I hate digital-age dating. As if small talk wasn't bad enough, it's like we have to stay in constant communication to really be close, and that means dragging out the small talk and putting it on Facebook messenger or in texts. 

Maybe it's because I haven't been head-over-heels in love with someone since MSN Messenger was still a thing, but for me, what starts out as a fun and flirty relationship often ends up looking a lot like the conversation on the left. Being a good listener is one of my best traits, and I love it, but it tends to draw some pretty needy people. More often than finding someone I can have balanced conversation with, I end up with a guy who doesn't need a girlfriend as much as he need some sort of robot that throws him an affirmation every few minutes.

UVU Boy wasn't like that, though. He didn't feel the need to constantly be talking to me. When we both felt like it, we'd have a really good conversation via text or in person. Dates were fun, and I never felt insecure about whether he liked me or not.

"Great!" you say. "Why didn't you try to start something serious?" you say. Two reasons: (1.) I surprised myself by being really really comfortable with this "Are they, aren't they?" thing, and (2.) just before I met UVU Boy, I wore myself out going after a guy who put in no effort at all, and I vowed that I was NOT going to be the initiator with whoever I dated next. 

Months passed, though, and nothing changed about the way we interacted with each other. Our talks, our jokes...they weren't all the same, but they weren't building to anything. I'm no stranger to slow-burn relationships, but Season Seven of our TV banter was still looking an awful lot like Season One's. 

Both of us were sitting there under the expectation that someday we'd both decide to be more serious. After all, we got along great, didn't we? But neither of us really felt like we needed to be more serious yet. Even more months passed (nine, to be exact), and we were both still figuring we'd get to it someday.

Then I realized.

We don't want to get serious because we are just. friends.

Operating under the assumption that we were just being casual kept us both safe from everyone else out there. When friends asked if I was seeing anybody special, I didn't have to make up some joke about being a cat lady in training. I could shrug, smile a little, and say, "Well, there is this one guy..." When dates with another guy started to turn sour, I could tell him sorry, but there's someone else.

But we were never going to be anything. We just wouldn't admit it.

Letting go of that expectation wasn't difficult for either of us, ultimately. And the first time I tried to talk with him after that, it felt exactly the same as it always had.

Someday, I'll find that guy who glues me to my phone. The one I talk to constantly without the cursed plague of small talk. The one I'll put down my phone for, because I'd much rather carve out time to go see him face to face than text another word. 

Until then, I guess I'll keep practicing my cat lady jokes.

The Dilettante

Theoretically, dating should be pretty easy. (If you hate numbers and fun hypothetical situations, skip the next two paragraphs.) Let's go with some really rough statistics. Say I have the entire male population of Utah in one space. Current estimate is 1,388,317 males in Utah. I'm almost 24 years old, so let's say I'm not picky and look at 21-29 year olds. That cuts the number to 190,780. It was harder to single v. married statistic in Utah for this age range--I ended up with a 50% estimate. So there are now 95,390 single, age-appropriate men in front of me.

Here's where the stats get even sketchier. The 2007 statistic says 60.1% of the total population is LDS*, and 41.6% are active members. 23,849 men. But I think people should be pickier than that. So let me put more filters on. Let's pretend that the 30%** of undergraduates who escaped without debt are a decent representation of students who are good with money. Subtract 15% who hate cats. Lastly, I'm going to subtract 35%, because as "spiritually compatible" as we would hope any two active members of the church are, anyone who's ever actually been to a ward knows that spirituality is a very complicated concept. After reviewing the wide range in the many BYU YSA wards I've been to, I think a substantial cut is fair. 

I have 1,824 soulmates in Utah.

In one state. And I've lived in two states and two countries. Why is this so hard?

It's my personal belief that dating is both easier and harder than it should be. All these sticky emotions getting in the way and clogging up everything keep us from being engaged. 

Why doesn't God just send me my man in a box? I'd marry that boy so fast... In fact, why doesn't God just run my life for me? It would be really nice if He'd just force us all to make all the right choices and end up basking in Celestial glory, right? You know, "redeem all mankind, that one soul shall not be lost?"


Waaaaaaaaait.


