Greetings from the Land of Academia

2/28/2013 The Romantic 0 Comments

It's been so long since I've written dear readers that I'm not sure I actually remember the last time I graced your eyes with one of my lovely posts. I would apologize, but the truth is, I'm not actually sorry. I ended up giving myself this horrible schedule with no breaks from 8-5 every day. There's not even time to eat food! What kind of life is that!? I have to sneak hurried bites of PB&J during my internship of class.

Suffice it to say, I've had little time to date. But I thought I'd update you on a few things.

Remember Drummer Boy? It's alright if you don't. I'll refresh your memory. He is a glorious specimen of man  mostly because of his large stature and musical prowess. He's way beyond my league and my attempts to talk to him usually end up going something like this.

"Hey Romantic. How was your weekend?"

 "Uhhd iea fpioeh (red face)...." 

As he then slowly backs away I whisper to my friends who listened to the whole exchange "He really does know my name!!!!!!!" While they whisper back, "Stop making it so obvious."

So we made a breakfast date between our two houses only to realize that the intended date (as in date, not you know, "date") was fast Sunday.

Blast.

So after much debate, we re-scheduled for the following Sunday. I was elated! A friend! A real guy friend! And he was attractive to boot! Later that week, he posted a status about playing in a show on campus. My friends and I decided to go. We arrived right when the music began (my bad). He gave me a nod, smile, and dare I say it, there was a little twinkle in his eye. We didn't talk too much after the performance, but I also fell a little bit in love with his room mate who was also playing. WHAT IS IT ABOUT MUSICIANS!?

We didn't have too much contact after that. And as usual, I over analyzed ever textual conversation between us before the aforementioned breakfast.

The morning of the breakfast finally dawned. I woke up early to prepare my Sunday School lesson when I noticed I had four texts. FOUR TEXTS. All from Mr. Drummer Boy.

He was cancelling. I knew it. I just knew it. What was I thinking? This kid was entirely too cool to be friends with me.

Much to my surprise, they were actually confirmation texts!

They described his dedication to breakfast despite the fact that it was 3 in the morning, he'd just gotten done playing a show in Salt Lake, it was snowing BUCKETS, and he'd just gotten rear-ended by some drunkards on the freeway. But he was still preparing and eager for breakfast the next morning.

10 points for Gryffindor!

I was elated, but every step towards his house for breakfast made me more and more nervous. Vomit was coming up with every foot fall. (Not really) I hang out with men so rarely theses days, even the smallest interaction sends me into a nervous tale-spin.

But breakfast was actually pretty fantastic. He did make fun of my Western Family pancake mix. But then he and his gorgeous hunk of a room mate cooked the entire meal.

"Sit back ladies. We want to serve you," they said.

Drummer Boy looked exhausted, and I felt a little badly about that. But his room mate... I don't even know where to begin. He was using words like pejorative. And talking about symphonies. And was just being so blasted intelligent.

Basically I love them both. But I think The Room mate is dating someone. (Which is perhaps the biggest disappointment I've faced thus far in my young life. Did I mention he's a democrat? Which doesn't mean much except for I'm pretty staunchly conservative. And there's just something about the "bad boy" democrat that my parents wouldn't whole-heartedly approve of that makes me love him all the more)

Before I left, I asked the whole house to come to my Sunday School lesson. And then somehow, after Sacrament Meeting, they all disappeared to unknown locations except for The Room mate (who assured me in the most reassuring manner that they all had to leave but it was for good reasons). The Room mate said my lesson was the best he's heard in awhile. That was nice.

But that's the last I've seen of them besides a head nod at church from Drummer Boy the week after.

They often leave the Provo area to play gigs on the weekends, so it's been difficult to keep up the creeper lovin'.

(Gigs. They play gigs.) 

As I recounted this story to my friend the other night, she excitedly said, "I can't believe you're friends with those guys! That is so cool."

"I'm not actually friends with them. I had breakfast at their house. Once."

