I Hate My Job. Could Someone Please Kill It?

Things with Boy Blue are still sailing along smoothly. I just looked back at my calendar and realized it's only been two months and change since the boy and I first laid eyes on one another. Considering it feels like ages since then, I'm having trouble believing in reality at the moment.

Anyhoo, contrary to what the general assumption might be (for anyone out there who might be interested in making such assumptions), he isn't the one who's been sucking up all my time and making me neglect my writer-ly duties.

Nope, no, not at all.

The blame for that lies squarely on the shoulders of my heinous job, my heinous upper-level superiors, and the heinous (and impossible) project that's had me in tears, on (prescription!) drugs, and generally on the verge of a nervous breakdown for the past several weeks.

More (exciting things, I hope!) to come after I draw a fat black X over October 3rd on my calendar.

Wish me luck...

Just Right

Boy Blue & Belle sittin' in a tree.... K-I-S-S-I-N-G...



After The Butler, there were a few more dates with some guys (a balding virgin, a 34-year-old with serious PDA issues, etc.), but none of them were really doing it for me.

I planned (and executed) a freakin' awesome* date for Boy Blue and myself, and by the end of it, we'd established ground rules, made a commitment.

After some initial freaking out on my part of the (almost) vomit-inducing variety (Why did I commit so soon? Why didn't I stick to The Plan? What would Cindy Lu say? Why did I let him win? Why can't I say the B-word without getting a tiny bit nauseous?), I've calmed down and really started enjoying this whole relationship thing. (Like, really, really enjoying it.)

Boy Blue took me to Chicago for Labor Day, and we had an absolutely, unbelievably amazing time together. I didn't get sick of him once, and he says the same is true for him. Four days of continuous interaction can make me dislike pretty much anyone on some level, so I took it as an excellent sign that we got along so smashingly.

And, so far, it looks like we have a real, grown-up relationship epitomized by open communication and honesty.

He actually wants to know what's going through my head at any given moment. Wants to hear about my experiences, my expectations, my desires. And to share his with me. Wants to discuss my doubts and fears. Wants to reassure me when I'm freaking out.

And he wants to do stuff with me. Make me part of his life and become part of mine. (The boy's already got pictures of us framed at his place, for crying out loud.)

When I step back and look at everything next to a damned calendar, it all seems to be moving a little fast.

But... fuck it. Who the hell gets to decide what's too fast? Looking at it all outside the construct of time, everything seems just right.


* Yeah, it was totally freakin' awesome. Just trust.

Dude, He's Way More Into You Than I Am

On the day of my second outing with The Butler, I was blessed/cursed with a yay-there'll-be-no-bastard-Belle-spawn-in-the-forseeable-future/ holy-shit-can't-I-just-rip-out-my-fucking-uterus reminder of my womanhood.

With the unusually rough day and my impending date, I felt I had two options:
1. Try to deal with the pain and risk doubling over and/or writhing on the floor every few minutes, or
2. Take a hefty dose of my self-prescribed herbal cramps remedy and hope I didn't laugh like a hyena at The Butler's jokes.

After an excruciating commute home, I chose the latter option. Now, I normally wouldn't partake in such activities before a date, but my monthly visitor was being exceedingly vicious this time 'round. So I proceeded with the partaking before dashing out to meet my date.

He chose the place and met me; I drove. We spent the better part of the evening throwing random movie quotes back and forth and laughing about nothing and everything. (My laughter might've come a little more freely with the whole herbal factor, but, hey, he seemed into it...)

When our waiter (let's call him Edward) came 'round to take our order, I noticed he paid a bit more attention to my date than he did to me. As the night progressed, good ol' Edward's trips to our table grew more frequent and longer, and his obvious disdain for my presence grew exponentially. (At one point, he even turned his back to me completely, effectively shutting me out of the conversation he was having with, ummmm... my date.)

Perhaps my cure-all had a bit to do with my attitude about the situation, but I actually found it amusing that Edward was joking with and chatting up my seemingly-oblivious date in obviously flirtatious ways.

As our meal drew to an end, I started hoping I could steal a moment for a little chat with Eddie-boy. The potential conversation running through my head went something like this:

Belle: Hey, it's Edward, right?
Edward: <raises scornful eyebrow> Yesssssssssssssssss...
Belle: Listen, Edward, there's no good way to ask this, so I'm just going to throw it out there... Do you think my date is gay? I mean, if you do, just tell me. My gaydar's been on the fritz, and I really don't want to go down that road...
Edward: <looks down in pity> Oh, honey.... that boy's queer as a three-dollar bill.
Belle: Thanks, Edward. That's all I needed to know. You know, even though you've been flirting with my date all night, I think you're good people.
Edward: No problem. So... Since you're not going to date him... do you think I could get his number???

Alas and alack, it wasn't meant to be. The Butler never made a trip to the little boys' room or otherwise excused himself from my presence. And when I went to powder my nose, Edwardo made a B-line for The Butler in all his momentary table-of-one glory.

When our attempted departure warranted Edward starting (and maintaining) a 15-minute conversation about essentially nothing, I concluded that he was waaaaaay more into my date than I was. (I mean, at that point, his tip was already on the table, and he was quite obviously grasping at straws just to keep The Butler in his presence.)

When I got home, I tried calling the restaurant to have that afore-mentioned freeing conversation with Edward. The guy who answered the phone informed me I'd just missed him, and I felt my chances for the heart-to-heart dashed.

Like Going Home, Only Not Really

23+ years in The ‘Sip, and I somehow never once found myself attending a concert of the country variety.*

That all changed recently, when Mamacita Baño dragged** invited me to attend a concert at Nissan Pavilion.

Rebel flags, cowboy boots, and 18-year-olds abounded. I haven’t seen such a concentration of Dixie Outfitters shirts in many, many moons. And… lassos? Really?

The day was good, though, despite the repeated visceral reminders of many of the reasons I vamped from the Southern Homestead.

