Don't Want No Short Short Tramp

I wasn't planning on getting online to date again. At least not immediately. At least not for a while.

But, knowing my technofanatic ex would be changing his status and checking up on my online movements, I did change my status in my seriously neglected (but never deleted) dating site profile. And that, of course, pushed me back into some kind of rotation, which triggered some messages, which I always feel bad for leaving unanswered.

Which is how I found myself on this site, trying to politely respond to some dude who seems perfectly nice in his message but whose screenname indicates he's got a fetish beyond what I'm willing to handle, when some other guy starts IMing me. (Damn those default chat settings!) I forgot how much blog fodder online dating provides...

70sTramp: that smile is trouble
Belle: :)
Could be.
70sTramp: yeah you are trouble alright
Belle: And I bet you are, too.
70sTramp : you know, I grew up with no Internet, computers, cell phones, etc.
Belle: It happens, I suppose.
70sTramp: I didn't have this method of meeting girls available when I was your age so I am trying to catch up
Belle: Seems like you're doing okay.
70sTramp: you got a 70s t-shirt in one of your pics
Belle: Yeah. I love that shirt.
70sTramp: yeah your profile really stands out
70sTramp: do you have a southern accent?
Belle: Depends on where you're from.
70sTramp: Brooklyn, NY
Belle: Then to you, yes.
Around here, people think not so much.
:)
70sTramp: how do you feel about men being shorter than you are
Belle: eh...
70sTramp: what do you mean ?
Belle: Well, I like to wear heels. And I'm no Katie Holmes.
70sTramp: sooooo that means what?
that would make you a conformist you know
Belle: Well, I'm either a conformist or a freak. I like to think neither suits me.
Are you really 5'7"? Or are you a couple inches shorter like most guys on the interwebz?
70sTramp: oh a couple inches shorter of course, I mean shit, you gotta lie right?
and I am married with 4 kids but I gotta lie about that also
and bald
get with the program chickie
Belle: Hey, just wonderin'. I mean... Even tallish guys find a reason to lie about their height on the internet for some reason.
Like I wouldn't notice.
70sTramp: well let's go meet and you can measure me
Belle: Haha. Not sure about that one.
70sTramp: well either put up or shut up, ya know
Belle: That's a nice way to talk to a lady.
70sTramp: I probably pass you on the street everyday anyway, on my daily route of collecting bottles to return for deposits
Belle: A nice friendly chat and you're telling me to get with the program and put up or shut up.
70sTramp: in the 70s do you know what the saying was when we picked up a female hitchhiker?
Belle: Nope.
70sTramp: "Gas, grass, or ass, no one rides for free."
Belle: And this is pertinent because? Am I hitching a ride with you?
70sTramp: I am messing with you hun, I am trying to see if I got a chance of getting a piece of your 27 year old ass.
Belle: Nice. With that statement, the answer is, of course, “Not a chance.” Have a lovely day! :)

I figured he was up to no good with the opening line, but the conversation really started spiraling when I didn't pretend dating a shrimp was going to be my thing.

Seriously, though... Sometimes you need a guy who's inclined (and equipped) to take you up against the wall while you're wearing those hot FMBs.

My guess? 70sTramp ain't that guy.

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…)

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.

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...

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.

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.

Shady Vet Dude, or Sometimes Smart Women Make Stupid Choices

I got popped by my management office several ago for not having Greatest Puss in the World on the books. Needing the green light from a local vet to get everything in order, I played darts with the yellow pages, booked an appointment, forced the fighting Puss into his carrier, and arrived just in time to get the Puss his shots and myself into a little mess.

Shady Vet Dude started in with the flirting almost immediately. Feeling particularly on my game (although not, I realized a bit too late, particularly attracted to him), I reciprocated. When I left, he was waiting for me outside the office. Our brief exchange ended with him in possession of my number.

