Full Disclosure Required

March 16, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat304 Comments

Feb-2017

Nobody wants to be a downer on a first date and generally topics such as bad breakups or ongoing medical conditions might be left until a possible second or third date. But when does trying to keep things light and fun actually become hiding, or lying about, your current state?

I met Irish Tech Triathlete online, he was 36, so entirely age appropriate (whatever the hell that means) for me, we had a lot in common in that we both worked in tech and we both enjoyed working out, not that I was training for triathlons or iron man races, and he was pretty funny.

We matched on a Sunday afternoon and by 5pm he called me. Like phoned me. On the telephone. I forgot people used them for that. It was a pleasant surprise in a number of ways – a) no one calls anymore, everyone hides behind texts (me included); b) often online matches can take what seems like an age to actually get to the meeting stage which bores me and; c) he was just as fun on the phone as he was on text.

He had a busy week coming up, and so did I, so he suggested we meet for drinks in the next hour. Um… what? I’m lying on my sofa, covered in cookie crumbs, wearing bed socks and now I have to make myself presentable not just to the world but to a first date. Ugh… fine.

An hour and a half later, cookie crumbs and bed socks gone, and we’re in a bar close to my house, having a really fun time. He was a super funny guy, we got on immediately, with a lot in common and easy banter back and forth. It’s the one difference I’ve noticed between dating North Americans and people from “back home” or maybe just outside of North America – there’s a sense of fun and banter and sarcasm and teasing that I haven’t found with people from Canada and the US. That’s not to say they don’t get there eventually but in the first instance, with someone new I don’t feel like they’re entirely comfortable with being that way. Brits or Irish on the other hand are happy to absolutely take the piss out of anyone and there’s something strangely comforting in it!

As the date went on, we had more drinks and he probably had two beers for every gin I had but he was a big guy, like 6”2 and he was well built so I didn’t think much of it. However by the time we got ready to leave he’d had a good few pints and I was aware he was definitely tipsy, while I felt fine, thankfully.

I lived a block round the corner which I didn’t strictly tell him but when he suggested walking me home, I figured I didn’t mind him knowing where I lived. When we got to my building though he made a comment about the building I lived in and how he was interested to see the view from my apartment. I’d had no intention of inviting him up but for whatever reason, in that moment I decided I’d let him come up. I was actually surprised by how much I liked him.

Did I feel pressure? A little. Did I think it was easier just to concede to a half drunk guy? Probably. Did I feel threatened? No, not explicitly. But it was another situation where maybe I should have found and used my voice more vociferously.

Voice MIA, we go up to my apartment, and in my head I know it’s literally going to be a look around, let him see the view and then say bye, no offer of a drink, no offer of a seat, nothing. I’m aware that trying to get rid of him from inside my apartment is arguably more difficult than from outside my apartment building when my concierge was 20 metres away. I’m not saying it made sense, but it’s what I did.

We duly look at the view, I show him around my tiny apartment which takes all of 20 seconds and then I say it’s time for him to go and me to go to bed. Of course he makes a joke about us both just going to my bed, which I laugh off. Then he says “but how am I supposed to get home? I drove and I can’t drive now.”

This is where, previously, I would have started feeling bad, offered for him to stay, offered to drive him myself (even though I definitely couldn’t have either), just tried to fix it in some way. But after bending over backwards for guys previously and it coming back to bite me on the arse, I decided he was a grown ass man who could figure it out himself. How had he thought this was going to play out? That I’d just let him stay? Not tonight my friend, not tonight.

He pretended to be hurt that I wasn’t helping him solve the problem he’d created for himself and then conceded that he would get a cab and come back for his car in the morning. He kissed me goodnight and it was a nice, albeit slightly drunken kiss. As the kiss went on I could feel him exerting some of that 6”2 frame on me to try and get me towards my bedroom from standing by my front door. I tried to resist, but at 5”4.5 I was really up against it.

So I pulled away, called him out on it and said goodnight. He gave me another peck, then just as I thought he was leaving, came back and started to kiss me again, and yet again tried to move me towards the bedroom. At this point I realised he had to go, so I pulled back, opened the door and essentially, hand in the small of his back (which was about mid-rib height on me), ushered him out.

I was disappointed the night had ended like that, he’d been a really fun guy and I had wanted to see him again but feeling like he was pressuring me first to come up to my apartment, then to stay and then to get me into my bedroom – it didn’t feel great. I put it down to him being drunk, he hadn’t seemed like that earlier in the night, but even if it was “just” when he’s drunk surely that was enough to be a red flag. And I wondered if he was even aware of it.

The next morning he messaged to say he’d had a great time, that he’d picked up his car and he was sorry for being a little “worse for wear”, he hadn’t realised how much he’d had to drink. I appreciated that he made mention of it. I’d have found it more difficult if he’d just swept it under the carpet. I also felt bad for him that it was a Monday morning and he was feeling rough – not a great start to anyone’s week.

Still, the end of the night before had definitely left a sour taste in my mouth and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him again. So I replied to his initial text, something light and non-committal, wished him a good day and left it at that.

We texted a couple of times over the coming week, just small talk around our days, jokes from our first date and then the next Saturday when we were messaging, he said was skiing up in Whistler but suggested meeting up when he was back down in the city. I figured a second date was at least worth a go, so told him to text me when he got back and then we could see what time it was and make plans.

Silence.

I never heard from him again. For two and a half weeks. No follow up to our potential Saturday night plans, no messages afterwards to say his day had changed or to catch up with me after the weekend. Then one random Thursday afternoon at 5pm he messaged asking if I was free and wanted to go for drinks that night.

I was already at happy hour with a couple of friends, but figured I could go meet him after that. In hindsight, between the weird end to the first date and him going MIA for over two weeks I should have called it quits at that point, but it seems I’m not a quitter, in the worst possible way, so we made plans and I headed to meet him around 8pm.

He was really apologetic about his disappearance, which I fully called him out on. He’d been busy with work and there had been a lot of stuff going on. I explained that inconsistency didn’t work for me, which he said he understood and it wouldn’t happen again. He’d wanted to see me, but had just needed to sort some stuff out.

In the next couple of hours he did a great job of turning around the situation because somehow we ended up back in my apartment, again, and this time I was more open to the possibility of him ending up in my bed.

He was really fun and funny and (despite the initial red flags) seemed to have his shit together. He had his own place, had a good job, seemed to have a busy social life. He also wasn’t bad to look at and that never hurts. The rugby sevens weekend was coming up and he hadn’t been planning to go but as we were talking about it he mentioned it would be fun to hang out together at it, so he’d look at getting tickets. It felt like he could actually slot into my life kinda nicely, if it came to that.

Back at mine, he was far more respectful and guarded than he’d been the first night. He didn’t seem in a rush either which was nice. Or at least, it would have been if it hadn’t been for the fact that as things were about to start getting kind of serious after a whole lot of getting naked (side note – triathletes have incredibly lean bodies!) he “lost that loving feeling” – as it were.

Now, I get it, shit happens, you can’t control that thing – I mean the feeling, not the actual “thing”, although I’ve heard it claimed many a time it does in fact have a mind of its own – but twice? I had to try my best not to take it personally and wonder if my less than triathlete lean body wasn’t quite doing it for him.

After the second time, it was clear he wasn’t up (pun intended) for trying to make it work and instead just lay quietly in the dark. I gave it a minute and then asked the darkness “so, what’s up with that?” I’m sure I could have been more sensitive but… fuck it.

He stayed silent for a few minutes as the question kind of hung in the air. A number of times I wanted to interject the sound of tumbleweed and make a joke or try and offer up a possible reason or solution but instead I let the silence fill the space.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, he started to talk. With an arm over his face, like a little boy admitting to something he’d done. He explained to me that the ex he had mentioned briefly on our first date was not only an ex from just a few weeks ago (the most recent time they’d broken up anyway), she was in fact also the mother of his 18 month old child.

A child he was now in a custody battle for, but was already solely looking after. A child he’d had with him in Whistler those few weekends ago and so was never going to be able to go out when he got back to the city. A child that he was going to have at the weekend and so he was never going to be able to come to the rugby sevens. A child that meant he only worked 4 days a week, yet he’d made comments about being Monday to Friday. A child he’d had done a very good job of actively avoiding talking about. A child I didn’t know he had.

The fact he had a child wasn’t the issue. The fact that when he’d told stories, like how he’d been hiking the other weekend, he purposely neglected to tell me that the other person on the hike with him, had been his baby. That when we agreed about how great living alone was, he didn’t actually live alone, he lived with his child.

I get it, it was a second date, I was hardly about to walk down the aisle and was just hearing all this stuff for the first time but there was something about the fact that it was a massive part of his life that he’d left out, so the whole picture of his life he’d painted was in fact false. Plus, now that massive part of his life was impacting his ability to be present in this part of his life.

He had been trying to learn Canadian child custody laws so he could fight for sole custody without having to pay for lawyers he couldn’t afford, he’d had to get a restraining order against his ex to stop her taking the child out the country, which apparently she’d attempted to do a number of times, he didn’t have a huge support network here with his family being back in Ireland and the 4 days of the week he worked he would do 14 hour days so he was almost working full time hours.

When he was explaining the situation, and giving the backstory, he was clearly anguished, he was clearly stressed and, despite how little I knew him (clearly!), it pained me to witness it. I started having flashbacks to when I had felt trapped and unable to cope with a situation. But that was years ago and I wasn’t attempting to date while going through it.

I mostly stayed quiet throughout his explanation. There wasn’t a lot I could say. I quieted my first instinct to help and, I don’t know, offer to babysit?! This wasn’t my mess to try and fix and while I felt bad for him and thought it was incredible he was stepping up to be the sole caregiver and I hoped the situation would resolve itself, I knew that I didn’t have the capacity to support someone through something like this. And in fairness, he wasn’t asking me to. But he clearly also wasn’t able to put it aside, which is no surprise, and so there really wasn’t a lot else to say.

He admitted he had hoped that dating might help him take his mind off it and would bring some light relief to an otherwise fairly stressful life, but had realised that in fact he wasn’t ready for it. Well no fucking shit. If he’d actually told me the situation right off the bat I would have told him he was attempting a triathlon before he could even crawl.

I halted the dragging night from taking either of us down further with a swift and entirely inappropriately cheery “well, you should probably go now!” I’m not sure I’ve ever asked someone to leave as they were lying naked next to me in my bed. But I guess there’s a first time for everything? And this felt like the right time to try it out.

And that was that, Irish Tech Triathlete, and his complicated custody issues, was never to be heard from again.

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The Real Love Of My Life

March 13, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Mar-2018

Why am I writing a blog about dating if I’ve already found the love of my life? Don’t worry, this isn’t a spoiler that I’ve found my life partner – although if she were single and we both swung that way I wouldn’t say no.

No, the real love of my life I’m talking about is someone I’ve mentioned a couple of times in previous posts, who’s always there to help me in my time of need, and knows just what to say. The love of my life is Julia, my therapist. She who assists me in learning all the lessons I write about.

Talking about my problems, or really anything, has never been a problem for me, I’ll tell anyone. Sometimes I wish I maybe had a little more of a filter, but it’s how I am. Sharing is caring, right? So going to “speak to someone” about things like my ex-husband cheating wasn’t that difficult. I know for some people the thought of having to be vulnerable or self reflect is enough to make them run for the hills.

I had been to see counsellors back in the UK, when my parents divorced when I was a teenager and also when issues first surfaced in my marriage, and while I always thought of them as positive experiences I never felt I had any real “a-ha!”, come to Jesus moments in those sessions. I never really came out feeling all that much different.

Yes, I had maybe learnt some new coping mechanisms or better ways to communicate but in terms of feeling wholly better about the issue at hand? I wouldn’t say that there was an overwhelming feeling of change. So I’d let the time between sessions get longer and eventually stop going altogether.

My life changed though when during a particularly difficult few months of my new life in Canada, I found myself in a fairly dark, deepening spiral of depression-like symptoms and knew I needed to do something about it. I had begun to experience severe social anxiety as a result, which I hated because it perpetuated the issue. The anxiety made me not want to go out, so I’d stay in and the feelings would deepen, and the anxiety would worsen with the longer I squirrelled myself away. It was a never ending cycle.

I didn’t know exactly what was at the bottom of it, but given some experience with depression in my late teens, I was aware of what the feelings were and knew I needed to seek help.

And that can sometimes be the hardest part – just knowing you need help when you’re reaching breaking point. Thankfully my friend who is a therapist (she of brilliance who helped me craft the final text to Filipeen) recommended me to another therapist she knew to be good. Given that my friend can’t counsel me, it was the next best thing to get a recommendation from her, someone I trust.

My first few sessions with Julia were, as is normal with a new therapist/client relationship, mostly me just unloading all my experience (we don’t call it baggage) and explaining what I was struggling with. There was a lot, I mean I think it was session three or four before I was no longer telling her about another life dramas I hadn’t gotten round to with her yet. But at the end of every session she would ask “what was something useful today?” and there would always be something. Either a question she asked that got me to think about something differently, or a comment she would make or a story she would tell of her own personal experience to complement mine.

