Surprises are foolish things.

4/27/2013 The Lady 4 Comments

Like most dating gimmicks, I did not take Tinder seriously. If anything, it was merely a cure for my boredom, a simple and hassle-free solution to my currently man-less state. And just when I had deemed Tinder to be a harmless form of social media, I was bitten and thus infected with a dastardly poison.

I had been spending quite a ridiculous amount of time liking and disliking the immediate vicinity's eligible bachelors. Naturally, I had set for myself a few ground rules:

1. Dislike anyone who has included a picture of themselves wearing one of those toolish tank tops {you know, the loosey-goosey ones which are often striped}.

2. Dislike anyone who has included several pictures of them skiing and snowboarding. {This is nothing against skiing and snowboarding. I am sure they are great sports, but anyone who is obsessed with such activities is bound to detest yours truly. The Lady just so happens to be thoroughly un-athletic}.

3. Like all men with beards. {Much like our dear Romantic, I have a slight weakness for a man who can prove his manliness through substantial and tasteful facial hair}.

4. Dislike any man taking a picture of himself in the bathroom mirror in which he is hoping to perfectly encapsulate and immortalize his rippling pectorals.

5. Dislike any and all men under the age of 22, no matter how attractive they may be. {Due to the fact that I will be 23 in just a few short weeks, I see no reason why I should be dating a younger man than myself. You may call this shallow and wishful thinking if you must}.

With my ground rules established, I liked and disliked men at my leisure. This careless and cursory activity consumed my many moments, and I kept to my rules as strictly as recently Returned Missionaries abide by the Honor Code. However, I soon made a fatal error.

I came across a man who just struck my fancy. Dark hair, vibrant green eyes, and an adorable face. The problem was that this man was 22. A major dilemma as one of my rules had been firmly set forth, and the consequences of deliberate disregard to the rules was certain to be merciless. My Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Devil played a quick game of badminton and as so often happens my Shoulder Devil dominated the game {Shoulder Devil is quite adept at badminton}. Then I gently tapped the small heart on my screen. To my stark chagrin the unforgivable happened and we were a match. Then this man had the audacity to begin chatting with me! {The nerve!}.

Things took a turn for the worse. Tinder Man was funny, interesting, easy to talk to, and flattering. I hated him. We talked to each other for hours. We loved the same movies, we loved the same sports, we loved the same music, and we had similar family situations. He was infuriating. The first night we chatted, we were up until 3:30 in the morning. The next night was 4:30, and the next was 5:30. Loathing was all I felt for him.

I had told him the truth about my situation: that I was graduating from BYU and moving to Arizona for graduate school just within the week {aka I will be gone from Provo forever come Monday}. This fact frustrated him greatly because we had been getting along so extraordinarily well. Deterred though no less determined, Tinder Man asked me out, and to my own shock and awe, I accepted.

I am generally online dating's most outspoken opponent, so what I was doing was unheard of. But I did not stand Tinder Man up, although the thought crossed my mind several times throughout the day. I decided that meeting him would be perfect, as I was certain I would greatly dislike him in person as opposed to how I felt about him while I texted him.

But blast it all, he was simply charming. He hugged me tightly and smelled so deliciously manly. I had felt a slight feeling of vindication during the first two minutes of the date because we generally did not know how to act around each other, but by minute three, we had slipped into the easy and witty conversation we had become accustomed to with one another.

We finished eating long before we finished our date. We just sat at our table and laughed and shared stories and argued for several hours. It was perfect.

Now I am packing my apartment with the great satisfaction of being liked by someone I find quite wonderful, and the wonder that I have met someone through an iPhone app, and the melancholy that my best date at BYU happened just a few short days before I left Provo forever.

And if I were to give myself {or any one of you} any advice as I prepare part ways with BYU and begin adventures anew it would be this:

Plan to be surprised.

Con Amor,

The Lady

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Harriet Smithing and a bit of unabashed coquetry.