The texts started within the hour, infused with words like gorgeous and beautiful* and sexy. By the end of the night, he'd called four times. Each time, he called from a different number than the one he used to text me. Different than the one that, he made sure to point out, I should call. That I was allowed to call. His excuse for the separate numbers? A living situation that involved his ex-girl.

I agreed to go out with him on the condition that we head for a public place (rather than my house, as he'd presumptuously suggested). A round of appetizers later, our lips were locked in the parking lot, his hands taking more liberties with the exploration of my body with each passing moment. The rush of hormones and the feelings of high-school follies fogged my mind.

So, when I see you again, will I be seeing Belle or my girlfriend?

Wait. What!?! The fog cleared just enough for me to respond appropriately, with mention of that being a ludicrous request for a first date.

Only later, after more kissing and touching and teasing and the parting of ways, did I slow down to really think about all the things that didn't add up. The separate numbers. The rules about when and where we could meet. The suggestions that we spend our time together at my place. The too-much-for-a-first-date action, accompanied by unsolicited promises that he was looking for a relationship, not a fling. The way he avoided answering questions while demanding that I "open up" to him. The guilt-tripping manipulation tactics he had already begun employing.

It took me about a day to conclude that he was married, or, at best, still dating the woman he lived with. I still hadn't decided what to do to get rid of him. When he asked me out again the next day, I accepted and planned on recounting to his face all the ways in which I found him shady.

No sooner than I agreed to meet him, he did a 180 and started making (seriously lame) excuses about why he couldn't see me that evening, after all. So I told him exactly what was up on the phone instead.

The main points? Even if he was telling me the truth about everything (which I'm fairly confident he wasn't), his life was too fucked up to get another person involved. I deserve better than having to sneak around and entertain last-minute plans and changes of said plans.

His reaction? Well, it sounds like you're having some misgivings. Why don't you take tonight to think about it and call me tomorrow.

A few ball-less texts flowed my way that evening and the next day. The down-in-history classic being: Okay, look, I don't want to just give up on us. Second chance?

Us? Us?!? Oh no, buddy, one date doesn't not make you and me an us. Geez-o-pete.

Shady Vet Dude's sad little reach-outs garnered no response from me and eventually petered out.

But the best part? Now that SVD has stopped contacting me, Puss has decided to go and get himself a cyst or tumor or some other kind of scary growth.

I may or may not have to see SVD when I take Puss to the vet, but I plan on looking smoking hot and playing it totally cool, just in case.



* No, really, it was "beautifull," which should have been enough to make me ignore him from the start.

Belle's Love Life (In 60 Seconds or Less)

In the realm of the dating world, I've got little to say. Let's have some bullets, shall we?

• NRA IMed me yesterday. His "Happy Easter," I'm proud to say, garnered no response.
  
• [Big-Name Dating Site] nearly revoked its offer, then came back with it, and now I'm stalling. (Explanation to follow.)
• I had another one of those dreams about Mr. Chill and am currently avoiding eye contact. Dammit. It's going to be a long day.
  
• The frequency and disturbing force of those dreams has me thinking it's time to get a little action. I suddenly find myself wishing Mr. Disney were in town...
  

[Big-Name Dating Site] Users Beware

I just received the following message:

Anti Belle,

As a lifestyle blogger, we’ve selected you as one of an exclusive group of bloggers who are invited to post about your dating experiences while using [Big-Name Dating Site]. To help you get started, I want to offer you a three month trial membership to [Big-Name Dating Site].

This is a great chance for you to expand your dating possibilities by tapping into [Big-Name Dating Site]'s 15 million members. You can search, flirt, and connect with other [Big-Name Dating Site] members through [Big-Name Dating Site] Mobile or online. As you explore [Big-Name Dating Site]’s services and connect with other eligible singles, share your experiences with the readers of Dating is Dead.

If you are interested in more information or the trial [Big-Name Dating Site] membership, feel free to contact me.

Thank you so much for your time.

[Big-Name Dating Site] Representative

So the questions I have are these:

• Has the [Big-Name Dating Site] Representative who sent me this message read anything on this site? Ever? (Likely not...)
  
