Category: Dating

A Blog About A Book

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

As you’re maybe aware if you follow my social media, I’m writing a book! The blog inspired more writing and so what started as just the blog in book format has snowballed into a 6 year memoir of me rebuilding post-divorce and getting back into dating. Many of the stories from the blog are in the book but there’s also a lot more about my personal growth and struggle, and other areas of my life – not just the men.

The book is highly personal and honest, I’ve attempted not to sugarcoat anything and hope my self reflection allows readers to relate to at least one if not many parts of the book. And while allowing myself to be so vulnerable within those pages was difficult, and at times resulted in me crying into my laptop in Starbucks, arguably the harder part has actually been knowing where the line is drawn between telling the stories that are mine & telling someone else’s story.

My approach to the book, and including the stories and people that I do, is that this is my life story, this is my experience of the events I talk about and I attempt to be as unbiased as possible. But as they say every story has 3 versions: your version; the other person’s version; and the truth. So what I’m offering is my version and I don’t doubt the people involved in these stories, particularly when it comes to the men, may have different versions of events. It’s been the same the whole time with the blog. I tell the stories of the dates from my perspective. After all, it’s all I have.

However there is a line that exists, which I’m trying to stay on the right side of and ensure I’m not attempting to offer up explanations for someone else’s behaviour or hazard guesses as to why someone’s character is the way it is. That is not my place, regardless of my interaction with that person, all I can talk to is my behaviour and my character. If this was a fiction book I could run wild with assumptions and distanced analysis but these are real people and I’ve always been firm in my want to respect them as much as possible, despite the outcome of our dalliances.

Some of the men I’ve written about both here on the blog and in the book have read their sections and it’s been fascinating both to see them register my thoughts on the situation but also to hear theirs. No two people truly ever see a situation in 100% the same light, even if both do see it positively! It is simply part of the human condition. It’s like that question that keeps me awake at night – how do you know what you see as the colour blue (for example) is what everyone else sees as the colour blue? That’s a rabbit hole that’s kept me up for hours. 

People may also argue it’s not my place to include these men in my writing without their consent, or at least knowledge, but the fact is these stories are mine, and providing the context of the dates and the men simply allows me to make commentary on life, people, dating, myself, gender stereotypes, and a whole host of other topics. But their privacy is still paramount and so I ensure I’ve always used their nicknames and never given too much detail about them that would make them recognisable or Google-able.

I have met some fascinating men, some beautiful men and some incredibly wounded men – all have taught me something. And for any of the ways the stories have ended, I am eternally grateful for the experiences and lessons those men have brought to my life.

Lou Who? Will be out later in summer – you can sign up to the mailing list here to receive updates!! 

To Valentine’s Or Not?

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Feb-2020

Does Valentine’s only serve to remind those of us without partners of our singledom? Or is it a day that can genuinely serve as a reminder to love ourselves? Or are in fact both options simply a commercial ploy to increase business for florists, chocolatiers, hotels, restaurants, spas, sex toys, jewellers, alcohol, [insert your preferred method of love / self love here]?

Love should be celebrated. I fully believe that, still… despite everything. But does it have to be so prescribed to us? I’d rather people took a moment to reflect on the incredible relationships and people they have in their lives on any other day of the year. There is something to be said for the fact that we so often take it for granted, ordinarily not stopping to acknowledge the wealth of love we all have in our lives, in some form or another.

Despite my enduring love for love, there are definitely moments during the 14th of February when a little bit of vom will come back up on me and I have to suppress an eye roll as I scroll past yet another gushing Instagram post. But I also love seeing people making an effort, furrowed brows agonising over the choice of flowers, increased google searches for “how to cook the perfect steak”, colleagues leaving work early to be on time for their evening of romance.

My ex-husband and I always celebrated Valentine’s Day, but we were also fans of random date nights, flowers for no reason, and surprise gifts. I know mine offered for genuinely no reason other than love, though I now wonder how many of his were from guilt.

Nowadays, I prescribe much more to the Galentine’s / self love thread of Valentine’s. I love my girlfriends, I love myself, so what’s not to love – as it were.

Ultimately, any occasion that celebrates togetherness and connection has the capacity to make you feel incredibly alone and excluded when you don’t have that “someone special” in your life, especially if you are in a place where you’re ready for and open to it. But my belief remains that this isn’t where I’m going to be forever, it’s obviously just where I’m meant to be for now.

Can I get on board with spending Valentine’s night by myself, going for a workout, then eating ice cream before crawling into bed, surrounded by nothing but my own peace? 100%. Would it also be nice to receive a little something from Tiffany? Sure. But you can’t have everything and if it’s a choice between the sweat sesh and dairy indulgence on my own or a gift from someone I was ultimately betrayed by, I’ll take the former every time.

Much like it can be difficult to see the wood for the trees, sometimes we can’t see the gratitude for the ridiculously over-priced roses, but when the 15th of February rolls around and you get to take advantage of the discounted chocolate, knowing at least one of the couples you saw gazing into each other’s eyes yesterday will have for sure had an argument before bedtime, you know it ultimately doesn’t matter, it’s a day and it’ll pass like every other.

Just like today has.

A Snorer, A Drunk & A Trump Supporter

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Sep-2017

When one date goes badly it can be annoying but when three dates in one weekend end up in the garbage pile I can’t help but feel like I’m wasting my time. Or maybe I should just date less…

It was the September long weekend, both here in Canada and in the US, which I always think takes the fun level up a notch or two as the Americans cross the border and come to town. And this weekend was no different.

I’d started it spending all day Saturday on the beach drinking with friends. Or more precisely, drinking and swiping. It was one of those weekends when my friends wanted to “play Tinder” for me. Yah, that’s right, my dating life can seem like a game in more ways than one. Though in all honesty I was happy for them to do it on that occasion, I was pretty sure I was getting Repetitive Strain Injury in my right thumb. 

When my phone got handed back to me there were a number of matches, to varying degrees of suitability. I deleted the ones that were clearly jokes on my friends part and started doing the dating admin, as I call it.  The annoying part when you actually have to start a conversation. I like to be efficient and get this done asap so then I’ve done my part and the onus is on the guy to move it on. I also just really don’t see the point in matching with people and not starting a convo. Either delete the matches or start the conversation. I don’t have time to mess around! Definitely one of my online dating pet peeves.

As the day at the beach was wrapping up, I received a response from this 31 year old, tanned and tall guy that, despite his tan, looked like he could be English… I can always tell. If they’re British or Irish, they stand out like a sore thumb to me. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m so familiar with them, being British myself. I’ve always wondered if North American women can spot them as quickly. 

He suggested we meet for drinks that night but, while I was pleasantly surprised by his quick moves to set something up, I was coming off the back of a full day of sunshine and drinks and if I’m honest getting ready to go on a date in a matter of hours seemed like a real hassle. One I wasn’t sure I had the energy for. I cheekily implied that to him “it better be the best date ever if I’m going to make it out the house after the day I’ve had”. He replied saying he actually couldn’t really be bothered either and if he was really honest, he wasn’t looking for anything serious, so maybe he should just come over to mine. 

Well he did say honest. And it was maybe also a little presumptuous. But I didn’t hate the idea. In our few short messages he’d come across as funny and down to earth, and truthfully my laziness took over, so I agreed. I told him I needed to shower and eat something but to come over around 8pm. 

When he arrived he was indeed tanned and tall, half English and half Portuguese. We watched a movie, chatted a lot about our lives here, he told me about his construction business and his plans for the future. He was a little cocky, making a few comments about how much Canadian women loved him because of his mixed background. I wondered if I should remind him that as a Scot we’re hardly the English’s biggest fans and that my ex had strong ties to Portugal so also, not a huge fan…

Still, it was fun and easy, albeit even in the first couple of hours I was sure I probably wouldn’t see him again, even as a casual hookup. He talked about looking for something casual and made the comment that “most women can’t do casual”. Well, buddy, let me tell you, I’ll be able to be so casual with you, I probably won’t ever see you again, how’s about that? 

We then started to fool around and despite my reservations about him, I was interested to see if his bravado was all talk. As it turned out, he didn’t live up to his self-proclaimed hype, it was all very meh. Although he did have a great body and the tan was exceptional. But he kept his socks on… what the fuck. Really? Why do people do that? Is it laziness? Are they in such a rush to get to the good stuff they just forget about them? Is it cause it gives them extra grip? Or maybe they want to remain just that tiny bit unsexy? I’ve never been able to work it out. 

Laying on my bed afterwards, I was now more exhausted than I’d already been after the day of sun, and I couldn’t wait to sleep. And I didn’t really care if he stayed or went. The idea of snuggles is always nice but given how I felt about him, the thought of him staying was much like the sex – also meh. 

He seemed to be getting comfy though so I accepted the fact he’d be staying, until he said “oh by the way, I snore. Is that going to be a problem?”

Um, will my fist going into your face be a problem?! Yeah it was a problem, and not one I intended to put up with that night. And so with that I asked the English Portuguese Snoring Builder to leave, which he duly did. Interestingly it was him who texted me three more times in the weeks that followed asking to meet up. But my promise to myself to do casual with him to the extent I never saw him again stayed true. 

Waking up the morning after, I was glad I’d had a proper sleep, by myself, with no Snorey McSnorerson next to me. And I was ready for another day at the beach! Sundays of a long weekend are my favourite. You’d ordinarily be getting ready for work the following day but instead it’s a whole extra day to do whatever you please. Is it Saturday? Is it Sunday? Who knows!

