The Fox Round Two

9/30/2011 The Lady 13 Comments

Women and men of the blogging world, my summer dating sabbatical has ended (it has been the greatest thing that has happened to me since my mission) and so I care to write about a story that has been bothering me for sometime. A few weeks ago I was dating this girl. We shall call her The Artist. The Artist and I got along fairly well. We went on a few dates. Things went well. We held hands on the second date and cuddled on the third. We went on another date and watched some movie. After the date was over I went in to kiss this girl. She then turned her her head to the side and my lips landed square on her cheek. Now this has happened to me another time. About a year ago, The Young Fox had taken a girl out seven times and finally had the courage to go in for the kiss. The same thing happened. The younger and less experienced Fox was quite embarrassed and ran off and hit his head against the wall as he tried to fall asleep that night.

However, when I was a child, I spake like a child. I thought like a child. I dated like a child. Now that I am a man I date like a man.

The first time I was fooled I thought it was shame on me. However, after subsequent dating experiences the second time I was fooled I know it is shame on the woman. Now if this was the first or second date, I could understand where The Artist was coming from. Had I not cuddled with her nor held hand, then I could understand how reasonable it was, but for the love of all that is holy when I show interest and go on four or five dates with a woman, that woman should be expecting that something is going to happen. If she is not then she is brain dead. Women of the world if you are not interested in a man have the decency to save him the time and the money and just dodge him or flat out tell him no. If your kind of interested don't place yourself in a situation where you could be kissed. If you have been on five dates with him and place yourself in a situation where you are gonna get kissed, its your own dang fault.

Enjoy your splendid week.
The sincerely unembarrassed,
Mr. Fox

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Are you Elizabeth Bennet?

9/29/2011 The Lady 9 Comments

Jane Austen's masterpiece, Pride and Prejudice was published in 1813. Now nearly two hundred years later the mass hysteria our dear Jane created is still in full swing. As is evidenced by this often ridiculous blog.

And all of us are waiting. The women are waiting for Mr. Darcy to come banging on their doors. We would not complain if he arrived having just risen, dripping from the lake.



Need I say more? I think not.

As for the men, you are waiting for Elizabeth Bennet. And don't you deny it. You wouldn't mind for her to rise dripping from the lake either, but please, let's not be graphic.


In my little conversations with my dear friend Jane {Yes, the Jane}, I sometimes ask, "Why Jane? Why? Why did you create these characters that torment us so?" Naturally, she just smirks and never says a word.

I would love to give credit where credit is due, but I honestly do not know the source of this cunning cartoon strip. A fan emailed this to us, and did not leave any source to document, so please enjoy this mild form of plagiarism:



Touche Jane. Touche.

Con Amor,
The Coquette

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Social Ineptitude (thanks a lot, Charlotte Bronte)

9/28/2011 Unknown 6 Comments


Instead of reading one-hundred-and-sixty-five pages of awfulness for one of my classes tomorrow, both Adele and Boyz II Men have successfully convinced me to revise their wonderful lyrics while doodling craptastic sketches just… for… you. Thank them later by listening to some of their wonderful hits (I Swear is a great place to start).

Unfortunately I don’t really have a specific direction for you today (maybe get used to this). SO, you’ll have to make do with an awkward incident from my week.

Picture me at my favourite table in the HBLL, poring through the excellent, excellent Jane Eyre. It was an especially exciting afternoon because I was getting to all of the good parts (let’s face it: there are some very skip-able pages), and consequently I was getting a little “Kristen Wiig” about my personal reading experience. Before I knew it, I had arrived at one of the best, most peculiar passages that just gets my heart racing. And, before I knew it, I had reached out my hand to clutch at the arm of my neighbor (as if for support), as I read Rochester’s struggle to explain how he felt about Jane:

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.


If you can believe it, I managed to make it to the end of this paragraph without realizing that the arm I was still clasping at did not belong to anyone I actually knew or had ever spoken to in my entire life. Reality set in as I found myself staring into the most incredulous facial expression I had ever seen on a non-cartoon.
Did I let go immediately; gather my things and slip away with the appropriate amount of shame on my shoulders?



OF COURSE NOT.

I had to make things more awkward for the both of us, thinking I had a chance at recovering myself.

“I gotta read this to you!” I whisper desperately. His facial expression didn’t change a fraction as I proceeded to read a passage about ribs and string and internal bleeding. The couple sitting across from us adopted his look of stupor, and for every second their eyes bore into me, I grew a shade more red. It was one of those moments when your mouth is doing its own thing, meanwhile alarm bells are ringing in your head and you just know somewhere in that brain of yours a minute army of proud cells and neurons (not even going to pretend I know anything about science) are battling to find an “OFF” switch.


For some reason, in the moment, you convince yourself that things are “cool” and you still don’t leave. You sit there, sometimes actually counting the seconds, wondering when would be the appropriate amount of time to wait before you can leave, dignity in tact (you forget that that moment was way before you opened your mouth to begin with).

So there you have it: I effectively killed any interest that man might have had in beautiful literature, while undoubtedly pushing him into a girl-coma. SHAME too, because he was very handsome, in a Patrick Dempsey sort of way.

