Category Archives: Dating

If You Want Love, All You Need Is Voodoo!

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Vintage Dating Advice

Ladies. Men just want to dance. Let the men dance.

Straight up y’all, I love getting spam comments. They tickle me pink. I absolutely adore reading through all our Spinster spam and just laughing and laughing for hours….and also there is wine involved. But last week, we got a spam comment to rule them all! The first line was “How to get a man without looking desperate.” Obviously, they had me from hello.

Apparently there are several things we woman do to scare the men away. Ladies, I’m going to repeat that again. You. Are. Scaring. The. Men. Away. How? By being too fabulous. Your fabulosity (I put the full blame on Sex and the City for me using that word) is like looking straight into the sun- it blinds men and sends them running for their very dark man caves. So, what should you do? Well, according to this I-swear-I’m-not-making-this-up spam comment there are 7 things every woman looking for her soulmate should do.

1. Make a plan. Apparently, you can force life to stick to an action plan. If I were y’all, I would go ahead and make a plan to bump into your soulmate at Trader Joe’s tomorrow morning. Otherwise, it will never happen. It’s all about planning.

2. Do NOT have sex with them until you are married. If you sleep with him, he will think you’re a Slutty McSlutterson and will only continue seeing you to get at your ladyparts. Then, when he has used your ladyparts up, he will leave you and marry a virgin. Those are the breaks kid.

3. Dress better. If you aren’t wearing a ball-gown, then you are a slob and no one will ever want you. Business casual? Might as well call it single-for-life casual.

4. You must never get angry. Ever. If you get mad at anything ever then you are failing as a woman. The second you stop smiling is the second you lose out on love for all eternity.

5. Do NOT be smarter than the man. In fact, don’t even be only slightly less smart than the man, you must always be the dumb one. Didn’t you know that men hate intelligent women?   You are there to look pretty and be petted, like a shih tzu. If you say something intelligent or witty or even moderately bright then the man will lose his ability to get a boner for you forever.

6. Be skinny. If you aren’t in supermodel shape then don’t even bother trying. Your best friend should be your gym membership.

7. Try voodoo.

Seriously. The last and most important thing a woman can do to get a man is voodoo. But, when you compare it to all the other bullshit in this spam comment, voodoo seems by far the most legitimate advice. Make of that what you will.

Unpleasant Truth: Dating Will Always Suck

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Picture it- you’re 90 years old and living in an active senior living community, you’re widowed but lead a very active and happy lifestyle. You meet a nice widower who lives in your community, you become friends, you become friends who hold hands, you become friends who kiss, you spend all your free time together, you meet his kids and grandkids, he meets your kids and grandkids. It’s lovely. You’re the happiest you’ve been in years and this friendship/companionship/whatever it is makes you feel 30 years younger. Then, one day, he comes over to your apartment and tells you he is in love with someone else and moving across town to her active senior living community.

THAT SHIT STILL HAPPENS AT 90! FOR REAL.

Seriously y’all. I spend a lot of time at my grandparent’s active senior living community and the dating dynamics there are almost identical to the dating dynamics of people my age. Single and dating seniors have DTRs and label their relationships as “it’s complicated”. What. The. Hell. I thought relationships would be loads easier at that age. At least, I thought everyone would approach them more maturely. Not so! My grandmother has literally played go-between for flirting guys and gals in order to set them up.  People are using each other for sex and nothing more, which I have to admit, I’m a bit impressed by. But, I’m still absolutely shocked at the confusion, lust, and angst that go on in their relationships.

I’m shocked because it was my sincerest wish that dating would get easier when we got older because we would be more mature evolved human beings. Not so. Not so at all. Dating will always suck the life force from us and turn strong passionate women into tearful balls of confusion and centered mature men into lusty balls of indecision. Or vice verse. I’ve seen some of those precious older men have their hearts broken by wanton jezebels as well.  My point is, people who tell you that dating is better when you’re older is a liar liar pants on fire. Do NOT believe them.