As much as I'd love to just have it over with, those pesky emotions slowly make up who we are and give our life a purpose. They make us cry, push us to be brave, teach us to stand up when we've been knocked down, and often turn us to God. 

We may as well enjoy the journey, shall we?

Cheers,

The Dilettante

*(If anyone wants to be a little offended by my cutting out non-members, I would add that divorce rates are significantly lowered if your spouse is first, affiliated with a religion, and, second, affiliated with the same religion as you are. Since there's no good way to slap a number on spiritual compatibility, this will have to do. Secondly, More recent estimates of the LDS population are closer to 50%, so let's keep the 60% stat and assume that my spiritually-compatible, non-member men make up the difference.) 

**I swear, I'm not pulling these numbers out of nowhere. If you're really curious, I can give you sources, but in-text citations make me want to cut my eyes out, so...

a) Aren't dating sites notorious for 50-year-old creepers who disguise themselves as attractive 27-year-olds? No thanks. I'm really not into the creeper sort.

b) My parents always warned me not to talk to strangers. Online dating encourages not only talking to strangers but actually meeting them. 

c) Ain't no way I'm marrying a man and having to tell people for the rest of my life, "We met on Match.com...."

Despite the fact that my best friend actually found her own non-creeper through an LDS dating site and married him, I was still skeptical. Besides, I've always been able to generate enough dates for myself without a dating website. Nope. The Charmer was definitely not EVER going to try online dating.

But then there was this app called Tinder.

Just for the record, I'm pretty sure I swore off Tinder along with the rest of the online dating sites. I mean, seriously? To me, Tinder seemed to scream, Let's judge people based on their eye color and shirtless pics. Surely Tinder was only for super shallow people who didn't go on dates because they spent all their time lifting weights at VASA. 

Well, about two months ago I returned from living in China for a year and a half. And I made a Tinder account.

Sigh. 

I don't really know why I made one. I guess it just intrigued me. My favorite mission companion and her sister both had Tinders. My ex-boyfriend/now-just-a-good-friend was a Tinderer. People were apparently getting married using the thing. So, a couple days before coming back to Provo for some job training, I gave into peer pressure and chose 6 pictures of me that looked good (but not too good. Still trying to avoid creepers here.)

After writing a mostly cliche bio about "enjoying traveling and eating", I only had to swipe through three or four people before realizing that Portland was definitely not the place for a good Mormon girl to be using Tinder. I turned off the "discovery" option and decided to wait until my feet had hit the holy soil of Utah before turning it back on.

Fast forward a couple days. I was riding the Frontrunner down to Provo where I would meet up with my mission companion when I suddenly remembered that my pocket held the key to meeting my eternal companion. I looked around and sheepishly pulled out my phone, then clicked on the Tinder flame. I turned on Discovery. I looked through a few profiles and swiped left on all of them because I was too nervous to actually swipe right. 

I put my phone away, silently mocking myself at the silliness of the whole thing. The Charmer on Tinder. Who would have guessed?

About 10 minutes later, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and my eyes grew wide in horror as Tinder informed me that "someone had superliked me!" A superlike? What the heck is that? I gingerly opened the app and was presented with a profile of someone that did not look like he would be my type, but even worse....he looked FAMILIAR. 

I stared at his picture. I could have sworn he had been in one of my BYU wards. I looked at our mutual friends. Oh no, he had DEFINITELY been in that ward. 

Thus, I was presented with
 Tinder Dilemma #1: Should I swipe right because I know him? Maybe he only superliked me because he wanted to say "hey, remember me?" Would it be totally rude of me to swipe left if, in fact, he DID just want to catch up about our good old Glenhood ward? I mean, surely he wouldn't have just superliked me out of the blue, right? RIGHT? 

Ten minutes in and oh, I hated superlikes already. (I have this awful guilty conscious that flares up when it's afraid I'm going to hurt someone's feelings.)

So, I did what any cautious novice Tinderer would do: I ignored the like. I didn't swipe right. I didn't swipe left. Instead, I took a screenshot and sent it to my best friend to ask her if this guy had, in fact, been in our ward.

She responded affirmatively.

And then she made a joke about me being on Tinder.