• Has s/he noted my neurosis or the way in which I take pleasure in ripping my dates to shreds for the entertainment of friends and strangers here on the interwebs? (If so, Devil!)
  
• Are [Big-Name Dating Site] and its Representative screwing over their actual paying customers by exposing them to mean, bitter bloggers everywhere in the hopes of generating some word-of-mouth advertising? (Obviously...)
• But shouldn't [Big-Name Dating Site] and its Representatives have the best interest of its paying users in mind at all times? (Okay, everyone knows even I'm not that naive...)
  
• Are the paying users of [Big-Name Dating Site] ready for the likes of Belle? (Likely not...)
• Am I ready to re-enter the online dating scene? (...)
  
• Will a "free" account at [Big-Name Dating Site] yield results any different from those garnered at other free dating sites I've tried? (...)

What to do, what to do...

So Much for Professionalism

I haven't been spending time in the blogosphere lately because I've been working on advancing my career.*

I've been devoting almost all of my working hours (and then some) to a difficult project with asinine clients. The guy doing most of the work for the project (thereby working closely with me) pretty much keeps to himself. Mr. Chill speaks only when necessary. Gives looks that make people think their mere visage offends him. Wears his headphones so as to block out ambient noise and

Recently, several people in our department were rearranged, and I found myself in the cube directly across from Mr. Chill. Late last week, I felt like we had a much-needed communication breakthrough. He started actually speaking to me. Both about the project and about things unrelated to work. I was particularly pleased with the turnaround and looking forward to the benefits of our newfound working relationship.

Today, my work buddy Buddhist Catholic tapped the glass behind me and blew me a kiss. I turned in my chair just enough to blow a kiss back at her, which left me facing the aisle and Mr. Chill. Usually engrossed in his work and/or social networking, Mr. Chill took this opportunity to turn toward me as I was mid- kiss... lips puckered, hand in air... and facing Mr. Chill directly.

I tried to assure him that I wasn't blowing him kisses, but I felt the flush rising in my cheeks and saw my shame mirrored in his suddenly rosy face. Certain any further explanation on my part would only make things worse, I turned back to my work.

So, yeah... Pretty sure the newfound lines of communication with Mr. Chill are shut down as of now.

And Buddhist Catholic? After laughing hysterically at my retelling of the story, she's banned from blowing kisses my way.


* No, that's not an excuse, just the facts, people. I'm not silly enough to think anyone's out there wondering where I've been. It just happened to be a good lead-in for a little self-deprecation. And we all know how much I love some self-deprecation. Yep, all two of you. I see you, Ogden, Utah, and Higden, Arizona.

I was robbed by two men.

And... I am allergic to penicillin.

Hasta la vista, Baby.

Own It

"When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong." - Jake Houseman, Dirty Dancing


Maybe watching Dirty Dancing as a kid enough times to memorize every line, facial expression, outfit, and set had a little more of effect on me than producing mass quantities of drool and daydreams of a wedding to Patrick Swayze.

I recently recalled Dr. Houseman's apology to Johnnie at the end of the movie and realized I'm one of the few souls in the working world who is willing to own my mistakes.


On the surface, it seems like a simple enough thing (admitting your mistakes, that is... not doing lifts). But finger-pointing and blame-laying and flat out denial of any wrongdoing seem to be standard operating procedure these days.

And even though I try to make it a practice to tell people when I know I'm wrong, it never seems to get any easier. I like to think it does make me much less likely to repeat the same missteps, though.

I recently had to suck it up and spit it out. (The apology, fools. Don't bring all that filthy thinking to this rare-form PG post.) It wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be, really. It usually isn't.

All that said, the very same party to whom I admitted my wrong and issued an apology is now coming after me full force, finger pointed, blame ready for the laying.

He realized, rather late in a project, that he hadn't asked for something from my team. A relatively major something, which he's now trying to claim he insisted upon all along.

