Love and Marriage

So, this book came out on the 4th of this month:


Yeah, I haven't read it and in all honesty I have absolutely no plans to, no matter how good Oprah's magazine says it is. I've read Ms. Gottlieb's article about this self-same subject, also desperately entitled: Marry Him.

Go ahead, read the article, I'll wait.





So, you've read it right? Now, I'm not married, have no finite plans for marriage, I have no children, no plans for children, and I'm most certainly not in my 40's, or even 30's. My frame of reference will obviously be skewed.

However, what I am is a woman with no legal commitments besides student loans and my mortgage, living alone, working in corporate America, and doing a pretty fucking awesome job at living my life the way I want.

Surprisingly, I agree with Ms. Gottlieb's underlying point in this article. However, I disagree with almost everything that she's trying to convince us 20-somethings to do. I don't disagree with the point that she inadvertently makes.

That point being that there's no such thing as Mr. Perfect, don't hold on to childhood fantasies of marriage, men, and babies. They aren't real. That my friend, is sound fucking advice. I couldn't agree more, women who go into relationships full of hopes and dreams and idealizations tend to leave those relationships bitter and disillusioned. Living in a dream world and having unattainable goals tends to do that to people.


However, the tone and meaning of the article is complete bullshit. At one point she advocates marrying your gay friend because you'll at least have someone with you, and besides, "how many long- married couples are having much sex anyway?" Apparently physical attraction is not required at all, in fact it's perfectly okay to be physically repulsed by your husband: "if you get a cold shiver down your spine at the thought of embracing a certain guy, but you enjoy his company more than anyone else’s, is that settling or making an adult compromise?"

In fact, it doesn't matter if you can't stand the sight of him:

"The couples my friend and I saw at the park that summer were enviable but not because they seemed so in love—they were enviable because the husbands played with the kids for 20 minutes so their wives could eat lunch.In practice, my married friends with kids don’t spend that much time with their husbands anyway (between work and child care), and in many cases, their biggest complaint seems to be that they never see each other. So if you rarely see your husband—but he’s a decent guy who takes out the trash and sets up the baby gear, and he provides a second income that allows you to spend time with your child instead of working 60 hours a week to support a family on your own—how much does it matter whether the guy you marry is The One?"

So, as long as he'll make a good baby daddy marry him. Marry him now, before you get old, wrinkly, and you're eggs start shriveling!! Yay for feminism?!? I mean, logically I know that women have a set amount of time, eggs, and grace under pressure when it comes to children. But being so desperate for a family that you marry someone you not only don't love, but who actually makes you shudder at the mere thought of him touching you? That seems excessive and seriously fucked up.

So, I guess my admittedly inexperienced opinion is: be realistic but don't settle. I mean, am I the unrealistic one here? I had, in the past, been quite proud of myself for realizing that sparks fizzle, heat cools, and steady and dependable are two of the best qualities that a man can posses. I still dumped men who I didn't find attractive, never kissed anyone who physically repulsed me, and have no regrets in ending any of my previous relationships. Maybe I have regrets about the way I ended things, but I never thought twice about the reasons.

They all seemed and continue to seem valid and purposeful at the time. There are three men who I've dated and also dumped who fell into the awesome guy, but not for me category. They were all funny, smart, endearing, dependable, tall, and good tempered. All of them would (and in one case does) make wonderful fathers and husbands. But the amount of chemistry that was generated in these relationships would take the last place ribbon in a grade school science fair contest.

No matter how little you see your husband, or how great he is with children, there's got to be something there. Something that holds you together while the kids are away at camp, when you're on vacation, when the kids move out, when you retire. I'm not saying that loveless marriages don't work, I know that they can, but that'll never be what I want.

Now, back to the book. From the few reviews I have read it looks like Gottlieb has toned down the "marry your gay best friend thing" and the "it's awesome to marry, have sex with, and then have babies with someone who physically repulses you." So who knows, this book may be worth reading because I do agree with her points about fairy-tale romance and the perfect man.

Her article is still total bullshit though.

The Oil Change Saga Continues

I'm taking a trip after Christmas. It's going to be a long one; the first long one I've taken in my beautiful new car. I want it to be in the best possible condition for taking said trip, it's like an athlete you know, you've got to make sure it's warmed up, trained, full of fluids, and . . . vacuumed out?

Anyway, that means a trip to the local Speed Lube and a visit with my least favorite and most inappropriate mechanic.

