Comme des Enfants

2/28/2014 The Lady 0 Comments

"A girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then." -Pride & Prejudice

I hardly know what to say. I hardly know what is happening. 

I still cannot decide on a pseudonym for that man that I met. Nothing sounds right. Nothing suits him. He is merely "him". 

It has officially been a week since he asked if "I would like to go out sometime," but sometime has yet to happen. Perhaps I have been overanxious for that first date to occur, but I wish that I had any sort of idea when "sometime" might be. I suppose there is no rush, no hurry, no reason to wonder. But at the same time I do. I do rush, I do hurry, I do wonder. 

We have been texting each other every day. (Somehow I'm the sort of girl that guys text. I am not sure what it is about me, but it's whatevs). We text every day. Little things. Big things. Family. Religion. Books. Music. Careers. Everything we can think of. I never have to try to pull information out of him, he offers it readily. He talks more than I do. We're like children. A little unsure of ourselves; awkward at times, but giddy. We're foolish. Joking too much and laughing too much. I am happy when I talk to him, naively happy. 

But many things remain, 
The Lady


0 comments:

Post a Comment

From Dating to Friendship

2/24/2014 The Blue Stocking 0 Comments

For the past month and a half things with Calvin have started to pick up. He kept asking me on dates and I just kept accepting hoping something would click and quite honestly I didn’t have a reason not to go. He’s the type of guy you marry. 

But behind all the dating there wasn't that spark driving me to do anything. In other relationships I had to force myself not to text a guy my every thought and feeling and with Calvin I literally couldn't think of one thing I could text him. Even worse than that, I didn't really think of him at all. 

I realized that was a sign of sorts and decided two weeks ago that I was going to let things die with Calvin. It just seemed like the best thing to do. I can’t just keep having a guy feed me when I don’t even know how I feel about him. And I should really know, it's been 7 months.  
  
Here’s the kicker. How do you break something off with a guy you will have to continue hanging out with? I couldn't just do what I always do and avoid him so I had to be a grownup and let him know. 

I have to be honest our first hang out after the whole "let's stop dating" was awkward. My friend invited me to dinner and promised it would be a no Calvin zone. Then our other friend called her saying he invited Calvin and then apologized to me. With both our friends watching, Calvin and I tried our best to play it cool. Of course I was a bumbling idiot. 

After that it was all peaches and gravy and we went right back into our friendship. He still sits by me in Sacrament Meeting and we still hang out with our friends during the week. He's handling it so well that I feel like I may have made a mistake. Well played Calvin.

I'm almost all caught up on my tales of dating and woe. This last week was more eventful that one could expect. I came out of it with two dates, a stalker, and conflicting feelings about a certain crush. 



-The Bluestocking 


0 comments:

Post a Comment

Happenings

2/21/2014 The Lady 2 Comments

“My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company.” –Persuasion

I do realize that I am quite often very silly. As has been pointed out to me by a reader (or two, or three, or more) I am often inconsistent, wishy-washy, and thoroughly selfish. Perhaps I ought to apologize for this fault, but I also believe that my selfishness just might be my tragic flaw. My hamartia. I cannot always help my tragic flaws for they are my undoing. But I shall try to be much less so. But with that being said, I do recall Jane Austen writing, “Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure.” 

The Artist is no longer of any consequence to me, and we have not talked at all since he began dating whomever it is that he is dating (a completely different girl than the one he was asking advice about mind you). But it’s no matter. He is as welcome to be as inconsistent as myself.

But I have met someone new. I have met a man and I am not even certain as to what he should be called. For some reason I am nervous to fix a name on him as it may be too permanent or not permanent enough. For some reason he unsettles me.

I met this man at institute last week. He is not particularly attractive nor immediately intriguing. An average guy to my average girl. He asked if he might sit next to me during class, and as I am not one to ever refuse a man a seat near me, I acquiesced. We introduced ourselves to each other, but did not talk much after that. But tonight was different. Tonight was very different indeed.

