The Blogging Version of Life Support

I've been out of town, and my indomitable partner is still a bit shy (I can't imagine why she wouldn't be eager to reveal details of her personal life to the internet), so I figured our nonexistent readership to be absolutely pining away for lack of updates. To satisfy the masses, here is a YouTube video tangentially related to dating.

This is somehow simultaneously a Do and a Don't. I mean, high marks for enthusiasm, but...woof. Not that I would complain if this happened to me (I might burst out laughing).

...Because Styx speaks to every woman's heart.




-Bea

Morning Date Update

Cody--the Morning Date guy--called my home phone yesterday to ask if I wanted to "carpool" to singles ward today. I allowed three seconds of awkward silence while my mind raced furiously for any kind of excuse...and ended up with "um, I might have to leave early."

The real reason? I like to listen to Lady Gaga on the freeway, Sunday or not, and you never know how that'll go over with a recent RM in the car.



-Bea

Lovely Morning for a Date

Okay, I know it seems like I’ve got blogging fever, but I actually was inspired to start this blog by the cluster of dating-related events that have happened to me so far this summer. It wouldn’t be fair to cool down until I’m up-to-date, which I will be after this post.



At the beginning of the summer I had three hometown set-ups to look forward to. One is a friend of a friend of my mother, one is the brother of a young couple in my home ward, and one is an old pal getting home from his mission whose mom is eager to get us together.

Well…one down, two to go.

Earlier this week, Set-Up #1 called my home phone to arrange our date. I guess he had gotten it from my mom’s friend, I dunno.

The next day, he picked me up at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Yes, you read that right: 9:00 in the morning.

Here’s what I have to say about the Hierarchy of First Dates.
1. Friday night: you’re #1! More special than Saturday night for some reason, Friday night means that you are his top priority this week. He might have had to ditch class or work early to get ready for you. Awesome!
2. Saturday night: Still awesome, but a little less special. He probably spent the whole day watching sports in his underwear and was dying to get out of the house by nighttime anyway. At least you got a coveted Weekend Evening spot.
3. Any Weeknight: Sorry sister, but he’s got somebody better than you on the docket for the weekend. At least you guys can probably walk into a restaurant without a reservation.
4. Saturday, daytime: Possible good time for a Group Activity, which we all know are less special than real dates. This could lead to awkwardness when it comes time to split the check—is this a date or isn’t it? Another possibility is an outdoor or sporting activity, which can be potentially disastrous on a first date.
5. Lunch Date: Really? He can’t fit you in any night of the week? That’s rough, girl.
6. Breakfast Date: Reminds me of freshman year when guys would sometimes set morning dates for the Cannon Center. Cool.

However, Cody is exempt from the Hierarchy—even though the Hierarchy does say a lot about how a guy views you and your potential relationship—because he works (as a Bug Guy, natch) until 10pm every day except Saturday. I’m sure that does wonders for his social life.

Turns out he lives in some swanky new apartments not 5 minutes from my house. Before I got my hopes up too much vis à vis his income level*, he explained that the sales company provided the digs. He brought all the ingredients to make crêpes to the apartment clubhouse, but neglected to bring a mixing bowl, spatula, or whisk. Being the insanely clever female McGyver that I am, I suggested we dump out a shallow decorative vase and use that.

I was pleasantly surprised that there were no awkward pauses at all: the conversation flowed pretty naturally. But he didn’t make me laugh.

We shot a few games of pool and ended up driving around so I could show him some of the local haunts. I didn't really want to do that, but he seemed very eager for the date to continue I guess. Finally we ended up at a big park...I declined his suggestion to join the crowd of toddlers on the playground (I wasn’t keen on kicking a bunch of kids off the swingset), and then he dropped me off at home. At last. I think the worst thing a guy can do on a first date is let it go on too long, ya know?

I should note that he was a gentleman, that he was very nice, and that we had a decent enough time getting to know each other. There was zero spark, though. The only time we made physical contact was when he shook my hand in front of my mom when he picked me up. I guess I’ll see him at the singles ward, but there will not be a second date.



The best part of all this? He doesn’t have my phone number. Not my cell, anyway. This means…drumroll…No Awkward Texting. No post-date texting, no midweek “what’s up?” texts, no lame textversations I can barely stay awake through. If only I’d done this with El Niño.

