Category: Dating

Oh Wow – Part 2 of 4

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Jul-2017

I think I got 2 hours sleep after our first date night of drinks, and meeting friends, and seeing each other’s apartments, and dancing in the living room, and incredible sex… and I was more than a little tired. As was O, so we stayed in bed quite late on the Saturday morning, chatting, laughing at how this wasn’t how we’d expected a date for a few drinks after work would end up, and having more of that – you guessed it – incredible sex (I’m not even going to apologise for it!). While still in bed, I had to reject a WhatsApp call from my Mum and text her that I couldn’t answer it because I wasn’t in my own bed (Mama didn’t raise no liar)… #awkward

We finally got up and showered together before he got ready to go to his parents’ and I headed home. PSA – showering with a 6’5 guy makes for some logistically awkward moments. Also some bloody cold moments, like when he entirely blocks the water flow from reaching you.

We both had busy Saturdays of visiting parents and going on a birthday night out (him) and going to the gym then going on an afternoon long brewery crawl (me). He did say before we left each other in the middle of downtown that he fully welcomed drunken texts and expected to see (me) the next day. Despite him telling me on Friday that he’s not a great texter, it wasn’t long before my phone buzzed with a message from him asking how the breweries were.

We texted on and off during the day and at 9pm he asked what the chances were he’d see me that night. I told him it was pretty high, but when I ended up heading home around 10.30pm I presumed he’d be out later so went to bed and only woke up when some other fuckboy called me at 1.30am. Don’t ask me why I don’t put my phone on silent.

O had messaged at 12.30am asking if I was still awake so albeit that it was then an hour later, I called him to see where he was but he didn’t answer. I then sent him a text that he did reply to and, despite it being middle of the night, me being fully in bed and asleep, I somehow ended up agreeing to get up out of bed and going to meet him at the McDonald’s a block from my place. I know, makes no sense to me either. Even just 36 hours in, he was definitely starting to seriously affect my sleep and I should have hated it more than I did, which was not at all.

By the time I got there though, O’s friend whose birthday they had been celebrating and was visiting from out of town had shown up at McDonald’s (he’d gone MIA earlier in the evening) and now needed to be let into O’s place where he was staying. They were both pretty drunk but O seemed to have his shit together, despite stinking of weed. So I suggested he take his friend home, I’d wait for the food that he’d ordered and and then take it back to mine where O would come once his friend was safely tucked up at home. It really was handy that we lived so close.

Standing in McDonald’s still half asleep, I wondered what the hell I was doing. But there was something about him… Clearly he was making me do crazy things, which worried me slightly. But let’s be honest, I’m never going to turn down the chance to snack on a stray fry.

I texted him once I was home letting him know his McDonald’s was awaiting him, and he replied saying “you’re quickly turning into a unicorn”. Well, you do what you can, right? [insert hair bob emoji lol]

Twenty minutes later I went down to meet him outside my building, as I wasn’t sure the buzzer / elevator instructions would be entirely digestible for him that night. Watching his tall frame come lumbering over the street, he definitely seemed a little worse for wear. As we got into my apartment, he got undressed almost immediately so was sat on my sofa, in his boxers, munching his McDonald’s like it was the most normal thing in the world, which was only marginally strange given I’d known him at that point for so little time. But for being an “8 out of 10 drunk” as he said the next day he was, he was still pretty well put together.

Apparently all his friends loved the story of how I wanted to watch the rugby right after we finished having sex and the love bite (which I’d accidentally given him, did I not mention that? Yeah… good God who am I?) was a constant source of amusement for his friends all day. But his reply to them was always to say the sex was absolutely worth it so he really didn’t care. I, on the other hand, was mortified.

I slept a little more on Saturday night than I had on Friday night but only by a couple of hours. We had a lovely morning of snuggling, which I’m pretty sure is what Sunday mornings are made for and which later led to him calling me “a little cuddle monster”. But he seemed to need more sleep so I left him in bed while I skyped my family back home. After having to reject my Mum’s call the day before, and having to explain why I was kind of whispering that morning, I had to tell them the abridged version of the man in my bed… Always fun family chats!

I went back to bed for a bit but I was pretty antsy which he fully called me out on when he woke up. He asked if he’d done anything stupid the night before but I assured him he really was fine. He apologised for gatecrashing my place after his night out, and thanked me again for getting his McDonald’s. He was very appreciative and maybe a little sheepish.

Part of me felt like I’d done too much, I’d been too nice, too accommodating, too available. Was being willing to get up in the middle of the night to meet him when he was TUI (Texting Under the Influence) me giving myself too easily to him? But I had loved seeing him again, falling asleep next to him again was comforting, waking up beside him again was exciting. But I’d started to feel conflicted about my actions, which only fed my antsy-ness.

He had brunch with friends to go to, which seemed like a total struggle for him in his slightly hungover state – I was intrigued how much alcohol was required to get a guy of that size drunk. Meanwhile I was excited to get up and get the laundry on and get out to exercise. We were very different people that morning! I needed a quiet but productive Sunday after a weekend which had ended up not at all like I’d envisaged.

We texted a little during the day and it seemed like his Sunday was getting boozy, brunch was followed by beers on the beach, then around 5.30pm he messaged and asked when I’d be eating dinner. I had been napping, thanks to a serious lack of sleep the previous two nights, but texted back around 6.30pm to say I’d be eating within the next hour, in my head the text finished with “because I want to be in bed at 8pm” but I refrained from sending that part to him. At which point he said he wanted to cook for me.

He had said something in the morning about making up for his drunkenness by cooking me dinner, but I never really thought it would happen. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it if I’m honest. I was concerned about seeing him 3 days in a row, I didn’t want to see him if he was super drunk (Saturday night drunk was one thing, Sunday day drunk was another) and I felt that maybe I should make myself a little more unavailable. But he was so excited to cook for me and having someone cook dinner was always a treat (a symptom of long term singledom), so soon enough he was at mine suggesting he cook fish tacos. When should I tell him I don’t eat fish?

On his arrival, he was a bit of a drunken, beach mess and I slightly started to regret my decision to say yes to dinner. Plus I could feel my anxiety kick in about my scheduled bedtime not going to plan and just generally not making good decisions. I really like order, I really like routine, I really like knowing what the fuck is going on and this weekend had contained none of those things. I also knew that sometimes I needed to be a little more flexible, a little more easy going and a little more spontaneous. So I was trying to find balance.

We left mine to go back to his place for him to shower and change before we went grocery shopping for dinner, and the whole time dinner just felt like it was getting later and later and I was becoming more anxious… My anxiety was apparently obvious to him and as he was getting ready to shower he questioned why I seemed so reluctant to be having dinner with him. I tried to explain about my general preference for control and plans and that unexpected changes cause me anxiety, all the while feeling very vulnerable sharing these fairly deep seated fears with someone I’d known for such a short time.

He knelt down beside me as I was sitting on the sofa, towel wrapped around his waist, and said “if anyone understands about anxiety I get it, as a result of the basketball injuries, I suffered from depression and from that developed anxiety, so I get where you’re coming from. Just know I understand” and then he kissed me. It was incredibly sweet and my heart skipped a beat. For being such a big, bullish guy, he was also sensitive and tender.

I loved his openness to being sweet and complimentary, like when we were dancing on Friday night and as he stroked my side he said “damn, you’re fit, how did I not notice that before?!” Or when on the Saturday he said he’d found himself checking his phone and hoping I’d texted him while he was with his friends. And despite him not being a texter, he wanted to text me all the time. Or when he was at the beach on Sunday but had apparently just wanted to be hanging out with me.

But was it love bombing (someone blinding you with grand gestures and hollow words) or was it genuine interest. I couldn’t be sure. On both the Saturday and Sunday I’d tried to make sure I wasn’t driving the contact, that he was the one that reached out first both times, but did that really give me an indication of true intent? It was too early to know for sure.

He smoked a joint on our way from his place to the supermarket and it seemed to help him sober up(?) a little. At least that, and the shower, and change of clothes seemed to have helped so by the time we got to the store, shopping was easy and super fun, but everything seemed like it would be fun with him. I finally admitted at that point that I didn’t actually eat fish but I’d try the fish tacos if he promised he wouldn’t be offended if I didn’t like them. He agreed but promised I would love them.

After dinner, and me finding I did actually love his fish tacos, we were talking about how surprising the weekend had been, as we had a few times already since we’d met. My surprises for the three days of the weekend were him kissing me outside Tacofino, him texting me while out on Saturday, and the fact he was able to make me comfortable enough on Sunday night, despite my spontaneity anxiety, to be able to enjoy dinner with him. His 3 surprises were me saying I’d see him after meeting my friend for dinner on Friday (also me giving up my self restraint to sleep with him), meeting him at McDonald’s on Saturday and letting him stay (also the Saturday morning sex being so good), and me agreeing to a drunk guy coming to cook me dinner on Sunday.

It was fair to say neither of us had expected the weekend to go the way it did but lying on the sofa discussing the many events of the past 48 hours, it felt crazily normal.

He ended up staying over until Monday morning, after he’d said something about “well if I was staying…” and I said “well you’re welcome to” which caught him off guard but, honestly, it had been a lovely weekend and having someone cook me dinner on a Sunday night, and to watch Netflix and snuggle with until it was bedtime was unbelievably lovely. I fucking missed that!

Monday morning was interesting though. He for sure was feeling the effects of a heavy weekend, and the lack of sleep had him more than a little grumpy, though I could tell he was desperately trying to be fun and chatty before he headed home to get some more sleep and I got ready for work.