Tonight, he invited himself to sit next to me again, and we engaged in a bit of playful banter. Flirtations. Then I found out that he too is a graduate student (an older man, huzzah!), and that his minor for his undergrad was English literature. Similarities. Once class was over, we stuck around the institute and chatted with some friends about all sorts of meaningless things. Somehow we got onto the topic of musicals which led to a healthy debate. While discussing Les Miserables, I mentioned that Javert’s song, “Stars” is my absolute favorite. He immediately hopped out of his seat, sat at the conveniently nearby piano and began to play the song. Talent. For some unknown reason I began to cry; helpless, soundless tears streaming down my cheeks. I had enough time to compose myself before he rejoined the group, but my friends were barely able to contain their meaningful glances. After a couple of hours of hanging about, we all decided it would probably be best if we all went our separate ways. Once we were outside, he asked if he could walk me to my car, which of course was perfectly fine with me.

We meant to say goodnight right there and then, but we stayed in the lot and talked for at least two hours more. It was easy and delightful. At one point he asked if I would like to go out sometime, and once again I consented to his request. Usually after a guy asks me out, the conversation comes to a grinding halt. I agree and then we stutter out an awkward goodbye, “Uh…okay. I’ll see you then…uh…bye.” That didn't happen with him. He asked me out, I said yes, and we kept on talking as though nothing in the world had happened. He texted me when I got home, and we've been texting for the past couple of hours. It’s 2:00 am. I’m only just getting to bed.

What is happening?

Con Amor,

The Lady

2 comments:

Post a Comment

FHE: An Uneventful Tale

2/18/2014 The Blue Stocking 3 Comments

I have to admit I’ve made tiny insignificant attempts to get to know my ward. It’s shameful how unsocial I can be so last night I decided to mix and mingle at FHE. In reality I talked to my two friends in the ward and spent the night playing games and laughing with the bishopric and their wives.
During the course of the night Smitie made his way over to me but instead of a good ol fashion "how are you" he rubbed my shoulders and walked away. In a rough translation of boy code, I believe that means we’re all good? 

 Henry walked by our group and said it was nice to see me then spent the rest of the night hanging out with his guy friends. Does this mean he isn’t dating something in the ward? OR that he’s dating someone in another ward and now he doesn’t think it’s necessary to get to know the rif raf in our ward?

Anyhoo. On my way to the door an attractive guy that I’d noticed watching me earlier came up and started talking to me. Before I knew it, he had pulled his roommates into our conversation and I was surrounded by guys and in a heated debate over who's better Austen or Bronte. I don’t know if this was a dream come true, but it was pretty darn close.

So today I sit and write this knowing that there are guys out there that love to read and they are not as sparse as my daily interactions have led me to believe. I just need to hold out for it OR find someone with enough money to make me forget he’s illiterate. Calvin?

Also, when did flirty facebook message replace actual in person interaction?? I've been getting messages from The Poly asking me if I'm married and from Smitie telling me how great I look at church yet I haven't talked to either of them in weeks. At some point it's just weird. 

-The Bluestocking

3 comments:

Post a Comment

The Week of Love: The Couple {A Guest Post}

2/12/2014 The Entrancer 1 Comments

We're all thinking about love during this love week, and I have a love for something. I'd like to declare here: I have a love for couples.

I really do. I like them. I like watching them. Is that creepy? Yes. I try to have it not be, though. I try to subtly and slyly observe couples in their world of couple-y oblivion. I try to telepathically convey my excitement that they're a couple and that I totally approve and that I'm just trying to join in the joy.

Without being creepy.

When I was at junior college in a small town, I thought I knew all the couples around. They were gossiped about in the girls' apartment complex, they were not-so-subtly observed in church, (sidestory: I became companions with a gal on my mission, of whom I knew purely because I'd creeped on her and a very attractive young man while at a devotional in college) they were literally the talk of the town. When the town is small, you know it all.

Imagine my surprise when I started a new class and observed an entirely brand-new, hitherto unknown couple!

What caught my eye about these two was their comfortableness with one another. This wasn't a recent development for them.

As I continued to observe them throughout the semester, I became more impressed. They were adorable! She had brown hair that was wavy and wore this pair of Converse sneakers that were well-loved. He had glasses and was slight of build and always seemed to be wearing a flannel plaid shirt. They had matching binders for the class we were in, which anywhere else would have been just too gaggingly sweet. But they magically pulled it off!