Banish the Lettuce: First Dates That Aren’t So Lame

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As y’all well know, I’m not too fond of dating. It’s not the guys I take issue with, but the actual process. The idea of a first date dinner sends a platoon of carnivorous butterflies to my stomach. What will we talk about? What if I get salad in my teeth? Nobody wants to date a mute green-toothed girl! I’m going to spend the rest of my life with cats, aren’t I? Well, eff. I better stock up on Benadryl.

It quickly devolves from there. Talking with my mom this weekend, however, I had an epiphany. Maybe dating wouldn’t be so painful, if we weren’t following society’s prescribed script. Who decided dinner and a movie were the perfect date? Dinner is a minefield of small talk and check dancing, while movies – movies! – are dark events where you’re not allowed to talk. Don’t even get me started on “just having drinks.” Bars are the noisiest places outside of yodeling competitions. If I wanted to shout about my family history, I’d do it in the privacy of a therapist’s office, thank you.

There has to be a better way. Naturally, I have a few suggestions…

  1. The Zoo – Seriously, y’all, if someone took me to a zoo on our first date, my ovaries would probably explode with lust. Is there anything so fun as walking about looking at animals? No, there isn’t. Plus! Animals are weird. They do ridiculous, awesome things, like sneeze. I dare you to have an awkward conversation at a zoo. There are just too many creatures to see and read about. If you’re sick of talking about your years as a mime, drop an animal knowledge bomb. (Did you know that polar bear livers contain toxic levels of Vitamin A? Arctic explorers learned that the hard way.) Also, zoos have portable food, like corn dogs and lemon ices, which pose less of a threat to your clothes than traditional date food. Who knows? You might start an eternal bond, based on your mutual love of fruit bats. (Yes, that is a fantasy of mine. Shut up.)
  2. Baseball Games – This could be any sporting match, but baseball is my ideal. Even if you’re not a sports person, this has the potential to be a good date. There are plenty of drunk people around to make fun of, if conversation lags, and it’s a fun, casual atmosphere. If you like your first dates on the scandalous side, there are also endless opportunities for double entendres – balls, bats, bases, hot dogs. Get your witty innuendos ready! Also, unlike a concert or a bar, the atmosphere is raucous but not too loud. You can have good conversation and impress your date with your mad heckling skills.
  3. Road Trips - It is a well-acknowledged fact that random road trips are the most fun thing ever. When I was an undergrad, my friends and I would routinely pile into the car for a journey to the fabled House of Pies or some small town pumpkin festival. I know a road trip sounds daunting for a first date, but trust me. You can play fun car games, instead of your average get-to-know you conversation, and end up at a really cool destination. Why not play an extended round of Throw John Mayer Off A Cliff (commonly known as: Screw-Marry-or-Kill) on your way to the World’s 2nd Largest Hockey Stick? Personally, I long to be whisked off for the two hour ride down to San Antonio Zoo (Again…bats!), with a stop for BBQ in Lockhart along the way. Maybe you’ve always wanted to see that semi-famous henge a county or two over? Get in the car!
  4. Ghost Tours – Whether you believe in the other side or not, ghost stories are still decidedly spooky. You don’t need a campfire to hear them either, since most cities now have ghost tour companies. A couple of tickets and you two lovebirds are taking a walking tour of your town, through the lens of its more murderous and spooky historical spots. Even if you’re not scared, it will be a good laugh and provide lots of fodder for post-ghost dinner conversation. Personally, I’m a giant chicken and would seriously accelerate the hand-holding timeline. So, that’s always fun.
  5. Museums – An afternoon spent at a museum always sounds delightful. Whether it’s filled with art, dinosaurs, or medical oddities, I’m in. (Really, let’s be honest, the weirder the better. Vienna’s Crime Museum, anyone?) Once again, the very destination provides you with endless conversational choices. Perhaps your date has a heretofore unknown passion for Egyptology? (Swoon.) This is also a great litmus test for hidden pretentious streaks. If your date launches into a pedantic lecture at every painting he sees, what do you think he’ll be like at the grocery store? Egads.
  6. Bonus Pick: The Masters – Alright, this one is pretty Grace-specific. If you know anyone who has a secret crush on this anonymous blogger, listen up. My ultimate fantasy date? The Masters. I am a huge golf fan. If a guy invited me along to be his date for the tournament, he’d have to be a convicted murderer for me not to say yes. It’s also a perfect first date! Sure, the tickets are impossible to get, but once you’re there it is both fun AND cheap. The food sold at Augusta remains in a strange limbo of 1970s pricing, there are tons of people to watch, and there’s the ever-present threat of being hit with a errant tee shot. Danger! Lovely scenery! Cheap food! Though, there is always the chance that Graeme McDowell and I will fall madly in love at first sight and I will run away to Northern Ireland with him. So, you know, fair warning.