So what does he do? Moves in for the attack, of course. Wants someone, anyone (but most likely and conveniently me) to take the blame that should lie squarely on his shoulders.

Why? So he can save face? Undoubtedly. Avoid being reprimanded? Likely. Keep his job? Perhaps, but I really don't think the situation is that dire.

What we have now are two groups of people working together with major animosity festering and hostility growing.

What we could have if the dude had just owned the slip-up when it was discovered and worked with us toward a solution? A much more smoothly-sailing project.

Obviously, this guy didn't take his life lessons from Dirty Dancing. Maybe I should get him the DVD for Christmas.

Nice 'n' Crazy

Boy: [blah, blah, blah] ... you're nice.
Belle: Umm... Have you met me? I'm a bitch.
Boy: No, you're always nice. ... Except when you're crazy.
Belle: Fair enough.

Safety Through Omission

Belle: Serial Killer is asking me to tell him what his best and worst qualities are.
Green Lantern: Uh oh.
Belle: Can I tell him I was afraid he'd chop me into bits if I let him know where I lived, but, other than that, he seemed like a perfectly nice guy?
Green Lantern: Don't agitate him!
Belle: hehe
...
Belle: Ugh. Now he told me mine...
Green Lantern: What? That you lied about having a boyfriend?
Belle: I did not lie!
Green Lantern: :-P
Belle: I was dating someone when I told him that... Just haven't bothered to update him...
Green Lantern: Fair enough.
Belle: Safety through omission.
Green Lantern: LOL

Guess those pedicures are paying off

Elevator Guy: You know, there are certain things you can say and certain things you can't say, but this is a compliment. You have beautiful feet.
Belle: Thank you.

Sometimes, mornings are nice.

I Can Be Accommodating

... if you know how to ask.

Props for Pops

I reached for the ringing hand set and glanced at the Caller ID. Father. Bracing myself for bad news, I answered guardedly.

As soon as it became clear that no one was dead, I relaxed. Breathed a little easier.

It still makes me nervous when he calls, I would tell Roommate later.

I vividly remember the first time I ever got a phone call from Father. Which isn't really that remarkable, since it was only two years ago. Considering I literally made it 23 years before ever picking up the phone to hear his voice, it makes a bit of sense that I'm still inclined to think the worst when he dials me up.

Before that Stepmom had always done the calling, no matter the reason. Father got on the line only when she passed the phone his way.

When I went away to college, I talked to Stepmom at least once a week, and Father slightly less often. At first.

Then, I started thinking about my relationship with the man. Or, more precisely, the lack thereof.

I decided that he didn't know how to deal with me. From what I could tell, Father viewed women in two ways:
1. As mother-like figures to be respected.
2. As sexual objects.

As his daughter, I didn't fit into that equation. Our conversations rarely drifted from the subject of the weather. They became incredibly frustrating.

Frustrated with his lack of initiative and tired of having entire conversations that consisted of It's 110 in the shade and same here, I stopped calling him. Stopped asking for him when I called Stepmom. Stopped letting her hand the phone off.

Stepmom: Your dad just walked in. Do you want to talk to him?
Belle: Nah.

She tried to get me to talk to him. Growing less and less acquiescent, I began refusing to fake politeness to my own detriment.

Stepmom: It hurts your dad's feelings that you don't talk to him when you call.
Belle: It hurts my feelings that he never calls me. That he's never called me. All we talk about is the weather, anyway. We both know it's hot and miserable. It's always hot and miserable.

I wasn't refusing maliciously. I just didn't see the point. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I was an anomaly in my father's life. That our bond was weak, at best. That our views on life were so different the only polite conversation we could have was discussing heat factors and humidity.

Then, one night while I was working, my phone rang. Father. I stepped outside to take the call, expecting to hear that someone was gravely ill or had passed away.

But it wasn't that at all. He'd just called. To chat. To see how I'd been. To offer fatherly advice. To let me know he was thinking of me.

