. I’m not particularly offended by it… when I’m familiar with someone. I didn’t even know this guy and he kept saying “shit” and “fuck” loudly in a Starbuck’s. It was awkward and embarrassing, but I kept trying to talk to him. Soon, the topic of T.V. shows came up.

Okay, okay. I know that “Team Shane” is not a popular Walking Dead standpoint. I’m not saying it is. I have such a strong tendency to sympathize with villains that I once told Gaily she’d love Game of Thrones, because the Kaleesi is a badass heroine. Her response was to ask if I was sure she was a heroine, because I don’t have a strong history of siding with the intended protagonist, bringing up the time I defended Cruella DeVille for doing her part to combat over-breeding. So… when I expressed my viewpoint that Shane was the stronger character in Walking Dead, I didn’t really expect agreement. I also didn’t expect downright anger.

Me: “I just felt like they sort of had him go bad overnight. It seemed like they just got tired of the love triangle and decided to make him the villain.”
IS: “NO. It was obvious that he was the bad guy when he was looking through the scope at his friend!”
Me: “Um… not really. He was upset that his new family was being taken from him. He didn’t kill him.”
IS: “NO.You knew he was thinking it! You knew he wanted to!”

Duuuude, it’s fiction and this is a date. Are you seriously getting pissed at me over my defense of a fictional character in a show about the fucking zombie apocalypse?!?! You don’t know anything about these people, because they aren’t real! Also, I’m sorry, but the world is overrun with folks who are eating each other. It’s survival of the fittest, yo, and I would’ve let that guy get eaten so I could save the kid, too. Hell, I would’ve left the little girl behind after two friggin’ days. Ain’t no place for bleeding hearts.

When we’d brought up The Walking Dead, I’d told Insurance Salesman how frustrated I was when one of my students told me about a character dying in the season I hadn’t seen.

IS: “Well, next season…”
Me: “Well, don’t tell me.”
IS: “No, but it hasn’t even happened yet.”

Then he went on to ruin The Walking Dead for me, because he read about a main actor leaving. Double ewe tea eff, dude?!?! I just told you not to tell me! After that, he’d bring up movies and I’d tell him I hadn’t seen them, like with This Is 40 and he would ruin the entire fucking story for me! I’d tell him not to and he’d just say…

IS: “No, but…”

Stop talking! By this point, I was more or less done and trying to figure out a polite way to leave. Then, Insurance Salesman mentioned Firefly and I told him it was a shame it got canceled. Then, he started getting pissed again.

IS: “Well, Fox fucking ruined Firefly. It was all their fucking fault!”
::The lunatic shouted in a Starbuck’s”
Me: ::confused by and totally over his rage:: “How’s that?”
IS: “They aired it during fucking football season and it kept getting rescheduled. People were like ‘There’s this awesome fucking show on… sometimes’, so no one watched it and they had to fucking cancel it.”

It was not long before I declared that I had to get home to my dog. We’d been talking for less than 30 minutes and I assumed it was obvious that I was uninterested as Insurance Salesman walked me to the car.

IS: “So, um… I’d like to… I’d like to um.. I’d like to… you know… take you out to dinner sometime… or like… maybe watch a show together.”
Yeah. I totally want you to scream at me over another T.V. show. My panties are already wet.
Me: “Yeah. Sure. Text me.”
What the fuck?!? Don’t encourage him if you’ve no intention of seeing him again, Belle!!!!

I called Gail and my Gramma after the date and declared…

“I’m going to die alone!”

Gail’s response was to give him a second date, because she got a much abridged version. Gramma’s response was…

“Well, you don’t need to be goin’ out with a man with a dirty mouth like that!”

Insurance Salesman never did text me. It appears his only redeeming quality was the ability to take the hint.

I initially planned to write this as one blog, but I’m seeing two more dates is going to be a novel. This has just been upgraded to a series. Stay tuned.

Sometimes… I’m still a little broken.

Posted on August 28, 2013 by Belle of the Library

When 10 family members like this post on Facebook…

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

Reactivated my OKCupid account. First Message:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway…

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

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

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

What are you doing with your life?

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

WHAT?!?!?!?

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

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

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

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

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

Then I read his questions.

Do you like cats or dogs?

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

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

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

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

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

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

… but thank the Lord for good friends.