These choices could still end in disaster, of course. I once went on a first date to a Renaissance Festival, which should have been really fun. Except…my date dressed, head-to-toe, like the Dread Pirate Roberts without warning me and refused to ride an elephant. After one too many swipes with his replica sword, it was clear I never wanted to see his – ahem – other sword. Still, I’d rather take my chances with the zoo than another night spent shouting how many siblings I have over the din of bad bar karaoke. Drunken bachelorette party attendees singing “Oops! I Did It Again” do not a romantic backdrop make.

- Grace

Carrie Bradshaw, I Demand An Apology!

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You know what I hate, darling readers? Dating.

Dating totally sucks. It is, hands down, the worst part of being a twenty-something. This was a shocking realization for me. On television, dating looks so glamorous! Main characters run around in pretty shoes, laughing over pretty drinks, and canoodling pretty men. Well, I’m here to tell you: it is not so. We’ve been tricked. It’s not all cosmopolitans and artists whisking you off to Paris! In fact, nary an artist has whisked me anywhere. Not even to Paris, Texas.

Carrie Bradshaw did not properly prepare me for this.

In the real world, dates are awkward. There is no montage of pithy banter. Instead, we spend the first three dates asking how each other’s days went. There are only so many times I can say, “It was good!” without blurting out the truth: an ER patient totally threw up on me today, so it’s a really good thing we’re required to wear bodily fluid repellent footwear. Talk of bodily fluids is so frowned upon during dates. If it’s not mild, work-related chitchat, my date is telling me stories about people I don’t know. They always seem to end with: Oh, that Smitty. You just have to know him, I guess! The glaring truth is: I don’t know Smitty. I will never know Smitty, unless we get past that awkward dating small talk. Sometimes, I just want to scream Cue the montage!

Which means, in the real world my relationships don’t normally result from traditional dating. My boyfriends have mostly been friends, or mutual friends, who prove that proximity breeds intimacy. We’ll be friends, then we’ll be friends who flirt, then we’ll be friends who accidentally make-out after too many margaritas, then we’re friends who are dating. Not exactly the stuff of magical, grand romances. Carrie didn’t have to wait for Big to realize he liked her liked her. Sure, they had plenty of commitment issues, but at least they never had that horrid initial friend stage! The friend stage also sucks. All that will-they-won’t-they is much more entertaining when you’re not they. On TV, you at least knew Harry was perfect for Charlotte, even if Charlotte didn’t know it yet. Honestly, the only redeeming feature of being friends first is that there is minimal small talk.

With all the pitfalls of modern dating, it’s no wonder our generation is known for its hook-up culture. Sometimes, you’d just rather randomly kiss someone than spend three days analyzing your current flame’s Facebook comment. (What does “See you there!” really mean!?) In real life, Carrie and Big never would have made it. That epic story of instant connection and poor timing would fizzle, in the face of sexting and Twitter updates. It’s not so easy to rationalize someone’s questionable dating habits, when he just tweeted a picture of himself and pretty redhead at a Death Cab concert. Carrie would have followed her own spin-off book’s advice and decided he was just not that into her.