Within our first weekend of knowing each other we’d each met a close friend of the other’s, stayed at each other’s apartments, had sex (including some stuff that maybe takes some people more than a few dates to get to..), drunk texted, watched sports, showered together, went grocery shopping, he cooked for me, stayed over on a school night. It was a lot, and a lot more than expected, but it all felt really lovely.

I noticed throughout the weekend that I kept thinking “oh, people are going to judge me for going this hard and fast” or feeling pressured to make choices based on the so called “rules of dating” – don’t sleep together on the first date, don’t always be available, don’t give him everything he wants right away… I started to really psyche myself out and there were definitely moments of wondering if I should have been doing any of it. But then there’s the other side, when people say “when it feels right just go with it” or “if you want to, then why not?” So it was a conflicted weekend but by the end of it I was feeling more comfortable with my choices.

I also knew that O was nothing like I thought someone I would date would be, yet the ease with which I was finding spending time with him didn’t match that mis-match in expectations. The level of comfort we both had with each other, and had from the first date drinks, was unexpected and was rare in all the dates I’d been on. I hoped it wasn’t misplaced but we seemed to be on the same page.

I’d said to O on the Sunday night that my only concern with things being this unexpected, and ever so slightly full on, is that one of us (but I really meant him) would all of a sudden have a change of heart or get freaked out and run the other way. And that all I hoped was that there would be a conversation rather than just a slow retreat. He agreed, saying he was a much bigger fan of people having difficult, but necessary, honest conversations, than people getting into their own heads and things getting fucked up by not communicating. In that regard, it was like listening to myself.

But…it sounded like his last relationship was a bit of a head fuck with a serious lack of intimacy and I wasn’t sure he’d fully come to terms with that. He was also only just coming out the end of a long injury lay off and was dealing with the effects physically and mentally of that. He was building his business and, despite surrounding himself with seemingly older friends and mentors, he was only 26 (did I not mention that? Oops my bad) and had said himself he was unemotional. So expectations around any blossoming relationship needed to be kept realistic.

Also, up to this point O’s actions hadn’t entirely matched his words – he wanted to go slow but we slept together on our first date. He said he was unemotional but he’d been super open about his feelings (maybe that’s different?)… but each time the actions were “better” than his spoken intentions so I wasn’t complaining, but that’s where it got confusing for me. I didn’t want to be hearing one thing and having to presume he’d do something else. My head doesn’t need that type of messing about.

I remember my therapist Julia saying about the Canadian DJ situation, “you don’t necessarily want fireworks, the fireworks fizzle, they die out and then what are you left with?” At the time I thought “but how can something that feels so incredibly amazing be wrong?!” Turns out she knows what she’s talking about, as if I had ever doubted her. That situation went so wrong, so quickly. So I was glad it wasn’t feeling like crazy fireworks with O, that’s not to say it didn’t feel great but it just felt… easy.

Despite the element of confusion, I felt a sense of calm about and around O, though I couldn’t quite place where it came from. Was it because it was just “right” or was it because I didn’t fully believe it might go anywhere, because it never does? I guessed only time would tell.

Next post…

…previous post

O – Part 1 of 4

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Jul-2017

Leaving work on the Friday afternoon, I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect from my date with O. Looking back at his online dating profile I couldn’t quite pinpoint why I’d swiped right but, in all of our messaging, he seemed like a nice guy who could hold a conversation and had the balls to make plans fairly quickly – qualities I admired. I knew he was Persian and 6’5 but when I walked outside and saw him, I really hadn’t expected such an athletic looking, hot, brown guy, with a jawline that could cut glass, albeit covered by a very well trimmed beard. It was a very pleasant surprise.

He’d texted to say he was outside my office, not where I would usually want to meet someone but he lived close by and for whatever reason I agreed for him to come there and then we’d walk somewhere for happy hour.  He was on the phone as I came out so we had a quick hug mid-conversation and he intimated an apology before finishing his call off to the side.

Coming back over, he said “I’m so sorry, let’s do that hi again”, he gave me another, fuller hug with those fairly muscly arms I’d noticed under his t-shirt when I’d been watching him on the phone. It was an incredibly comforting, friendly hug that didn’t feel like it was from a stranger, almost as if I’d known him for longer than a minute. He quickly suggested a place to go for patio drinks and, as we walked from Gastown to Yaletown, we had great chats about working in tech, the business he was starting, how he got there and his basketball background.

He loved our shared tech experience, saying he’d never been able to have those chats on a date before – “those chats” being about software and processes. I’m not sure I’d ever had those chats on a date before either, given that for the most part a lot of people would consider them more than a little boring.

We got a seat on the patio at the bar he’d suggested, but it took us a while to order drinks because we were chatting so much – it was super easy and fun. We seemed to have a lot in common, we talked a little bit about dating and our views on the subject, which we came at from a similar place it seemed – we didn’t have time for games and we were looking for something substantial.

We shared our love of sports and good drinks, and how we both felt like old souls who preferred chilled nights and early bedtimes. I also found out he didn’t like scheduled sex, or waiting, he preferred calls to texts, not to ask him questions I didn’t want the answer to (thankfully I found this out by him telling me and not by asking him a question I didn’t want the answer to) and that the more comfortable I was with him, the more comfortable he’d be with me. He told me he could be unemotional, as a safety mechanism, and wouldn’t want to rush anything.

We covered all this ground before we’d even finished the second drink. It felt like a lot but these are the chats I live for! I don’t want the surface level bullshit, I want to get deep, I want to understand if there is any substance there, I want to know we align on the important stuff. It felt like he was being open, and genuine, and I loved that.

I was going to meet a friend later for dinner, which O had known when we arranged happy hour drinks. It was the perfect way for us to be able to meet knowing it couldn’t go on all night, with a safety net of an end time in case it was a first date fail. Before my dinner, we went for a walk to the seawall for some gelato. At which point I found out he doesn’t like when things bother him, like the gelato melting over his hands.

I had probably learnt more about him in the two hours we’d been on our date than in all the time I’d known some other people.

As my friend texted to say she was ready to meet for dinner, O said he was going to meet a friend over in another part of town but would walk me to the restaurant. It was nice of him to offer but it made me think he’d probably not kiss me, given that we’d be in the middle of Yaletown, crazy busy on a Friday night. And I realised I’d been hoping that our date might end with him laying it on me.

Well, no, being in the middle of after work / weekend crowds didn’t stop him and as we said bye in front of the restaurant, he leant down (there was a foot in height difference) and kissed me on the cheek, as if tentatively checking the response. Then went full in. Like full on, tongue in, hands on the face kiss.

It caught me a little off guard but Jesus! It was far from terrible and gave me total butterflies. My knees also possibly went slightly weak. It was a pretty perfect first kiss.

He smiled, said goodbye and continued walking past the restaurant. While trying to gather my composure, I turned round to the restaurant, and I see my friend standing about 10 feet from where O and I had just had that moment, and her face was a picture. Turns out she’d walked behind us the whole way along the street and had been taking pictures. Like a creeping paparazzo. But the kiss even caught her by surprise. I also realised when looking at the pictures over dinner just how short I was in comparison to him, I barely made it to his big, brawny shoulder.

Before O had left me at the restaurant, I’d told him dinner would only be an hour because my friend needed to go home to pack for a trip she was leaving for over the weekend, so he suggested that maybe we could see each other after I was finished. I was glad we’d both been on the same page about how much we were enjoying the date. It was one of those where you just never wanted to stop speaking to the person – and that had been so rare on dates recently!

Once my friend and I had scarfed down a couple of tacos and had enough of a catch up, and after a couple of texts and a phone call from me – I’d noted his comment about preferring calls to texts – O came to meet my friend and I at Tacofino. Some might say it was an intense addition to a first date but neither of us were phased by it and he seemed to enjoy being interrogated by my friend for 20 minutes.

They got on pretty well, which was actually something I realised during our drinks earlier – I felt like he would have absolutely no problem getting along with my group of friends. And I hadn’t always felt that way with guys I’d been on dates with. O and I had also discussed the spectrum of my life’s activities over drinks – from watching rugby in shitty bars to going to bougie social events – and how I needed someone who could be comfortable at both ends of the social spectrum. He seemed to totally get it and said he identified with it himself.

We left the restaurant and, after saying our goodbyes to my friend, went back to my apartment, so I could drop my laptop off seeing as I hadn’t been home since work, and then we were going to go and get another drink. He offered to wait downstairs at my apartment but I had no issues inviting him up, it was going to be a 2 minute visit and I was super comfortable with him. Albeit a fleeting thought did flash through my mind of jumping his bones when we got up there, I managed to restrain myself.

Over the course of the earlier part of the night one of his best friends had been texting about meeting up so on leaving my place he asked if I’d mind going to see his friend with him. I figured that as he’d met one of mine it was only fair and while, ordinarily, that might have made me nervous, it felt pretty natural.

By the time we met up with his friend though, he’d already made plans to go and meet other friends. I told O he should go as well if he wanted to but he said no, he wanted us to hangout and have a quiet night back at his place. It actually sounded perfect. And again, he’d seen my place so it was only fair I saw his. But again, that thought of jumping his tall, tanned bones flew through my head. I quickly pushed it to the side, as much fun as we were having, I didn’t want it to end up as just a casual hookup.

