Because it’s too funny to not share and I can’t stop laughing:

Posted on August 16, 2012 by Krista

So Frit was browsing an online dating site when she came across a picture of a guy who looked a lot like an old friend’s younger brother. This was surprising to her because this particular brother of this particular friend was actually married. So she clicked on his profile to see what was up to, if he’d gotten divorced, etc. but quickly realized that it wasn’t who she thought it was and left the page without giving it any more thought.

Well, on this particular site, you can see who has viewed your profile, and the guy (age 28–that’s important information) whose profile she’d clicked on, saw that she had done so and sent her the following message (mind you, she never sent him a message, just clicked on his profile by accident):

Awkward moment for me. Just wanted to say your to old for me. But I really hope that my future wife looks half as good as you do when she is your age.

Have a good day.

Tell me you’re not laughing hysterically right now.

“When she is your age” … I’m crying I’m laughing so hard.

(And let’s also, of course, take note of the fact that this young whipper-snapper didn’t use the correct “your” or the correct “to”. But then again, maybe it’s just us old biddies who use proper grammar.)

Oh man. The blogging material we’re getting out of these sites is well worth the price of the subscription. I can’t make this stuff up!

What You Should Never Say to a Single Woman, If You Are A Married Man

Posted on April 26, 2012 by Krista

Recently I was having a conversation with a friend’s husband. It was a normal conversation, mostly just pleasantries and such. When all of a sudden … he went there.

“I just don’t understand why you and Kim* are still single!” he said.

And in my head, I thought: Oh geez. Someone please rescue from this conversation.

But out of my mouth came: [pleasant smile] “Oh thanks. [haha] We don’t either. [haha] We think we’re pretty great.”

Seriously is there no one here willing to excuse me from this unbearable moment in time to show me the coat closet? Or a wall? Or shoot me? Any of those options is perfectly acceptable at this point.

But he didn’t stop there. He kept going. “You know my wife and I were actually talking the other night and we decided that if she died, I would marry one of you.”

[silence]

And out of my mouth came: [very uncomfortable chuckle] “Oh, okay. Well. Thanks.”

But in my head I thought four things simultaneously:

1) Did he seriously just say that? No really. Did he actually say those words out loud?

2) Sweet! Because we’re just waiting around for our friends to kick the bucket so we can snatch up their widower husbands!

3) I wouldn’t date you if you weren’t married, or had never been married, or were a widower, or anything. So not my type.

4) WHAT THE FREAKING CRAP?!?!?!?!?!

And then I walked away. Because really. What was I supposed to say, or do, at that point?

I mean, really.

Really?

As a sidenote: I have had girlfriends tell me that they’ve given permission to their husbands to marry me if they died. And while that’s certainly morbid, it’s, for some reason, not weird coming from your girlfriend. In fact it’s flattering, kind of. Like, you’re the only woman in the world that she would trust to raise her children, have sex with their husband, and not haunt until the end of time.

Yes. These are the conversations that 30-something single women have to have.

You so wish you had this life, don’t you?

Just imagine the day you have to start thinking about freezing your eggs.

Not kidding.

*Kim = Frit. They are one in the same.

Just. So. Nice.

Posted on April 25, 2012 by Krista

It was a date. But it wasn’t.

I had this sort of “network-ey” work thing with a colleague–my account manager at the ad agency we hired to create our new print campaign. Party of four: she and her guest, me and mine. Dinner and a Jazz game. Which was apparently a big-deal game, as it determined whether or not we were going to the playoffs. And truthfully, I didn’t even know that going into it–he was the one who told me.

He had actually flown up from Arizona on a whim to try and go to the game and I needed a +1. And so he came with me. This friend of mine whom I respect and admire. Because I needed a date. And he needed a ticket. And we’re friends.

From start to finish, it was a perfect night. Delicious dinner. Easy conversation. Sweet seats. Great game (we won). Gorgeous weather. Breezy night. Totally fun.

And today, I continued to think about it. No, not because I’m “interested.” But because … because it was just so nice to go out with someone who knew how to go on a date. To spend an evening with a man who was … aware of me.