He was there, as he always is. They opened the back doors and waved me in. As soon as I stepped out of the car he told me to turn around, get back into it and go home - they were closed. I smiled uncertainly and hesitantly re-opened my car door. He rolled his eyes, murmured something I couldn't hear and flipped up my hood. I head inside to the waiting room only to find the heat off and the plastic lawn chairs that normally adorn the room MIA. I head back into the garage where the warm air pours down from the ceiling.

I have been effectively trapped into watching my car get her oil changed and chatting with HIM while it happens. I pull out my iPhone and pretend to be very busy and important. He snidely comments that iPhones are "fucking pieces of junk, but you must collect junk since you're driving a Pontiac."

I look justifiably horrified and am unsure what I'm supposed to say in reply. Not only am I unhealthfully obsessed with my phone, but I'm also in a special kind of love with my beautiful 2008 Pontiac Vibe (we're coming up on our year anniversary in January!!!!).

I point out that this car has rave reviews from Consumer Reports, was manufactured on the Toyota assembly line, and has been nothing but fabulous since the day I got it.

He goes off on a tangent about foreign cars.

I try to change to conversation back to something I'm more comfortable talking about, Scarlett Johannson. I know from previous experience that he's a fan and I'm more willing to talk about the "screwability" of a starlet than about how my taste in cars and electronics bites the big one.

This conversation somehow morphs into a diatribe from him about how he IS NOT attracted to any males and is as NON-GAY as you can get. In fact, he isn't even attracted to himself. He doesn't think he's good looking at all and would never "do" himself.

I go back to talking about cars.

How is this dude the manager? I'll give the guy the benefit of the doubt and assume that most of what he was saying was supposed to be a joke, but even as one long joke it's a horrifying way to communicate.

I may end up making these bi-monthly visits into bi-monthly blogs as well. I had intended on never going back to this particular place, but it's a gold mine of awkwardness.

Male Validation

So I've finally caved. I've joined the ranks of reality show junkies.

My drug of choice?



I love that train wreck. I've managed to avoid Survivor, Big Brother, The Bachelor, etc., but give me fat girls with emotional baggage and I'm all over that shit like white on rice.

What absolutely makes this show for me has to be the non-repentant need for male validation and approval. All of these girls are so desperate for positive male attention that at the first smile from Luke they're instantly in love, crying, and proclaiming on camera to millions of people that their self-esteem has never been so high.

Really, this is what us fat girls are bringing to the table in relationships, co-dependence, inferiority complexes and complex carbohydrates (did anyone see those waffles on the last episode, damn they looked delicious and I don't even like breakfast)?

The young one, Mel Something Or Other, was the one I was rooting for. She was the most tragic mess. I really felt for her and wanted her to do well. Except for the fact that "doing well" in this competition meant winning the affection of the most herpes infested, dirt bag, male chauvinist pig I've seen on acceptable and politically correct TV. When she left she assured us that she grew in experience and self-esteem and that this was not the end, she would get her happy ending.

Girlfriend better settle for paying a male erotic masseur if she's thinking a man is going to solve all her problems. At least that way she can be guaranteed an orgasm and a back rub.

Then there's the "I love you" girl, (Kirsten, Kristian, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it starts with a K) this chick was bug-nuts. There aren't any words for how obsessive, stalkerish, and desperate this woman was. She scared me, a lot. Now she's gone too.

So what's left to look forward too you ask? Well the three thinnest girls and the biggest hoe. Shocker.

All I can think when I see the King of the Douche Bags kiss another girl is, "No God NO! HERPES HERPES HERPES, protect yo' self! Get some dental dams or something. Do not kiss that man, Lord knows where his tongue has been in the last 30 minutes, down at least three or four girls throats, and I saw the way that he looked at that horse on his romantic date with the big hoe.

You can't fool me Luke, you can't fool me.



So Luke and some cute, blond chubby girl are on a date. He comments on the view and she agrees that it's beautiful. Then he says, "I was talking about about you." The cute blond looks like a deer in the headlights. How in the world can she be so pleased and shocked by the most overused, pointless, gag-inducing phrase man has ever uttered? If anyone EVER said that to me and was serious about it I'd be sick. Literally, I'd try to hold it in, but I make no promises. The only way to react to something that ridiculous and snark worthy is to puke right in the guys face.

Then on this very same date Luke talks to cute blond chubby girl about family and kids. She figures she will work and not stay home with them. He condescendingly asks her how she thinks the child care arrangements will work out with both of them working. Uh, hello asshole, if a woman wants to work, let her and child care is not just her problem it's your's too you chauvinist wanker. Please DIAF.

Cute blond chubby girl goes home too.

I hate this dude.

I just wanted my oil changed . . .

I was getting my oil changed last night after work and was talking to the manager. Every time I come in he has something off-topic and inappropriate to talk to me about.