Meeting his best friend gave me another view of O. He’d made it clear to me already how important his friends were to him, they’d taken the place of older brothers, and finishing conversations with “I love you” was commonplace between them, which I’d witnessed that night while he was on the phone to his friend, and in person. I value well tended friendships, and someone who works for and is grateful for their closest relationships is someone I want to be with. Not to mention guys who are comfortable expressing themselves, especially to each other.

He lived downtown as well, turns out we only lived about 6 blocks from each other, so after a short walk we were back at his condo. It was nice, and clean, and organised and I was so thankful!

It’s a point of discussion with me and my friends – do you prefer to go to someone’s place or have them come to yours? I always want a guy to come to mine, because I know it’s clean and comfortable. You go to a guy’s place and you’ve no idea what’s waiting for you… For others the comfort in the knowledge they can get up and leave at any time and not allowing someone into their personal space makes going to the other person’s place preferrable. I digress.

Fortunately, O seemed to be pretty house proud so we settled in for a night of drinking Japanese whisky and listening to his vinyl collection – everything from Frank Ocean to the Bee Gees.

When he told me he was going to do something really cheesy I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it turns out him taking my hand to dance in the middle of his apartment, in low light, to old school Bee Gees love songs didn’t actually make me as uncomfortable as I thought it might. What did was kissing him while dancing – my neck may never be the same again, damn that height difference! But I wouldn’t have changed it, it was incredibly romantic.

After the dancing, we ended up getting a little hot and heavy on his couch and he started talking about how all week he uses “self restraint” but he didn’t want to with me. It didn’t take a genius to work out he was talking about us having sex. And while I was hugely, massively, almost indescribably attracted to him, I was really conflicted about sleeping with him on the first date. The voices in my head were telling me that this felt like it could actually go somewhere so don’t fuck it up by giving it all up so easily. But those voices didn’t take long to be drowned out by the fact that I really did want to sleep with him and he didn’t seem like he’d just disappear afterwards…

But first I had to shower, I felt pretty disgusting from being in the same clothes from a day at work, I stupidly hadn’t taken the chance to change when I dropped off my laptop. And that was playing on my mind a lot. For the things I wanted him to do to me, I really wanted to feel clean. Why did it feel awkward to ask that? As if me wanting to be clean, meant I must be stinking just now?! As if asking for a shower was maybe somehow asking for too much, despite the fact we were about to have sex? My brain is a riot sometimes.

So I worked up to asking him and said “ok, I absolutely can let go of my self restraint but only if I can shower”. I think O wasn’t sure what to expect after the “but” and he was delighted it turned out to be something he was more than onboard with. I tried to ignore the fact my legs also needed to be shaved but you can’t have everything…

Is it just me that finds that if I haven’t shaved my legs I will always end up having sex? And if I have preened my body hair to within an inch of its life, I will undoubtedly end up having no sexual encounters? It’s like if I want to have sex, I should just not shave and go out – BOOM! Sex guaranteed.

A quick shower later and we were in his bedroom for some incredible sex. His body was in great shape and the height issue during our dance make out was not an issue in bed – what is it they say? You’re all the same height lying down?

The sex was incredible, did I mention that? It was super hot, and comfortable, and that athletic body I’d clocked at the start of the night was a good indicator of his endurance, if you know what I mean. And we had fun! Isn’t that what sex is supposed to be? I know when you’re sleeping with someone for the first time fun can sometimes be passed over for just getting to know each other but it didn’t feel like that at all. Mid-summer, late night sex, with the city bustling 20-odd floors below us, after an eventful, multi-stop first date – this was Sex and The City worthy.

After the incredible sex (wait did I already use that descriptor?), he leaned over to fix the music on the iPad on his bed stand and, as he did, I asked what the time was. It was around 1am and happened to be just after the British and Irish Lions rugby game had started in New Zealand, which had kind of been on my radar to watch, thinking I’d have been home long before kickoff. Knowing how big a sports fan he was I didn’t think he’d mind if I asked to put it on, plus we were finished, so it was fine, right? Thankfully, yes, he not only was keen to watch it, he also loved the fact that was one of the first things I’d said to him after sex – “can we watch rugby?” I guess that’s not usual? Ha! And so we spent a glorious hour and a half post-sex, watching rugby and cuddling. Talk about my perfect Friday night.

Soon after the game ended in a crazy draw, we fell asleep tangled up in the sheets and each other. And it was bliss. When I said “I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect from my date with O”, I really hadn’t expected this. And it was fair to say I 100% didn’t know what to expect from the coming days / weeks…

Next post…

… previous post

Always Say Yes To A Boat

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Jul-2017

If there’s one rule I try to live by in life, and dating, it’s “always say yes to a boat”. But should the answer still be yes if it’s a first date, you’re not even sure you find the guy attractive, and said boat date is going to be with a bunch of his friends on a national holiday?

In my world, the answer is yes, still say yes to the boat. And so I found myself trying to decide what to wear to a first date on a boat on Canada Day when the (obvious) theme was red. At the time I had one thing in my closet that was red – an all-in-one playsuit. I figured I could dress it down with a pair of converse and it wouldn’t be too dressy, but cute and on theme, albeit not ideal for peeing on a boat… but you can’t have everything.

We weren’t supposed to have such an unconventional first date. We had initially arranged drinks on a Friday night, but when I got carried away having drinks beforehand with a couple of friends, they persuaded me to bail on the date and stay out with them. Which I duly did and, if I’m honest, felt very little remorse about because, well, chicks before dicks. But it definitely moved me one step closer to being the sort of Vancouver flakey dater that I hated, so really not something I wanted to get into the habit of.

He was incredibly gracious about the eleventh hour call off though, and instead he suggested we did something over the long weekend we were embarking on, like maybe watch the Canada Day fireworks. I agreed and when he then got invited onto his friends boat to watch the fireworks, he asked me to join him or said we could still just watch them as planned from land, just the two of us, as we’d already made those plans and he didn’t want to back out. A subtle dig at my Friday night bail? Maybe, but he was more than entitled.

And that’s when the “always say yes to a boat” rule came in. Because you never know how big that boat might be! It’s similar to dating, but in dating it’s not a boat whose size is of interest… it’s his brain. Get your mind out the gutter.

He suggested we meet first for a drink to ensure neither of us were crazy and to make sure I felt comfortable getting onto a boat with a total stranger. When I got to the place he’d suggested and it was closed for the day I was more than a little concerned the whole thing was a set up to get back at me for bailing on him. But when he turned up a few minutes later as I was still texting him to ask for an alternative plan, he quickly found an alternative and we sat down to have our first proper conversation after what had been weeks of texting. In fact it had been so long of back and forth that eventually I’d had to say “let’s go on a date or let’s quit the chitter chatter”. I like a text convo as much as the next basic bitch, but not with guys I haven’t even met yet.

It had given me the feeling that he wasn’t the most authoritative of guys, and in our (many days and weeks of) text conversations he’d come across as a super nice guy… Maybe too nice? I definitely had a feeling that could be the case. But nice guys shouldn’t always finish last so I gave it a chance.

He was a 35 year old Canadian, who worked in business development for a food delivery company and had recently moved to the city from Ontario. I knew from our texts that he was pretty active and had travelled a lot so we had a lot to talk about. Thankfully, Canada Day Boat Guy, as he would be known, was friendly and easy to talk to but even before we’d finished our first drink I knew I wasn’t going to be romantically interested in him.

Had we been partaking in a “normal” first date, I likely would have been ready to go after a couple of drinks, so part of me was relieved when the date moved onto the boat with 6 other people. Though as we walked down to the marina part of me was aware that I was about to essentially be stuck with these people for the next four or five hours, whether I liked it or not, as soon as we set sail.

Thankfully all of his friends were lovely, and amazed that I’d agreed to go on a first date with a guy and his mates on a boat, at night. When they put it like that I realised that, yeah, maybe it was a kind of crazy thing to agree to. But seriously… the boat rule! Unfortunately this boat wasn’t the biggest. It was a little sailboat, maybe 25 feet, but it was cute and had a BBQ on the back for some food later. And as Canada Day Boat Guy had promised, they had all the food and drink bases covered, which was pretty nice. So I just showed up with a bottle of champagne for the start of the fireworks.

The night was great, although I was aware that I spent far more time talking to everyone else than I did Canada Day Boat Guy. A couple of my boat mates were visiting from California, there was a couple from Vancouver, and it turned out that one of the other friends knew Chinese Weightlifting Firefighter, so we weren’t short of conversation. And irrespective of the company, watching the Canada Day fireworks from on the water was quite the memory maker.

Unfortunately it wasn’t the romantic moment it might have been, I guess that’s what happens when your first date includes six other people. It ain’t as cute as it sounds!

By the time the fireworks were finished I was really ready to get off the boat. It had been fun, yes, but things with Canada Day Boat Guy weren’t going anywhere and I was pretty damn tired by that point. Turns out the boat wasn’t really going anywhere either – with a severe lack of wind it took quite some time for us to get back to the marina from the harbour where we’d watched the fireworks.

When we finally made it back to land I realised it wasn’t just a matter of saying goodbye to everyone and heading home. Canadian Boat Guy and I should probably have a chat just ourselves. So we made the walk back along the marina and I felt like there was some similar resignation within him that this wasn’t going anywhere and it hadn’t quite been the first date to spark a million more. At least not with each other.

When we finally reached the gate of the dock and he was going to get on his bike and go one way and I was going to walk home the opposite way, we agreed it had been fun but maybe there wasn’t a second date in our future. It was all very amicable but he then ended it by saying “but if you see me around you can buy me a beer as payback for the boat”.