* That’s not to say I didn’t listen to country music or go to festivals and other events featuring country artists. No, that’s not to say that at all.
** Love your face, Boo!

Serial Killer: The Truth, Ladies and Gentlemen (Well, Mostly)

For about, oh, I don’t know, a bit more than a year now, I’ve let Serial Killer believe I’ve been dating someone. A few weeks ago in one of our bouts of random periods of contact, I must’ve let slip that I’m flying solo these days. (Stupid, stupid Belle.)

Subsequently, Serial Killer invited me out for martinis (and then back to his place for martini-making lessons, the wanna-be sly dog).

Realizing these invitations might continue into eternity if I didn’t give him the straight shit, I decided to do just that. So I set about telling him, in the least mean-spirited, most courteous way possible, that he gives me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.

Surprisingly, he took the information very well. He even thanked me (!?!?!) for telling him so and said he respected that I had.*

We went on to discuss, at his urging, what it was about him that creeped me out. I refrained from telling him his voice gave me shivers and cold sweats (nothing about those two being positive in this situation, I assure you).

After having heard in the past year about some of his various failures at dating and lurve, part of me wished I could help the guy out. The other part of me, not entirely convinced he’s not a stalker/mass murderer/serial rapist, didn’t want to say anything that would help him too much in the wooing the ladies department.

I’m not sure he’ll talk to me again. Hell, if it were the other way around, I wouldn’t be hankering to chit chat with SK any time in the near future. If it had been me on the other side of that chat window, I’m sure I would’ve been putting up a tough front, but hearing that shit couldn’t be pleasant or easy to handle. And I doubt I’d want to bring my singed self back around for more abuse.

Who knows? At least I feel pretty confident he won’t be asking me out again.

* Déjà vu... What’s up with all these guys recently claiming respecting and thanking me for telling them stuff I’m pretty confident they have absolutely no desire to be hearing? And, moreover, how do we get the whole gender on board for this seemingly mature handling of such matters? What about the whole of human race? (Myself included…)

On Second Chances

Now for another exciting round of “Get to know The Four-Man Plan”…

The Two-Date Minimum

Why go out on a second date if you felt no sparks? If he dropped spaghetti down the front of his shirt, and you think he’s a total slob? If you have serious reservations about his gaming habits? If you’re three inches taller than him in flats? If you two had less engaging conversation than a couple of monks who’ve vowed silence?

I’ll give you a quote from Boy Blue: “You should try everything twice, because the first time you might be nervous or go to a crappy restaurant or have other things on your mind or…”

Cindy Lu, it seems, agrees: “To examine each specimen, you will need a control sample and a test sample. Therefore, The Plan requires a minimum of two dates per Plan Man, whether you like him or not.”

I think they’re right, you know. There’s always that ‘if’ factor the first time you do anything. It starts at birth (or before, who knows?) and never seems to stop.

We all fell flat on our faces about a zillion times before we mastered the art of sitting up, the art of walking. And who didn’t scrape knees and elbows umpteen thousand times when learning to ride a bike? And, hey, none of us were masters the first time we did The Do.

And if we’d all stopped after that first time of imperfection because it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world? Because we weren’t instantly gratified?

Well, really, none of us would be here to enjoy sitting down to eat a scrumptious meal, or meandering down the sidewalk, or cycling through the city chuckling at the fools stuck in traffic. Or, yanno, Doin’ It. (‘Cause, hey, without The Do, none of us would even be here. Get it?)

So, anyway, the point of going on second dates with guys who didn’t achieve the most stellar ratings the first time ‘round is to give the whole endeavor a bit of balance. A chance to take off, if you will.

The 4MP allows no instant write-offs for lack of instant gratification.*

* It does, however, allow instant write-offs for guys who creep you out, as well as a few other things.

The Wordsmith

The Google Maps, oh how you do me wrong…

I left my place to meet The Wordsmith with twice estimated travel time and hit no traffic. But The Google Maps doesn't seem to understand the distinction between N. Patrick and N. Henry, and I found myself driving 'round and 'round the same block, saying to myself, "I know it's here somewhere…"

After making that block three times, I spotted a cop sitting in his car, windows down. From three lanes away, I received directions from one of our uniformed protectors. (Much obliged, Officer. I believe today you also served.)

The Wordsmith was incredibly cool with my late arrival (only 6 minutes past the mark, but first-date tardiness is really inexcusable). He'd nearly finished his espresso by the time I arrived at the kitschy coffee spot he'd picked, so when he suggested dinner at the restaurant across the way, we went for it.

His thoughtfulness and courtesy toward strangers made me smile. When I told him how considerate I thought his actions, he shrugged and said, "It doesn't cost anything." The self-described Yankee has many a Good Ol' Southern Boy beat in the chivalry department.

Conversation picked up after dinner when we returned to the aforementioned kitschy coffee spot for dessert. Politics and theory and ranting about the faults of the world in general get this boy's motor running, apparently. I have little to weigh in with of the informed variety on the first and second subjects, but the third is right up my ally. And so it went.

In and out in two hours. A nice time, to be sure. The Wordsmith is well-spoken, educated, courteous, polite, thoughtful, and pleasing to the eye, among other things.

He texted me not too long afterward with a little self-deprecation and positive commentary on the evening. He didn't mention going out again, but I suspect he'll get around to it. If he doesn't, Lu's 4MP has a rule to address it: I must get in touch with him. (Barring creepiness, there's a two-date minimum on this here plan, y'all.)

So… The Mantris, The Mantris…

Boy Blue Gets Halved

Boy Blue and I met for our third date to savor a lengthy and delicious dinner and take an evening stroll around the monuments.

The previous weekend, he'd been on a trip with his family. As if our daily communication wasn't enough to let me know I had been on his mind, he made sure to reiterate the point, both verbally and with a gift.

He'd been on my mind, too.* But I hadn't made any decisions. This was, after all, only our third date. And some little birdies** reminded me that that's pretty freaking soon to be making any commitment decisions. (Like, yanno, meeting his entire family and the like.)