4/21/2013 The Lady 2 Comments

The unbiased opinion of a wise friend can be just what one needs. On Friday night instead of going out with all the men who had been clamoring to go out with me {hoards of men!}, I opted to stay in with the roommates {you don't believe me do you?} and I did something that I thought I would never do.

I am a writer of letters. Old-fashioned letters with stamps and envelopes, which I take personally to the post. There are very few things I like better than writing and receiving letters, which perhaps explains the multitude of missionaries I wrote to . . . And not only do I write letters, but I save every one I have ever received {which adds up to several boxes filled to the brim}.

As one is wont to do when not interested in any man in particular, I find that I often reminisce about the men in my past {not at all surprising coming from myself}. Hence I can sit and wonder why Mr. Cowboy or Dex {most prominently} married the girls they married. What made them choose these girls over myself? Sometimes it was only a fascinating topic to ponder, and other times it turned into a genuine pity party {wah, wah}. And sometimes, the letters would creep out of the boxes, just so I had something that made me feel like I had been admired once upon a time.

Back to Friday:

As I sat and talked with one of my roommates, I asked what she thought about my hoarding of the letters. "Burn them," she told me bluntly. Without batting an eye, I grabbed the letters and the matches and we started a small bonfire on the sidewalk outside our apartment with the mound of letters I had saved.

I had always imagined burning them. It seemed so fitting and a more romantic end to their scribbles. And it was another one of those relieving moments {that keep on keeping on} watching their words go up in smoke, because that's all their words turned out to be: smoke, shadow, nothing of substance. And in the most beautiful {and illegal} way, they were all gone.

Enough of the melancholy drama.

Curious about all the hubbub, and having an iPhone I rarely use except to check my email and the weather, I downloaded Tinder. And good heavens! Shameless, shameless flirting has been happening on my end. After the eventful burning on Friday, I spent most of my night texting random men who liked me purely for my stunning blue eyes, luscious brown hair, and charming smile {or so I was told} and it has been delightful. If the modern way to date means I can be at home on a Friday night in my sweats, watching a movie, and eating cheesecake while men tell me how beautiful and witty I am, well then that is basically my ideal world.

Tinder it up lovers of the world!

The Lady

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The Tango

4/20/2013 The Romantic 3 Comments

I think I learned virtually everything there is to know about Argentina while on my date with The Argentine this last week.

For example, there are more cows than humans in Argentina. Bet you didn't know that.

Also, there are pockets of little German speaking towns.

But more than interesting facts about Argentina, my date with The Argentine was an educational experience for what I learned about myself.

Academically speaking, I have been trained to analyze everything. The context of a painting, the brush stroke, the title, the figures, the colors; it all means something. But the same can't be said of our lives and relationships. As I was talking with my room mate before the date about every little detail and every little thing that could possibly go wrong, she stopped me and said,

"You're analyzing the fun out of dating."

When she put it that way, it seemed so simple and almost ludicrous that no one had ever mentioned it to me before (not to mention that I should've though of it myself).

So I went. And I had fun. And I felt like I was my old charming self again. I could flirt without over-thinking the eternal implications of every sideways glance and every casual touch.

I don't know if The Argentine will ask me out again. He was a little flabbergasted at my love for LOTR, and I was flabbergasted at his dislike for it. I think it will become a teasing point for our relationship.

Even so, I consider it a successful date. It's taken a few months (*cough* year), but I feel like I'm finally beginning to re-learn the complicated steps of the dance we call dating. And that is quite the accomplishment in my book.

xoxo
-the Romantic

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Tinder Craze

4/15/2013 The Blue Stocking 9 Comments

This weekend I discoverd I was out of the loop on a new take on dating. Apparently the social site Tinder is all the rage and it's helping people find anyone from a fling to a soul mate.

Have you guys heard of this?

I guess you use your facebook profile to log in and then you look through pictures of guys in your area. If you like their photo and they like you in return you chat. It sounds a bit sketch, but hey what do I know.

But recently this site was connected to our own campus when some BYU guys decided to do a social experiment that was frankly hilarious. Please click this link and check it out.

