Category: First Dates

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 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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It’s Getting Crowded In Here

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Jul-2016

How do you know when you’re unfairly not giving someone a chance based on your own personal biases and when you’re actually making a good decision based on what you just inherently know you will/won’t like? I struggle with that a lot, going back to my quiet guy experimentation which didn’t work because turns out I think I’m right in knowing quiet guys don’t work for me, yet still trying to remain open minded to any and all possibilities that come your way.

My girlfriend and I talk a lot about “maybe this is my story!” When something feels so out of your comfort zone, so outside of what you expected would be your reality but you’re considering it because maybe, just maybe, your story starts like that – “well I never thought I’d be interested in a tattooed, skinhead who’d done time and was now rearing chickens in the midwest, but here we are 7 years later!” You don’t want to be the dick that discounted the inked chicken farmer with a chequered past who could be the love of your life just because you thought you’d end up with a straight laced lawyer from the City.

You also don’t want to waste your time with people who don’t match your perceived requirements because what’s the point when you already know it’s unlikely to go anywhere. So when I’m faced with someone who’s too nice/quiet, I really have this internal struggle. And I know, I know, what is it with nice guys always finishing last? That’s so shitty. And maybe “nice” isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s lacking balls, or lacking opinions, or the ability to stand up for themselves but what I mean is I need someone to challenge me and put me in my place and, for those few times in life where I don’t/can’t take control, will step up and take charge.

I found myself having this familiar mental battle with myself when I started chatting to Aussie Tech Guy (another cracker of a nickname). He was nice, too nice. He didn’t have any strong opinions on anything. He was passionate about his Aussie Rules football team but that was about where it ended. There were no controversial views or slightly un-PC comments, just no edge. And maybe I’m looking for those things only to make myself feel like less of a bitch when I’m chatting shit about the bad drivers in Vancouver or airing my feminist views. That’s not to say I want to date a negative person but while it’s important to be agreeable on a date and not be controversial just for the sake of it, you still have to show your personality and be true to yourself. Which I’d hope would include some opinions on something.

If Aussie Tech Guy was being himself in our messaging then I wasn’t sure there was much to go on, but if he was just trying to be the “nice guy” to get a date then maybe it could be ok… So we set up a Friday after work drinks date and I was hopeful it could turn out to be a pleasant surprise.

The surprise I hadn’t anticipated was that halfway through me trying to prise something resembling passion or interest from Aussie Tech Guy, I was distracted by a tall, bearded, hot and.. oh dear god, familiar Lumbersexual walking into the bar we were in. As soon as I saw him I remembered that we’d talked about how he worked around there and his office often went out for Friday drinks. So maybe I shouldn’t have been that surprised.

I was reminded of the fun chats we’d had the night we met and, of course, the pretty great time we’d had when we got back to mine. And I knew that if I’d been on a more fun date with someone I found more attractive I wouldn’t have been as bothered but, seeing as I felt like I was pulling teeth trying to elicit an opinion from my current date, my mind couldn’t help by wander back to the night with Lumbersexual.

Thankfully around this time, Aussie Tech Guy suggested we move to another bar round the corner and I was more than happy to oblige. Although really by that point I’d had been fairly happy just to go home.

When we got into our second watering hole of the night, I got my second surprise of the night. Our server happened to be someone I’d matched with on Tinder and had been chatting with a few weeks back. Nothing had come of it but I’m not sure if that made running into him better or worse.

By this stage I really just needed to get out of there. So we had one very quick drink and I made some excuse about needing to get home early. We quickly paid the bills and parted and I thought that would be the end of it. But, as I’m sure you know by now, I don’t always make the best choices so a few weeks later I found myself meeting up with him again. And to prove my point about there maybe being a lack of excitement with Aussie Tech Guy, he suggested we just go back to the same first bar we’d been to on our first date.

Now if that had been some spectacular rooftop cocktail bar with incredible views, I could have maybe understood the repeat visit, maybe. But it was just some local sports bar so it made no sense to me that you’d want to go back there rather than suggest somewhere or something different. Having said that, it was right across from my apartment so I agreed because at least the walk home wouldn’t be far.