Maybe things were different a decade ago. Maybe that glittery world of dating really did exist, for a brief moment, in the lives of rich ’00s Manhattanites. I’m starting to doubt it. Carrie, my dear, you are a lying liar from Liarville. Dating is not glamorous, cosmos taste like pink intestinal gas, and – fun fact! – Manolo Blahniks do not repel bodily fluids. Where is the sitcom about tea drinkers who wear Clarks and hate chitchat? There’s a show I could believe in.

-  Grace

Lions, and Tigers, and Break-Ups! Oh, My!

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Did I mention I’ve been dating someone for a couple of months?  It hasn’t been anything super serious and I wouldn’t even go so far as to call us boyfriend and girlfriend, but it’s definitely been something.  However.

You know that first spark?  The one where they’re interesting and you have so much fun and you want to see them and blah, blah, blah?  Well whatever flame had been burning has been slowly flickering out and I haven’t known what to make of it.  This is always the case.  Something isn’t quite right so it stresses me out, then I retreat unto myself, I don’t want to hang out with the other person, I don’t act in an affectionate way (tho, to be honest, PDA-friendly I am not), and I go into excuse mode.  Well maybe it’s because I’m stressed at work…  Or maybe it’s because I’m just bad at dating…  Or maybe it really is us but it’s because we only go out to eat and don’t do other things so we don’t give ourselves the right opportunity… Or whatever.

Kate the Cowardly Lion

It all amounts to this: I am the Cowardly Lion of break-ups.

Rather than owning up to the fact that I’m just not into him, I hide and I make my excuses and feel sorry for myself and ultimately end up sabotaging things to the point where we’re miserable almost 100% of the time.  Cowardly Kate, right there.  The cruddiest part of it?  I date really fantastic guys.  I know, don’t hate me.  But I do. With the exception of one guy, my boyfriends have been really great people.  They’ve treated me well, they’ve been thoughtful, and when I was suddenly pulling away, coming up with my excuses, they were there trying to be understanding about it.  Cue massive guilt.

But I do think that’s part of it.  I’ve never wanted to own up to what’s really going on because I dread that conversation and the potential to hurt someone who is so kind-hearted.  When they’ve been so good to you, how do you tell them they’re just not right for you?  Yah, yah, you just tell them.  So you say.  It was never easy and so I never did it.

Until yesterday.  Call it maturity, but I finally realized how unfair it was to the guy and to me to go on in this state.  The conversation weighed on me all weekend (longer than that, if I’m honest) and I finally brought up my concerns, fully expecting it to The Break-Up Moment.  And yah know, a funny thing happened.  Not only was it not as bad as I imagined, but he reacted in a way that I hadn’t anticipated.  He said he really liked me and wished I’d given him feedback earlier so we could work on the issues which he viewed as easily fixable.  Huh.  I won’t go into the gory details.  In fact, I don’t remember the gory details.  (Really, who does?  Do you?  Because my own explanation of The State of Things became so convoluted that I could have talked about eating SpaghettiOs at the top of the Eiffel Tower, for all I know)  Suffice it to say, we are “taking a break.”  Yes, we cringed too.  But it’s not a bad plan.  We’re giving ourselves two weeks and then we’ll see.

Spinster friends, in a matter of hours “taking a break” changed my entire outlook.  Unsurprisingly, the weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I look forward to our next outing.  I know, don’t you just want to reach through the computer screen, shake me, and go, “SEE?!?!?!  When you talk to someone about your feelings, good things can happen.”

Right.  Yah.  For all my ranting about dating and such, I know I’m not even close to being perfect on that front.  My cowardly and non-confrontational way of addressing relationship issues is right there at the top of Things Kate Must Address if She Wants to Find Her Mr. Darcy.  So I can’t give much advice on this, but if you’re waffling about your man or lady friend dilemma and whether to say something, make like Nike and JUST DO IT.