(She has a lot of nerve, since she DID find her man on a dating website after all)

In the end, readers, I swiped right out of politeness. I swiped right on the chance that SuperLiker was going to respond with, Hey, long time no talk! How have you been? 

He didn't. Turns out he had absolutely no recollection of ever being in a ward with me, even when I pointed it out. No, he had liked me on the basis of my good-not-too-good pictures and the fact that I like to travel and eat. And now I was stuck talking to a guy with a self-proclaimed "dad bod" who specialized in pickup lines and awkward GIFs.

Welcome to Tinder. 

--The Charmer

1. Which one of Austen's characters do you relate with the least? Why?

2. Which of the gentlemen in Austen's novels would you prefer as your suitor? Why?

3. Why do you want to write for the Anti-Austen?

4. Are you currently attending BYU? What are you studying? When do you anticipate graduating?

5. Please choose two of the following prompts and respond using 200-500 words.

A. Pretend you are a character in one of Jane Austen's novels. Your introductory scene occurs at a ball. Introduce yourself from the viewpoints of the other characters present. 

B. Describe your last awkward encounter with an ex.

C. Tell us about your first date at BYU from your date's perspective.

D. Finish this analogy: "Dating at BYU is a lot like _______....."

E. Share your best flirting tip. 

6. What pseudonym would you like to write under?

We are so excited to see your submissions and choose our new Anti-Austens! Please let us know in the comments if you have any questions.

Also, we've recently had a handful of guest posters as a way to "throw a lure out" and see what kind of talent is floating about these bloggy waters. If you have recently had a guest post published on our blog, please note that in your application!

So, start thinking of pseudonyms....

The Charmer

Can we take a second to appreciate the fact that the blue guy on the left is CHRIS EVANS?

In hindsight, I guess I should have KNOWN that my dating life at BYU was destined to be wild. After all, what else could be expected from the girl who won "The Dating Game" 2 days after arriving on campus? 

If you haven't read part 1 of this post, make sure you catch it. And, if you have read it, you'll recall that I managed to win the Dating Game my first week at BYU. In true Charmer style, classes hadn't even started yet and I already had a date. Bam.

A week later, the big day arrived. Naturally, I was excited for my first BYU date, but I was also a little nervous. I'd never been on a blind date before (which is essentially what this was). And to make matters even more anxiety-producing, the Bachelor was cute! Cue the freshman girl jitters. I probably spent an eternity getting ready for that date. I still remember exactly what I wore: my favorite yellow shirt from Charlotte Russe and a star necklace. Get it, girl. 

I can't really remember the details of how I got picked up for the date. (I'm losing my memory in my old age.) I know there was a communal van taking the six of us--me and my date, the Bachelorette and her date, and two random people from BYUSA. Like I mentioned, the date was set up by some organization through BYUSA and so they also sent a couple representatives along to pay for everything and act as chaperones. I mean, it wasn't like this situation was awkward enough already, right? I'm fairly certain my date picked me up at the entrance to David John Hall (can I get a *woot woot* for Helaman Halls) but the four of us may just have met up outside the Cannon Center. 

Regardless of how we got there, we ended up at Costa Vida for dinner and bowling. After we got our burritos, the four of us were sitting together and trying to make small talk when the BYUSA reps came over. They explained that they wanted to film us on our date so they could show it the next time they held a Dating Game. They also told us they wanted to interview us each individually, so they asked us to come up with random facts about ourselves that we could share. Then they left us again so that we could continue to pretend that this was a normal date.

"Hmm, well, I'm really good at baseball?" my date said. "I don't know if that's exactly the kind of 'random' that they're looking for. What are you going to say, Charmer?"

I thought about it. "Well...I've always wanted to be a movie star. I still secretly hope it will happen. I guess that's pretty random."

"No, guys, I have the perfect thing!" The Bachelorette spoke up. "It is seriously the most random thing about me. I mean, it might be kind of weird to share...but I think that's what they want, right?"

Her date grinned at her. "Okay, what is it?"

Before I tell you what she said, know that nothing quite prepared me for her response. I figured she was going to say something like, "I have a pet snake" or "I won a hotdog eating contest." Those would have been fairly normal random answers, right?