I told him we could meet at the restaurant–I really didn’t mind. But he chose to pick me up at my house instead, which meant he had to go out of his way to come get me and then backtrack to the City. And when I walked to the passenger’s side, he opened the door for me. But it wasn’t like he was going out of his way to do so. It was more like … that’s just what he does.

At dinner, he was perfect. He knew where to sit and how to handle the situation. He was funny, but not too funny that it seemed like he needed all the attention. And conversational, without dominating. And when asked what he does, he didn’t grandstand about his awesome job and professional success–which, he certainly could have done, seeing as how he does have an awesome job and has achieved crazy success. And when the check came, and my account manager reached for her credit card, he casually noted that he’d take care of “us.” And when she said, no, that it was on her, he offered one last “are you sure?”, and then let it go.

(Those situations always stress me out. I never know what to do. And it was just so nice to defer to him and have him handle it so casually and gracefully.)

Later, as we walked from the restaurant to the arena, it was as though his radar was tuned to me. He was always aware of where I was walking. Making sure I wasn’t behind him. Making sure that if we had to walk around something, I went first. Making sure that I went through doors before him. Always matching my pace–which was slow because I wore the wrong shoes (like always) and my heels were a blistery mess. And when we had to deviate from the sidewalk into the street, he casually repositioned himself so that he was walking on my left, where the traffic was.

At the game, I had a couple of questions about what was going on (I’m not exactly sporty-spice, you know), and then I apologized and promised to not be annoying and ask a bunch more. To which he responded that I should “always ask questions” and actually seemed sincere about that, and didn’t seem the least bit put out that I was interrupting the game for him.

At the end of the night, on the way home, we were, at one point, talking about life and culture and faith and where to find truth, and he shared an opinion about something and then turned and asked, “What do you think?” And then he listened to what I had to say. Which, for the record, is like the best thing a guy could ever do with, or for, me. Ask me what I think and then listen to my ideas or opinions and you will forever be a favorite.

And then he walked me to the door.

Even though it wasn’t a date-date.

And I know that these all seem like little things, but they’re not. They’re huge. And I may have cried about it today. A happy, grateful cry, of course. (You know, my good-zone is between a 4 and a 5.) Because it just felt so. nice. to go out with a good guy. A successful guy who has a job and works hard. Who carries maturity in his posture and a quick smile on his face. Who respects me and my ideas. Who is friendly and can talk to anyone. Who knows the value of a firm handshake and can handle a work dinner. Who knows what matters most and is dedicated to what’s right and doing good. Who is kind and humble, but certain and pointed. Who was aware of me. Who didn’t look through me or beyond me. But was focused. Who made me feel safe and important.

Being 33 and single and female isn’t easy. You have to take care of everything. There’s no “equal-yokage” going on for you. You make your life decisions, by yourself. You pay the bills, by yourself. You choose your apartment or your house, your neighborhood and your city, by yourself. You find the answers to your questions, by yourself. You change the smoke detectors, by yourself. You go to Church, to the grocery store, to the bank, by yourself. You weed, and clean, and mow, and cook, and eat, by yourself.

And certainly there are friends around you (thank the Lord in Heaven above for Frit) and there’s always God, too. But essentially, from day to day, you’re alone in a way that your married counterparts will never understand.

So you have to build up a certain amount of strength to do it. A certain level of independence. Because there is no one to share the hard stuff with. Or the happiness with, for that matter. No one to stand in for you while you catch your breath. You have to be strong. Or you would crumble daily under the weight of it all.

And so sometimes? … Sometimes it’s nice to defer to someone else and let them take care of you.

Last night, I didn’t have to be charming all by myself. I didn’t have to keep the conversation going all by myself. I didn’t have to read the who’s-going-to-take-the-check signals all by myself. I didn’t have to think about walking into traffic. I didn’t have to think about opening my door. I didn’t have to stare blankly at the court because I didn’t know why the ref blew his whistle. I didn’t have to wonder whether or not my opinions are worth listening to or if I’m interesting enough.

And it was just. so. nice.

