Category: Dating

Women Can Be Assholes Too

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Sep-2016

This blog of mine is in no way meant to man-bash. Despite the frustrations I may have encountered with dating, and my experience with my ex-husband, and some of the shitty things guys have done, I’m still pro-men, I’m still pro-dating, I’m still pro-relationships.

I’ve talked a number of times with my guy friends about approaches they’ve taken to dating and, of course, I know them as good guys – they’re my friends, I like them for a reason. But I also know that from some of the stories they tell me about their dating I’m like “wow, that was a dick move, but you’re not a dick”. And inherently, I know that just because a guy’s actions may make them seem like a total douchebag, that does not in fact mean they are a total douchebag.

In the case of my dates with Fresh Off The Boat Irish, I hope he remembers that too…

I remember when I first got to Vancouver, my priorities were settling into my job, finding out where to get good pizza and trying to work out the coins (loonies and toonies confused the hell out of me). For others, like Fresh Off The Boat Irish, as he became aptly known, the priorities lie with finding a date it seemed.

When I matched with him on Tinder, I was still going through my phase of going on as many dates as possible in the hope that by doing so I’d find “my person” quicker. Up until this point it had actually only resulted in meeting more wrong ‘uns quicker. But that wasn’t deterring me and so soon after my Blah, Blah, Blah & Blah dates, I set up an after work drink with this funny, rugby playing, Northern Irish guy who was full of great banter.

But from about half way through the first beer on our date, I knew this wouldn’t be going anywhere romantically. Not least because it kind of ended up being a “welcome to Vancouver” seminar presented by Yours Truly. I’m not sure if I instigated that or he did but between telling him about rent prices, how to get a phone contract, the best place to watch rugby from home, and generally an overview of life as a foreigner in Vancouver I felt like I could have been working for the working holiday visa people.

We went on a second date though, I wanted to see if maybe I’d been too quick to judge. He had a great personality and he was a lot of fun, so maybe I could get over his (lack of) height and find him physically attractive eventually? Ugh, that’s my least favourite conundrum. How to know if the guy you don’t find physically attractive will ever become appealing to you sexually… I’m yet to work this out… I feel a whole other blog post coming on about type…

Alas no, the second date really only confirmed my initial suspicions but he was a really funny guy and I know he wanted to meet people so I decided the next time I was out with my friend group, I’d invite him out thereby not only introducing him to people but also maybe giving him the indication that I saw him more as a friend and so getting me out of having to have the difficult conversation. I know, I know, I always talk about wanting people to just strap on a pair and have the goddamn difficult conversation. In this instance, I was definitely shying away from my own mantra.

So come the long Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada, I was going out with a group of my friends to an Oktoberfest event that was essentially an afternoon of drinking, obviously, and I figured it was the perfect time to bring him out. However, the couple whose basement he was living in had invited him to join them for Thanksgiving dinner so he couldn’t join the beer festivities but I suggested we’d be going out after so maybe he could meet up with us then.

Unsurprisingly, the afternoon at the Oktoberfest were indeed beer soaked and as it drew to a close and we made plans for where we were going next I made sure to keep Fresh Off The Boat in the loop. He was really keen to come and meet us, he said dinner had been great but it was a bit weird being with a family he didn’t know and there wasn’t a whole lot of drinking going on so he’d love to escape to something potentially more fun. I promised him we most likely were.

The only problem was his dinner was still kind of tailing off and he was waiting for the right moment to take his leave of absence, plus he was staying out in a suburb of Vancouver that was going to take him about 45 minutes to an hour to get into Downtown from. So I kept him updated of our movements and he was going to join us when he could.

However, somewhere in the midst of him saying his thank you’s and goodbye’s and getting to downtown, the afternoon of drinking really started to take its toll on me and spending the best part of the early evening bar hopping had only compounded that. So at some point I decided to that the most sensible thing to do would be to go home. My mother would be so proud. Or at least she would have if I hadn’t already been incredibly drunk. But, put it this way, I missed the part of the night where two of my friends ended up in a bush (and that’s not a euphemism) so I’m thinking it was the right decision.

The one thing I forgot to do was let Fresh Off The Boat know that I’d called it a night and was no longer in the last bar I’d given him an update from. Oops. What didn’t help was that my phone had also completely died, which is very unlike me to let that happen given that it’s like a third hand to me. Double oops.

Fast forward 6 hours and I wake up at 4am and have 7 missed calls, 3 voicemails, and 12 texts from a progressively more angry Fresh Off The Boat. It started with the “ok, I’m out! getting in a cab and headed for downtown” through “hey, where should I meet u?” to “are u still out???” to a voicemail saying “I’m downtown, outside the last bar you said you were in, I’m looking like a bit of an idiot just hanging around, can you answer my texts?” right to “you better not have gone home and fallen asleep! Are you fucking kidding me?”

Oh. Holy. Shit.

I’m a terrible terrible person. I felt so unbelievably bad. Dicking people around like that is my least favourite thing and I can only imagine how I would have felt if it had been the other way around. And there was nothing I could say. I got drunk, I took myself home, I passed out and forgot I’d said for you to come all the way in from the burbs just to get stood up on a slightly chilly Vancouver October evening. There’s not really a way of dressing it up to make it look better. So I didn’t bother.

I texted him a few hours later when the hangover blindness had subsided and I could face the world a little more. He replied much, much later in the day saying “I can’t believe you did that” and that was pretty much all he said. I apologised a number of times, but made sure to never over-promise just to make it up to him. I had to remind myself I was trying to friend-zone him so taking him out for drinks or a dinner would for sure give him the wrong impression and maybe making him hate me by standing him up was at least one way to avoid the awkward conversation?

So there, I said it, I hold my hands up – sometimes I can be an asshole to date too and I’m not too proud to admit it!

Next post…

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Blah, Blah, Blah & Blah

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Sep/Oct-2016

After the excitement of Arms (part 1 & part 2), I guess I knew the next dates would be… interesting. Physically they had a lot to hold up to. Sexually, if it got that far, they were going to have to be out of this world. And on a common connection level they’d need to be pretty spot on. Unfortunately, if not unsurprisingly, none of those marks were hit.

The first, was a 26 year old Canadian, who’d just moved back from Vancouver after being in Australia for a year. He was a lawyer, lived and worked downtown, and we arranged to meet for drinks one day after work.

I always think if someone has travelled they should be fairly well socialised and have something about them, something interesting, something to say. This guy? Not so much.

The fact that even making the arrangements of where to meet was difficult should have been a red flag. He kept saying “I haven’t lived here for a few years”. Yeah but prior to that this was the only place you lived, you were back here visiting within those two years you lived away and things don’t change that fast – just pick a goddamn place! Then he did and it was shit, so be careful what you wish for, I guess.

Unfortunately, things didn’t get any better when we met. On first sight he was cute, with a lingering tan from his recent travels and blonde curls framing his babyface. Which at least was pretty to look at when very swiftly after we arrived I found myself bored. Like, looking around the bar bored. Generally I can, and will, talk to anyone. But this was painful.

Add to his lack of chat the fact that anything he did say centred around really not wanting to be back in Vancouver, not liking the job he’d gotten since he moved back but thought it was the best he could get, and hating where he was living. I actually left feeling marginally depressed.

Babyfaced Non-Aussie Lawyer had brought my mood down to zero over the course of two gin and tonics. That takes some doing, cause the gin alone lifts my mood so he’d managed to entirely counter those effects. Dating is hard!

The next date was with a 32 year old Canadian travel marketer at a really great cocktail bar I’d been wanting to try for a while so this guy got instant brownie points for a) picking somewhere and b) picking somewhere good. However, for happy hour at 5pm on a Tuesday it was lacking a little bit of atmosphere.

Thankfully we had a lot to talk about and enjoyed 3 cocktails each while discussing his travels around the UK, his job which I was pretty fascinated by and my recent found love of kickboxing and half marathons.

By the time he paid the bill and we left though, I knew that no matter how easy our chats on that date had been and how much of a nice guy he was, I wasn’t attracted to him. He looked decidedly middle aged for his 32 years, and while I know I’m no 20 year old, it was a little off putting. In my mind now, I associate the colour brown with him for some reason, though I’m sure that’s not the only colour he was wearing…

I was only just formulating these thoughts as we were fumbling with the door and umbrellas though, so when he quickly said he’d love to do it again I didn’t have time to respond appropriately so just responded inappropriately with “sure, I’d love to!”

Ugh, I hate that. I hate being that girl, I hate being the one who lied, who was dishonest with their intention. Nobody really wants to be the one that has to tell the ugly truth but, in my opinion, it’s far better than doing what I did and then having to follow it up with a text that explains that… what? I changed my mind? Had a change of heart? Am just a big ol’ liar who couldn’t just strap on her big girl pants and say “this was lovely, but I don’t think there’s anything there for me”? Why is that so hard????

I won’t even repeat word for word the bullshit text I sent, but suffice to say, it was bullshit but covered what I should have just said at the time. And Canadian Travel Marketer was such a nice guy he just said in reply “that’s a shame, I thought we had a lot in common but I wish you the best”. Seriously, dating is hard.

Next up was a lunchtime date with a 34 year old Irish financial worker. He’d been fairly lowkey in messages but was quick to make a plan for us to meetup and after realising neither of us had time after work for a few weeks, we decided a lunch hour date was going to be the best bet.