There was always something, usually more than one thing, that was useful. So while I wasn’t having any massive revelations in the first few weeks/months, it was definitely feeling beneficial right from the outset.

The sessions were hard, I would come out of them emotionally wrought and exhausted. I got into the habit of having them late on Friday afternoons, and then I would take my tear stained cheeks home and hibernate for the night. But despite the rawness of those sessions, with tissue in hand, I would text my Mum on the walk home and say what a great session it was. Every single time.

I started seeing Julia at the end of the September and by the early-February I had made contact with my father who I hadn’t spoken to in 15 years, had truly processed my divorce and started to deal with the residual bullshit it had left me with, and had started dating again. She was a miracle worker. And for the first time in a really long time I could say I felt happy.

For me, there was something about being able to see the change, being able to feel the release of years of tension and anguish and hurt and guilt. One of my favourite things to do is carry guilt about situations I had no control over, it’s a skill. And the impact that had on my day to day life and, more importantly, my mental state was huge.

Mental health is no joke. One in five people in Canada will experience a mental health problem or illness each year and in the UK that number is one in four. Mental illness affects people of all ages, education, income levels, and cultures and around 10% of adults will experience major depression at some time in their lives.

I truly believe that as a society we need to do more to remove the stigma around mental health and also accept the fact that you don’t necessarily need to be manically depressed to need, or be benefitted by, therapy. Life is hard, everyone’s life is hard – yes, even the people who seemingly have it easy. They likely also have struggles. Everyone does. Why do we pretend we don’t?

I get that it’s not the most glamorous or comfortable thing to talk about, but we do need more to make sure we’re creating safe spaces where people can feel like they can be honest about it and where they can get help. I know I’m lucky that I have the ability to seek out and pay for my own therapy.

Even if you’ve never experienced a big life trauma such as a divorce, or the loss of a loved one, or addiction, abuse, or another life event which you may seek therapy for afterwards, I still believe there’s value in having someone, in a safe space, you can be vulnerable and self reflect with.

As you may be able to tell, I am a massive advocate of therapy and have recommended Julia to a number of my friends. I’m also super happy to talk to my friends about anything – my issues, their issues – but just talking isn’t the same. A professional has years of training and, crucially, they also have no bias. As friends, or as anyone who in some way is connected to that person other than for therapy’s sake, we can’t say that.

Support networks are important, don’t get me wrong. Having my friends and family support me after I’d had a tough session or when I was facing big changes was key and I couldn’t have done any of it without them. But without Julia I don’t know that I’d have gotten to where I am now.

That’s not to say that everything in my life is now perfect, it’s not and it never will be. Nothing is perfect. I still see Julia every month or so, for “little tune ups” as I call them or when something shakes me I’ll go more often, like after Filipeen I was there a lot more frequently, unsurprisingly.

In this world of ever changing situations, and relationships, and myself, it’s important to keep reflecting and growing and Julia provides me with the ability to do that, which makes it the best money I spend each month, hands down. And I don’t doubt, as this journey still has many more corners to turn and curve balls to throw at me, that my dates with the real love of my life will continue to be some of the best dates I have.

Next post…

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Death By Dimple

March 9, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Jan-2017

As I stated in my very first blog post, there have been many What The Actual F^&% moments throughout the process of my divorce and since getting back into dating, in fairness I think that’s just life in general. But most of them were “WTAF is this shit?” Few are “WTAF this is brilliant!” But every so often, just now and again, those pleasant WTAFs do appear.

Having wallowed and reflected for a few weeks after Filipeen, I eventually felt better enough (read bored enough) to get back on the dating apps and see what was out there. It had been lovely not to be on them for three months while I was dating (and then getting over) him but here in Vancouver, it’s unfortunately the easiest way to meet people.

I’d gone super blonde in the week after Filipeen – what is it they say about “new hair, don’t care”? Well I had new hair but at that point I still did care – so on the Thursday night that I got back to using the apps (Bumble and Tinder were my go tos), I updated my photos and began endlessly swiping. As I always find with Bumble, when you haven’t been on for a while, you get a string of really attractive guys up first to make you think you’ve been missing out, and then slowly it fades into the faces you’ve seen on there months before and didn’t swipe right (positively) for then and won’t be swiping right for now.

I’m always convinced those attractive bait ones are just made up accounts – the men are too pretty – but the next morning I was to be proved wrong when one of them swiped right on me, we matched and we started chatting when I commented on the fact he stated in his profile that he hated the cold – and we were in mid-winter. The conversation went from there and by the time I was walking out my office that afternoon for the weekend, we had made plans to meet up the next night.

Up until that point he’d been fairly serious, with only slight hints of jokes in his messages but that Friday night, as I was getting ready to go out with friends and we were texting, it became a little more banterful (how I prefer all my messaging) and flirty. He had finished up work just after I did and was meeting up with some friends for drinks and he thought a dinner. When it turned out the dinner wasn’t going to happen he asked if I was free to bring our date forward a night and meet up later that evening.

As much as I was excited to meet him, it was going to have to wait. I had a friend’s birthday I was going out for that night and I wasn’t sure inviting him along would be a great basis for a first date because a) my friends are liabilities and b) we were going to an amateur strip show in a super dingy bar on the east side of the city. Yes, yes, you read that right. It was a strip show with only two rules: entrants couldn’t be professional strippers and; no sex acts on stage. Otherwise anyone and everyone could have at ‘er.

However, after a couple of drinks at the birthday boy’s apartment before we all went out, I obviously changed my mind about this not being a good breeding ground for a first date and asked him if he wanted to join. We’d been texting almost constantly and I realised it would be easier, and less rude, for him to just be here than for me to be on my phone all night. At first he sounded keen, even when I’d provided full disclosure about where we were going, but then when he realised I was already with all my friends and he wouldn’t be meeting me first he changed his mind. I did offer to go meet him separately but he insisted I stayed with my friends and we’d just do Saturday instead, as originally planned.

I was kinda disappointed he didn’t come out, it would have been a great first date story, something we agreed on as we continued to text while I was in a cab to the bar with some of my friends. He mentioned we’d just have to make tomorrow as good a story, maybe with the same level of nakedness. I had told him the show was full nudity… so his message was presumptuous… but I didn’t hate it.

He was 29, originally from Vancouver, his parents were still here but he was now living in Toronto. He had just sold a business he’d built from nothing and was recently appointed President at a new sports tech business. He used to play basketball, still seemed to keep himself incredibly fit, was 5”11 and from all his pictures looked pretty god damn fine.

The fact he didn’t live here, albeit he travelled back here for work about once a month, and the mention of nudity on the first date, I was well aware that a date with him wasn’t likely to be the start of a beautiful long-term relationship. But at that point, I decided a sex date might actually be just what I needed to wash Filipeen out of my newly blonded hair once and for all. What is it they say about getting over a man, get under another one?

As my night became more debauched and drunken and naked (the strippers, you understand, not me) there were texts back and forth with him about private dances and eventually he admitted he wished he’d come out and instead he was lying all alone in his bed. Normally I would have thought that was a not-so-subtle invitation for me to go over, but given that he stays with his parents when he’s in town, it was unlikely that he wanted me to turn up on his parents’ doorstep.

We said goodnight and planned to be in touch the next day to make arrangements. It had been a pretty escalating day of chat, considering we only matched that morning, and I was really looking forward to meeting him – he seemed like a funny (dry sense of humour) guy, who seemed to have his shit together and if he looked even remotely like his pictures I was in for a treat.

The next day, over texts and a couple of phone calls, we made plans that he would come downtown after an early dinner he had with his parents. I tried to arrange to meet at a bar but he was insistent about staying in with a bottle of wine. And to be honest, still feeling a little shaky from the birthday antics the night before, I was ok with that. So, for the first time ever, I gave a man I had never met my address and had him turn up on my doorstep.

And I know what you’re thinking – ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?! Always meet in a public place, never give your address until you know them, make sure they know you do kickboxing and can kick their ass etc etc!

Like I say, it was the first time I’d ever done it and part of me was horrified at myself, but the other part trusted my gut, and my gut told me it was ok, he didn’t seem like “that sort of guy”. You know, the sort to murder a Bumble date in her apartment. (I joke, but it’s a serious issue and I’m aware that women need to take care of their safety at all times, which I don’t take lightly.) And so just after 8pm my buzzer went and I apprehensively waited for the elevator to deliver him to the 10th floor and hear a knock on my door.

To say I wasn’t disappointed is the understatement of the year.

Things I hadn’t noticed or seen in his profile pictures – this unbelievably sexy salt and pepper hair, more expected on a man of 40 or 50 but hugely attractive on a hot guy of 29; arms that even under his jacket I could tell were going to be my favourite part about him; and this deep dimple square in the middle of his chin that I just wanted to nestle my head in forever. And something I couldn’t have known from his profile but had picked up in the couple of phone calls earlier in the day but was now confirmed; an incredibly attractive, accented, maybe east coast-ish, slightly husky voice.

This WTAF moment was possibly the best, most pleasantly surprising I’d ever experienced. I had to do all I could to pick my jaw up off the floor and make words come out of my mouth while simultaneously quieting the voice in the back of my head that was saying “well, he’s going to be disappointed with you”.

He’d brought wine so while I got that opened and he took a look at the view from my place, the easy chatting we’d had over text picked up in person. He was super easy to talk to and had led a really interesting life. He was also clearly a lover of the finer things (the wine he brought was not a cheap bottle, apparently he only flies business class and his taste in hotels includes some of the finest in the world) and I think knew he was very successful for his age, but in a matter of fact, appreciative, because he’d made so many sacrifices, kind of a way. And I didn’t hate any of it.

We discovered a shared love of rugby and spoke about the rugby sevens coming up in Vancouver in a few months, but he didn’t think he’d be in town for it. I realised I was already hoping to hear of any next visits to Vancouver he may have, and we weren’t even through our first glass of wine yet…

With so much talking, it took me a while to realise that either we were going to just have a lovely evening of wine and chit chat or he was going to have to make a move. Because I knew I sure as hell wasn’t. I also realised that surely being in someone’s apartment, other than it having easy access to a bedroom, made it more difficult for something more physical to happen naturally, no? At least at a bar you might be huddled around a table and able to get a little closer. Or moving from a restaurant to a bar there’s the opportunity for some contact while you’re walking. At the movies, there’s the potential for a brushing of hands. Sitting on the couch in someone’s house? You really had to make that shit happen for yourself. And I knew that I, for one, would not be the one to do that. No matter how much I wanted to get a little closer to that dimple.

We ended up talking about basketball at one stage, with me asking him if he’d always played, if he still played etc etc. I commented that, despite playing in high school, it wasn’t the sport for me given my short, fat fingers. As I said it, he leaned forward and took my wine glass out my hand, placed it on the table and took my hand to look at said short, fat fingers.

I was simultaneously distressed at the fact he was now examining one of the areas of my body I hated the most – why had I brought up my goddamn chunky digits?! – but thrilled that, other than a swift hug when he’d first arrived which I hadn’t been able to enjoy because I was so pleasantly stunned, we were now engaging in physical contact.

That physical contact seemed to be the only in he needed. He briefly dropped my hand, to have more of his wine, and then in one swift movement was over on the other part of the sectional sofa, half standing, half kneeling on the sofa over me. It felt imposing and incredibly sexy, and I was aware instantly, there was something about his energy in that moment, that he was probably very dominant sexually. This could be fun.

He was forceful in a very flirtatious way, so that not once did I have a concern about a man, whom I’d met only a couple of hours earlier and let into my apartment, ordering me around. To be honest, I was more than happy to comply. He took his shirt off and the delight I experienced when he first arrived, was elevated by about a hundred. His arms were, as I had imagined from that first in real life glimpse, delightful. That salt and pepper hair, which turned out to be outrageously long on top of his head when I actually ran my fingers through it, and matching stubble and chest hair was ridiculously sexy. And that dimple? Good God, that dimple.

The only thing I didn’t like was some of the chat. Now, I’m a talker during sex, I mean not like a “hi, how’s your day been” kinda talker, but I like keeping the lines of communication open, vocalising appreciation, making suggestions and laughing. There’s nothing I love more than when you’re comfortable enough with a sexual partner that you can laugh at the unavoidable weird/awkward/funny stuff that happens during sex. Silent sex does not do it for me.

But some questions, particularly when you don’t know your partner all that well, you know like when you only met him for the first time when he turned up on your doorstep two and a half hours ago, just seem a little forced and unnecessary. And I know for some people hearing their partner talk about what they like and want done to them, in the midst of sex, is a massive turn on and usually I’d be all for it but I found that I struggled a little with not knowing him all that well.

What I didn’t struggle with was when, after making out and getting pretty handsy on the sofa for a while, he picked me up, carried me to the bedroom and threw me on the bed. And I’m not just using that phrase because it sounds great. He actually threw me down on the mattress with such force I remember bouncing. I wasn’t sure bouncing was sexy, so I attempted to steady myself, find some composure and maintain an air of sexiness.