And today I felt good and grateful and clear in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

All because I spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening with a good man. And it’s nice to know that combination of variables actually exists.

Toss it Around First

Posted on April 5, 2012 by Krista

Frit is always saying that “people should toss things around in their head for a minute or two before they let it come out of their mouths.”

So when she said to me, “Hey, next time Tim’s in town [Tim is the guy she's dating right now, who lives out of state], you should invite that guy you like to come and we can all go play wallyball at the gym,” I looked at her with curious eyes (AND by curious, I mean incredulous. And by incredulous, I mean disgusted.), and asked:

“Did you even toss that around in your head before you said it? I mean, at what point did any combination of those elements seem like they even remotely go together?” I asked.

“You’re the one who’s always saying how you want to see him more,” she replied.

“Yes. But not to play wallyball! Do you even remember the disaster that was our racquetball match? I’m not the least bit athletic, a fact you are well aware of,” I said.

“First of all, it’s nothing like racquetball. And you don’t have to be athletic–it’s just wallyball.”

“When have I ever been good at anything that involved a ball? And why, in any realm of my world or existence, would I want to subject myself to a game where the other players are sporty-Mc-sporty-pants [the guy I currently have a minor crush on], Tim, who’s like a gladiator, and you, Miss-bouncy-runner-lady who can pick up any sport and play it? In front of someone I’m wishing to woo.”

“I am just trying to help.”

“No. That is not called helpful. That is called humiliation.”

Of which I have plenty of … without wallyball.

And she’s supposed to be my best friend.

Sheesh.

The Dating Situation, As of Late

Posted on March 28, 2012 by Krista

Frit‘s not really a crier. Me? Oh, I’m a big-time bawler. In fact, have you seen Kristen Bell’s sloth meltdown on Ellen? (If you haven’t, you must.) Because I really understand her. We’re soul-sisters, me and Kristen. Kindred spirits. But if her “good zone” is between 3 and 7, mine is more like 4 to 5–at least that’s what Frit tells me.

So the other night, I went into her (Frit’s) room and crawled up on the bed (it’s really high, you kind of have to hoist) and I was a little teary. And though I’m sure she would’ve rathered ignore me, she asked what the matter was. Such a good best friend, that one is.

Now, you have to know that earlier in the day we had run into some friends of ours at the store. We didn’t see them initially, but the wife saw me and grabbed me and said she’d heard that one of us was engaged.

Now this “news” that one of us is engaged is a rumor that has been circulating among the more nosy members of our Church congregation lately. Well, at least I call it “nosy.” Frit’s a lot more forgiving. But regardless of whether it’s nosy or sincere interest in our lives and “well-being” (not), it’s a false rumor.

And so I set out to tell this woman that it was not true. No one in our house was engaged. No one was even seriously dating anyone. When Frit joined the conversation, the wife retold the story, looked at Frit and said, “And well we knew it wasn’t you, so we just assumed it was Krista.”

Uhhhhh … okay? What does that even mean? “We knew it wasn’t you.” ??? As if the idea of Frit being engaged was impossible?

Now you also need to know that this conversation happened just days after someone ELSE told Frit that they worried she’d never get married because they had determined that she couldn’t open her heart.

(Even just the thought of that right there makes me swear a long string of expletives in my head. Who do these people think they are?)

And so, the other night, I found myself sitting on her bed.

Crying.

For her.

Which, truth be told, only made her laugh. Which is generally how it goes ’round these parts. (Watch that sloth video again from time stamp 3:02 and you’ll see. Frit’s Ellen. I’m Kristen. No lie, that’s exactly what it’s like between us.)

But anyway, Frit’s not one to take anything too personally. She never internalizes or worries. She mostly just laughs. While I, on the other hand, well … I told you. My “good zone” is between a 4 and a 5.

But really. Someone needed to cry about it!

And so I did. I wept for my friend. Because honestly, it’s hard enough to have enough faith on your own at this age that love and marriage will eventually happen. We don’t need doubters or their stupid commentary.

Well. After Frit stopped laughing and I stopped crying, we had a pretty great time recounting all the dating situations we’ve encountered lately. Seriously. This whole thing (i.e. dating at this age and in this place) is ridiculous.