So I kept my schedule clear, made sure I took makeup with me to work to do a little refresh before I rushed to meet him to ensure we had enough time to eat and chat before either of us had to get back to our respective offices.

Possibly the only good thing to say about this date was that I got to eat. I mean, I paid for my own, but at least I got to eat. And, let’s be honest, if that’s the best thing you can say about it, you know it was a shithole of a date.

He’s quite possibly the most negative guy I’ve ever been on a date with.

His job was ok but he wasn’t loving it. The friends he’d made since he moved here were nice but a bit boring. Vancouver was ok but he’d probably rather be at home. He was applying for his permanent residency but the whole process was a hassle and expensive.

Here’s a thought bud – if you dislike it so much here why don’t you fuck off back to Ireland and not apply for residency, you absolute loon? I felt like I worked for the City of Vancouver’s PR department by the end of lunch – I had put so much effort into trying to convince him it was a great place to stay. And I spent the entire walk back to my office wondering why I’d done that. I’d actually rather he left.

And quite possibly my breezy disposition and selling of Vancouver put him off as well because we clearly both ended the date on the same page – never wanting to text again. We didn’t text again after it, at all. Mutual ghosting is the only ghosting that’s acceptable. Is dating supposed to be this hard?

Lastly on my run of blah dates was this really quiet Canadian Country Boy. He’d moved to the city and seemed a little overwhelmed by it all, but I admired his bravery and not once did he talk about moving back out to the sticks where all his family still were. He didn’t seem to have spent too much time downtown but was keen to meet me somewhere near where I lived, and again I admired the fact he wasn’t shunning something he obviously wasn’t super comfortable with. Not least because I’m a city girl so if he couldn’t get on board with that then it would have been a non-starter.

Our first date was at one of my favourite happy hours that I suggested. I did all the ordering, seeing as he’d never been and I knew what was great, and for that night at least it worked. But when on the second date (yes this one got to a second date, such a rare occurrence for me, I know!) he still wasn’t really able to order his own beer without some assistance I started to wonder how far out in the country he’d actually been living. Did they not have bars out there?

His initial quietness turned out to be real shyness, which in turn presented itself as awkwardness. Unfortunately, if I can’t make someone comfortable, I don’t deal well with that and I’ll do one of two things – laugh or become really awkward myself. So you end up with a shit show one way or another. And when he admitted he was even shy around his nieces, who are toddlers!!!, I pretty much knew this was probably done.

The last game of the World Series was on in the bar we’d met at and I worked out that if we got the bill right then I could probably be home before the Chicago Cubs would eventually beat the Cleveland Indians and watch it by myself, which at this point was preferable.

Shortly after I watched all the celebrations in the comfort and non-awkward silence of my own apartment, I texted Canadian Country Boy to say I just didn’t think there was a spark and I thought he was maybe a bit too quiet for me, or in fact maybe I was just too loud for him. He texted back saying “thanks for your message, maybe you’re right.” Way to grab it by the balls!

And so in a short space of time, I went through four first dates and a second date, which left me feeling flatter than flat. And in these instances, I’d gone for the nice guys, the good guys, the ones with “good” jobs, not swiping on them because of their muscles (or arms!) and this was where it got me…

Dating. Is. Hard.

Next post…

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The Arms Are Here To Stay – Part 2 of 2

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Sep-2016

I spent the remainder of that Friday in the office, still wondering what the hell had happened in the last 20 or so hours, but mostly attempting to remain awake. I chose to work in the office lounge, on a comfy chair with my feet up on a foot rest and there were definite moments of head bobbing, almost falling asleep. It wasn’t my finest hour at work, I promise I’m usually a professional, but the lack of sleep – it really had been 3 hours max – was killing me.

Turns out it was killing him too. We texted as they drove south from Vancouver to the States and Arms had passed the driving duties to his friend so he could nap. I was incredibly jealous of a car ride nap.

As it would turn out, Arms and I would text off and on throughout the rest of his trip and, having started following each other on Instagram, would keep up with what each other was doing that way too. I figured it might stop when the vacation ended and he got home to Calgary but given that his daily routine of Crossfit Coaching was different to my office schedule our texting actually increased to where we were texting or messaging on Instagram everyday.

While it was incredibly lovely, albeit surprising, to still be in such close contact with him, I was finding it quite confusing too. I’d gone into the “date” (can you call it that when his mate comes along too?) seeing it for what it was – a guy in town for a few days, in fact, only one night by that point, who lives in Calgary and had made no mention of looking for a relationship. I was hardly expecting it to be the great romance of the century. But we’d gotten on so well when we’d met, the sex had been pretty goddamn great, at least for me, and now here we were still messaging a month later.

Was this going to progress to something more?

Up until that point we’d not really mentioned anyone else when we’d been chatting to each other, like if he was seeing anyone else or if I was. It’s that unspoken rule of dating (not that Arms and I were dating), you don’t mention who else you’re dating unless you’re asked. (And then if you’re asked you should always counter with “are you sure you’re ready for the answer?”) But I wasn’t naive enough to think that he wasn’t seeing anyone and I would have been lying if I said I hadn’t been out on dates in that time too.

So why weren’t we having the conversation?

I think we each knew the answer to where the other person was at but for, me anyway, I felt like I needed it clarified. Almost as if anything else between us had to be taken off the table. The last thing I wanted to do was start telling him about other dates if there was ever likely to be anything with us again. But I knew that he lived there, I lived here, he’d never mentioned wanting a relationship or even serious dating and there was definitely a chance I was taking his friendliness to mean more than he may be intended.

I do have a gift for letting my heart run away with my head. I get swept up in imagining what might/could/possibly be rather than looking at the cold hard facts and treating as they should be.

Eventually one day when we were texting, we were talking about a hypothetical situation with both of us in it and I decided to take the opportunity to expressly say “yeah but it would only ever be platonic”. Even just typing those words in a text instantly made me feel better, lighter and more in control. He agreed and the conversation moved on. I don’t even know if he’d remember that part of the conversation but it was so significant for me.

From that moment onwards, he went from being “this super hot guy I’d had incredible sex with and had been messaging with everyday since” to “my friend Arms who, oh yeah, we hooked up this one time”. It was an important shift and changed even the conversations I had with my girlfriends about him. Up until that point the first description of him had got all their heads running away with my heart but after the re-framing they were definitely a little less excitable about it all.

They were also sceptical. Sceptical that we could just all of a sudden be these kind of friends who could have honest and vulnerable discussions about dating and sex, and random conversations about Instagram memes and working out, having had the history of that one night together and him looking the way he does with his shirt off. I was kind of surprised too but I loved it.

Once I knew exactly where I stood, I was able to completely let my guard down and we talked about everything. I told him about every bad date, every good date (though there were fewer of those), we’d help each other craft the perfect Tinder replies or post-date texts, we talked about sex (a lot), he’d tell me about all these girls at his gym and I’d warn him about shitting on his own doorstep, and he wouldn’t listen. We’d also talk about how we were doing with friends, or self improvement stuff, we’d cover family goings on, books we’d read or how we were dealing with shit we were going through.

We were now texting everyday and speaking on the phone maybe once a week and every so often a friend would say to me “are you still chatting to Arms?” and I’d say “yep, he just texted me” and it would always be followed with “and you’re really just friends?” usually with a side of an eye roll too.

The things we’d talked about, however, the details we’d gone into with each other on certain stories/people, we could never look at each other in anyway but as friends. Some of those stories were dark! Some of the admissions we made, to the things we did sexually (more him than me) or the level of crazy we got to (more me than him), were things we would barely have let ourselves speak out loud let alone to another person. But we made a safe space for each other. There was never any judgement and we’d frequently find ourselves giving advice but always finishing with “but whatever you do, I’ve still got your back.”

We also don’t always help each other. I’d been texting this guy, who I’ll write a post about later, and he had really great banter. I was in the middle of simultaneously texting him and texting Arms to tell him how funny this guy was. To make it easier to illustrate, I took a screenshot of my text convo with the guy to send to Arms. Of course I got mixed up in my text windows (I was on my laptop) and somehow sent the screenshot of the convo with the guy back to the guy along with a message saying “see he’s funny! He’s getting massive brownie points right now”.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

I almost had a heart attack. I was sat at my desk having palpitations. I texted Arms to explain the situation who could do nothing but send me back a bunch of laughing face emojis. Then a bunch of “haha”s. Then a meme about doing exactly what I’d done.

Like I said, not always helpful. Though he eventually stopped laughing long enough to tell me not to worry, that the guy should be flattered because it was a nice message. He was right and I managed to kind of talk my way out of it. But I appreciated Arms’ eventual support, even if he still enjoys referencing this little snafu way more than I’d like. The tables were turned though when he screenshotted a convo with a girl to send to me, and accidentally sent it to ANOTHER girl. Who’s laughing now?

We’ve talked each other out of the darkness when things have gone to shit too. A relationship I thought was going somewhere ended up biting me in the ass and he talked me off a ledge. And when he started being vulnerable with a girl he was seeing and she shut him down, I was there to find the silver lining of the situation.

So we’ve  been in the dating trenches together. He provides a male perspective to me, I provide a female perspective to him and we both provide a shit tonne of dark memes to each other that are so bad you wouldn’t even give them a double tap like on Instagram, god forbid someone saw you’d liked it. And they’re always followed them up with a “this is why we friends” message. We’re as bad as each other.