The sex was better than great. He knew what he was doing and obviously knew what he liked, but he was also suitably generous. The one thing I did notice, however, was that when we started having sex, the kissing stopped. I think there’s something that men, and maybe women, equate about kissing during sex with intimacy, and when they’re not looking for a relationship, they think that a way to avoid that is to minimise intimacy. There is, of course, the argument that sex in and of itself can be one of the most intimate acts that humans engage in.

What was a little more off-putting than the no kissing, was the lack of post-sex cuddles. I think I’ve said it before, I’m a massive cuddler. That closeness, that comfort, I miss that as a singleton. But similarly to the kissing, I think for some people that closeness after sex scares them because it feels too intimate. As if having your genitals entwined just moments before somehow wasn’t.

So instead we lay, slightly apart, in bed chatting until he said he should get going. I realised at that point that we hadn’t really had any particularly deep conversations. It was all fairly surface level. And despite the groping, the nakedness, the hot sweaty sex, I could have had almost the same level of actual conversation with him sat in public at a bar.

It was unfortunate to see him get dressed again but that dimple at least couldn’t hide behind clothes. We talked about maybe seeing each other on the Sunday, but we both had plans with friends and, as we hugged goodbye, we left it that we’d see how it went.

The next morning, as I was filling in one of my girlfriends, the girlfriend who helped craft the final text to Filipeen, about my previous night’s antics she commented that she knew someone who worked in the industry that Toronto Dimple Chin (as he was now Christened) used to work in. Within three minutes she came back to me to tell me that yep, her friend knew him, mostly in a professional capacity but that he was a good guy. We joke that she’s better at finding out stuff about people than the FBI. Those memes you see on Instagram about giving someone a first name and five minutes later they have the whole family tree? That’s this friend of mine. In fact I have two of them, and they’re hilariously helpful.

As it turned out Toronto Dimple Chin and I never caught up the next day, and he left town at the beginning of the week. He’d said it would be about six weeks until he was back again so I said he should text when he was next back in town and we could maybe catch up. “Catch up” obviously meaning, get together and have sex.

Four weeks later, I was with said FBI agent girlfriend and my best straight guy friend, the one Filipeen had concerns about, at a bar inside the sports stadium where we were spending the weekend watching rugby sevens. As they were ordering drinks, I happened to turn around, and see walking in our direction Toronto Dimple Chin and some friends. Despite the crowds, he saw me at the same time, said something to his friends who carried on walking and came over to where I was standing.

Jeez, I’d forgotten just how attractive he was. Is anyone else seeing this?!?!

As soon as he was beside me I remembered that my two, fairly drunk, friends were nearby and while, yes, they would indeed see it, I also hoped they’d keep their shit together and not embarrass me.

He and I hugged and said hello as they sidled up beside me, their drinks replenished in both hands, so it was an easy and quick introduction and then, in my friends’ defence, they said their goodbyes and headed back to our seats. Though I could tell by the look on their faces there was much they wanted to say.

Toronto Dimple Chin and I had a fairly quick chat, he said he wasn’t supposed to be in town but his plans had changed, that it was nice to see me and we should do something while he was still in town. I agreed, another quick hug, a glance at the dimple and I returned to where my friends were sitting and he headed off in the direction of his.

Before I even reached within earshot of our seats, I could tell the two witnesses were filling in the rest of my friends with the details of the bar encounter. As I approached my girlfriend stopped talking, looked at me and said “he is one of the most attractive men I’ve seen in real life, in my life”. And I couldn’t disagree.

It turns out even our straight, male friend thought the same. When they’d turned around and saw me chatting to Toronto Dimple Chin, he’d said “I don’t know who he is, but I’d do him” and then was apparently incredulous that I had in fact actually already “done him”.

It was a relief to know that I hadn’t dreamt up his attractiveness or remembered the cuteness of that dimple through inaccurate rose-tinted spectacles. And not only for me to be reminded of it but for friends to witness it as well – it made me sound a little less nuts when I was insistent that he was probably the most attractive man I’d slept with.

Despite the excitement of seeing him again and the pleasantries we exchanged in the stadium concourse, we didn’t meet up during the rest of his time in Vancouver. Instead we texted a couple of times and then it sort of went nowhere, which was kind of disappointing but if I’m honest, if he lived in closer proximity and I’d seen him more? That dimple could well have been the death of me.

Next post…

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As Long As There Are Lessons

March 6, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat304 Comments

Mar-2018

I try to look at every experience as a positive, in some way at least. Whether a dating experience ended horribly or it didn’t meet my hopes/expectations, if I can learn something then it was a good thing for the experience to have happened. And I do truly believe everything happens for a reason, even if at the time the reason seems unfathomable.

On every date I’d been on in the past year, I had learnt something – about myself, about dating in general or about men. The biggest learnings though had undoubtedly come from Canadian DJ and Filipeen. Arms gets an honourable mention because he was such a treat.

There were two lessons with Canadian DJ. The first was an incredibly positive one. I realised I could actually feel something for someone again. That wasn’t something I’d been entirely sure of since the end of my marriage. I was so scarred from that experience that for a long while my heart (and my vagina) had felt nothing. Remembering those feelings of heart flutters, hopes, excitement and burning loins (legit wrote that thinking I was Joan Collins) was like a re-birth for me. Knowing you will feel something for someone again was so encouraging for me.

The second lesson was that making allowances for someone’s behaviour based on what they’re going through (in his case his divorce) didn’t allow me to take care of myself and, instead, I put him first. And especially having come from where I’ve been in the past, I’ve realised I should always be my number one priority.

And as Julia puts it, it’s not always about making decisions which will make me happy in the short term, but decisions which when I look ahead two, or five, or ten years I know will be the best for me. As much as short term it could have been fun with Canadian DJ – who doesn’t want a trip to Mexico? – the red flags were already there in abundance and did I really want to live through another divorce, albeit not mine this time?

It could have been years of struggle and who knows how it would have ended up. That process changes a person so much. I know, I’ve been there. In trying to be sympathetic and kind and a good person, I allowed someone to be less than good to me. Be kind to yourself first, so you’re able to continue being kind to others. Putting yourself first does not equate to selfishness or unkindness towards someone else.

With Filipeen, it was a lesson in standing up for myself and not letting someone make me question myself and my self worth, especially when their sense of me seemed so warped. Don’t feel like you’ve got to be agreeable just so you don’t rock the boat. If standing up for yourself is going to tip the boat over, especially if it’s already listing, then let that motherfucker sink.

On reflection of this situation afterwards, I realised it was far more about him, than it was me. And I randomly happened on this quote, which felt incredibly apt – “If you are willing to look at another person’s behaviour toward you as a reflection of the state of their relationship with themselves rather than a statement about your value as a person, then you will, over a period of time, cease to react at all.” – Yogi Bhajan

Deciding what your standards of acceptable behaviour are is critical. Just because you’re not married & he’s not cheating on you & sexting people (i.e. me using my ex-husband as a yardstick), doesn’t make his behaviour ok. That’s not the only form of poor behaviour & anything that’s not as bad as that isn’t necessarily good. There’s a whole scale of shitty and unacceptable behaviour.

If I wouldn’t accept it for one of my friends, then I shouldn’t accept it for me. If I wouldn’t accept me doing it to someone else, then I shouldn’t accept it being done to me. And if by respecting someone else so much I end up disrespecting myself, it’s my actions that need to change.

As much as learning lessons is an enriching part of life, when it’s a painful experience to get to the lesson it’s natural to feel like you’d maybe rather have avoided it and either learnt the lesson another way (tip – there is no other way) or never learnt the lesson at all (tip – all these lessons are invaluable, deal with it).

I always ask myself how I can make sure I don’t find myself in the same situation again, not repeat the same mistakes or, rather, put my newly learnt lessons into practice. But you do the best you can with what emotional capability you have/the information you know at the time. And trying to never let the pain be repeated can mean you look to change some of your own inherent qualities.

As much as I can look at past experiences and think “if I hadn’t let it go so far so quickly” or “if I’d just stood back a bit and tried to get a better measure of the person” or “maybe I shouldn’t have given so much of myself”, ultimately I don’t want to become guarded. I don’t want to question my decision making ability. Especially when you cannot control what is coming at you from the other side of a relationship. You cannot control how honest or vulnerable or committed the other person will be.

Change is also unsettling. Adapting to a shift in your life – whether it’s a relationship, physical environment, career – takes time and can be challenging. This is particularly true when the shift involves another person, a human being who, for a certain time anyway, brought some love and light to your life. But there is something poetic about the ebb and flow of people into and out of your life.

However, a change which when it happens can seem so significant (whether that’s someone coming or going), can seem so irrelevant when looking back in a few months / years /decades. Being able to remember that these, at the time, pretty big / meaningful / painful life events will eventually all just become small threads in the fabric of your entire life can help with providing some perspective and letting you take a step back from the minutiae of the overwhelming feelings. In the end they’re all just really good stories in your life book.

And uncertainty is a given when getting into a new relationship. Which is unfortunate, because I like to have a handle on things. I like to know what’s what and know what’s not. It’s important for me to have a sense of control, feel like I know what to expect and be able to prepare myself.

I’ve always been sort of like that but the control requirement really got out of hand when my marriage unravelled and I felt like I didn’t have a handle on anything – my emotions, my husband, my life. It was a scary feeling.

So post-separation and divorce I held on for dear life onto any control I could get because it made me feel safe, it made me feel less vulnerable, it made me feel like for the first time in a long time at least I got to make proactive decisions rather than reactive decisions.

Getting into a new relationship, however, doesn’t provide any of that – even in the best of circumstances when you know yourself, when you don’t doubt people’s honesty and when relationships don’t seem like a potential black hole of disaster (wow, I sound so positive!). But in my circumstance, when I can’t even answer the question “what are you like in a relationship?” it provides a whole extra level of uncertainty to the already pre-existing unknowns. So that’s… fun.

I don’t know what I’m like in a relationship because I’m not the same person I was when I was last in a relationship. It was over 5 years ago (jeeeeeez I’ve never seen that written down before!) and it was my painfully broken marriage. The experience of that situation changed me in ways I didn’t even realise until a few years ago and there’s definitely been elements I’ve tried to scrub from the memory bank. So my “truth” of how I was in that relationship is unlikely to be anything like how I’d be as a partner now, for so many reasons. And how I would be now, after so much change, is anybody’s guess.

A fairly unsurprising residual from my marriage, which broke down due to infidelity on my husband’s part, is of course the fun time feeling that is insecurity. While I never questioned that the severe misgivings in my marriage were his doing and not mine (albeit I don’t suggest I was the 100% perfect wife), women particularly seem incapable of not taking on an incredible – usually, unwarranted – amount of self loathing/self doubt in circumstances where cheating has occurred and I was no different. Was I not good enough, was I not smart enough, was I not attractive enough, not good enough in bed…

It’s indescribable how much it can eat away under the surface, like rot infiltrating the foundations of what looks like an otherwise stable home. And sometimes the “stable home” may only realise the extent of the rot when it comes time to potentially welcome a new dweller in.

Trust is the other bitch. It’s the thing that you hear so much about – you can’t have a relationship without it, you need to earn it, it’s a mutual thing, once it’s gone you can never get it back. Very little is spoken about trust in a superlatively positive way.

So when you realise that you’ve developed such a strong sense of mistrust, it’s difficult to figure out how you’re going to get around it when you meet someone new. And when I say mistrust, I mean in everyone. Every single person in your life. To the point that you genuinely think your friends are lying to you when they say they can’t go to a movie with you. And it’s no reflection on them. It’s you, it’s your mind, it’s the mental abuse you suffered when you knew something wasn’t right and someone you loved lied straight to your face. Over, and over, and over. About the biggest things and the smallest things. Did you sleep with her? No (I have a text from her saying otherwise and he later admitted it). Did you forget to take your lunch to work today? No (I’m staring at it sat in the fridge).

So how do you set yourself up for a new relationship when you already don’t believe a single thing that anyone says to you. And now you’re supposed to trust a stranger who wants into your bed and into your life, and you’re not sure which is their main priority.

I’d also moved to a brand new country, a whole other continent no less, so is dating here different? Are relationship roles/expectations the same as back in the UK? I don’t know how dating in this day and age works!

I also came here by myself, with my family thousands of miles away, so does that impact what I need/want from a partner? Do I need more stability, a ready made family given that I don’t have my own here. I don’t know, I don’t know if I would still be looking for those things if I did have my family closeby.

I’m also now 30 plus… so you’re looking for different things than you were in your twenties. It’s not all “oh I’ll just see how it goes”. I don’t have time for that. Your patience and your tolerance are a lot lower in your thirties I’ve found.

Based on the above I know it sounds like I lack self confidence, I don’t trust a single soul, I’m in a weird new place and I’m old… this isn’t all strictly true.

I spent a lot of time, and money, working on the self confidence and the trust issues, not least learning to trust myself and my gut again, so they’ve definitely had some repair work. My new location has given me an incredible new lease of life in the best possible way and the extra years of experience (we don’t use the word baggage) are invaluable.