I guess people could be disgusted that you're only picking that special person if you find them attractive. Honestly, this sounds like another Friday night at a party. I mean come on, we're naturally a very visual people especially when it comes to dating. Not that looks will get you married though. After the first meeting, you got to bring more than a pretty face to the table before I'm going to chow down (I really need to work on my metaphors).

But seriously, I just wanna know, has anyone done this? Does it work?

-The Bluestocking

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On Blind Dating and Co-Workers

4/13/2013 The Romantic 9 Comments

Do you ever see those ridiculously looking young girls on campus? And you think to yourself, "She looks 13." And then you see a wedding ring. It's a dreaded child-bride of Provo. Perhaps it's a little ageist, but my friends and I have taken to calling all young (like high-schooling looking) girls on campus child-brides.

When I finally made time to go on that blind date a couple weeks ago, I had no idea there was a male component to the "child-bride" set: "the child-groom." This kid was so young. I can't even call him a guy. He was just a wee little thing. I'm not even sure if he can shave yet. Poor kid. I felt the need to guard him like a tender young plant from my sarcasm. (I guess you don't really guard plants from sarcasm... but you get what I mean right?)

I came home flabbergasted. "Where are the men!?" I shouted at my room mate. Is it possible I've grown too old for Provo? Are there only baby-faced men left in this town? I would really like to find a man that shaves. So at least some day in the future there might be the possibility of this.

Enter The Argentine.

As his name would suggest, The Argentine is from Argentina. But don't worry, he speaks perfect English (with a rather attractive Spanish accent I might add). And we work together. I started at my place of employ last October, and I would say it's only been within the last two months or so that we've begun to have a playful banter. I've only cautiously flirted with him as I feel that one should always be wary of Latin men. (They do have a Willoughby-like reputation. Amirite?)

Admittedly, he's a bit rough around the edges. But there was the one day he brought me chocolate when I wasn't feeling well. So I think there's a soft gooey center under that gruff exterior shell. (Why are women so attracted to things like that?)

A couple weeks ago he threw a bonfire party up the canyon. I pulled out my party tricks of palm-reading and fire-breathing (I was a gypsy in a previous life, don't even worry about it). I even flirted with a stranger and I think he flirted back. (RESULT!) Again, I was wary of flirting too much with The Argentine but quite suddenly I found myself dusting some powdered sugar (from the fire-breathing) off his shoulder, and that was it. His rippling muscles had me sold. I saw my room mates, who were standing near-by, giving me knowing looks.

Yesterday he texted me asking how I would feel about going out with him next week. My thoughts have been shifting between excitement and anxiety. Excitement because it's a real life man (not a child-groom) asking me out. And anxiety because it's a co-worker. I've never dated a co-worker. I just see so many things going wrong with that situation....

Have you dated a co-worker dear readers? What was your experience? Good/bad/awkward? Help me out!

xoxo
-the romantic

I mean, it worked for them right?

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A gentleman's imagination too can be very rapid.

4/04/2013 The Lady 5 Comments

I must admit to something. I have been keeping a secret from you, for fear of jinxing what might have been. Fret not, what might have been was over almost before it began.

Almost minutes after I gave up on The Boy Next Door, someone else came into the picture. We became acquainted a couple months ago during ward prayer {imagine that} when we just happened to stand near each other, during which time we quietly mocked the guy who was giving a spiritual thought on dating {gag me}. And yes, I am one of those people who do not take ward prayer seriously. After ward prayer, this tall, witty man and I exchanged pleasantries and a few minutes of small talk. Alas, I was too caught up in my own failed attempts to charm The Boy Next Door into talking to me, that I hardly gave Ward Prayer Man another thought.

Over the next several weeks, Ward Prayer Man and I somehow were consistently standing near each other, and we would barter in witty comments {generally at the expense of others, which is one of my less likable Emma Woodhouse-esque qualities}. Each week we would talk a little longer, but usually parted before long {so that I could foolishly gawk at The Boy Next Door}.