He’s been here to visit twice since that initial road trip brought him to Vancouver and none of my friends believed me when I said he was staying on the couch and we wouldn’t be sleeping together. Now there really is nothing further from my mind. He’s one of my closest confidantes. He moved to Australia a few months ago and the time change hassle might be my only complaint about him.

I like to call him my favourite Tinder Fail Success – I didn’t find the romantic relationship I was looking for but the friendship that came out of it was worth far more and he was the greatest lesson in looking under the hood (as it were). And I am hopeful that Arms will be in my life for a long time, if not forever.

Next post…

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The Arrival Of Arms – Part 1 of 2

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Sep-2016

Offering to play tour guide for two Kiwi guys who were in town for a couple of days, I knew it wasn’t going to be the most conventional of Tinder dates but I’m not sure I could have imagined just how unexpectedly it would turn out…

I matched with this super fit Maori Kiwi guy on Tinder that turned out was living in Calgary, far far out of my preset distance radius of 10km – what can I say? I want to meet a man but I don’t want to travel far to do it! He explained he’d used the feature on Tinder where you can swipe in other cities, to meet some “people” before a road trip he was planning to take with his friend in a few months, but let’s call it what it was, it was to meet girls, not people! We chatted a little but it never came to much and, despite his washboard-stomach-filled pics, I quickly forgot about him.

Until, that is, he turned up in my Bumble search a few months later and we matched again. Being that the female has to start the convo on Bumble, I opened with the classic “I might be wrong but I think we’ve matched before on Tinder – the joy of being on multiple dating apps!” He responded pretty quickly and said he thought so too but unlike last time he was now in Vancouver on his road trip.

It was a random Wednesday night and I’d just had a couple of girlfriends round to watch a naked dating show from back home (if you haven’t seen Naked Attraction, google that shit) when he asked what I was doing night. I said I wasn’t up for going out but we could maybe arrange to meet up the next day. And when I say we, I mean “we three”, yup his friend was going to come too… At first it seemed like it could be a little weird but actually it felt like it might take the pressure off in a strange way.

So we made plans to go for drinks that next night and, after waiting for what seemed like AN AGE for them both to get ready at their hotel (which happened to be in the dodgiest part of town), they finally made their way to meet me by my apartment, with just one slight misunderstanding of directions enroute.

Prior to arriving, he told me that he was wearing a shirt that was too tight for him and not to laugh when I saw him. Hmm…interesting tactic to make sure I fully checked out the tightness of said shirt the minute I saw him. In fairness, as soon as I came through the doors of my building out onto the street, even if he hadn’t mentioned his shirt beforehand, I’m pretty sure my eyes would have still gone straight to the arms.

THOSE ARMS.

As I think I’ve mentioned before on here, I have a thing for arms. It’s been getting progressively “worse” as the years have passed. A bicep you can really grab onto? Bliss. A shirt just slightly straining to contain the muscle? Heaven. I have to seriously restrain myself from just reaching out and touching a good one. Like a lot of people do with pregnant women’s bellies? I’m like that with arms, just wanna reach out and have a stroke.

Ok, anyway, the arms were great but you see how they sidetrack me? And I knew instantly he would forever be referred to as Kiwi Arms. Not least because his actual name wasn’t too far from Arms, so it all made sense.

As the three of us started to make our way to the bar I’d suggested for drinks, Kiwi Arms declared he didn’t actually drink. He’s a Crossfit coach and lives a pretty healthy lifestyle. Um.. ok, well this should be… interesting (read boring)? Thankfully his friend piped up with “well he maybe doesn’t drink but I sure as hell do” and with that we became like 3 mates just going out for drinks.

And that was kind of how I felt the night was going as we were having some drinks (alcoholic for two of us, non for the other one), sharing life stories and grilling Kiwi Arms’ mate about his dating life. I’m pretty sure the waitress probably thought I had two friends visiting from New Zealand and not that I was kinda, sorta, not really on a Tinder date with the one I was sat next to.

At least that was how it felt, and what it likely appeared as, until I felt a hand slide up my leg under the table. At first I couldn’t tell if it was an accidental graze but after the second or third lingering touch I decided it was maybe a little more purposeful than I first thought. And for the first time on the “date” I actually thought there might have been a chance of something happening.

His friend looking across the table at us made me rethink that in an instant though. How exactly was this going to work? Dear god, I hope they didn’t expect a threesome…

We moved from the first bar to more of a club type place but it turns out we were one of only two groups in there – it’s fair to say I don’t normally go out on a Thursday night. Having said that the tunes were 90’s classics and despite not drinking anything Kiwi Arms was more than happy to bust out some moves. For such a random night, which had the potential to be ridiculously awkward, it was incredibly fun.

Not enough fun to keep us in that bar though, and after one round I suggested we went back to mine for our next drink. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth I quickly followed it up with “but seriously, just for a drink, there’s no three-way stuff happening.’ I didn’t think it needed to be said but you never know and I figured it was better to state my case before I ended up with 2 strange men in my apartment looking for a threesome. Ya know? Or maybe you don’t..

Anyway! After they had a quick chat with each other (the content of that conversation I would’ve loved to have been privy to), we headed back to mine and Kiwi Arm’s friend and I had another drink. After the one beer, his friend made his excuses and asked me to call him a cab. There wasn’t much of a discussion other than some comment from his friend along the lines of “I’ll leave you two kids to it”.

The door had barely closed behind him when Kiwi Arms clearly decided to make up for all the wasted time during the first part of the night and let’s just say I was much more sure of his intent than with the first under-the-table leg graze… For someone I wasn’t sure had any interest in me a couple of hours ago, he was now making things crystal clear.

To say things escalated quickly is an understatement. The catalyst was a single question which has haunted me since – “have you ever done it on your balcony?” My answer to that was no, and at that time it was truthful. But since that night, I’ve been asked that same question by a number of other men and have always had to deflect it in anyway possible. Because honestly, they only want to hear the answer I was able to give Kiwi Arms that night. And I’ve never been able to give it again.

All I’ll say is sex with a view and fresh air isn’t the worst. Would recommend. Add in glimpsing those arms gripping onto the handrail in front of me and you have yourself a party. A balcony sex party that is.

From the balcony, to the bedroom, it was a long, and amazing, night. In fact so long that at one point we took a break and ended up in the kitchen cooking bacon in just our underwear – he needed protein and it was the only thing I had in my fridge that wasn’t alcohol. But it was at this point that the saying “never judge a book by it’s cover” presented itself in human form to me.

We talked about everything. He spoke about his family (he’s one of 13!), his previous drug problems, his decision to leave a well paying engineering job to pursue his passion of becoming a Crossfit coach, how he’d followed a girl out to Canada which was how he ended up in Calgary, his process for writing in his journal everyday. And he didn’t just speak. He asked.

He asked me about my marriage, about moving out to Canada by myself, how I dealt with the loss of that relationship, why I took so long to get back into dating, how gratitude had played a part in where I was now.

These were deep, raw, long, honest conversations. And he was no longer this muscle-head gym junkie that I’d maybe first assumed from his dating app profiles. He was this sweet, funny, sincere, genuine, emotionally sensitive, self aware guy.

Albeit with massive muscles, stood in my kitchen, now eating bacon in his underwear.

There wasn’t a lot of sleep had but their road trip was carrying onto the States the next day and I had an easy Friday ahead, so we made the most of it. There was a lot of sex. It was probably the most energetic sex I’d had up until that point of my dating life. And while at first I was a little intimidated by his clear and present hotness, it actually only made me feel better about myself. Neither of us hated the mirrors in my bedroom…

In the morning, after maybe 3 hours sleep, we rallied for some pre-work, pre-road trip fun. Though this time we kept to the confines of the bedroom, it was daylight after all and my balcony isn’t exactly out of view of the neighbouring buildings. What do you take me for?!

He commented afterwards that it was a good showing for our last time and I unthinkingly said “unless of course you’re still here at lunchtime and fancy a quick one.” Fast forward 4 hours, turns out he is still in Vancouver, he’s somewhere near my apartment (which in turn is near my office) and he does in fact fancy a quick one.

Having re-lived many, many of the previous evening’s events in my head while sat mindlessly at my desk since getting into the office, I weighed up the fact I’d never had lunchtime sex, I was never going to see him again and, as they say, a girl’s gotta eat. Jokes. That’s disgusting. Full disclosure – that exact saying did run through my head and I did laugh.

In the midst of this one of my colleagues had been messaging me about maybe going for lunch but as soon as I got the text from Kiwi Arms saying “I’ll be at yours in 10”, my Brazilian colleague must have wondered where my appetite had disappeared to as I grabbed my keys and my bag and practically ran for the door, while shouting something about having to move our lunch to Monday.

We arrived at my apartment building at about the same time and, unsurprisingly(?), today’s shirt didn’t seem that much looser than last night’s. Albeit maroon and last night’s was white, the muscles were still being effortlessly well presented where the cotton met the skin, mid-bicep.

Whether it was tiredness, ill-preparedness or the lunchtime rush, our middle of the day session wasn’t without its difficulties. But the ease with which we laughed through it and managed to eventually get it to “work” had us actually high five each other afterwards. And, if my memory serves me right, I’m pretty sure he called me “champ”. We were all romance.