Technically I could/should be in a much better place now than ever before to get into a relationship. And I don’t actually argue with that. But I do have an additional level of unknown. having changed so much in the last few years, Friends and family who have seen me through it all, have commented on how different I am. Thankfully, always in a good way, that I’m so much happier. But that change means I don’t know who I am in a relationship. I don’t know what to expect of myself.

So I’m trying to figure it out as I go and situations like Canadian DJ and Flilipeen, while painful and difficult at the time, are all part of that and I’m thankful for the lessons they provided.

(Sorry for the lack of jokes in this post, dating after divorce ain’t all funny stories and sex-ploits.)

Next post…

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The Aftermath – Part 4.1?

March 4, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat301 Comment

Jan-2017

I guess you could call this a bonus post? I had thought I’d be able to get the whole godforsaken Filipeen saga wrapped up in 4 parts (you can read part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4) but there’s still more shittery to write about, so here I am.

Having sobbed all the way home, I actually felt better than I thought I would when I settled myself on the sofa to eat my feelings in leftover Christmas chocolate. I absolutely knew I’d done the right thing and I felt relieved it was over, that I didn’t have to deal with Filipeen again, but I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d got myself into the mess to begin with…

Why hadn’t I been quicker to walk away? Why had I let it get so far, to the point he was able to diminish my self worth? Why did I honestly think he might be the only person that would want to date me? Where did that “scarcity fear”, as Julia calls it, come from?

Those weren’t questions I had answers for right at that moment but as I pondered them, my thoughts were interrupted by a text. From him. “So I don’t really know where we left it? Am I ok to contact you? Can we still be friends?”

Mother of fuck, get a clue.

I had no ability to see how we could be friends. I hadn’t been on Bumble to make friends and ultimately when someone has stripped your character down to nothing, why would you want to keep them in your life? It made no sense to me. But he’d done a great job of making me feel guilty even about that. During the discussion yesterday, when he’d made a point about how he hoped we could be friends he commented that people who can’t remain friends after dating clearly aren’t mature. Setting up the narrative that if I said we couldn’t be friends, I was obviously immature. Even now he was manipulating my thoughts.

I didn’t even know what to say in reply, and I was too tired to try to deal with it. So I just said “I don’t know right now. How about text me if you want and I’ll see how I feel?”

That was the Sunday and on the Tuesday he took it literally when he texted me to ask if I’d watched anymore Archer. We’d been watching it together whenever I was over at his place, funnily I hadn’t been tempted to remind myself of those nights by watching more of it in the last couple of days. I replied “no, I’ve been busy seeing friends and taking care of myself”. I was hoping the terse response would help him realise I wasn’t interested in friendly chit chat.

I made it through the rest of the week relatively unscathed, given it was the first week back after the holidays and I was hardly in the best of moods to start with. To celebrate surviving I went out with a girlfriend to eat tacos, drink margaritas and catch up after the holidays. Obviously my festive tales were fairly exclusively focused on Filipeen and as we were knee deep in the pre-NYE character assassination chat, my phone buzzed. Being the terrible friend I am, I checked it mid-sentence and stopped dead.

It was the star of the story and the look on my face obviously said so. My friend’s only response was “tell me how exactly this story turns around to the point where he’s still fucking texting you now?” She was incredulous. I insisted on finishing the story before we dived into this most recent text. And as the story progressed she’d interject every so often with “and he’s STILL texting you??!?! HOW?!?!?”

When the story finally caught up with current day, I read the text out loud to her “hey! Where was that bottomless mimosa brunch place you were saying was good?” Ohhhh, now you want to leverage my downtown party lifestyle knowledge??? What am I, some fucking restaurant concierge?

My friend asked me how I felt. I said not good, I didn’t want his name popping up on my phone and disturbing my days / nights / life, and she was right when she said I needed to tell him that. Fuck what he thought about people who couldn’t stay friends after dating, fuck it if he thought I wasn’t coping, fuck it if he thought he’d got to me. She was pretty resolute about it.

So we spent the next half hour crafting the perfect response as we moved from the restaurant to Forever 21 to look for outfit pieces for an event we were going to in a few weeks. Browsing the racks we put together a text that ultimately said that I didn’t want to be friends with him, I didn’t see how that could bring value to my life, and that in hindsight I had realised that the way he treated me and how he’d acted had been incredibly selfish, confusing and unfair. I wanted to be nice but honest, I wanted to be firm but fair. And ultimately I wanted him to leave me the fuck alone. Text iterated for the 100th time…. and sent!

He replied later that night, with an essay length text, saying it was unfortunate that I saw the situation that way (insinuating, of course, that it wasn’t that way in reality at all) and that as a result he didn’t think we could be friends (when I’d just said in my text that I didn’t want us to be friends, of course he needed the last say in that) but he wished me nothing but the best because I really was an incredible person who deserved to meet someone who was right for me and the life I “really wanted to lead” (a nod to the fact he didn’t think I was honest about the life I wanted to live).

I never replied and instead deleted our entire message history.

I was grateful I had been with my friend when the brunch text came in. I probably would have sent a mindless reply otherwise. Instead we talked through the whole thing. She’s a therapist and while she can’t counsel me professionally (instead she introduced me to the therapist love of my life, Julia), she does an incredible job at putting her knowledge to use when chatting with friends in situations just like this. She’s also one of the most empathetic people I know, which helps massively and I love her for it.

Discussing it with her, I realised he gave so many excuses for why it wouldn’t work, as if he was grasping for any old reason. Yet none of them were reason enough for him to cut it off himself. He had to tell me everything that was wrong with me and leave it to me to decide if I could live with staying in the relationship while knowing he was feeling all of those things.

I don’t believe it was a actually a choice for me to make, rather it was a test to see how much I would put up with and, ultimately, a way of getting me to be the one to break it off rather than him. So that he wasn’t the cause of anymore hurt to me than I’d had in my past, so that he wasn’t the bad guy. Even wanting to stay friends afterwards, always the sign of the good guy right?

It’s bullshit. I wish he’d been man enough to say “this is how I’m feeling, it’s not working for me, I’m sorry but we can’t keep dating”. Instead, by being a coward (or trying to save me hurt, as he put it) it caused me more confusion. And if there’s one thing that causes more lasting damage than hurt, it’s confusion.

Confusion breeds doubt and insecurity. It leads to not trusting your gut and being unable to cut through the noise. I feel like it’s a go to tactic for men – confuse her, that’ll really fuck her up. Because if there’s one thing that’s easy to walk away from and explain why you walked away, it’s a messed up woman.

Well fuck him. I knew what I wanted, I put it out there and I don’t regret it. It’s me – it’s how I am, it’s how I live my life and it’s how I love (not that I loved him – to be clear). I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand the reason behind why he felt the way he did/didn’t or acted the way he did. Were we really not compatible or was he scared? I don’t know and it doesn’t actually matter.

I want someone to be all in with me, someone whose commitment I never have to question or wonder about. And that wasn’t him. End of saga.

Next post…

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All Kinds of F*&%ed Up – Part 4 of 4

March 2, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Dec-2016/Jan-2017

The morning after Boxing Day, Filipeen was back at work but I had an extra day off, so in my “I can’t help but be nice” state of mind, I finished tidying up the rest of his place. We’d done a lot of it the night before but there was still piles of dishes, boxes of drink and generally stuff all out of place. So I let my cleanliness OCD take over and fixed it all up. I also walked the dog and, for the second day in a row, he’d given me the keys to his pride and joy to drive the rental plates and glasses back to the hire place. As you do with someone who the night prior you’d been introducing as “a friend”.

And I did all of that with a hangover and confusion fogged brain, trying to work what in the hell’s name was going on. Dropping off his house key to him at his office as I made my way back downtown I couldn’t help but feel that the thanks and minimal kiss he’d offered on the side of the street weren’t quite enough reward for the bitch of a morning I’d just had.

But had he asked me to do all those chores or had I offered and he’d just taken me up on it? Did it matter? Well, yeah, because I guess I can’t really be mad if I offered and then was pissed off because I didn’t get a big enough pat on the back. But it was more than that. It was because he’d let me do all of that while still clearly not knowing where he was at with his feelings for me. But again, can you blame him? Who wouldn’t take up the offer of a free housemaid for the morning. Especially one who you’d had shower sex with before you went to work.

That’s right, throughout it all, the sex was an unwavering constant. Maybe the only unwavering constant. And it was always great. It was the one time when I wasn’t second guessing myself with him. By this point I felt fairly confident in my own sexuality and I was sure there were no complaints from his side, in fact there was more talk about it being some of the best he’d had than it being a further source of disconnect for us.

But I found myself post-Boxing Day dinner party, post-Christmas Night weirdness, post-Christmas Eve domesticity, having a really hard time getting a grip on what in fuck’s name was going on. I couldn’t understand how we’d gotten to a place with so much confusion and tension and ultimately, where I was feeling worse about myself instead of better.

To add to the festive period trials, New Year’s Eve was coming up. Which would have been fine if we weren’t going to spend it together but a few weeks back, before things had gotten this far down weird street, I’d mentioned that I was going to an engagement party on NYE and that he should come if he didn’t have any plans. It wasn’t like a big “let’s bring in the new year together” or “I want to take you as my plus one to a friend’s engagement party”, it truly was “if you’re not doing anything else that night, come along, it should be a super fun party”.

After everything that had gone before we probably should have rethought the decision and instead taken it as a night for ourselves, apart from each other. But why try and keep things simple when you can add more confusion to the mix?

With the residual feelings from Boxing Day still lingering, I knew I needed to address them before NYE – I hate taking negativity into a new year and I knew if there were underlying issues and I got drunk all hell could break loose. So on the 30th December I, of course, went over to his place where he cooked us dinner and we found ourselves having another chat about our relationship a mere two weeks since the last one.

I started by saying that I knew that despite saying we should slow down and focus more on just spending time the two of us, Christmas had kind of got in the way of that with Boxing Day dinner and now NYE coming up. So we should just forgive ourselves those but come January we’ll try and start afresh again. I just thought we needed to slow down like we spoke about and I knew I needed to stop giving so much of myself by doing things like walking the dog and being domesticated at his house (oh my god I’m having deja vu from the conversation two weeks ago – had I learnt nothing?!).

I presumed he was going to agree, we were going to try (again) to make those changes and things would get better. End of story. But his reaction left me speechless.

He told me right off the bat that he felt like something was missing and he wasn’t sure that our life goals aligned. The trail off at the end of “you tick all the boxes on paper but something feels off, I mean you should be everything I want but…” isn’t really something you want to hear.

He said he felt something was missing with me. The pointedness of making sure I knew it was ME that there was something missing with and not him wasn’t lost on me. But the part that got me the most, the thing that definitely shattered a little piece of my heart was when, looking me in the eye, he told me “I don’t have butterflies about you”. Not to be melodramatic but it felt like a stab, like the quickest insertion of the finest blade deep inside me. My biggest fear – rejection – was staring my squarely in the face.

As I fought back the tears, he continued by telling me he didn’t think I wanted to give up my downtown party lifestyle and that, despite what I’d said, he didn’t believe me when I said I wanted to have kids. The want to cry quickly turned into the want to punch him in the throat.

At what point had all of my trips across the bridge to the suburban North Shore, and walking his dog in the shitting snow, before having cosy quiet nights in at his place made it seem like I wouldn’t want to change my “downtown party lifestyle”? And even that phrase was ridiculous! I am practically a GRANNY! I hardly ever go out and in fact my drinking had increased since I met him. (Possibly because of the mental anguish he caused me.)

And don’t get me started on how insulting it was that he would question my sincerity, my honesty, my vulnerability when opening up about how I felt about having kids. Who the fuck was he to tell me that he thought I wasn’t being honest about it?

As I was sitting on my hands to stop me reaching out to strangle him, what I thought was rock bottom plummeted further when he finished up his character assassination of me with “but look, I’m hoping all those feelings about you change because I would really love this to work. I’m happy to give it time, to work on it, and see if those feelings develop and if maybe our life goals can align. If you are? But I understand you’ve been hurt in the past and the last thing I want to do is hurt you anymore, so I’ll understand if you want to walk away. I’ll let you make the decision. ”

If it hadn’t been for my ex-husband’s incredible displays of psychological manipulation years before, I’d have said this was the most exquisite example of gaslighting I’d ever seen.

I hadn’t even really wanted to be going this fast. Yes it was fun and ultimately domesticated bliss was the long term goal but it was scaring the shit out of me and the confusion it was bringing with it wasn’t worth it. But for some reason I was sat on that sofa actually weighing up the options. Whereas now with a clear head and hindsight all I can scream as I type these words is “RUN, YOU DUMB BITCH.” Trust me, reader, I feel your frustration.

I was so torn and in that moment I felt incredibly alone. Again, in hindsight, I know I could have reached out to any of my friends and they’d have likely uttered the exact same all caps instruction as above, but at the time I felt stuck with this decision all by myself.