I hoped that by some miracle the second date was going to be inspiring, that maybe he was just having an off night on the first date or nerves got the better of him. We can all have bad days at work that spill over into after-work dates or a late night the previous night that means you’d rather be in your bed than trying to be your best self for the sake of a stranger.

None of those hopes turned out to be true however. But at least I didn’t run into any other one night stands or Tinder matches on the second date and, in my book, I guess I had to take that as a win.

Next post…

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“Meh” Is Not What We’re Looking For

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Jun-2016

I always go on a dates hoping I’ll have a great time, feel a spark with the other person and see a potential for more fun dates. Who wants to go on a date and feel like it was a waste of their time and that watching paint dry might have been a better option? So what do you do when you’re on a run of dates that aren’t going to be even flickering a match, nevermind lighting a fire anytime soon? As my Mum says “”meh” is not what we’re looking for”.

Still stinging a little from the Canadian DJ debacle and only being helped to a point by the Lumbersexual therapy, I had another month of not dating before deciding to slowly get back into it but when I did, I made a conscious decision to open my mind and consider people I may not have previously swiped right (yes) for. Specifically “quieter looking” guys.

I know, how can you tell a guy is quiet from a few profile pics? Trust me, you just can.

I’d always said I never had a type. Apparently I do, though not so much physically, more personality-wise. Generally, I’m attracted to men who are confident and outgoing, extroverted, loud. My ex-husband was like that, Canadian DJ was the same. I blame my Father (I blame him for a lot) – he was that way and it’s true what they say about you being attracted to what you know and what you grew up around.

With that in mind, and knowing that those traits I’m attracted to are often displayed by narcissists (good choice), I decided that maybe someone quiet would be a good change. I’m an introverted extrovert so, while it wasn’t what I normally went for, there’s something appealing about a guy who can say a lot without saying much and doesn’t need to be “on” all the time.

So bring on the quiet guys! Wait, does that mean I need to tone down as well?

The first date in my new “quieter” phase was an Irish guy – not a nationality I would typically date – and he was definitely a little more on the timid side than I’m used to when we first met. After a few drinks though, he loosened up and I saw a glimpse of what he was no doubt like with all the Irish friends that he had in the city. We went on a couple of dates but after each the only response I could really come up with was that it had been “fine”. Physically he was smaller than I’d have liked. I don’t have a height issue, just as long as I don’t feel bigger than a guy. No girl wants that.

After a couple of “fine” dates there really wasn’t enough of a spark to continue, we hadn’t even kissed, and we just sort of stopped texting. A few weeks later, while I was out for drinks with an Irish friend who knew him, we somehow, magically, coincidentally ended up in the same (Irish) bar as he and a friend. Funny that… As the night went on drinks were had, dancing was done and a kiss was exchanged.

By the end of the night, I’d had enough gins to think that him coming home with me was a good idea (I blame gin for a lot too).

We got home and both promptly passed out but in the morning he was definitely up for continuing what the kissing had started the night before. And, well, there’s really no way to put this delicately, but when it comes to discovering the intimate details of someone, he fell way short. And thin!?

That unsavoury surprise coupled with the hangover and with memories of Lumbersexual’s near perfect attributes still pretty fresh, plus the fact our dates hadn’t even been that good meant there was a sudden engagement in my diary that I needed to be getting up and ready for, and Teeny Irish Peen (as he later became affectionately known) needed to vacate the premises.

Is a poorly sized (and shaped – seriously it was pencil like!) penis reason enough not to see someone again? Yes. Yes it is.

A few weeks later I had a date with a wind power engineer from Eastern Canada and I realise now he never got a nickname, that’s how badly the date went, which is unfortunate because I think my friends and I really could have done great things with that profession for the basis of a name.

Regardless, his passion for his work and hobbies similar to mine encouraged me to set up a date with him. I knew from our texts he was definitely on the quieter end of the spectrum and although it hadn’t gone great with Teeny Irish Peen, that didn’t have anything to do with him being too quiet, I was still optimistic that it could be a good option for me.