And I thought you might enjoy reading the highlights (I realize this post is getting long, but I promise these stories are worth it):

1. A couple months ago, we were both back to trying the online dating thing and Frit was matched with a guy who wanted to talk on the phone. Now, not only is Frit not a crier, she’s not a phone talker–at least not for periods longer than 20 minutes. But obviously, it’s helpful to have a phone conversation between the initial emailing and the possible meet-up. So she gave him her number. And he called. And he talked. And he talked. And then he talked some more. About himself. The whole time. And she told him she needed to go. And that her battery was going to die. And still … he talked. And so finally. She just hung up. Mid-conversation. Mid-sentence. Just … hung up on him. And that was the end of that. (This story makes me laugh so hard every time I think about it!)

2. Now on this dating site, you can browse around through the catalog of singles and if you see one you like, you can either send them an email or a “flirt.” Yes. A “flirt.” There is an actual list of actions, I guess you could call them, such as a wave or a wink or a sign that says “you’re cute,” that essentially equate to virtual flirting from across the room. And honestly, I can’t even believe I’m typing this. Because the whole thing is so ridiculous … As if it’s even possible to flirt virtually! … two avatars acting out some supposed fling. It’s so bizarre to me. Good grief. And I rarely respond to flirts. I mean, I think, if you want to get to know me, send me an email. Ask me a damn question, for crying out loud. But anyway, I got a flirt recently. And the sender? He blew me a kiss. Really? Like, for REAL real? Because … you would do that in real life? You’d actually see a girl you want to get to know and you’d blow her a kiss and expect her to … what?

3. I also got an email, through the dating site, from a guy that said the following:

WELLL UMM
Im Kyle
Im bad a telling but better at answering
I go to school full time and I work part time teaching people to drive

And I am not kidding. I did not delete any punctuation or any portion of his email. I also did not embellish it in any way. That is a straight copy and paste from his initial attempt to contact me. And all I could think was, Seriously? This is one of my options?

4. Speaking of initial contact online … Frit got the following first email from a new match (a complete stranger) on Valentine’s day:

Just felt inspired to drop you a note and wish you Love and Light on this day of Love, Hearts, and Lovers.

May you find love in your heart for all of the wonderful people, relationships, and beauty in your life. It’s apparent you live in such a way that you give back more than you can see that receive in this life… I feel also to share that you have so much love building and building for you. You welcome some of it now, but there is so much more awaiting you. You will receive it when the time is right. Keep giving…keep loving… you receive it all 10-fold (though I can tell that is not your motivation, it IS your reward and promise).

Much happiness to you,
Damon

p.s. sorry if this seems a bit unusual, but like I said, I’ve felt drawn to u. I’ll leave it at that though. The next step is yours.

5. Another initial message? I got this one a few months ago:

send me a message when your not busy

Well. How about you stick an apostrophe in your conjunction, capitalize the first word in your sentence, and put a period at the end of it. And … while you’re at it, why not take 30 seconds to tell me about yourself or, novel idea, ask me about myself, when you’re not busy.

6. But enough about first emails, let’s talk first dates. Frit’s had some doozies. There was, of course, the one who brought his son on the date. Aaand okay, it’s not ideal, but we can go with it and try to be accommodating. Unfortunately, the kid was a holy terror and her date ended up chasing him around the whole time.

Or there was the first date whose initial question as he sat across the dinner table was: “So. What’s your dealio?” Ha! Ummm … well. I think the real question here is, What’s your dealio?

Or there was the time one of her first dates got a call in the middle of ice-cream and had to leave to go pick up his child because his ex-wife didn’t want to watch him anymore. Or, speaking of ex-wives, there was the time when her date canceled because he had been put in jail—by his ex-wife.

7. But what about profile names? Here are three of my favorites:

a. whazupwidu3, b. iloveitwhenyacallmebigpapa, c. krazybone

Again I ask: Seriously? And can I just point out the fact that Mr. whazupwidu3 has the number 3 at the end of his? Is there also a whazupwidu1 and whazupwidu2? Does that mean there are three men out there who independently came up with that screen name and thought it was a good idea?