I laughed it off and agreed but afterwards I felt distinctively like it had been a dig at me, as if I somehow owed him because he’d taken me on a date and it hadn’t gone anywhere. It may not have been how he intended it, but that was entirely the way I took it. And I felt uncomfortable about it every time I thought of it afterwards.

Did he think I’d used him for the boat? Did he think I’d been rude by speaking to his friends so much? Had he expected me to go home with him? I wasn’t sure where that had come from but I decided I really didn’t care to find out. I texted him later that night to thank him for the date – as I always do after a date if he’s paid for anything, as Canada Day Boat Guy had when we first met for a drink – and the next day I deleted his number.

You should always say yes to a boat, but you shouldn’t keep saying yes if there’s nothing but the boat that you’re interested in.

Next post…

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I’ve Found It Hard To Write

divorcedanddatingat302 Comments

Oct-2018

I’ve found it hard to write because five years after my divorce papers were signed, I’m still single.

I’ve found it hard to write because it’s been difficult to find the humour, and the silver linings, and the lessons in my dating life recently.

I’ve found it hard to write because I didn’t expect my life to be like this.

I’ve found it hard to write because I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining.

I’ve found it hard to write because being vulnerable right now has me on a knife edge and I’m not entirely sure what’s on the other side.

I’ve found it hard to write because I so desperately want just one of the stories to turn out well and I know that, so far, they don’t. (spoiler alert)

I’ve found it hard to write because there are stories I don’t want to have to re-tell (but being true to what I set out to do, which was tell my story in organised, chronological order, means that I just can’t make myself skip them so instead I paused my writing).

I’ve found it hard to write because I’ve always wanted my blog to give hope, and right now I don’t feel hopeful.

I’ve found it hard to write because staring at all these failed dates in black and white on a screen doesn’t bring me comfort right now.

I’ve found it hard to write because I wish I’d made different choices in some of these stories.

I’ve found it hard to write because I’ve been keeping myself busy with all the plans in the world to avoid sitting with the feeling that there is truly something missing in my life.

I’ve found it hard to write because I don’t want to be someone who laments being single.

I’ve found it hard to write because positivity is key to me and it’s been severely lacking in my life as of late.

I’ve found it hard to write because part of me has started to feel bitter and resentful and hard done by, and that is not who I truly am.

I’ve found it hard to write because I don’t want to admit that my life feels incomplete without a relationship in it.

I’ve found it hard to write because I so want to be happy being single.

I’ve found it hard to write because I’m struggling to accept this is where I am.

I’ve found it hard to write because despite wishing the stories were different I know they’re exactly the way they’re supposed to be and one day, at some point, eventually, it’ll all make sense.

Next post…

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Jesus Take The Wheel

divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Jun-2017

I like to think I make good decisions. Ok, well I like to think I make decisions. But do you ever question your decision making ability? And wonder what the hell you were thinking when you decided on something?

Two specific summer dates had me feeling that way and they happened right after each other. Like, a day apart. It was a questionable moment for sure.

The first was with Canadian Whole Foods Manager – now, who wouldn’t want a Whole Foods discount?! But when during our date he uttered the words “it doesn’t bother me that you’re older” – he was only 27 for God’s sake! – I figured I’d be ok to pay full price for the pre-peeled oranges they sell in those plastic tubs. (Jokes, I do not buy those!)

After we’d enjoyed some pretty good tacos, which I’m always a fan of for a first date (seeing how down and dirty someone is happy to get eating tacos is important to me), we split the bill with no offer from him to pay, and I already knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t seem to have a whole lot going on in his life outside of his work and his love of photography. At least he did have a passion and he showed me some great photos on his instagram but there just wasn’t a lot else… Interestingly he said the same about his brother, whom he lived with.

He did say he wanted to move downtown from the suburb he lived in – his brother did not – but there didn’t seem to be any concrete plans for that to happen. And I was pretty sure I wasn’t ever likely to go out and visit him in in the burbs.

Despite age not normally being an issue for me, he did seem young, which made it hard to ignore. I didn’t feel like there was a lot of life experience there and that, more so than a year of birth, is important to me.

Talk over dinner was also a little bit painful, it felt laboured, and forced, and not totally fun. I wasn’t drinking, so that didn’t help and when he ordered a second beer, I kinda wanted to leave him to finish it by himself.

Instead I politely stayed but was looking forward to getting out of there and making my way home. Of course, as is always the way, it took ages to get our bill and then another age to pay. When we did eventually get outside, I immediately started to say goodbye and told him I was going to walk along the seawall, knowing he and his bike would be getting the skytrain back to where he lived. What I hadn’t banked on was him piping up with “I can walk with you and get on at a later skytrain station”. Oh god, great.

So we walked the seawall and, similarly to when Whistler Teacher Stroke Photographer walked with me, the awkwardness and my hatred for walking with a bike reared its head. It was a stilted walk along what would otherwise have been a quick route home for me.

Add to that the fact that half way along he suggested one of the views was too good for him not to take a photo of and so we stopped and he got out his camera. It was a beautiful evening, but one I’d have rather been spending by myself. Instead we also sat on a bench looking out over the water. He asked me what I was looking for in a relationship and seemed to be trying to get the conversation to a serious place.

Just as I was trying to make a joke and get us away from what I knew was futile territory – it didn’t matter what I was looking for in a partner, it wasn’t him – he did something I hadn’t been expecting. He leaned over and kissed me.

It was bold and unexpected. And, despite it not being coveted, I had to give him props for having the balls to do it. But why is it that the ones you don’t want to kiss you tend to be the ones that actually do?!

As our awkward walk home came to an end when we finally got to my turnoff, he asked if we could see each other again. I had to say no.

It was one of those times that not only did I know it was kinder to be honest, I couldn’t have lied if I’d wanted to. That was how strongly I felt about it. I like to think I’m a good liar, when I need to be – though no one should lie, lying is bad kids – but I can also find it hard to hide my true feelings from my face and this was definitely one of those moments.

He took it pretty well and said he felt we needed another date to get to know each other better. I agreed to disagree, to which he replied that maybe we could still go on some hikes together or go away for the weekend camping… I mumbled something about being busy with work. And with that final, awkward exchange, we had a brief hug and I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way up the steps to Cambie Bridge.

With that not so great date behind me, I was apprehensive going into my next first date of the week the very next day. It was also a taco date – seriously, I’m a fan – but this time it was much closer to home. In fact we discovered he lived only a couple of blocks from me so I walked by his place on the way to the taco place and we walked together.

Mexican EDM Performer – yah this one I didn’t see coming either – was definitely an interesting guy. Not least because as I walked along the street towards his place, before seeing him I first of all saw his incredibly tight, ripped jeans and an equally tight, deep V white t-shirt with some god awful neon design on it and what I was pretty sure was some sort of diamante or sequin.

Lord, what have I done?

I know they say you should never judge a book by its cover, but this cover was definitely not my style and I was struggling to see past it.

Thankfully he actually was lovely, he had a lot of energy, and was pretty good fun and obviously loved what he did. And I realised that because he spent a good 45 minutes, at least, over dinner telling me all about his rise to fame as an EDM performer. And showing me photos and videos!!! It felt more than a little self-indulgent.

Now, in my naivety, I assumed he was a DJ. EDM – Electronic Dance Music. Performer – he played it? No? No. What he actually did was a light show that he would install and perform with a DJ. He also had these crazy ass robots that would perform to music as well. They legit looked like Iron Man costumes. So I guess the videos were necessary considering it sounds insane.

Dinner was good, I mean tacos are always good, and the conversation was easy, plus he paid, but as he talked about his lifestyle and how much he travelled, I just wasn’t sure even the inside of this book matched my style.

We had a couple of margaritas with dinner – I learnt my lesson from not drinking the night before – but when he suggested going somewhere else after for more drinks I politely declined. He made a comment in reply about me being Scottish and Scottish people always wanting to drink but it wasn’t that I didn’t want to drink, I just didn’t want to drink with him.

With the previous night’s failed date so recent in my memory as well, I realised I needed to protect my time better. There’s being polite but then there’s also just flat out wasting your time. And this felt like it would be the latter.

He finished up the date by inviting me out on a boat for the Canada Day fireworks the coming weekend, and I politely said I’d let him know while actually having no intention of going. When he texted me the details later that night, I’d been hoping for some glamorous yacht but it turned out it was one of the party boats that tend to get filled up with the type of people I wouldn’t want to be stuck on a boat with. So the decision was locked in and I explained I had other plans that wouldn’t work with the time the boat was leaving – not entirely a lie. That was the last time we messaged.

And so, that was the two days of two failed dates and it felt kinda brutal. Looking back, I’d known neither of those guys were my type, I wasn’t super attracted to either of them in their pictures, but I figured maybe I should go outside my comfort zone. Welp, that didn’t work.

Sometimes, I feel like I’d like Jesus to take the wheel and make all my dating decisions. Is that something he can do? Or maybe I just need to employ the WWJD mantra going forward…

Next post…

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Sex, Brunch & First Dates

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Jun-2017

You know those first dates when you talk about children, anal sex and sex clubs? Yeah, me neither… until I met Ukrainian Race Car Driver.