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

Yeah. That’s a fucking thing.

“I’m not lying about how many people I’ve been with…”: A Speculum and an Epiphany

Posted on August 9, 2013 by Belle of the Library

I don’t actually have a gynecologist. I’m not having sex, so why bother when my general practitioner will perform the yearly exam? Well, Wednesday was my appointment with said doctor and it went a little something like this…

Doc: “Are you married or single?”
Me: “I’m divorced. I’ve been divorced for two and a half years.”
Doc: “Do you have a new sexual partner?”
Me: “No.”
Doc: ::pause:: “Well, when was the last time you had sex?”
Me: “When I was married.”
Doc: ::raised eyebrows::
Me: “Like three years ago?”
Don’t say it, Belle. Don’t say it.
Doc: ::raised eyebrows:: “Well, if you’ve been abstinent for three years, there’s really no need to run a test for human papillomavirus. Typically, if you’ve had three normal tests and you haven’t been sexually active, the chances of you contracting it are almost none.”
Don’t say it, Belle.
Me: “Well, you can run it if you like. It’s all unpleasant, so it doesn’t really matter to me.”
Now shut-up. Just stop talking.
Me: “I’m not lying about how many people I’ve been with…”

You just had to keep talking. If she didn’t think you were lying before, she sure as shit does now.

Me: “I mean, I’d tell you either way.”
That’s right. Keep talking. That’ll make it better.

Doc was neither rude nor unprofessional. It was just clear that she didn’t believe me. I’m not even offended by the idea. I’ve read articles about the percentage of people who lie to their doctors. Maybe that’s why I’m not getting laid. The one-night-stand thing has just never been for me, in part because I used to be fat. I’ve just recently grown accustomed to being with myself naked, let alone anyone else. I think as the exam wore on, though, the doctor began to realize this, as she babbled to take my mind off the breast exam. As I nodded and “hmmed” and answered questions about work, I couldn’t help but think…

I wonder how many times her assistant has heard the story about her new pool. I wonder how many vaginas her assistant has seen. Is it just, like, no big deal anymore? Why would anyone want this job? This is disgusting and I’m not the one knee-deep in vag on a daily basis. Wow. I haven’t had sex in a really long time. How embarrassing would it be to get turned on right now? How is this not over yet?!?! At what point should I be concerned that she’s just enjoying this?!?!

I suppose my discomfort convinced Doc that I was, indeed, pure as the only slightly yellowed snow, because she began to talk about how I hadn’t missed anything in my celibate years. She told me about how she’ll have patients in their forties and fifties who hooked up with some young guy at a bar and then they come in confused at all that gonorrhea, because they didn’t have to worry about those sorts of things when they were younger. I think she felt bad about doubting me as she sang the praises of not fucking.

Sitting on a bench is also nice.

Regardless, the whole visit got me thinking about how I need to get out there more and date. I’m just so sick of the free dating sites. Student is not a profession. Fill out the fucking profile. Why would you post that picture? You look like a fart. I hate that word and poop humor, but that is just the only way to describe how sloppy and gross you look in that photo. Take it down. While you’re at it, lose the negativity in your profile, quite lecturing me, and spell out the word “you.” I haven’t even been taking prospects seriously, because of these frustrations, so I deleted my OKCupid and PoF accounts days ago. What’s left, though? My church doesn’t really do social events and when they do, they’re family-oriented. My two total female friends are attached, so barhopping is out. I hate bars, so barhopping is out. Guys in bars are only looking for sex and I can barely touch myself, so barhopping is out. I go to the gym to work out and so do the men there. All those things people used to do to meet, like taking pottery classes or going bowling, those things are now occupied by couples who met online. How I Met Your Mother shows people living in the city and going out and meeting members of the opposite sex in person, but that’s not what the dating world actually looks like. It looks like a single girl sneaking to the bathroom of a Starbucks to send her best friend a reassurance that she’s not in pieces.

Ted’s famous Two Minute Date…

Ted takes Stella on a super romantic date… concentrated.

Belle’s famous Two Minute Date…

– He just asked me to kiss his fake leg. I am not even kidding. I’m sneaking out the fire exit. Pray it doesn’t set off the alarm. Text in 10 to make sure I’m alive. –

Okay. That hasn’t actually happened… yet. The Meet Cute is dead, though. I’m not going to turn around in the 300s at work and bump into a cute psychologist. Wanna know why? He already has a girlfriend that he met online.