8. Oh, and how about the time I got this email:

I love the way you look! I realize the age-gap’s too wide, but, hey, a guy can dream can’t he?…I’m just sayin’.

How old was he? Oh, he was 61. 61! Why? Why? Wwhhyyyy? do I actually pay for this?

9. I’m almost done, I promise. But I can’t wrap this up without sharing the following email exchange I had with a guy who sent me multiple “flirts” initially:

I write: Hi, Thanks so much for the flirts … it’s flattering. But I’m just not much of an online flirt kind of a girl (I don’t know why it seems weird to me). If you’d like to get to know me better, feel free to send an email. I’d enjoy getting to know you. Hope you’re having a great day! Krista

He writes: Hi Krista!, my names Scott, this internet dating is very weird I agree, its been a wonderful morning. The days not over yet though.

Me (thinking in my head): Okay Kris. Just breathe. Maybe punctuation and coherent sentences aren’t the deal-breaker you think they are.

I write back: This is true. Any fun plans for the weekend?

He writes back: Paintball this morning! , roller derby tonight and a after party.

Me (thinking in my head): Uhhhh … Why is that comma there? And what do I do with this? What does he want me to say? Does he have any questions for me? Okay. Breathe. Just go with it. You have to try, Krista. Just try.

I write back: That’s quite the day!

He writes back: Yea but.it makes for alot of fun too!. At the end of the day ill be exhausted but have had fun all day and can relax next weekend!. Yes it made for a long Saturday, got some sub culture in thanks to brodie I did drag him to the ballet on a double date last week to thiller, good thing Sunday is a day of rest even though there’s still tonz to do.

Me (thinking in my head): Who is brodie? And going to the ballet is “sub culture?” What does that even mean? And what is tonz? I. Can’t. Handle. This. We are so not a match. I’m done.

10. And finally, speaking of nosy people at Church. A woman who doesn’t even know Frit, except by name, (seriously this woman is essentially a stranger) begins asking her about a guy she’s been dating. Said woman knows about this guy because he’s come to Church with us a few times. And said woman concludes the conversation with, “I just so hope you two would fall in love.” Note to everyone: If we want to talk about our dating life with you, we will bring it up. If we don’t, then we don’t want to talk about it with you. And it’s none of your business anyway. I mean, I don’t ask you how often you and your husband are having sex, or if you’re going to have another baby and when and why not, do I? No, because it’s none of my business.

Having said that, I must say “thank you” to said woman. We hope we fall in love too. And while things don’t currently look too promising, and while people frequently say stupid things, offer stupid advice, and extend stupid consolations to us, we’ve not lost hope. No. We’ve not lost hope. At least that’s what Frit reminds me between my tears.

#reverb10: wisdom

Posted on December 10, 2010 by Krista

Day 10 of #Reverb10 // Susannah Conway {love} asks // What was the wisest decision you made this year and how did it play out?

—

I don’t know if I would classify this as the “wisest” decision I made this year, but rather a series of choices I’m glad I made. And they were wise. I think.

***

I said I wouldn’t do it. (Ever again.) But one late night I found myself alone in a hotel room, snow swirling outside, staring at the florescent glow of my computer screen. I typed quickly, probably because I knew if I thought too hard about what I was doing, I’d talk myself out of it. Twenty minutes later, I hit “Enter” and my profile was created.

A few weeks later we were “matched” and again, I said I wouldn’t do it. I was not–was not–going to email first. “Oh get over it,” my sister said. “Just email him.” And I found myself typing quickly, again for fear I’d retreat from my moment of bravery. And what do you know … He replied. And then I replied. And then he replied. And well … that’s how it went day after day.

It was what I got out of bed for. The one thing I looked forward to. When everything else was uncertain and difficult and unstable. When the grief (though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time) was gray and paralyzing. There was this person, who, though I’d never met, I began to care about. And the emails just got longer and longer. And more and more honest.