They drove around in his beat-up old pick-up truck. They walked to class holding hands and just talking. They were comfortable with each other, so much so that you would never notice them. They didn't stand out except to a couple-phile like me.

I pointed them out to my roommate, and since we were both creepers, we never introduced ourselves. We just noticed them when we saw them around campus. We dubbed them simply The Couple, so we could be sure to know of whom we were speaking.

I think there was a little magic in that distance we had. Seeing someone from afar, you can imagine the details of their life, without getting caught up in them.

Watching The Couple was almost like watching a movie. To me, they remain that happy and comfortable pair that I saw briefly on campus a few times a week. I don't know where they are now. I don't know their names, so I couldn't possibly look them up on any social media site.

I just know that they were an example for me of a quiet, unassuming pair, who'd found love and were happy with it.

For me, that's enough.

I like couples. My cynicism sometimes leads me to disparaging remarks about stupid things couples do. I mean, we all know it: love makes you stupid sometimes.

But despite that, I maintain in my heart a soft spot for couples. Pairs of people that exhibit signs of respect and love and joy in being together. People that you look at and just know that for them, the air is glittering with the magic of their love.

-The Entrancer

1 comments:

Post a Comment

The Week of Love: The Death Mobile {A Guest Post}

2/12/2014 The Anti-Austen 1 Comments


In my very short list of BYU dating experiences, one story outshines the rest. This, friends, is the tale of The Date in Which I Almost Died.

My sophomore year of college, I was very excited to move into a non-freshman ward. Soon after this occurrence, we were split into FHE families, and in mine was this boy, a little older and a little odder than the rest, who decided a few weeks into the semester that I was his lady of choice. Upon learning this, fear struck my heart. Not because he was a little on the weird side. That was fine.

But because dating scared me.

The first (and only) time he asked me out was on the way to an activity on campus. A large portion of the ward headed up together, and I knew he was going to ask me. I hid behind roommates and got in a car, thinking I was safe, when suddenly, a roommate laughed and pointed out the window. This young man was riding his scooter OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOW, looking straight in at me and nodding. Not watching the road at all. I kind of scooted down in my seat, but it didn't help much.

We got to campus, and the inevitable happened. He walked up to me. Asked if I knew about the football game that Saturday (I did) and then asked if I’d accompany him to it (I said yes). And that was that.

Fast forward to Saturday.

I’m usually a pretty early riser, and so I’d been up since 8, doing homework in the living room in my pajamas and a blanket. It was about 9 when someone tried to get in my front door, which was locked. They tried the handle and then started shoving their body against it, trying to force it open. I freaked out. I knew all of my roommates were home, so I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me and opened the door a crack.

It was that boy.

“Oh, you’re awake. Why was your door locked?” He looked a little frustrated with my obvious lack of courtesy.

“Because it’s still early and everyone is asleep except for me…?” He kind of squinted at me.

“Whatever. The game starts at 1, so I’ll be over at 12 to make smoothies,” he held up a grocery bag, “and then we can head to the game.”

“Sounds fine to me, see you then.” I closed the door and locked it again. I sat back down and finished some more homework, then headed back upstairs to take a shower.

At about 10:30, my roommates were awake and I had just gotten out of the shower, when he walked into our apartment. AN HOUR AND A HALF EARLY. Some roommates headed downstairs to investigate and stall, while I pulled clothes on my body and tried to do my makeup as fast as I could. I heard the back door open and close and thought he was gone.

Wrong.

He just went and got his blender, insisting to my poor roommates that this is when we’d agreed to meet. With the blender whirring loudly downstairs, I stopped messing with my wet hair and just put it in a ponytail. I walked down and saw him sitting at our table with two big glasses in front of him and tons of empty containers on the counter.

“I thought you said 12?” I cautiously sat down.

“No, you must have heard wrong. I said 10, so sorry I’m late.” He took another drink of his smoothie, handing me mine. I looked down into the cup and saw florescent pink water with random pieces of floating berries staring up at me. “Drink up!”

It tasted like acid, but I drank the whole thing.

After he finished his, he went to clean up, picking up his pile of trash and opening the cupboard under the sink to throw it away. We hadn’t gotten around to emptying our trash can, so there was no room for his garbage.