One of the most annoying things about online dating can be the time it takes between matching with someone and finally meeting up in real life. Between starting a conversation (though I always start convos because ain’t nobody got time to wait and what’s the point in matching if you weren’t going to message?), to both becoming comfortable enough that you know the other one isn’t crazy to then making plans to meet up, you can have lost interest before you’ve even seen their face in real life.

Some guys, on the other hand, are a little more proactive – asking you out almost as soon as you’ve matched. And when that happens it’s always cause for massive brownie points. So when I matched with this blonde haired, blue eyed 29 year old one Saturday afternoon, I was pleasantly surprised, albeit a little taken aback, when his first message was “want to get dinner tonight?”

In the midst of making plans with him, I got side tracked by an attractive trainee medical professional, and so dinner that night didn’t happen but we did end up making plans for brunch the next day. It was so easy and quick, and the next morning at 11am he was picking me up to go to one of my favourite brunch spots.

I should note at this point that he picked me up in some pimped out car with one of those exhausts that generally make me turn around in disgust when you hear it roaring down the street, and whose seats were so low slung, I could have been in a hammock. As we drove the short distance to the restaurant he explained this was one of his favourite of his six cars and he’d chosen it because the exhaust wasn’t too loud for driving around the city…. I beg to differ.

He was clearly super passionate about cars, and not only was it his passion it was also his career. He owned a car body shop and they did everything from general repairs to what appeared to be Vancouver’s very own Pimp My Ride. It’s not a world I’d ever had any exposure to other than in TV shows but from his stories it sounds like it was quite accurate.

Not only did he own a car garage, but he also drove race cars whenever he could. If he took vacation it was to go to a race, he’d save up and work on a car and then go race it. It was a whole new world. And he did all of this while married and with two kids. He was now separated, don’t panic, I hadn’t all of a sudden taken to dating married men.

They’d been separated for six months and by all accounts things had been difficult. But I never trust one side of the story when I hear it like that – I can only imagine what my ex says about me when he tells people stories of our marriage…. Still, Ukrainian Boy Racer saw his kids a lot and, of course because of the kids, he was still in touch with his ex frequently and things were getting better.

As we sat on the patio in the June sunshine, we covered a plethora of topics over brunch. He told me about his marriage, I told him about mine, we chatted about work, whether he wanted anymore kids, whether I wanted any kids at all, and then we discussed (commiserated about?) dating in Vancouver, which led us into date stories and then, somehow, onto sex stories. It was mostly light hearted but I remember him saying he was surprised to be having these conversations in public at brunch on a first date. Though he also noted he was thoroughly enjoying it, and it was clear he had very strong views and needs when it came to sex.

The conversations continued after he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk when we finished eating. I was quite enjoying spending time with him so I agreed and as we walked the seawall and came across an ice cream van I realised how chivalrous he was. He had got out the car when he picked me up to open my door, he paid for brunch, he insisted on paying for the ice cream.

He was very much the perfect gentleman. He was also clearly a bit of a freak sexually. Because, after all, the two absolutely aren’t mutually exclusive and I was loving getting to know both of those sides of him.

He mentioned a few times he had to go to work at some point, before he picked up his kids later in the afternoon, but he kept putting work off to extend our date. First with the walk after brunch, and now with some park time after the walk. After our ice cream we ended up settling down on the grass in a park by the seawall. And again, the conversations continued.

During our discussions, I’d been open about my feelings on anal sex, and he claimed it was rare to meet a girl who a) enjoyed it and b) was so open about her enjoyment of it. He’d also mentioned a couple of times that his “size: often put women off sleeping with him. But I felt like that was a line, doesn’t every guy make out like he’s “just SO big” that girls are scared. Um, no calm down little boy, we know how to handle ourselves and you. But there was part of me that wondered whether with him it might be true…

He told me about the open marriage he’d tried with his wife. He casually mentioned he’d had multiple orgies, with escalating numbers of participants. He went into detail about the stripper he dated, who still gets her car serviced at his garage, and has a massive face tattoo and he talked about their first date at a sex club.

There were more than a couple of moments when I had to truly control my facial expressions because he told the stories so matter of factly that I felt my reactions should be deadpan also, but inside my head all I could think was “WHAT THE FUCK!? A STRIPPER?! A FACE TATTOO?! A SEX CLUB?! I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THERE WERE SEX CLUBS IN VANCOUVER!!!”

Up until this point in the Summer, I’d been feeling pretty confident in my sexual exploration and felt like I was becoming fairly well versed in and, more importantly, comfortable with casual sex but this was next level! And I was trying my best not to come across as completely naive and green around the ears, which was difficult when I felt like a schoolboy who stumbled upon a porn mag.

So when he suggested that the date end with becoming more intimately acquainted with each other (not at the park thankfully, he did suggest we go back to my place) I have to say that fear and intimidation took over. I could not understand what a guy who had dated a stripper, whose body I was imagining to be like a temple and flexibility to be like that of a cirque du soleil performer, would want to sleep with me. I was also wondering if I’d somehow accidentally bigged myself up.

Yes, we’d talked about sex but I think I was honest about my preferences, experience and comfort levels. I’d sex clubs interested me, mostly from a genuine fascination perspective, but that I wasn’t sure in what circumstance I’d be likely to go. I also said I didn’t think threesomes were for me. Personal preference, no judgement. But maybe he’d got the wrong end of the stick and thought I was a freak in the sheets.

Instead of disappoint him, I made up some bullshit story about my girlfriend coming to stay and that she had texted me to say she was arriving early so I had to go home. Again, totally chivalrously, he offered to drive me home and got out to open my door when he dropped me off. Although I think that time it was mostly to kiss me. And it was a pretty hot kiss.

His pale skin and blonde hair, which I’m not normally a fan off, aside I found him incredibly alluring. But still, his sexual experience intimidated me so I was glad that was all it got to.

But not long after he dropped me off I got a text to say he was incredibly turned on by our conversations and he couldn’t believe he’d have to wait to sleep with me. In my head I’d presumed saying no to him that day might mean he’d be having sex with the stripper again across the hood of some souped up racing car in his garage again the next day (that is a totally made up scenario in my head, he never said that had happened, but it felt like it might have… I’m not alone am I?!) but maybe he was more interested in me than I expected.

Turned out he was, he messaged me the next day and the day after that. Having not been able to meet him the day following our date, I was working from home on that second day and, to put it bluntly, I was feeling kinda horny. So when the text came in I decided a lunch date might not be the worst idea. He did offer to actually bring me lunch, again good manners, but I declined and so he essentially came over for a sex lunch date.

I was almost as apprehensive as I’d been on the Sunday but only marginally more content in the knowledge he had sought me out again, so I decided that if he then did turn out to be disappointed in the sex we had he only had himself to blame.

And so we had all the sex. And while the sex itself was great, that pale skin and blonde hair really didn’t do it for me. So quite early on I decided to chalk it up to an interesting sexual experience. And interesting it was. In a complete 180 from the experience with Teeny Irish Peen, I could definitely see what he might have meant when he said some females were put off sleeping with him due to the size of his penis. It wasn’t so much length, it was GIRTH. And, ladies, you know that’s harder to deal with than a few extra inches in length.

But we worked with it and I think he was fairly impressed at my steely determination to not let it put me off. But I just remember it being SO WIDE! For the most part though we had fun and we both enjoyed it. But good God, THAT WIDTH! Anyway, you get the picture – if you don’t imagine me having to use two hands to get all the way around it.

So yeah, that’s what we were working with, but the sex really was pretty good. Other than that though, I felt nothing. Despite our good chats I didn’t even really feel that connected to him in any other way. Previously with casual sex I think most times I’d felt some sort of attraction to the person, maybe other than Penne and Penises? But this was flat out just sex. It felt a little odd.

After our lunchtime session, we both went back to work – him to the garage and me to my sofa. After that day we saw each other once more. There had been a couple of “are you free tonight” texts but whichever one of us was the recipient never was free. So the following week, I was working from home another day and he came over when he could get away from work. But we spent so long talking about his ex that we didn’t get to have sex before he got called back to the garage. Once he’d left I kind of wondered if I’d in fact stalled any chance of us having sex because I really wasn’t feeling it.

He texted me a couple more times to try and meet up but I was never free and, even if I had been, I didn’t think I really wanted to see him again. The sex wasn’t worth looking up at someone and playing a mind game of trying to extricate sexual attraction from physical attraction. It’s like when you’re on the treadmill and doing running maths, as I like to call it – ”if I run at this pace then it’ll take me x minutes to run another x km”, or “only another x.x km to have run 10 miles”. It’s exhausting and you’re only doing it to distract yourself from the task at hand. And, let’s be honest, that’s never how you should feel during sex, now is it?

Next post…

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The Power of No

divorcedanddatingat305 Comments

Jun-2017

At what point in matching with someone on a dating app do you give up your right to say no? At what point when you’re chatting with someone over text do you give up your right to say no? At what point after you’ve met up with someone in real life do you give up your right to say no? Oh that’s right – never.

I’ve written about it before and, no doubt, I’ll write about it again before my dating life is over but feeling in someway coerced into making a decision you may not have been fully comfortable with when dating, happens more frequently than I would like – which is never.

And I’m talking about everything from staying for one more drink, to kissing someone, to letting someone come up to your apartment, or asking someone who has come up to your apartment to leave. You could put it down to being too nice but, for females, it can also come down to fear.