Instead, she grinned at us before announcing,"I have a third nipple!" 

My date coughed on his Sprite. I tried not to burst out in shocked laughter. Her date, to his credit, handled the surprise pretty well. His eyes widened only slightly before he composed himself and said, "Oh...umm...wow, yeah, that's pretty random."

"I know, right? Like I said, kind of weird," she said, laughing nonchalantly. As if it wasn't a big deal to share intimate details of your chest with three total strangers.

In the end, we never did get interviewed. (I think our BYUSA reps forgot that we were supposed to be the ones on a date. They were pretty into each other.) We ate, we bowled, and then we went to the Varsity Theater to watch the movie "Prince Caspian." After that, we got dropped off at our dorms and I wondered if I would ever see my date again (nope). Beyond that, most of the details from the date have faded from my memory. I couldn't tell you if I bowled well that night or not. I hardly remember anything about the Bachelor except that he was from Ohio and he liked sports. 

But I don't think I will ever, ever forget that girl telling three strangers about her third nipple.

Got a first date story that one-ups mine? Send it in! We'd love to feature it here on the blog! xoxo.the.charmer[at]gmail[dot]com

Okay, I seriously think my favorite part of this blog is reading the stories that YOU send in! Here's another guest post (with fabulous pictures included) for your reading pleasure.

How did my first date at BYU date go?

On a scale of 1-10, it won an astonishing 4.

Timeline

7:05--Casanova shows up at the apartment and stands awkwardly by the door. For a second, I think he's forgotten my name.

7:05:01--We're out the door.

7:07--After a really stimulating observation about how "[my] apartment is pretty loud--Are you guys the party apartment?", Casanova proceeds to tell me he has no plan for the date. I was a little miffed by this. Not because I particularly expect the guy to do everything, but because he had called me a week before and told me he would surprise me. He hadn't told me where we were going, or if we were going with other people, or anything. When he first called, it sounded pretty impromptu, so I didn't worry. But then there was a week of in between time he totally could have come up with something. Instead he asked me if I was up for anything. I was, so I said yes.

7:08-7:30--We walked to campus. The scenic route. I wasn't bothered by walking. The conversation was mostly Casanova-centric though. I chalked it up to nervous babbling, so I wasn't too upset he only asked a few token questions in between breaths.

7:30-8:00ish--BYU's Got Talent. This was a good move, howbeit unintentional. I watch American Idol, America's Got Talent, Britain's Got Talent, The X Factor...not that he knew that, but I was still excited. We showed up about halfway through the performance and took a seat in the back.  I now understand why people say theater dates are so awkward for a first date. You basically have to semi-shout an attempt at intelligent conversation. However, it usually ends up being a running ommentary that neither person wants to continue, but because the conversation hasn't closed, you feel awkward just leaving it alone. For the first part, I tried talking, but he was slouched down in his seat so far that I had to lean all the way over him to get near his ear. I'm 98% pretty sure he fell asleep multiple times.

8:00ish-9:00ish--Proceed to basement of the Wilkinson Center. Casanova asks me what I want to do. Never having been down there before and also a little freaked to have been put on the spot, I told him I didn't care. I really didn't...much. I actually really just wanted to go home by that point. No luck. He chooses pool, telling me he's an okay player before

asking if I'm any good. (It kind of annoys me, because he asked questions on rare occasions, but they always seemed like something he remembered he needed to do, not like he actually cared at all what I was saying.) I got in a few lucky shots (because I'm horrible), so I thanked God for making me look like a decent player. He then went on to cream me. I am a very competitive person, and I didn't like this at all. I could have handled it if he played it off sheepishly or even teased me and challenged me to win, but he wasn't interactive at all. As I continued losing, he got more confident, shooting behind his back and whatnot (but with no acknowledgement of the fact he was showing off, like I was supposed to pretend this was how he played all the time). I got less confident, even missing the cue ball a few times, to which he just looked at me then acted like he hadn't seen anything. He talked, but it was all fluffy nothing. Okay, that's a lie. It was real stuff he was talking about, but I didn't really care anymore. It was like a broken record playing an album of songs like: I'm Awesome, My Classes Are The Worst Thing Ever, Where I'm Going On My Mission, and These Are The Things I Like. 

