The Anti-Austen

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 9^th 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

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.

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

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

“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

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

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.

"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

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

Hello dearest readers,

I know my absence has thrown you into the deepest pits of misery and woe. "Where has the Romantic gone?" your heart cried. "Why does she not grace us with her presence?" "Is she married? Engaged? What has become of our dearest heroine?"

I hate to inform you that my life has been rather dull of late. I graduated from good ole' "Breed 'Em Young" University as I like to term it. And my life has been full of nothing but Korean soap operas and period BBC dramas ever since.

My life last semester produced no romantic intrigues to the disappointment of not only myself, but to many of my family members; whom fear above all else that I will never marry. Ah, but such is the life of a 24 year old college graduate.

It seemed that every time I tried to engaged any boy in any sort of social activity, he stood me up. I'm not speaking in terms of dates either. I'm talking about good old fashioned friendship. You know, the thing that used to exist before applications like twitter and tinder. I would invite them over, to "hang" as it were (actually as it weren't, it was usually for a home cooked meal. I became quite domesticated this last year you see), they would acquiesce, and then never show up.

You can imagine my broken heart.

And so, I took to concentrating on my career. And by my career, I mean my internship. I wish I could tell you what it was, dear readers. But I suppose you'll have to take me at my word that it was very prestigious and written about in several newspapers.

But I digress.

The point is, I've grown quite tired of it all. You know what I mean, from the dating game as it were: failing at flirting, desperately trying to date, becoming bitter. My attempt to participate at one YSA activity since being home left me a bit in the doldrums.

So I'm giving it up for an exciting new adventure. I'm going to a place half-way around the world to a place where singles wards do not exist.

South Korea! I've taken an engagement of a different sort; to become an English teacher. Yes, yes, I still have plans to become a professor further down the line. But, being single, unmarried, AND graduated has provided me a wealth of opportunities to do, well, whatever I damn well please (excuse my French).

So while I'm sure my life will be nothing like a Jane Austen novel in the slightest, and without a friend in the city I'll be living in, I'll have much more time to grace you with my presence. Aren't you so excited dear readers? Won't this be delightful?

xoxo
-the Romantic

Here's hoping to have ssome sort of romantic adventure!

The only time I truly dread Fridays is when they've been turned into high pressure date nights. I usually end up getting a small amount of sleep the night before and spend the whole day panicking while my friends send me “don’t jump” messages.

But Friday with Smitie came sooner than I expected and the pre-date movie night (aka the night I spent with The Cousin) had me feeling less on edge. He picked me up for dinner and a show. My usual route to making a guy not like me is to flip the switch to nerdy Blue and let my freak flag wave, but I was walking a fine line. While I wanted Smitie to find me resistible I didn’t want him reporting back to The Cousin that I was loony tunes.

Also he cleared up the whole 6 months of cold shoulder, apparently he thought I was dating someone in the ward. I have to admit there is another guy that I haven't mentioned and I can see why he thought something may be going on. I'll get to more of that later. So I guess he was kinda off the hook, buuut that didn't mean I was ready to swoon anytime soon, if ever.

After dinner we were driving to a show when we started talking about our passions. I’m going to let you in on one of my pet peeves. People who claim to love love love something and end up knowing little to nothing about it. Don’t tell me you are obsessed with Shakespeare after only reading Romeo and Juliet in high school, don’t tell me country music is all you listen to than blink in confusion when I mention Garth Brooks, and do not tell me Jane Austen is your favorite person after only watching Pride and Prejudice.

I get that I take my obsessions to an unhealthy level, but I want the guy I like to at least have the decency to be knee deep in crazy town over some odd fixation.

Phew, ok let’s get back on track. We got to the show and I could tell he was trying to start something. There was a whole lot of nudging, knee touching, and flirty eyes, but my body language suggested a complete lock down. He’s attractive and everything, but that only goes so far.

I’m not even going to tell you about the door scene because I’m still trying to scrap it out of my memory. I don’t know if he’ll ask me out again, but I do know I need to make something happen with the Cousin. Any ideas?

-The Bluestocking

"Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked."
--Jane Austen

It has been much too long since I wrote last. Apologies, apologies.