So that’s the story of how the spreading of my legs led to a match.com membership that will (hopefully) eventually lead to further spreading of my legs.

Friendly advice: Google match.com coupons before signing up. I saved over $25.

… and then I died alone: My latest online dating pet peeves.

Posted on August 1, 2013 by Belle of the Library

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I started my very first Librarian job this week, so I’ve been less focused on dating. Here was the (somewhat hierarchical) list I created back when I wrote Online Dating: Holy S#!+, I Don’t Have Time for This in March.

Portfolio

Graduation

Career

Boys

I still have nightmares about failing my graduate portfolio, even after a semester of nothing but studying and rewarding myself with “reading for fun” breaks. Regardless, my presentation was met with congratulations and passed with flying colors. I almost missed my graduation ceremony when I face-planted into the grass in my rush, because I was running late. I, however, still walked across that stage (wheezing, since I’m asthmatic) and received that pretty empty maroon diploma holder. I called Gaily the night of my grandpa’s funeral weeping the following…

“My grandpa’s dead and everyone’s sad and I’m never going to be a Librarian!”

… into her voicemail. The next day I got a panicked text asking if I was alright. Four days later, I got the call from Human Resources inquiring about the last position for which I’d interviewed. I had been quite frustrated with the lack of “thanks, but no thanks” E-mail. I’m pretty sure my Gramma is still hard of hearing after I screeched “I’m a librarian!!!!!” in her ear.

So here I am: boys. I did just start my job, so I’m a little overwhelmed, but I’ve definitely been half-assing any online dating efforts. Fortunately for me, I’m not the only one and that also gives me blog material. Here are my latest online dating pet peeves.

Take a Hint.
I try really hard not to be bitchy when I’m dating online, which is ironic, because I totally fail at that when I’m dating in actuality. The thing is, when we’re awkwardly walking to my car, I can’t just block his screen name and be on my way. I have to actually, you know, interact with a man in whom I’m not interested… and I’m terrible at it.

That’s some of the beauty of online dating. If I read a guy’s profile and he’s just not for me, for whatever reason, I just don’t respond. No big deal. He gets it… usually. Every now and then, I’ll get someone who sends a second or a third message and I usually just block them. So that’s what I did when I got the third or fourth message from the guy who’s profile opened with “I LIVE WITH MY PARENTS!!!!!” There was no explanation. He wasn’t getting his life together after his divorce. He was able-bodied and worked full time. He wasn’t taking care of someone disabled. He was just one of the characters from Step Brothers, only less funny… and that’s fine for him and his family if they’re cool with it. I’m not dating him, though… ever. A few weeks after I blocked him, I got this message from his new profile:

Him: Remember me?
Me: Yeah. I blocked you.
Him: Why?
Me: “College educated or passionate about learning, have your life and career together and you’re happy, but want to add to it.” That’s a direct quote from my profile. You live with your parents at 28 and have no intention of ever leaving. You’re not for me. Don’t message me again, please.”

What?!? He asked.

Can’t we just all agree that the initial lack of response is the most polite way to say “nah”?

Less is more.
This is not your blog, yo. If I’m in a reading mood, I’m… you know… reading. Tell me how you pay your bills, what you do for fun, and how close you are with your family. Then stop typing. This rule still applies once we’ve started messaging each other. I was talking to a nurse, at one time, and the conversation was going alright. We’d traded a few messages when he sent me this:

I almost could not get that to screen cap and those are all him. The basic gist of that message is a lot of useless information, but some other key phrases were “So far what do I think about you?” “Answers to my own questions.” “It looks like the last paragraph got cut off. Here it is, may not be word for word.”

Dude, give me a chance to ask about you and Plenty of Fish cut you off for being weird!

The best part was his in depth description of his last relationship and the reason it failed. Apparently, his girlfriend of one year had been cheated on in her two previous relationships and it damaged her ability to grow and trust in future relationships. When he asked her to see a therapist about “her wall”, she said she would and then blew him off.

Don’t worry, pal. She’s just confused at how to work that lamp in your apartment. You know, the one made of human skin.