BALANCING OUT THE BAD: Awesome things that happened to me this week include:
1. Coming to the conclusion that I am sort of okay with FBD’s: Facebook Dates. My main arguments include a) at least he asked me out, b) he could be painfully shy, and c) no one wants to be rejected/ do the rejecting in the flesh (cowards are lovers too).
2. Turning down a NCMO with [almost] no deliberation over how fun said NCMO might be. Take that, natural man! I don’t even care how conceited I sound when I say that I am still super proud of myself.
3. Elder Uchtdorf (fellow foreigner) and forget-me-not’s.
4. Hearing that ex has let himself go- silly, petty pleasure, yes. But when you have had to cancel a wedding date because you found out that four other girls were also planning weddings, you secretly hope to one day hear these tidings. It finally happened.
5. Re-discovering the joys of the game MASH. Also winning Ryan Gosling as my probable future-husband. Sorry ladies.

Your Awkward Bronte- whispering,
Foreigner

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RRMs

9/27/2011 The Charmer 5 Comments

There is a darling little breed of males on campus that I fondly refer to as RRMs. You know, "recently returned missionaries."

They're kind of awkward, they're bright-eyed and optimistic, and they don't quite know how to talk about anything besides their missions. And sometimes they blush if you sit too close to them.

I'm at the age where all of my guy friends from freshman year have just returned from their missions, and it is so fun to watch them as they step back into the dating scene. Over the weekend, I was actually helping one of my good RRM friends win over a girl. Apparently I have the magic touch, since now he has a date with her on Thursday and she even gave him a "neck hug" after he brought her cookies Sunday night. (Apparently the "neck hug" was the equivalent of a goodnight kiss for him, since he was absolutely thrilled.)

Over the summer, I had an RRM interested in me. We went on a couple dates, and despite the fact that he was a really nice boy, it never turned into anything. I just had to share with you some of the darling and awkward RRM moves he pulled.

1. He texted me frequently--and whenever the conversation seemed to be dying, he would throw in questions out of nowhere to keep me talking with him. For example, we'd been talking about homework or tests or something and the conversation was a little on the dead side. Suddenly, out of the blue, I get a text from him that says, "That's great that work went by quickly. So...what's your favorite holiday?" Although I must admit my favorite was the time he texted me with the question, "So...what are some of your dreams and ambitions and goals for your life?" Oh dear.
2. The poor boy brought new meaning to the term "awkward doorstep moment." On the first date, it was fairly painful. So, on our second date, he dropped me off and I tried to make it easy for him by cutting right to the point: Thanks, that was fun, have a good night. Right after I said "Okay...well, I'll see ya later" and turned to open my door, he asks if I can teach him the cha-cha. Right there. On my doorstep. With my roommate sitting on the couch, listening to us and laughing the whole time.
3. He asked if he was allowed to hug me.
I just love RRMs. They are too cute.

Please, share your RRM stories with me. I know that someone out there has a good one.

And I really hope one of your stories involves cats.

Oh, and of course the weekly update on my ever-amusing love life.
Piano Man and Mr. Director are moving in and making it very clear that they are interested, despite the fact that both of them know about Masimo and both of them know that I am interested in dating Masimo. Apparently, this bit of knowledge is not a deterrent.
Masimo, however, is taking his sweet cautious time. He's nervous about scaring me off by moving things too fast, and I think this fear mainly stems from my track record of blowing him off a year ago when he was more aggressively pursuing me. So I guess it's understandable...but the fact is that he had ample opportunity to hold my hand on our date Friday night and he did not. Piano Man and Mr. Director would hold my hand in a second if I'd give them the chance.

xoxoxo,
The Charmer

PS- I set a new record for myself last week. 6 dates. One week. Dang. That's out of control.

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I'm Channeling Goldie Locks...

9/26/2011 The Blue Stocking 6 Comments

Why o why must relationships be so wonky?

Let me paint you a little picture to clue you in on my current predicament {lie: there will not be a picture because I can’t draw, let’s just except this as a metaphor}

So let’s do an intro for the two guys causing all this fuss.

First, remember the RM. Well I decided to try the whole dating thing {not exclusively though}, but now it’s gotten rather confusing. We really haven’t spent that much time with each other, yet he has become very forward with his feelings via text.

Side Note: Is it just me or do you notice a general theme of guys being more forward in texts than they would ever be in person. I understand that it’s an easier way to discuss your ‘feelings,’ but I just hate the pressure that is put on me to compose the perfect reply text. It’s a test that I rarely pass.

Anyhoo, his texts are getting too forward and brazen and I desperately need things to slow down. I talked to him this weekend about it, but I don’t really see it stopping.

Second: Service Boy. I am co-chairs on the service committee with SB. This means we have been spending a lot of time together and things between us have started to take a turn for the romantic. But here’s the thing, generally I’m pretty reluctant to say “o, ya this guy likes me,” but I genuinely think he does and this is why.

1. He always walks home with me from church.

2. He finds me at ward prayer and we talk for hours….hours people. And our conversations range from being hilarious and flirty to serious and deep.

3. We have a ton of inside jokes and we are always play-arguing over silly things.

4. I catch him watching me all the time… not in a creepy way though.

5. He NEVER talks about other girls, and he NEVER asks me about guys.

6. He comes up with excuses to come over to my place and chat.

7. He remembers everything I say and I really feel like he’s trying to get to know the real me.

And here’s why things are complicated: HE HASN’T ASKED ME OUT.