And now for a tangent on this novel of a post. I finally had a good date for the ward date activity. It was my FHE dad. The one who has intrigued me romantically in the past. We went motorcycle riding after the activity. There were three couples that went on this little venture, and it was quite interesting because one couple was TOTALLY into each other. One guy was just kind of there. I'm pretty sure the girl with him is into FHE dad hard core. And then there was me. It was fun. But when I tried to send a flirtatious text to FHE Dad after, thanking him for the ride (just to practice, ya know?) it fell pretty flat and I'm not sure he got what I was doing.

Oh well. Such is the life right?

Until next time,
xoxo
-the Romantic

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Speed Dating

2/25/2013 The Blue Stocking 4 Comments


I went speed dating. Just let that sink in.

Speed dating and me, the girl who despises meet and greets and avoids awkwardness at all time. A true feat when you realize I pull awkwardness towards me.

I failed girls.

We were supposed to put a note in every guy’s envelope and if we liked him we wrote our number and if we didn't we gave them a little message. They did this so it wouldn't hurt the guy’s feelings when they didn't receive a little note. And the guys pretended like they didn't know the difference between a “You're a sweet guy" and a 1-800-ura-hoti.


So I wrote down and gave out false numbers. I know. I'm the worst. I couldn't take it. Those poor guys just looking at me. Aghhh. I realize now that when they call a fake number they will probably feel worse. Or more likely just confused. Who gives out anonymous fake numbers? A lunatic for sure. But in that moment, I didn't know what else to do. I panicked.

AND what's even funnier is the guys I did give my digits too, I forgot to include my name HA. These shenanigans are not Bluestocking proof.

The last guy I talked to was so sweet, but I was done for the night. As I got up, I saw him. The green-eyed man. He wasn't classically handsome, but dear heavens he was attractive. I said hi, he smiled, I sat down. Then he moved forward, grabbed the legs of my chair and pulled me towards him "I wanna be able to hear you" he said. I blessed the loud rumble that filled that gym. He leaned in, so I leaned in. With about three inches between us we had a charming two minute conversation. I remember laughing. And then the bell ringed and another girl pushed me out of my seat.

I'm sure that green-eyed man received many a phone number that night and he will probably never call me. And honestly I'm fine keeping him as a mysterious figure in my memories. Or you know, kissing his face. Whatever, either one's good...

Afterwards I received an interesting text from a boy saying he got my number but he didn't know who I was. The feeling was mutual. After giving away so many fake numbers I could hardly remember the guys I gave my real number to. I finally had to ask who he was. His response was "oh I bet you've been on the phone with lots of attractive guys all night"

I gave him a ";)" and a "sure" because admitting that I was currently in my pj's downing a half-gallon of ice cream while watching The Bachelor made me seem less than desirable.

Then he asked for my address because he wanted to meet up with me, which sent me into a fury as I tried to reapply the mascara I had been picking off during another one of Tiara-ble's tirades.

We ended up doing some light shopping at Smiths while he went on and on about how there wasn't a lot of attractive girls at the activity (eye-roll). Though he did make sure to slip in that he obviously thought I was attractive or else we wouldn't have met up. I responded with "Lucky me..." He thought I was being flirty. Which means he took it the wrong way.

He asked me out for this weekend. He seems like an ok guy. I mean how can you not like someone who loves the same soundtracks as you? Meh, we'll see. I'll give him a date.

-The Bluestocking

P.S If speed dating worked Jane would have written a witty/charming love story about it. And don't try to argue the whole "speed dating is a modern technique." It doesn't work on me. I'm illogical. 

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The Lady and the subtle art of conversation and glancing.

2/24/2013 The Lady 1 Comments

I have one goal for tonight at ward prayer and one goal only: talk to The Boy Next Door. (Author's note: I have made this goal every week for the past . . . too many weeks to count). 

But rest assured that it seems that The Boy Next Door has just as hard a time talking to me as I do talking to him. We have taken to talking at each other in group settings. 