-Kate

Manfriend Musings

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Hello spinster friends!  I’m a tad bit late with a post this week which is due to some Exciting and completely exhausting Happenings in the Land of Hepburn.  You might not know this, but this little Kate is an introvert so a wild week of unexpected travel, a flat tire, and not a single night spent vegging on my sofa with a good romance and a pot of Earl Grey… well, let’s just say it’s Saturday morning, I’m still in my jammies, and I intend to stay that way.

I’m not a whiner and complainer, that’s a lie, don’t listen to me, but in these particularly trying types of weeks I’m reminded of those little things that a manfriend might bring to the situation.  Sometimes, I miss them.  I give you my short list:

The Arm/Back/You-Name-It Scratch.

Spinster friends, you know what I’m talking about!  Nothing is more lovely than a night spent in, forcing your beloved to watch HGTV’s Design Time Saturday Night, and getting a good arm scratch.  One of those wooden back scratchers just will not do.  And nevermind if most men have nubs for nails.  It’s soothing either way.  Plus, I’ve perfected the technique so the future Mr. Hepburn need not put out more effort than necessary.  It’s called the Hot Dog.  Step 1: Place arm directly in front of partner.  Step 2: Manfriend starts scratching arm in a horizontal motion.  Step 3:  Rotate your arm like a hot dog at a hot dog stand and behold! total arm scratch satisfaction.

The Flat Tire Savior.

I know how to change a flat.  In fact, it was one of the first things I did in driving school.  (Aside: Did you know that in Texas we didn’t have to take behind-the-wheel tests???  We required only 7 hours of actual driving time.  Yah, I know.  So, if you’re ever in this state, forgive us on the road.  We know not what we do.  Well, I mean, I do but I can’t say the others have a clue.)  So when I get a flat tire, I just want to have someone to call.  Someone who would come and hang out with me while I remedy the situation.  Or if not that, and if I was fortunate to have an awesome company that sends someone to fill my tire with air, someone who would at least lend me their car so I’m not scrambling to figure out how to get to Very Important Places the next day.  That’s a particular spinster challenge, I feel – the lack of a second car option is the pits!

Breakfast in Bed

Alright, alright, nobody has ever made me breakfast in bed.  But as I’m sitting here in my jammies it strikes me as something that would be really nice.  I’d like a stack of four pancakes.  No, make that five, just in case.  With a little pat of butter and two bitty twin pots of crème anglaise, and raspberry jelly.  A cup of Early Grey with a tiny spoon that has a dob of honey would also be nice.  And a big glass of 1% milk.  Oh, and sausage links!  I love sausage links.  And if Mr. Hepburn would be so kind, that romance I left on the couch the other night.  He romanced me enough last night, I’ll give him a break this morning.

What am I missing?  What other nice things might a manfriend* do?

*Or ladyfriend as I can’t leave out our beloved gentlemen spinster friends!

-Kate

Kate the Man Nibbler

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I have a confession, friends.  I haven’t logged on to that online dating site in over a month.  I know, it’s crazy (or cray-cray as my sister would say).  But here’s the thing.  I’m in over my head with this online dating thing.  I don’t know how to date multiple men at once.  I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Kate, you don’t have to date multiple men at one time.  Just pick one and see what develops.”  But gosh darn it, people, I paid good money for a three-month membership.  There is no way I will date only one person at a time and move on to the next only if the first fizzles.  I would make some argument about being responsible with my money but it comes across in an odd way.  You know what I mean.

Things were swell at the outset.  I went on a several dates with different guys and things mutually fizzled.  This was a happy thing!  I got back into the swing of dating but didn’t have to deal with the whole liking several men at once thing.  That was until mid-December when I went on two dates in one week (wild woman, right here!) and liked both the guys.  Enough to think of a second date.  Enough to think I might even want to go on three dates with each.

Intellectual Isaac is approximately the same age, hails from my home state, is a lover of reading and writing, and even owns a cat.  I swoon!  Intriguing Ivan, a reader of the audio variety, likes to keep up with his speech and debate skills, and even agrees with me that a woman shouldn’t have to take her husband’s last name (a topic of which I plan to address next week – stay tuned!).  I swoon again!

