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.)