After two months I heard his voice for the first time. We picked up right where we left off as though we were already friends. And I suppose we were. Night after night I spent hour after hour laying on my bed, feet propped against the wall, smiling, at times like a 16-year-old, happy just to talk. To him. And I thought. What if I hadn’t done what I said I wouldn’t do. I could feel myself opening up in ways I hadn’t in so long. So long.

Three months later I saw his face and held his hand and kissed his lips for the first time. And it was fun and it was giddy, the way all new relationships are. But that was just the beginning of the end. Things in person weren’t the same as they’d been over the phone and email. We were at different places and needed different things from each other.

And so one night I said, “I can’t do this anymore. I think this needs to be the end.” And he didn’t argue.

I’ve wondered in the six months since then if all the time and effort and money were a waste. But mostly I’ve wondered if the honesty I gave and vulnerability I allowed were worth it. And the conclusion is yes.

The choices I made that led me to him, though reckless, were wise. And all the experiences that followed as a result, allowed me the opportunity to feel and learn and grow. I was alive, in a way that I hadn’t been in so long, even if only for a few months.

But in the end. It was also wise to be done.

To leave a comment, simply scroll down. To read more #reverb10 posts, click here.

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Moving Forward

Posted on June 27, 2010 by Krista

This weekend I …

I deleted all the cute text messages that I’d saved over the last six months.

I deleted the pictures from him on my phone.

I tucked all his emails away into a folder out of sight. (What can I say? I’m a saver and our emailing days were some of my favorite. I can’t part with those.)

I had lunch in the park with Frit, where I was allowed to say any irrational thing I thought or felt without any judgment or advice being given back. It was sunny. We ate cherries.

I consumed an entire bag of BBQ potato chips while watching 500 Days of Summer, as well as a Krispy Kreme doughnut and an Arby’s Jamocha shake later that night. (Thank you Frit for knowing exactly which comfort foods I always need and for bringing them to me exactly when I need them.)

I washed the sheets and remade the bed in the spare room.

I showered and put some make-up on.

I made a list of all the things I really liked about him so that I can make sure to look for them in the next “someone.”

I made a list of all the things that were absent between us so that I can make sure they exist in the next “something.”

I made a list of all the things I learned from him and this experience.

I outlined a plan for some things I need to improve on.

I prayed for help in my pursuit of set ups. (Speaking of, if you have someone in mind … email me.)

I prayed for him, that he’ll be happy and successful.

I took some deep breaths. Because sometimes I forget to breathe.

I’m mustering the courage to take some risks in the near future.

I’m stepping out.

And I’m moving forward.

Here we go!

p.s. moving forward is a lot easier and way more fun if you’re wearing a pair of yellow peep-toe wedge heels with ruffles.

Alone Again

Posted on June 25, 2010 by Krista

The relief I felt yesterday when he pulled away was short lived. Actually, it comes and goes. We did the right thing and I know that. But reality set in too. I’m alone again. And with that realization, my thoughts bounce around like a pinball.

I miss him.

We haven’t talked in 24 hours.

This is the first day in six months that we haven’t talked.

The first day after 174 days of talking daily in some form or another.

It’s really hard to just turn off the notion that we’re “supposed” to talk today.

Especially when he was such an good and happy part of my life.

My daily life.

I don’t know what shift he’s working today.

I don’t know how the drive home was yesterday.

I don’t even know if he made it home.

I don’t know what he had for dinner.

I don’t know what he did with the rest of his day.

I don’t know how his mom’s garden is.

Those are all things I used to know.

And I know the “missing him” is partly him and who he is, but mostly it’s me just missing “someone.”

Having “someone” again was nice.

For so long I shut down all those feelings.

It’s just easier to not think about it.

And that’s what I’ve done for the last 5 years.

I haven’t dated.

At all.

I haven’t even been interested in anyone.

Not one person.

For five years.

But I also haven’t cried over anyone.

And I cried a lot yesterday.

I haven’t been confused about my feelings for anyone.

I haven’t been rejected.

I haven’t wondered where I stood.

I haven’t been left waiting by the phone.

But I also haven’t felt butterflies.

And I love the butterflies.

I haven’t been giddy over getting ready for someone.