That said, I'll admit to you (just as I admitted to Boy Blue) that I waffled on the subject of accompanying him to his sister's wedding. Even went so far as to tell a few people I was probably going to go.

But then, I consulted The Four-Man Plan, and, like, duh! Lightbulb!

I SUCK AT LOVE.

So, pretty much, I'm all-in on the 4MP, 'cause heretofore, I've always made very bad decisions about everything involving boys and romance. Pretty much every time. Yep. Can't think of one shining example of me not being a total failure in that department.

Anyway, point being... I decided not to put myself in a situation where Bad Belle has any say over what my vagina and I are doing. In case you hadn't noticed, that Belle girl is seriously bad fucking news. And, chances are, if sharing a room with him for the weekend, she'd be all over Boy Blue like white on rice. Or something like that.

So... yeah.

Back to Boy Blue. He told me, unprovoked, that he decided to throw his "stupid rules" (aka - The Five-Date Thing) out the window because I'm worth getting to know on my terms. Awesome.

The night was filled with some other awesome things, but I'ma save 'em for me and that gray matter behind my grinning mug.

Wait, NO!

Let me clarify. According to the 4MP/Lu Smack-Down Laws, Boy Blue is now, officially, a Half Man.

Translation:
1. He made it to date #3.
2. We're planning to see one another again.
3. He knows I'm dating other guys. ("Just do me one courtesy... if you get to the point that you see I'm not in the running, let me know.")
4. He did NOT utter the L-word. (Whew.)
5. He did NOT make the acquaintance of The Twins.

Plans for now with Boy Blue include an upcoming lunch date (more likely two) and a date of my choosing. (Since, yanno, he planned the last one, and I'm all about the balance.) There is also talk of a weekend trip in September that does not involve meeting his family. No commitment from yours truly yet, but I'm excited...


* Mamacita Bano will tell you just how much. But then you have to tell me. She likes to hold drunken-Belle ramblings over my head for as long as possible.
** Namely:
- You, dear readers,
- One bona-fide love doctor, aka Cindy Lu
- Oh, and... pretty much everyone else to whom I'd mentioned Boy Blue

Down One on the Mantris

So, here's an admission. I read The Four-Man Plan* for the first time, oh, approximately a year ago. And I'd been basically operating from memory and handy glossary terms as I was re-perusing it in the midst of all this living and dating and working and whatnot. I just finished getting through the final chapters on my commute one morning last week.

I subsequently had to fire Vagabond Vance. (Well, at least put him on temporary/indefinite leave without pay… or benefits.)

See, Cindy Lu's got this whole "Chick's Chick" (ie. a Chick who respects all women's relationships) and "Dick's Chick" (erm, the opposite of that other one) thing.

Damn you, Cindy Lu, and your rules! (Just kiddin'. I need 'em... obviously.)

So, yeah. No second date for this guy until he's officially divorced. Which he said will be in a few months (something about amenable divorces having a waiting period... I dunno. I might've zoned out when the ex-factor came into play).

[Oh, as an aside, I had to tell Vagabond Vance via email that I would not be joining him on the two (!?!) dates he was planning for us and why I would not be joining him. He had never given me his damned number. Ca-razy!]

Anywho, this whole Chick's Chick thing? Kinda new territory for me. But, what can I say? I suck at love...

Vagabond Vance accepted my decision to hold off on dating until those loose ends have been secured. He even thanked me (!?!) for my frankness and expressed his respect for my Chick’s Chick-ness. (Yah! Methinks Lu is definitely on to something here…)

He did request that I remain open to the possibility of hanging out as friends. I said I would consider it, but I shall proceed with caution.

* It's a fun read, by the way. Lu isn't gushy or preachy, but straight up and foul mouthed... my kind of lady.

The Case of the Disappearing Nerves

Of the dates I've been on recently, I haven't been nervous once. Not even a little. And that is so very unlike me.

I have to say, I'm thoroughly enjoying my newfound confidence and ease in dating. (Knock on wood, etc., and whatnot.)

Here are some things I'm throwing around as possible factors in The Case of the Disappearing Nerves:

• Since I'm not investing mass amounts of time and energy into getting to know these guys beforehand and I'm not considering them "real" until I lay eyes on them, I have no expectations either way about how the dates will go. No expectations, no pressure... no reason for nerves.
  
  
• Unbeknownst to me, during my last medical procedure, my much-loathed GP conducted a highly dangerous, completely experimental procedure to remove my romantically-induced nervousness. (Which could explain the twitching and stuttering that recently cropped up...)
  
  
• Since I have several dates lined up already and the potential for more in the works, I'm not stressing about having a bad date. What's one bad date among many potential good dates? (And, yanno, bad dates = better blogging material, so I kinda welcome those, too... as long as they aren't of the chop-Belle-into-pieces-and-store-her-in-mom's-basement variety.)
  
  
• All that therapy is working.
  
  
• I'm not trying to impress these guys with anything other than genuinely being myself. (If they don't find my genuine self impressive... Next!) Not giving a flying fuck works wonders, really!
  
  
• Oh, yeah, duh... (to sound completely vain) I'm a much hotter me than I was the last time I was actively dating. So, um, yeah, that probably boosts the confidence factor a teensy bit.
  
  
• Lu's 4MP has my focus divided between several guys, so I'm not putting all my proverbial eggs in one proverbial basket.
  
  
• No matter what I may have told myself in the past, I'm really just trying to date for the first time in my life. I have no hidden relationship-seeking agenda or anything.
  

Anyone else have any ideas?

Unconventional Conventions

Uncertain of our ability to spot one another in a crowd, he told me he'd be wearing a pink tuxedo shirt, black vest, and black pants. I donned a black cocktail dress, diamond tennis bracelet, and my sexiest black stilettos.

And I met The Butler at Dairy Queen.

Getting dolled up for ice cream was a quirky little two-fold treat. I liked that his suggestion turned the mundane into an event, of sorts.

The date was fine. Not stellar, not bad in any way. Just fine.