We met for a happy hour drink after work and the date itself was, again, fine. We talked a lot, although definitely me more than him, and we had enough commonalities to make it an easy hour and a half. But was I excited? No. Was I desperate to spend more time with him? No. Would I have rather been at home, bra off, watching an episode of Friends for the 100th time, eating ice cream and painting my nails? 100% yes. And as I walked home at 6.30pm on a Friday evening, I realised that “meh” was definitely the only way to describe that date.

Just as I had that thought, I got a text from another guy I’d been messaging for the last few days asking what I was up to that night. Now, I really had learnt my lesson after the horrible day of two dates, but this was different – I hadn’t planned to see both of them on one day and I really didn’t want to be sat in again on a Friday night, even if I had already been on a date earlier.

With that argument settled in my head, I arranged my second date of the night.

He’d been fun in messages but fell into the category of “could be hot, could be not” from his pics. You know, like some angles are great and he could be quite attractive and then others make you question why he chose that pic? Those are always nerve-wracking to go and meet but you’ve just got to expect the worst and hope for the best!

When I met him, he was probably about in the middle of the scale of worst case to best case, worked in finance, had recently moved to Vancouver from the US but seemed to have had every job under the sun and wasn’t sure finance was really his thing.

It’s funny how as you become older (wiser?, more cynical?, more boring?) a potential partner’s occupation becomes a big deal. I hate that it’s even a factor and that we make judgements based on what someone does for a job but, for me, it talks to passion and drive and compatibility. If you’ve been a bartender at the same place for 10 years, first of all I like that we’ll probably be able to talk for hours about gin but soon after I’m wondering if you have any goals for career development and I know that the lifestyle of someone working nights in a bar doesn’t really fit with my Monday to Friday, 9 to 5.

So career/occupation/job, call it what you will, does need to be a consideration. And someone unhappy in their job is definitely a bit of a red flag for me. Or, to be clear, someone unhappy in their job who will tell you all about how shit it is but isn’t doing anything to rectify that. Similarly someone who’s had a number of different jobs. Now, if it’s because they’re actively searching for their passion but haven’t found it yet I could get on board with that. Lord knows not all of us know what we want to be from a young age, or even an old age! But if it’s because you just can’t stick anything out long term and you get “easily bored”, I’m probably gonna pass.

It’s fair to say, then, that him questioning a career in finance, while telling me how awful his boss was and listing all the other 50 jobs he’d had in his adult life was a definite turn off. The big city also seemed like it was overwhelming him, and Vancouver isn’t even that big, which doesn’t exactly sit well with me, I’m a city girl at heart. I don’t even acquaint myself with the ‘burbs, remember?

I decided to cut the date short after just two drinks, not least because of the job chat but I also absolutely hated the bar he’d chosen. I’m now in a place where I feel more comfortable communicating where I do or don’t want to go, but back then I was still finding my feet with going on first dates and the quick turnaround from suggestion of date to actual date that night had caught me off guard re arrangements hence why we ended up somewhere that any time I’ve been in it has only made me want to leave.

As I walked home that night I thought that maybe quiet guys weren’t for me. None of the 3 dates had provided me with even a single proper belly laugh nor did I feel genuinely wowed by the conversations. None of them assumed the role of leader on the dates and I realised that’s not just what I not like but what I need also. I need someone who’ll tell me when to get my head out my ass, challenge me, tell me I’m wrong. I didn’t get the feeling any of them would do that.

I’m not saying you can’t do all of those things if you’re a quiet guy, but after my sample size of 3 I decided that maybe it wasn’t the right direction for me.

To close the loop on my quiet guy phase, I texted Wind Power Engineer from the first date that night to say thank you for the date, as I always do when someone has paid. He replied with “it was great to meet you too but I think we’re on different pages.” I was a little confused as to what he was referring to, and with the drinks from the two dates piling up I decided to not try and work it out and instead wrote back “hahah, this is awkward, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I can’t tell if you’re joking”. He replied “you and me, we’re on different pages, I don’t think it would work and I’m not joking”. This actually gave me the biggest laugh of the night. We were so different that I couldn’t even tell when he was properly giving me the brushoff and in fairness, it proved his point entirely.