Last time he talked about famous people he found attractive and wanted to sex up. Then asked me the same question, males and females. Me being me, I of course immediately spouted off about my lust/love for Angelina Jolie and Scarlet Johansson. Then he got graphic and started talking about his fantasies, luckily my phone rang and I was able to end the conversation.

This time he talked to me about how he left work early the day before so that he could go to the nearest bar and drink. How he's pretty sure he's an alcoholic because of it and that he just doesn't care. He continued to enumerate on the virtues of drinking until you pass out in the middle of the day and can't remember anything.

I have no problem with either of these topics when discussed with friends, but the random ass guy that I'm trusting to change the oil in my car? Not so much.

What about me says, feel free to tell me inappropriate and off topic information about your personal life?

It happens all the time. I'm just trying to be polite in the supermarket line, say Good morning, how are you? and then have to listen as some random girl tells me about the boy she had sex with last night and how tired she is today because of it.

I readily admit to being the Queen of TMI, in fact, it's a running joke with most of my friends. However I try to control myself enough to to NOT talk about it with the man trying to repair my cable.

Real World Dating: Uncle Randy

There is really nothing bad that I have to say about Randy. He was quirky and fun, we could talk for hours on any subject, had the same taste in movies, games, books, and hobbies.

I met "Uncle" Randy on a dating website (I told you I used it more than once). Everyone called him Uncle Randy because of how he looked. You know that uncle that never quite seemed to grow up? Who was built like a grizzly bear? Who wore his hair long, grew a full beard - who you were sometimes embarrassed to introduce to your significant other? Who also had a heart so big that he'd cry at a good film. Who would punch through a man's face for you but hold a kitten so tenderly that you couldn't believe it was the same guy?

Maybe people only have uncles like this where I live.

Anyway, that was Randy. He was wonderful, on our second date he gave me a limited edition World of Warcraft playing card designed by Gabe from Penny Arcade (that's all geek speak so just play along). He remembered my birthday after only a month of casually seeing each other and brought me a card and flowers.

He was/is a great guy but I couldn't manage to muster up more than a mild interest in him. He really was everything that I should have been looking for and I was lucky to be dating him.

But as happens in life things don't always work out the way they should and when my current guy (CG for the sake of brevity) asked me to go steady (yes I said go steady, don't judge me!) I ended it with Randy.


If you're doing the time line you'll realize that I was dating Randy, Carl, and CG at about the same time. Well I was, and I'm not even a little ashamed. If I hadn't dated all of them I would never have these fabulous memories and embarrassing moments.

Real World Dating: Mortgage Miles

Miles lives one town away from me. I met him while driving through said town and randomly stopping at the grocery store. Miles asked me to help him choose a ripe melon. I told him that I knew nothing about melons and that it was an affront to my feminist nature that he would assume that I would. He laughed. It was a good sign that he got my sense of humor. He was also cute with a thick neck and a square chin. Yum.

I gave Miles my number and my email. We chatted for a while through email and really hit it off. He talked about his family and his job. He was really into the environment and worked with the State Environmental Agency to upkeep our local Prairieland grasses. He was also a volunteer firefighter. Me and men in uniform, it's a weakness.

We decided to go out a few weeks later and met up at my local country club. It wasn't nearly as fun as I figured it would be. He kept talking to me about mortgage rates and homeownership.

Now I'm as interested in all of that as your average first-time homeowner, but I sat through 3 hours of this kind of talk. Every time I tried to change the subject he brought it back up. We missed our movie because of it. I started ordering alcohol.

Even while slightly buzzed he was boring. It was absolutely tragic. He drove me home and we kissed. It was also boring. Double tragedy.

I hoped that he was just nervous and that maybe on our second date things would be better. Luckily for me a week later I met my current guy.

Miles left me with fond memories and a broader knowledge of real estate. Thank you Miles.

Real World Dating - You're Not Really Scottish Carl

Next on the list is Scottish Carl. I met Carl on a dating site: my first mistake. Although I can't say too much about it because I've made that mistake a few times since.

Carl seemed like the perfect guy for me, a total nerd, working on his degree in Special Education. He was a volunteer firefighter, worked full-time to put himself through school and enjoyed a lot of the same hobbies that I did.

Carl wasn't cute, he wasn't really even good-looking, but he was nice and he seemed safe and that was good enough for me. We talked for a long time before we ever met. Our first date was to see the movie Beowulf. It was a decent date, no sparks and occasionally awkward, but you can't have everything right? I decided that it was definitely worth a second date.