More of the matches I’d sent first messages to the day before started to trickle into conversation. Admittedly a lot of them had replied the night before, funny how late on Saturday nights are when men are most chatty on the apps…

And there were a lot of visiting Americans. One in particular was in town from Denver, with his brothers and a couple of friends. They were staying in a loft Airbnb in Gastown and were spending Sunday hiking near Whistler. He asked if he could see me on Sunday night. 

Here’s the thing with visitors to the city: after my initial experience with The Tourist, I went back and forth on how I felt about meeting up with people who were only in town for the week/weekend. Sometimes, when I was fully ok with a no strings attached hookup I was absolutely open to it. But other times, when I was going through a stretch of wanting more, wanting commitment, actually looking for a relationship, there really was no point. No matter how pretty or fun they seemed. 

This weekend was the former. Especially after the O saga, I really wasn’t sure I wanted to get into anything serious and at least with tourists you always knew it couldn’t become something more because they’d be gone as quickly as they got here. Hell, some men that lived in Vancouver were like that, but I digress.  

So meeting up with Denver Banker seemed like it would be fun. He was very proper, he suggested dinner, not even just drinks. But given his day in the mountains, he said he’d text me later and we’d make plans. Ordinarily with tourists that can be a slippery slope to never hearing from them again but with him it seemed different. Though I’ve been proven wrong in my first assumptions before. 

I went about my beach day and around lunchtime I got a message from another tourist, this time a guy visiting from Seattle. He was the typical tourist – here with friends, clearly for a good time not a long time, asking where the best bar to “hit up” that night was. 

As my beach day drew to a close and my friends and I made plans for that night, Seattle guy asked me where I was and if I wanted to meet up. He told me he was now in a bar in Yaletown, which I knew wasn’t far from my apartment. I slowly got showered and ready for the night, not sure at all where it would take me.

I don’t really live like that generally, with undefined plans, but sometimes I can allow it. Long weekends were often those times. Generally you know you’re going to end up doing something, even if you’re just not quite sure what. 

While my friends napped and ate before we were going to meet up, I decided I may as well go and meet Seattle Tall Boy. He was 31, 6’4 and big. He even said himself when I was on my way to meet him “you can’t miss me, I’m the big guy, like the “woah he’s big for an Asian” guy”. He was half white, half Taiwanese, worked in finance and had moved from Boston to Seattle in the previous year. He’d been here with a friend who’d apparently had to go home for some reason or another. I wasn’t sure if I bought the story, but that’s the thing with tourists – you have nothing to go on, you really do have to take them at their word, far more than when you’re dating someone who lives in the city. For locals, there are ways and means of confirming a lot of what they say. Tourists? They can tell you any old shit. 

On my way to meet Seattle Tall Boy, Denver Banker messaged to say he was sorry he hadn’t been in touch but they were on their way back from Whistler, and they were all starving so would eat on the way back down but he’d still love to meet me for drinks and he was sorry that he hadn’t come through on the dinner plans. Seeing as I was on my way to meet another Tinder date, I couldn’t exactly be mad, so I told him to text me once they’d had dinner and then we could make a plan. 

I sent my text reply to Denver Banker as I arrive at the Banter Room, the bar that Seattle Tall Boy was in, and he is indeed unmissable. His large frame dwarfed the bar stool and seemed only more imposing when he stood up. He’d clearly already made friends with all the bar staff, having been sat at the bar for a couple of hours, and quickly asked me what I wanted to drink. 

Right away I could tell the bar staff were trying to work out who I was and how I knew him. I couldn’t quite pinpoint if he’d told them I was a Tinder date. But they got plenty of opportunity to interact with both of us as he was seemingly on a merry go round of drinks – Miller beer, followed by a whisky, followed by an espresso martini. And round and round he went in that order… It was the most bizarre combination of drinks, but he seemed pretty happy with his choices, especially when every so often he’d throw in a round of tequila shots for everyone sat at the bar. 

I essentially was just a witness to him having a fun time and while we did chat, I’m not sure he’d have been having any different a time if I wasn’t there. He asked if I wanted food, which I did after another long beach day snacking on anything unhealthy. But when I paused after ordering my Thai beef salad for him to place his order he said he wasn’t going to eat. Ohhhh ok then. I’ll just eat by myself I guess? 

It was clear this was anything but a date, it seemed more like he’d just wanted someone to hang out with him at the bar, and it could have been me or it could have been any other random person he pulled in off the street. It’s so nice to be made to feel special….

Given that I was hardly feeling the vibe, although he was a funny guy with that hardened, Boston attitude and humour, I decided to keep my drinking to a minimum, especially if I had another drinks date later. The same cannot be said for Seattle Tall Boy. His drinking was really maxing out to the point where the bar staff were definitely slowing down between their “do you need another one” enquiries. And I knew they were aware of his increasing alcohol levels when at one point when he went to the toilet, one of the bar staff asked if I was ok. 

I had hoped that I’d have heard from Denver Banker and could have just gone straight to see him but as it was my phone was giving me nothing, and I was starting to lose the will to live with all of the random, and in no way interesting, subjects that Seattle Tall Boy was bringing up, plus his want to have conversations with everyone else in the bar was starting to grate on me. So instead I decided I was going to make my excuses and just go home. 

I’d teed up my story as soon as I’d got there, telling Seattle Tall Boy I was planning to meet friends later but that I could have a few drinks with him in the interim. Whether I went to meet my friends or Denver Banker had remained to be seen at that point and it was in fact neither and I was happily going to head home and sleep. 

Seattle Tall Boy attempted to get me to stay, he also half asked if he could come with me to meet my friends, both of which I shot down pretty quick. I tried to placate him with a “maybe once I’ve met up with my friends and I know what our plans are we can meet up again…” 

I felt bad leading him on and not being straight up with him, but in all honesty, I didn’t trust what his alcohol fuelled reaction would be if I did tell him the truth that I wasn’t into him and there was no chance we’d be hooking up that night. Even just in the time I’d been with him he’d had eleven drinks and I’d had three, and he’d already been there a couple of hours before me. Now he was a big guy, so I’m sure his tolerance was pretty high but still… it was getting sloppy and it was time for me to go. 

I walked the seven minutes home and just as I was waiting at the last crosswalk, imagining me curling up in bed, my phone pinged with Denver Banker apologising profusely for the lateness of his text (it actually wasn’t that late, it was maybe 8pm) and wondering if I’d still like to meet up. Ugh…. 

I mean, I did but I didn’t. But I should. I felt bad flaking on him. Why do I do that? Why can’t I just say no if I want to say no? That was a conversation for another time, because at this point in time I needed to get back to near where I’d just come from to meet Denver Banker in another bar. 

We met at a bar near where I lived that had a good balance of atmosphere but quiet corners to sit and have a conversation. He was as much of an All American Boy as I imagined – blonde hair, blue eyed, cute, well mannered and quite softly spoken. We covered everything from family and jobs, travel, sports – all the standard topics. While I was explaining why I had chosen Canada to move to, I said “and I did consider the US but I’m pretty glad I didn’t with everything going on there just now”. It’s something I’ve said 100 times when telling the same story but the response I got was a first. 

For context, this was in Trump’s first year in office when he’d already implemented the travel ban, and announced his intention to ban transgender personnel in the military, and a large portion of the western (and non-western world) were wondering if the whole presidency was a joke. 

Denver Banker looked confused and said “why do you mean?” I realised he wasn’t joking and simultaneously made the realisation that he was either terribly badly informed about the political goings on in his own country or he was in fact not in any way perturbed by said political goings on. But he seemed too educated for it to be the former, so I had to assume in horror that it was the latter. 

I realised I needed to tread lightly, given that it’s not my style to attack people’s personal beliefs, especially someone I barely know. Thankfully, just as I was trying to figure out how to ask if he was a Trump supporter without sounding incredulous at the same time, the bartender came over. This was the bartender who when we’d arrived had shouted over at us to sit wherever we wanted, that he was drunk from a day at the beach and he hoped we were having a good weekend.

He came over offering us free shots of Jameson, which we gladly accepted and with that I felt emboldened to dive back into the conversation. I don’t think any subject is necessarily off limits on a date, I’m an entirely open book (which is a blessing and a curse) so I’m happy to cover practically any topic. Obviously religion, money, politics and, to an extent, past dating aren’t my first choices of topics of convo for a first date, but I’m always happy to touch on them. It can tell you a lot about someone after all. 

So I explained that since Trump had been elected it seemed like there was a lot of upheaval in the US and so I was “glad” I’d ended up in Canada with nothing but people talking about which Disney prince Justin Trudeau looked like most. He said any new president would always bring about change and it was to be expected. I said “so did you vote for Trump” and he said “yes”. I then realised that wasn’t the real question, the real question was my next one – “would you vote for Trump again now? Given the policies he’s already put in place?”

He looked at me confused, “what policies?” and so I explained in my best “I know I’m a foreigner and don’t exactly think of myself as an expert on Trump’s politics” way about the changes to immigration and military that he’d made, as well as some of his less than savoury Tweets. And while Denver Banker did sit fairly respectfully quietly through my moment atop my soap box, at the end he looked at me in a way which I thought was going to lead to a  “yeah, fair enough” comment but instead he opened his mouth and said “but none of those affect me.”

Hello white male privilege, welcome to the table. 

I’m not sure a single sentence has put me off someone more. I’ve had a lot of firsts while dating but having someone’s politics essentially write them off for me has absolutely never happened. And I can’t figure out if that makes me too quick to judge or simply resolute in my morals? Either way, any attraction I’d had for him, which was far more than I’d had for Seattle Tall Boy, had now evaporated. 