For the most part I am a firm believer of, “if he’s not asking you out he doesn’t like you.” But it’s different with SB,not just because of the 7 reasons listed above, but because he’s a very shy guy.

I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but I am not that shy, in fact I’m pretty outgoing. So maybe he’s intimidated… maybe?

I just don’t know and it’s driving me crazy.

So what should I do with the guy who’s making too many moves and the guy who has yet to make one?

-The Bamboozled Blue Stocking.

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Colonel Paisley's rendition of "The Friend Zone"

9/23/2011 The Lady 11 Comments

Dear Readers,

This post is coming to you from the land of old-timey modernity. Colonel Paisley is another of our splendid {That word works so well for so many occasions. Fox, do you have a copyright on that, or can I borrow it?} male friends who has agreed to blog for us. For some strange reason, the only adjective I can think of to describe him is splendid...Good heavens. So please enjoy him in all his splendidness because he really is simply splendid {Can I get a point system going for this?}!



The Coquette




Hello, fellow blog-stalkers!




I’m going to skip a lengthy introduction and merely state that I am a guest contributor, this time one with a Y chromosome! Gasp. You may call me Colonel Paisley. It’s a blend of two psuedonyms that I entertained: Colonel Fitzwilliam and The Paisley Tie. I find both of these symbolize me pretty well, so I put them in the blender and downed an overpriced Jamba Juice.

Anyway, The Coquette asked me to write a guest post, and I must say that I am delighted to do so. As I pondered about what to write [that sounds like I’m speaking at general conference…] a friend’s Facebook post tickled my fancy:


Listening, Advice, Praise, Diversion, Comfort, Challenge, Companionship, or Affirmation. What kind of friend are you?


It’s funny how well that applies to dating. Mostly I wanted to muse on how to navigate the Friend Zone.






There are so many things I could say about this picture. A: I sail on Inception-esque scenery? Ok. 2: I’m pretty sure this took more time to draw than this post took to write. Forgive my slow trackpad-drawing speed. D: The friend zone has really weird-looking buoys. [HA. Get it? Because this is a dating blog, and “buoys” sounds like… Never mind.]


I’m sorry. My train of thought can often be a runaway.


So, “What kind of friend are you?” Everyone falls into at least one category; we all need to identify the trait that embodies us most and then capitalize on it. It’s kind of like the Five Love Languages, except in a more person-to-person and everyday form.


Anyway: The Friend Zone. We hate it. It ruins our plans. It makes us feel awkward. And yet, it’s so necessary. I know a few relationships that jet ski right on through the Friend Zone, and they can sometimes be awkward. I once dated someone, and we swam in the Waters of Acquaintance…ship, got caught in the Bermuda Triangle of Infatuation and suddenly found ourselves in the Relationship Reef. It was pretty cool, but then we ended up on the beach. And now I’m swimming in the Waters again.


The Friend Zone is actually where you want to be. Not with every specific person you are attracted to, per se, but with people in general. [Perhaps this is a bit too much of my normal character here; I value being friends with everyone. I find it worthwhile.]


It’s in the Friend Zone where I don’t feel awkward walking over to some girls’ apartment and just talking with them without them thinking, “Ugh, why is this creepo hanging out here? He’s not gonna ask me on a date, is he? Jimmer help me.”


Two of my lady friends needed a ride to the mall this evening; I obliged. They felt comfortable enough with me to ask; I feel comfortable putting aside my own activities to help. I later accompanied one of their roommates on an evening run. I’d chalk those under the Companionship and Diversion Friend Languages.


Don’t get me wrong – definitely do not stay in the Friend Zone forever. Test the waters. Move your way towards the warmer waters; maybe you’ll eventually find the Hot Tub of Love. In my experience, it’s much easier to establish a stable, lasting relationship with a member of the opposite sex after I’ve built a solid foundation of friendship based on my and my interest’s Friend Languages [I should copyright that].


Recent contributions to this blog have pointed out that the dating game can be very frustrating and depressing. It’s hard, of course, but it has to be. [At least, in Provo, it does.] Just remember – the Waters of Acquaintancehoodship and the Friend Zone seem pretty vast and fruitless, but you’ll find yourself in warm waters eventually. The world’s not as big and hopeless as you think – it’s not the Dating Ocean, but the Dating Pool.


[I just blew your mind. I didn’t even do it on purpose; it just worked like that.]


So think about your Friend Languages, and get out there and swim! There’s treasure everywhere!


Cheers,


Colonel Paisley

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Yours and mine is a clumsy sort of love.

9/23/2011 The Lady 6 Comments

"The powers awakened earlier in your life have been growing.You have been
responding to them probably clumsily, but they now form themselves into a
restlessness that cannot be ignored.You are old enough now to fall in love---not
the puppy love of the elementary years, not the confused love of the teens, but the
full-blown love of eligible men and women, newly matured, ready for life. I mean
romantic love, with all the full intense meaning of the word, with all of the power
and turbulence and frustration, the yearning, the retraining, and all of the peace
and beauty and sublimity of love. No experience can be more beautiful, no power
more compelling, more exquisite." -Boyd K. Packer

As I have pondered upon the mysteries of this past week {including the civil war occurring on this blog} I began to think about what has been motivating all of us, or what has been motivating myself in particular. I am motivated deeply by this new-found readiness to fall in love. I did not recognize it for what it was until recently, but now I perceive it for what it actually is. It is indeed a "restlessness that cannot be ignored".