My mind was racing but kind of in slow motion: surely we need to be together for those feelings to develop and for him to realise we are on the same page re life goals. i.e. spending time apart isn’t going to convince him of those things, so taking a break or walking away won’t help? But if those feelings aren’t there now, will they ever be? And do I really want to be feeling like I need to try and convince him that we’re right for each other? Does any of this matter right now? It’s still so early. Do we even need to be having these conversations? Is walking away sensible self preservation or is it running scared at the first hint of trouble?

As I was trying to calm my mind to the point I could move or talk or do something, ideally to get up and go home, he outdid himself by coming out with “look, I can tell you’re upset, this wasn’t a fun conversation to have and you shouldn’t be alone tonight, so why don’t you stay?”

Again in hindsight, it should have been a no brainer, I should have already been halfway back across that mother fucking bridge. But I was still there on the couch. And ultimately I ended up staying. I felt so paralysed by the fear of making the wrong decision. Like if I’d gone home that night it would have been over and, despite everything, I really didn’t know if I wanted that.

At the time all I could think was I really wouldn’t not want him in my life. Amidst all the bullshit, he did make me laugh, he was generally sweet and caring, he seemed like such a good person, with good values, he made me want to be better with his motivation and drive, and I loved how family and friends orientated he was. Plus, you know, the sex was incredible.

But that night as we climbed into bed, as we had done countless times before that, I felt like I was drowning in uncertainty and fear. Fear I’d make the wrong choice, fear that once again I was going to have to face the feeling of rejection, fear that I was once more going to have to walk away from something when it wasn’t entirely what I wanted to do but I knew that I should.

When he tried to initiate sex, his lack of true understanding of the situation shocked me. I had to explain to him that I didn’t want to be only enough for him in the bedroom if I wasn’t enough for him sitting on that couch 15 minutes earlier. While he turned over and went to sleep, I replayed everything he said to me, every untruth he told me about myself, over and over in my head and, as the 31st of December dawned, I cried myself to a restless couple of hours of sleep.

The best part (note the sarcasm) of all of this is that the way he’d left the conversation was entirely on my shoulders, the decision was mine to make, I was the ref who had to make the call. And despite the mass of billowing red flags hitting me across the face from all directions, I genuinely didn’t know what to do. So what would you do in that situation? I bet the answer isn’t “still go to your friend’s NYE engagement party with him”? But mine was!

Yup, we got all dressed up that night, having told him I wanted to put the whole thing out of my mind and not think about it, and instead to try and enjoy the night, off we went for him to meet more of my friends and bring in the new year, celebrating love, while feeling like I had fully lost my mind.

The night itself was surprisingly not a complete wash. There were moments I’d catch myself starting to think about it and would have to actively change my train of thought, especially when he’d make comments about how he hoped he would get an invite to the wedding or that he’d love to hang out with my friends again. You don’t even know that you like me, why do you think we’ll be together in 9 months when the wedding is?!?! Otherwise we did pretty good and the friends we were with that night, none of whom had met him before, had no clue anything was wrong and thought he was great.

After we’d successfully seen in 2017 and toasted the upcoming nuptials while I remained sensibly semi-sober, I dutifully went back over the water to his place despite my house only being 10 minutes away from the party, but he had to go home for the dog. Always the damn dog! I loved that dog, she was a sweetheart but fuck me it was an annoying excuse he always had up his sleeve.

On January first he dropped me off back at home for me to go and do the annual New Year’s Day ocean swim with some friends. Before he left he suggested we do dinner the next night, our last night of the festive period before going back to work. At that point I knew I didn’t have another trip across the bridge in me so I insisted he come over to downtown and we go somewhere convenient for me, which he happily agreed to.

A few hours later I was at a bar with a couple of guy friends, trying to warm ourselves up by a heater and with a whisky each having shocked our systems by diving into freezing water, and I told them the story of Filipeen. They knew I was dating someone but hadn’t heard any of the rest of the story. I actually hadn’t really told anyone about the pre-NYE chat, I couldn’t bring myself to because it was just so… embarrassing. It felt embarrassing.

Naturally, both of their reactions were ones of absolute horror that I’d gone to NYE with him, much less that I was even considering what I should do about the whole thing. They were incredibly kind and said some very lovely, and much needed, things about how I deserved better and how he sounded “like a nutter”, as one of my friends so eloquently put it.

I think I had known that would be what everyone had said, but he’d done such a good job of making it seem so normal to say the things he had and turn it around the way he had on me, and of course with his less than stellar review of my character weighing on my mind, I had definitely started to believe that maybe those things were wrong with me and maybe I should just be happy he was willing to try and make it work? Yes, my self worth was entirely MIA by this point.

Lesson learnt that day – always sense check shit a guy says to you with your friends.

The following day I prepared myself for dinner with him, wondering if I should just cut it off with him that night. But I was all too aware that he was the first serious “relationship” I’d had since I started dating and I wasn’t sure if I was running scared or if I was self sabotaging.

Instead I decided to give it a bit more time, have a session with my therapist Julia (have I mentioned her? I LOVE HER) and go from there. Of course, that night we had to get just a little bit of couple domesticity in and went to buy a laundry basket for him – just how every girl wants a dinner date to start – before heading to the restaurant.

Dinner was fine, we kept the conversation light and it did feel like a nice way to finish the holidays. We’d started them together and, in some capacity at least, we were finishing them together. But when he came back upstairs to mine for a bit before he went home things changed. He sat away from me on the sofa – in fact he sat on the only other chair in my apartment – while he told me he felt like “the decision” had been on my mind all night and we wouldn’t get anywhere if I couldn’t let it go.

“If I couldn’t let it go”? “IF I COULDN’T LET IT GO”?!?!?!?!?! I’m sorry, it’s kinda hard to forget that the person you’re sitting across from at dinner, going out to parties with, sleeping in a bed with isn’t sure that you’re right for them and has actively you told you just that, along with all the many fucking reasons, enough to fill your new fucking laundry basket.

And he had the audacity to get annoyed with me as he said it. HE was annoyed with ME. I was speechless, though I did manage to tell him I thought he should leave. I didn’t want to see his face, I didn’t want him near me, I didn’t want him in my house.

He called me that night to try and apologise but it was a short conversation that I ended by telling him I wanted to be left alone for a week. We went back to work the next day and at the end of that week I had an appointment to see Julia. I knew she’d sort me out. I knew she’d be able to help me get back to clarity and unpack the craziness of the last few weeks.

That Friday as I relayed the story to Julia, in her cosy, comfortable, safe space, and as I heard all the words come out of my mouth in the way they’ve tumbled onto this post, I knew. I knew what I should do, I knew that walking away was the only sensible option. But for some reason I needed that reinforced. I needed to be told that it was ok and I was doing the right thing. Because instead of just knowing I should do it, I had this feeling that me walking away was me not doing enough, not trying hard enough. It was mildly reminiscent of when I struggled so much with walking away from my marriage, albeit on a totally different scale. My self worth definitely still needed some work.

Julia’s role isn’t typically to tell me what to do, that’s not how counselling/therapy works. She asks questions to get me to look at things differently, think a little deeper about how things have happened or why I feel the way I do, reflect on things in new ways. But on this occasion she broke with her usual “no opinions given” demeanour and pointedly told me “you know I’m not here to tell you what you should do, but you already know what you need to do – you know you need to walk away and that is absolutely the right thing to do.”

It was all I needed.

I messaged him on the Saturday morning and asked if we could meet up sometime over the weekend to talk. He suggested Sunday afternoon, he would come over to downtown and we’d walk the seawall. So on a bitterly cold early January afternoon, I met him (and the dog) from the seabus and we started to walk.

There were a couple of minutes of catching up generally before he said “it seems like the woman has something on her mind…” with a smile on his face. The patronising tone and the fact he had seemingly very little understanding of the mental anguish this whole situation had been causing me, were perfect reminders of why I was about to say what I was about to say.

I’d gone through it in my head many times over the previous day and a half so I launched straight into it, ensuring I left no breaks for him to interject. It was straightforward – “I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t sure about me. I don’t want someone who questions whether what I tell them about my life goals is the truth or not. I don’t want someone who thinks I drink too much or that I’ve dated too much. I want someone who knows me and that what they know of me makes them want to know more, not less. I need someone whose actions meet their words. I want someone who gets butterflies about me the way I get butterflies about them. I need to feel safe, loved and supported. And you offer me none of these things, so I can’t see you anymore.”

He seemed a little taken aback by my brevity. In fact so was I. He had such a way of making me stumble over my words, and my thoughts, and for once I’d been able to concisely convey just how he made me feel, without worrying about upsetting him.

He responded by saying he had wanted to connect on a deeper level and felt the relationship had become too sexually focused – something he’d never mentioned to me before. That he’d hoped to get to know me more but he felt there were barriers up. He said he thought we would be better as friends and that he didn’t not want me in his life in some way because I was such a great person and my friends were so fun. Ummmm…. how bout no?

A lot of his thoughts, if not all, I disagree with, other than me being such a great person and my friends being so fun, obviously. A perfect example of us being on different pages and I didn’t really think it was worth debating.

After starting to feel my fingers go numb, and my brain from all of his shit talk, I suggested we walk back to the station for him to go back to the North Shore. I had kept myself pretty well together throughout but I could feel the tears start to rise as we got closer to the station. As I hugged him goodbye he did an incredible job of leaving me with the perfect reminder of what a shit bag he was, saying in all seriousness “do you want to feel my arms one last time?”

He knew I had a thing for arms and in that moment all I wanted to do was tell him there were already a pair of Arms in my life that far exceeded his. My friends have since told me I should have. Instead, I took the high road, politely declined and turned to walk home, bursting into tears as soon as I knew I was out of his sight and sobbing all the way home. Whether the tears were out of heartbreak or relief, I wasn’t entirely sure, but the heart was definitely hurting a little.

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Words And Actions, Actions And Words – Part 3 of 4

February 27, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Dec-2016

Having got through the meeting of my friends relatively unscathed (other than a short term dip in my mental health on the night), Filipeen and I continued towards Christmas at full speed. Well, full speed with a couple of speed bumps.

His query about how close, or not, I was with my best straight guy friend he’d met at pie night came up again a couple of times, and with every time I had to defend my platonic relationship I found myself getting more frustrated. He’d also started to ask me more pointed questions about life goals, seemingly following on from the conversation at the steak restaurant, and every time would include him sitting in silence while I felt more and more inclined to fill the silence with justifications for whatever I’d just said. And his initial warmth was now being broken up with more and more cold patches, winter was definitely getting chillier.

We also spent an inordinate amount of time one night sat in his car in a Walmart parking lot discussing – I don’t want to say arguing about – weed. (This sentence makes me feel very North American. LOL.)

The “discussion” wasn’t actually about weed itself, but it stemmed from it. Smoking pot is an incredibly common occurrence in Vancouver, I always say you’re more likely to smell that than cigarette smoke here. He told me early on he smoked it to help with muscle pain he had from a snowboarding accident. My personal take on weed – I don’t smoke it, never have, my ex did, I don’t have good feelings about it. For me, that is. For you, for Filipeen, for anyone else? Carry on, knock yourself out, have fun, I have no judgement about it.

But as we were leaving the house that night, to go to Walmart to pick up another set of lights to decorate his place with, he made a comment about how tired he was and that when we got back I could roll him a joint and he’d make dinner. I laughed and said “um no, we’ll do the other way around” and that started the weirdest / most disproportionately reactive “discussion” I’d ever had with him.

Sat in the car once we reached Walmart he told me I was projecting feelings about my ex onto him, that I was judgemental and he topped off those statements by telling me that I was a hypocrite for not liking weed when I drank so much. Wow. Where the hell had that come from?

I remember being sat in the front passenger seat, him beside me, telling me how unhealthy my life was, as I looked out at the rain bouncing off the windshield, and thinking what the fuck is going on? Am I losing my mind? Why am I having to justify my lifestyle?

It became clear that we weren’t going to get to a consensus so in an effort to get out of the car which by that point felt like it was closing in on me after 20 long ass minutes, we agreed to disagree and instead walked round Walmart pretending everything was fine when in fact I had no clue what had just happened and was questioning my own sanity. Probably much like most people in Walmart.

We moved on from the Walmart car park debacle but it was still very much in the back of my head. Actually, more like the front and by the week before Christmas we both knew there was some underlying tension, given the rise in the number of tense conversations we were having. And we both knew it should be discussed – at least we were both on the same page about that – so we made plans to go out for dinner on the Friday night with the unspoken fact that we would try and work things out. .

As luck would have it by the end of that week I was sick as a dog with a cold and should have been in bed. Instead I drugged myself up, had a nip of whisky before I went out and steeled myself for what I didn’t think was going to be an all that fun night. When had I started to not look forward to seeing him?

The night didn’t start well with some confusion around the reservation time, I couldn’t get a cab and he was running late but I’d picked a place he’d had always wanted to go and where the food was great so at least we had that in our favour. Unfortunately I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to taste a single bite and in some respects I got to dinner just wanting to have the conversation and then get to bed.