A story:

It was Friday night and The Boy Next Door's roommates were having a dance party. Ah, dancing. The perfect opportunity to entrance a man. I donned my best fanny-flattering skinny jeans, put my exceptional hair volume to good use, and arm in arm with my roommates strutted the few yards to The Boy Next Door's. Upon entering their apartment, I was accosted by the overwhelming aroma of human bodies mingling too closely together which is the signature smell of dance parties. As my roommates and I fought our way towards the middle of the room, I caught sight of The Boy Next Door. His eyes caught mine and we smiled hesitantly at each other. All too soon I was caught up in a monstrous  hug just beyond the dance floor by my all-too-lovable home teacher. The Boy Next Door was lost to me, it was as though he had vanished. 

As my roommates and I stood chatting with my home teacher, The Boy Next Door reappeared, hovering near our group; his eyes continually flickering towards me. The Boy Next Door waited several minutes until my home teacher left us, to step up to our group only to say, "Hey, the dancing is that way." He gestured towards the pulsing mass of young single adults feet from us, and with one final glance in my direction, quickly left . . .

End story. 

Perhaps, I am only imagining that he has been giving me all these looks, but the looks are the only thing I have to go on at the moment, so press forward I must. And now I am off to ward prayer to seal my fate. 

Con Amor, 
The Lady

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The last from Mr. Anonymous.

2/22/2013 The Anti-Austen 4 Comments


One year ago, one of our male readers sent me this. And then several months later this. Of everything it has been my pleasure to post on this blog from our readers, these letters have been my favorite. Without question. It must be the hopeless romantic in me, which sometimes feels she is being drowned by all the pessimism and cynicism there is to be found. These letters help my romantic side surface again. I hope they do the same for you. 

 Con Amor, 
The Lady

 P.S. 
Dear Mr. Anonymous' Wife-to-be,

 Someday you will be the luckiest woman in the world. Your future husband is one hell of a guy. 

 (Pardon my French). 

 But I think you already are one of the luckiest girls. He loves you already, and surely you must know it and feel it. If not now, one day you will. 

Dear Wife-to-be,

I am a work in progress.

This is no secret, of course, but I thought you should hear it from me before discovering this fact for yourself.

I will make mistakes, I'm sure of that. There will be times when I don't know what to say, or how to say it. There will be times that I say too much, and times I don't say enough. I am a work in progress, and at times, it seems, progress is slow - but I won't stop, I can promise you that.

I want you to know this as well - I believe.

I believe in laughter. I believe in happiness, and magic. I believe in dreams. I believe in love.

I believe in you.

I believe in you, in your happiness, and in your dreams. And I can't wait to hear all about them.

So please, tell me. Tell me your dreams, and let me help you with them. Tell me your deepest fears, and your greatest joys. Tell me about the happy times, and the sad times; the good days and the bad. Tell me what matters most to you, and what you hold most dear. What gets you out of bed in the morning? What makes your day? 

 Will you dream with me?

 It doesn't matter so much, to me, where you are right now - I know you're where you ought to be.  What matters to me is that you're happy, and that, when we find each other, we're ready. So brace yourself - be prepared to laugh, to shake your head, to wonder and to wander; be prepared to cry, to try, to look a little foolish, and to be so happy it almost seems unfair.

 Prepare now, because once we find each other, things just won't be the same. And I look forward to that.

 You will change my life - of that I am certain, and for that I am grateful. 

 I simply adore you.

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The Ditcher Date

2/17/2013 The Blue Stocking 4 Comments


The day for me to date The Ditcher came like any other day. There were no warning signs. The woodland creatures went about on their normal rounds and the birds chirped their same melodic cry. I even forgot about it until my phone calender alerted me. 

Yes I put it in my phone. I forget stuff ok. 

I guess I should first take you back to Wednesday when I agreed to this date. He called, I actually answered, and he told me he was going to take me to see an oddity and it would be a real quick trip. He kept emphasizing how this would be a short date a really short date a date so short we could blink and it would be over. I kept thinking don't promise me something you can't deliver. 

But the real think that caught my attention was the mysterious "oddity" that we were going to see. 