And with that high five, and a cursory kiss and hug in my building lobby, 10 minutes later I was on my way back to the office. Tired, every so slightly sensitive in certain areas and wondering what the hell had just happened in the past 20 hours…

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Things Not To Say To Me About Dating – An Observation

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Jan-2018

What is it they say – opinions are like assholes, everyone has one? I’ve always felt like there should be a second part to that though – and like assholes they should be kept to ourselves. Unless you’re into that with your partner(s).

Dating is one of those things that everyone has an opinion on and is happy to share. In part because most people have experience of dating and, so often, even a sliver of experience can all of a sudden make someone an expert on something, even if it was 10 years ago and the landscape of said subject matter has changed beyond recognition.

Starting to date again after my divorce can only be described in one way – a minefield. I hadn’t dated for 12 years. I’d been with my ex for almost 10 years and then took a good few years to figure my shit out after the end of my marriage that by the time it got round to me being properly ready to date I was in the “decade plus since my last date” category. So in some ways I definitely needed some direction, some assistance and some support from those around me. And, mostly, I got that.

What I also got was a tonne of sass, shade, judgement and unhelpful comments. FUN! Here are some of my favourites…

“Oh tindering is such a fun game!”

I’m glad my search for a relationship is just that to you – a game. Long sigh… I get it, Tinder and dating apps in that genre can feel pretty gamified when all you need to do is look at the pretty ladies or men and swipe left or right. It hardly feels important and potentially life changing. But in a city where it can be tough to start conversations in an organic, in-real-life way the dating apps are a necessary evil so I’d appreciate if you didn’t take my phone and start swiping right (to match) on people you think it would be “funny” if I dated. Also, and possibly more importantly, there is (hopefully) a real person at the other end of that profile and “playing” with them is not a game. So why don’t you download Candy Crush, Tina, and play with that instead of my life?

“Don’t go for that [insert age / nationality / career here] – they’re the worst.”

As much as stereotypes are certainly built upon some truth, sweeping generalisations which effectively render entire groups of the population as off limits to me isn’t going to help in my quest to find someone and to remain open minded while I do so. Maybe your friend Sarah did have a really bad experience with a doctor, and I don’t doubt that some 40 year old men can be stuck in their ways but am I about to completely discount all doctors and every 40 year old? I’m gonna say probably not. FYI, Christine, a 40 year old doctor would be perfect right about now.

“Maybe you should stop dating around if you want a relationship?”

Holy shit you’re right, I’ve been so busy “dating around” that I’ve been ignoring all those men beating down my door to get into a long term relationship with me. Fun fact, there aren’t any men beating down my door to get into a long term relationship with me. Now, I understand you have to put out what you’re looking for and so if what I’m looking for is a long term relationship but what I’m getting is short term, meaningless dates/sex then, sure, maybe it could be something to do with my approach. But do you not think I’m already doing that?! And it really doesn’t land well when you’re essentially suggesting I’m getting in my own way when it comes to finding what I’m looking for so keep it to yourself, David.

“You need to stop dating muscles”

I’ll admit it, what I look for aesthetically in a man has changed a lot over the last couple of years. It’s been changing in the right direction with a huge part of that to do with their physical health and fitness. And while it’s true I do have a weakness for great arms, my actual incentive to date someone who maybe happens to have abs or thighs of steel is, as I’ve said before on here, because I know that we’re likely to be aligned on our fitness goals and our daily motivation to be healthy. I’m attracted to someone who takes care of themselves, who pushes themselves in their given fitness/sport/exercise regime and who can appreciate my need/want to work out 6 days a week. I don’t want someone coming in and trying to sabotage that. And as it so happens with that type of person, yes often they have a washboard stomach and let’s face it, I’m not complaining, but this comment suggests that I let the muscles completely take over my rational thought. Even with Asian weightlifting firefighter, the muscles may have kept me there a little longer than was necessary but they weren’t what got me there in the first place. Don’t get me wrong I make some poor choices but no thanks Susan, I’ll probably still stay away from the flabby, couch potato types.

“I don’t know how you can have casual sex”

I’ll tell you how, Juliana, because I’m not in a relationship, casual sex isn’t bad and I HAVE NEEDS!

“Tell him to fuck off / delete him”

My friends all come from a well meaning place and I know that most of their advice is because they think I deserve better and they want the best for me. However! It is so much easier to sit and say this as we chat about my most recent dating disappointment over cocktails, than it is for me to just ‘delete’ feelings that have developed for someone and cut off what is a fairly complex situation. Also, my good friends know me better than that, they know I don’t cut and run. My apparent need to always be nice renders me completely unable to tell someone to fuck off. At least in the cold, sober light of day… Drunk I’ll happily tell them they’ve been my biggest dating disappointment thus far (this story is still to come). What was I saying about poor choices?

“I don’t know how you’re still single”

First off, saying it like that gives ‘being single’ massively negative connotations. As if everyone’s want is or should be to get into a relationship. Granted the human need for connection is undeniable and yes right now I am looking for someone to share my life with. But people used to say this to me when I wasn’t even looking to date and it made me really paranoid, like somehow I was weird for wanting to stay single while I sorted my shit out, god forbid. Secondly, it’s not as fucking simple as deciding to date and poof! – relationship in session. Trust me. And thirdly, I always think this phrase comes with a second silent part to it, which is “I don’t know how you’re still single, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH YOU”. Cheers, Karen, that makes me feel real good.

There are many, many, many other phrases I could add to this and I might do a part two in the future but two things I want to end on: 1) I know my friends want nothing but the best for me and, outside of some of them being guilty of saying some of the above, they are incredibly generous with their support and encouragement of my endeavours to find my person. For that I am always grateful, this is not a rag on them. 2) If you do know someone who’s dating and dealing with the stresses of modern day hunger games for love, be kind, buy them wine.

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Yo, Bro! No?

divorcedanddatingat302 Comments

Aug-2016

Why is it that saying no to an offer of a drink or a date makes us feel like we’re somehow being rude? Why were we conditioned from childhood, by our parents, by society to think that giving an honest answer about whether we actually wanted to do something or not was worse than possibly offending someone or hurting their feelings?

(Side note – given recent weeks’ news cycles, I want to point out I’m not about to launch into a story of how I was pressured into something that made me feel violated or in any way constituted sexual assault but it the story does talk to the wider societal norms and the pressure that we, as women, feel that in some way have maybe led to those things.)

On a random summer’s Friday night I got a text from one of my best guy friends asking what I was doing the next day and did I want to go to a pool party that some guy he knew was throwing at his parents house in this super nice area of the city. My answer was, of course, yes I’m free and yes I want to go.

I love living downtown, my 511 square foot apartment is just fine for me and the few possessions I chose to keep post-divorce. But an actual house? With a garden? And a pool? Yeah, I’ll happily take a day there thanks very much.

Late Saturday morning, along with another guy friend of ours, we drove over to that side of the city stopping to pick up some food for the BBQ and drinks on the way. At that I offered to be designated driver on the return, rather than deal with a bus or cab home and need to go back for my friend’s car the next day. I don’t do very well when mixing sunshine and alcohol, or so my friends tell me when I come round after fainting, so it was probably best to keep the alcohol to a minimum when the sunshine was already at maximum.

The impressively large yet cosy looking house was beautiful. The pool and sloped, landscaped garden were stunning. The patio with tiled outdoor kitchen and corner sunken hot tub was incredible. This was how to spend a summer’s day, I was in heaven.

When we first arrived it was just the my two friends and I, the guy whose house it was and another of his guy friends. They were already on the patio drinking with the outdoor fridge fully stocked and a whole pile of towels and floaties ready – I liked their preparations. I especially liked the stack of red solo cups. I still find them such a novelty having only ever seen red cups in Hollywood high school/college movies until I moved out here. It’s like living out some childhood fantasy… if only it had been a kegger.

It actually felt like the only thing missing was a keg. When we turned up I could have sworn it was the setting of an American Pie movie. It just had that typical All-North American (I say North American because I can’t say American because we’re in Canada which is like someone saying England when you’re in Scotland but the saying is All-American so just work with me here ok?) feel to it. Including the two guys. Board shorts on, red cups in hand, talking about how the one guy’s parents, the house owners, were away in Mexico I think.

They were really nice guys and, from the stories they were telling, it was obvious they weren’t opposed to getting up to some shenanigans back in the day. In fact, it still felt like they were living in “the day” so I didn’t doubt they still did stupid shit now. The host was a super fit snowboarder who was training to become a helicopter pilot and wore a big ass diamond stud in his left ear. Bro!!

I’d use the term “Frat Boy” but maybe only because my versions of Frat Boys were more Prince William and Prince Harry-esque than Stifler and Oz. I have boarding school and Edinburgh University to thank for that.

The sun was beating down already and, while I was desperate to get my clothes off and my tan on, stripping off into a bikini while just sitting on the patio and being the only female amongst four guys (two good friends and two total strangers) didn’t feel super comfortable, so I chose to endure what tan lines my chosen outfit might result in and keep covered up.

After a few drinks (them, not me – I allowed myself two ginger apple ciders over the course of 8 hours) they decided it was time for the pool and so at that point, finally!, I got down into a bikini. Toes dipped in the water, sitting on the edge of the pool as the guys attempted to show off their diving prowess and throw balls around was bliss.