At least in the sense of knowing we would never work, we were on the same page.

Next post…

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I Forgot What This Felt Like – Part 1 of 3

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Apr-2016

In amongst all the dodgy dates and crap conversations, I had actually met someone – offline, organically, “normally”. It was a friend’s step-brother (her Mom married his Dad), who I don’t think I even knew existed before she introduced me to him on the Thursday before Easter weekend.

Her and I were out for a few drinks to celebrate the long weekend and were going to see a film about Renoir later in the evening. We’re so cultured. When her step-dad called and said he was in town and wondered if she was around, our drinks and movie turned into drinks, dinner and more drinks with him and her step-brother. Maybe we’re not so cultured.

When the brother arrived it was one of those times apt for the phrase “sit up and take note” – I definitely did that. Partly because she’d barely mentioned him before, but also because she’d definitely never mentioned her incredibly funny and charming step-brother before. My head was turned. When he started talking about his divorce and how he’d just moved to a new place, I was really listening.

He was Canadian and a DJ and so his nickname in time would be “Canadian DJ” – don’t say we’re not creative. He was funny and engaging and chatty, and when we ended up sat next to each other at dinner I definitely felt like there was some sort of a spark, like a proper frisson of electricity, between us. But I was a few drinks in and sometimes my awareness in these situations can be totally off so I tried not to get too far ahead of myself.  Plus he was related (by marriage if not birth) to one of my best girlfriend’s so I wanted to get her take on it first.

She must have been wondering what the hell I was on with all the schoolgirl like giggling I was doing and I’m pretty sure she was going to cut me off with the bar when, on telling us about the real fire in his new apartment, I asked “where do you get your wood?” – it wasn’t even intended innuendo, which only made it more embarrassing. He took it well and responded with a suitably innuendo-laden answer.

When he and his dad left after dinner, I instantly said “so you’re step-brother…?” By her response I’m pretty sure she wasn’t expecting that: “What?! You like him? Really?! I never even thought of him for you.” While surprised, she didn’t seem against the idea so I said no more and we finished our night with more drinks, Renoir having long been forgotten.

The next day her and I were visiting her Granny who had pretty much adopted me since I moved to Canada – I was seriously missing family time and you can never beat some Granny cooking and chats. As we drove south I engineered Canadian DJ into the conversation and my girlfriend encouraged me to add him on Facebook. 15 minutes later, we were FB friends. It’s getting serious, millennials.

Later at Granny’s, my friend’s Mom called to wish us all Happy Easter and when she specifically asked to speak to me after chatting to her Mom (Granny) and her daughter (my girlfriend) I figured it was just to make me feel included. Turns out, she had been speaking to her husband (girlfriend’s step-dad, Canadian DJ’s dad – are you following along?) who mentioned our drinks the night before and that his son had apparently said, speaking of me, “she’s exactly the sort of person I should date”. Needless to say, that was not what I was expecting to hear and it more than put a smile on my face and a flutter in my stomach while sending my mind into overdrive. Did I mention I’m an overthinker?

Naturally he came up in conversation a few times over the weekend and by the Monday I decided that I was going to be brave and bold and send him a message on Facebook. I sent that first message (you know the kind that’s meant to sounds really easy and breezy and casual but in reality took a good hour and a half of rewrites to perfect? Yup one of those) and then panicked. For a whole 21 hours. It took almost a day to get a response… WTF. I felt close to a stroke the entire time. How can the sending of one little message do that to you? I’m an adult!

I’d included my phone number in the Facebook message, as well as a reference to my embarrassing wood comment, so when I got a text the following day from an unknown number that just said “Goooood morning!” I so wanted it to be from him and not a wrong number. Google was able to confirm it as for the former for me, as it was the number he had on his website for his business, and then I died with excitement. Um, hi, am I 15 again?

By the 12th message we were talking about Vegas (one of my favourite subjects) and when he mentioned about going for a drink I was more than a little keen to get it planned. We were trying to figure out a suitable time as I was on my way to my date with Dubsmash Dude and I was definitely more excited about the prospect of the DJ date than the Dubsmash date.