I wanted to ask if this "date" to see an "oddity" was just an elaborate rouse to lure me away from the public eye so he could get a start on his career as a serial killer.  Instead I just let him know that my roommates would know who I was with and were really handy with sketching criminal facial deposits. 

Ok back to the story. My phone alerted me so I changed my clothes and opted for glasses and bell-bottoms. This may not mean anything to you, but it should. I NEVER wear glasses around a guy I like. NEVER. And I only break out the 70's inspired pants for hiking/chill time. I decided that if I was going on this date I was doing it in comfort. No doctoring my contacts with red eye-drops and sucking it up in skinnies. 

When he arrived he was holding a rose. All I could think was "please don't be nice to me. I'm not a nice person." Also, I don't know what my problem is, but I hate getting anything from guys. I hate it. It makes me feel indebted and dependent. But rest assured ladies, I will gladly receive a diamond. So I took that flower and awkwardly leaned back into my apartment and set it on my couch and then we were off. 

We drove thirty minutes out of Provo. Climbed a small mountain. And were there in time to watch the sun set as we explored a graveyard. Yup, a graveyard. Nothing more romantic then dead people and the promise of a setting sun which reminds us how we are all suns just waiting to set...

And on that mountain in our death themed date we stood and talked awkwardly around silent patches that lasted well past the normal time. Honestly, the worst part was I never once heard my voice breach the monotone sounds coming out of my mouth. Together we were boring. Towards the end he kept hinting at sitting down, but sitting was for people who were planning on staying. 

When we got back to the car we talked music. Oh sweet music. I rejoiced. This topic would revive the date. I listed off bands, and artists, and songs, proudly proclaiming my obsession. I then turned it over to him. His reply still chills me to the bone.

"My favorite music is you know rock/screamo Christian music."

I should have responded as my friend later advised and just opened the car door and spy dived out of there. Instead I hit The Wall. What is The Wall you ask? Well runners always talk about hitting a psychological wall while they are on a run and once they do they just can't seem to muster the strength to continue on. Well I had been going at a steady rate like a trouper, but in that moment I slammed head first into my wall. I was done and he was done. We drove on in almost silence and I was back on my door step an hour and a half later. I dodged the hug and slipped into my apartment. He called me an hour later for a Saturday date. I kindly declined.

Which brings me to today. I realized that The Ditcher's persistent nature might rear it's head this Sunday so I was going to try and lay low. My plan failed. After Sacrament I wanted to go talk to the speaker because he did a great job...and he was cute. But my path to the podium was obstructed by big D. In response to this road block, I subtly rerouted taking a much longer path around the building, but no sooner did I exit the room then he was waiting for me outside the door.  

Seriously?!

I'm still confused on how he got there so fast. And what's even more confusing is how he could have been on the same date as me and somehow feel it went well. Or well enough to repeat. Anyways, he lead with his well used line of "Are you ditching again," to which I mumbled something in reply and got out of there. 

I heard there is a really great ward that meets in the JSB....

 -The Bluestocking

P.S. Posts like these make me feel I need to write an disclosure statement. So here is goes: The Ditcher is a nice guy. His only fault is trying to get me on a date by using such forward tactics...and liking screamo music. 

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A Happy Farewell

2/15/2013 The Closer 7 Comments

Oh lovely readers. Have you wondered where I fell off the earth and died to? I would like to think that you have been chomping at the bit to know what the updates are from where we left off with Mr. Manager

Well, if you must know... I haven't been around because I have been busy falling in love! Dating Mr. Manager has been one of the best choices that I have ever made. Ladies, I'm telling you, not dating a man because he is shorter than me was a silly decision. I would not trade him for any tall man in the world.

I've found out a little more about what was going on in his mind when I was wondering why he was tossing rocks at my window, or making comments about marriage. As it turns out, he always found himself a little confused at his desire to be around me all the time, and at the fact that I was always on his mind. The thought had crossed my mind to ask me on a date at various points, but I had made all too many comments early on about how we could never date because of the height difference. (Doh! If I'd have only known.) I finally made enough sideways comments and suggestions about that no longer being the case that he decided to ask me out.