This restlessness and yearning for love leads us to feast on Jane Austen novels, watch chick flicks, and appease our aches with guilty-pleasure blogs. Such as this one. It causes us to often act irrationally. The restlessness rears its emaciated head in binges on Ben & Jerry's, in bitter blog posts or Facebook updates, or yes, even in snide comments on said blogs. We get fed up with the dating scene. Some of us take fasts from dating, as though that would solve any of our problems. I took a two-year hiatus from men and The Fox spent the summer dating himself, and here we are dating a blog instead.

But darling readers, we, both male and female, are all suffering from the same syndrome of irrationality. We are a restless pack of hungry, hormone-driven young adults. {I acknowledge that a few of our readers are happily married. Mozel tav}. We are clawing our way through the dating scene. It is clumsy and I dare say, even ugly. Hideous and vicious are the ways in which we are conducting ourselves. I, The Coquette, am not exempt from this.

My past love life has been clumsy. I will be the first to acknowledge that fact. I approached the dating pool with fickleness; an immature sort of confusion. I circled the concrete basin with a doubting scowl on my face and tested the water with my toes. Every so often, I sat by the edge and dipped in my legs for a short period of time, and once I fell in involuntarily.

I have been bitter, snide, and immature, but now, now I am ready for a Jane Austen sort of love story.

That does not mean that I am cured from all that is sarcastic, or that all my bad dating experiences are all of a sudden no longer note-worthy, but I am standing poised for something completely new. Or at least to treat the experience in a completely different manner.

We are often told all the things that love is not. It is not a fairy tale. It is not a whirlwind of fancy. It is not easy. It is not a Jane Austen novel.

But by all that is good and holy in this world what is love?! And why is this obsession driving me to write anonymous blog posts under an obscure pseudonym?! Why is it driving me and the rest of the world in which I live to madness?!

Because I know that it must be the most sublime, frustrating, powerful, beautiful, exquisite, peaceful thing that I will ever experience in this life. And not partaking of it is wretchedness. Our physical bodies crave love and our souls are starved for it.

My dear friends, let's fall in love. I mean that with all sincerity. I will not stand for others to tell me what my love will not be. It will be whatever I make it. And I choose for it to be my own version of a Jane Austen novel. Wouldn't that be splendid? {Forgive me. I couldn't resist}.

Con Amor,
The Coquette

"Love is the foolishness of men, an the wisdom of God." -Victor Hugo

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Things I Have Learned

9/20/2011 The Charmer 5 Comments

Things I Have Learned About Myself in Regards to Dating & Relationships:

1. I am a terribly indecisive person when it comes to making up my mind about whether or not to date someone.
This one should have been obvious, as I have 3 "favorite" candy bars and no favorite genre of music and I always take at least 5 minutes deciding what flavor of Jamba I want to get. But it's becoming a lot more apparent recently that I really am not good at making up my mind when it comes to boys.

2. When I finally make up my mind--a difficult task for me, as previously noted--something else usually comes along to make me question my decision.
That "something else" in this case...is boys.

I had finally decided Yes, I'm going to pursue Masimo. I want to date him. I'm going to give up these other boys and go for him.

And then who should enter the picture but a whole handful of fantastic boys.

There's The Coworker, who I really enjoy spending time with. We just clicked--we have fantastic conversations and I love talking with him. Plus, he's an incredibly genuine, good guy. Oh, and did I mention he drives a motorcycle? Hot. He took me on a ride up the canyon on Friday and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was exhilarating to be on the back of that bike, but it was almost equally exhilarating to be in his presence.

There's also Mr. Complimentary, who slipped me a note in my ballroom class while dancing. Smooth, right? In a nutshell, the note basically said that he'd be really interested in getting to know me better and that he'd like to go out to lunch or something like that. He put the ball in my court, though, by giving me his number and asking me to call him if I wanted. He's definitely the best dancer in the class and I would like to get to know him better. He seems super fun, and I really do enjoy dancing with him.

There's Mr. Director, who's very cute, funny, and who was an EFY counselor. I have to confess that I have a special place in my heart for EFY counselors. I just adore them. I've only talked to him a few times, but he's definitely caught my attention...and my eye (because hey, the kid's cute.) I know I'll be seeing him pretty frequently because we're in the same weekly club, but I'd kind of like to get some one-on-one time with him.

And then...
...there's Piano Man. Even if I only had the three afore-mentioned guys in the picture, I'd be fine. I'd still be set in my decision to go for Masimo. But Piano Man is the one who's really screwing things up.
He was not supposed to happen.
I've only known him for a couple weeks but I've spent a lot of time with him. Sure, he's goofy, but I really enjoy being around him. We have an extremely open, honest relationship and I literally can tell him anything. I've shared some very intimate details of my life with him--things that I don't usually share with people I've only known for two weeks. I just find it so easy to talk to him. I knew he was interested, but I didn't consider him anything more than just a friend.
But this weekend I realized that maybe, just maybe, he'd become more than that to me.