So here I am, texting two gentlemen, and feeling very uncomfortable with the situation.  It’s not because I don’t think you should date multiple people at once.  In fact, I think this is perfectly acceptable and is something more people should consider.  Half of my generation seems to throw themselves into the worst kind of relationships since it happens to be their only option at a particular time. I’m no stranger to this, even if it was 6 or 7 years ago.  My discomfort actually stems from the What If factor.

What if Intellectual Isaac should show up at the same bar as I’m at with Intriguing Ivan even though he lives 40 minutes away and doesn’t go to bars but decides he should check one out this night and then he sees us and then he’s all horrified that I’m on a date with Intriguing Ivan and he’ll call me the next day and tell me he never wants to see me again and he demands that I destroy any evidence of his short stories which he kindly sent to me to read?

(You were supposed to say that in one breath without pausing because, you know, that’s how I do it)

What if Intriguing Ivan decides to romance me with a romantic dinner and romantic candle light and I must sneak away to the restroom to remove an offending piece of spinach from betwixt my teeth and while I’m gone Intellectual Isaac texts me but I don’t realize that my phone has fallen out of my purse and Intriguing Ivan gallantly rescues it from it’s fate beneath my chair but in doing so sees that Intellectual Ivan would like us to have a movie night wherein we watch The Holiday and cuddle with our cats and then Intriguing Ivan demands I leave without even a nibble of the bread pudding he was preparing for me because he know I likes it so?

Or my simplest fear:

What if, after a number of good dates with each of the gentlemen, I can’t decide who it is that I like more than the other?

I haven’t dated enough to know this will all work itself out.  That maybe I won’t even have to decide but it will instead be one of them that has a fizzled feeling.  So I will live in fear that I will somehow screw this up, all the while feeling very ill-at-ease with myself on this particular topic.

If you have suggestions about how to own the dating (multiple people at one time) scene, I’m all ears.  Any bit of reassurance you can offer on this topic would be appreciated because lord knows I want to curl up in the fetal position every time I think of the possibilities.

-Kate

Btw, fizzled is my new favorite word of the week.  Apologies for the over-use but I love it so!

The Case of the Tiny Knickers

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Ladies, we have a problem. Someone has shrunk all the underwear in America. I suspect Lex Luther, that pervy rat.

This treacherous crime was most recently observed yesterday, while I indulged in a bit of post-holiday shopping. Victoria’s Secret, that haven of polyester lace and sweatpants with gendered colors stitched across the bum, was having a sale. A great, big, Please Back Up The Truck For Our Cheaply Made Underwear sale. Hooray! My credit card company rejoiced!

My rear end did not. There were all sorts of choices, of course. I could buy thongs, hipsters, bikinis, and even something called a cheeky panty. (That last, I can only guess is some sort of insolent, but loveable, undergarment. Perhaps it has Oscar Wilde quotes on the tag?) None of these, however, met my new underpinnings requirement: proper coverage. Even ignoring the dreaded thong, these garments were engineered not to support or flatter my body, but to seductively uncover it. The hipsters covered my hips, yes, but not most of my lower butt region. The bikinis would cover the bum, but not that odd thigh-meets-pelvis region up front. Which should be covered and which should be left shivering and exposed to the cruel winter air, for proper sexiness? It was like a Sophie’s Choice of my nether regions!

From these options, I can only assume American women are forever in danger of having our clothes ripped off by passing strangers or rogue trolley cars. Ergo, underneath our clothes, we must look as much like adult film actresses as possible. Heaven forbid someone see us in – gasp! – actual panties. Why, if my Volvo were hit by a skydiving llama, I’d be the shame of the emergency room!