We walk a fine line between not caring what others think of us and doing what’s right for us, and knowing all too well that a single, solitary, even unintentional, dent to a man’s ego can result in their behaviour towards you changing very quickly. We witness it as early as the school playground when if a girl doesn’t like a boy back, he’ll start being mean to her. Which, interestingly, is also the same way that he shows he likes a girl (,which is fucked up and a whole other problem for a whole other post).

Of course, I’m not talking about all men, I’m not even talking about most men, but the problem is when you’ve just met a man you have no idea if they may fall into that category. Having said that, you also hear of people that have known each other for years, never thought they were that type of person, and one day something flips.

The most WTF version of this I’ve witnessed on a regular basis is when messaging guys on a dating app. Everything’s going fine until they ask for “pics” or ask a sexually explicit question before we’ve even established the basics, and I decline. The change in their tone and language, and the quickness with which they can become incredibly angry is entirely unwarranted.

I’ve been told to “fuck off”, been called frigid, a cocktease, a time waster, all sorts. And it really affected me to begin with. I hated feeling like I’d in some way led someone on, while all the time trying to remind myself that starting a friendly conversation on a dating app wasn’t leading someone on.

But at least when it’s only in an app or over message, you don’t have to worry too much for your safety. More just his safety in case he bursts a blood vessel in anger about a girl he’s never met not wanting to send a picture of her naked body to him. Shocking.

When it’s in person however, it can be a different story. I definitely felt that way a little at the end of the night with Whistler Teacher Slash Photographer, and I remember distinctly having the thought in my head when Irish Tech Triathlete didn’t seem to want to leave my apartment.

What I’d never had was a guy so explicitly tell me I owed him something, until the night I met American East Coaster. I know it’s a very generic nickname, but he had actually been the first East Coaster I’d met up with… so we went with it.

He was 37, had not long moved to Seattle for work in some medical field or other, and was up in Vancouver for the weekend by himself just to explore because he’d heard it was lovely. He wasn’t wrong. I spent Saturday morning after we matched messaging him all the fun stuff he should do while he was here.

There had been talk of us meeting up during the day or for dinner but I had plans and it wasn’t until much later at night that he messaged me to check in on my night that I said I’d actually just got home. By this time it was after midnight and I was done drinking after a long day so didn’t want to meet up for a drink like he suggested.

Instead, I’d clearly got a second wind and suggested that we go for a walk. He was just heading back to his hotel from a bar near mine so I said we could meet up a couple of blocks away and then walk to the seawall from there.

Walking Vancouver at night is one of my favourite things to do. It’s such an incredibly safe city and, despite me living right downtown, it can also be incredibly quiet at night. So a walk wasn’t the craziest idea. Thankfully he agreed, but probably partly because I think I made it clear if he didn’t want to do that then we weren’t meeting up!

And so we did, and I got to show him Vancouver by night. And it was fun! He was a really nice guy, super chatty and kinda funny. But I didn’t find him super attractive. Still, as I was feeling with dating in general now, there’s something about just meeting people you otherwise wouldn’t, that is a win regardless of the outcome.

As we walked, he noted a couple of times that we were going in the direction of his hotel. Which I was fully aware of. I’d actually planned the route so that he’d end up back at his hotel, and I would then just finish the last few blocks to mine. Now, I’m aware dates usually end the other way, with the guy walking the girl home but given where we were walking and the fact he was the tourist and I obviously know my way about, I decided he should go home first.

But while I thought that was a nice gesture on my part, he had somehow taken this to mean that if we were going back to his hotel first then I was obviously going to also be stopping there… um, no. I had designs on bed. My own bed. By myself.

So we get to the hotel and there’s this awkward moment when he carries on walking toward the door and I hang back to initiate the goodbye. He turned around surprised “are you really not coming up?” Um, no. I explain that really was never my intention and he hits back with “well that’s not what it sounded like in your texts. Why don’t you just come up for a bit?” And this started a full on back and forth about how our night was going to end.

For every time I said “no” he either came back with something about me having intimated something else to him, or trying to convince me to. But that was how he was making me feel, like somehow I owed him a trip up to his hotel room.

In the quiet Vancouver street at 1.30am, I was glad I could see the hotel concierge from where I was standing and so firmly, for the last time said “I’m sorry you thought this was something else, it was honestly just a walk. It was lovely to meet you, enjoy the rest of your time in Vancouver.”

Rather than accept it and reply courteously, or even not accept it but at least still be polite, he told me it was bullshit, threw his hands up in the air (not in the “like you just don’t care” way though) and turned around to head into his hotel.

Before I was more than a block away my phone pinged with a message. Oh god… And right enough it was him. Again, telling me it was bullshit and asking if I was serious. As if, I don’t know, somehow that would make me change my mind and head back to his hotel for a night of wild sex? I didn’t reply, there was no point and the day had now caught up with me, so it seemed best to just go to bed, in my house, on my own, as I’d always planned.

But I can’t let messages go unanswered – I don’t know if it’s because I’m too polite or I just love a convo – so the next day I replied and just said I was sorry if he was upset, that was never my intention and, again, wished him well on his last day in Vancouver.

Rather than just replying with something civil, or even just not replying, he decided to start screenshotting me parts of our message conversation and marking them up with red lines and red circles, clearing hinting that these were the phrases that led him to believe he was picking up a sex date on the corner of the street last night, and not just someone to go for a walk with.

He actually marked them up! Took the screenshot, went into edit, chose ‘Markup’ and got busy with his virtual red marker. I was shocked but also kind of impressed by his dedication to his argument. But mostly, I was just seriously pissed off, which I hadn’t been before. Before I’d felt kinda bad, really hadn’t wanted to upset him, but knew I was in the right.

Now? Now, I was about to give him a lesson in how to treat women. Or at least I would have if he hadn’t blocked me on Bumble. So I missed my chance.

But here’s what I would have told him – even if I had explicitly said in my text “let’s meet up and have sex”, while yes there could be some surprise, or disappointment, on his part if those plans changed, I still wouldn’t have owed him the sex I talked of previously.

And I know some people will say, meeting up with a guy from a dating app after midnight, even if it is only to “go for a walk” can only mean one thing. And to that I say, fuck off. There is NO circumstance, no way of meeting, no time of day, no setting that determines that I owe a man anything.

There is power in “no” and the power is mine.

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The Doctor Will See You Now

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Jun-2017

In a summer where I was finding no shortage of dates or online dating app matches with a variety of success, his dating profile pictures were almost too immaculate. His response to my first Bumble message too smooth. His Instagram too curated. He was either a catfish or a douchebag. But seeing as he had his Instagram linked up with his dating profile, I guessed I was going to have to presume it was the second?

Regardless, I entertained his messages and intended to meet up with him, because who says I make bad choices? In our general chit chat on Bumble when I asked what kind of doctor he was – yes one of his profile pics was him in his white coat – his reply was “what kind do you need?”, it was more than a little cheesy but I didn’t hate it.  We planned to meet up before we both went away for weekend trips – him to Arizona, me to Vegas (yes, the Vegas trip I ended up chatting to Penne & Penises on – but that weeks long cold kept that from happening and, him being a doctor in training, he prescribed “lots of rest & plenty of fluids”.

It took me a while to recover from the seemingly never ending cold that impeded my Vegas fun and after a failed attempt to meet up one night, when he kept making our meeting time later and later until, eventually, I valued my sleep way too much to just say “ok” to the next half hour incremental change, finally two weekends later on a gorgeously sunny Saturday I received a speculative “what are you up to tonight?” text from him. And I figured I should just give it up and meet him.

I had actually already sort of made plans with someone else I’d just met on Tinder but Hot Doctor (maybe the easiest nickname we’ve come up with?) did fascinate me & his persistence over the last few weeks didn’t really line up with my initial douchebag presumptions. Plus those pictures… he was dark skinned with the most impossibly well kept beard, a 27 year old body that would melt butter and eyes that looked like they’d pierce your soul. In the best possible way. And this was just from his pictures…

I’d been at the beach all day, a BBQ for a friend going back to Ireland, it was a long day of drinking in the sun so the thought of getting ready to go out didn’t thrill me. Instead I suggested he come round to mine. It was a risky move, and essentially at that point the likelihood of it turning into “just a sex date” was fairly high. But, despite his chiseled good looks, I had no other designs on this meet up – he was training to be a doctor abroad, randomly in the UK, and his summer trip home to Vancouver was ending the very next day.

I also decided to have him over to mine because, I realised afterwards, I was actually intimidated by him. Annoyingly, I was intimidated by how good looking he was & how well put together he seemed. It’s ridiculous to me now – he’s human, he’s obviously not as perfect as he seems & he was obviously attracted to me in some way. So why should I in anyway be nervous to meet him, to go out in public with him?

Without realising it at the time, inviting him over to mine for wine was a way to minimise any embarrassment there might be if he got there & realised “wow, she is not what I was hoping” (although I like to think my pics are an accurate representation of me). Given all the changes I’d made to myself, both physically and emotionally, my confidence crashing and inhibiting my actions wasn’t happening as much, but there’s definitely been a few men I’ve been nervous to meet. He was one of them.

I got home from the beach, shovelled some food in my face and decided I needed a shower, to not only de-sand me but also hopefully sober me up a little. While I was in the shower my phone buzzed with a message from him. In fact, it was a picture. A topless picture. Saying he was getting ready. But the caption barely registered.. The pic was… really not bad to look at. With a Pakistani background, his skin tone was like the most beautiful coffee colour and he obviously took working out seriously.