Not long after a whole bunch of Bro’s friends showed up, females included thankfully, and the fun and noise quickly escalated. It was a really great mix of random people all intent on enjoying a beautiful summer’s day. As the afternoon and the drinks wore on the stakes in the pool games got higher and I started to notice what I thought was flirting coming from Bro aimed at me.

The friend who’d invited me swam up beside me mid-afternoon and said “I think [Bro] likes you, I think you should date him”. Now, my friend and I have very frank dating chats, he was also single at the time and we loved telling each other what the other was doing wrong in their dating life, what they should do more of, less of and ultimately who we thought they should be dating. Was it always sound advice? No. Did we always take the advice? Thankfully, also no. And in this instance, I was definitely going to ignore him and presume the beer was to blame for the misplaced encouragement. Surely he knew that Bro was maybe the furthest thing from my “type” – if in fact I have one of those, which is debatable.

But flirting by a pool is one of the easiest things in the world – you’re both not wearing very much and the always-a-winner tease of going to push someone in the glistening blue water is a sure thing. And so as attempting to push me in became tipping me off the diving board, became full on rugby tackling me into the water, I probably couldn’t argue with my friends note about Bro “liking” me. It was fun, it was flirty, it was fine.

By early evening, we were all in the hot tub and the flirting had died down, most likely due to me choosing to sit at the opposite side of the bubbling water from him. Conversation had turned to who thought they could slackline across the pool and the male bravados were out in full force. With the amount of alcohol, and by this point weed, that had been consumed, I wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea for anyone to be attempting that and being the only sober one I didn’t really want to end up playing lifeguard or ambulance driver, so I made hints to my friends about making an exit.

After declining Bro’s offer for us to “just stay!”, we dried off and took turns getting changed in the guest house. Bro joined us by the outdoor kitchen in the midst of my friend asking me if I the real reason I wanted to leave was that I was going to meet up with a guy from Tinder who’d been texting me. That wasn’t true, I’d blown the guy off (in the “said no” type of way!) and I was going home to go to bed. Despite my protestations, Bro joined in with my friend giving me shit, quickly followed by my other friend returning and adding to the jokes.

After a solid 5 minutes of jabs at my expense, Bro turned around and just said “fuck him, you should go on a date with me”. I was kind of caught off guard, not least because I knew my two guy friends would be loving witnessing this and I could already imagine the chats in the car on the way home. I threw back an off the cuff comment along the lines of “well you’re kinda busy with a house full of people right now, so you probably shouldn’t bail” trying to make it sound like I took the invite to be for that night and that wouldn’t work, so oh well, nevermind, see ya.

He laughed and said “another night”. And it was at this point that I was aware that both of his statements were just that, statements. They weren’t questions. In no way were they threatening but they were definitely a little presumptuous. And I immediately felt stuck.

I was standing in the beautiful garden of his parent’s home and he’d been such a great host all day, but did that mean I should say yes to a date? He was a really nice guy (albeit not really my type and a little short) but did that mean I should say yes to a date? He was a friend of my friend’s so I knew he wasn’t a lunatic, but did that mean I should say yes to a date? And I knew that turning him down with people to witness it may bruise his male ego, but did that mean I should say yes to a date?

I said yes to the date.

I just didn’t feel, for all those reasons listed above, that I could say no. And there’s a good chance it’s partly down to weakness or a need to try and always be nice on my part, more than it is about how I’ve been conditioned but the fact that I was even concerned about his ego more than I was about my own wants speaks to the choice not being entirely made for myself.

But it’s those sorts of feelings and those sorts of behaviours that can so quickly become agreeing to take a drink from a guy in a bar when you don’t want his attention, or saying “sure” when a guy asks you back to his place rather than admitting it might make you uncomfortable and saying goodnight, or allowing a guy to kiss you when you’re actually in no way on the same page. Finding your own true voice in those situations can be incredibly hard. And so much of it is fear-based. Fear that you’ll upset them, fear you’ll make them mad.

Like I stated at the beginning, this is not some story that turns into me being forced upon sexually, but looking back at the situation now I know my answer wasn’t my truth and that disappoints me. Especially given that in my situation, I likely could have said no and that would have been the end of it.

Instead, I gave him my phone number, thinking he might never call but a few days later he messaged me and we set up a date to go to a comedy show. He was very sweet in texts and by the time the date rolled around I was looking forward to seeing him. He picked me up, he paid, he was funny and the off-colour humour in the show landed well with us both. So it was a fun night, but that was all it was. One night, it went no further than a goodnight kiss on the cheek and in no way did he make any other presumptions on our date, for which I was thankful.

The date itself was unremarkable but the situation, while fairly vanilla in the grand scheme of things, definitely gave me thought around how easily (or not) I allow myself to be drawn into situations I’m not 100% comfortable with and how I can better manage my own behaviours. There’s a balance between being amiable and being true to yourself. There’s a way to say what you mean/think/feel without being offensive. And at the end of the day, the other person’s reaction isn’t something you can control. I’m still working on finding the balance…

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Perfection On Paper

divorcedanddatingat302 Comments

Aug-2016

Matching with someone on dating apps, like Bumble or Tinder, is about as meaningful as waking up with a hangover and saying you’re not going to drink again. There is no substance to it, it was probably borne out of boredom and the likelihood of you following through with it is probably 5%. So when you do match with someone who it turns out you have more in common with than just mutually liking the look of each other, it can almost feel like a small miracle. Welsh Rugby Playing Lawyer was exactly that.

If we even just breakdown his nickname it’s not hard to see why I’d think it would be a good fit. Welsh – we have the UK in common, at least for the moment (thanks, Scotland). Rugby playing – I’m a massive sports fan (and not just “for a girl”) with rugby undoubtedly my first love. Lawyer – he’s smart and likely has a good job. See, the title of this blog post wasn’t hard to come up with.

Not only were all those things solid starters but when we started to text we had incredibly similar senses of humour (undoubtedly in large part due to both being British) and spent hours texting back and forth about a Facebook account set up to rate lunch combos from a popular store back home. I’m thinking that kind of banter would have definitely fallen flat with a Canadian. We talked rugby (a lot), moving to Vancouver, friends back home, friends here – wait, we have a mutual friend here?!

Turns out a friend of a friend of mine from home, who I’d met a couple of times since moving here, played rugby on the same team as Welsh Rugby Playing Lawyer and it just so happened that when we made that discovery while texting on a Friday night, they were out together and quickly sent me pics of their smiling faces. Our mutual friend soon after texted me to tell me what a great guy Welshie was and that he thought we’d get along great. While Welshie was texting me informing me that I was “coming in hot with recommendations”. And while a friend recommendation is never a sure thing, at least it was nice to know that he wasn’t a complete lunatic before I met him. And that he was getting a good report on me.

We had been texting a little while before we finally got a time arranged to meet up and our easy and fun chat until then plus the friend recommendation had definitely made us both pretty excited about it. It was a long weekend and we decided Monday afternoon drinks on a sunny patio by the water would be ideal. Unfortunately I woke up on that Monday morning with a long weekend sized hangover and while walking over the bridge to get to our meeting point I genuinely thought I might not make it. In hindsight I probably should have cancelled but I figured showing up, even if I was hungover, made a better impression than cancelling the day of. Buoyed by how much we’d both been looking forward to it, I soldiered on.

He arrived looking fresh as a daisy, and hot as hell with incredible arms, which only made me feel more of a mess. The profuse sweating wasn’t helping. He proceeded to order a beer while I gingerly sipped on some soda and lime. He suggested food and I was almost sick in my mouth, but attempted to eat some sweet potato fries.

Thankfully we had a lot to talk about, though the arms would have been a great distraction even if we didn’t. There is something to be said for dating someone who you share cultural references with. Of course it’s nice to be able to learn about other cultures from people and share your own, but there’s something comforting and easy about have a shared life experience that you can bond over. Boarding school life in the UK, growing up playing rugby, moving from the UK over to Canada – they were all parts of our life that we could connect over.

Despite that there was something that when I look back now I wonder if I should have been more aware of at the time. There was almost a sense of him either lacking confidence, which he had never given the impression of before, or being a little bit aloof in a too cool for school way. He just didn’t seem 100% engaged, at least not in the way he had in texts.

After the food and some drinks (I eventually made it onto gin and tonic), we decided to go for a walk nearby which in my head conjured up ideas of him kissing me by the water and it all being very romantic. In reality, it ended up kinda awkward when he didn’t want to walk a certain way because it was near his work and in the end we rushed a stilted goodbye.

Crawling home in the afternoon sun to go back to bed, I really didn’t know how I’d made it through the date, I wondered if actually the hangover had really screwed me over and I’d been an impossibly nightmarish date. But I think I’d done a pretty good job of putting on a brave face, despite admitting to him that I was feeling “a little under the weather” which I knew he’d find funny being that he was British and grew up in the drinking culture of rugby clubs. And at least that’s what his reaction portrayed. I put it out my mind and decided to concentrate on feeling better for the nightmare that would be going back to work the next day – it was sure to be a two day hangover.

Over the subsequent days and weeks our texting remained fairly constant – most days and always amusing and banter-filled. Though at times I wondered if it was a bit too “matey”, especially with all the sport chat, so would throw in a flirtatious comment here and there to balance it out. Overall though I was excited about the prospect of seeing him again.