Seriously though, I’m kicking it old school this summer, phone-wise. Land lines are the best thing ever for guys you don’t feel like interacting with on a daily basis. He can only call you at reasonable hours, and usually only to set up a date. Texting has really broken down a lot of social barriers, barriers that in this girl’s opinion should have stayed up. Think about it: who wants to constantly text people they barely know and aren’t interested in, just because said people have your number and think texting is less intimidating?

Every guy I meet this summer is getting the land line first.



-Bea



*Say what you want, but money does for men what hotness does for women. Am I right, ladies?

The Pandora's Box of TMI

Previously on Fishers of Men: I went to my summer singles ward for the first time, and a few summer sales guys invited me to their apartment for pancakes. Never having had Mormon friends in my hometown, let alone potential dates, I leaped at the opportunity (but obviously I tried to be cool about it).

Later that night I changed into jeans and showed up at the apartment El Niño shares with two other guys in the ward. Of course El Niño misdirected me somewhat, so I knocked on the wrong door at first, and the butchest woman I have ever seen quieted her dogs down long enough to tell me I had the wrong place. Thanks, New Friend.

Once I got to the right apartment, it seemed like pretty standard “hangout” fare at first: Niño and I played a couple rounds of Rock Band and one of his roomies started cooking breakfast-for-dinner. The four of us enjoyed pancakes and bacon while watching 3:10 to Yuma. There was typical “get to know you” banter. I promised one of the guys a round of Words With Friends. We discussed fun things to do in the area and I guess I got voted Cruise Director for the summer, since I’m the only native.

All typical first-hangout stuff…

Then it got weird.

I mean, when you first meet someone, you keep it light, right? A little banter, minor biographical details like hometown and schooling, favorite bands. “Say something for me in [insert mission language]!” You know, that sort of thing.

Well, throughout the evening, El Niño had been my only “constant.” He was the one who got my number at church; he met me at my car; he was the only guy who was there with me the entire time instead of popping in and out like the others did. He seemed very into getting to know me, too: favorite everything, life-changing experiences, et cetera.

But forget about what he asked me. What he told me about himself was a whole different ball game of crazy.

First, he waxed near-poetic about his pre-mission girlfriend who vowed to wait for him but apparently spent the entire two years on her back. For some reason this did not end their association but merely stoked the fire: he went into great detail about a recent series of calls and tearful meetings and broken engagements. I'm so glad he told me the entire story. I was very much on the edge of my seat.

Okay, fine, I thought. Some people get verbal diarrhea about their exes and can’t help themselves. But El Niño’s troubles go far deeper than that…

See, next thing you know, I’m hearing all about his family life, which was no picnic, and by “no picnic” I mean “go to therapy.” Words cannot describe how much I did not want to hear it.

But good thing I stayed tuned anyway, because then he’s telling me he has, in fact, been to therapy. No, wait, it didn’t do him any good and wait WHY is he telling me he “got hit” as a kid? THERE IS NO UNIVERSE IN WHICH IT’S OKAY TO BE TELLING ME ANY OF THIS.

Suddenly, some amusing comments during the movie (from him, of course) about drive-bys and getting shot at were placed in a whole new context. A whole new “that actually happened and you weren’t joking and you were actually telling me about it” context.

And let’s not even mention the Daddy Issues.

How can I say this...oh yeah. I know now. "That's a dealbreaker, ladies!"


Now before you all start accusing me of having a heart of stone and/or coal, hear me out. I get it. Some people had it a lot rougher than I did. People are weighed down by secret sorrows and haunted by old troubles.

But there’s the clincher—secret sorrows. As in sorrows not to be unloaded on the first pretty face you meet in the singles ward. We had known each other for all of eight hours by the end of the evening. Pancakes aside, this is not the Breakfast Club, bud.

Basically, every conversation with El Niño was like opening a Pandora’s Box of TMI. By the time he was asking me “what makes me me,” I practically had post-traumatic stress disorder, I mean, I might as well have been cowering in a foxhole that entire time, desperately trying to avoid the knowledge bombs he kept dropping.