We parted with a handshake after about an hour so I could meet some friends for drinks. He said he'd be in touch, (and so, to the Mantris he goes).

And, yes... he really is a butler.

Vagabond Vance: Getting into the Game

Glistening a bit and slightly out of breath from general hustle and outdoor exertion, I pushed through the revolving doors of our designated meeting place. Scanning the sparsely populous room, I zeroed in on the lone guy reading a book and headed his way.

Vagabond Vance was actually better looking in person than in his pictures. (I had to bite my tongue on mentioning that one.) He'd invited me out for coffee, but we ended up ordering dinner and chatting about random things.

I'm not sure how VV perceived the date. He's been out of the game for quite some time. Well, actually, he never really was in the game. Until about three months ago, he told me, he'd been with the same woman for more than a decade. Currently separated, the divorce is in the works.

While I had a perfectly pleasant time with him, I thought we had ventured into more friendly, less romantic territory by the end of the evening. (That's what happens when you start talking about other dating scenarios on a first date...)

Anyhow, we parted ways with a less-than-satisfying hug*. Vagabond Vance said he'd had a great time, but he didn't ask me out again.

He followed up via email bright and early the next morning to say he'd had fun and hoped to see me again and mentioning something we could do together. Ms. Lu advocates date two, so I'll accept and we'll see where it goes from there.

FYI, we've got an updated Mantris Graph here... Boy Blue and Vagabond Vance now both officially qualify as Quarter Men. (Stay tuned for the addition of Bachelor #3.)


* I really, really like hugs. Long-lasting, tight-gripped hugs that envelop you. And this hulking guy had exactly the right frame for that kind of hugging. But he didn't really deliver. Sad for me. I need more hugs in my life.

Willing to Compromise

Boy Blue called me the day after we first met to ask if I would accompany him to his sister's out-of-town wedding in a few weeks. He said wanted to give me adequate time to buy a dress, if needed, and didn't want to extend a last-minute invitation.

I told him we could discuss it on our next date (which, after consulting our calendars for a mutually agreeable evening, we determined couldn't be for another week and a half).

In the meantime, we started emailing throughout the work day, and I ended up suggesting we get together for lunch, since we work near one another. We compromised on the time, and I picked the place. He met me right on time (love it), and we sat down for a decent lunch with a side of really awesome, kind of intense conversation.

I have never known a guy who communicates so openly. Nothing is off-limits, it seems. We ventured further down What I'm Looking For Road, with detours through What I'm Like in a Relationship Alley and What I Don't Want in a Partner Lane.

I'll sum it up like this: I think we're moving toward the same page.

I told him again that I want to date and that, while the possibility of a relationship is not completely out of the question, I'm not necessarily looking for one right now. I divulged my lack of experience in a significant (let alone healthy) relationship and reiterated my fear of commitment. He took it all in, asking pertinent questions and just generally drawing more out of me.

He volunteered an acceptable explanation of the multiple out-of-town invites. (He doesn't believe you really know a person until you travel with them, with which I wholeheartedly agree.)

And that brought us back to his five-date agenda. Those first five dates should be enough time, he holds, to determine most (if not all) levels of interest and compatibility. That includes the travel (again, hence the invites) and, of course, sexual compatibility.

Which is kind of a problem for me. Because, see, I've pretty much just jumped right into the sack with all the guys in my (big air quotes here) romantic past. And I've decided it pretty much just complicates things... Fosters emotions that I'm not sure would be there had I waited it out... Completely and utterly confuses me.

(So, there, I just admitted it: Belle cannot have sex like a guy.)

So... I asked how he felt about waiting for sex. His immediate reaction was of the no-way variety. But as I explained myself and my reasoning, I could see a visible change in his expressions and demeanor. By the end of it, he was assuring me he would never pressure me into sex and throwing his five-date agenda out the window. He's decided, he said, that I'm worth getting to know.

He told me he'd like me to be his girlfriend*, and that he was willing to let me take the time I need to decide if that's what I want, too.

So now I'm here trying to sort it all out.

• Is dating around more important to me than a relationship right now?
  
• Are the warm fuzzies I'm beginning to feel really for him, or does his professing to like me so much make me like him more?
• Is he the only guy on the planet who communicates like this? ('Cause, let me tell you, if so... I'ma have to snag him up.)
• Will I be able to keep my freaking legs closed until I sort it all out?
  

These are some of the questions that plague me...

* In future tense... he hasn't technically asked. Yet.

Only Took Two Years to Drop This Guy

I never learn.

Despite the tough front I might put out for the purpose of venting and (I hope) entertaining in Ye Olde Bloglandville, I really must either be the dumbest bitch in existence and/or too gullible for any kind of good... or I just have this undying belief in the good within us all. (HA!)

This Guy.

First off (and I can't believe I never went here), we were supposed to meet up (many) months ago for dinner. True to This Guy fashion, he got incredibly "lost" and was incredibly late. Like, Belle-consumed-a-bottle-of-

red-wine-at-a-leisurely-pace-while-waiting late. And then, after taking the last you're-so-pathetic-you-don't-even-realize-you've-been-stood-up look from the waiter that I could handle, I paid my tab and told This Guy not to bother when he rang for the 18th time to tell me he was almost there.

So, yeah, that part about me being stupid? That comes into play when I let him revive contact a few weeks ago. (Bygones, right? And what's the harm in a little friendly chatting? Uh huh...)

But the stupidity probably doesn't become really obvious until I reveal that I accepted an invitation from him to go see a movie last week. Whatever he might have considered the proposed adventure, I viewed it merely as a friendly outing. ('Cause, well, ewwwwww.)

Anyhow, before accepting the invite, I stressed the importance of him, yanno, showing up on time and all. And he gave his word (Scouts' honor and everything) that he would be there, come hell, high water, fire, brimstone, or upended Krispy Kreme trucks.

As of the night before, we hadn't firmed up plans for meeting, so I called. Voicemail. Next day by noon, still no contact. So I sent a text, waited a few hours, and called again. Again, straight to voicemail.