Truth be told, I think the timing of it all was perfect. I think I needed to only see him as a friend, so I could trust the way I felt about him. And I needed to take the time to be sure it was worth a try to date a shorter man. I've always been prone to getting swept off of my feet, but with Mr. Manager, I fell in love with my head first, and then my heart, so I trust it so much more. And let me tell you, the way I love him now is incredible. I've been in love before, but never like this.

Once we started to date, everything felt like it was falling into place. The walls that we had both kept up for so long got to come down, and I have never felt so cherished.

I say all of this leading up to an announcement....



Mr. Manager and I are engaged.



And have been for a month or so now, and are getting married at the end of March.

So what this means for The Closer- is that she is saying farewell. On to bigger shorter and better things!

Writing for this blog has been so fun, and Mr. Manager appreciates all of you being my cheerleaders in deciding to take a shot in dating him. Good luck to you all in that BYU dating world!

Yours Truly, for the last time,

The Closer (soon to be Mrs. Manager)

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On Valentine's Day.

2/15/2013 The Lady 4 Comments

I was a bit bitter last Valentine's Day if you will recall. Though I cannot reasonably apologize for my dislike of the day, I can assure you that this Valentine's Day was not as abundant in self-pity as the last. Perhaps it's a sign that I am beginning to grow into my own skin. 

Somehow this Valentine's Day came and went without much notice on my part. The colors and flowers were much less repulsive than have been, and the sight of all-too-loving couples was much less disgusting than they have previously seemed. And possibly it was a great advantage to not be at school or work yesterday, thus successfully avoiding the lavish displays of affection that are to be seen on BYU's campus. Instead my Valentine's Day consisted of eating cupcakes with my roommates and giggling about our past loves, boyfriends, flings, horrible dates and what have you. 

Then something about me came up. I thought I had escaped it, but I suppose it has become one of those labels that are difficult to escape. One of my roommates made a joke about me while swiping at frosting with her finger, something about being "the apartment flooze". To keep up the light-hearted mood of our small party, I laughed good-naturedly, but I felt heavier after that point. As if all the frothy sugar I had consumed had settled into a goopy mass in the pit of my stomach. 

Maybe some reputations we never live down. People say to let the "past be the past" but do they really mean it? People also say to "live without regret" but I don't think they mean that either. I have regrets. Oh so many of them. And try as I may, I'm  not allowed to forget it. It comes up again and again. It is in moments like last night when I was reminded of my reputation, in moments like the one where Mr. Cowboy searched  me out, in moments when my sister speaks of Dex and his new little wife. I am reminded of the unhappiness I caused others and the unhappiness that I have brought upon myself. 

When left alone to my own vices, I am comfortable in my skin. Happy even, with who I am and who I have become. On my own I am The Lady. But in the eyes of others, I am still The Coquette, flirtatious, flighty, and conniving. It is the perpetual mask I am to wear so that the shame is not forgotten. Though I thought myself safe from self-pity this Valentine's Day, I did not escape the shame. And I thought that maybe I was past all that, but now I realize that it is what has paralyzed me. It is what keeps me from speaking to The Boy Next Door or allowing a greater connection to grow between me and Clive. I do not fear recurring events, but rather the discovery of it all. I do no't trust others with my secrets, for they hold them over my head as though they are all there is to me. 

I apologize for such a disappointing and depressing post, but you see, my anonymity is the only thing that keeps me safe. Maybe you judge me and maybe you don't, but at least you're judging her, The Lady, The Coquette, and not me. 

Con Amor, 
The Lady/Coquette

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"Since you left, the white rose bush has died from grief...."

2/12/2013 The Romantic 1 Comments

Here's a little treat to get you in the mood for Valentine's Day. My professor showed it to us in my gothic literature class today and I couldn't resist passing it along. The first part isn't important, so just go ahead and skip to around 2:10.



xoxo -the Romantic

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"Do not give way to useless alarm"

2/11/2013 The Blue Stocking 5 Comments


Three weeks ago I talked to a guy in church who ditched 2nd hour to chat with me. This week we would meet again in a more dramatic fashion.