We had a short conversation about whether or not he felt like maybe just because those things didn’t affect him he shouldn’t still have an opinion on them and want the best for his fellow countrymen, and fellow humans. He said he really didn’t think Trump had done anything that bad and if he could just get the tax bill passed that he’d been working on then it would be a huge win. 

I realised there was no point in continuing on the conversation, from what he was saying I was piecing together what was obviously a very conservative background and family, and at the end of the day it was less about his specific politics and more about his complete oblivion to the massive, stinking pile of white male privilege that he was sitting on that just made me unable to want to engage further. 

We finished our drinks, along with another shot from the barman, and despite Denver Banker’s enquiry as to whether there was another bar we could go to, I said I should probably get home, it had been a long day and tomorrow was going to be more of the same. Incidentally I’d told him about the beach I was going to the next day with friends and he’d said he and his friends had been planning on maybe going there too. He mentioned that fact again as we said goodnight outside my building. I was well aware he was hoping I’d invite him up but I just couldn’t. Even as a one night thing, all my attraction for him had gone. And while I’m a massive fan of snuggling, I decided on this occasion I’d rather have the bed to myself than share it with someone whose views I so vehemently disagreed with. 

And I would have had a solid good sleep if it hadn’t been for a drunken 6.30am call (why do I never put my phone on silent?) from Seattle Tall Boy asking if he could come over… Whaaaaaat?! How hammered must he have been for me to have not heard from him since I said goodbye to him around 8pm the night before and only now is he following back up. Wow. I could only imagine how much he’d drunk.

Although later that day, I didn’t need to imagine any longer when he reached out in text, apologising for the early morning wake up call and saying “I think the reason was this”, before texting me a picture of his bar bill from the Banter Room – $627.58. SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS!!! There were the 3 gins I’d had and the Thai beef salad… it was definitely his bill. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified. Either way, I was glad I hadn’t stuck around any longer, I could have been in hospital with alcohol poisoning. 

Around the same time, I also got a text from Denver Banker saying he was making his way towards the beach he knew I was at… oh god. I half thought about lying and saying I wasn’t there but if I did that and he turned up it would just be awkward. So instead I told my friends my date from last night was turning up to which they replied “which one is this? The drunk or the Trump supporter?” Those were stark terms, not wrong, just stark. And turn up he did. In full on American flag swimming shorts. Like stars and stripes all in your face. 

It was a perfect “Jesus fucking Christ” end to what had been a “holy mother of God” weekend of dates. A snorer, a drunk and a Trump supporter. I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere…

Did Someone Say Sandwiches?

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Aug-2017

You know the internet is crazy when an inanimate object slides into your DMs. And it’s even creepier when said inanimate object messages in reply to one of your instagram stories “hey, that’s my view” when you’ve posted a pic from your balcony. 

The account was a personification of a bar signage board, the type that has witty, daily comments to entice you in to drink their alcohol, watch their sports and play their games. I’d been at the bar a few weeks before, tagged them in a post and I guess that was how they’d found me. But I allowed the conversation to go on far longer than I should have before requesting some personal information about the writer. 

He worked part time at the bar, and wrote the signs, and when I finally got a name I also realised if I scrolled far enough back on the Instagram account there were actually pics of him, and looked fairly normal, which was a relief. But I had to wonder how many times he used the guise of the sandwich board to lure people into convos, far more than if it had just been a personal account I’m guessing. 

It was a long weekend when we started chatting and he was away camping with his friends. I presumed it was going to be a rager but he said while he had certainly taken enough alcohol to sink the ferry he was going over on, it would likely be fairly tame considering all of his friends were taking their kids. 

He was older, and at 39 it wasn’t surprising that most of his friends were settled down but from comments he made and the lifestyle he lived (he had a professional career but still chose to work part time in the bar (and write the signs)) it was clear he was very far away from that point in his life. 

It also turned out we lived across the street from each other. That hadn’t worked out well before but maybe this time would be different. We chatted throughout the weekend and when he was back in the city we made plans to go on a date. 

Somehow, and honestly, I’m not sure how it happened, I truly don’t understand how I didn’t see it happening and stop it before it was too late, but our first date ended up being to a Whitecaps football (/soccer) game. Which would have been fine, except I was still seeing The Whitecaps Player. 

I could have and should have made an excuse, any excuse!, to get out of it but he had the tickets and I just felt like anything I said would sound sketchy because he knew I liked sports, he knew I was a football fan and I’d already said I was free that night. 

It was another “how the fuck did I get myself here” moment as we walked from the concourse out into the open arena to take our seats and there’s The Whitecaps Player warming up on the pitch. I attempted to distract myself from my internal awkwardness but, while Sandwich Board Guy was nice, from a physical attraction standpoint my eyes were much more drawn to the field than the seat to my left. It was only made worse when The Whitecaps Player got sent off during the game and Sandwich Board Guy and I then had to have a long discussion about what an idiot he was. All the while I was thinking, yeah I’ll be messaging that idiot later, no doubt. 

God, I’m an awful person. As I write this story and admit to the proximity of these two strings of my dating life, I know if it was the other way around I would be less than happy about the situation. Does it absolve me of guilt because Vancouver is so small? Because it wasn’t as if I orchestrated the situation? Because this is just the way dating is nowadays? Ugh. I hate that excuse!!

But I wanted to try and give Sandwich Board Guy a chance, he seemed like a standup guy, he was super nice and he’d had an interesting life so we had a bit to chat about. But it wasn’t my proudest dating moment. 

The date ended with a brief hug after we walked the two minutes back to our joint street corner and discussions of another date. It felt like it would be a slow burn but I was prepared to give it a chance. I just couldn’t work out if his self deprecation was kinda cute or kinda off putting. I mean, I don’t want a guy that can’t get enough of himself but a little bit of confidence doesn’t go amiss. 

On our second date we went to a few different bars near where we lived, and with him working in the industry, albeit just one night a week, he knew a lot of people and seemed to get a lot of free drinks, which included shots of tequila, followed by shots of gin. Those were my idea… but there was method to my madness, honestly! I was drinking gin and didn’t your mother ever tell you not to mix your drinks? Actually, my mother told me a lot of things about drinking that I clearly never took heed of, but in this instance it just seemed sensible to do shots of the same alcohol. But shots of gin are not good. 

Still, I kept my wits about me and when he made a “jokey” comment about coming home with me as we walked the few blocks home, there was no doubt in my mind I was going to bed alone. 

He was nice. Like really nice. Like, one of those guys you can totally see falling into the “last guys finish last” categories, and that turned me off. Because us women just can’t seem to appreciate a good guy, can we? Why is that?! I totally understand men’s frustration when they say we overlook good guys for bad boys. I’m totally guilty of it. Although my retaliation is always that men say they hate drama but will also go for the hot girls despite the drama they bring. Wow, so many generalisations in a paragraph. 

When we next met up, after we’d both separately watched the Mayweather MacGregor boxing match, I knew I wasn’t attracted to him. So I’d love for someone to explain to me how he ended up in my apartment kissing me. I’m in no way suggesting he forced that. I’m just suggesting I make the weirdest fucking decisions, that make no actual sense. Was I lonely? Did I just like the attention? Did I hope maybe a kiss would turn things around? 

Worse still, the moment that brought me back to my senses was when he suggested he stayed and share my ice cream…. Um. No. Absolutely not. Hard pass. Kiss me? Sure. Share my ice cream? Get outta town. 

In the days that followed that night, after I’d swiftly said goodnight and ushered him from my apartment so I could eat my ice cream in private peace, I was as honest as I could be with him and said there were other guys I was dating that I was more interested in. Did it matter that I already knew nothing serious would come of the time with The Whitecaps Player? No. All I knew was that I didn’t feel the same way about Sandwich Board Guy so I had to be honest. 

However, despite the honesty, Sandwich Board Guy was persistent. Not in a forceful way, just in that he kind of hung around on the periphery, texting, making jokes about how he was in love with me and I wouldn’t reciprocate, and telling me I’d inspired him to start running prior to his 40th birthday. Well at least I did one thing right!

I often wonder what depth of feeling he did have for me, and if in any way I perpetuated that and led him on. I tried to be aware of it, I told him about other guys I was dating, I even told him about the blog! (His wish is now granted that he’s included in it) I tried to make sure it was clear that I wouldn’t date him, but I’m also not sure if I made it worse by letting him stay on the periphery. 

Months later, I’d find myself back in the same stadium with him, this time watching rugby sevens after he invited himself to join my group of friends. This time there was no player I was dating on the field, though I was awkwardly covering lovebites on my neck from the night before courtesy of some over eager Irishman, and randomly Malaysian Persuasion had pitched up and was now sat next to me fondling my thigh. Another story for another time. 

To say Sandwich Board Guy was always on the periphery feels pretty apt. I just hope he didn’t stay there because of any false hope I gave him. I’ve been on the receiving end of that and it’s not fun. Knowingly not allowing someone the closure to get over you and move on is one of the most selfish things you can do. To this day, I hope that wasn’t the part I played.

…previous post

Nevertheless, she persisted

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Nov-2019

I haven’t written for a while. I haven’t written because this year has kicked my ass. There has been man stress, work stress, more man stress, and now more work stress. I haven’t had mental capacity for the blog and, for months now, I haven’t been “properly” dating either, albeit somehow there are still men in my life.

Throughout the man stress I’ve wished work felt more stable, fulfilling and enjoyable. And throughout the work stress I have desperately wished for a partner to walk through it with me, and comfort me on the many nights of tears. I have incredible friends, who have supported me constantly but, at the end of it all, what I’ve had and what I will always continue to have has been solely me, myself and I. 