At this point, I was actually looking forward to having a suddenly free evening to handle those mundane duties I keep putting off in favor of, well, anything else.

About 30 minutes before I was to leave work for the day (and subsequently, hypothetically, meet up with This Guy), he called me from work.

This Guy: Hey, Belle, this is This Guy. What's up?
Belle: Hey, This Guy. I called to...
This Guy: Actually, I called you.
Belle: Well, actually, I've called you twice and texted you, so, as I was saying, I called to firm up plans for tonight. Where do you want to meet?

After he informed me that his phone was dead, we established a meeting time and place, and he promised, again, to be there with bells and whatnot.

So why, then, did I find myself baking in the sun for the better part of an hour (See? Told you I'm a dummy.) before deciding it was better that I leave before he showed, as I was fairly certain my gut reaction to his visage would be a swift, hard kick to his knee?

I managed to pull myself together enough to leave a non-threatening voicemail on his non-functional phone, and I headed for home.

The good news is I really didn't care. I mean, certainly, the wasted time did not go unnoticed, but my night was suddenly (happily) mine, and I couldn't wait to get home and do those undone things and just relax.

And that's exactly what I did. Knowing that I'd finally reached the end with this one.

The following morning, I received this email:

I know you are disgusted with me right now and rightfully so. I got onto NY Ave. and hit tons of traffic. By the time I got to {Redacted} it was 6:30 and I didn't see you anywhere, so I assume you gave up on me.

I just wanted to apologize. I know that after a point, explanations become excuses, but I still wanted to apologize for ruining your evening.

-- This Guy

Ruining my evening?? Ha! After I made it home, the evening couldn't have been better if I'd planned it myself. Obviously This Guy gives himself far more credit for having a real effect on me than he warrants.

(FYI: His message garnered no response from yours truly. Stick a fork in me, yo; I'm done.)

Embarking upon a Romantic Science

So, you'd like to know more about Cindy Lu's Four-Man Plan, eh? (Oh, you didn't? Well... you're kind of in the wrong spot at the moment... But, really, stay... have a listen. It's interesting at least.)

So, this is the thing about The Four-Man Plan: A Romantic Science... It's a plan. With rules. And a graph. And I don't think I'm at liberty to give all of it away (Ms. Lu might actually, yanno, like to sell some books or something), but I want to share what's needed for you, dear readers, to understand what it is I'm doing, exactly.

First, like I said, there are rules. And a graph. For starters, you're supposed to fill up the damned graph with damned menfolk. You pretty much do this by accepting all social invitations and date invitations. (I am, of course, vetting dudes online, for the most part and for the sake of speeding this graph-filling along.)

Witness, Belle's current Mantis Graph:


(Not very impressive, you say? Give a girl some time, geez!)

Essentially, the Four Man Plan allows room for, well (duh) four men. But the tricky part comes in when deciding what classifies some dude as a bona fide man. Already proving herself much more discerning than yours truly, Ms. Lu doesn't give just any human of a certain age and possessing testicles that distinction on face value. (Luckily, she has some pretty straightforward guidelines to help ne'er-do-well daters, such as myself, figure that part out.)

First and second dates are considered Quarter Men. (See Boy Blue, above, all by his lonesome.) If I only wanted to see first and second dates in my chart, there would need to be 16 of them to fill all those other squares and satisfy Ms. Lu's demands. (Quite a lot to ask, no?)

Upon a third date and the revelation that you're dating other people, said Quarter Man moves up to the Half Man territory. (Thereby taking up one half of one quadrant, see?) And there are more steps to the moving up (Whole Men and Two and a Half Men, oh my!), which I'll get into when they become relevant.

For now, I've got to get to work on those other 15 quadrants...

I have two more first dates slated this week (and a couple more to come next week). I'm going to be a naughty girl and meet Boy Blue for lunch today (moving right along on his way to a Half Man, seeing as date #3 is already scheduled...), then I have coffee plans with another schmo* tonight, and ice cream plans with another tomorrow.


* I can't even believe I'm doing this, but I'm going to go ahead and justify before my lovely commenters get in on the action... He seems to be a perfectly nice guy, and I really don't consider him a schmo at all... it's a word of the moment, at best. Geez... give a girl a break...

Looking for the Last Person I'll Ever Start Dating

Boy Blue was balls-out from message one. After the obligatory commentary on my profile and a compliment or two for good measure, he went straight for the kill: Interested in meeting up?

I liked his nerve in asking right up front, and I liked that he claimed to have interests other than sitting on his expanding bum. So I agreed to a Friday night dinner-and-a-movie* outing with the 32-year-old self-described eccentric.

He was sitting on a bench, staring intently at his cell when I arrived at 7:30 on the dot. We exchanged a somewhat awkward handshake-turned-hug and headed toward the sushi place I'd passed on my way to meet him. Conversation got off to a decent, if less-than-thrilling, start, but it quickly picked up. Boy Blue has some story-telling skills, and we didn't have any problems talking to one another.

After we'd sated ourselves with sushi, he shared some of his past times with me. Skydiving? Cool. Pottery? Neat. D&D? Erm, really?** Surprisingly, this revelation didn't completely turn me off to the guy. He did, however, go into a little more detail on the subject than I would have preferred (really? Not sure I care what that fictional dragon-type thing looks like...), and I found myself hoping for a break in the conversation so I could excuse myself to the ladies'.

He, however, beat me to the bathroom punch. I used the opportunity to check my phone and respond quickly to a text from Mamacita Bano. ( Serial killer? Likely not... he is into D&D, though...)

The server dropped the check on the table in Boy Blue's absence, and I made a mental note to work on settling that score before I left the table. Alas and alack, by the time he returned all mental documentation of those intentions was long forgotten, and I retreated to the loo.

Only once inside a stall did I remember the check on the table. Damn. He's going to think I'm that girl who expects to be paid for all the time. By the time I returned, he'd settled up, so I pointed out my poor timing. He made light of the situation, which was a pretty decent response. (I like a guy who can rag me for things like that.)