“But I’m wearing my best suit!”

I have not even met you!
Recently, I was messaging a guy I felt was a bit young for me (24), but this is the Midwest and Catholics are few and far between. Message number two from him included the intensely off topic “So did you get an annulment for your divorce?”

Wha???

I addressed the rest of the message and curtly replied that I wasn’t married in the church the first time. The next message included “What happened in your divorce if you don’t mind me asking?”

Duuuude. I don’t know your name. You cannot ask a stranger to regale you with stories of that time their ex-husband burned the house to the ground with all the pets inside! I know that’s not always the case for divorce. Even I want a brief explanation to make sure it’s not “Eh. She put on like 17 pounds. For realz.” I also don’t ask until we’ve been talking awhile and it comes up. That’s not a fucking opener! I responded with:

“I do mind. That’s a very personal question and I don’t recommend you ask it so soon if you speak to divorcees in the future. I feel like it’s too big of an issue for you to keep messaging. Best of luck, though.”

My profile also expresses my interest in guns, something boys around these parts like. Every now and then, I’ll get:

“Wanna go shooting?”

Do I want to meet up with an armed stranger and $2000 worth of guns? Um… no. Actually. I need to go. I think I… left my house on fire.

Then… there are the penises. There are men on dating sites who open with something vulgar. I once had someone include the word “pussy” in his opening line. I did not accept his offer. Then there are men who just casually bring up their junk. I had been texting one guy briefly (less than three hours) when he asked what I was looking for in a relationship. I gave him an honest answer about needing someone with a sense of humor, but who has their life together. I returned the question and got “Someone sweet, funny, intellectual, naughty, responsible and clever.”

Ummmm….

Do you think I missed that one? Double ewe tea eff, dude?

Another:

“Nice pictures! You look incredibly beautiful! I’m Michael, recently single, confident, educated, clean, honest, well endowed, lots of fun! Did you do anything fun this weekend?”

Ummmm….

Do you think I missed that one? Double ewe tea eff, dude?

I’ve also gotten the opposite, self-deprecating comments.

“I am not a very experienced lover or relationship holder.”

At least the other guys were trying to sell themselves. This reminds me of that time when I sold generic Warheads in high school with the pitch “You want to buy any of these? They taste like crap, but they made my friend’s tongue bleed.”

Sold every single one.

This is your introduction. Make it count.
Oilfieldtrash is not an appropriate screen name. Neither is anything with the number “69”. That is my very first impression of you, followed closely by scrolling down to see what you do for a living. I’m not being a snob, here. I don’t care if you make shit as a teacher. I care that you care about your career and that you have one. That being said, don’t put “I work” or “ask me” or “does it matter?” Also, actually spell shit out. Don’t tell me I look “cute n sweet”, you lazyass. Certainly don’t open with:

Him: You caught my eye. You look so cute and innocent.
Him: You look so cute and innocent too.
Me: You said that already. It was creepy then, too.

I got a message from one guy, prompting me to view his profile. He wasn’t unattractive, but didn’t have a profession listed and his entire first few paragraphs were about how none of this mattered, because women are all too shallow to get past looks.

Me: I feel like I should respond, based on your profile. You’re not unattractive, but I’m not interested because you refuse to list your profession and your profile is incredibly negative. You should revamp it to be more positive or delete the whole thing.
Him: Don’t judge me based on a rant. Get to know me.
Him: I’m a lube tech, by the way.

On what the hell am I supposed to judge you?!?!? This is the only impression I have!!!

Don’t be a bag of dicks.

Him: Do you believe being divorced at 25 bodes well for future dates with you? You’re the information theorist; enlighten me please. Librarians are my choice for dates…they strike me as demure ladies in the streets but utter freaks in the sheets. True?
Me: You’re an incredibly offensive person, you live in Arkansas and you’re 102. Those things don’t bode well for YOU.

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: relationships

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

We B*tches Be Crazy: Women of PoF

“Your funeral is going to suuuuuuck.”

The Week of 1004 Dates: The Match Event

The Week of 1004 Dates: O&G

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The Week of 1004 Dates: Insurance Salesman

Sometimes… I’m still a little broken.

“I’m not lying about how many people I’ve been with…”: A Speculum and an Epiphany

… and then I died alone: My latest online dating pet peeves.

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