That was in the spring of 2005. We usually catch up with each other once or twice a month these days. Last night our conversation moved from the weather to work to the merits of fresh seafood over frozen to softball to his grandsons/my nephews. It may not sound like much to some,* but it's a helluva lot more than I ever expected.

I know you've been on your own for a while and you take care of yourself. Just keep an eye out. Be aware of your surroundings. It's your best defense... I just want you to know I'm always thinking about you.

The man, he's trying. And I have to give him props for that.


* Roommate, I'm thinking of you and your daily parental contact here. ;-)

teh wrst spelr

The following is a random IM conversation from last night. Enjoy.

tehWrstSpelr: hi
belle: hi. Who is this?
tehWrstSpelr: u happen to be on my buddy list and I wanted to find out the same thing too
tehWrstSpelr: lol
tehWrstSpelr: im thewrstspelr*
tehWrstSpelr: U?
belle: thewrstspelr?
belle: Belle
tehWrstSpelr: Yup
tehWrstSpelr: Hi Belle
belle: hi
tehWrstSpelr: R u in Dc?
belle: yes. how old are you?
tehWrstSpelr: im 28
tehWrstSpelr: u?
belle: 25
belle: did we talk before at some point?
tehWrstSpelr: i shd think so
tehWrstSpelr: did u post an ad on CL?
belle: good lord. Ages ago.
belle: Where are your words, man?
belle: You seem to have lost them in all this IM speak
belle: it's highly annoying
tehWrstSpelr: My bad
tehWrstSpelr: So whats up with u tonite?
tehWrstSpelr: Cant sleep?
belle: about to get to bed. just catching up on some stuff
belle: you?
tehWrstSpelr: oh k
tehWrstSpelr: cant sleep
tehWrstSpelr: so bored
belle: ah
tehWrstSpelr: u wanna sing for me?
tehWrstSpelr: lol
tehWrstSpelr: hahahaha
belle: sing?
belle: I think not
tehWrstSpelr: alrite
tehWrstSpelr: ure in Dc,rite?
belle: you already asked me that


* The name, obviously, is my doing. Not this clueless dolt's.

Bloodsucking Bitches

The swampy, marshy southernmost regions of The 'Sip are year-round breeding grounds for mosquitoes.

There might be a few weeks of sweet reprieve from the vicious, bloodsucking pests in January or February, when temperatures occasionally dip low enough to kill off that 'other state bird.' Other than that, you've got no choice but to soak yourself in repellent before stepping outside and invest in Citronella products by the dozens when you're hosting a gathering outdoors. Fending off mosquito attacks is a part of daily life.

Stepping outside into the muggy air this morning, I lit my cigarette and joined a small group of smokers congregating in the designated area. A guy who reminds me of Letterman used his cigar to motion toward a mammoth mosquito hovering near me. That's a big one. A big male. Won't bite you. The males don't bite.

Another guy, one of the young hotties from sales, chimed in. But it has a stinger. So it still bites, right? Otherwise, it wouldn't have it. His know-it-all grin let us know he wasn't asking.

The cigar-wielding Letterman look-alike again said that only female mosquitoes suck blood, using it to nourish their eggs.

I exhaled, crushed my cigarette out in the black pebbles, and nodded farewell to my smoking buddies.

Age before beauty, isn't that how the saying goes? Letterman, even surrounded by his foul smelling cigar smoke, was right.

From The Wiki:

Both male and female mosquitoes are nectar feeders, but the female is also capable of haematophagy (drinking blood). Females do not require blood for survival, but they do need supplemental protein for the development and laying of their eggs. Prior to sucking the blood, they inject a mild painkiller, which numbs the host to the pain from the "bite" (Note: mosquitos do not actually bite).

And...

Males differ from females, with mouth parts not suitable for blood-sucking.

Well, shifire and damnation! All those times I was covered from head to toe with the small, misshapen welts from the devil mosquito? Every single one of them was from a female mosquito? Those bloodsucking, traitorous bitches.