Do you know that feeling you get when you go into a room and you can tell that someone is watching you? It's similar to the feeling of knowing some form of electricity is on the second you walk into a room. Well this Sunday when I entered the chapel I felt someone watching me. Which was later confirmed when I spotted the culprit. It was the guy who will now be called The Ditcher. Maybe he'll get a better name in the future...or maybe not.

After sacrament I had to take a friend home and when I reached the parking lot I heard my name called out. The Ditcher had followed me. He made some sarcastic comment about me always leaving church early (I do believe this is the first time he has witnessed me do that, but whatever) to which I responded very cleverly that I would be back...ok I was off my game.

When I finally returned an hour later he was there waiting in the lobby. I made the necessary comment of "do you ever go to class" and I walked away. Sometimes I can be short with people.

As I walked down the hall he came running after me. This commotion foretold in-explainable awkwardness which switched me into survival mode and I had the flashing instinct that I needed to run. Which is ridiculous for three reasons:

      a. I was in a church building

      b. I was wearing three-inch heals

      c. My pursuer was not wielding a chainsaw.

When he finally caught up to me my trusty companion bolted down the hall (to laugh maliciously I'm sure) while I stood there as waves of awkwardness pounded down on me. Then he uttered a pretty decent line "Hey I had a good time talking to you a while ago and I'm interested in doing that again. How does that sound to you?" Before I knew it he had my number and I was sitting in relief society recounting my tale to my once again trusty friend.

Also, in honor of Valentine's Day, the guys ambushed our Relief Society lesson to bring us ring pops (oh gosh) and chocolate (oh yes). The only uncomfortable part was when they each went around choosing girls to give the rings too. It took me back to jr high when we choose players for kick ball teams and everyone was deathly afraid of being chosen last. That look once again returned to our eyes as the guys made their way around the room. Luckily I didn't have to wait to long for a cute guy to introduce himself and hand over the ring (if only diamonds were that easily attained).

Overall, I didn't like the process, but I loved the product.

Now I wait for the Ditcher to call. Let's hope I answer the phone. I've been known to treat incoming calls like ticking time bombs to which I throw them under my mattress and vacate the room. It's taken 22 years, but I'm slowly coming to realize why I'm still single.

-The Bluestocking

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Dear Dream Girl: A guest post

2/07/2013 The Romantic 13 Comments

Dear Girl of my Dreams:      
I’ve betrayed the way I felt about you already in the way I addressed this letter to you, which I know you’ll never read.  Try as I might, I’m still trying (quite unsuccessfully) to get over you.  It almost physically hurts to see with you that other guy.  I’m going to try to explain why I feel the way I do about you and what this experience I’ve had so briefly with you has taught me.

I used to think that heartbreak was a word that was trite and overused. I still think that it might be a bit strong in my case.  Still, my first foray into the world of heartache and heartbreak has taught me not to scoff at the people who, in my former opinion, waste their time and energy on matters that are trivial and silly.  I owe you for helping me to understand them better.

It’s not that I haven’t liked girls very strongly in the past.  I’ve had girlfriends and I adored them at the time.  I’ve been dumped before, and it hurt.  But this feeling that I’ve had since not even being dumped, simply not having you choose me, hurts more than anything I’ve felt before.  I’m heartbroken, pain me and shame me as it might to admit it.  

What did I do wrong?

It can’t have been that I took too long to notice you.  I was smitten the first time I saw you.  You didn’t have to wait a long time for me to ask you out, either.  I get that it might have been surprising and a little odd for me to ask you out when we’d only ever been introduced, without even the benefit of a real conversation.  But when the opportunity arose, I couldn’t think of anyone else that I would be interested in asking out.  I didn’t even come close to wanting to ask someone else out.  Worried about messing things up before they even got started, I worked on how I would ask you out over and over again.  Thankfully, you made it not awkward.  That first date was great.  You were fun and smart and engaging and you looked amazing.  