When I let myself go down the rabbit hole, it’s incredibly easy to feel butt hurt for myself and wonder what I did so bad in a previous life that I’m being dealt so many personal challenges in this one. I can lament the fact that never did I imagine that I’d be 35 with no job, no financial stability and no relationship. I can compare myself to other people who are seemingly thriving and wonder when will it be my turn for success and happiness and love. It can be a pretty quick downward spiral into a full on Joey-esque “why me god, why????”

But there are no answers to any of those questions, especially not down the bottom of a rabbit hole, so what good does it do to ask them. While I believe in allowing yourself to feel the feelings and not just slap on a smile for the sake of it, I also don’t believe in wallowing or perpetuating negative emotions. 

I have no understanding of where my life is taking me, or what exactly this path is leading to, but I’m trying to trust in it, attempting to become comfortable with the uncertainty and instead accept that this is just where I’m at, for now. We often get so wrapped up in where we’re trying to go that getting there just feels like it gets in the way. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that I will perpetually live in the journey and so I should probably get comfortable with it.

And with every challenge, with every “what the actual fuck” moment, I find myself believing in myself a little bit more, less questioning if I’ll be able to get through something and more wondering how I’m going to get through it. Challenges, disappointments and time spent outwith our comfort zones are truly the best place for growth. And, honestly, I feel like it’s going to take something pretty spectacular to “beat” the trauma that my divorce inflicted. Not that I’m hoping to ever have that happen.

Within it all this year I’ve also seen myself start to harden, something that until now I had never let happen. I was always proud of remaining open, and soft, and hopeful, but I guess after a certain amount of shit you get to the point that it just makes sense to put up some walls – finally! I’ve found myself regressing from new social situations and shutting myself off from hope of new relationships. 

I’m hoping it’s a temporary solution while I find my feet, while I try to get some of my shit together – knowing no one ever fully has their shit together. But in the grand scheme of shits being together or not, I’m definitely on the “absolutely do not have them together” end of the spectrum. 

If you’re just joining my dating stories now, know that I write with a fairly large time gap from when the stories happened to me writing about them. Partly to protect everyone involved and partly to allow me to reflect on them in a less emotional way. Also that gap is now much bigger simply because I took time off from posting them. *the date I write at the top of each post is the date the story / thoughts happened, so most of the stories are in the past, but a lot of the thoughts (like this post) are from the present.

So far what we’ve covered is the “finding my feet” stage – where I was like a deer in headlights, realising online dating was some merry hell that a happily married person must have come up with to punish us for the other freedoms we have. Then we moved into the “oh, these men are kinda hot” stage – where I was surprised at my pulling ability and got a little too carried away with gym bods, after having found my own. And now the stories are moving into the “but none of this is working so let’s change it up” stage – where I tried to move out of my comfort zone, go with the less obvious choices and see if anything there worked. It’s been… fun!

But throughout it all, from those very first stories and right up to where I find myself now, one thought, one mantra, has remained in my head – “nevertheless, she persisted”.

…previous post

Same Same, But Very Different

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Aug-2017

They say we look for the familiar, that we find comfort in it. But what happens when the familiar isn’t attractive to you and, in fact, is maybe a whole lot of what you’d tried to leave behind?

Most of my dating stories, start on dating apps – such is the life we live in nowadays. And while this one started as a result of a dating app, in fact it began with a message request on Instagram. I’m always skeptical of those, it’s mostly some “bodybuilder” in India who wants to say hi or, in some instances, just gets straight to a marriage proposal. My favourite ones are men who message my blog instagram seemingly never having considered that a man harassing me in my DMs might be the exact basis of some of my stories.

This time though the message came from someone I thought I possibly recognised and as I read the message, he explained he’d seen me on Tinder and I realised that was where I’d seen the face. He said when we hadn’t matched on the app he decided to reach out to me on Instagram – this was during a period of time when I had my Instagram handle on my dating app profiles.

Sidebar – I’m in two minds about that. Part of me hates people putting their instagram on their dating profile because I feel like a lot of people just do it to get more followers. Especially the people who put their handle on but have a private account. It can be for no other reason then surely than to gain followers? But part of me likes it, and when I do have my handle on my profile, it’s because if people look at my Instagram I think it gives them a pretty good idea of who I am (all the while remembering nothing on Instagram or any social platform is every 100% accurate of real life). But in terms of my interests and a much larger breadth of pictures to see what I actually look like, I think it can be pretty helpful.

But I digress. Although another discussion point is this – if you’ve seen someone on a dating app and swiped right or liked them and you don’t match, especially if you’ve let some time go by, or maybe you’ve even seen them a few times and swiped right or liked them each time, and you still don’t match – maybe they don’t like you? So why would reaching out in another way seem like a good idea? I’ve always thought it was a ballsy thing to do. And you know, sometimes ballsy is good. We always say the men in Vancouver have no balls and never approach women, so I can’t be mad when one does I guess.

Ok, another sidebar. Is this deception – a bald man wearing something on his head for all his pics? I mean, there’s no way to talk about this without being judgey but essentially that’s what dating apps force us to be. It’s not that I care if a guy is bald, some bald guys are hot, just like some guys with hair are hot. And some are not. But, I mean, I want to see what I could be waking up next to. Although then that makes me wonder if the flip side of that argument is that women should put pictures on without make up…. But it’s not the same thing! Is it??? Now I’m conflicted. I hate double standards between men and women. I’ll need to think more on this…

Right, back to the man who seemingly always wore hats in my Instagram DMs. He said he’d seen me on Tinder, and had to reach out because he thought I was “cute” and saw that I was Scottish so thought we were kindred spirits, as he was also Scottish. Now, that sounds nice and I love having a connection to home, but I’ve always kinda liked the fact that there’s not that many Scottish people in Vancouver. I didn’t come out here to hang out with Scottish people. I could have stayed in Scotland for that.

Having said that, meeting people with the same cultural references as you, who miss the same food, and have the same understanding of what it’s like to have your family over 7000km away is always comforting to some degree. So I figured why not meet him, as he had suggested in his first message – definitely bold, definitely not from around here.

We arranged to meet at one of my favourite bars in my neighbourhood, which was close to where we both lived, and to be honest it was one of those dates I felt a bit “meh” about so I was glad not to have to travel too far for it. I was just getting ready to leave my apartment when he called to say he was running late. He got mega props for calling and not just texting, but all of those props were lost when after me saying no worries, I could meet him whenever, he then said “are you drunk?”

Maybe I was a touch blase about the whole date to the point that I didn’t care, but did that come across as drunk!? I thought it was a weird thing to say and I found it kind of offensive. Could I just cancel the date now?

I persevered, hung around my apartment an extra 20 minutes and then headed for the bar, knowing I’d get there before him so I could choose where to sit. Now he was older than I normally date, at 42, and I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the hat thing so I choose a quiet little corner where I wouldn’t be spotted if anyone I knew came into the bar. Is this a bad sign? Trying not to be seen with the guy before the date has even begun? Oh god…

When he arrived, toque (the Canadian name for a woolen hat) in place, I realised what about his pictures had put me off – he reminded me of a million men back home. Men who try to dress like they’re still teenagers, when in fact they’re middle aged. A lot of them come from the west coast of Scotland (Glasgow, I’m looking at you), shopping centres are filled with them on Saturday days and bars are busting at the seams with them on Saturday nights, and it’s something I’ve always found wildly unappealing. This all ran through my head as he walked towards me across the bar.

Despite all of those cultural generalisations I’d just made about my own people, he was very smiley, so at least there was that? And I had to try to remain open minded about it as we went in for the “hi” hug.

That would have been easier had he not recoiled mid-hug and said “wow, you’re terrible at hugging, try that again.” Um, what? I just met you. You don’t know me. We’re on a first date. Why are you trashing my hugging ability?!?

It rubbed me so far the wrong way I can’t tell you. Especially after the “are you drunk?” comment. And it was such a stupid thing, I had to wonder if part of the reason I was so pissed off about it was because something about him inherently annoyed me to begin with? I happily would have ended the date at that point, but then I figured he’d have something to say about that too.

We chatted through the usual – work, why we moved, family, why we wouldn’t move back, things we loved about Canada, things we found tough about Vancouver, and dating. When he told me he was from a place near Glasgow, I almost shouted “I FUCKING KNEW IT!” but I restrained myself and instead focused on the toque sat atop his head, while we were indoors and it wasn’t cold outside… Did I mention it was August?

It was clear from our discussions that we had a lot in common, and if you asked someone on the outside looking in if we were a good match, they would have likely said yes and probably made some comment about it being cute we were both Scottish. Ugh, puke.

I honestly couldn’t wait to get home that night, it was one of those that every five minutes sat in that bar, was five minutes lost when I could have been in my pjs at home, which was definitely the more attractive option. So when after a couple of drinks we finally got the bill, which he paid, I was grateful I only had a six minute walk home.

Talking of which, in our initial conversations we also both agreed that actually the other person being Scottish wasn’t a plus for either of us. He said he’d told his friend that exact thing before our date, while I knew it had been swirling in my head since he reached out. So it was weird to me that he had mentioned us both being Scottish when he’d initially reached out to me on Instagram as if it was a good thing. But I didn’t press him on it, because I’m not an asshole, unlike people who critique other’s hugging ability. Clearly I was so salty about that still.

After the date, which I escaped with no one I knew seeing me, I messaged him later to thank him for the drinks, as I always do when someone pays, and while I already knew I wouldn’t be seeing him again, for some reason I couldn’t be bothered to deal with that on that evening. So instead, I just let his “you’re welcome, it was really great to meet you” reply sit on my phone to be dealt with another day.