It was like a hurricane of barely-suppressed neediness and not-suppressed-at-all childhood issues that pretty much left me a shell of my former self. El Niño, indeed.

So to close, here’s a primer on how to befriend a cute girl:
1. Invite her over for dinner and a movie.
2. Get to know her.
3. DO NOT BRING UP UNRESOLVED EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS AND OVERLY TRAUMATIC CHILDHOOD EVENTS.
4. If you successfully completed steps 1-3, you literally do not have to do anything else.

Seriously. How hard is that.

He called to hang out a few times this week, but I’m wary. Sunday night got me pretty spooked. I'll see him this weekend at church, and I definitely want to hang with his apartment this summer, but for now I think a safe distance is best. I never, ever, ever want to open that Pandora's Box again.

-Bea

Sweet Spirits Abound

I was debating whether to write certain things in this post. Certain unkind, judgmental things that paint me as vain and shallow.

Then I came to two realizations. 1. I am operating under the cloak of anonymity and 2. Most people, especially in the dog-eat-dog world of Mormon dating, make petty judgments all the time. Especially about their competition, even potential competition.

As a representative member of the LDS singles community, charged with the sacred duty of recording a girl’s-eye-view of the shark-filled dating pool, I feel it is my responsibility to write even the petty judgments that flicker across my brain-screen.

Long story short: You’re the winners here, dear readers. Today, and every day hereafter, you get My Brain On Dating: Raw, Live, and Uncut. If the MBP guys can do it, so can we.

Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?

This past weekend I attended my local singles ward for the first time ever. Last summer I just muddled through as a Valiant 10 teacher in my family ward, and for the first month of being home this summer I got in the habit of attending family Sacrament and then dipping unless my dad was teaching Sunday School.

Besides, you hear things about the singles ward in my city. Things to make your blood curdle and your hair stand on end…if you’re a dude.

You might hear a whisper, suppressed in the wee small hours of the night… “There are no cute girls.”

If you’re feeling particularly bold despite your goosebumps, you might inquire further, but here is the only reply you can hope for. Wait for it, shivering, with bated breath: “All the girls…are fat.”

[Cue that REET REET REET! music from Psycho.]

Also, you might hear that there’s “drama” and a generous sprinkling of year-round weirdos. A great deal of said drama stems from the age-old conflict between Year-Rounders and Bug Guys. The term “Bug Guy” encompasses all summer salesmen by the way, even the ones who sell security systems instead of pest control. Bug Guys swarm in the summer and descend on the ward like locusts, feasting on the fresh and tender crops of hot summer-only girls and leaving only the barren stalks of the year-round girls for the remaining guys to pick through. And the year-round girls are bitter that they don’t get asked out much, either by Year-Rounders or Bugs.

All this is what I had heard. Naturally, I was a bit apprehensive about showing up alone on my first Sunday. I had picked Fast and Testimony meeting to make my debut, because I reasoned that it was the best way to see the most people in their natural habitat. Also, as singles ward veterans know, F&T is when a ward’s “colorful characters” come out to play.

But I held my head high and tried to look confident as I entered the building for the first time. I was wearing a fabulous dress, which didn’t hurt the whole “confidence” thing. After all, I gotta look good: the only reason I'm driving 20 minutes to singles ward instead of 5 to my family ward is so I can meet guys.

As soon as I walked into the foyer, no fewer than three missionaries glommed onto me. Great. I explained that I had lived in the area my whole life and was attending the singles ward for the first time.

Having deflected the missionaries (temporarily—they seemed far too attentive for missionaries if you know what I mean), I meandered into the chapel, looked lost on purpose in the hopes that someone would try and guide me, preferably someone male. Already I had noticed quite a few decent-looking dudes, most of whom were hanging with other dudes, with no girls in sight.

Awesome, I thought to myself.

Then I took stock of my fellow females…and saw a lot of Sweet Spirits.

Whoever had told me about the girls in the ward wasn’t kidding. The most generous definition of “thin,” in my book, is “waist is smaller than hips.” A rough sketch of an hourglass figure, however thick the hourglass, is still feminine-looking and is attractive on almost any girl with the right proportions. Unfortunately, very few girls in the chapel fit this description, and even fewer paired a visible waist with a pretty face. And let’s forget about fashion sense, because it just gets unfair at that point.