All that finished, we meandered out of the restaurant and headed toward Cleveland Park, since we had something like two hours before Dark Knight*** started.

And, whoa... what a two hours it was. During this time, Boy Blue came out with the following, in no particular order:

- An invitation to his sister's birthday dinner the following day. In Philly.
With his family.
- The story of his divorce.
- An invitation to Niagara Falls the following weekend. With his family.
- The story of the disillusion of his last relationship.
- An invitation to the Poconos in a couple of weeks. Again, with his family!
- His five-date rule. (I'll know within five dates if I want to be with someone.)
- Some stories about his sexual exploits.
- The claim that he is currently looking for the last person he'll ever start dating in this life.
- Many stories about his family.
- His belief in communication being the key to successful relationships. (Spot on, Blue.)

So, wow... all summed up like that, it seems a bit overwhelming for a first date, no?

Maybe the humidity muddled my brain, but I really wasn't put out by most of this. I openly called him out about several of the things on that list (meeting family the day after date one? Saying he's searching for the last person he'll ever start dating?), and he took that well, sparing me no gentle ribbing when it came time for him to call me out on something.

I was honest that I'm not really in the market for something serious. (Not that I'm opposed, should something work out that way, but I'm not setting out to settle down at the moment.)

Anyhow, by the time we were in the theater and waiting for the movie to begin, I was overcome with the urge to kiss him. I figured I had two options... ignore the urge and risk being distracted throughout the movie, or go in, balls-out, for a kiss and get it over with.

Being that I'm Belle and all, I chose the latter. (It was just a peck, okay? Nothing that could be considered obnoxious PDA by anyone but the most prudish of prudes.)

He, too, apparently felt compelled to get something out of the way before the movie began... I, he informed me, had passed his five-date test, socially-unaccepted smoking habit notwithstanding.

What, I asked him, you don't need five dates to decide you could be with me?

Nope, he told me. I've made up my mind.

Good for you. Now, if you're lucky, you might pass my newly-adopted five-date test.

The highly-hailed movie did not disappoint, and, aside from a couple pecks distributed during down moments in the flick, Boy Blue waited until the credits were rolling to give me a proper (but not too lengthy) kiss. Must say, that didn't disappoint either.

We walked back to where I'd parked, and I gave him a ride to his place before heading home. He asked to see me again, to which I agreed. (I did, however, reveal that he got off easy with the dinner/movie deal and that I was considering his plan for Date #2 a test. Boy Blue better step it up.)

And, maybe I'm crazy to accept a second date from a guy who, despite having just met me, seems like he could be down on one knee with a ring out in the not-so-distant future. But it's all part of the rules of engagement, right? Date #2 should reveal more...


* Dinner and a movie happens to be my least favorite standard first date plan. In addition to being a sad cliche, it's way more suitable for a third date, in my opinion.
** Got any questions? Belle's recently gotten a little schooling in the world of D&D.
*** If you haven't seen it, get thee immediately to the theater and watch in amazement and awe. Go on, now, git!

Now, Boys, Don't Get Your Undies in a Wad

Oooh, oooh! Seems the menfolk are all up-in-arms about me playing this game by some rules. (Yay for controversy!)

So... here's my response to your comments/questions/rants about yesterday's Rules of Engagement post.

My reasoning for using the rules in question is as follows...


Why I wait to respond to messages:

Thing is, I want to be out dating and having fun. Trying new things. Making adventures and having experiences. That really is the whole freaking point of this endeavor.

And... if I'm filling up all my free time responding to messages from strangers on the internets, I'm probably not going to be doing much of the aforementioned adventuring and funning and whatnot.

When I was meeting guys online before, the overwhelming email traffic and marathon chat sessions eventually became a time-consuming burden.

Sure, I had some "great" correspondence with a number of dudes during that time, but the truth is, it took a lot of time to have that "great" communication, which, in turn, rarely translated into anything noteworthy in the real world. In fact, it most often translated into exactly nada in the real world.

While meeting people online has its appeal (speedy for all us busy folks, you all know you're looking, you get some initial insight, etc.), it's not a good way to get to know people. I now know that I can't gauge if I'm going to hit it off with or even tolerate the sight or smell of someone else if we're only corresponding online.

So, basically, I want to go out. I have no interest in hearing someone's whole life story via email over the course of 6 months (ever again! And I mean it). The profile via which these guys are contacting me makes that pretty clear.

It's shit or get off the pot time, fellas.

And, really, what's the point of responding immediately to all their messages? Much like my correspondence with friends and family, I find that going into my inbox and responding to everything at once is overwhelming. I'd much rather take a day or so to think about a response and subsequently pound it out for delivery.

I hope these guys are also enjoying full and active lives (otherwise, I'm not really interested). If not, should it really be my concern that they might be sitting in front of their respective monitors wondering when I'll get back to them? (Been on that side of the screen, too. It's not fun, but I can't freakin' blame it on anyone but myself, now can I? Likewise...)

You can call my delayed responses coy if you wish, but I'll reiterate that I'm making no apologies. All's fair, friend.

Also (and I'll say this full well knowing I'll likely take some heat for it), in the short period I've been waiting a day or more to respond, it seems like I've garnered a lot more dates than I did the last go-'round, when I was responding at lightening speed to Frank, Stan, and Every Man.

It seems some guys might actually be motivated by the absence of constant availability. (Who would've thunk it?)


Why I do not revive communication:

Again, I'm a busy girl. And I'm not wasting time considering these dudes real until I meet them. (Been there, done that. Anyone know where I can get the Tshirt?)

So, while they may have sounded good up to a point, if they drop off the face of the earth, I'm not going to chase after them. Frankly, I have plenty of others stepping up to keep me busy at the moment, thankyouverymuch. And, oh, an actual life going on outside this whole dating venture (fancy that).

That said, if some dude drops out of contact for a while and suddenly reappears, nothing in my rules prevents me from getting back into the flow with him. Dig?