Emboldened by the sun & the ciders, and clearly in no way sobered up from the food or shower, I decided to send one back. Not front topless but I figured a naked, tanned, toned back could work. Well, it could have worked well if I owned one of those and hadn’t been stood with my back to the sun all day getting some hefty tan lines. It wasn’t the sexy, sun kissed look I was hoping for.

Clearly more affected by the sun and ciders than I realised, I decided to send it anyway…. because I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, who says I don’t make good decisions?! I made some comment about how I hoped he liked tan lines because these weren’t about to disappear in the time before he arrived and he replied saying two things: first “wow, you’re an idiot”; but followed up very sweetly with “but damn they’re cute tan lines”.

By the time he arrived I was a little jaded, the day was definitely taking its toll on me and I had to give myself a serious pep talk to look alive when he buzzed to come up. But it’s funny what a beautiful man appearing on your doorstep can do…

To say his pictures were true to real life doesn’t do justice to real life. If possible he was even more attractive. Like some model had just stepped off some photo shoot and ended up at my apartment door. But he was very softly spoken and thoughtful with his words. And, in my judgement, that hadn’t been what I was expecting.

From the get go he had a lot to say, but also a lot to ask. He wanted to know about my upbringing, my travels, moving to Vancouver – we covered a lot of ground while sitting on the balcony as the sun set. But  when I went to top up our wine glasses (cause that’s what I needed after my day of ginger apple cider) he followed me inside and, as I turned back with the replenished glasses, he stood in my way, reached for my face and kissed me.

It was soft and almost enquiring, like he wanted to test the water to see if I was on the same page. It would be fair to say I one hundred percent was, but I also had a glass of wine in each hand. Though that may have been a good thing or I might have ripped his clothes off right then and there.

We went back to the balcony for some more wine but by that point all bets were off and I don’t think either of us doubted where this was going to end up.

There was an intensity in the way he looked at me with those big brown eyes, it was so probing and completely disarming. It disarmed me of my inhibitions entirely, I no longer felt like he might not be interested in someone like me (Instagram’s a terrible thing when you can find what someone’s ex girlfriend looked like), and instead all I really wanted was to in fact get completely, entirely butt naked with him.

So that’s what we did. And it was incredible.

We had a ridiculous amount of fun. Four times actually. In between each we continued the chats from earlier on the balcony. We talked about his thoughts on dating, his failed long distance relationship as a result of his time in the UK and his ambivalence on marriage. We talked about my marriage, my divorce, and forgiveness. We discovered a shared love of the poet Khalil Gibran, who he was shocked to find out I knew of. We talked about some of our favourite quotes of his, and I always remember one of his was “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”. It spoke to me greatly.

We also laughed at how neither of us imagined we’d be having discussions that broad and deep. Knowing that often sex dates can be just that – sex – and you count yourself lucky if the sex is at least good, never mind actually feeling like there’s some connection. But not only had we fit like a glove physically, we had also really clicked personality-wise.

He left just after midnight, after a glorious amount of snuggling that pretty much had both of us asleep. But it was his last night in Vancouver and he had to go home, back to his family house where he was staying while he was back during term holidays. We knew he was leaving the next day and, despite throwing it out there that we could always fit in some afternoon fun before his evening flight, I think we both knew that was unlikely to happen. So we weren’t going to see each other again.

Texting me from the airport the next day, he made mention of making the fact we didn’t get to see each other again up to me in December, when he’d next be home for a holiday. December?! It was June… Jesus that’s a wait. But the thought was nice. He also told me to keep him updated on my tan lines, the subtext of which was clearly – send nudes.

To say I didn’t think we’d stay in touch was an understatement. Knowing it had only been one night and that pretty face of his was hardly going to make life boring for him, I figured he’d have far better things to keep him occupied. And by December, I could be in a relationship…

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Pasta And Appendages

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Jun-2017

We’ve talked about it before – someone being great on paper but then it not working out in real life. But what about being great on paper AND being great in text and then there being zero spark in person? How is that possible? Do people have ghost (text) writers?!

The week after the half marathon in June, and the awkward date with Whistler Teacher Slash Photographer, I was off to Vegas for a bachelorette weekend. And contrary to the general consensus about Vegas, I’ve never once gone to hook up. My focus is only ever on having fun with the people I’m with. Unfortunately on this particular trip I was sick as a dog with a cold, and so neither of those things were going to happen.

Just before I left Vancouver, I matched with a guy on Bumble and we started chatting the day I flew out. Turned out he was away for a boys weekend to Seattle and so via text over the course of our weekends we compared drunkenness, funny stories, mishaps and suntan progress. I hadn’t expected to hear from him as much as I did but it was kind of nice.

We both worked in tech, we lived near each other and it sounded as if we liked a lot of the same things. So far so good. He also had some pretty good banter. The night when our group’s plan was to go for an Italian followed by the Thunder From Down Under Strip show (yes, it’s really called that) he made the observation that it was going to be all “penne and penises” for us. He was then forever known as that to me. And given that he shared a (real life) name with Toronto Dimple Chin, I chose to save him in my phone as Penne and Penises also, you know, to save confusion.

As our weekends wore on and a couple of drunken nights threw up (pun intended) some drunken texts (more on his part than mine, because my cold had rendered me almost unable to drink), the messages definitely turned a little flirty. Add to that, him having started following me on Instagram and making comments about pictures of bikinis and barely there Vegas dresses, and you got yourself some fairly sexually charged conversations.

It was a risky move and I was aware of that but I like to think I’d always done my due diligence… to the extent that you can with online dating! At least been able to prove they were a real person and not some creepy old guy getting his kicks pretending to be a 27 year old hot guy.

I always find that bit weird. I’m not saying I don’t engage in it. I clearly do. But when you take a step back, it’s still odd to me that people can get to that level of “comfort” with someone who is essentially a stranger. That we can be so happy to share such intimate thoughts and details with someone whom we haven’t even met yet. Don’t get me wrong, I know there are some people that would absolutely not let any dating app conversation go down that road until, maybe even well after, they’ve met someone, and I always thought I was that person too. But, as I was becoming more comfortable with my sexuality and my apparently growing sex drive, I was finding it easier to let my mind wander and open myself up to people who were still just a name and some (hopefully not false) pictures on a screen.

So yes, the texts had escalated and, by the time our weekends were over, we were pretty excited to finally be able to meet up when we were both back in Vancouver. Unfortunately, the cold was still kicking my ass, and I was rendered useless for the first week after I was home.

During that time he checked in on me everyday and asked if I needed anything brought over. But I was hardly about to have a guy I’d never met, who I thought there might be potential with, see me for the first time when I looked like a massive bag of crap.

Eventually the second Monday after we were home, I felt a tiny bit better to the point that when he said he didn’t care I was sick he just wanted to see me, I agreed that he could come over. It wouldn’t have been my first choice of first date location but I still wasn’t up to going out.

After what had, by that point, been a couple of weeks of texting we finally got to meet and I was super excited. But that excitement was put on hold when he turned up wearing a Celtic football top – Celtic are a football team from Glasgow in Scotland, and the football I’m talking about is the OG, not of the American variety. But how was he to know that my ex-husband was a die-hard Celtic fan and, in my residual pettiness, I now hated everything about them?

It wasn’t the best start, nor was the fact he looked a little heavier than the pictures on his profile. And it didn’t look like muscle. But whose weight doesn’t fluctuate at times? And I’m hardly sat here with an athlete’s body. So I didn’t let it put me off. However chewing gum the whole time we had sex, keeping his white tube socks on throughout, and the incredibly off-putting sex faces? Yeah those put me off.

And yes, I had sex on a first date. And yes, I had sex while I was still full of the cold. And yes, I’m aware none of these revelations paint me in the best light…

The spark that we’d had in all those messages was definitely not translated into real life and I remember I was really keen for him to leave as soon as possible after we’d finished the no pants (but keep the gum and white tube socks) dance.

I hoped it had just not been great because I was still sick and that maybe if we’d had a proper first date, rather than a 6pm slightly sick sex date, it would have been different. But you can’t undo what’s already done and so, arranging to go on a proper second date, I just held out hope that we could figure it out from there on out.

In between the first and second date, the texts went back to being great and, maybe unsurprisingly, even more sexually explicit given that we now knew each other more intimately. And, despite the lacklustre feeling I’d had after seeing him that first time, the spark was re-instated in our messages. So I was hopeful the second date could be an improvement and wondered if he’d been in anyway disappointed in our first meeting…

As it happened, the second date ended up occuring in the exact same way as the first one – I was still sick (and by now so incredibly sick of being sick), so he came round to mine. Albeit not wearing any reminders of my ex this time, thank the Lord for small mercies I guess. But I was even less physically attracted to him and it actually annoyed me.

It annoyed me that there could be what felt like a great connection in messages, fun, easy banter, playful flirting, all mixed in with some serious life talk but when it came to being in the same room as each other it was flatlining. And that’s not to say it’s all on him, that he was a good texter but a bad in-person person.

It’s just that’s the way we were together. It was as much about me as it was him. Dating truly is a chemistry thing. And you can get the formula right on paper, but in real life it can still fuck up.

It didn’t mean we didn’t have sex again but nor did it mean he took his socks off this time either, despite me hoping that had just been an oversight the first time. At which point I decided I definitely wouldn’t be seeing him again because, let’s be honest, when the sexts are far better than the sex, you know you should cut your losses.

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Can I Go Now, Sir?