9:00ish-10:00ish--Since I hadn't known what we were going to be doing on said date, I ate just enough to tide me over until I thought the date would be over, just in case he wanted to do a let's-eat-out date. By 9:30, though, I was pretty hungry, so when he said "Hey, you think it's too cold for ice cream?" I was like, "It's never too late for ice cream!!" For some reason, in my head I pictured us entering the Creamery, getting the ice cream, and continuing on our longest-possible-route back to my apartment. Not so. I got to sit in a booth for a half an hour and listen to Casanova talk about...you guessed it...himself. Again.

10:00ish-10:30ish--Walking back. I figured out that if I just said "Yeah" "Sure" and "I bet" every once and a while, I could ignore what he was saying and concentrate on all the homework I needed to do once I got home. When we finally got there, I told him thanks and opened the door. My roommates were asleep, so the whole apartment was dark. Without turning on the light, I give him a polite "Thank you" and step inside. Instead of leaving, he takes a couple steps inside himself and attempts to continue conversation. I didn't respond, partly because I was hoping he would leave and partly because I was shocked he would think I would be okay with it. Finally, blessedly, he left.

Anyway, it's over with. I don't plan on avoiding Casanova or anything, but, because of a collaborative effort from both himself and me, he is soooo far in the friend zone he needs binoculars to see any kind of romantic interest. I think, in a way, this was a good thing. I was able to determine nothing was going to happen so early in the date, I wasn't nervous at all. Now, if/when I get asked out by someone who I want to impress, I don't have to deal with first-date-at-BYU jitters.

See that? That's me, being positive. I'm so proud of myself.......:/

Remember that one time I asked for guest posts? Well, the offer still stands, y'all! Anyway, this gem was submitted less than a day after I posted my request. I laughed, I cried, and then I utterly failed at sharing it with you guys. My apologies, and enjoy!

xoxo, the charmer

Background: I don't know the whole story here, but it sounds like this was a blind date set up by the writer's aunt. AKA almost the worst kind of blind date, second only to ones set up by grandmothers.

The struggle began before the date even started. His awkward texts did nothing to endear me to him, and I accidentally (sometimes “accidentally”) forgot to respond for long stretches of time between them. At one point I didn’t even bother to reply, unwilling to carry the conversation. Two days later, I was sitting in the car on the way to FHE when he texted. “Your aunt says you don’t think I have any guts.”

I’d never said that, and I told him as much. He proceeded to try and arrange a date for later in the week, and despite the fact that I kept attempting to get him to just call me, he managed to do the whole thing over text. At this point, yes, I didn’t think he had any guts.

He showed up that Friday night at 7, and almost right after we left, announced that we were going to a haunted forest. Not a great idea.

First of all, I was wearing open-toed shoes (which turned out to not be the biggest problem that night). Second of all, I don’t like haunted things. If I was to do something haunted, I’d want it to be with someone I wanted to be close to. Not someone that I barely even wanted to go on a date with. And then there was the fact that it was twenty minutes away, a drive that feels like eternity when things aren’t clicking.

And they didn’t click. In fact, by the time we’d gotten to the freeway, we’d apparently exhausted all conversation topics, and I’d fallen silent, okay with not saying anything in particular. He apparently wasn’t, as he tapped his hands against the steering wheel and said, “I just don’t have anything else to say.”

There’s a part of me that wishes I’d suggested we just go home at that point. That I’d said, “Look, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to work out. Why don’t we head back, get some froyo, and call it good?” It would’ve saved a lot of hassle.

We pressed on, the conversation stunted and uncomfortable. I don’t remember if the radio was on. I hope for my sake that it was.

Upon arrival, and prior to getting tickets, he jokingly asked who was paying. It wouldn’t be the first time he joked about that before the tickets were actually purchased. At twenty dollars a person. And then he wanted to also get a fast pass, when the line was maybe ten groups long and clearly moving steadily.

He left me standing outside the entrance while he used the bathroom, and I took the opportunity to send a text to a friend, wanting someone to commiserate with me. I’d continue to text throughout the night (at moments when it wouldn’t be inappropriate to do so).