Only, that prospect didn’t really seem forthcoming.

I kept waiting for him to suggest we meet up again, but never once in our daily texts did he suggest it. My mind went back to my confusion on the date as to whether maybe he actually was a little lacking in self confidence, but that just didn’t match up at all with the rest of his demeanour. Although it is easier to mask things like that over text. So eventually I decided to take the initiative and ask. It was the 21st century goddammit and I’ll ask a guy out if I want. Side note – as I’ve mentioned before, I do believe feminism and chivalry can live side by side.

His response was enthusiastic, to a point. He said he’d love to, and made some jokey comment about the different football teams we supported, but that he was busy with exams over the next week so it would have to be after that. I gave him some space for his exams and dental work, which he delighted in giving me in-depth details about via text, and then brought it up again. Again he sounded enthusiastic but the actual planning was almost too difficult to strike me as something he wanted to do.

We ended up squeezing it in on a Wednesday night after he had been at rugby training and I had been at my work’s summer BBQ. We met at a bar that was near his house and that was on my way home from the beach where I’d been celebrating with colleagues. But from the texts he’d sent me that night I kind of started to get the impression he was hoping I’d cancel, it was very much like “don’t leave your party early” (it finished at 9pm and we were meeting at 9pm, so I was missing 15 minutes to get to where we were meeting) and “if you’re too tired…” (I’m not the one who’s been running around a rugby field in the sun).

It ended up that by the time I got there I wasn’t really expecting too much, which was probably just as well. He had one beer, was clearly tired and spoke a lot about how much he had to do tomorrow and how early he had to get up. I decided not to prolong the inevitable anymore and wished him goodnight 45 minutes after we met. There was a sense as we said goodbye that I really wasn’t likely to see him again and I was kind of irritated that he’d even bothered to show up for the date. Why not cancel if he had nothing to bring to the party? It was shocking just how badly a date could go with someone you actually had a lot in common with.

I walked home from the bar even though I was nowhere near my house but I felt like I needed a walk to clear my head, and the warmth was still lingering from a beautiful summer’s night, plus I’d eaten way too much guacamole and chips followed by ice cream earlier in the night so decided I could do with the exercise. I tried to come to terms with the fact that I’d had such high hopes for Welsh Rugby Playing Lawyer – yes I’d totally let my imagination run away with itself, it’s a bad habit – and clearly they weren’t going to come to fruition. Thoughts of me being the dutiful rugby girlfriend and how it would work going home to visit family in Wales and Scotland – like I said, I got ahead of myself.

The getting ahead of myself is something I have been (unpleasantly) surprised by since I started dating. The usual story of someone who goes through something, such as my divorce, is that they’re left never feeling like they’ll be with someone again or not feeling like they want someone in their life and thus doesn’t let anyone in or attempt to nurture potential relationships. I, on the extreme other hand, am like “COME ON IN AND SCREW ME OVER”. I get so far ahead of myself so quickly. Despite my not entirely positive (though not entirely negative) experience of marriage, I will always imagine what it would be like to be married to the person I’m sat across from on a first date. Is that normal behaviour?

My therapist and I unpacked it as my need for that with which I am familiar – a long term relationship. I’m not familiar with short term dating. At this stage I’d only been dating again for 6 months so it was all still fairly new. But that mindset was only going to get me into trouble and wind up with me getting hurt. As was the case as I made my way along the streets of Vancouver.

About 40 minutes after leaving the bar with home almost in sight, I just had to walk over the bridge that almost killed me on the day of our first date, my phone buzzed: Welsh Rugby Playing Lawyer sending me a cutesy message about getting home safely. Um… what? I’m confused. I had to really make an effort not to respond with just “WTF dude?!” and instead said something about almost being home and my legs thanking me in the long run.

He replied to my reply the next day and so our almost daily texts back and forth started up again. And, again, went absolutely no where. A week and a half later,  I was sat at a baseball game with friends and was chatting to one of my male friends about it. His suggestion that I should just tell him I wanted to jump his bones because then I’d get an answer quick enough about whether he wanted the same thing, was probably not advice I was going to take and so the texts ran onto the Friday, which was a Friday of a long weekend. It had been so long since our first date that there was another long weekend – they’re months apart and we’d had two dates. The timing wasn’t lost on me.

Then it happened. In the midst of a conversation (is it a conversation if it takes place over the course of a few days?) about his camping plans for the weekend, I asked if he was going for two or three nights and…. nothing. No reply. Complete and utter radio silence. At first I thought he’d maybe already gone camping. But post-long weekend it was hard for that to still be the reason. I resisted, resisted, resisted the urge to message him and try to get a reply, much less even an explanation.

That’s not to say that my head wasn’t a mess with trying to figure out what the actual fuck had happened. There’s nothing I hate more than loose ends. I like things all tied up nicely and dealt with so I can put it away and not be haunted by it. Ghosting (“the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication”) does exactly that, it haunts you. Side note – I’m not going to go more into ghosting here but you can bet your ass I’m going to give it it’s entire own blog post soon.

But it was all so promising! At least on paper. Turns out perfection on paper was worth less than the toilet paper it was written on.

UPDATE

Five months later, I would be going to friends’ on Christmas Day for dinner. It was a last minute plan but it had been so nice of them to invite me and when they said it was just them I figured it wasn’t like I was crashing any pre-made plans. Except, it wasn’t just them. They were the friends of a friend who had known Welsh Rugby Playing Lawyer and as it would turn out, I ended up having Christmas Dinner sat across from him, at a cosy table for four in my friends’ apartment. Can you say “awkward”?

I thought about saying something. About asking him what the hell happened. Trying to clarify the reason for the ghosting. But it was far too intimate a setting and I didn’t want to subject my friends to it, especially not on Christmas Day.  So instead I just made passive aggressive comments… because I am an adult. “More sprouts?” “I don’t know, why don’t you ask Welshie, though he’ll say one thing and do another.” “How are things going with the guy you’re dating?” “Great, he actually replies to texts and makes plans to see me.”

They were mostly said in jest, but as with all things said as a joke there’s a half truth in there somewhere. Still it made a change from the normal family drama over Christmas dinner like Uncle Dave’s inability to arrive sober, or cousin Sarah’s need to reprimand all five of her kids in front of everyone during dinner.

By this time, I was already dating Filipeen and there was something so satisfying about making my excuses to leave when he came to pick me up later that night. I didn’t need to understand the why behind the ghosting, all I knew was he’d done it so regardless of what it looked like on paper, we clearly weren’t meant to be.

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I Stayed For The Gym Bod – Part 2 of 2

divorcedanddatingat301 Comment

Jul-2016

Over the subsequent weeks with Asian Weightlifting Firefighter we went on all sorts of dates – park dates, movie dates, symphony orchestra dates, dinner dates, watching the Olympics dates (he imparted his knowledge of Olympic weightlifting while I filled him in on Rugby 7’s), film festival dates, furniture shopping dates… wait, woah, what? Furniture shopping?

In fairness a few months had passed by this point. We would see each other most weeks or every couple of weeks and it felt like how I’d imagined “grown up dating” would feel. The furniture shopping was a bit of a weird one though, I mean do you really want someone helping you pick out a sofa you might sit on for the next 3 years when you might not be seeing them for another 3 weeks? But it was him that was buying so I happily went along and gave my opinion.

In the midst of all of these fun dates my girlfriends noticed something that I hadn’t quite seen myself. I was never SUPER excited about any of it. It seems my reaction the first time we had sex was maybe an indicator of what was to come. But it was hard to put my finger on why I wasn’t beside myself with glee that this incredibly fit, successful guy who was planning all these really great dates wasn’t entirely lighting my fire.

The seed of questionability might have been planted when during one of our early dates we were talking about what we were looking for in partners and he said “I want a woman that looks good on my arm but can also work a room”. Now, if I break that down, those aren’t bad qualities to want – someone who’s attractive and someone who is sociable/confident. But that’s not what he said. The way it was phrased was so much more objectifying to women and if you asked women what they’re looking for in a man, it would likely take a long long time before you got an answer that objectified men in the same way.

Also, “work a room”?! You’re a firefighter and a gym owner, not a politician, why the hell do you need someone to “work a room” for you?

The comment irked me (if that much wasn’t clear from the above?) and the couple of girlfriends I shared it with shared the sentiment. One was so put off by it she told me to stop dating him immediately. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and hoped it maybe just came out wrong or the way I took it wasn’t what he meant. But it definitely stayed with me.

As did the fact that every time he got undressed, I was bowled over by his body. Like, picking my jaw up off the floor. He wasn’t a tall guy but the rest of him was so impeccably formed. How could it not be when so much of his life had a fitness focus? It was an incredible turn on as well as an excellent motivator for me to keep getting my ass to kickboxing.

9 weeks after our first date, things started to slow down a bit, we both had a lot of other stuff going on and the time between our dates was definitely stretching out. Again, the fact that it didn’t bother me that much other than it just started to feel a bit odd should have been enough for me to conclude things there.

I then got sick, one of those colds that completely floored me for a week and my life was on hold for at least two. Two things happened with Asian Weightlifting Firefighter around this time.