And I love getting ready for a date.

I haven’t felt that “take-my-breath-away-heart-leap-instant-smile-on-my-face” feeling when his name appears on my phone.

I love that feeling.

Frit always joked that she knew when I was reading a text from him because of the way my face looked–all smiley and gooey.

I haven’t felt that total and complete “happy-calm” when you’re lying next to someone, all snuggled in with your head on his chest.

That is the best feeling in the world.

And now I have to start all over.

Because I let myself open up all those feelings that I put away.

And now that they’re out again, they want to stay out.

At least the happy, girly feelings do.

It’s like Pandora’s box.

Well kind of.

In theory it’s like Pandora’s box.

Anyway.

Ugh.

Starting over.

Seriously?

It’s worth it.

It has to be.

It better be.

I know it is.

Sheesh.

I know it is.

Why couldn’t it have just worked?

Me and him.

I hate this part of the process.

I really hate it.

The End

Posted on June 24, 2010 by Krista

I didn’t expect to feel the relief I felt when I shut the door behind him. I’ve known for a little while now that this wasn’t what I wanted. Wasn’t what I needed. And ultimately wasn’t for me. But I held on. Because letting go is scary. Because I thought–hoped–it could maybe, possibly become what it needed to be if we just gave it time. Because I liked him. I really did. Because it was so good in the beginning. Because it was “something” after a long while of nothing.

But something isn’t better than nothing–even though I’ve been trying to talk myself into believing that for a couple weeks now–especially when it’s not right.

He was here less than 24 hours this time. He was kind. He always is. And we laughed. And we had fun together. But in the end it just wasn’t what it needed to be. For either of us. And so he left this morning. After an hour of cuddling, a few tears, and a hug.

And that’s the end of this chapter in my life.

B: Thank you. Thank you for the time we had together. Thank you for your kindness. You’re a good man and I’ll always think of these six months with total contentment and no regret. Our late night phone calls were the highlight of my New Year. Meeting you was a blessing. Dating you was a gift. And I want you to know. It’s okay. I’m okay. xo, me

Summer Memories: My One and Only Fling

Posted on June 22, 2010 by Krista

He was two years younger than me–a college student on a semester abroad, living on my Island, studying resort hospitality & management. It was the summer before my mission and never mind the fact that I couldn’t understand much of what he said due to his thick accent, he had me at “Hello, I’m from Paris.”

Mother didn’t approve–at all–due to the fast approaching missionary service I’d committed to, consistently late nights (really late), and the fact that he had no idea what a Mormon was let alone what our standards are, but I told him where I stood when it came to “that stuff” and while dating him probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, it also wasn’t the dumbest and I feel no regret. I actually look back on it with a smile. It was a fun summer.

A really fun summer.

There wasn’t a whole lot of substance to the relationship and that didn’t bother me. It still doesn’t. That’s the point of summer flings. They’re built solely on heat, a foundation as sturdy as the sand on the beach. You know it’s going to end so depth doesn’t really matter.

He worked all day at the hotel and I worked all day on the docks. At night we would play. That meant movies, dinners, and the beach. And the “beach” meant making out in the sand-dunes. What can I say? He spoke French whilst he kissed me. What’s a girl to do? Kiss back. That’s what she’s supposed to do.

And I did. A lot.

I remember he made me lobster one night. We ate it sitting cross legged on a blanket on the floor while he tried to teach me French. He wore fitted 4-button suits with gorgeous silk ties. And thus began my love affair with the way European men dress. He tasted like mint. And he smelled delicious.

On our last night together we dressed up in our fanciest and went to a French restaurant. We ate duck and escargot dripping in butter sauce. I loved it. Loved it. At the end of the night, he walked me to my car, cupped my cheeks in his hands and kissed me long and hard on the lips. Then he kissed my forehead and told me to “find a boy who will take care of [me].”

And then he turned and walked away.

I wasn’t sad. I didn’t cry. I didn’t try to prolong the good-bye. It was just the end.

The end.

Of my one and only summer fling.