A quick update about Mary and The Bearded Hobbit:

I was quite right about The Bearded Hobbit and his interest in the Nineteen-Year-Old Nuisance. As of a couple weeks before the Christmas break, the two began "officially" dating. Poor Mary. She insists that she isn't much bothered, but she also has asked me more than once why I think the older men in our area tend to date the younger girls. I for one have no answer to give. I repeat: poor Mary.

Other things to address:

Recently, a reader asked if we find technology to be a help or hindrance to the dating process. In search of a simple answer, I have stewed over this question much longer than was probably necessary. And of course, I have not been able to come up with a simple answer at all. I think that technology can be both a help and a hindrance to dating.

As much as I love sending and receiving hand-written letters (I truly do love letters), the technology we have is ever so helpful. If I need to contact someone on the other side of the world in a hurry, I have a multitude of means at my disposal. Back in the olden days when I was actually seriously dating men, we could contact each other through seemingly limitless mediums. If my phone was on the fritz (which seemed to happen often back then) we could send each other messages through email, Facebook, etc. All the technology we have is quite brilliant.

I assume, however, that the question asked was not about how helpful technology is in getting in touch with people, but rather how I view modern modes of dating (aka online dating).

Ladies and gentleman, please fasten your seat belts.

Due to a creepy experience I had with an online chat room (do those still exist?) when I was a wee lass, I had vowed to never ever be involved with online dating. I was quite hard-nosed about it for years and years, and harshly judged anyone who participated in anything like it. I was convinced there could only be horrible consequences for those who got involved with someone they only knew from online. But after hearing countless tales of what good had come of it for friends and relatives, my heart began to soften slightly.

Online dating is such a regular part of our culture, that it is difficult to condemn it, and I am not certain that condemnation is what it deserves. I think that it provides opportunities for people to meet that other circumstances might never make possible. But with that said, I'm not exactly all for it either.

In my most personal and most biased opinion, I still never want to be involved in online dating. Yes, I know the rule to never say "never" and yes, I did go through a short Tinder stint, but no more I say! It isn't so much that I think all men to be found on online sites are crummy, fake, or shallow, but it's more about what I've discovered about myself when I've briefly tried online dating/meeting/whatever.

It is much too easy to be fake. And I am not talking about all the creepers (which definitely exist), I am talking about myself. When chatting or emailing guys online, I feel I am only half myself. I am only the parts of myself that I let them see. My photos are perfectly angled and cropped to only accentuate my best features and effectively hide those flaws I am not too partial to. I am perfectly witty and flirty because I can sit and think about my responses rather than allow the usual awkward babble that tends to escape my lips. Men become interested by the picture of myself that I present to them rather than the reality that I am. And it is not as though I am intentionally manipulative, it is just what happens with online interactions. It just isn't real. At least for me.

So for my answer to technology and dating: it's a personal choice. It is not for me, but maybe it is for you. Maybe you're not a phony like I am, and maybe you've had great experiences unlike yours truly. Like most things in life, it is a matter of personal taste.

Oh, be wise. What can I say more?

Con Amor,

The Lady

The Home Teacher

It’s hard to describe my Home Teacher. I feel like he’s someone you would over look, but once you do look you’re interested. Sort of the guy next door, but not really. I find this description to be most unhelpful.

The first time he came over to visit we spent an hour discussing literature. The next time he came he brought me chocolate. You can see why I like him right? There’s just one little problem, he’s two inches shorter than me. I won’t even go into the height debate. We’ve beat that dilemma into the ground.

Anyhoo, after sacrament meeting I was talking with one of my friends when he abruptly sat down beside me and said “Hey Blue, wow this is awkward right, yeah sorry I just wanted to see..” and he continues on telling me about the many adventures I needed to be a part of.

If you didn’t find the previous tale to be incredible charming, it is my own fault I can’t seem to describe him how I want to. I guess the best thing to say is he makes me feel comfortable and I happen to be a big fan of comfort nowadays.

Our repelling adventure got canceled (my bad) but we have set some future plans and I’ll let you know how those go.

The Cousin

Before the big reunion date with ol Smitie, he invited me to the movies with his cousin. When I got to the theater they were both seated and ready for the movie. Smitie briefly introduced me to The Cousin that just so happens to also be in my ward.

Confession: For months, I have had the sneaking suspicion that The Cousin and I belonged together. There are no facts to back this up, just a strong desire to kiss his face.