It wasn’t long before I asked you out for a second date.   When I asked again and we finally went out the birds were singing the sun was shining.  You surprised me by how easy you were to be with, how fast you were able to pick up a game you’d never played before, how open minded you were, what a good sport you were.  

I referred to you as Dream Girl because in almost every way, you fit the profile of the woman I have always imagined myself with--the illusory woman of my dreams.  The more I found out about you, the more I thought that you were everything I’d always wanted.  You were perfect in my eyes.  You are intelligent, ambitious, spiritual, funny, kind, modest, beautiful...you have it all.  I was crazy about you, even after only two dates. But I didn't want to get ahead of myself, so I refrained from trying to hold your hand, put my arm around you, or do anything else physical. I was really walking on eggshells.

Thus I don't think that it was because of something that went wrong in the previously mentioned events that you chose someone else.  So when I saw you cozied up to this new guy on the couch the day I came over to see you, it crushed me.  I didn’t understand what I had done wrong, or when this even started.  The surprise was as intense as the disappointment.  What made it worse was that this was just two days after our most recent date.

Months later, I’m still getting over you, and you’re still with him.  You still pop into my head at random times and for random reasons.  The moment I wake up in the morning a thought about you will pop into my head, and when I get a text message, deep down I’m hoping against hope that it’s from you. I catch myself hoping and fantasizing that by some turn of events, things will still work out.  Never mind the fact that I know that nothing will ever happen and that thinking about you coming around is folly; try as I might, I can’t shake your grip on me. We ran into each other on the street last weekend, and just being that close to you again threw me off for days. So, while we’re on the subject, I thought I’d tell you what I’ve learned from this whole rather painful experience.

I was recently sitting in a restaurant and a couple I saw there made a very strong impression on me.  I sympathized with the man, because he’s like me: while he may not be the best looking or be incredibly musically gifted, tall, dark, fashionable or speak with an accent (or whatever else is on you girls' laundry lists of qualities), he is still genuine and is still a good guy.  His significant other obviously saw this quality in him.  She listened to him, took interest in him, and showed him more affection than I’ve ever felt from a girl.  She was a lot like you--she was beautiful.  She could have been with someone much better looking than him.  But she appeared to recognize that someone who was that genuinely crazy about her was worth a chance.  And she couldn’t have looked happier.

I realized that that’s the kind of woman I deserve.  Not because I’m anything special or have done anything to be more deserving of any other guy; but because everyone deserves that kind of mutual respect and affection, myself included.  Too many times, like this, I’ve showed more care than I’ve received.  When we were talking on that second date, it occurred to me that it was more like an interview than a real conversation, because I kept asking about you, trying to find out more about you, expressing my interest in you, but you never showed the same interest in me--what I do, what I think, who I am.  Now I am realizing that regardless of my current feelings for you, and without implying that you are any less amazing than you are,I realize that I deserve and owe it to myself to wait for someone who treats (or will treat) me better.  Hopefully, this experience will at least help me treat other girls that may be in my future the way I hope they will treat me.

My experience with you has again raised the question of what it takes for good guys to actually have a decent dating experience.  I do everything I can to be everything that I’m expected to be--I work hard in school so that one day I can be a good provider for my family; I do my home teaching, serve in my calling, and strive to strengthen my spirituality; despite the numerous frustrations, I have not given up on dating but rather heeded the Prophet’s call to continue to date; when on a date, I am always respectful of my date, and I always try to make sure she feels important and interesting and worthwhile. I strive to take care of myself, look presentable, be kind and serve others, and be cultured and well-read and interesting and fun.  And despite all of this, all I have to show for two and a half years of dating many different girls is disappointment and hurt.  What more are all you girls looking for?

I hope that you find happiness with this new guy of yours.  I hope that he treats you as well as I would have, that he admires you as much as I would have, that he supports you and wants to help you realize all of your dreams as I would have.  

Best wishes,

Your erstwhile admirer


I know this is a bit lengthy, but it struck a chord with me tonight. And as for my answer as to what all us girls are looking for, it's you. We're looking for you. 

xoxo
-the Romantic 

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