“Woman! This is disgusting. I can’t believe you.” He almost shouted, gesturing to the trash can. I honestly didn't know what to say. He sighed heavily and took it out to the dumpster, coming back in to demand my thanks on his improving my apartment. He continued to ridicule me as he opened the dishwasher and rearrange all of our dishes, which apparently were not in the correct places.

He continues to grill me on my previous football history. I tell him that my dad played football in college, to which his response is: “So he’s a massive human being?” I shake my head no, he’s just normal sized and he shrugs.

We finally leave for the game, and as we walk outside, I realize that I’ll have to ride on the back of his scooter. And hold onto him. As it turns out, my fear was irrational, because as I get on the back, he points to two leather straps and tells me to hang on. Did I also mention that no helmets were involved and he told me that he’d just started learning how to drive this thing the week before? BECAUSE ALL OF THOSE THINGS WERE TRUE.

As we headed up 9th East, he was cutting cars off and speeding, and I was hanging on to those leather straps as if my life depended on it (which it did) and praying, “Please, God, please. If I survive this, I promise to be nicer. I promise to do my homework on time and to actually enjoy visiting teaching.” Finally we get to the parking spot and begin walking towards the stadium. I tried to start a conversation with him as we walked, then sat, and then watched the game, but he was having none of it. In fact, he outright ignored me. So, to pass the time, I just talked to myself. The couple sitting near us gave me a look of pity mixed with confusion. Half time rolled around, and he looked at me and told me he was sick of this and that we were leaving. Fine by me.

Soon we were back on the Scooter of Death, going possibly faster than we were before. The plus side of this was that I was home sooner. He pulls up in front of my apartment and stalls his scooter.
“Well, thank you. I had a really nice time.” I say as I struggle off the back of the Death Mobile.

“Yah, whatever.” He stays on his bike. I wait and see if he’s going to do the standard walk to the door and a hug routine, but he doesn’t. He starts the scooter again and swerves around me without a look back.

I shrug, and go inside, just happy to still have my limbs intact.

 -The Indignant

1 comments:

Post a Comment

The Week of Love: A Lovely Moonlit Stroll (or was it?) {A Guest Post}

2/11/2014 The Anti-Austen 1 Comments

Nothing is more romantic than a moonlit walk with the man of your dreams, right? Unless of course that moonlit stroll takes place at 3AM through a dark forest terrain, not knowing exactly where you’re headed.

My first date with the guy I was interested in started as any other, with a text at about eight o'clock at night, asking what I was up to, and if I wanted to go on a date. Ah, romance. After believing myself to be in store for a romantic evening filled with flirtatious banter, I found myself surrounded by high schoolers. Yes, my "homme romantiqe" had invited me on a group date along with two of his brothers and their dates, all of them still in high school.

Now with my perpetual optimism, I figured I could still make a good thing out of this, so was far from disheartened. Our big activity was to play indoor soccer at the local park's racquetball courts. It was all fun and games until I got hit square in the face with a soccer ball. Surely this kind of thing only happened on America’s Funniest Home Videos. So far on this date I had just come across as uncoordinated and pitiful. But my momma didn't raise no quitter! I would charm the heart of the fair prince!

After soccer was finished (to my relief), it was decided by the group to head up to a local hiking trail that led to caves to be explored. We set off on the trail armed only with one flashlight per couple for what I thought was a mile at most. Six, it turns out six was a more accurate number. And this wasn't just a nice leisurely stroll through trees, there were rocks to be climbed and creeks to be forged. My relief when we got to the caves was short lived when I was informed we would be climbing DOWN into the first cave. My claustrophobia set in, and I felt myself on the edge of a panic attack. Dulling my panic down I was able to successfully navigate myself through the tight spaces and shelves I'd rather not bring up the memory of now.

Five hours after the start of the date, we still weren't finished. That's right, we had to walk back the six miles to our vehicles. My luck was still holding out when wouldn't you know it, we got lost. Without my dates boy scout compass (always be prepared my eye!), we ended up walking about a mile and a half off course in the complete opposite direction. At this point I felt like I was in a horror movie, and something was going to start picking us off one by one.

Luckily, we got scent of the old trail and backtracked to our car. My date finally dropped me off at home eight hours later. 