We did the usual “how was your day” chit chat to begin with but as the starters arrived we got round to talking about the massive elephant in the room. We started by both agreeing that doing the couple-y things, like walking the dog or going to get groceries or decorating his house with Christmas lights, can be great but we’re really not there yet or at least not to the point where that had become almost all we did. And we don’t know each other well enough to be with each other when we’re trying to run errands or deal with stress or fit things into a crazy busy day.

I then explained I was having difficulty with his back and forth between hot and cold which had started in the last few weeks and that, ultimately, in those moments when he was being cold I was left feeling rejected. And rejection is my biggest fear. I think it’s likely most people’s, but since my divorce I know that I’ve actively sought to avoid any situation where rejection could arise. While also trying not to become a hermit – not easy.

He admitted that he wasn’t sure how he felt about me/us. He said “sometimes I look at you and think “I am not in the same place as her and I need to tell her””. I questioned why then he wouldn’t have put some distance between us or attempted not to create these ridiculously couple-y scenarios, or declined my offers to do things a girlfriend would do like walk his dog, and all he could say was “because sometimes I think I am in the same place as you but then most of the time I don’t think I am”.

I let the words hang in the air and could feel the tears sting behind my eyes. I wanted to believe it was just the cold but that admission weighed heavily on me and it would prove to haunt me for a long while afterwards. He did follow it up by saying that he hoped he would get to the same place as me but that for now he was feeling like I was “much further down the road”.

My head was already cloudy as shit with the cold but this conversation was really fogging it up and while I had hoped it would bring me clarity I was getting the distinct impression it might do the opposite. There was some other chat along the same lines which lasted for most of dinner, and between the topic of conversation, my inability to taste the difference between gumbo and mac and cheese (we were at a Southern restaurant) and only being able to breathe out of my mouth, it wasn’t the most fun Friday I’ve ever had.

We did however finish the night discussing how we were going to try and resolve things, both acknowledging that we did want to try. We decided to get back to proper dates – dinners and drinks and walks and cinema and other fun stuff. We knew we needed to spend time together getting to know each other doing fun, random stuff, not chores or errands at someone’s house. And no more friend intros, until we’d figured this out.

While I was totally on board for all of that, I knew I needed to be ok with feeling like it was going a little backwards and not take it as a negative. I also knew I had to stop offering to do things out of kindness and set some boundaries for myself. He clearly wasn’t going to say no, why would you when someone’s offering to walk your dog when it’s shitting snow outside and you can stay indoors and cook? I also had to let go of the fact that he argued that meeting my friends had been too soon, yet he was the one who was super keen to come that night. And that he was saying I was too far down the road, yet he hadn’t put up any vocal objections about any of the stuff we’d been doing.

We called it a night after main courses, thankfully he didn’t want dessert and all I wanted was my bed. As I went home alone (he didn’t stay, I was that sick), one of my friends called to ask how the dinner had gone and, after I told her the tale of the night and how confused by it all I was, she completely accurately stated – “it shouldn’t really be feeling this difficult this early on and you really shouldn’t be this confused.”

She was, of course, entirely right. And the confusion she spoke of, that was overwhelming for me, was only compounded the next day when, driven by what I can only think was maybe a sense of guilt after seeing my reaction to some of the things he’d had said to me (he’s Catholic after all), Filipeen messaged me early in the morning to see how I was feeling and to say sorry that last night hadn’t been a tonne of fun. That bit wasn’t confusing, that bit was nice.

What was confusing was that after all the chat we’d had a mere 12 hours prior, when we’d decided we’d stop doing couple-y things until we both felt ready, he insisted that I go over to his house so that he could take care of me while I was sick. He said he would have come to mine to look after me but he had work to do from home so if I could get over there he’d do the rest.

Now, ordinarily, in the cold light of a good health day, I wouldn’t have thought twice about saying no. Not least because a) I’ve found myself to be fiercely independent when it comes to taking care of myself since I got divorced, and also because b) it was the exact opposite of what we said we were going to do! However, I was feeling like such a bag of shit, so ridiculously sorry for myself and clearly having a weak moment that I took him up on it.

I packed a bag, and my self pity, and went over to his place. Cue the confusion rising…

He’d changed the sheets on his bed so they were fresh for me. He was making chicken soup to make me feel better. He had the air purifier on in his bedroom to help clear my head. The kettle was boiled to make me a honey and lemon drink. There had been a table moved next to the bed for me to put all my tissues, drinks, phone etc on. And there was a bath running with lavender epsom salts in it to relax me before I got into bed.

Don’t get me wrong, you can be kind to someone you’re dating when they’re sick – take them some soup or pick them up some meds. But all of that? And while I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven, there was a voice somewhere, really far back in my head, almost silently screaming “what in the actual fuck happened to what we talked about last night?!” At another time I would have tried to make sense of it but for then I took a long hot soak in the bath followed by an afternoon spent watching Netflix while he periodically checked on me, got me fresh water, made me more hot drinks and then made us dinner as well.

The next day as he drove me home on Sunday morning before he went to church, when thankfully I was feeling much better, we mused on the fact that in a week it was Christmas. Knowing we both had pretty busy weeks coming up we agreed that we’d see each other the following Friday, when we’d both have finished work for Christmas and could do something fun.

That felt a little better, a little more “normal”, a little more like what we’d talked about at dinner two nights previous.

That week passed by in a blur, work was so busy and seeing friends before they left for their Christmas trips kept me occupied but I was aware that there was definitely a shift in things. We didn’t text as much and when we did it was generally at night and him saying he was tired and going to bed. I tried to put it out of my mind as much as I could until I saw him on the Friday.

When the end of the week rolled around, he suggested he cook dinner and we stay in seeing as we’d both had such busy weeks. And while that did sound like bliss, I couldn’t help but feel like again, that wasn’t quite what we’d agreed on at the Friday night dinner previous. I also know I’m a stickler for the rules and need to loosen up at times so I just went with it. We had a super chilled, super relaxed evening and a lot of really great sex.

Have I mentioned the sex? I don’t think I have. Or at least not enough. We had incredible sex. Throughout it all, even when that underlying tension was bubbling to the surface, the sex was always amazing. And there was always a lot of it. I’m pretty sure his shower had been designed specifically for it. Maybe that was why I always went to stay there…

But I digress, back to the weekend of Christmas. The Saturday morning rolled around and it was Christmas Eve. We started the day off with a run with the dog and then went to buy food and drink for a dinner he was hosting for friends on Boxing Day. And I know what you’re thinking – if that doesn’t sound like a couple-y Christmas Eve I don’t know what does. Yah, you and me both.

As he dropped me off home early that afternoon after all of our errands he made mention of the Boxing Day dinner we’d been doing all the shopping for. We’d previously discussed it and he’d hinted at me going, but that was before all the confusion and the weirdness and saying we weren’t going to do friends again until things were a little better. So when he brought it up in a way that presumed I was going to be there I couldn’t just let it slide.

I told him I presumed I wasn’t going to be there and I was absolutely ok with that. It was his best friends he was having round and I didn’t want to add a layer of complication to that, I also was trying to be respectful of the fact that just over a week ago he’d said he didn’t totally know how he felt about me and that we shouldn’t “do the friends thing”, so was it really wise for me to go?

He said he would love for me to be there but it was up to me. Way to put on the pressure. I told him I’d think about it but in the back of my head I knew I should sit this one out. Which would have been made easier if it hadn’t been for the fact that seeing as I was going to Filipeen’s on Christmas Night, I was obviously going to wake up there on Boxing Day.

Christmas night itself was… difficult. When he picked me up from my dinner (side story – I ended up going for Christmas dinner to a friend’s house, the friend who’d known Welsh Rugby Playing Lawyer, and it turned out he was coming for dinner too, so the four of us sat and ate turkey together all the while I wanted to ask what the fuck had happened and why the fuck he’d ghosted me, alas I did not – wow actually this story deserves it’s entire own blog post now I think about it…) his demeanour was not that of someone who had spent all Christmas Day with his family. Or maybe it was, I mean families can be stressful.

Either way, he wasn’t what I’d describe as “cheery”. So on what had been a really lovely day I’d spent with friends and had been looking forward to finishing it off with him, I found myself going through a car wash at 9pm on Christmas night on our way back to his place because his car needed a clean. That’s not a Christmas Day activity! I thought he was a Catholic!! He did also admit, mid soap suds, that he had found Christmas hard because he wasn’t where he wanted to be in his life, that he was with his brother and his family but he’d thought by his age (38) he would have a family of his own to have Christmas with.

Now I heard him, loud and clear. As I think I said in my very first blog post, did I really expect to be where I am? FUCK NO. But here I am. And yes, there are times it gets me down and there are times I wonder why, but they’re fairly few and far between now and as long as I know I’m doing what I can to get myself where I want to be and as long as I’m spending time with good people while I’m doing that then I feel like I’m able to manage my mood a little better than he apparently could.

After the very solemn Christmas Night car wash (honestly, this story, wtf) the rest of the night wasn’t a night of cosying up on the sofa and enjoying each others company. It ended up being spent starting prep for the feast the next day. There were about 15 people invited and he’d decided he wanted to do 3 main courses, 4 side dishes, 2 desserts and a tonne of appetisers to begin with – there was a lot to do.

However, he insisted I didn’t do anything apart from enjoy a gin from the bottle of Botanist I’d bought for us for Christmas. We decided we weren’t doing presents for each other, we agreed it was too early for that but apparently not for domesticated bliss on Christmas Night. Confused much?

So instead I got drunk (I’d started my Christmas Day at a bottomless mimosa brunch with one of my closest friends) and maybe a little belligerent, told him he was boring and took myself to bed. Yup! Merry Christmas folks!!

The next morning brought with it no mention of the night before, apart from the horrific hangover I had, more food prep and me playing sous chef and runner. There was a laundry list of things he’d forgotten from the supermarket so he asked me to drive his car to Safeway and pick them up. So now I’m driving his car, which is his pride and joy, to go grocery shopping for a dinner party for his friends that I wasn’t even planning on attending.

My girlfriends were getting a running commentary of it all over text and by this point they were all just like “GO HOME!”. I, of course, did not go home. I couldn’t find the opportune time to leave him to finish the prep himself, because I knew it would leave him in the shit. There was no way he’d get everything done by himself. And I couldn’t leave him, I’m not that person, I’m too nice.

As the time rolled around, and the day had passed to the point where people were due to be arriving in 20 minutes I resigned myself to the fact I was obviously staying and about to meet his closest friends. I should probably change out of my sweatpants.

The night was good, if a little awkward when I was introduced and no one even knew he was dating someone. Not helped by the fact that when guests were arriving he had disappeared into the kitchen so I ended up greeting people. You know, like a good girlfriend does. Oh that’s right, I’m not his girlfriend, he introduced me a couple of times as his “friend”. Right, got it.

Fuck. My. Life.

I desperately wanted to go home, but I couldn’t drive because my coping mechanism had been to get stuck into the wine. The wine he and I had chosen on Christmas Eve when we’d been doing the shopping together, LIKE A COUPLE. I got drunk again, and that night after everyone had left and he took himself to bed almost instantly, a little more belligerent. After helping him all day, being the perfect hostess for a dinner I wasn’t even hosting with people I didn’t even know (they were all lovely though thankfully), clearing up the kitchen afterwards, he barely thanked me and instead got into bed after “such a tiring day”.

I was angry. I was hurt. I was confused. I was drunk. And the way drunk me acts is always a great indicator of what else is going on in my life. If drunk me is a nutcase, I’m dealing with unresolved issues. If drunk me is laughing and having a great time, my life is all roses. Let’s just say drunk me wasn’t laughing and having a great time.

Luckily he was asleep, or at least trying to, so was entirely unresponsive when I told him I didn’t want to be a housewife and he’d treated me like a slave all day. It was maybe a little over dramatic but it was obviously my underlying feeling. I eventually joined him in bed and went to sleep in a drunken stupor of misery and confusion.

How had my first Christmas dating someone since my ex turned into such a shit show? Why was I so confused and on edge all the time now? How had he made me feel like I needed to prove to him that I was worthy of him wanting to date me and introduce me to his friends by playing hostess with the mostess? And why the hell wasn’t I calling him out on the fact that his actions and his words could not be more mismatched if they tried?

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All The (Christmas) Feels – Part 2 of 4

February 23, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Nov/Dec-2016

After the second date’s surprising, but pretty great, turn of events where we ended up in bed, my girlfriends did their usual interrogation. Did he pay for dinner? Will we like him? How was his penis? The usual. I didn’t give up too many details, there was something very private about him and I also think some things should be kept just between the sheets… Or let’s say the four walls if you’re not strictly a bed kind of person… Or let’s just say yourselves if you’re not strictly an indoors kind of person 😉

As a result of there not being too much information shared, his nickname was built out of two things my friends did know: his ethnicity (he was Canadian Filipino); and the fact we’d already slept together and thus I had seen his penis even if I wasn’t giving them a full review. And so he was christened Filipeen.

After those first two dates, Filipeen and I quickly found ourselves seeing each other multiple times a week. We went out for dinners, we went to watch a movie (yes, singular, I’m not a big movie-goer and he was delighted he even got me to one, I was just delighted I didn’t fall asleep), we went for more walks with the dog and cooked together, a lot.