This sucks. Y’all, I like real underwear. Why must I be expected to wear mere suggestions of it instead? Reasonable underwear, the kind that covers one’s entire bum and doesn’t dare venture into places reserved for Ryan Gosling, is awesome. When did it become not only unfashionable, but actively frowned upon? Last I checked, men aren’t trying to cover their cash & prizes with pieces of cloth no wider than dental floss. Yet, not only are we taught that full underwear isn’t sexy, but it’s given a derisive nickname. The granny panty. Cue lightning and thunder.

Well, whatever. I think Granny had it right. You can’t tell me I would look hotter wearing butt-floss than this:

I just don’t believe it. Real underwear makes me look better, both with and without clothes on. Ladies, there isn’t one among us who hasn’t fallen victim to unfortunate lines created by bunching hipsters or migrating thongs. Just think – it’s possible for us not to worry about what crazy antics our underwear will get up to next. We could put on a garment that not only flatters our figure, but won’t start playing a game of Twister halfway through the dessert course. Can I get a hallelujah?

There is, of course, the argument on behalf of guys. Heaven knows, we can’t leave this important wardrobe decision up to women’s delicate little brains.The male half must prefer us in these wisps of cloth, or else we wouldn’t contort ourselves into them each morning. Sorry, but I’m calling foul on this one. For generations and generations, we wore reasonable underpants. Hell, for generations, we wore too many underpants! Men seemed to enjoy them well enough. We have all their billions of descendents walking around as a testament to that fact! My new outlook is this – if a guy is lucky enough to see my underwear, he probably won’t care if they’re retro lace panties or a red polyester thong. He should just be super excited about getting to that point at all. So, why not wear what makes me feel pretty? I can tell you, it won’t be a mysterious contraption that resembles nothing so much as a mesh butt cage (Link slightly NSFW).

I am through with garment-enforced wedgies, more torturous than any junior high prank, and trips to the bathroom just to rearrange my underwear situation. In 2012, I am taking a stand against ridiculous tiny knickers. If you need me, I won’t be at Victoria’s Secret, but instead kicking it old school with the hot “grannies” of What Katie Did and Dollhouse Bettie.

- Grace

My Dearest Katharine…

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My workplace is limiting my email storage so I’ve been forced to look at emails I wrote back in the day.  It’s fun to see how unprofessional I was when I was a wee little Kate, making my foray into the business world.  Like the time I used 17 exclamation points in one message.  That was really cool.  I’m sure the Vice President who got my three-paragraph thank you email about lunch thought that was really cute.  But I digress. It was during this clean-up that I came across a rather large group of emails from my last boyfriend in ::coughcough2007coughcough::. It would have been weird to go through them, re-read them, re-live my mindset from back then, so I quickly glanced at a couple then did a mass delete and it felt good.  But! I was reminded of something missing in my life.

Where have all the love letters gone?  [When I think these words they are to the tune of that Paula Cole song and it adds a little something.  You should try it.]

We live in an age where the love letter has been replaced with the email or the text message.  While I could use this as a platform to lament the use of the email or the text message, I will not.  You see, I actually like them quite a bit.  As opposed to a letter, they’re something you can get unexpectedly, any time of the day.  That text message I got after a grueling meeting from a date telling me he looks forward to see me tonight?  Yah, I’ll never object to it.

However, it’s the sheer volume of text messages and emails, and the obvious ease of sending them, which makes the love letter special, coveted, and missed.  It says something when your significant other takes the time to pull out the nice paper, the nice pen, and spend the time to come up with the perfect way to describe your golden locks or the way he goes all mushy when you tilt your head just so.