That other day was the next day. I replied to his text from the night before and just said that it was lovely to meet him but I didn’t feel the connection I’m looking for, which I usually know right from a first date. I’d expected him to do the usual “oh I felt the same” reply which a lot of guys engage and I can totally understand why they do – saves face, saves ego, saves any further discussion. I’m ok with it. But not this guy. Not “you’re a terrible hugger” guy.

Instead I got a reply from him which stated that he felt like I needed someone to help me make better dating choices and that while we may not continue dating, maybe he could be that guy for me. Are you kidding me??? I got that text while I was in the gym and I honestly almost threw a dumbell at the guy beside me. Why are men so entitled to tell women what we need and always assume they are the ones that can give it to us?????

I thought I was pissed about the “are you drunk” and “you’re a terrible hugger” comments. But this was next level. And, to be clear – I’m aware that I definitely don’t always make good dating decisions, him being a fucking case in point! But a) it is not his place to point that out and b) what on earth made him think he could help me?!

As you can imagine, my reply was less than cordial, which of course he used to suggest that I’d taken what he said the wrong way etc etc. And eventually I just had to tell him that the conversation was over, otherwise I knew it was going to spiral.

The thing was I never really wanted to date him in the first place, he kind of annoyed me before I even met him, more so when I met him and entirely after I met him. It was another proof point that forcing myself outside of what feels “comfortable” and what makes sense for me has never once worked. Even if we are from the same country, even if we have had a similar life experience in moving to Canada. We may have come from the same place but we were very, very different, and not just because I’d never tell someone I didn’t know that they were shit at hugging. See, still salty.

…previous post

You, Me & Translator Makes Three

divorcedanddatingat303 Comments

Aug-2017

How much do you really need to be able to communicate in a relationship? When you’re from incredibly different backgrounds AND there’s a language barrier, should we just accept that communication is going to be difficult, and maybe this isn’t going to be one of those deep and meaningful relationships?

When I first matched with The Whitecaps Player on Bumble, I wasn’t sure he was definitely a player. (The Whitecaps are Vancouver’s local football/soccer team that play in the MLS) There were pictures of him in some kit but I thought he may have been a member of the coaching or support team and in our first messages he attempted to tell me he was the mascot, Spike. I told him that was unfortunate because I don’t like birds (Spike is a kingfisher) and eventually he gave it up and admitted he played for the team.

The problem was his name on Bumble didn’t match any first name of a player on the squad, so in an attempt not to be scammed by some guy claiming to be a professional football player (yes, I live in North America, but the game you play with the ball at your feet I will almost always call football) I started a pretty in depth Google search and a reverse image google search.

Wikipedia gave me all I needed to know – the name on Bumble was his middle name. He was born in Africa, grew up in the US and had just been traded to Vancouver from a US MLS team. I was going to start dropping some of that info into our messages to let him know I was onto him but didn’t want to seem like a total stalker. I figured it probably wouldn’t be a good look.

In our chats we realised we lived a block from each other and made plans pretty quickly to meet up that night. Unfortunately (or fortunately for me) a friend messaged me and asked if I wanted to go see Lady Gaga in a box at Rogers Arena that night. I wasn’t the hugest Lady Gaga fan but I wasn’t about to pass it up. I had just made plans to meet him though and I didn’t want to do the typical Vancouver thing and bail… but when I mentioned this to my friend she told me to bring him too. God love my friends for their deep understanding about the need not to inhibit any dating opportunities.

The crazy thing is having a first date in a box at a Lady Gaga concert with a bunch of friends of mine probably wouldn’t be the weirdest first date I’ve had. See the date with Canada Day Boat Guy. So I asked him. He called me boujee for going to a box, asked if I always did “such fancy things” and eventually said thanks but Lady Gaga wasn’t his thing. I understood, it was a stretch to think he’d be up for it. But we both lived a couple of blocks from the arena so I thought it might have worked.

Instead he told me to go and text him later. I don’t need told twice so I did. We texted a little during the concert and as it was wrapping up he said he’d walk to meet me at mine. I don’t remember the exact details of the text exchange, but it was clear her wasn’t coming up to my apartment, it was more just that we were so close by that we may as well just meet in person, even if for 10 minutes.

As ended up happening, we sat in the lobby of my apartment building for about 45 minutes chatting. We briefly mentioned going to a bar but that never happened and I think we were both equally just testing the water.

When he’d arrived it was entirely apparent how drastically different we were, at least outwardly anyway. He looked like he should be in a music video. He had a pretty solid gold chain around his neck, and fairly sizeable diamond studs in both ears which glistened under the bright, lobby lights. He was in a designer t-shirt and long basketball shorts, designer sneakers with socks pulled up to mid-calf and a cap. I could not have felt more like a white girl if I’d tried.

There is nothing cool or urban about me, nothing remotely edgy. And here he was looking like he could have been part of Migos and friends with Drake.

I wondered how it looked to people. Not that I cared, at all. But I was genuinely interested in what people thought when they looked at us sat there. Did I look like a groupie? Did I look like his personal assistant? Cause I wasn’t sure I looked like his date (if sitting chatting in my lobby even qualified as a date). By this point, I’d dated a whole host of ethnicities but I think with The Whitecaps Player it was so visually stark, it opened up a whole host of different thoughts for me.

Regardless, he had this really lovely demeanour about him, he seemed pretty quiet but funny, and super relaxed. Like almost horizontal. I was fascinated by what he saw in me. Because again, the quiet and relaxed thing? Yeah, probably not something I’d describe myself as.

Given his texts and knowing he’d been in the US for about 12 years, something I definitely wasn’t expecting was the language barrier. Well, I guess it was less of a language barrier and more of an accent barrier. He had an incredibly thick, French African accent which, much to my surprise, I found incredibly attractive. He was telling me about a game they were going to play in Salt Lake City and I thought he was telling me how the attitude of the other team was terrible, but he was really talking about the altitude and it took us a while to get there. We just laughed when we worked it out, or rather I laughed and he looked at me like he couldn’t understand why I had a problem comprehending the English language. This was to be the first of many of these exchanges.

Thankfully, we did still manage to laugh together. It has always been one of the reasons I’ve said that dating someone who is ESL (English as a Second Language) probably wasn’t something I would want to do. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone not getting my jokes. Although I guess that’s a better reason for someone not getting my jokes, than that they just aren’t funny…

Sitting in the lobby that first night I was pretty intrigued by him. I had so many questions about his upbringing, his family, playing in the MLS, moving to Vancouver… so much. This is why sometimes, just sometimes!, I love dating. Meeting someone who you would likely not otherwise encounter and getting to hear their stories – it’s the best!

But it was getting late so we said goodbye and agreed we’d meet up when he got back from their game in Salt Lake City. He kissed me on the cheek, gave me a slightly awkward hug and started the short walk back to his place. He told me he wished he’d driven, which I presumed was a joke!?

We texted a little during the time he was away and when he was back we arranged to go for dinner. He walked to meet me at my place and we decided on a super casual bar nearby, because “he didn’t want to walk far”. Um, which one of us is the athlete? So we walked at his snail’s pace, part of his whole “relaxed” thing I was guessing, the couple of blocks up the street.

Going into the bar I thought I saw a flicker of confusion from the hostess about whether we entered together or not. Was I imagining it? I mean, I got it, we didn’t look like a likely pairing, but I’d even tried to dress less.. I’m not even sure what… to go out with him. Unfortunately my wardrobe was severely lacking in Gucci sneakers and ostentatious bling so we still weren’t quite on the same level.

Conversation over dinner was slow, in that he even talked at a slow pace. It took a while before I saw him get even remotely animated about a topic. But it was still easy, despite a couple more misunderstandings. We talked sports, and growing up, and working out, and diet – he ate 3 plates of chicken wings.

He walked me home, again kiss on the cheek, awkward hug, and a mention that he wished he’d driven. Maybe he wasn’t joking the last time!?

On our 3rd date he came over to mine. I was pretty tired and he was leaving for another away game the next day so we agreed we’d watch a movie. I don’t even remember what we watched. But I remember being stressed about what we were going to watch. I was pretty sure we’d have very different tastes in movies, not counting the fact that I don’t even really like movies, and what if his preference wasn’t an English language movie. Like is that a part of the choice we’d make?

We didn’t end up really watching a lot of the movie, which is maybe why I can’t remember what it was. Instead we talked, watched YouTube videos on his phone and eventually, finally!, he actually made a move on me.

There had been a few brushes of his hand against my leg, a rub of the back, or a grab of the shoulder but they were all incredibly brief. I was beginning to wonder if he actually wasn’t attracted to me at all (which of course in my head this was down to the fact I was so different to him) and instead maybe he was just a bit bored and looking for company, having not been in Vancouver for long and not having very many friends outside the team.

But after making his move it was very clear there was at least some level of mutual attraction between us. And he had one of the leanest bodies I’d possibly ever seen – yes we got naked, yes there was sex. There was not an inch of fat on him, he wasn’t super muscly in a bulging biceps way, you could just tell he was incredibly fit. His skin stretched over his long limbs in the most perfect way and I’m pretty sure it glistened… or maybe I imagined that.

The sex was also pretty great, albeit my overriding memory was one of having to dodge his gold necklace as it swung at my face every so often when it would slide round from the back of his neck where he tried to keep it out the way while we got down to it. Now, I’ve been hit in the face with worse, but it was kinda off putting. There was also zero post-sex snuggles. Dude was not a snuggler. That much was clear.