Gutted doesn’t quite cover what I felt when we didn’t think we’d be able to get time for a drink before he went on vacation the following Monday to visit his Dad and Step-Mom (my girlfriend’s Mom) for 2 weeks. We said we’d catch up when he was back but there was a feeling, on my side anyway, that the impetus might have dissipated. So when he messaged me on the Thursday confirming I was definitely busy on the Friday night because he had a spare ticket to a concert he was going to, I had to make a snap decision as to whether I was the type of girl who ditched plans with her friends to go on a date…. Death Cab For Cutie with a boy or Elie Goulding with my girlfriends….

Not before clarifying with him “is it you and a group of friends or is this a potential “date”…?” When he responded with “hahahahaha not a group of friends so let’s go with “date”;)”. Let’s just say team dating came back into play in a big way.

The girls rallied, there were suggested alternatives, opinions, debates, it got pretty heated between those who were in the ‘chicks before dicks’ camp and those that thought when presented with the prospect of a good date, one can’t simply turn it down. Ultimately it was decided I should change my plans and go on the date, especially once I checked with the friend I had plans with whose emphatic text response was “GO GET IT GIRL”. I bloody love my friends.

So the plans were made – drinks and dinner before Death Cab For Cutie. We both noted how we’d gone from maybe not having time for a drink before his trip to now planning a full on first date.

This would be the first of many escalations. I loved it and was overcome with anxiety about it all at the same time. My group chats were on fire with excitement, questions and, most importantly, shopping plans for that night to ensure I had something to wear. No, but really, are we 15 again? It would seem so and, I’m not gonna lie, it was a tonne of fun. I had forgotten this feeling, the giddiness of boy chat, prospective dates, hopefully impending first kisses.

The next day I was an anxiety ridden mess, partly down to general nerves about the date and partly down to not hearing from him until 3pm by which time I’d convinced myself he’d changed his mind, or hadn’t been serious about the date in the first place.

Hi there self-doubt, you’ve been silent for a whole week, I missed you. It’s incredible how you can be sailing along, feeling great, on top of the word, winning at life and then BAM! The takedown of your self-worth and self-confidence that a previous partner performed comes crawling back like a disease.

I tried my best to push the doubts out of my head and got to the bar we were meeting at first because somehow he’d managed to forget the tickets at home and had to go back for them. The bar was my local right across from my apartment, yes it had been my suggestion, so it worked out perfectly for me as I was able to get a double gin and ginger ale in before he even arrived. As soon as he did I was instantly calmer, albeit with a flutter of excitement in my stomach. It wasn’t the worst feeling.

We had a quick dinner with drinks then got a cab out to the venue. We talked constantly, it was so easy. We talked family and music, travel and tv shows, working out and drinking, plans for Summer and life plans. There were no silences, no uncertainties as we both happily shared and eagerly listened.

The only slightly awkward moment was bumping into friends of his on our way into the venue, and I only say awkward because it always is on a date, especially a first date. When it’s not your friends and you’re not quite sure how, or even if!, you’re going to be introduced or if you’ll just stand there like a lemon while your date chats with his friends. Thankfully there was a quick intro and we moved on into the university stadium where the gig was. He later told me the friend messaged him after we met and said I was cute. Blushes ensued.

When we got inside, amidst the lineups for the concession stands and washrooms and people trying to find their seats, I realised that going to a gig with someone on a first date had potential for some uneasiness. I mean, do you dance? Clap along? God forbid sing? My over-thinking nerve was on high alert. Thankfully, when Death Cab started we quickly found an easy balance between singing (yeah I’d had to brush up on some of their songs earlier in the day) and chatting and laughing throughout. My self-consciousness slowly slipped away.
At one point while we were laughing about something in the crowd (can we all just take a minute to appreciate how great people watching is for an ice breaker on a first date?!), I remember thinking “please kiss me… also if this wasn’t a first date, I would so be having sex with you later”. Yup, you could say I was having a good time.