Mostly I’d go over to his place across the water. He worked later than I did and always had to go home for the dog so it made sense. It was the first time I’d “travelled” for dates. Note, after rush hour it was 18 minutes driving door to door so it was hardly a trek but given that my friends used to mock me about not going over bridges for guys, the fact I was doing this on a regular basis was quite something. They realised I must like this guy.

From talking about upcoming Halloween plans on our first date, to being in December and full on Christmas mode, I finally got to realise a dream date I had wanted to be taken on since I started dating again – to go and see the Christmas lights at the city park. Filipeen planned it to perfection. He picked me up, we drove to the park and on a crystal clear winter night enjoyed the display of over three million lights. It was cheesy, and romantic and I loved it. Especially when it was finished off with dinner at a great steak restaurant.

At dinner that night we got into pretty deep conversation about life goals. We had skirted around the topic of conversation before but this was one of those really in-depth convos where the wait staff, seemingly, purposefully avoid your table so as not to interrupt.

During said discussion, he asked how I felt about children. Yeesh… this minefield.

The long story short on my feelings about having kids is this – when I got married we were only mid-twenties and neither of us had decided about kids, it wasn’t top of my priority list and in a lot of ways I could see myself never having kids, but I figured as we grew older together we would likely just slide into feeling that we were ready for it. As it turned out, 6 weeks after we got married I knew I would never have children with my husband. At the same time as trying to repair my marriage, I also made peace with the fact that I might remain childless, and that wasn’t a huge issue for me. Which was handy because when you find yourself single again at 30 you realise that might not be an active choice you get to make.

My feeling on children now is that I can picture my life without them. But I would love nothing more than to meet someone who makes me want to have their babies (and not in a gun to my head kind of a way, but in a “he is an incredible person who I would be lucky to procreate with” kind of a way).

I explained that to Filipeen – in slightly different words – and as I finished talking he sat back in his chair and just looked at me. He didn’t say anything. It was a habit I’d noticed from him previously, and is a technique that I know people use when they want to make people uncomfortable to the point where they fill the silence with information they otherwise weren’t going to offer up. I dutifully fell for it and started falling over my words a bit until he did finally speak and the conversation resumed to normal and he stated, as I well knew, that he absolutely wanted a family.

I never really thought anything else of it but I was aware that it had been a pretty important part in us both setting out our life plans to each other, as far as I was concerned there weren’t any red flags.

Another result of it being the Holiday period was all the social invites that go along with it. I had contemplated inviting him to my company holiday party but he was travelling with work so I didn’t need to make a decision, which I was grateful for. I also had another party the night of his work party so that never came up either. But when one of my girlfriends invited me to her and her husband’s annual Christmas pie night (yup, it’s a night with just a tonne of home baked pies!) and told me that I had to invite Filipeen because he was Filipino and so was she and it was rude otherwise, I dutifully agreed.

He then informed me when I passed on the invite that it’s rude for Filipinos to turn down an invite from another Filipino, especially when it involves food, and so on a Sunday night in December I find myself in the car with Filipeen headed to my friends house where he will meet five of my closest friends. What struck me just before I got in the car was that I had never done “meet the friends” before.

My ex had been a family friend since we were kids and all my friends knew him so all we had to do was actually just tell them we were dating, and prior to him it had just been highschool boyfriends so again, no intros needed. But this? This was a whole different ball game.

And it really stressed me out. More than I could have imagined. And I couldn’t work out why. To the point that over the course of the night, which went incredibly well, a couple of my friends said to me “what’s wrong with you?!” I was definitely out of sorts.

I’d asked my friends to play nice, which they indeed did with Filipeen and instead took the piss out of me, which he joined in with. But it was all fun and everyone seemed to get along, which I was very grateful for. He asked them which one had given him his nickname, which I had somehow ended up telling him about a few weeks earlier, and they all had a good laugh about that.

Amongst nine pies (sweet and savoury) and a whole lot of chatting I finally started to ease into it. He was still very tactile with me in front of my friends as he was in public , which is something I love in a partner, but it definitely felt a little strange in front of my friends. They have never seen me with a guy. They’ve maybe seen me chatting to a guy at a bar, or have walked passed me on a date, but actually with a guy, spending time with us? This was the first time. And I was relieved that they all were getting along.

After the end of what seemed like a super successful night, Filipeen was going to drop me off but instead we decided I’d go over to his and stay. I was finding myself spending almost as much time over on the North shore as I was downtown. So we stopped by mine for me to pack a bag and then headed for the bridge

Almost as soon as we started on the road for his, out of nowhere he asked “have you ever slept with any of your guy friends?” Without even hesitating I said “my guy friends here? No”. Then when I thought about it I realised I hadn’t slept with any of my guy friends back home either. Arms was probably the only one who would fall into that category but I don’t think that was what he was getting at. It seemed like there was something underlying.

I asked him the same in return, I knew he had a lot of female friends, in fact it seemed like his best friends were mostly female and to be honest, as soon as the question was out of my mouth I kind of wished I hadn’t asked. I didn’t know that I actually needed the information. He said no also, but that people normally presume he would have.

He then asked me if one of my friends, essentially my closest straight guy friend who had been at pie night, was single. I said yes but his ex was kind of on the scene and I wasn’t sure where that was at. And with that I knew that we may have a problem. With those two questions – have you ever slept with one of your guy friends and is your guy friend single – I knew there was a mind racing with other questions he wasn’t going to ask me.

I tried to pre-empt it by repeating what he’d said about people presuming you’ve slept with your friends of the opposite sex but it was actually possible to have platonic relationships. Exactly what he’d just said to me.

He then commented on a point earlier in the night when said friend had been furiously shaking his leg at the table – a super annoying habit he has – and after a couple of us asking him to stop doing it and it falling on deaf ears a couple of times, as I was sat beside him I just grabbed hold of his thigh and held it down. Filipeen was beside me but I never thought anything of it. It was obvious why I’d done it, and I was hardly fondling or groping his leg as I did it. But apparently this had been noted and put in the memory bank for later,

I laughed his comment off, while also trying to reassure him. I would never want to make anyone feel uneasy or disrespected, I’ve been there myself way too many times, and I made sure to be aware of any situation like that again. But it didn’t totally sit well with me that from the first time of Filipeen meeting one of my best friends that he’d already created, what I could only imagine, was a warped backstory in his head about him and I.

We eventually got back to his after what felt like an eternity in the car having this awkward conversation but once we were home it all seemed fine. And the following morning being one of Vancouver’s snowiest days of the year meant we had other things to talk and think about (how the hell was I going to get back downtown when the bridges were gridlocked) than the discussion from the night before.

When I saw him again two nights later it seemed that everything had gotten back to normal. We were also only a few weeks from Christmas at that point and so Christmas Day plans came up in conversation. Him being a devout Catholic (as he put it when we first started dating “I go to church every Sunday I hope you don’t have a problem with that” to which I replied “I don’t have a problem with you going as long as you don’t have a problem with me staying in bed while you do” and we were both happy) I presumed Christmas was a pretty big family deal and so never even expected it to come up.

When he suggested that we could maybe see each other on Christmas Night I was surprised to say the least. Because A) like I said, I just thought it would be a family day for him and nothing else and B) it felt like that was kind of a big step, seeing each other on Christmas Day?

But I’m also of the mind that days with names are still just days and for me, with no family here, that was definitely the case. I did have plans with friends during the day but I wasn’t planning to go to a dinner so seeing him would work out perfectly. He’d pick me up after his Christmas Day with his family and we’d go to his place for our own Christmas date night.

He then also said about doing something around Christmas Eve too – the Friday was the 23rd and we’d finish up work that night so we should do dinner and then I could stay over and we’d start Christmas Eve together.

At that point I realised, for the first time in quite a few years, I was going to be dating someone over Christmas, someone who was making me part of their Christmas plans. There was a spring in my step, and more than just a flutter of snow in the air and excitement in my heart.

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Getting Into Cars With Strange Men – Part 1 of 4

February 20, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Oct-2016

You know when you were young and your Mum always told you not to take sweets from strangers and your school used to have sessions about how you shouldn’t get into cars with strange men? When did that change to the point that one random October Sunday I decided it was a good idea to make plans for a strange guy to pick me up and take me to the woods for a walk? It’s funny how things change; at eight I would have been shouting “STRANGER DANGER” to ward him off, but at 32 I was hoping it would be romantic.

On said Sunday, I came out of a morning kickboxing class to a message on Bumble from this guy who I’d exchanged a few messages with a couple of months ago. When he ghosted mid-conversation I never thought anything of it, it happens so frequently when you’re chatting to people on dating apps. Him reappearing was actually more surprising. In fact, it was just nice that the message had been sent at 9am on a Sunday and not middle of the night Saturday, so I didn’t need to try and work out if it was the dating app equivalent of a drunk text, such is the sad state of affairs that we’re dating in.

I replied and we chatted back and forth about what a gorgeous day it was and what we had planned for our Sundays. He said he was going to take his dog out for a walk to this trail round a beautiful cove I’d heard a lot about but never been to. My mindless reply telling him that exact thought, along with “it’s a perfect day for a walk”, resulted in the quickest date arrangement I’ve maybe ever experienced, when he invited me to go with him (and the dog).

By this time, I was home and showered, our chats had moved to text so he had my number and just as I was mulling over in my head whether this hastily arranged date seemed like a good idea, he called me. I was impressed. People are so apprehensive to use the phone nowadays!

He said he would come and pick me up (which also impressed me because it was entirely out of his way) and he’d drop me off again after but he thought maybe I’d want to hear his voice before a strange man came and picked me up. It was a fair point and I appreciated the fact he’d had the foresight to realise that.

In my head I knew that agreeing to a random guy coming to pick me up in his car and taking me to the woods didn’t seem like the most sensible thing I’d ever done but I was trying to listen to my gut, and it was telling me it was ok. Even writing that now, I know it sounds nuts. If a friend had been telling me this story or that they were intending to do this I’d be like “NO! STRANGER DANGER!!!!” My eight year old self, and normally my 32 year old self, was a stickler for the rules.

Instead I decided to text my friend all the information on him that I had – his full name, where he worked, his phone number, screenshots of his Bumble profile – and hoped that if my body was found in the woods, they would at least be able to catch him. Ain’t that a romantic first date thought!

After the sobering experience of having to decide what to wear for my first ever “active first date” (seriously, who am I? I’m that person going on a hiking first date. Ugh. Get out.) and despite the insanity of the situation I was actually feeling pretty good about it.

Until, that is, as I crossed the road to his car after he’d texted to let me know he’d arrived and he got out to hug me and open the passenger door, I realised I couldn’t see a dog. The dog we were supposed to be walking. The dog he’d said was pretty big. So big that surely I couldn’t miss her in his Audi hatchback. Where was the damn dog?!

I tried not to let the panic rise too quickly, even as I started to slide into the passenger seat, but just as I tried to resist him the closing my door, on the off chance I needed to make a run for it, I saw the sweet relief of a dog ear pop up behind the back seat. Thank god.

She was a gorgeous 5 year old Rottweiler / Rhodesian Ridgeback mix and he was a 38 year old Filipino Canadian who worked in corporate travel and lived in an apartment he owned over on the North Shore. They were both great companions for a Sunday afternoon hike.

The chat in the car was easy, we hadn’t covered much ground in our messaging conversations previously so it gave us a lot to talk about on the 25 minute or so drive out there. And that didn’t stop while we were walking up through the woods to the lookout point over the cove. Or on the way back down as the rain randomly started. And even when we got all the way back downtown for him to drop me off a number of hours after he’d picked me up, he actually drove around the block a couple of times so we could finish our conversation.

Arriving back to my apartment building, all I could think was “I’d really like it if he kissed me” and I was aware that since he’d picked me up earlier that afternoon he’d opened and closed every (car) door for me, so if that continued it would likely present itself as a pretty good opportunity for him to make a move should he want. Well, it would have if it weren’t for my over-eager concierge coming to open my door first.

Why is it that when I’m struggling with shopping bags or luggage, they’re never anywhere to be found, but when I’d like to be left alone to hopefully invoke the perfect end to a date, they come rushing out with a “hi, how are you? Do you have anything in the trunk?” No, fuck off! (Jokes, I’m actually very appreciative of the service they offer. Sigh.) And so a big romantic end of date kiss didn’t happen, but a peck on the cheek and a pretty tight hug wasn’t the worst alternative, albeit that it was done with the concierge only a few feet away.

Closing the door behind me as I got back into my apartment, I remember having an incredibly gleeful moment of “WTF”, which made a nice change from the “WTF I want to kill myself” moments that some previous dates have induced. The whole thing had been such a surprise, both in it’s spontaneity – that morning I’d been planning on a quiet day of chores – and in it’s success – we seemed to really click, he seemed to have his shit together, it seemed like a great first date.

I texted him as I was getting into bed that night and thanked him for including me in their walk (he’d made it very clear, he and the dog came as a pair) and for going out of his way to pick me up and drop me off. He responded by saying they don’t normally let outsiders crash their Sunday walks but they were both incredibly happy they’d made an exception for me and they couldn’t decide which one of them liked me more. Cue falling asleep with a smile on my face.