In all the times we met up, and hooked up, we never spoke about what we were doing, who else we were (or weren’t) seeing, when we would next see each other, nothing. It was super casual and it was ideal. I enjoyed having that level of understanding with someone without either of us having to say anything. Which was handy considering the language barrier we were always trying to navigate.

I can so often get so caught up in my head and want clarity and something more concrete agreed. But with The Whitecaps Player, maybe it was because I couldn’t see it going anywhere anyway, because he was always likely to move again with his job, because we were so starkly different, I don’t know, but I was really ok with the unknown. With the simplicity that we would text each other every so often, we would see each other about once a week and there were no other expectations.

Generally it was always a dinner, we went to a movie once, or he’d come over to mine. Nothing ever really “happened” on the dates, my friends would ask how the date was and all I could ever reply was “fine”. I enjoyed the chillness of just lying on the sofa with him, him normally falling asleep because apparently training in the MLS is exhausting…

Eventually one night I did end up over at his place. We were both out. Him celebrating after an incredible last minute winning goal he scored against his old team and me at a wedding. We messaged during the course of the night, and for the first time our texts turned more than a little flirty and eventually downright dirty. I got dropped off at his apartment after the wedding and arriving on his doorstep still in my full gown (it had been a VERY fancy wedding) made it even more clear to our differences as he was there in what looked like an outfit almost entirely designed by Balmain, and something that James Harden may have worn.

My point about the differences between us, is not because they mattered to me at all, truly they didn’t. It’s more to highlight how I’ve never encountered the awareness about it before. And I wonder if the Chinese guy or the Persian or any other ethnicity I’ve dated, have felt the same just the other way around? But that I, from my place of white privilege, has failed to notice? Is this what it’s like to truly notice skin colour? I’m aware enough to know that me saying “I don’t notice skin colour” is racist in itself because there are different skin colours and they’re not to be ignored, and more obviously, also not to be the reason for any change, particularly negative, in behaviour or level of respect shown.

It was just a mind frame I hadn’t encountered before in dating and if I was feeling those things I wondered what his thoughts were around dating a white girl. Did he even have any? Was this topic so much part of his daily life that it wasn’t even a separate conversation, it just was life? In some ways I’d wished he and I would have had a deeper relationship to have been at a place where I could have asked him these things, and used the situation as a way to educate myself. But I also knew it wasn’t his place to have to educate the white girl on race.

Instead I read books like The Shock Doctrine and Caucasia, both of which I finished after things with him had kind of petered out, but the experience had awakened something in me whereby I wanted to try and understand more and not just stay ignorant because I could. Again, Whitecaps Player’s lackadaisical approach to everything meant he seemed neither perturbed nor even interested in that aspect of our very casual relationship.

As seemed maybe inevitable, as his season was coming to an end so too did our dates. We never had a conversation about it, I just knew he was going back to visit his Mom in the States and then was heading back to Africa while on the off season. What I hadn’t really banked on was that during said off season, he’d also be traded to a team back in the US and so he was never back in Vancouver as far as I know, and things were just done. No words said, or needed.

It turned out the guy I could communicate the least with, was the guy I didn’t really need to communicate with at all, and it was as refreshing as his cool, taught skin.

Next post…

…previous post

Is It Too Much To Ask?

divorcedanddatingat304 Comments

Jul-2017

In the midst of the O saga, when I was trying desperately to retain some distance and not put all the eggs in the world in one O shaped basket, I decided to go out on a first date with another Bumble match. Surely it could only be a good thing?

The Calgarian house painter, had only recently moved to Vancouver to work with his brother and was living in North Van. He seemed nice and had pretty good chat in our messaging. Although it took us a little while to get to him asking me out, when he eventually did he suggested we go for tacos, which is a plan I can always get behind.

He chose a pretty small, kind of hole in the wall taco place in downtown that I hadn’t been to before which I was pretty pleased about because I’m always keen to try new taco places and everyone knows some of the best tacos come from the smallest places.

On my walk to meet him there, I remembered that his pictures had been the type that could go either way. He could have totally downplayed his looks or those couple where he looked pretty good could have been total flukes. It had been hard to tell, there was no real consistency and so I was a little apprehensive.

Meeting him as planned at the taco place, I realised that the latter of those possibilities was true and I knew his personality would have to be sparkling for me to find him attractive. I was a little disappointed. But you should never judge a book by it’s cover so I forged ahead. Plus, tacos.  

It didn’t start well though when on walking up to the counter to order he sort of hung back and essentially made it impossible for me not to go up and order alone. Once I’d placed my order for 3 tacos, I turned around and asked if he was ready to order. He said he wasn’t and to “just go ahead”. Ok, so I guess I’m buying my own tacos?

Now, they were $12 and it’s not about the money, but we’ve had this conversation many times here. Paying on a first date. I am happy to pay, but I’m happier if you at least offer. Especially, if dinner and the venue for dinner were your choice. That for me is kind of a rule I follow – if I suggest the date and/or I suggest where to go, then I will always plan to pay.

Thus I figured he’d suggested the hole in the wall cause at least it was cheap. But he didn’t even offer to pay! Don’t worry, bud, I got the $12 covered.

In the short space of time it took for me to wolf down my tacos – what can I say I don’t like them to get cold – I had done a great impression of an interviewer. That is to say, I asked all of the questions and he asked almost none. I know I can talk a lot so it’s something I’ve worked on to ensure I don’t always lead conversation on a date. Not least because I am looking for someone who can take the lead in a relationship at least half the time, so being the only one to drive the conversation isn’t generally a good sign.

Which begs the question, when he asked if I wanted to go for a drink after we ate, why on earth did I agree? If I’m honest, it was possibly because we’d probably only been on the date for less than 30 minutes at that point and he’d come all the way over to downtown from North Vancouver and I guess I would have felt bad if it had ended there. Although I realise writing that now, it actually wouldn’t have been my problem.

In hindsight, there’s something to be said for valuing your own time and not drawing out something that you already know isn’t going anywhere. Why was I too polite to say no? Why did I allow myself to follow him to the bar when I was already bored.

Add to this, the fact that when discussing where we were going to go for a drink, he suggested an Irish bar across the street because, looking pointedly at me, “it’s Irish!” Um, great, but I’m Scottish. The correction didn’t seem to land with him, whether he didn’t care or he thought Ireland and Scotland were one in the same, I couldn’t be sure…

So we get to the Irish bar, the home of not my people, and I can already tell it was a terrible idea to agree. There was no atmosphere and despite the few other patrons, the service was sloooooooow. My hope for a quick drink followed by a quick escape was dwindling.

And when he suggested he might want a second one, I made a comment about wanting an early night before a 5.30am workout tomorrow but again, the comment didn’t land. Or maybe he just chose to ignore it?

So he had another while I nursed my first cider, and when eventually he was finished and we agreed to leave, of course the server took forever to bring the bill. In the time we were waiting, I decided I’d already wasted enough time and rather than play out the whole “I’ll text you”, “let’s do this again” thing, I decided to just say then and there that it had been good to meet him but I didn’t feel he was that interested in finding out about me, aka “you’ve asked me next to nothing throughout the last hour and a half”.

He said it took him some time to warm up, and he wasn’t sure what he was looking for anyway, having not long moved to Vancouver. Both of those were valid points but would it have been too much to ask for him to have seemed at least semi-interested during our date?

When the bill finally arrived, I made the executive decision not to even offer to pay for my cider. My time was worth the $6.75. In fact, that was a bargain. I was just glad it was over. As I watched him pay the bill though I noticed he didn’t tip. Nothing. Zero. $0. Oh wow. I was mortified. If I’d had cash on me I would have done a Ross in Friends when he tipped on the dinner with Rachel and her Dad. I almost wanted to apologise to the server as we left. Or go back in later and give him a tip. 

Now I was really glad it was over. We hugged goodbye, I hurriedly left and texted O. So much for spreading them eggs around.

Next post…

…previous post

OVER & OUT – PART 4 OF 4

divorcedanddatingat302 Comments

Jul-2017

How do you ignore your gut? Should you even try? Or should you just always go with it? Even when you want it to be wrong?

After the weekend of distant texting, by the time O texted on the Sunday night my gut was on full red alert. He sent a half assed text telling me they’d won the basketball tournament, and that was about it. My reply was that I guessed we weren’t doing dinner? He replied apologising, saying he didn’t realise he wouldn’t be back til later. It felt insincere. And I was majorly pissed off.  But mostly, I felt panicked. I felt panicked that things were changing and I couldn’t control them and I didn’t understand them.

I told him that I didn’t want to have to deal with inconsistency. He couldn’t go from being the texter of the century (while always claiming he wasn’t a texter) to essentially being MIA for 24 hours.

Here’s the thing with consistency when it comes to communication – I don’t need 24/7 communication but I do need 24/7 consistency. So if you only text me once every three days, that’s fine, but keep doing that. If you text me once every hour (don’t. I don’t think anyone should text someone that much), then you better be setting your alarm to keep that shit going so I don’t think you’ve died. Granted that’s an extreme example but my point is, don’t fuck with the consistency of communication. Yes life happens, yes it’s not always possible, but that’s why it’s important to think about the levels of expectation you’re setting. And that’s why numerous times I’d questioned O about the likelihood of this high bar being kept up there. And he’d always insisted it wasn’t a problem…

We didn’t end up seeing each other on the Sunday night and, in fact, it was eight days until I saw him again. Over the week his texts became less and less frequent and he dodged every opportunity for us to meet – he was busy. We eventually made preliminary plans to meet on Saturday. I was actually busy on Saturday, I was heading out of town to stay with my adopted Canadian Granny, but I didn’t want to be the blocker so I said it worked for me. And as I headed for the skytrain for a night out the city, I got the text I knew was coming from O – “really sorry, I don’t think I can meet today, I’ve thrown my back out”.