The first was that in all the time I was sick and at home, which he knew as we would text more regularly than we’d see each other, he never asked if I needed anything, never suggested he drop by to see me or offered to help in any way. Now, we weren’t explicitly boyfriend/girlfriend but we had covered off the fact we were dating exclusively and I know if the shoe had been on the other foot I would have done those things. Even though at the time I’d probably have declined a visit as I was an utter mess, the offer really would have been nice.

There are a few things I miss from relationships as a singleton, and one of them is having someone to take care of you when you’re sick. When you really can’t get out to the supermarket for food but you know you should be eating veggies and drinking orange juice, or you run out of tissues, or just need some more medication but getting out of bed and across the street to the pharmacy seems like a round the world mission. Someone to just do those things for you, that doesn’t put them out their way like it does a friend who offers, but someone who genuinely, truly wants to do it for you and take care of you and doesn’t even care that you’re a big bag of sickness. I miss that.

Side note – the other things I miss are someone to help you get into/out of clothes/jewellery and someone to pick you up at the airport. There are more but those are the three that always get me.

When I was getting back on my feet after the cold, he took me out for dinner to a place known for comfort food, their toasted cheese sandwich and tomato soup was the perfect thing. But I’m not sure if it was just the after effects of my sickness lingering but the whole evening felt very… flat. It had a real feeling that we were both there because we felt we “should” be. I couldn’t nail it down but suffice to say by the time we were walking back to the car I was really questioning how much longer I’d be seeing him.

Then he pulled me in for a hug, and with those muscly arms wrapped around me I wondered if maybe, despite all that, he could be the guy for me… This was the moment I found out I could be blinded by a bicep. The lifted spirits were only to be momentary though.

As we got back to the car, he said something about the passenger door lock not working and came round to unlock it but, as he did, he didn’t follow that up by actually opening the door.

He unlocked it, then left it.

As in, he put the key in, probably put his hand on the door in some capacity, but didn’t actually lift the handle and open it for me…

I actually stood, kind of aghast, looked at it for 5 seconds (which felt like longer but it was long enough to make a point), laughed and said “don’t worry, I’ve got it”.

Now, I’m not a stickler for manners and the fact he’d obviously never opened a car door for me before clearly hadn’t even struck me but there was something about the fact that he was AT THE CAR DOOR and didn’t open it that made me realise it wasn’t something he would ever even think of. And that really jarred on me.

I got home that night and kinda felt like it almost hadn’t been worth going out for. I was frustrated and disappointed, which aren’t really the lasting feelings you want from any date, let alone a date with someone who you’d been seeing for a few months.

As I thought about it over the next few days and chatted it through with girlfriends, who declared they actually couldn’t understand why I was still seeing him, though they did appreciate the body aesthetic angle, I decided that the next time I saw him I’d have a conversation about what we were doing/where we were going, almost with the prophecy that I knew that would end things.

One of my friends posed the question to me “what do you do if he says he wants to be in a relationship?”… well shit, I hadn’t really figured that out but at least my reaction made it obvious to me that definitely wasn’t what I actually wanted.

Interestingly, rather than just tell him I didn’t want to see him anymore, which presumed he wanted to see me and almost felt scarier, I decided it felt safer to ask him where he was at with us, feeling pretty sure he’d say he didn’t want anything more, if even, what we had at that point.

As it was, while casually chatting over Mexican food the following week I readied myself to ask the question and realised it was the first time I would properly have that chat with someone. It was kind of a bid moment in my dating life but the nerves were unnecessary, not least because I felt fairly certain where the conversation was going to go.

Turns out, I hadn’t planned for his answer to be “um, I don’t know, I hadn’t really thought about it.” Um… ok… well… is that something you can maybe get back to me on?! It was a weird turn of events that I actually hadn’t been prepared for. It also made me question how you can get to a certain point with someone but never actually think through where things are or what you want. He said he’d think about it and the conversation was left there. Needless to say, dinner ended kind of awkwardly.

A few days later he texted me to say that he’d thought about what I’d asked and he’d realised that he had so much going on in his life with his two jobs and moving house that he wasn’t sure he had time for anything else just now. I didn’t need to ask if the “anything else” was meant as anything additional to what we had already or just anything in addition to the jobs and house move he’d mentioned.

The fact was I didn’t care. I actually hoped he meant anything else outside the job and moving, and that this was done. Even my reaction to the end of it was flat. It was such an odd feeling because we had fun on our dates, he planned really great dates!, I was unbelievably attracted to his body and he was a driven and motivated individual. But clearly, there was something missing. A spark. A sense of excitement. The thing you need to have to make you actually give a shit.

But, as it turned out, no shits were given and that glorious gym bod was never to be seen again.

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I Came For The Gin – Part 1 of 2

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Jul-2016

As my dating journey continued, alongside my fitness journey, there was definitely a shift in the body types of the men I was dating and it didn’t suck. While they were obviously not too shabby to look at, I liked that for the most part it would also mean that the guy would understand that I wanted to work out five days a week and that it was important to me to eat fairly healthily, rather than have him trying to sabotage my efforts. But can you have all of that along with a genuine appreciation of gin?

It was the middle of summer, just before a girls trip to Vegas, when I matched with this super smiley, 31 year old Chinese Canadian guy on Bumble. He was a firefighter and had just opened his own weightlifting gym and so Asian Weightlifting Firefighter may have been one of the longer nicknames that came to fruition but it worked.

We met post-Vegas (and post-Vegas recovery days so I wasn’t a complete wreck) on a gorgeously sunny Sunday afternoon. From our texts leading up to the date he’d picked up on my love for gin, and so immediately got brownie points for his first date suggestion of drinks at a local gin distillery. He also stated that every first date should have alcohol, which is a sentiment I don’t totally disagree with.

It was a seriously great first date – and that is such an infrequently used phrase round here… We had multiple gin cocktails, while chatting easily, particularly while digging into our respective dating lives. It was a slightly surprising topic of conversation. Dating and past relationships might come up a bit on a first date, maybe more on a second or third, but we went all in. And it was actually comfortable and comforting. He clearly was looking for someone he could have a lot of fun with but that would equally support his professional life and challenge him personally. It seemed like a good balance.

From gin we went to a nearby restaurant for lunch (yes we went for gin pre-lunch, did I mention brownie points?) and sitting on the sun soaked waterside patio we talked about our childhoods, our jobs and our passions. He was a fun guy, who was obviously very driven at work (firefighting was his career, weightlifting was his passion he told me) and conversation was not hard to come by with him.

We had one sticky moment when he tried to do a Scottish accent, as we were sat on a dock by the water waiting for our table, but we/he quickly recovered when I told him it was terrible. I like a guy that can take criticism.

He also commented as we were taking a walk after lunch that he liked my nail polish colour and asked if my toenails matched. I confirmed they did and he stated that he likes a girl that takes care of herself. That’s a statement I’m never sure how to take. I mean, I don’t want to date a slob either, but when a guy says that to me I feel like sometimes there’s a sentiment attached that, as women, we’re supposed to make ourselves “pretty” for a man, even down to our toenails. And that doesn’t really sit well with me…

But I didn’t think too much into the nail colour chat at the time, the afternoon went by so quickly and when I got home the overriding feeling was being surprised by just how much fun I’d had, how easy it had been and how much I was hoping to see him again. It had been a while since I actually really wanted to see a date for a second time.

The following weekend we made plans to meet up again. It was one of the summer fireworks nights in the city and he suggested we get a picnic and go down to the beach to watch them. Again, a man with a plan and a pretty good date suggestion – it’s a rarity. We met up in the early evening and headed to the supermarket to buy food – always an interesting encounter with someone you don’t really know. But again it was easy and, with him, it was fun – we learnt a lot about Chinese and Scottish cultural differences!

He also raked in more brownie points when he not only produced two water bottles he’d brought for us to make up drinks in but also a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin to make the drinks with. I loved that he had so quickly come to realised that gin was the way to my heart. It was also a relief to me that despite his incredibly serious attitude towards fitness – it was a major part of both of his jobs, in fact the entirety of one of them – he was still more than happy to knock back drinks with abandon.

It was an incredibly fun date and a really memorable night. The fireworks were great, the conversation was still so easy, we laughed a lot and somewhere in amongst it all we had our first kiss, as the pyrotechnics went off overhead. It was like some cheesy Hollywood movie date and I didn’t mind it one bit.

We ended up being the very last people on the beach that night. Everyone else had cleared out and we found ourselves lying in the darkness, still talking. After a policeman passing on a bike informed us the beach was now closed, we reluctantly packed up our stuff to leave and Asian Weightlifting Firefighter insisted he wanted to walk me home. It was a bit of a trek from where we were but it was a balmy summer’s night and clearly neither of us were done talking yet.

Somewhere between the beach and my apartment it came up about him maybe staying over. At the time, he was living on the North Shore and for him to get home at that time would have been a pain in the ass for him. But I was the one that brought it up, not him. We didn’t make a call on it until we got to my building and just as I thought he was about to wish me goodnight and turn around, he said “ok, I’ll stay but I don’t want us to sleep together”. With any other guy I would have instantly thought that was just a line but from discussions we’d had I got the feeling he actually meant it.

Turns out, I was right, he did.

We shared a bed, there was definitely some light groping, there was a lot of kissing and just the right amount of cuddling that made me incredibly happy but that was the extent of it. Waking up in the morning with neither of us hungover, neither of us wanting to gnaw our arm off to escape without waking the other and neither of us still done talking, made for a pretty nice Sunday morning.