I pretended to be meeting the cousin for the first time (and the Oscar goes to Bluestocking for feigning indifference) and quickly did a brief I’m-amazing-date-me intro. The previews then kicked off and we immediately began joking and teasing each other. And by we I mean the cousin and me. Do you know those guys who make you feel really funny and clever and you also believe them to be the best thing ever? Well that’s what was going on.

I feel I need to say I did not leave Smitie out of the merriment.

After the movie, our wit was in full swing and I hate to make too bold of a statement, but I felt better joking with him than how I’ve felt with a guy in a year.

No joke.

I went there.

But you obviously see the problem. I’m currently going on dates with Smitie. Therefore, The Cousin is off limits…at least for now.

-The Bluestocking

Aaaamen.

For some reason the persistent RM and Scooters of the world have a way of finding me. Remember Smitie? Well he’s back. After months of him going out of his way to never, and I mean never, talk to me he decided to make an appearance.

Earlier this month I entered Sunday School and Smitie was staring at me. He quickly looked away but not before I recognized The Look. The Look being that glance a boy gives you right before he builds up the courage to do something bold.

After SS I was on my way to Relief Society when he walked by and asked how I was. We did the weird we’re-both-moving-in-opposite-ways-but-you-just-started-a-convo-and-now-we’re-both-walking-backwards. After we moon walked back to each other we stayed in the hallway for a few minutes to chat. This chat made me realize I didn’t completely dislike this guy.

YES he is rather smug and YES he is inconsistent BUT he’s not the jerk I chalk him up to be. We were nearing the end of our catch-up convo when this happens:

Him: "So I know we bailed on each other earlier this year."

Me: (by bailed do you mean you ignored me?) "uhuh."

Him: "But I was wondering…"

Random girl in the ward that was sitting by Smitie in SS: “Blue RS is starting and you need to come to class now”

Me: "Yeah thanks, I’ll be there in a second."

Random Girl: "You need to come now, Smitie you shouldn’t be keeping her. Come on Blue (as she gestures for me to move into the RS room like I’m an incompetent 5-year-old) time for you to come to class."

But it didn’t end there. For the next 5 minutes this girl kept trying to pull me (physically and figuratively) into class while Smitie told her to leave us alone. At one point we just stood there forming a triangle of awkward silence. Finally she left and he asked me out.

This is just one example of some of the girls in our ward. I’m not accusing her of trying to sabotage Smitie’s ask out because I believe she likes him, but I am hinting at it pretty heavily. One of these posts will probably be dedicated to the boldness/obnoxiousness of the girls in my ward.

This same Sunday, my Home Teacher asked me out to go repelling. You could say I was on a roll.

-The Bluestocking

P.S. Posts to come: The Home Teacher and The Date with Smitie.

When we left off I was in pursuit of a guy I spent a total of 74 seconds with in a bookstore. Looking back I see that it’s easier to make a perfect man out of 74 seconds than out of months of interaction. I attempted to turn this brief affair into something much lengthier and intimate by stalking the bookstore in which we met. The only result was me proving to being a total creep show.

Story. Of. My. Life.

Fall kicked up and with it brought more guys with even interesting interactions and today we will focus on The Poly.

Ahh the mysterious Poly.

The weeks following The Poly's and my jaunt around the church were wrought with oddities of all kinds. And for once the oddities had nothing to do with me. Instead I started receiving random grammatically incorrect FB messages from him during and after church. Trying to suppress the inner English Major, I decided to cut the kid some slack. But the messages continued and he was nowhere to be found. Below is a brief excerpt from one of our conversations:

The Poly: “wyd"

The Poly: “?”

I was baffled. Was this code? Could it possible mean "what are you doing" and the “are” was implied?

Me:

Him: “cum over with movies.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, wow this really attractive guy wants to spend time with you. And this is what I was thinking, “I am not going over to some strangers apartment to “watch movies,” I choose life.”

And I get it, I over-reacted, but I really felt weird about the whole thing. The following Sunday I finally saw him in person. And by “saw” I mean I was talking to someone and he came up, elbowed me in the back, said hi, and then left. It’s strange, but whatever.

Our bizarre saga continues, but I’m waiting for something more eventful than a bruised back to update you on.

-The Bluestocking