Waiting for a cab to get back downtown after the show, it was a pretty chilly April night and only one of us had brought a jacket (thanks to that shopping trip Michele had taken me on the afternoon before) so it was a perfect excuse for him to get closer for some warmth. But no kiss.

Deciding the night was too early to finish, we went for a few cocktails at a sushi place and after drinks with dinner and during the gig, we probably could have done with some more food at that point but stuck with just the alcohol. The conversation got a little more in-depth, chats about our divorces (or separations as his was at the time), our parents divorces, our own struggles. There was a lot we had in common and I liked that for once I didn’t feel like my divorce was the elephant in the room.

His separation was still fairly fresh, though he was sure it was definitely over and barring some back and forth about pet custody (it seems almost as contentious to navigate post-breakup as child custody) there was nothing left for them to discuss. I recognised the sadness still in him that I’d felt myself, that sense of not quite believing that it had come to an end, that you were now without that person you’d thought you’d be with forever. I marvelled at how much quicker he’d obviously been able to start to come out the other side in comparison to me. He was on a date only months after, while I’d taken years. Actual years. I was envious of, and impressed by, his resilience.

The restaurant was closing and he insisted on walking me back to my place. All night I had been floored by his manners. Doors were opened for me, seats pulled out, jackets put on, everything paid for – I wasn’t used to it but jeez, I could definitely adjust. Every little gesture made my stomach flip just a little.  And actually, knowing his family, I wasn’t surprised he was like that. They’re very much of the thinking that a man should be the man and a woman should be the woman, without being archaic. I’m all for equality and women doing things for themselves but there’s something about chivalry that gets me, and I do believe both can exist simultaneously.

On the walk home, in the crisp night air, the most recent intake of alcohol filtering into my bloodstream, with him of course on the road side, having moved me onto the inside of the sidewalk, I made another bold decision and asked him if he wanted to come up. Earlier in the night we’d shared our love for whisky and I just happened to have a great bottle that I thought he’d like to try.

10 minutes later, whiskies in hand, random YouTube videos on AppleTV and the sofa bed pulled out for full comfort, it felt like I was hanging out with an old friend. But an old friend who I really, really wanted to kiss me. Eventually, as we got progressively closer video after video, I was clearly feeling emboldened by the whisky and straight out asked him if he intended to kiss me.

After being taken aback a little, he said “I’ve really wanted to but it’s the first time I’ve kissed someone since… and I didn’t know I’d be so excited about it” before finally, FINALLY!, leaning forward and kissing me. I was sitting but there was a definite weakening in the knees. He was a great kisser and we proceeded to make out like teenagers. We really are 15 again.
At some point during the make out, YouTube, whisky session the fact he was having a sofa delivered at 9am came up, so after not that long a discussion I packed a bag and we got a cab out to where he lived, half an hour away, at 4am in the morning… another escalation.

As we drove along the empty streets and highway we drunkenly chatted, telling the cab driver the story of our night, him telling me how much he loved furnishing and decorating his new place, bought after his separation, me exclaiming the fact I barely leave downtown during daylight hours nevermind for a 4am cab ride to some far off suburb on a first date.
He wanted exactly 1 minute and 36 seconds to clean his apartment when we got there, so I stood outside the door and waited. For more like 5 minutes. A grand tour of his new pride and joy of a house and an introduction to the cat and dog, was followed by more whisky, Japanese this time, by the fire. But seriously, where did he get his wood from?

Things get fuzzy, but I remember us making out a lot before him saying “don’t look behind you, but it’s getting light outside”. It was 7am. We got to bed, him leaving the bedroom to let me get changed into my pjs – seriously, manners – and after some fairly heavy petting (definitely 15 again) with an unspoken understanding that we definitely weren’t going to have sex, we fell soundly asleep.

For an hour and a half anyway. Remember that sofa delivery? Yah, 9am. Bang on time. Why are they never there at the start of the delivery slot when you want them to be?! We barely made it up to let them in, and when I say we I mean he. I stayed put. He then had to take the dog out as well (sucks to have responsibility). Still I stayed put.