Mi amor and I went on a few more dates, albeit not as exciting as the first. Even though this would have been a great first date story to tell the kids, we eventually parted ways as likely friends, but not before he left me with a few scars. 

Literal scars. 

My shoes that night left blisters on my ankles.

1 comments:

Post a Comment

When Flirty Eyes Turn to Flirty Dates

2/10/2014 The Blue Stocking 1 Comments

After the whole “I hate literature because I’m an ignorant fool” (paraphrased) I was donezo on the Calvin front. Yes he was technically an attractive good guy that had a grand future ahead of him, but I was not about to enter into a relationship where my greatest passion was summed up as some silly hobby.

My new stance on Calvin was grand in theory, but I had a hard time keeping up my cold front when he kept looking at me! The looks soon turned to chatting and chatting turned to a first date. Yes Calvin decided to abandon the friend zone and ask me out.

Why it that guys choose the very moment a girl is losing interest to kick things up a notch?

Conflicting emotions! Here was a great guy who I had been excited about all fall that was asking me out. But on the other hand he had some serious character flaws; namely, he didn’t love all the things I love which is silly because I have great taste.

I said yes to the date, because I’m not stupid: people deserve a chance.

For the big night he took me to grab froyo. Aww yes, the froyo date; known for its sweet simplicity. So over our delicious frozen treats we chatted well past the point our spoons hit the bottom of the cup. Who knew we had so much to say. After dessert he dropped me off and that was that.

The second I step inside my house I panicked. I had expected the date to confirm my feelings for ol Calvin, but all it did was make everything more complicated. Complicated in the fact that we are exact opposites. Never in my life have I come across as a romantic free spirit that just flutters from one passion to another, but on that date that’s who I was.

His ambition seemed to dwarf everything I had ever done. So as he talked about his 10 year plan I realized that he’s just that solid guy who does all the solid things and I’m not. 


I get that he could very well be the ying to my yang. But I want someone to be a little yangy as well. 

C'est la vie,

The Bluestocking

1 comments:

Post a Comment

uppercase n, uppercase c, uppercase m, uppercase o

2/10/2014 The Romantic 1 Comments

What it is that possesses people to try and make a "booty call" from the other side of the world is quite beyond my Romantic sensibilities. And by people, I am actually referring to the obnoxious Elder I served with oh so long ago.

In recent months, he's completely become the ultimate Wickman bad boy (my computer just auto-corrected that to batboy, and I thought that was hilarious enough to note here) complete with more tattoos and piercings.

When he found out I moved back to Korea, he proceeded to give me advice on the variety of kimchee I could purchase at the store. That evolved into asking me questions about being back, which then led to his plans of wanting to come back this summer.

And then came the explosive suggestion of, "If I can save enough money, I'll go. And then I can stay at your place and we can cuddle." I chose not to address the cuddle remark and instead responded, "You should check out such and such airline. It has really great prices." If I had been less lonely, and if more of my friends back home didn't have lives on Saturday night while I sat at home on a late Sunday afternoon in Korea, I doubt the conversation would have continued past that. But alas, a friendless me seems to have equated to quite the eventful textual conversation. It ended with strong protestations on my part that we would not have a NCMO.

I assume that I'm not the type of person to give off the idea that I'm open to such situations, seeing as how he's the only person who's offered.

But I'm curious, what's the general opinion of NCMO's these days? The idea of engaging in one seems absolutely repulsive to me. And yet, don't we all have that friend who's a bit on the loose side, but whom we still love, adore, and wish we were a little bit more like?

xoxo
-the Romantic

1 comments:

Post a Comment

Do You Want To Be My Boyfriend?!?!?

2/08/2014 The Romantic 1 Comments


1 comments:

Post a Comment

Gravely Mistaken

2/07/2014 The Lady 5 Comments

“No young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman’s love is declared.” -Northanger Abbey

For the past two weeks, The Artist has been texting me non-stop. Everyday he asks those silly get-to-know-you questions that pepper the beginning of any blossoming relationship (especially one developing digitally). Amongst the deluge of text messages, Snapchats, flirtatious Facebook messages, and the like, The Artist has been concocting plans to come for a weekend visit as well as has been attempting to convince me to travel back to Utah to visit him. Some may say that I am playing hard to get, but I simply do not have the time (nor the money for that matter) to go skipping about the country on a whim, so I have avoided giving him an answer regarding my visit to Utah. As far as I am concerned, it simply will not happen.