How I define 'creepy':

Honestly, it varies. My friends seem to believe I have a (dangerously?) high tolerance for creepiness, but if I'm creeped out, he's out. No matter the impetus.

(And, really? You're going to question that one? I mean, c'mon... it's MY safety potentially at stake in this whole thing. It sucks that you think you were let go for a case of miscommunication, but I'm not going to compromise my safety to right the wrongs you believe you've endured. Thems just the breaks, man.)

...

Just as an FYI, I didn't create this profile and start out with a set of rules (which are, again, really more like guidelines anyway... Belle doesn't know how to play by rules, yo). Sure, they weren't too long in coming, but, really, I adopted them because they seem to be working well for me so far.

I could sit here all day long and try to explain things in a way that made you all like me or agree with me, but I'd fail in the endeavor, and what purpose would it serve?

Oh, and another thing... I could use some structure and guidelines in this whole dating endeavor. I mean, have you read about some of the stupid things I've done?

Some Rules of Engagement

So, we're about a week into this dating site membership, and I'm going back and forth via email (and, on rare occasion, chat) with several guys. I've been out with one of them, and my calendar reflects a few more meetings lined up for the next week.

I'm playing by some (loose) rules on the correspondence front for the moment, which include (but are not necessarily limited to):

- I respond to messages that include: appealing substance, an adequate exhibition of wit and/or intelligence, and/or a reasonable amount of intrigue.

- Most of my former dealbreakers (excluding those involving safety, creepiness, or wearing a chain) are currently considered inadmissable for the purpose of opting out of pre-date communication [and initial (1-2) date(s)].

- I do not respond to any message on the same day, but I respond to all messages (that warrant responses) within a day or two.

- If a guy stops contacting me, I do not attempt to revive communication.

- If a guy creeps me out, I cease communication immediately.

- If a guy doesn't creep me out and finds the nerve to ask me out, I accept.

- I'm not pussyfooting around anything this time 'round. No finessing any facts or fine-tuning self-portrayal for the sake of glittering myself up. And no apologies. I am who I am, and they get what they get... take it or leave it.

I'm also a bad blogger who received a book for review many months ago and (gasp!) has yet to review it. As of now, though, I'm officially following The Four Man Plan, by Cindy Lu. We'll consider it a social experiment of sorts, and the review will be chronicled in the results of this endeavor.

More to come on Ms. Lu's Plan and Belle's new venture onto the dating scene...

Back to It...

As a result of some recent and questionable decisions and behavior on my part, I feel now is the appropriate time to thrust myself back into the realm of dating.

I made a resolution this year to make healthy choices. So far, the most obvious result of this has to be (if I may toot my own horn) a rather remarkable physical transformation. While this more tangible change was (and is) definitely a big part of what I wanted (and want) for myself, I have deeper goals for my mental and emotional health.

My recent actions are difficult for me to swallow, but I'm working on using the experiences as those of the learning variety and moving forward and toward an overall healthier Belle.

In that vein, I hastily created a profile on a dating site this weekend and have begun the vetting. Stay tuned for more details...

I Stole Your Girlfriend

If you hadn't realized before, it must have become pretty clear to you just last night, when she dropped the bomb.

I stole your girlfriend.

You didn't even make it difficult for me. I didn't have to try. All I had to do was have fun with her to open her eyes to exactly how inadequate your services rendered were.

I didn't set out to steal her away. In fact, it never even crossed my mind. Your relationship was your own affair. Flawed, certainly, but whose isn't?

I could have been the devil in her ear, telling her how wrong you were together. Pointing out your faults and failures. Joining in, filter off, when she did come to me with complaints or criticisms.

But I didn't.

There were even times when I took your side. Told her why I could see your point of view in this tiff, that squabble.

You told her you felt her drifting away. Yet you did nothing.

And so she drifted, out and on. And now she's ended it with you.

You tell her, "I know it's not Belle's fault, but..."

You had it right there. No but necessary.

Breaking Even

Still bleary-eyed and barely functional, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, my body struggling against gravity and inertia as I made my way to the 7-11 for requisite a.m. caffeine and nicotine.

Mere steps from my destination, I placed one foot on the sidewalk, haphazardly taking a path across the cross-hatched metal I would normally go to great lengths to avoid.

The steel grates underfoot.
The unseen train moving beneath pavement and earth.
The knee-length, pleated skirt I'd donned an hour earlier through half-closed eyes.

I made a half-hearted effort to push my skirt down, but, really, I was too tired to care.

Inside, I avoided the wait for coffee and bee-lined for the energy drinks. The man in front of me at the checkout wore a button down and tie with a bandanna tied Rambo-style around his forehead and stared lasciviously at me with a wicked grin.

Outside, Red Bull and Parliament in hand, I made a mental calculation.

Pedestrian and motor traffic was relatively light, and the site of my apparel plight was partially shielded by buildings and a trailer. By my unscientific estimation, approximately 10 people were likely to have witnessed my starting the day Marilyn style.

I figure I brightened the day for about 5 of them (Rambo Wannabe included), and probably ruined the day for the other 5.

I'm okay with that. I mean, at least I was wearing panties... Right?

New Rule: One Strike

In a somewhat noteworthy turn of events this weekend, I was approached (separately) by two (seemingly available) guys.

Each sent me a drink from his bartender friend and came over to chat a bit later. Both received my number before we parted ways.

I met G1 Thursday. (G1 = Fun and easy to talk to, somewhat older, somewhat full of himself, and almost certainly a pathological liar.*) He said he'd call Sunday.
I met G2 Saturday. (G2 = Lacking stellar conversation skills, cute baby face with unacceptable hair, and almost guaranteed to come with baby' momma drama.) He said he'd "get in touch sometime."

The screen on my phone crapped out over the weekend, so I couldn't tell who was calling or read any of my texts. Talk about a crap shoot... (Eat shit, LG.)

As a result of the dead screen and my thinking Gotta Go Girl was calling me back, I answered G2's call on the first fucking ring when he called me later the same night. 1:30 and nothing in particular to say, hrm, G2?? This wouldn't happen to be a booty call, would it? Sorry... it'll take more than a Dirty Goose Martini to get into my pants tonight...