I could have written it myself, albeit the back injury was an added flair of an excuse. I had fully expected it. So why did the disappointment sting my eyes? Why did the expected call off still result in brimming tear ducts?

I think I knew at this point things weren’t going to be the same again. There would be no reverting change in his behaviour that could now not make me question him, question his integrity, question his motives, question his honesty.

Despite being on the Skytrain, heading out the city, I replied and suggested I go over with some food for him and asked if there was anything else I could take him. Banking on the fact he’d decline I didn’t pause my trip to White Rock for a single step. Expectedly, he declined the offer but said “maybe tomorrow”. I decided at that point that I’d be seeing him the next day whether it meant I had to doorstep him or not.

Later that afternoon, sat in Granny’s garden, surrounded by her beautiful potted plants with the sun beating down, I told her the whole story over numerous glasses of wine. And what she said to me still sticks in my mind – “when you’ve explained to someone how inconsistency causes you anxiety, you can’t believe someone only has good intentions for you when they then become inconsistent and seem unconcerned for the anxiety they must know they’re causing you.”

It was followed up with some sage advice about trying to draw a line in the sand and not giving anymore of myself to him. I realised I’d already given more than I would have liked, more than I intended to, more than I felt comfortable with. I’d been swept away by the whole thing and now I was left feeling adrift. Granny did a great job at lifting my spirits over dinner but there was no denying the growing sadness and confusion.

The next day as I returned back to Vancouver, I lured him into a false sense of security – I hate games, but fuck you – getting him to confirm he was still at home in bed and his flatmate was out. With that info in hand, I told him I was taking him coffee and his favourite doughnut from Tim Horton’s and I’d be over in half an hour. I didn’t ask, I told him. I left him no choice.

And here’s where I know I differ from some people. For some, as soon as someone backs away from them they put their own walls up, turn the other way and don’t look back. I, on the other hand, like to get right in amongst the shit pile and stir it up. It’s like I can’t be done with it until I’ve tested it to the nth degree. Partly it’s because I’m a hopeless optimist and hope that one day my gut will be wrong and someone backing away will all of a sudden change their mind and come running back. And I know the retort to that is why would you want someone who wasn’t sure about you? Don’t ask me, I’m all sorts of fucked up.

It’s also partly because if someone wants to end something with me I want them to say it. I want to make them say the words. Both for their discomfort and my closure. I’d rather be stabbed with a knife than slapped with a fish. Does that even make sense as a saying? I’m going with it. Like, if you’re going to walk away from me, then tell me, give me the brutally honest reason, don’t just leave me hanging.

So looking to get into the middle of this shit pile, I went round to O’s and for the first time since I’d known him, it was awkward. Not just because his 6’5 frame was barely able to move – apparently the back injury wasn’t a lie – but it was clear something had changed. He was in pain. And I  wasn’t very sympathetic. I couldn’t be. I couldn’t bring myself to give any more of myself. The doughnut and coffee were the extent of it.

In the 45 minutes I was there, one of his best friends came to pick something up with his girlfriend. It was another awkward interaction, with O briefly introducing me, while I sat on the edge of his bed like some pathetic groupie. They left and there was more awkward chat between us. He commented that I seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. He wasn’t wrong. But I wasn’t enjoying mine.

I left him in bed to go and meet friends at the beach, as had always been my Sunday plan before my impromptu home delivery to the invalid. I never intended to stay at his for long, I just wanted to see him, look him in the eyes, try to get a read on the situation. But I think all I’d managed to deduce in my time there was that the situation was fucked up.

He clearly knew I was pissed off but I couldn’t tell if he cared. We texted a little that afternoon, while I was enjoying a sunny beach day and he was feeling sorry for himself in bed. I still couldn’t muster any sympathy.

When he asked me to go round for dinner the next night, I was slightly surprised but I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not. Maybe he was going to take the opportunity to chat about things, have those open and honest (and maybe difficult) conversations that we both agreed during our first date we preferred to games and confusion and things left unsaid.

Turns out, he just wanted someone to snuggle with on the sofa. He’d made it to work that day and we met halfway between our apartments as he walked home. His 6’5 frame stood out even more when he walked with a limp. On this occasion I did feel some sympathy for him. He was clearly in a lot of pain, so I offered to take his backpack, cause I’m nice like that and despite how confused I was by the whole situation, I apparently couldn’t help myself. We stopped for food on the way home and continued back to his for a night of laying on the sofa.

There was no explanation for his distance, no reference even made to it. It was like those eight days of us not seeing each other, and the diminishing texts, hadn’t even happened. We had sex that night, despite his back injury – funny what guys can rally for – but even it wasn’t the same. Maybe because he wasn’t his usual energetic self, maybe because part of me wondered how many times this was likely to happen again, or if in fact this might be the last.

The rest of the week was more of the same, infrequent texts and an inability to meet up. I stopped attempting to make plans by the Thursday. I was sick of suggesting times, making myself available, being accommodating in the hope he might actually say yes. There’s only so many times you can be told no. I wish I was one of those people who only needed to be told no once… alas, I’m a sucker for punishment.

My anxiety was out of control, my mind a constant whirring of how the situation might be rectified, why he might have changed his mind, what I could do to change it back… talk about mental torture. I threw myself into working out. And trying to ignore the deafening silence from my phone.

It got to the weekend and I had no idea what his plans were. I made my own and adjusted to the deep, sinking feeling that had been perpetually in my stomach for the last two weeks.

Waking on Sunday morning at 8am I read a text from him that he’d sent at 3am – “any chance you’re having a late night?” Was it a drunk booty call or was he just finishing work (not uncommon for him) and he wanted to talk?

I responded saying I had but clearly not as late as some people and asked if he was ok. And then I waited. And waited. And waited for a reply. At 4pm, I decided I’d pretty much had enough. “So you’re going to text me at 3am, I reply when I wake up and then you go back to ignoring me as you’ve done for much of the past week? Really?”

Interestingly, that got his attention. He replied saying he’d been meaning to call me. “And yet here we are, texting” I replied. My phone rang almost instantly. I gave myself a couple of seconds to compose myself, or at least try to. There was a fairly high chance I was going to lose it – whether “it” was my temper or my tears, I wasn’t sure.

He said he knew he’d been off, he knew he’d been busy, he knew things had been different. I said I was disappointed with the inconsistency. He said he was sorry, he’d never meant to let me down, but that he also knew he didn’t have space in his life for someone right now, for a number of reasons.

He didn’t have space for someone in his life right now.

The very thing I’d asked him a number of times and he said we’d figure it out. Wow. I guess what he meant when he said we’d “figure it out” is that he would just wait til he came to the startling realisation himself that he didn’t have space and choose to do a great impression of a ghost rather than actually talk to me about it.

So then why the fuck would he text me at 3am and ask if I’d “had a late night by any chance” then? Cause he wanted to have the chat then? I’m going to guess not. Because he wanted to see if he could squeeze one more sexscapade out of me before he ghosted me entirely? More likely.

My mind was racing while he spoke. I had so much I wanted to say to him. So much I wanted to shout at him. And instead I just asked “so that’s it?” and he said “yeah, so that’s it.” And just like that it was done. We said goodbye, I hung up and finally lost it. My tears, that is.

To say I was disappointed, is an understatement. Mostly I was disappointed in myself. Mostly because I knew I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be swept along, because I knew I was opening myself up to getting hurt again, because I knew it was going too fast. But he assured me, he said all the right things, convinced me he wouldn’t be leaving an O shaped hole in my life anytime soon. Four weeks later, that’s exactly what I was left with.

I’ll never understand how he ever thought he was going to make it work with his schedule or with whatever other issues he had going on. I’ll never understand how he could sit and talk about consistency and honesty and communication and then let things go the way they did.

And once again with a guy, I had to go looking for the answers. They just start to drift a little, but not far enough that it’s undeniable, they deny anything’s changed or they feel differently, until it gets to a point where I have to call them out on it. I’m not one of these people that can just let it go or fizzle out. I want that last conversation, I want at least some reasoning or explanation even if it’s bullshit & makes no sense. But it’s always me who has to ask the question. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I didn’t.

But once again, that feeling of being cast adrift was with me, making itself at home within me. It had become the thing I feared the most. The feeling I don’t know how to quell and the feeling which causes self doubt in me like nothing else. Wondering if anything will ever work out, if anyone will ever live up to what they say they’re going to do, if there’s something inherently wrong with me. I wasn’t sure I could do it again. I honestly felt like I’d reached the tipping point.

I had more questions than answers, and more concerns than confidences. A friend said to me a while afterwards, realising I was struggling to come to terms with the swiftness of the zero to 100 to zero journey we’d been on – “you don’t need to know why he did what he did, just know that it wasn’t an accident.” I have no clue what happened on his end, what changed in his mind. All I know is how I felt and what I did. And those are the things I can learn from.

I didn’t want to write this story. It still stings. Not because I still harbour feelings. Unless that feeling is confusion. I like closure, I like tying up loose ends, I like closing the loop – I was able to do none of that with this situation. Him saying he didn’t have space for me or anyone in his life right now would have been an acceptable explanation (let’s forget the ghosting that took place to get there), except for the fact that two weeks later, I saw him on Bumble again, with an updated profile which now read “looking to date a tall girl”….

To O,

Fuck you.