But through it all, I have been playing that terrible game with myself: He likes me....he likes me not. At some points his flirtations are so obvious I can taste them. At other times it is much more vague. But the "Aha Moment" arrived with violence just last week when The Artist asked me the most perplexing question.

He asked me to go to France with him this summer.

France. A boy asked me to go to France. He wants us to sit beside the Seine; him sketching and me writing. He wants us to spend days at the Louvre. He wants us to tour Versailles. He wants us to frolic about the countryside. No.Big.Deal.

In my mind, that was surely an "I like you" moment. Can you blame me? I mean I have a tendency to believe a guy likes me if he asks to borrow a pen let alone if he asks me to go to travel to another country with him. Because of this, the past few days have been slightly agonizing. Of course I couldn't settle on whether the France thing should happen, but most importantly, I could not decide whether I actually liked The Artist back. I took the advice of a friend and tried to imagine romantic situations between The Artist and myself . . . nothing seemed to turn out like it should have.

Cuddling: Am I the big spoon or the little spoon?
Hand-Holding: Are his hands actually smaller than mine? How is that possible?
Kissing: Do I get him a box to stand on? Do I stand on the lower step at the doorway?
Other Stuff: No.

That decided it. I did not like The Artist. Not in that way at least. There would be no road trips. No France. But that was not going to stop me from participating in some shameless flirting. Who do you think I am?

As the texting/Snapchatting/Facebooking continued between The Artist and myself, I fancied that maybe I would get over those physical hangups because he really is a great guy and I really do like talking to him. Luckily The Artist saved me from being too wishy-washy about my decisions because just the other day he friend-zoned me. Yes. He began asking me about when you know it's the right time to kiss someone, and of course he was not talking about me.

My internal reaction: What? What? What?!

I am not hurt (there is no reason to be), but simply befuddled as to why a guy would spend hours talking to a girl he doesn't truly like. Why a guy would plan lengthy roadtrips to see a girl if he wasn't genuinely interested. Why a guy would ask a girl to France if he wasn't sincere. But most of all I am miffed that I no longer have someone to flirt with.

Blast it all.

Con Amor,
The Lady

5 comments:

Post a Comment

The Week of Love

2/05/2014 The Blue Stocking 0 Comments



Dear Readers,

Just in case you needed another reminder, we are swiftly approaching v-day territory. For some, this holiday is a time to pull out all the stops and shower your love with valentines dripping with ooey gooey feelings. For others, it’s time to add another cat to the litter. Either way, we want to spend it reminiscing with you!

Starting next week, in order to celebrate/survive this holiday of love and sorrow, we want to display the very best and very worst love stories featuring you the reader.

So if you’re currently sporting a shiny rock or perhaps nursing a carton of ice-cream, give us the nitty gritty on your tales of wooing and woe and send your story to byudates@gmail.com

-The Bluestocking

0 comments:

Post a Comment

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.

2/04/2014 The Blue Stocking 5 Comments

After the rock climbing trip I was expecting something to change between Calvin and me. I mean he did acknowledge my existence AND volunteer to be my partner even though all signs pointed to me dropping him on his head.

But nothing came of it. We went back to weekly activities with little to no interaction. I hated this. For the first time since leaving BYU it felt like I'd found prime real estate in relationshipville and I was just waiting for a signal before I signed the lease. Yet instead of signals I was left in silence.   

But I continued to rouge up and attend every friendly interaction waiting for anything. Then I began to notice something. He was watching me. Not like some creepo or anything, but whenever someone made a comment his eyes would flicker to mine like he was gauging how I felt. 

This was all good fun, but I was in no mood for another Bingley in my life. All eyes and no action makes for a bitter Bluestocking.

Then one night after a dinner out, our friends invited us over to watch a movie. I backed out because my bed was calling (he can be rather insistent), but on my way to my car Calvin approached and insisted that I come. Five minutes later we were sharing a couch and fueling a conversation consisting of  just the two of us. 