We spent the morning in bed, feeling more than a little worse for wear but entirely comfortable, chatting about the night before, how we’d both had a better time than either of us were even expecting, again sharing more stories of our marriages and the breakdown of them. It was a strange thing to be bonding over but we seemed to have had very similar experiences and he was relieved he could talk about it when it’s not something that you’d normally lead with on a first date.

With me complimenting the newly delivered couch – velvet teal was a bold but admirable choice but he’s not exactly a shy and retiring guy – at 1.30pm we dragged our asses out of bed and up the street to the pub where we managed some food and a Guinness each. Hair of the dog seemed like a good (the only?) idea. We sent a pic to his step-sister, my girlfriend, who loved the fact we’d clearly spent the night together and sent back a heart emoji filled response along with a pic of her and her boyfriend also having lunch.

Post-food and hair of the dog another nap was needed and it felt like one of those really lovely, lazy Saturdays I missed sharing with someone. I love my time to myself but having no plans with someone, is much better than having no plans by yourself. I was aware I was going out that night though and needed to get myself together for what was going to be a big night for the twins’ birthday so his insistence on driving me home was welcome cause I sure as hell wasn’t getting on the skytrain.

A whole 23 hours after our, what can only be described as epic, first date started, he drove me back along the highway, much busier now than 12 hours earlier in the middle of the night. He dropped me off at exactly 4pm, of course getting out to open my door and help me out his SUV. There was a last kiss, ok maybe many last kisses, before I tore myself away to go and get ready for early drinks with friends before the birthday celebrations. Despite the hangover and severe lack of sleep, I’m pretty sure I could have floated up to the 10th floor high on life, no elevator needed.

At 4.12pm as I was jumping in the shower, my phone buzzed. “I think I’m going through withdrawal from you”. Heart melt. Knees weak. Stomach flipped.

I truly forgot what this felt like.

Next post….

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Karma is a bitch

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Mar-2016

“How the hell did I get here?!” has run through my head so many times in the last few years, and I’m not always specifically thinking about being in Canada. I always knew life had twists and turns but it still catches me by surprise sometimes. And sometimes that surprise is pleasant and sometimes… well it’s not.

One of those times was not too long after my first proper date Post-D(ivorce), when my confidence had been boosted by that experience. Though let’s keep this in context, I was still feeling like bambi on ice when it came to dating, maybe just slightly thicker ice. I think I also wanted to keep the ball rolling, so a few weeks after Crazy Sink Guy I ended up planning two first dates in one day. Which was the first part of the “how the hell did I get here?!” thought. I could barely get myself out the house for one date a few weeks prior and now I was planning two in one day. Bold.

It really wasn’t my intention to double book myself though, but I’d been chatting to both of these guys for a little while and for whatever reason hadn’t been able to meet up with either of them until this particular Saturday. So when one of them wanted to do daytime and one of them wanted to do evening, it just seemed efficient to fit both in. And who doesn’t love efficiency?

“The day of 2 dates” started off with a coffee date with a 29 year old Brazilian, who worked in the film industry. He was friendly, softly spoken, passionate about a lot of different things, including coffee. Hence the coffee date. And I went along with his suggestion because… I’m agreeable I guess? Plus I figured suggesting midday drinks might have a been a little aggressive. Canada’s drinking culture is a little different to the UK.

The one thing I didn’t mention to him was that I don’t actually drink coffee, never have. Love coffee flavoured everything, except coffee itself. But coffee shops don’t just serve coffee so it would be fine. Or at least it would have been if I hadn’t ended up distracted when I first arrived and so ended up having him order me a double macchiato…

The distraction was my fault. Well, maybe my girlfriends’ faults… going back to the team dating that had begun on the last date, every chat, every online match, every date I had was poured over by my gorgeously witty girlfriends who offered their opinions, questions and warnings. In the case of the Brazilian, while carefully studying his dating app profile pics one of them pointed out his double full arm sleeve tattoos. Despite the 8 hour time difference between half of our group chat, a ridiculously quick message was sent from the other side of the pond saying “um, I don’t think that’s tattoos, I think that’s hair”. And hence was born his nickname Hairy Tattoo Guy. Leading up to the date, it was talked about extensively.