He calls me the next day to ask me to dinner. He talks the entire time using a terrible Scottish accent and he gives this reasoning:

"My family is very Scottish, I do a wonderful accent don't I? You can't tell I'm not from Scotland. I can do a lot of accents really well, I'll do a different one each time I call you, okay? One thing you should know about us Scotsmen: we'll never lie. I'm very honest and open. I love you."

After I finally got him off the phone I sat down with my checkbook and wrote him a check for $8.50; the price of my movie admission ticket. I mailed it to him the next day.

I really don't want to owe anyone that delusional anything.

Real World Dating - Jorge

I suppose I shouldn't call Jorge a date, as I never actually went on one with him. However, he did constantly ask me out, eat with me whenever possible and gave me oddly phrased compliments.

After I graduated from college I went to work selling useless crap door to door. After two weeks I quit in disgust. I started working at a super fancy hotel as the night bell(wo)man. It was pretty quiet most nights and I spent them making up couch beds for drunken heiresses who came to party, shining shoes, picking up breakfast orders, shining our brass baggage carts and helping the night clerk look for motorcycle parts on Craigslist.

I also spent a lot of time chatting with the Mexican cleaning staff. We took turns helping each other with Spanish/English. One of them - Jorge was a super sweet 40 year old who was always eager to help. At first I thought he was being nice, but after he told me, "You're pretty for a chubby girl. You should already have a man and not have to work here, but stay home and have babies." I knew it was a bit more than that.

Jorge would always sit with me during "lunch" at 1 in the morning and chat about his work visa and how I was "too pretty to work." Me being all of 22 and fresh out of college I was not crazy about the idea of marrying a middle-aged man so he could get a green card. No matter how many times he asked me out or talked about our babies.

I started eating lunch in the bellhop closet. It smelled like shoe-polish and cleaning supplies, but I could listen to the Cardinal's games in peace.

Gary Allen - Not the Singer

My next traumatizing collegiate dating experience was with Gary Allen. Gary was hot, I'm talking red hot. So hot that he turned me into a gibbering pile of goo with one look.

I met Gary while I was doing a bake sale for my honor society. Gary was at the next table in full army dress and was busy handing out pamphlets, trying to get college kids to sign their lives away, and being hot - mainly being hot. He was there with a Marine and an Air Force recruiter. I was there with fellow honor society member Anika.

Anika is/was completely beautiful. Gary kept staring at our table. I kept avoiding eye contact and figured he was interested in Anika. I'm cute in a dorky, girl-next-door kind of way, but in no reality was I on Gary's level. Gary comes over to talk to us. We talk for a good 10 minutes.

Apparently we were flirting, I thought I was just being friendly, but I get those two things mixed up a lot.

He walks away to talk to his armed forces buddies. Anika tells me that he's totally in love with me and I need to have his babies. I agree.

He comes back over and talks for another 20 minutes or so and asks for my number. I'm shocked. We go out a few times, but more often than not we hang out in the bedroom of the townhouse I share with 3 other girls.

He always comes straight over after work, always dressed in fatigues and always undeniably good-looking. I begin to notice not so little things though. Like he makes severely inappropriate and sexist comments about women constantly. I was a Woman's Studies minor at the time so that's always a bad move. I let it slide because he's cute.

I notice the imprint of a ring on his left hand. I ignore it because he's cute. One night he comes over with the ring on. I ask him about it.

Him: "I'm not married if that's what your asking, but if I was would it matter?"
Me: Um, yes it would matter, I would never date someone who was married. I couldn't hurt another woman like that knowingly.
Him: Well I'm not married, but obviously if someone is unhappy enough to cheat things aren't working so it's not like it's a real marriage. Would you really stop seeing me?
Me: Yes, of course I would. There is no excuse.

The conversation ended there because we started making out. Yes, I'm a terrible person, yes I was extremely stupid. But I'm telling you, he was just soooo good looking, and the high that I got from someone that hot being attracted to me made my head swim.


I saw him once after that it very, very far from pleasant.

So Gary Allen wherever you are please go DIAF. As for me I've been doing penance for my vanity for two and a half years now. The karma police totally got me.

Creepy Dan

To continue on with my horrendous dating history I give you Dan.

Dan is a nice guy, a complete dork, but that kind of turns me on. What can I say, I'm easy. I met Dan in the basement of our Public Administration building. Dan drops his books. I help pick them up.

Are we seeing a pattern here folks? Callie sees someone who needs help, Callie helps, Callie gets trapped into an awkward conversation and an unwanted date.

I give Dan my number, he seems normal. He calls me that night, we meet in the outside picnic area on campus. He pulls out his wallet and proceeds to show me pictures of his 12 cats. They are all professionally done.