It was all kinds of bizarre.

At one point my friend called out to me asking about some book I was reading and we started a fun group convo about literature. If I haven’t made this clear before now, I love literature. My room is 75% books and 25% bed. I asked Calvin if liked to read and he said “No, I feel like fiction is a complete waste of time.”

This coming from the climber of rocks.

The only phrase I could get out was “are you kidding me?!” before our other friends quickly did a “haha you shouldn’t have said that to her. Let’s watch the movie!” click.

I spent the first half of the movie making a list of every major work of fiction I had read and how it changed my life and the lives of millions for the better.  And the second half convincing myself that pinning him down and making him listen to my list would make everyone in the room feel uncomfortable. I mean I would feel better, but sometimes it's not about me. 

There went three weeks of eye flirting down the drain.


-The Bluestocking

P.S. He's not an idiot, I just couldn't figure out how to change the last word to intolerably stupid. 

5 comments:

Post a Comment

A grand adventure of sorts.

2/02/2014 The Lady 3 Comments
"Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery." -Jane Austen 

I left town last weekend for a bit of an adventure. My friend, Isabel suggested that we ditch this utterly lifeless city and take a trip to St. George to meet up with some friends and be counselors at a one-day EFY session. I was more than hesitant to agree because I can often be a stick in the mud and am always swamped with my grad studies. But after much hemming and hawing, I talked myself into going along. Little did I know that my overzealous friend was basically kidnapping me. Every day for the week before we actually left, she would text me to remind me to bring such and such pair of shoes or such and such swimsuit and to "get pumped up" about our road trip. Being the sort of person who doesn't respond well to direct approaches for most things, I became quite irritable and considered backing out of the trip at least a dozen times. But Isabel was adamant that it would be "good for me" to get out of town and "hang out with people." The night before we were to embark, Isabel revealed to me with the worst news possible. 

After hashing out an incredibly detailed itinerary for every spare moment of the weekend, Isabel told me, "Oh and by the way, we're going on a double date tomorrow night." 

Excuse me?

Have I ever mentioned how I hate being set up on dates? How I despise it? How I loathe it? Well I do. I do not trust many people to set me up on dates. And by many, I actually mean: none. I do not trust anyone to set me up on a date. Not my mother (especially not my mother), not my sisters, not my best friends, not my cousin, not my next door neighbor, not my next door neighbor's dog. NO ONE. I could generate a list a mile long that contains all the things that I would rather do than be set up on a date, but I will spare you the pain of having to read such a list. 

Needless to say, I was infuriated. Beyond infuriated. Now, I love Isabel. I do. She is my closest friend in this town, but she can be pushy and demanding and downright selfish at times. She is also the world's greatest flirt (that being said from the lips of a coquette) and every time I talk to her she is interested in a new guy. So I just knew in my heart of hearts that this date I was being forced on was actually set up so that she could go out with her newest crush and I would be stuck with whoever could be scrounged up. 

Was a wrong?

I am never wrong. (Scratch that. I am often wrong, but I am also often right.). I attempted to disguise my sour mood during our hours of driving and made Isabel listen to Noah Guthrie's version of "Sexy and I Know It" dozens of times for penance (she loved it, so I don't think it was a well thought out plan). All the while, my insides were boiling (with rage, not indigestion). When we arrived at the restaurant, Isabel and I caught a glimpse of our prospective dates. I knew immediately which date was Isabel's and which was mine. Isabel turned to me with a face of horror, "I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am sooo sorry." But I was instantly set at ease. I will not relay to you the particulars of what there was to apologize for about my date because it is frankly unimportant as well as incurably shallow. To make a long story short, Isabel somehow had the most boring date of her life, and I was amazingly comfortable and had a wonderful time with my date. 

Let it be known that I would much rather date a funny man than a handsome man.

And the weekend that I thought would be better filled with studying? It turned out to be exactly what I needed just as Isabel predicted. If you don't know this already, EFY counselors are the greatest flirts in the world. Isabel and I spent the entire weekend with the other counselors, and it was simply the best. 