All it did was leave me wanting to see him again, and wonder what it would be like if/when we did have sex. There hadn’t been a whole lot of it at that point in my new dating life and what there had been, had been pretty much one and done’s. I was interested to see what it would be like with someone I was actually seeing on a more regular basis.

Two weeks later I was to find out when he came over to mine for dinner. I was going to cook but, in all honesty, I don’t like cooking for guys. I feel like that’s a part of me they have to earn. I feel that way about nothing else. But cooking for them? Oh yeah, they’ve got to work for that. I know, it makes no sense to me either.

Instead of giving away my culinary skills we ordered food from a local restaurant that he went to pick up and of course, he brought gin – this time a local Vancouver tiple. And seriously, guys! You will always win with the gin! After dinner, during which we had debated the best way to deal with sibling relationships, we threw on some Netflix and I guess you could say “Netflix and chill” ensued. Wow, my life is such a cliche…

But as an aside, who knew a conspiracy theory documentary could get you in the mood?

The sex was good. It wasn’t mind blowing, it was by no means awful. It was over kind of quickly, in that we barely made it to the bedroom. But I wondered if maybe we’d both ended up more nervous than necessary because we’d waited and it felt like there had been a bit of build up? Maybe it was one of those things that we would both settle into? Once we got to know each other better in that way? Wait, was I making excuses for mediocre sex? That couldn’t be a good thing, could it?

I’m going to need more gin.

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When Are Seconds Sloppy?

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Jul-2016

Vancouver isn’t a big place. So I guess it was just a matter of time before one of my other single girlfriends’ and my dating paths crossed. Did I think it would be with a guy whose messages and drunk calling to my girlfriend we’d ridiculed? Unlikely.

At first I didn’t even put the two together. I don’t know why I thought the guy who my girlfriend had been chatting to was called something entirely different. Or maybe it’s because I never use their actual names. Whatever, it was only when he recognised me in my girlfriend’s Snapchat story that he asked how we knew each other and everything fell into place. He was a 28 year old Canadian web developer, recently moved to Vancouver.

Side story – this revelation took place at my birthday night out, in the midst of me getting completely confused when my Irish friend called me from an unknown number to say he would be late. But his first name happened to be the same as that of Teeny Irish Peen, add to that they share an accent, and I was momentarily confused as to when I’d invited the less than well endowed Irishman, who I’d avoided since our last date, to my celebratory drinks… confusion and panic ensued.

Once I worked out my night wasn’t being gatecrashed by an uninvited guy and his pencil penis, I went back to trying to figure out just how far down the dating road my girlfriend and this pretty hot Canadian had gone. Turns out they’d never met and by the sounds of it from her, she had no intention of. So I guess that felt ok? When are they truly seconds? And when are they truly sloppy seconds? You always wonder if he’s only chatting to you because she gave him he brushoff. That in and of itself is a natural cycle of dating but it’s weird to think about it when one of the other females is a friend of yours…

Even if I could get my head round that, the other issue was that in all of the discussions we’d had about him we always commented on the fact he just didn’t come across as that bright. On the flipside, while none of his messages to me had been MENSA worthy, I didn’t get the “thick as two short planks” vibe from him either. And so his nickname of Pretty (But Maybe) Dumb came to be.

Between his unknown mental capability and not really liking the idea of it kind of it still feeling like my girlfriend’s seconds, I phased out the texting and never thought anything else of it. Until, that is, I was walking through the block party on Pride Weekend and we ended up walking right by each other on the street.

He hollered at me to stop, but I was with friends and still didn’t particularly feel like having to decide if he felt like a friend’s castoff. I mean, they never met but mostly because she decided she didn’t want to. And I know different people suit different people but there was a sense of him not being good enough for her so I wasn’t sure how it felt to then step up and be like “I’ll take him!” Add to that the fact that, other than looking pretty cute (which, thankfully, he did in real life) he hadn’t really set my world on fire through texts or consistency or action so did I really want to bother?

We kept walking and while I was explaining to my friends who the hot guy that had just yelled at me in the street was, my phone buzzed with a text. “Where are you going? Why didn’t you stop?!” I replied that I was going to meet other friends and couldn’t stop but would be around the block party all night. He told me we’d be drinking together by the end of the night. And I kinda liked his boldness.

The majority of my night was spent up in a hotel room with friends overlooking the block party from the balcony and when he later texted to see where I was, my friends and I decided we’d invite him up. Within 5 minutes (and a lot of directional text messaging which didn’t help the opinion on his mental strength), I went to collect him and his friend from the lobby.

He was definitely hot and a little more softly spoken than I imagined, which was a pleasant surprise. I’d always wondered how much of a “bro” he would be, he definitely had that North American frat boy look about him which, shame on me, I still find intriguing just because it’s such a goddamn novelty but, thankfully, that wasn’t the vibe I was getting from him.

His friend on the other hand… drunk, belligerent and when pushed as to why he was being an asshole (my friends take no prisoners) insisted that because he worked for a charity he was actually a good guy. Um, that’s not how that works. So after a short 15 minutes with us and before they could finish a drink, I told Pretty (But Maybe) Dumb that he could stay or go, but his friend had to go. He made the decision in less than a second and promptly started to say his goodbyes to his friend while ushering him out the door and closing it behind him. That’s mate solidarity for you, isn’t it?!

We had another few drinks in the hotel room and then decided to venture back down to the throngs of people for the end of the street party. Pretty (But Maybe) Dumb had done a fairly good job of easing in with my friends and making conversation. But he became most animated when one of my (male) friends, while discussing where to go for an afterparty, suggested a strip club. “This will be a great first date story” he told me while enthusiastically high fiving my friend.

I wasn’t entirely sure this was a date. But regardless of that and the fact that his incredibly “bro”-like reaction should have put me off, fast forward 15 minutes and we’re standing in line to see some of Vancouver’s finest pole dancers. I know, I’m always making the good decisions.

I probably glimpsed more naked skin while using the bathroom where it appeared the strippers also got ready before and after their stints on stage than when I was actually sat out in the main room. It turned out Pretty (But Maybe) Dumb, despite his excitement about coming to the strip club, decided to sit with his back to the stage and actually engage in proper conversation with me, which was surprising. Or maybe there was a mirror he could still watch the dances in? But my friends had sat at the table beside us so it was essentially just us, for all intents and purposes on a date, having civilised (albeit slightly drunken) chat at a cosy table for two while the entertainment got progressively more naked on the stage in the middle of the room. If it was a date, it was definitely my most bizarre.

At the end of the night, and by end of the night I do mean when the strip club was closing and they actually turned the lights on (which was a horror show no one should see), my friends had long left and Pretty (But Maybe) Dumb offered to walk me home. It was in the entirely opposite direction to where he lived and I knew that by no means did he intend to leave me at my doorstep.

Over the course of the night he’d definitely grown on me, he was funny and opinionated, was obviously up for spontaneous fun, didn’t mind being thrown in the deep end with my friends and he was definitely pretty in that North American college boy way.

At this point of my dating life, I was always making those “going home together” decisions based on whether I actually saw anything happening with someone, i.e. If I thought there could be a potential for a relationship, I wouldn’t want to jeopordise it by sleeping with someone on the first night. Because isn’t that what society and dating advice tell us? That giving it all away too soon can wreck any chances of a relationship? And not to mention the obvious shame of sleeping with a practical stranger? And and and… Ugh.  Yet I know many people who did exactly that on the first night and it made no difference to the long term success of their ensuing relationships.

But at this stage I was still trying to follow that advice and despite how much he’d pleasantly surprised me over the course of the night, I saw no real potential with him, so sure, the walk home with no departure point seemed like it wouldn’t be the worst idea.

We had fun, he had a great body and was pretty dominant in the bedroom. Though at times it bordered a little on selfish and I’m not really a fan of that. Who is? Add to that his frequent complaints about the stiffness (pun intended) of my mattress, him mentioning me making him breakfast, which I think I just laughed at, and bringing up how he thought my friends had been rude to his friend, by morning I was kinda ready to get him the hell out of my apartment. So around 9am I got out up and started to strip the bedding off the bed. With him still in it. I’ve learnt this is a really great, not at all subtle way of telling a remaining visitor from the night before that time is up.

He left and made a comment about seeing each other again, which I thought was one of those involuntary things people accidentally say because the situation brings it out of them, the proverbial “I’ll call you” with no intention behind it. But he did actually text me a few times after that, all of which I responded to but not with a yes to meet up. I should have just told him I didn’t want to see him again, instead I always made up an excuse. I guess because, and I was right, I figured he’d get pissed off eventually and tell me to fuck off.

Thinking back on it, the two gut feelings I had at the beginning – that it felt too much like a friend’s castoff and he didn’t seem that bright – were probably right. Despite them never meeting and by the night of the block party they weren’t even in touch anymore, there was just something about the fact that there was any history there that I couldn’t get over. Girl code aside, which I truly believe in but wasn’t really relevant in this instance, I just never want to feel like someone you know can say “I could have had him first”. And while he was more softly spoken than I imagined, he still definitely had a bit of a bull in a China shop about him. The sort of guy you’d be worried would somehow end up in fights a lot.

So, although we took a detour via a random night at a Strip club, it was definitely time to trust the gut and decide to no longer allow him to fall into the seconds category or me to fall into the sloppy category.

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