Sincerely, this 5’4 shortarse

 

Next post…

…previous post

Ok, Woah – Part 3 of 4

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Jul-2017

After the epic first date weekend (is a first date weekend a thing? We made it a thing), we texted a little throughout our work day on the Monday after he’d left in the morning – which was day four of seeing each other. Somewhere in amongst everything I’d learnt about him, he’d said his days were super busy and super long so someone who could appreciate the “have a great day” sign off being the end of chit chat (as I’d done when we were making plans for our first date) was on his page.

Around 9.30pm on Monday he texted to see if I had time to chat. I was just climbing into bed (what can I say, I’m a granny when it comes to bedtimes) so he called and, what I thought was a 15 minute call, turned out to be over an hour when I checked as we hung up. He was easy to talk to and the time passed without me realising. He shared a lot about his day, and his business, and his goals, and his excitement surrounding it all. I liked hearing him so jazzed about everything that was happening. 

On the call he brought up that he was a little concerned by how different we were in some respects. When I’d informed him that I eat the same thing for breakfast and lunch every weekday, because I often make poor diet decisions when I give myself choices, I knew he couldn’t get his head around that. And when I told him, in response to his burgeoning business plans, that I had no interest in running a business or being my own boss, but I still had my own goals and motivations, I think he worried that his lifestyle wouldn’t suit me. I assured him it wasn’t a concern for me and I admired people who were developing their lives in that way. It just wasn’t for me personally. We were definitely different in some ways, but none of them really concerned me at that point.

He asked if I wanted to do something with him on Tuesday night and, knowing how busy his week was, it was nice to see he was making time for me. At that point all I really wanted to do was hang out with him and talk more. I felt like every time we’d spent time together up to that point, whether it was lying in bed in the morning or of a drunken evening, we had learnt a lot about each other and I was pretty fascinated by him.

Tuesday ended up not going to plan and he didn’t get finished with work until after 9pm so he ended up just bringing food round to mine – day five of seeing each other – and he stayed the night – day six of seeing each other.

After some very early morning / middle of the night sex, which might just be my favourite kind, I went to the gym while he slept. Later, he walked me towards work, which was on his way home – it was all very convenient – and he took my hand. In the stark daylight of a Wednesday morning I asked if he was comfortable with that, he replied with “if you’re going to wake me up at 4am like that, then I’m definitely ok holding hands”. I wasn’t complaining about any of it. 

A couple of blocks from my office a female voice from behind us, very brightly shouted “good morning!” I presumed, as I always do, that it couldn’t be someone that knew me so turned around expecting it to be a friend of his. It turned out to be one of my colleagues who was always interested in my latest and (sometimes not) greatest dating stories and she could not have been more delighted to see me walking hand in hand with a tall, hot brown guy. I did the dutiful introductions and just as we got to where he went left and we went straight, I presumed, similarly to the date on Friday night in Yaletown, that he wouldn’t kiss me. But no, he leaned in, kissed me, and wished me a good day. Needless to say the remainder of the walk to the office was me explaining the whole story to my colleague.

The crazy week continues. After saying goodbye on Wednesday morning, we went out to dinner on the Wednesday night to my favourite fried chicken place, and then he stayed til the Thursday morning – day seven of seeing each other. And then I saw him on Friday for a drink after work – day eight of seeing him.

Ok, woah.

Seeing someone every single day for eight days since our first date seemed crazy. I’d loved it… but it made me incredibly nervous. And honestly, I like myself, but I’m not sure even I’d choose to see myself for eight days straight, if I didn’t kind of have to, you know?

When he suggested the drink on Friday, a week since our first date, I at first said I couldn’t, I was going to meet a friend, which was true though I wasn’t going out until later.  I was reluctant – I desperately felt like we needed to pump the breaks, cool it before we blew it, calm the hell down. All of which I told him, but he asked me if I could squeeze in at least one drink before I met my friend, and honestly, I did want to see him, despite those nagging feelings, so I agreed.

Sitting out on a patio in the middle of downtown, I mentioned again to O that I was concerned about the flip side of us seeing each other so much was that he would change his mind and he would go in the other direction. I had no concern that it would be me. I knew I liked him, I knew I wanted to continue getting to know him. I knew my only concern came from my fear of getting comfortable with having him in my life and then having to learn to live without him.

He told me to get out of my head. He told me there was nothing to worry about. And he assured me my fears weren’t going to come about. He said “I don’t know what’s going on, I never want to text someone as much as I do with you, I’ve been thinking about you so much during the days, and I don’t know the last time I spent this amount of time with someone. And none of it feels weird with you. So I don’t know what’s happening but we’ll figure it out.”

I desperately wanted to not get in my own way of whatever this was or whatever it might become. I didn’t want my over-thinking to ruin something so fun. But going from zero to 100 so quick, I was struggling to see how this wasn’t going to end badly. I didn’t trust that it could continue – I mean, it couldn’t, no one could or should sustain seeing each other every day of the week. I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t get bored. I didn’t believe in fairytales.

Later that night, after our drink and after I’d long finished my catchup with my friend, he ended up coming to mine, it was actually more like early Saturday morning around 3am, when he finished work – day nine of us seeing each other. He’d suggested coming over when I’d seen him earlier and I’d said for him to call when he was finished and see if I was awake, though I kind of thought it would be earlier. As proven by the fact I didn’t put my phone on silent, god forbid I missed his call.

When he did call, unsurprisingly I wanted to see him, and the thought of falling asleep with him in my bed had quickly become much more appealing than the thought of falling asleep by myself. I don’t know how I got so comfortable, so quickly, sharing a bed with a 6’5 guy.

Saturday morning, I made us breakfast before we both went about our days and then on the Sunday night I went over to his and he cooked dinner for us – day ten of us seeing each other. It was only week two of us having Sunday dinner together but I already knew I would totally be ok with it becoming a weekly thing. Lord help me, was I already forming traditions in my head? I didn’t stay at his that night because I really wanted to try and start implementing some distance. A safe distance. As tempting as it was to climb into bed with him.

We didn’t see each other on the Monday, the first day since our first date we hadn’t seen each other. A whole ten days later… So I finally managed to carve out some distance. That’s not to say we didn’t text each other all day.

The distance was quickly reduced to zero again when on the Tuesday we went to the outdoor cinema in Stanley Park to watch Toy Story – a movie I’d actually never fully watched. It was something I had longed to do for a date since I first experienced the outdoor movies in the park in my first Summer in Vancouver. It’s such a perfect date night – laying in the park with the movie starting as the sun sets past the beach. It was especially perfect with O, he lent me his sweater that entirely drowned me and he made a great 6’5 pillow.

In a bid to try and keep things normal and not put all of my eggs in one O-shaped basket, I went on a date with someone else on the Wednesday night. The long and short of that date story is, it was terrible. And as soon as I was done, I texted O.

On Thursday he came and stayed again, once he was done with work and I was home from a night out with friends. On the Friday we worked from my bed until lunchtime. We both had the luxury of working from home when we wanted and it was perfect to be able to take advantage of it together. He went to get us coffee as I took an 8am call. Then I made us breakfast as he made a 10am call. It was very, very comfortable.

When he left at lunchtime, we weren’t sure when we’d see each other over the weekend but we said we’d figure it out. He was playing in a basketball tournament all weekend and I had a day at the races with friends on Saturday but we thought either Saturday night depending what time the first day of the tournament finished, or Sunday once he was done with it. I had no problem with the lack of concrete plans. I hadn’t intended to have most of the plans we’d ended up with over the past two weeks but somehow they’d always been figured out. 

I texted O in the morning to wish him luck but my Saturday was a whirlwind getting ready for the races and then an afternoon of drinking so when we finally sat down for dinner back in Yaletown around 7pm I realised it was strange I hadn’t heard from him. At all. Granted, he’d been playing basketball all day. Although not ALL day because tournaments don’t work like that. But I tried to calm the concern that came creeping in and instead reason with myself that this was just normal communication levels that I should expect.

He did reply later that evening, saying it had been a good day, his phone had been in his bag and he was staying out where the tournament was that night but would see me tomorrow. It was a short message and he didn’t ask about my day. Strange… But it was a message, so again, I tried to quiet my nagging mind.

I had assumed that as I didn’t see him on Saturday, we’d likely end up having dinner on the Sunday night, by the time he got back from the tournament, and given our two weeks young tradition… but what is it they say about assuming? Yeah, I’m an ass. I messaged him around lunchtime to ask what time he thought he’d be back. I was trying to plan my afternoon and you know how much I love knowing what I’m doing. He didn’t reply. I guessed his phone was in his bag again.

I went to the park to try and preoccupy myself and enjoy some sunbathing on the beautiful, sunny Sunday afternoon. But, as I found out, sunbathing solo doesn’t actually preoccupy your mind. It just allows for a tonne of time to go over every possible scenario that may explain why he’d been so absent that weekend.

It wasn’t even that he’d been THAT absent. If it had been any other two week old “relationship” I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. But this had been different. This was like floating along on a high of communication and plans and consistency, and then falling off a fucking cliff. Granted, it had only been a day and a half since I’d seen him but… something didn’t feel right. 

Why was it that I couldn’t just put it down to him playing basketball? Why couldn’t I just be chill about it? Why was I unable to just accept that it hadn’t even been 24 hours since I’d last heard from him, there was no reason to panic? Why was it that my gut was telling me something different?

Unfortunately, my gut had pretty much never been wrong before, gut feelings rarely are. But I so hoped that maybe, just possibly my gut was monumentally judging the situation wrongly this time.

Next post…

…previous post