On one of our evenings together, someone (I cannot recall who) initiated a massive cuddle session. Absolutely everyone was cuddling with someone else. It was one of the strangest phenomenons I have ever witnessed. Somehow I found myself pulled onto the lap of a man without having done a thing to initiate it. "Hey, I'm Mark," he whispered. "Uh...The Lady," I giggled sheepishly. Goodness knows it had been so long since I had cuddled with anyone, I was quite content all evening. Now if you were to ask me this man's real name or even what he looked like, I could not tell you. It was simply nice. Is that horrible?

The rest of my time in St. George was spent flirting with one of the other EFY counselors whom I will call The Artist. Out of all the many people I met that weekend, he was by far my favorite. He has such a good sense of humor and made me feel as though I were the most delightful creature. And he was forthright enough to ask for my number and has been texting me everyday since I've been back. It has been ages since something like this has happened to me, and I am relieved that there are people in the world who do not think that 23 is a monstrous age. 

However, there is a hitch. As always. The Artist is . . . how to put this delicately . . . somewhat scrawny. I know it sounds terribly and awfully shallow, but please understand that I am not exactly a dainty sparrow. Now don't let your imaginations run wild, but when I dated Mr. Cowboy and Dex, their favorite physical attribute of yours truly was that "my hips don't lie". I wish they lied a little, but it is what it is. I may be grossly exaggerating, but when I'm next to The Artist I feel like a giant. Some girls can get away with dating small guys, but I simply don't think I can be one of them. Of course there is nothing wrong with small guys. Nothing at all. I just don't feel as though I'm a small enough girl to date a small guy. It's like The Bluestocking and her height. It's a thing. Is it a thing?

This is definitely one of those situations that would  never happen in a Jane Austen novel. Lizzie's qualm with Mr. Darcy was NOT that he was small in stature. 

Is this a deal breaker?

Con Amor, 
The Lady



3 comments:

Post a Comment

Introducing Calvin

2/01/2014 The Blue Stocking 2 Comments

On my last post someone pointed out that naming a guy I liked The Cousin made it seem like I was promoting incest. From now on he will be named Henry.

The Smitie date happened before Thanksgiving and everyone knows the holidays are ideal for avoiding. And that’s what I did.Things with Henry were also nonexistent unless you count the time I ran into him at church and we talked for a total of 45 seconds.

Do you know who does count that 45 second interaction? Me, that’s who. This is what desperation looks like.



Ok through all the Poly and Smitie talk, there’s one guy I’ve left out of the catch up. I was hoping that by now I would have something concrete to say about him, but I don't. See I've never been the girl who couldn't make up her mind about a guy. Either I like him or I don't. but this new guy has decided to ruin my ability to trust myself. And though it's not technically his fault, I blame him. Let's start at the beginning. 

In July my cousin (yes my actual cousin) moved into the ward and brought with him a group of fellow med students.  

One in particular began hanging with us in our tight knit group of friends. Let’s call him Calvin. Calvin is hard to explain. He’s the kind of guy that you can tell is observing what’s going on around him and is content to not step in and put on a show. He’s nice, ambitious, and outdoorsy to the extreme; meaning he basically puts me to shame in every way possible.

For the first few months I believed that he was indifferent towards me and I will even go as far as to say he just didn't like being around me...or so I thought. Around October things started to pick up. 

As the weeks went by our mutual friends found themselves partnered up with girlfriends and boyfriends leaving ol Calvin and me as the mismatched pair of socks.

A week before Halloween our group of friends headed out to go rock climbing. As we were suiting up Calvin came up and started talking to me. This wasn’t unusual, ok wait, yeah it kind of was. He then asked if I wanted to be his partner. I’m pretty sure my reaction was “ok, I guess you have a death wish or something.”

I have to say while Calvin was an experienced rock climber, I was a clumsy fool. I don’t even like rocks. But Calvin was determined to get me to climb a wall and with his help I did eventual reach the ceiling. With great relief, I was on my way down when the rope suddenly loosened resulting in me dropping a couple of inches. That wasn’t the only thing that dropped. I’m pretty sure my heart went through the floor and is now buried somewhere deep in the earth.

I looked down fully expecting an apologetic face when all I found was a guy laughing up at me. Did we just flirt? Also I would like you to note that only in dating would an attempt at my life be considered a step towards a relationship.

More to come

-The Bluestocking

2 comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)