Further:

  • Love letters provide the perfect opportunity for you to use your lover’s full name in a way that’s really sexy.  In romance novels, the heroine always notices when the hero uses her first name for the first time.  I don’t know about you, but seeing Katharine on the page would definitely make my lady parts quiver a little bit more than seeing Kate.  And that’s just the first word!  Nicknames are acceptable but I would caution anyone that the love letter is not the place to test out that new “pumpkin cheeks” name you thought of when you saw your loved one bending over in the supermarket aisle to reach for that can of peas.
  • Love letters are an acceptable place to describe that weird quirk about your lover that you never knew how to say in person.  Or maybe shouldn’t say.  Like the fact that in he mornings you like watching his nostrils flare while he’s still sleeping.  You think it’s cute.  But imagine the conversation if you were to say that to his face.  Awkward!  The love letter, instead, lets you express this and avoid the strange look he might give you.  It might then even turn into a blush and he’ll take a certain pride in his schnoz, knowing it gives you so much pleasure.
  • Love letters have an enduring and tangible aspect that just isn’t with an email or a text.  I once found the love letters my dad wrote to my mum.  She keeps them in a box and I have to tell you, I was (still am) impressed with my 12 yr. old self and the fact that I respected their privacy and didn’t read them.  This, coming from the snoop of all snoops (I was a really awesome babysitter but my gawd, such a snoop!  “I wonder what’s in this drawer!”).  Still, it was very romantic and while I don’t know if she ever references them, it’s the idea that she could.  No digging through filed emails or trying to remember that sweet text message from five years ago.  The letters are there, in your hands, always available, and looking more loved and cherished over time.  Someday, your kids might even think they’d be great scrapbook material!  That wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything.

This is not exhaustive, but I hope you get the point.  There should be no objection to the love letter unless your dearest took out a restraining order.  So I encourage you to go forth, put the pen to the page, and resolve to write more love letters in 2012.  The world as we know it is coming to an end so it’s not like you have anything to lose.

-Kate

Dating And Blogging- A Spinster’s Dilemma.

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Dating and Blogging

I am a blogger. And not only that, but I’m a blogger who blogs without censor about my life. So, if you’re a part of my life, i.e. my boyfriend, you’re probably going to get blogged about. So it goes.

When I was single, I joked about how this was going to play out if I ever got into a relationship. You know, directing the boyfriend to a particular blog post about how I didn’t appreciate his snide remark the night before, or writing posts about the size of his penis, or even using my blog as a vehicle to break-up with him, thereby creating the most awkward and ridiculous break-up ever by inviting all my blog followers to comment on the relationship. However, once I got into a relationship (and a pretty spectacular one at that) all I wanted to do was protect him from my blogging. Me, who was so dedicated to the idea of not holding anything back in my blog, was holding something very big (seriously big y’all, he’s 6’4)  and very important back. And not only was I holding him back from my blogging, I was holding my blogging back from him- I refused to let him read my blogs for quite some time. Why? Because my blogging is a whole lot of crazy y’all. A whole lot of over-sharing, awkwardness, muppets, and tampons. And I’ve always been quite proud of that to be honest, and still am, but I was afraid it might be a bit overwhelming for my new (and uber-dreamy) beau.

But I knew that the “each of you in your corners” approach couldn’t last forever. So I fretted about how to handle this blogging/relationship situation. My dilemma was trying to figure out how to make two major parts of my life come together in harmony. Seriously, I stressed and angsted over this for weeks. And of course, like so many things I angst over, the solution came about so simply and naturally that it became incredibly apparent to me that I had angsted for naught. I mentioned, casually, to my boyfriend that if he wanted to he could totally read my blog. He didn’t have to, if he didn’t that would be fine, but you know, if he ever got curious, it would probably be ok. And he did. And he laughed. And he started offering me some killer suggestions for future blog posts. It was as simple and lovely as that.

Also, it helped that I set up some ground rules for myself.

1. No passive agressive blogging. I will not use my blog as a vehicle to complain or chide him.

2. No embarrassing. The only person who deserves to be humiliated by my blog is me.

3. Under no circumstances am I to use my blog to avoid having difficult conversations with him. I have to woman-up and face it if ever the need for a difficult conversation arises. No “blogging out” so to speak.

There you have it folks. That’s how one uncensored and often profane spinster blogger figured out how to be in a relationship and blog at the same time. It probably shouldn’t have taken me so many hours of angst to arrive there but I got there in the end and that’s (probably) what matters.