And, when I got my new phone today, working screen and all, I was blessed with this beautiful literary endeavor from, I have to assume, G1.

Thanx for the great chat on Thurs. Lets do it again sometime

Oh, swoon. You found the key to my heart, G1! Poor spelling and grammar get me every time. Oh, and I really get all riled up when a guy can't be bothered to actually call me. Makes me a little wild. How ever did you know?

Thanks for the drinks, fellas. And buh-bye.


Love,

Belle

* G1 made the following statements during our "great chat":
1. I graduated high school in 1996.
(Ed's note: No fucking way. College, maybe, but I doubt even that.)
2. I have four Purple Hearts.
3. I'm going out on Billy Joel's yacht tomorrow. He's my godfather.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

Coworker #1: Why can't your party be a pool party?
Belle: Because I don't have a pool.
Coworker #1: Damn. I missed my chance to see Belle in a bikini.
Belle: Um, you and everyone else... I don't wear a bikini...


Coworker #2: So... what's the age of consent in Mississippi?
Belle: Gross, CW2! Why do you want to know?!?!?!


Coworker #3: Belle, I appreciate you.
Belle: Thank you, CW3.

AT&T Revisited

I plundered through my enormous summer bag as the tune emanating from my phone increased with each repetition. Finally laying hands on the shiny, mirrored device, I noted that the number wasn't familiar as I accepted the call.

The female voice on the other end seemed uncertain. Even timid, perhaps. Belle? she asked. When I affirmed my identity, she claimed to be calling from AT&T to follow up with the complaint I submitted online the other day. So someone actually looks at those, huh? Amazing, I thought while preparing myself for the I'm-so-sorry-and-you're-a-good-customer-and-we'll-do-anything-to-keep-you-except-of-course-the-right-thing spiel I expected.

But Lacy didn't come with that company-line bullshit we've all come to expect. Instead, she offered to reimburse me for the charges I incurred last month for text overages. And then, without my even asking, she also offered to pay for the first year of my SmartLimits plan. More than a bit stunned and amazed, I thanked Lacy and got off the phone.

I know I should have asked what AT&T plans to do about the issue at hand for the rest of its customers, but I was taken off guard by the whole situation.

AT&T Can Kiss My Lily White Ass

The recorded upbeat female voice emanating from my phone informs me of the myriad exclusive benefits I can enjoy from my wireless company. The "benefit" she's harping on now - Smart Limits - is the very one I'm on hold to complain about.

A few weeks ago, I started receiving text forwards from a number I didn't recognize. Taking into account the content of the messages and the area code, I presumed the culprit was a teen in the 'Sip with the wrong number and that they would eventually figure out their bosom buddy wasn't receiving these little snippets of brilliance and remove me from their list.

When I received a text around 7 one morning that read, "Happy birthday to me!!!" I used the opportunity to find out who in the hell found it imperative to send me such brilliance as:

"Math teacher asks, 'After 69, what's next?' The blonde says, 'You wash your mouth out, duh.'"

And

"If a lesbian's dinosaur name is lickalottapuss, then what is a gay guy's dinosaur name?..... Megasaurass!"

And

"Sex is like snow. You never know how many inches you'll get or how long it's gonna last."

The culprit? Brother's Baby Momma.

Seriously?!? At 26 years old, having two children with which to contend, you find the time and reason to send five to 10 completely juvenile text messages every day to, I have to assume, everyone in your contact list? Seriously?!?!?!?

Highly annoyed but not wanting to cause unnecessary drama, I didn't comment or respond to her messages for a couple of weeks. Then I got my cell bill. And had to fork out $20 for 200 text message charges.

I text a lot. But I pay extra each month for an expanded texting package, and this is the first time I've been charged for going over my limit. Being that I'm trying to cut back and dig myself out of the dank, dark hole of debt and into the highly-hailed light of the world of good credit, I'm not so much pumped about unexpected increases in my bills, yanno?

So the next time Brother's Baby Momma sent me a forward, I responded by politely and tactfully asking her to lay off with the forwards and assuring her she should feel free to call me any time (my rollover minutes abound).

The next day, BBM was at it again. Obviously, neither the voice of reason nor the state of my account balance mean diddly squat to this girl.

So I called AT&T, my wonderful wireless provider, explained the situation, and asked the annoyingly peppy Penelope if I could have texts from BBM's number blocked. Penny launched into a (definitively script-driven) spiel about the benefits of Smart Limits, which include blocking up to 15 numbers, limiting text messages sent and received, and various other parental controls, and can be added to my service for the low-low price of $5.99 per month.

Fantastic! That's wonderful news, Penelope! I'm sure indulgent parents everywhere are relieved that they finally have an option for keeping their teenage cell-obsessed children from bankrupting them. I, however, am an adult and am in full control of everything about my cell phone usage. Everything, that is, except the receipt of unsolicited text messages.

It's not just the messages from BBM, either. I'm sure most of you have received the odd text here and there from wrong numbers. Or texts promoting offers from various stores, or those promising lower mortgages and larger penises.

Why the hell should we have to pay for this shit?

After holding for a mid-management grunt for 20 minutes and being summarily disconnected, I called AT&T again and finally got a supervisor on the line. She was empathetic and agreeable.

Great, Jenn, I'm glad you "agree 100%" that I shouldn't be charged for messages I don't open. Also glad to hear I'm not the only one complaining. Now what's AT&T going to do about it? Jenn expressed her hope that the company would address the issue soon and directed me to an online feedback form. I, of course, had my answer: AT&T will do nothing. Nothing, that is but get richer from what could essentially be deemed harassment and unwanted solicitation.

I dutifully submitted my online feedback form, detailing my issue and asking for a response. We'll see where that leads, but I'm fairly confident those things go to some massive database that's only accessed by a guy named Big Charles once a year to clear space for a new crop of ignored complaints.