The line was blissfully short, but as we approached the be-vampired ticket taker, the conversation got awkward again. I just tried to ignore the uncomfortableness and walked into the corn, attempting to forget the exchange. To my relief, it was simply a path through the corn, not a maze we’d have to puzzle our way through. I steeled my emotions, looking beyond the horror at the potential normalcy.

Each actor approached me first, thinking to frighten what might’ve looked like a weak and potentially terrified female. I obviously disappointed them, as not a single scream was emitted that night. By the time they realized I was a lost cause, it was too late to scare my date. And so we pressed on, impervious to the terrors that would confront us—except, of course, for the awkwardness that loomed between us.

Towards the end of the trail, my date began questioning the shadowy figures, trying to find a friend he knew was working, adding to the lack of enthusiasm I had for the whole endeavor. Not to mention that at this point, I’d heard close to five chainsaws approach me, none of which were actually worrisome. It was near the exit that the friend was located, but as we stepped out from the “creepy carnival” portion, we realized that it’d only been twenty minutes.

I still don’t quite remember what our plans were after that point. Maybe we were going to go get something to eat, or just take me back home. Regardless, those would all dissipate as he tried to open my door for me. He stuck the key in the lock, and unable to turn it, he pulled it out to find that it’d bent. It broke in his hands as he attempted to straighten it. The panic was almost immediate, and understandably so.

As I gave him a chance to solve the problem, I quickly realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, just worrying that he’d ruined everything, not really thinking through possible ways to fix things. “Do you want me to call my uncle?” I suggested, hoping that that would at least give my date somewhere to start coming up with a solution. I did so, and we waited for him to arrive. I leaned against the car, my arms and legs crossed—not due to the weather, but rather to my awkwardness. I stayed engaged with the conversation, wanting him to understand that this kind of thing was an accident, and I understood that.

We climbed in the back seat when my uncle showed up, somehow deciding to go somewhere to get a key copied. The drive was only slightly less uncomfortable as I chatted with my uncle. But, as we drove, my date’s discomfort was noticeable. “I just wish—” he began before shaking his head.

“What?” I asked.

“I just wish this hadn’t happened. Now you won’t want to go out with me again.”

Well. Yes.

“This could happen to anyone,” I hedged, not wanting to say it was him. But it was also definitely him. “It’s not like you were being a jerk.” But we don’t work together. So please don’t ask me out again.

The key eventually copied, we soon discovered that it wouldn’t fit in the lock for whatever reason. And so we headed to his family’s house to get a different car for him to take me home. Passing an Olive Garden, he remarked that we should go get him something to eat. “I’ll just get a glass of water,” I said.

“Why?”

“Well, for one, I’m not feeling great,” (yay for motion sickness) “and for another, I already ate.”

He insisted that after 7 was a perfectly normal time to eat dinner. “Yeah,” I said, “but you didn’t mention anything about getting something to eat. If I’m asked on a date, and they don’t say anything about food, I’m going to eat something before I go.”

It’s a clear indicator of how well the date isn’t going when you have better conversation with his stepdad than you do with your date. As if I needed more of a sign, it got even worse when I mentioned I didn’t know how to drive stick to my date. “Here, I’ll teach you,” he insisted. “I’m not going to shift until you do it.”

“What!? No, I’m not doing that!”

“C’mon, it’ll be fine!”

“No!”

We headed down the freeway, and he seemed more talkative than he had been before as he began complain about “judgmental Utah girls.” “That’s what I like about you: you aren’t judgy.” Clearly I’d passed the “can be calm in difficult circumstances test” and now he believed we were on track for date #2. “Actually,” I said, “three of my roommates are from Utah, and they’re not like what you think they are.”

Somehow, by the end of the date, he’d gone from having nothing to say to me to wanting to go out me on another date. On the other hand, I’d gone from not wanting to go out with him to definitely not wanting to go out with him. 

Loved it! Thanks for sharing with us. Were you reading this and thinking, "Oh  my gosh, I have a story JUST LIKE THIS"? We want to hear it! Check out my original post and send them in!