Then Ward Prayer Man started asking me and my roommates over to watch movies and such {which began to happen quite frequently}, and we began to strike a friendship between Ward Prayer Man's apartment and our own.

On St. Patrick's Day, Ward Prayer Man invited us over to his apartment for some good, clean Irish fun {is there such a thing?}. Ward Prayer Man and I chatted in the kitchen over mugs of rootbeer for most of the evening before we noticed that all of the other guests {including my roommates} had evacuated the apartment.

"Well, now that I have you alone..." he said and moved in towards me. My smile instantly fell from my face, and must have transformed into a look of pure horror because he laughed and backed away. "I just wanted to see what you would do," he said. "I guess I will never actually try to kiss you because it is plain that your reaction would not be in my favor." I laughed half-heartedly and Ward Prayer Man slipped back into his easy manner and suggested a movie {obviously a favorite pastime}.

We joked throughout the entirety of the movie but during an uncommonly long lull of silence, Ward Prayer Man cleared his throat nervously and asked, "I know that you looked pretty horrified back there in the kitchen, but I would actually like to hold your hand. Would that be okay with you?" I gave him my award-winning smile {guffaw} and said, "Yeah, I guess that would be alright." We held hands during the rest of the movie and as he walked me home to my apartment.

Suffice it to say, I was thrilled. I didn't know that I would be {because I had hardly thought about him in a romantic way}, but I was.

Jump forward a couple weeks of hand-holding and going out.

Last night, Ward Prayer Man and I were out on a date, and though we had yet to "define" our relationship, according to most Provoians we were dating each other. Score. So far, I was quite content with how things were slowly moving along. No hassle, no drama.

As I was glancing over the menu in my hands, Ward Prayer Man said that he had had a dream about me the night before. He began to tell me about it and I listened intently. "Well, I was in the backyard of this house tossing a ball back and forth with this little boy who was my son. We were just having a great time when a woman came out of the house to call us in for dinner. I looked up and it was you, in an apron and everything." My first reaction was the laugh, but when he asked me how I felt about his dream, I wanted to run. I think I mumbled something about it being interesting, but in reality I was terrified. He was as serious as the plague. He truly thought that his dream was portending our future together. Now, I'm not one to make light of dreams, but that is just ridiculous. I cannot be dreamed into being someone's wife. And how dare I be apron-clad!

Luckily, Ward Prayer Man did not take me to the temple for an elopement after our date, but I did have to tell him how I felt and unfortunately that was the end of that.

Goodbye Ward Prayer Man.

C'est la vie,

The Lady

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The Lucky Ones

4/01/2013 The Blue Stocking 9 Comments

Last Sunday we had a new member of the engaged society get up and grace us with his knowledge on how to snag a mate for eternity. Apparently his success rate of 1 out of 1 makes him an expert.

He listed off traits we need to learn if we too want to hear wedding bells in the near future. He continued to go on and on about how if we would just follow his directions, getting engaged isn’t out of our reach.

Guess what I think it takes to get married. Luck.

That’s it. You got lucky

You were in the right place at the right time and you ran into someone. And that someone was not weird or smelled funny, but they made you laugh and lit every nerve in your nervous body on fire. And miracle upon miracle you didn’t mess it up and you got a moment. A moment to realize that this person was special and you had to do anything in your power to make sure you got more moments with them.

And the strangest part is they felt the same way.

So you went on in your moment-making and instead of being plagued with misunderstandings and miscommunications threatening to tear you apart, you got each other in a way that no one got you before. Then before you knew it “you fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”

So you took them home hand in sweaty hand hoping beyond hope that your family and friends would not mess this up. And they didn’t. Yes, you somehow made it through the chaos and you got your movie-fallinginlove-montage followed by a ring, a kiss, and a wedding filled with I do's.

Lucky you.

I just want you to know one day I will get lucky too and I don’t need advice straight from your love story filled with exceptions Mr. I just got engaged. I’m doing just fine.

-The Bluestocking

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