Initiative 2010, I Need Your Help

Posted on June 13, 2010 by Krista

Every New Year, my friend Emily chooses a theme to live by for the next 365 days, i.e. 2005: Husbands Arrive (she and her roommates wound up getting married that year “oddly” enough) or 2007: Closer to Heaven (wherein she worked on some spiritual goals throughout the year). Well, when I heard about her tactic, in the back of my mind I came up with my own theme for 2010. I didn’t write it down, or think about it too seriously, but it crosses my mind every now and again. What was it, you ask? I’ll tell you …

2010: Date More Men

And I can happily say I’ve already accomplished the goal. I’ve dated more men in 2010 than I did in 2009.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit B.

And see, here’s the thing about Exhibit B … I thoroughly enjoyed dating him. I’d forgotten how much fun it can be. And even though it ended, it made me want to try again. So back to the catalog I go.

But herein lies the problem: I don’t have a catalog. I work from home, I go to a family ward*, my eHarmony membership ran out and I don’t want to hop online again just yet if I don’t have to, and there really aren’t a lot of ways to meet single LDS guys (unless you want to go to those wretched regional activities/conferences–which I don’t).

So.

I’m swallowing my pride (and my fears) and I’m asking for help. From you. Yes, I’m asking my readers to set me up. I really think this could be fun! So if you’d like to give the role of matchmaker a try, here are the rules and guidelines for Krista’s Initiative 2010: Date More Men …

1. He needs to be an active, dedicated, and faithful member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

2. He needs to be 5’11″ or taller (the taller the better).

3. He can be as young as 25/26-ish or as old as 40, although there is room to fudge on this rule if you have someone you think is just really fantastic but doesn’t fall exactly in that age-range.

4. You may certainly post this solicitation for dates on your blogs or Facebook pages. You may talk to friends, sisters, husbands, mothers, brothers, etc. about it. In fact, I would encourage and ask you to. The way I see it is that it’s all about networking. So if you don’t know any single guys, maybe someone you know does.

5. Don’t think too hard about whether or not it’s an “eternal match made in heaven.” Let us figure that out. If he’s kind, honest, and hard-working (whatever the profession or level of school), then I want to go out with him. Really, I do. I don’t have a “type” that I’m looking for per say, so toss ‘em my way.

6. Having said that, if there is an obvious reason he is single (poor hygiene, can’t hold down a job, loves his cat more than anything in the world, can’t do anything without his mother’s approval), please be kind and skip this opportunity to play matchmaker.

7. Please don’t give him the link to my blog so that he can “check me out.” Ever. I’m serious. There’s too much of my soul here. In the event that he’d like to see what I look like before committing to calling, I have included a recent picture at the end of this post for you to download and distribute as you see fit.

8. You may not portray me as any sort or variety of desperate when approaching your single male friend about me. I’m far far from it. I am also not marriage hungry. The only point of this is to date (a lot hopefully), have fun, and meet new people. Period.

9. If you’re the praying type, pray about it. I know that might sound funny or weird, but I believe God answers prayers. I also believe He uses us to bless each other’s lives. So put those two truths together and what do you get? A God who will help you if you decide you’d like to help me.

So here’s how it works. If you, or someone you know, has a guy in mind, email me and tell me about him. Talk to him too. See what he thinks. Here are a few tidbits about me:

Krista, age 31, 5’7″, originally from South Carolina, graduated with a degree in journalism, served an LDS mission, started professional career working in PR and marketing for a record label, now works independently as a writer, photographer, & marketing consultant. Sings. Draws/Paints. Owns a boutique. Loves planning parties, fresh seafood, and the sunshine. And here’s a recent picture:

(Taken Sunday, June 13)

What do you think? Is this a good idea? Or a bad idea? Either way, I really hope you’ll help me.

krista

*LDS congregations are grouped by geographic locations and are called “wards.” In most areas you can find a “singles ward” where you can go to Church with other young single Latter-day Saints. You don’t have to go to a singles ward if you don’t want to. It’s just an option. The other option is what’s referred to as a “family ward” where the congregation is made up of all ages and family status–kids, parents, singles, widows, seniors, etc.

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