3. I'm beginning to understand why monks take a vow of celibacy.

Kisses,
The Charmer

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The [Splendid] Magic Date Ball

9/19/2011 Unknown 24 Comments


Thanks Foxy McFoxerson for a little look into the male psyche. And what a splendid insight it was. Here’s an insight into your Foreigner: she’s a splendid snobby blunt-mouth. As such, my splendid snobby blunt-mouth response:

CRY ME A RIVER (credit to Justin Timberlake for such a splendid line). Here’s the fact: if you’re set on abiding in splendid Provo as a young and single adult, prepare for the inevitable:
1. Your Provo life should include dating- and lots of it, especially if you are a dude. I don’t care how equal the male and the female are/ become: if you are a male provite, you are automatically in the dating driving seat. Quit sitting in the driveway.
2. You will have to compete with the pressures of dating
3. Most of your dating experiences will not be the best experiences of your life.
Stop giving your friend kudos and instead consider his splendid swim-coaching single-dom in 25 years:


Here’s the FACT, dear readers: the dating game is a game of chance. Most of the time, you come away with a really awkward story (the beauty of this blog) and you realize you have the luxury of sharing said stories. It’s the silver lining to a really strange life game. The following dating surprises in the magic date ball have all happened to me in the past 6 months:


Sometimes all I want to do is to throw in the towel and go on a dating sabbatical for a couple of months. I’d love to pick up a splendid “book of philosophy” rather than watch my date pick his nose through a pixar dollar movie. But as tempting as that might sound to me, I straighten myself up and realize, “You know what Foreigner? This is the name of the game. You signed up for it, now suck it the hell up and deal with it.”

So Foxy- and readers- embrace the bad dates! Come to love them and learn from them (that’s what we’re promoting here). These are the experiences that will groom you to be a better, more interesting human being as well as an excellent spouse one day.
AND eventually, statistically, your magic date ball will read more like this:
Splendidly,

The Foreigner

PS Fox: you say "splendid" a lot

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I'm in Time Out.

9/19/2011 The Blue Stocking 5 Comments

Tonight frustration comes in many forms: three to be exact.

1.Having the ex ask why we don’t hang out anymore, especially since we know everything about each other…there are no words and too many all at the same time.

2.Having the guy I’ve known for years plan out our future together while I find myself liking someone else.

3.Continuing to go on date after date meeting and repeating the same hour intro; name, major, home town, favorite movie, favorite book, favorite music…energy and wit wither under such strain.

I need a time out little league soccer style.

Just a brief second to sit on the bench, eat my Little Debbie snack, and drink my Capri Sun. It doesn’t need to be long, just some time to breath, to revitalize and to emotionally prepare for another half in ‘the game’.

Tomorrow I’ll be better: I’ll be bubbly, happy, and optimistic. But tonight I’m benched.

-The Blue Stocking

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We schemed a scheme in days gone by.

9/16/2011 The Lady 12 Comments

Dear Ladies and Gents,
Scheming, proves to be one of the most productive of activities.

The Charmer, The Bluestocking, and myself deduced that perhaps adding another {yes another} member to our entourage would prove both entertaining and fruitful. So we bring to you with delight {as well as suspense at what will transpire in our blog}, a man. Yes, a man. An agreeable chap who is well read and a good conversationalist {and quite dashing if I may say so without breaching the bounds of propriety}. I believe that he will bring an incredibly unique flavor to the blog which the rest of us cannot provide {the reason being we are not men}. He has decided on calling himself "The Fox" not for his looks, but rather for his cunning nature. I suppose we will see how cunning he proves to be. So please enjoy his first post.

Con Amor,
The Coquette



Greetings from Provo Utah. Where the most common end to an introduction you will hear is the relationship of another status. There is no place in the world like Provo. At least I hope that there is no place in the world like Provo. The frustration that is intrinsic to a life of celibacy drives even the most sane of people to madness. The thought of shedding the monk-like vow of chastity we take on ourselves is almost maddening. One would believe that a religiously driven society that teaches abstinence before marriage would be less inclined to an obsession with the opposite sex, yet as Provo proves it is the exact opposite.

Indeed I myself am a victim to this rampant and consistent obsession with the opposite sex. Dating seems to rule the rest of one's life. It seems to outweigh school, friends, and even Facebook. In nearly every facet of society people talk about the progression of ones dating life. It sickens me.

Almost paradoxically the only time that one can evade the constant barrage of questions regarding the opposite sex is when one finds himself on a date. Thus dating becomes an outlet to avoid the very topic that he is currently doing, which is dating. It is an addicting experience and it is easy for that to be that way. It feels good for an individual to agree to go on a date with you. It feels splendid to receive affirmation from individuals. However, as of recent times I have become completely dependent upon the opinions of those who I date. My self affirmation is thus destroyed and in its stead is the affirmation of the women you date, which is never as satisfactory as those words which you sincerely give yourself. This is a very complex blog.

I have come to praise those who do not search for such an outlet. My friend is a prime example. He has not gone on a date in an extended period of time. this is not out of an inability to date but rather it is out of an inability to find any substantial and worthwhile girl in California, which for those of us who have lived in California understand how difficult it is to find someone of the opposite sex who is worthwhile. Despite of the proverbial desert that he finds himself in, he is managing to do things of far more value than I myself am doing at the present moment. He is coaching a swim team. He is reading books of philosophy. He has started a successful band. Indeed he is grooming himself to be a renaissance man. In contrast to that I am grooming myself to only be a groom. After this I will not understand what I need to do.

I see a psychologist every once in a while. We had a discussion about exactly this. She told me that I needed to expand my life. I agreed. Thus for the past month that is what I have been doing. I have been focusing on dating myself. It has been a great experience. I will tell you that there is nothing more enjoyable than coming to the realization that you like yourself.