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Jun-2017

You know when you make plans and they seem like a good idea at the time, but then when the time comes you realise you’re tired and you’d rather stay in? But you go and figure you’ll just cut the night short but then the guy you’re out with attempts to bargain with you to make you stay out and chooses to lecture you on how much you’ll regret it if you go home? Yeah that’s what happened with Whistler Teacher Slash Photographer.

I’d only gone to Whistler to run a half marathon. I had no plans of organising a date, or meeting someone but while lying in my hotel room bed awake earlier than I even needed to be with pre-race nerves, I was mindlessly swiping through the Bumble and Tinder, wondering what the usually bustling ski town of Whistler would have to show for itself on a dating app in the middle of summer.

I was pleasantly surprised, but I was also sure the majority of people were likely to be just visiting. Not that it mattered – again, I wasn’t planning to meet anyone.

My friends, who were also running the half marathon, and I had arrived the night before, just in time for a glorious carb load and then an early bed. Somehow, despite travelling with two couples, I had ended up in the huge hotel room, with a King size bed, full kitchen and dining space, corner windows and a balcony overlooking Whistler village.

As I lay swiping in that giant bed, having probably used about a third of the available space at most during the night, I matched with a few people and was surprised when at 6.03am one of the Tinder matches messaged me. At first I figured it must be someone who was just getting in from the night before but, after a few messages back and forth, it turned out that when he wasn’t being a teacher, he was a photographer and had been asked to film the race. So while I was preping myself for getting sweaty while running through the mountains, he was preping himself for filming people getting sweaty while running through the mountains.

Hs asked why I wasn’t sleeping and I said I wasn’t sure when I was in such a big, comfy bed. It was a throwaway comment that I didn’t even think about because I’d just been messaging friends back in the UK and had been telling them the same thing. But I realise that making any reference to your bed when you’re chatting with someone on a dating app, instantly sounds like an invitation for sex. It was not.

He didn’t seem to read too much into it, or at least if he did he didn’t let on. Although he did make a comment about me probably needing a massage later. I wasn’t sure if it was an offer or merely a suggestion. I chose to just take it as friendly advice and skip on over it.

As it got closer to race time, he wished me luck and said he’d look out for me on the course and hopefully would see me later as well. The first part of which horrified me, to think that a guy you’ve met on a dating app might see you for the first time midway through a half marathon didn’t bear thinking about – it’s not a pretty sight. The second part of which sounded like it could be fun.

He’d been funny and engaging and he clearly had a number of passions in his life with the teaching and photographer. He seemed like an interesting guy. So I said yes maybe we could do drinks later and left it at that.

I hadn’t actually thought I’d see him on the course, I presumed he’d be filming the people who could actually run without looking like they were having a heart attack, and those people aren’t me. But would you believe it, first corner we turn on the course having come out of the starting line area and I see a guy on a bike (as he said he would be), with a camera (as I imagined he would be) sitting in the central reservation capturing everyone as they’re going up the first stretch of road.

Despite the fact it was so early on in the race and my face hadn’t yet turned the beetroot red colour that it so loves to go after any small amount of exercise, I still decided to try and maneuver my way out of his line of sight. I wasn’t really prepared to do a whole weird, awkward “oh hi, it’s you” thing while trying not to get out of breath in the first five minutes of the race.

A very long and very sweaty two hours, fourteen minutes later and I was back in Whistler village, having enjoyed some beautiful sights around Whistler (not so beautiful were the really big fucking hills). Shortly after all my friends had gathered at the finish line area and we’d picked up all the required post-race snacks, I got a text from him to ask how I’d done and how I was feeling.

As my post-race recovery of a bath followed by brunch took place, we toyed around with the idea of meeting in the afternoon, but he then said that he’d rather do a night date so suggested we meet for drinks after my dinner.

Now two things about that: 1) a guy who “would rather do a night date” instantly makes me think that they’re in it for sex and they don’t think it’s as easy to get to sex on a date if it’s a middle of the day date. Little do they know me, I’d far rather have sex at any other time of the day than at night. 2) given that we’d both had a pretty early start and a fairly busy morning, there was a high chance that by the time I’d had dinner I’d be ready for nothing but my bed. Alone.

I should also note that by this stage in our messaging, he’d started to make more comments about my bed, following on from what I’d told him in the morning about it being massive. Coupled with his insistence that my muscles must really need a good massage and low and behold he had great massage skills, they were cheeky, flirty comments which for the most part I laughed at but didn’t entertain.

By 6pm, even getting myself up after my post-race, afternoon nap was a struggle and I had a feeling that by the time I’d stuffed myself with food I wasn’t likely to be feeling much more spritely. Alas, halfway through dinner he texted to confirm we were still on for drinks and made a plan where to meet based on where we were having dinner.

The friends I was with thought it was hysterical that I had arranged a date while only in the village for two nights and were especially excited when the date plan was that he’d come by the bar we were now in and we’d then walk somewhere else for drinks. I wasn’t sure why we couldn’t just meet there. I had Google maps.

So that was the first thing that kind of irked me, as well as the time it had taken to actually get to that plan. But he duly turned up outside the bar I was in, although thankfully stood just out of the line of sight of my friends so they couldn’t gawk too wildly.

Mercifully he looked like his pics, however, everything from that point was just a bit… blah. He’d brought his bike, presumably the same bike I’d seen him on during the race that morning, so, while we walked to the bar we were headed for, he walked with his bike. Now, if you’ve ever walked with a bike or walked with someone with a bike, you’ll know it can be awkward as hell. And this most definitely was. Add to that the fact that when we got to the bar we then had to find suitable bike parking and, to be honest, it just wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever encountered.

Once inside the kinda weird bar (there’s a tonne in Whistler, I didn’t know why he chose this one), he didn’t know what he wanted to drink. Oh god, I could feel my spikiness rising. Then, as I was telling him how tired I was, he told me I had no reason to be tired as I’d had an afternoon nap. Um, hey, Mr, you don’t get to decide if I’m tired or not. Again, the spikiness in me rose.

Given that by the time he’d decided what he was going to have to drink I’d almost finished my first gin, I ordered a second just to make sure I wasn’t sat there empty handed, though I was already thinking about leaving. But then he ordered a second and I could feel the will to live start to slip away from me.

The chats were fine, he was nice enough and hearing about his teaching and photography was interesting, but we were very different people. Apparently he didn’t go anywhere without that (damn) bike and never went to the city. He also apparently couldn’t take a hint that I was tired regardless of the number of times I yawned.

Thankfully the barmaid then came round and told us it was last call – I could have kissed her, I was so happy for the get out of jail card. Especially when he asked for the bill to be separate so we each paid our own way – again the paying on a date debate requires it’s own blog post, but that’s for another day.

I figured he would have caught onto the fact that a) there wasn’t really a connection and b) I was hella tired. Turns out, he’d caught onto neither so as we were leaving the bar he started to throw out suggestions as to where we could go next. When I politely declined, he started to do that reverse psychology thing of telling me what a fun night I was going to miss out on, not realising that a private show with The Killers wasn’t even likely to make me stay out at this point. Ok, I lie, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Brandon Flowers.

Just as I was saying that I’d had fun (why did I feel the need to lie about that?) but I was really tired, as we were stepping out of the bar, I realised why he’d chosen that bar – it was right opposite my hotel. So he took it as the perfect opportunity to say “ok, why don’t we just go to the liquor store and go back to your room?”

Wow. Just wow… People’s inability to read a situation is flabbergasting at times. Take a hint. Know your audience. Sense the tone. I WANT TO GO TO BED. ALONE.

After many more insistencies from me that I really was tired and I really did just want to go to bed (ALONE!), but I really had had a good time (why must we stroke the male ego simply to be allowed to do what it is we want to do?), he reluctantly started to unlock his bike from the bike rack. Then he stopped.  Was I really sure I didn’t want just one more drink? Was I sure I didn’t want him to come back to my room with me? Didn’t I want a massage? And couldn’t that big bed use a second person?

Oh good God. By this point I was done being nice. I cut him off, told him I was going and momentarily was concerned that he knew which hotel I was staying in and with it’s proximity to where we were standing, him following me wouldn’t be that difficult. Thankfully he didn’t go full batshit crazy and do that but as I was in elevator up to my room my phone buzzed and it was him. Just checking (AGAIN!) that I didn’t want another drink because I was going to regret it.

I decided to ignore it, until just as I was closing the door (and firmly double locking it) my phone rang. Of course, it was him. I answered it mostly to make the noise stop, I can never find the silent switch when a call is incoming – why is that?!

There was yet more protestations on his part that I would regret it and I’d made a poor choice., and that he was still downstairs if I’d changed my mind. At this point I just laughed. The fact that he thought there was any chance of me going back on my decision and either inviting him up or heading downstairs to meet him again, was laughable. I was already in my pjs as I listened to his sales pitch on loudspeaker.

But I was done with the entertainment of someone trying to sell themself, it was now starting to get a little degrading, on his part, so I once again cut it off and told him I was turning my phone off and going to sleep. By this time he was pretty pissed off about it and wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it. I don’t think I could have cared less.

The next morning, after a blissful sleep in my massive bed all by myself, I woke up to more texts from him. All bemoaning my choice and telling me I’d missed out on a “night of fun” and that he could have really shown me a good time. Jesus, I hope he was drunk when he sent those.

I’d definitely made the right choice but all I could think was, I wonder what he must be like as a teacher? Was he that insistent? Did he make it that difficult when a student wanted to leave the classroom? It must be a bloody nightmare if you were desperate for a pee…

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