I get out of that situation as quickly as I can. I avoid Dan's calls. (As you can see I'm AWESOME and confronting any type of situation head on) Dan stops calling. I feel relief.

I'm working at the dorm cafe one night and a co-worker (Emily for clarity's sake) comes to the back storeroom and tells me someone wants to see me. I go out.

There is Dan - with more pictures of his cats. I like cats, I really do. In fact I have two. I do not like cats enough to have professional portraits done of them and then carry them around with me. I give Dan an awkward smile and tell him they are wonderful.

Emily tells Dan that he's creepy and weird and he needs to leave, especially as he shouldn't have been able to get into our card-swipe in only dormitory.

Dan leaves. I hug Emily.

Scary Mike

My past has been full of interesting characters. The most interesting, complex, and terrifying have been my dates. Especially in college. My roommate Dani and I would give nick-names to all of my dates as soon as I got home from them. She always got the play by play.

Scary Mike was my first experiment in college dating. I met him as I was walking from the cafeteria. He had a huge full beard, long biker hair, and was built like an alcoholic, over-the-hill linebacker. He was walking to the tin buildings across campus for an art class. He had three huge canvases (canvi?) and the wind was blowing hard. One flew out of his hand and I went to catch it.

The picture was a watercolor with a flaming scull and naked women.

I still walked with him to class carrying the picture for him. He asked me for my number and I actually gave him the real one. This was before I found that hot line number that gives the guy the brush off for you and then lists different suicide options.

He called the next day and we had lunch a few days later. He was still scary so I decided to avoid him until he lost interest. He called me twice a day for two weeks and one day I saw him in the bushes of my dorm watching me walk to class.

The next night I was walking back to the dorm alone from dinner with some friends and I see Mike. I grab a campus newspaper and try to hide my face. It doesn't work as it's almost impossible to pretend to read a newspaper while walking down a curvy sidewalk. Plus, walking down said sidewalk with an enormous newspaper does tend to attract attention.

He sees me and asks how I am, why I haven't called and proceeds to go into detail about the horrible things that have happened to him since we last spoke. I feel terrible for him and agree to go for a walk.

I know what you're all thinking: RUN CALLIE, RUN LIKE THE WIND.

We went for a walk, down to the dark unlit pond. We sit under the willow tree on a picnic bench. We talk. He starts molesting my ear.

I'm not even kidding. It's traumatizing. He devours the thing and I'm just sitting there not moving at all. My brain is screaming at me to get up, to tell him to stop slathering my ear with spit. Finally I tell him to stop. He does. We talk some more. He molests my ear again.

My ear must be extremely beautiful because that seemed to be all he was interested in thank God.

I finally tell him that I need to get home because Dani is probably locked out of the room as she NEVER carried a key. He protests and slobbers on my ear some more. I get up, we walk back. We walk through the theatre hall, past the long lines of people waiting to enter Dora the Explorer LIVE. He tries to hold my hand, I pretend that I like children and do the "aw how cute hand movement" to keep from getting trapped by his greasy palm.

We get to my dorm, I run inside and straight into an extremely angry Dani, who has indeed been locked out of our room.

I tell her the story. She makes me call him immediately and tell him that I'm getting back together with an imaginary boyfriend and to never call me again.

I see him occasionally on campus in the bushes but he never says anything.

A few days later a weird rash shows up on my ear and down my neck.

He gave me ring-worm. It took 4 months for it to clear up.

Surprise!

So I'm driving around my tiny town looking for a free air pump to fill my tires last night at 10:00 in the evening. I find one, do my thing, buy some gas, flirt harmlessly with the clerk who has sort of adorable cauliflower ears (seriously, it made him look adorable) - all the while checking my blackberry messages in one hand and my personal email on my iPhone in the other. I get back in the car and decide to give the parental units a call.

I call, talk to Daddy, mention that I'll be seeing them on Saturday and how I can't wait. When he says, oh we'll be seeing you sooner than that we're coming up tomorrow.

Uhh - what? Yeah, so they're visiting my youngest sister's new college which is about an hour away from where I live and they'll be staying the night at my house. That's fine normally. I LOVE when they come to visit because they do it so rarely. However, I'm in the middle of several big home projects, haven't cleaned my house in like a month, and need to mow my lawn. Ugh - so I was up until about 1 or 2 last night trying to get at least some semblance of order into my home. I'm also getting off work an hour early in hopes of doing a mad lawn dash to cut down the dandelions.

All I can say is when they get here they better be in a good mood and happy to see me or I'll be busting some heads.