For instance, I have recently heard rumors about one date from my past that went awry. It was a hard pill for me to swallow. I thought the date went well and I thought that I treated my date with civility and courtesy but I guess that I was sorely mistaken. The girl reported that I was a jerk and a completely conceited individual. While I am quite certain that this is simply sour grapes from not being asked out on a second date, the words cast by this individual are as sharp as ever. I have a profound amount of respect for her and who she is and to hear that her feelings towards me are not mutual is something that really hurts. It was at this moment that I needed to step back and ask myself, "Will I allow myself to be torn down by the opinion of someone else or will I decide to step back and examine the situation myself?" I have tried to do the latter and I believe that it is working. No man can be completely certain however.

I had a conversation with my friend from The Chocolate regarding this very issue. She is currently going through the same experience that I am, but in a far more intense situation. She is the victim of a bitter divorce and is experiencing the feelings that would be associated with going through a divorce. When such a thing transpires it is easy to feel worthless. It is simple to cave in and come to the conclusion that what is stated about you from others is valid. However, this woman is a complete inspiration to me. She remains steadfast. She is learning how to step outside her natural self. It is wonderful and splendid to see. I am very proud of her and will attempt to emulate the things that she does.

Well that is my little soapbox for the day.

The Fox

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The last man I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

9/14/2011 The Lady 5 Comments



Last Friday, I consented to go on a date with my ward's Mr. Collins. One can only come up with so many excuses you know.

I firmly believe that every BYU singles ward {or any other singles ward for that matter} has its own Mr. Collins. And these men, though well-meaning are quite simply socially inept. They are usually good men who just cannot seem to take a hint or at least hit on the right girls in the right way. I do not hate this particular Mr. Collins in the least, he is just...how can I put this nicely? Tactless and obtuse.

Mr. Collins had selected some obscure service event that involved only married or seriously dating couples for our date that hapless Friday night. We sat down at a table laden with brightly colored construction paper, scissors, and markers. Card-making for the elderly. Crafts. The bane of my existence.

As I scrawled sickeningly sweet consolatory words across the cards, a perfectly happily wedded couple seated across from us asked how long we had been dating. Before the question could register in my mind as genuine, Mr. Collins {in a vain attempt to be smooth and encourage romantic vibes} secured his arm around my shoulders, giving me a tender squeeze and sighed, "About two months." I guffawed nervously, which must have been mistaken by the couple as a giddy fit of giggles because they retreated with winks and rapidly wiggling eyebrows.

Mr. Collins chuckled proudly to himself. I cut paper furiously.

My stunned silence became too much for Mr. Collins. He pitched an idea for a card to me. "What would you think if I drew a picture of a dog taking a dump on some grass on the front, and on the inside it said, 'Don't have a crappy day!'" Mr. Collins burst into fits of laughter at his own genius. My silence and my sharp snapping scissors cut his laugh short.

"You don't think that's funny?" he asked.

"Not in the least," I replied. "In fact I think it's disgusting." There was no point to create any attempts to salvage this date. Call me what you will, but I am a rare breed of girl who does not enjoy poo jokes. Especially on dates.

However, once that was behind us, I did attempt to be somewhat less cold, just so his ego might be bolstered a little. And that proved to be a ghastly mistake.

I imagined that once Mr. Collins was driving us back to our apartment complex, that that was the end of the evening. I was finally beginning to breathe normally once my apartment door was in view. But oh no. Mr. Collins had other plans. Many other plans indeed. We were to go to his apartment to spend the rest of our curfew-free hours watching a movie.

Grim and disagreeable images of Mr. Collins trying to hold my hand or put his arm around me or kiss me even {Heaven help me!} began to strut themselves across my imagination. Mr. Collins retired to the kitchen to fetch glasses of water and he asked me to put the DVD in the player. I was grateful that the movie was of a sort that contained very few romantic scenes. Nothing to inspire him. Mr. Collins planted himself on one corner of the couch, and I quickly retreated the other end. Far, far away from his Collins-ness.

"Why are you sitting so far away from me?" he crooned.

"I have a large bubble that's all," I answered coldly. No one that I have ever heard of has a bubble of a five foot radius. "Also, I was a little sick earlier this week, I don't want you to catch my germs." Yes. I lied.

For the moment Mr. Collins let me be. But every fifteen minutes or so Mr. Collins would ask, "Why are you sitting so far away from me?" And I would give the same answer. Sometimes he added more to the question asking if it was his breath or his body odor {insert sniffing of armpits}, to which I gave a frank "No".

Finally, {the most glorious moment of my life} the movie ended, and I gave a dramatic yawn, "My it's late isn't it?" Mr. Collins escorted me to my door and gave me an unnecessarily long, lingering hug. I thanked him politely, wasted no time with my keys, and was inside in a moment. The only problem was, Mr. Collins followed right behind me.

Inside my head I was screaming. Both {not just one} of my eyes were twitching.

After inquiring after my roommates' health and such other pleasantries, Mr. Collins was kind enough to bid us a goodnight, but not without another unendurable hug.

That night in my prayers I asked if God would please bless this soul with the right woman in his life, and that it would not be me. For I would apostatize before I married such a man. And then I asked that he would send Mr. Darcy quickly, for my days were becoming numbered.