Four days later we were meeting for our second date. After the outdoorsy nature of the first date, he suggested we go the other direction and do dinner and drinks downtown – much more my natural habitat and far easier to get dressed for. Seriously, trying to decide on an outfit for a first date when you have to take into consideration that you’re going to be doing some exercise, you don’t want to get too sweaty, but it’s kinda cold outside AND you want to look cute? Not easy my friend, not easy.

On the Thursday night we planned a date at a bar not far from my place and about half an hour before we were due to meet he messaged and said “I’m running late so do you mind if I don’t pick you up, I’ll meet you there but I promise I’ll walk you home?” Now, the place we were meeting was literally 4 blocks from my house, which he knew, and he was using transit to get downtown so it wasn’t like he could just swing by in his car. At no point had I imagined he would have been coming to “pick me up”. His manners were a massive turn on, there is something about chivalry that gets me riled up, in the best possible way.

In a similar fashion to our first date, our second followed suit with more to talk about than we had time for. Over multiple drinks (we discovered a mutual love of gin) and some food, we covered a variety of topics of conversation. But what was nice was that, whereas on our first date we covered some fairly hefty topics – our parents’ divorces, our past relationships, sibling relationships, how he was open to a relationship but would want to take anything really slowly and the reasons for that -, on our second date we actually talked about a lot more light, random stuff – favourite trips, food and drink loves, friends, home decor.

We also talked about alter egos. A subject I had never thought much about before. Don’t get me wrong there’s a drunk me, but I hardly would call her an alter ego. She’s just an ego. LOL. But he had this whole persona, which in fairness he said did come out when he was drunk but also when he was in any competitive situation. He had a name and everything, his friends would refer to it oftentimes…. Ok, good to know, I guess.

The seeming end of the date brought with it the sense that, again, we didn’t have enough time to say everything we wanted to. So as he walked me home, and made a comment about my apartment, I decided that a nightcap would give us the perfect opportunity for some more time together and for him to see the apartment he was enquiring about.

As we headed up in the elevator I had hopes that he would kiss me at some point, his tactile taking of my arm as we walked home seemed like a good sign. But I was also sure, and happy with the likelihood, that a kiss was as far as it would go. Nothing that I knew of him up to that point gave me the impression he would sleep with someone on a second date and given what he’d said on the first date about wanting to take things really slowly, which again he’d re-iterated over dinner that night, it really wasn’t even a consideration.

Once back in my apartment, I got to making us each another gin of the night. As I did he moved up behind me just close enough that I could feel his clothes just lightly touching mine. Taken by surprise that he didn’t seem to even be waiting for drinks before making a move, I carried on measuring out the gin. As I poured the tonic, he slipped his hand round my waist, turned me to face him and right there, with tonic can in hand, we had our first kiss.

He was sweet and gentle and as far as first kisses go, it was pretty great. It lead to a whole lot of kissing on my couch, interspersed with more chatting and drinking the gins that I’d eventually finished pouring. I had been hopeful for a kiss but this was probably more than I’d been prepared for. It got pretty hot and heavy pretty quickly.

What I definitely wasn’t prepared for was that during the teenage-like make out session, he made a comment along the lines of “I would love to sleep with you”. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly not having the same thought but, as I mentioned, he had made it so clear, so absolutely crystal clear, that he wanted any new relationship to go slowly that I presumed that would have meant he’d take longer than two dates before he slept with someone.

It turns out, two dates was just the right amount of time for him to be ready to sleep with me. I was surprised, but not unpleasantly so. Much like the first date, it took me by surprise but it felt right despite it also kind of seeming a little insane. Initially I did stop and ask him if he was sure. I didn’t want the fun of the night, or the gin, to be clouding anyone’s judgement. He barely let me get the question out before he assured me.

I went with it and I wasn’t disappointed. And neither was he.

He stayed over til morning, and throughout the night there was more great chatting, a lot of incredible sex and an abundance of snuggling. And I’m not going to lie, the snuggling may have been my favourite. Being single there are a lot of things I miss about being in a relationship but snuggles? They might be at the top of that list. And, despite it only being the second date, I was hoping there might be a lot more snuggles to come…

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You And Me Does Not Equal One Plus One

February 16, 2018March 27, 2021 divorcedanddatingat30Leave a comment

Oct-2016

When it comes to dating someone new, I’m sure most of us have been guilty of rushing a little bit ahead of ourselves at one time, at least I know I have. Hell, that’s my go to when I meet someone new! But when is it flattering and when is it too much?

I matched with Ukrainian Nigerian Engineer (clearly the nicknames write themselves most of the times) on Bumble and it turned out this tall, dark skinned, well dressed 28 year old lived on the opposite corner of my cross-streets. He asked me out fairly swiftly, which I always give multiple brownie points for and he also suggested a really nice bar that was close to where we both lived. Add to that the sensibility to suggest earlier in the evening considering it was a Sunday, and I was impressed so far, though maybe I’d already mentioned to him how much of a Granny I am and love early nights?

On the night in question though the bar turned out to be closed for a private event so we ended up in a nearby, although not quite as nice, alternative. Other than that slight hiccup, it was a good first date. He was chatty, he was interesting, he told me all about his new job and the travel he might get to undertake as a result, he seemed to have a good group of friends and he was also super interested, asking lots of questions of me. Interesting and interested are two key things I look for in someone, especially on a first date.

He walked me home afterwards but we were essentially going to the same place so it was hard not to I guess. We said a very respectful goodnight with what felt like a bit of a cursory hug and I remember leaving and not really feeling like I’d got a good read on him. As easy as he was to talk to, I got the feeling he was kind of quiet and we know how I do with quiet guys… He also hadn’t really given me any strong indication about how he felt about either the date or me.

I followed up later that night with my usual “thanks for the date and the drinks” (he paid) text and over the next few days we exchanged polite chit chat about our working days before he asked if I’d like to go out on the Thursday night. He’d read about some gallery opening and suggested we go check it out and then have dinner. I love a man with a plan! And not just “drinks”. So given that I wasn’t sure exactly where things were going prior to that, I took the second date intention as a good sign.

On a pouring wet October night, he picked me up and we went to this random little gallery over on the east side of the city and checked out what turned out to be a fairly small exhibit. But it had some great pieces and the wall with artwork made entirely out of business cards provided us with plenty to discuss around the merits of modern art.

After deciding neither of us were going to be making an investment in business card art, we made our way back towards downtown and an Italian place that does great pizzas a little closer to home. And while sipping on our wine and waiting for our food to arrive, I had one of those moments when recognising something in someone else makes you realise something about yourself. I love those kind of realisations, they fascinate me!

We were discussing his background – Ukrainian, Nigerian, in Canada since he was a young child is fairly unique – and when I asked how often he goes back to Nigeria he said “I’ve only been once and to be honest I don’t think I’ll go again.” I asked if he felt a bond to the country or if it would be a heritage he would pass onto his children ,if he had a family, and he said “no” to both.

In that moment I realised that if I were ever to have children, which is still TBC, of huge importance to me would be making sure they knew they were Scottish. (This presuming I have them here in Canada. I’d hope they’d be bright enough to know that they were Scottish if they were born there…) I realised that having children in Canada would mean I would have no commonality in terms of upbringing with my children, we would have had completely different lives, they wouldn’t even necessarily understand the cultural nuances and the pop culture references of an entire part of my life.

These were all gaps I’d considered that I would potentially need to bridge with a partner if they weren’t from Scotland, but I’d never thought about having a similar disconnect with my own offspring. And I know there’s a debate around nature vs nurture (and I think there’s a lot to be said about both) but as we sat at the table I was struck by what an enormous responsibility that felt.

At the same time, I realised that his answer of not wanting to pass his Nigerian heritage onto his children was kind of disappointing to me. I know it’s likely due to the fact that he didn’t feel a connection to it himself but it just didn’t sit particularly well with me.

While I was trying to digest the nugget of self discovery I’d just unearthed, along with my incredibly delightful truffle pizza which had since arrived, it was unfortunate timing for him to tell me a story that would literally make me choke.

You know there are those times when you start telling a story, or you’re halfway through, or maybe in fact you’ve gotten right to the end of it and you all of a sudden think to yourself “why the fuck am I telling this story?” Yeah, well this obviously wasn’t one of those times for Ukrainian Nigerian Engineer cause he just kept right on telling his story while I’m pretty sure my face contorted into the exact human version of the flushed face emoji.

It turns out his new company were getting in the planning of their Christmas party early and were asking everyone to RSVP that week. His colleague who was organising it had gone up to him in the middle of the lunch room, catching him entirely off guard, and said “are you coming to the Christmas party?” and as quickly as he said yes, she then tacked on “And what’s your plus one’s name?”

Now, there are many answers he could have given to that question: “I don’t have one”’ “I’ll need to see if she’s available”; “I’m a lone wolf”; “she lives in Yemen” – I mean, so many answers. Instead he gave my name. Not only did he give my name, he then thought it was a good idea to tell me that he’d given my name and so was now essentially asking me to go to his office Christmas party.

Now, again, there are many things wrong with this, but the first one that came to my mind was that the Christmas party was on the 16th December. It was only the 27th October. And it was our second date. Holy shit balls, we were making plans for 7 weeks away… To compound my shock, I still wasn’t really getting any in-person vibes from him that he was particularly interested in me. Apart from, you know, giving my name as his plus one to his work party in almost two months time.

Having picked my jaw up off the floor and returned my eyes to their normal size, I tried to quickly end the date. The heritage discussion, Christmas party plus one invitation and also a discussion we’d had about his car while parking that sort of presented him as a little materialistic had all really turned me off.

When we said goodbye as he dropped me back off at home, I had kind of made up my mind that I probably wouldn’t see him again – so he was going to have to change his party plus one’s details – and realised the fact I could see his building from mine probably wasn’t ideal in this situation but I’d never seen him around before we’d met online so why should I now?

Because Sod’s Law, that’s why.

Of course, just over a week later I was out with friends at a bar round the corner from my apartment and as we were all sat chatting, actually about another date I’d just been on (blog post to come), some guy walking behind me just caught the corner of my eye as he stopped right over my shoulder and just stood staring, the way someone would when you want them to notice you’re looking at them.

I turn around to meet the stare and there’s Ukrainian Nigerian Engineer. I get up from the table, hoping he didn’t just hear the last comment my very crude friends just made, and try to usher him away from the group. But he seemingly had other plans and as soon as our hug was over he started introducing himself to my friends. Um, ok then.

I was really caught off guard. I never introduce people to my friends, they’re too much of a liability and now was definitely not the best time for intros considering they all knew I wasn’t planning to see this guy again.

Despite him now being ensconced in hellos with my friends, I still felt like there was someone staring at me and as I turned around again I realised the table of what I presumed were his friends are now all watching our table intently. I laughed and said “oh looks like you’re wanted, you better go” hoping it would cut short this very out of the blue meetup. But no. He insisted I go and meet his friends now also.

So I politely went over, how could I say no when they were all watching me?, and did the round of names and waved hellos but before that was even finished one of them piped up with “so I hear you’re going to the Christmas party?” Cue incredibly awkward silence from him, who had taken his seat again and left me standing like a lemon by the side of the table. Cheers.

I mumbled something about how I’ve heard engineering Christmas parties are the best (what?! I don’t know!!!) before sharing an awkward standing/seated goodbye hug with Ukrainian Nigerian Engineer and then making the hastiest of hasty retreats back to my table of friends, where I swiftly told them all to “drink up, we’re leaving.”

First the Christmas party, now the friend introductions… but yet still no real sense of intention from him. It was just slightly confusing.

We texted a little after that bar encounter but my Mum came to visit and then it was almost Christmas and eventually we just stopped all communication, which suited me fine. Until that is I bumped into him in the street one day. Of course.

We shared the usual “what have you been up to” chat while dodging weekend shoppers passing us by but when he started to go down the route of “we should catch up sometime” I stopped him before it went any further and said “I’m actually seeing someone just now”. It sounded like such a lie coming out my mouth but it wasn’t.

Regardless of who else I was seeing, and there was someone else by then, all of the interactions I’d had with him had either left me wondering if he was interested in me at all or wanting him to massively pump the breaks, there was no in between, no happy medium and in neither circumstance was I that attracted to him.

So I decided to chalk this one up to experience, appreciate the lesson I’d learnt about how important passing on my Scottish roots is to me and vow not to date anyone who lived across the street again. That last part has not held true…

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Divorced & Dating At 30

Navigating the world of dating post-divorce, post-30…

Category: Dating

Full Disclosure Required

The Real Love Of My Life

Death By Dimple

As Long As There Are Lessons

The Aftermath – Part 4.1?

All Kinds of F*&%ed Up – Part 4 of 4

Words And Actions, Actions And Words – Part 3 of 4

All The (Christmas) Feels – Part 2 of 4

Getting Into Cars With Strange Men – Part 1 of 4

You And Me Does Not Equal One Plus One