I’m not exactly proud of it, but again I thought, Awesome.

One of the few cute girls came up and introduced herself at that point. Annie was pretty and petite (though she was wearing thick, lumpy black socks with her Mary-Janes for some reason). She was also engaged; her dental-student fiancée squeezed in with us on the pew. Annie and her future-EC did the typical cuddling/rubbing/leg touching thing throughout the meeting, leaving me with no one to talk to but the missionary who plonked down on my other side.

“So,” he said earnestly, “what are some of your hobbies?”

You have got to be kidding me.

Anyway, once testimonies started I took note of all the guys who introduced themselves as summer salesmen. Average-to-cute, with a sprinkling of Funny and the occasional dash of Cool.

One guy in particular caught my attention. He was too short to be attractive to me, but he spun out an amusing story and made me think we could be friends.

Before Sunday School started, I introduced myself to him. He stood a head shorter than me when I was wearing my platform espadrilles, so I’m going to call him El Niño. El Niño is a Bug Guy who lives with three other Bug Guys, who I met shortly afterward. They invited me to their apartment for pancakes later that evening, and I happily accepted…

There is definitely more to come on the El Niño front. But this post is nearing epic proportions already. I promise the interesting parts of my evening with El Niño and the Bug Guys (band name, anyone?) will come soon.

-Bea

Forbidden Fruit

Last weekend I drove an hour to visit an old high school friend, who is studying and researching at the state school here. I spent the night (everybody give an accusatory "ooooooh!"), and on Saturday morning I gave him a ride home. We had already exhausted all the fresh gossip and fun stories the previous evening (before our chaste slumber in separate beds of course), so on the long drive the conversation ran to speculation about the high school gang:

Him: Who of our friends do you think will get married first?

Me (in a "duh" tone of voice): Well, me, of course.

Him (surprised): You? Really? Why?

Me: I'm the only Mormon. I mean, I'm the one that has the most incentive.

Him: What are you talking about?

Me: I can't have sex 'til I'm married.

Him: Oh. I didn't think you'd be so blunt about it.

(pause)

Him: That's a pretty big incentive.

Me: Yeah.

Hence the dating frenzy. And the frenzied makeouts.

The more I think about it (and discuss it with L), the more I realize what an incentive that is. I mean, I'm wasting my best years, biologically speaking, on religiously-motivated chastity. When I put it like that, I suppose it rather accentuates the sacrifices we LDS singles make on faith...

-Bea

"Salutations" means hello!

As an avid reader and rabid fan of The Mormon Bachelor Pad, I pounced on the opportunity to present the weird and wild dating adventures of a couple of Mormon girls.

In order that we may present to you the raw and uncensored versions of our (PG-rated) dating misadventures, all names have been changed, including our own. Like Gossip Girl, only more highbrow. See, we took the classy monikers of Beatrice and Laura.

Beatrice and Laura were such stone foxes that two of the greatest poets ever, Dante Alighieri and Francesco Petrarch, saw them each, like, ONE time and decided to dedicate some of the greatest literature in the Italian language to these chicks. Here and here are some examples, but I promise they're the tip of the iceberg: both men wrote mind-boggling volumes of work about their respective muses. Beatrice’s hotness was the reason Dante added a Paradise after the Inferno. And in Paradise, Bea’s burning testimony made her the head honcho angel guide or something. Laura’s sizzlin’ good looks (and spirituality—he met her in church!) were pretty much the reason Petrarch invented sonnets or whatever he did with that.

So obviously my red-hot roommate and I have tons in common with these Italian goddesses of ultimate desirability. And even if we don’t (spoiler alert: we totally don’t), their example should inspire us, right?

We’re separated for the summer, but will soon be together in Provo, ready to break some hearts (possibly our own). In the meantime, allow me to regale you with tales of a summer singles ward. My roommate, “Laura,” will join us later with war stories from BYU’s spring semester before she heads back to SoCal.

I’m Beatrice, by the way. Hence the picture of Beatrix Kiddo, another classy Bea that inspires me every day…only instead of man-snaring, she teaches me about sweet sweet revenge when a boy done me wrong. Watch out, guys!

-Bea