Oh, dear Mr. Collins. May you always have a Charlotte Lucas to fall back on, and may she never be one of my friends.

Con Amor,
The Coquette



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On Gentlemen Who Dance

9/13/2011 The Charmer 7 Comments

Darling readers,

I haven't been completely honest with you.

And, in lieu of the fantastic devotional offered by Elder Andersen today, I figured I should 'fess up.

So the real reason I'm not dating Masimo...my true hang-up with an otherwise ideal gentleman....is this:



He's a ballroom dancer.



Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Why is that a problem, Charmer? Didn't you yourself SAY you wanted a man who could dance?"

Yes, yes I did say that. I would, in fact, like a man who can dance.

But I don't know if I can handle a man who spray-tans.

And I especially don't know if I can handle a relationship where my boyfriend has two other girlfriends--sure, a dance partner isn't quite the same thing as a girlfriend, but he recently "broke up" with one of his dance partners and from his story it sure sounded similar to breaking up with a significant other. There were tears, angry words, and stony silences.
(Sounds like a breakup to me.)

So there's that whole polygadating thing.
And we all know polygamy went out with the 90s. (1890s, that is)

I especially don't know how I feel about having a boyfriend who spends more time with another girl than with me. It's not like Masimo is just in Dance 280 or anything--he's a good dancer. And his new partner is a really good dancer. This means that they practice a lot. (And by practice, I mean they spend hours dancing seductive Latin dances with each other.)

Hmmm.

I don't know.

I think I really like him. We have a date on Saturday and I can't wait. He's on my mind way more frequently than any of my other suitors.
I think I really want to see where this goes.

But could I really handle a relationship where I rarely see my man because he's off dancing with other girls?

Feel free to chime in with your thoughts/criticisms of my shallowness/experiences with dating Latin dancers...

Ciao,
The Charmer

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Avoiding the Friend Zone

9/11/2011 The Blue Stocking 5 Comments

Last week I posted on my date with the RM and I posed the question "Is it too much to ask for a guy to be concerned about you?" I had a male reader {let’s call him Sam} email me to explain why my date acted this way. I was very flattered that he enjoyed our blog and I would like to thank him for reading and for taking the time to explain why I got to be ignored for three hours.

Apparently this practice of ignoring your date is a premeditated phenomenon developed by guys to stay out of the friend zone. Here is a brief excerpt from the email.

“Being overly attentive to a girl has the tendency to land a guy in the friend zone; it makes him her vent, and the guy she rants to about other guys. I’ve taken part in many conversations where guys discuss just how crucial it is to avoid letting a girl vent to you until you’ve gone on the second date.

Because of this a lot of guys adopt various pick-up methods that involve not caring. I’m not saying that it’s your own fault, but the actions of girls certainly contribute to the problem. Trust me, taking girls soup or food when they’re sick or stopping by with brownies to chat with them when they’re feeling depressed never leads to a relationship {I actually ended up dating the guy who brought me soup when I was sick}. Things like that make you great friends, but never a girlfriend.

That’s why a lot of guys avoid appearing caring. They sit back in frustration and watch as the guys who are really jerkish, ignore girls, and treat them like objects end up in relationships while the nice guys who show interest in the girl and ask them about their day end up in the friend zone.
The fact of the matter is that guys don’t show too much interest in a girl because they don’t want to be friend zoned.”

This theory fascinates me. I had no idea guys worried as much as girls do about the dreaded friend zone. I also loved that the only solution they found was to ignore girls. Nice.

Now I get why this solution was developed, I just don’t think it works. Here are three reasons why:

1. I do believe that we girls start out wanting that one unattainable guy; the guy who is brilliant, hilarious, sarcastic, and borderline arrogant. But after that guy tears through us all we want is the nice, funny, caring guy. The type of guy who brings you pie because you’re not feeling well or doesn’t settle for the “I’m fine” line, but insists on knowing what’s really bothering you.

These are men. They are not selfish narcissistic boys.

2. I believe in dates being 50/50. I don’t think relationships can function without equal contribution. I personally never want to become some guy’s devoted fan who hangs on his every word. Or even worse, have a guy who wants to only talk about me: I’m with me 24 hours of the day and I know for a fact I’m not fascinating enough to be idolized. The fact is we want to be in a relationship where adoration and respect is equally distributed.

3. And lastly, I think that we need to not be so obsessed with the “friend zone.” If love is all Austen, Shakespeare, and Stephenie Meyer made it out to be, it’s worth risking friendship for. Don’t let the fear of friendship turn you into some tool who plays pathetic mind games. I realize that you, Sam, have the guy perspective, but here’s the girls; we are looking for a nice guy.

Don’t stalk us.

Just ask us how our day’s going.

-The Blue Stocking

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The Chandler Bing Effect and Some Sundry Annoyances

9/09/2011 The Lady 3 Comments



Dear Members of the Male Species,
Over the course of the past couple of months, I have noticed a few errata that the gentlemen of Brigham Young University frequently commit.

One of which I wish to address is the "Chandler Bing Effect". Now I know that most of you are much more righteous than myself {and I am not above admitting my flaws} and do not participate in nor approve of watching the popular sitcom Friends. However, there are important life lessons to be learned from this less-than-virtuous show {I am in no way endorsing Friends, but if you watch it, you and I may have something to talk about other than Jane Austen}. On with the point.


One of the male characters, Chandler Bing, in his search for the perfect woman in his life, often tells women that he goes out with, "I had a good time. Let's go out again. I'll call you." {Not a direct quote}. The fact of the matter is, Chandler never has any intention of taking these women out again, and yet, he cannot stop himself from handing them this line.

Our darling BYU men are suffering from this very same effect. Let me be frank. Gentlemen, if you don't plan on asking us {women} out again, please don't tell us that you will. I promise you that we will not be offended if you never call again. We, like you, thrive on honesty. Clarification: Do not tell us that you won't call or that you didn't have a good time. Just leave us be if you don't intend on taking us out again.


If you prefer women to suffer from Over-analyzeitis, then by all means, Chandler Bing it up.


On holding the door:
In your quest to be gentlemen, keep it simple. Yes, please hold the doors for us. We appreciate it.
But don't overdo it.

A good rule of thumb: If you don't have to raise your voice to be heard by us, then it is a good door-opening distance.

On the side hug:
It is my opinion that if you cannot give a person a hug incorporating both arms, do not attempt to embrace them. Being of a rather medium height, I do not appreciate being stuffed into men's armpits. And I daresay that I am not the only woman who feels this way. And if I am...well, if you ever chance to meet me, do not give me a side hug.

And that, my dear gentlemen, is what I have to say to you. May you never incorporate the Chandler Bing Effect, long-distance door-holding, or the side hug again.

Cheers,
The Coquette

P.S. I'm currently studying The Jane Austen Handbook on how to elope to Scotland.
"You take the low road, and I'll take the high road, and I'll be in Scotland afore thee!"
But hopefully you still show up...

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Foreigners & Blind Date Pumps

9/07/2011 Unknown 7 Comments

So named for both ancestral and contextual reasons. The first is simple enough: lucky for you, The Anti-Austen is now coming to you with a multi-cultural voice. This foreigner is lucky enough to never need tips on becoming charming: instead, her dates are usually the result of some red blooded American’s ears pricking up to the sound of an intriguing accent.
Contextually, however, you should all know that almost 70% of the time, your newest blogger feels indefinitely foreign to the inner workings of most boys. The solution is simple: purge Brigham square of this:

And start producing more of this:

Here are a few tid-bits about me that might make you feel better about having my ramblings (and crappy sketches) pop up on your google reader:
1. I once broke up with a BOY, citing Elizabeth Bennett’s cutting remark to Mr. Darcy, “… had you behaved in a more gentle-like manner.” Three years later, and I still can’t quite decide if it was the most triumphant or most cringe-worthy moment of my so-far twenty-three years. Regardless of that little conclusion, you can at least rest assured that I am quite well versed in the inner most romantic tendencies of both literature and the female intuition.
2. I remind myself continually, as I sprint too and from classes and work, that I am probably having a better day than most of you, thanks to the SPICE GIRLS who frequent the waves of my iPod. Take me very seriously when I assure you that slapping a few SG hits on YOUR iPod will improve your existence immensely.
3. I once heard of a guy who, after holding open the door to the Harold Bee Lee Library for many girls, abruptly gave up his service as a couple of young women in sweat pants and messy hair walked up to him. They made a point of tutting and throwing him looks of disdain, to which he shrugged and bluntly stated “Hey- If you’re not gonna try, neither am I!” – If I had been there and watched this scene with my very own eyes, with Cecil Samuelson as my witness, I would have grabbed this man and kissed him on the mouth, fist in the air.
4. The BYU bookstore Chocolate-covered Cinnamon Bears MAKE NO SENSE TO ME.
5. The worst possible date I think a guy could ask me on would involve hiking. Hiking is NOT FUN. You sweat, it’s hard, and you look silly if you try to dress nicely. A close second would be “playing games” with his roommates and their dates. When I find myself in these situations I start to feel like any minute now Mom is going to walk through the door and pay me for babysitting. Take me on a grown up date.
Now that the formalities are taken care of, let me tell you about The Climber.
I had been set up on a blind date. Blind dates are a terrible business if you ask me. You put all of your soul in the hands of someone you believe to be an excellent friend, and in turn they produce someone they think could be your soul mate. For some people it works out. For me, it’s always a moment in which I realize my friends can’t know me even as little as I thought they did.
It started out well. I answered the door to a sharply dressed chap whose hair was brushed, shirt was tucked in. How refreshing, I thought, while quietly applauding myself for my standard “Date Pumps” and skinny jeans.
Let me take a moment to explain the Date Pump:
I’ll just fast forward to a scene in which your Date-Pump heroine finds herself paired with The Climber, who has since changed out of his outfit that complimented my own, and now stands in basketball shorts and a holey t-shirt. Awkwardly, I stand facing a man-made rockery; all around me are gym-clothed climbers harnessing themselves with the ease and comfort of non-skinny-jeaned attire.

The Climber’s solution was NOT to mention the nights agenda when he picked me up and complimented my expensive shoes. Instead, as an after-thought, he supposes that it would be “OK” if I borrowed his [used] gym clothes that are stuffed in the trunk of his car.
In the words of Shania Twain (yeah, I went with Shania) “that don’t impress me much.”
I’m not one for evangelically re-iterating a very apparent conclusion: so I’ll let you find the moral of this story (I’m looking at YOU, boys).
Yours,
The Foreigner

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