On arrival at the super cute coffee place that we’d decided on, all I could do was be distracted by the peek of (admittedly very hairy and definitely not tattooed) forearm. Trying desperately not to stare, stifling a laugh and resisting the urge to text the team was enough to make me only be able to glance up at the menu and order the first thing I saw. Double macchiato it was.

The reason I ordered a SECOND one of these about 45 minutes later when he suggested we got another one, is beyond me. Maybe it’s part of my want not to ever feel flustered. I hate not knowing where I’m going or what to order or even that feeling when you walk in a restaurant to meet someone and you spend the first 30 seconds searching aimlessly for them. I hate it. So I’ve always just employed a strategy of “don’t hesitate and just sound/look/act like you know what you’re doing”. It doesn’t always work out. Like now.

But the coffee was good, there was a buzzy atmosphere in this local neighbourhood coffee shop and we covered a great range of topics, he was easy to talk to which is always the least you can hope for on first meeting someone.

The date finished with him walking me home and then attempting to kiss me on the street across from my apartment, which horrified me. In part because PDA’s were something I had forgotten all about and I’m not a teenager anymore, plus I wasn’t really attracted to him (nothing to do with his arms, tattooed or otherwise).

I headed back upstairs for what was supposed to be a quiet couple of hours, watching some TV, filing my date report in the group chat (obviously) and then prepping for the next date. Turns out the caffeine I’d thrown back earlier had other ideas.

Almost as soon as I sat down on the sofa, I started to feel pretty unwell. My heart was RACING. My stomach was CRAMPING. And my head was POUNDING. At first it didn’t click that it might be the caffeine. For the past year, I’d been struggling with very regular fainting spells and I thought this was maybe a next level of that. Turns out, no. It’s just what will happen to you if you drink two double macchiatos. Did I mention I was also running on a pretty empty stomach. Yah, fun times.

I won’t go into the gory details but suffice to say I now understand when people say “that coffee went straight through me”. It was grim. Did I mention I also had the sweats? Real nice. So realising I probably needed to rehydrate myself, and after talking to a friend who assured me it must be from my caffeine overdose, I set about trying to make the decision as to whether to cancel date two or not… as if there was actually any decision to be made.

Turns out by the time I’d made that decision, I realised that date two would have been on his way from where he lived. Shit. Literally. And rather than just tell him to turn around because he was about to go on a date with a sweating, jittery, loose bellied mess, I figured that the polite thing to do was just to suck it up and get on with it.

That’s when the real thought of “how the hell did I get here?!” occurred. I realised not only did I have to go on a first date feeling like this, I also had to go on a first date to a Mexican restaurant feeling like this. Now, I love Mexican food. Ordinarily I can’t get enough of guac and jalapenos and fried beans and carnitas. Today, the thought of it literally made my stomach wobble.

So enroute to the Mexican restaurant which was, thankfully, only 1 block from my apartment, I stopped in at the pharmacy across the street (yep, right where Hairy Tattoo Guy had tried to kiss me earlier) and picked up some Immodium. Probably not the normal pre-date pharmacy shopping list, if you know what I mean?

The smell as I walked into the restaurant almost turned me straight back around. I arrived first so I chugged 2 glasses of water before he arrived. He being a 34 year old Canadian (I only point out nationality as it becomes relevant later in my dating story) who worked in insurance and lived in a basement suite in a suburb of Vancouver.

He was nice, a little nervous it seemed, but engaging and funny. Meanwhile I was attempting to not sweat over the table and trying to keep my toilet trips to a minimum. The Immodium felt like it took a loooong time to kick in. I also couldn’t decide what to order and, for the first time probably ever, declined the obligatory chips and salsa. They’re called obligatory for a reason, people.

When my food arrived and I became one of those horrible dates that just push their food around their plate and doesn’t really eat. When normally, in real life, when I don’t feel like my stomach is going to fall out, I am not shy about eating on a first date or otherwise. I’m almost constantly able to eat and the words “I can’t, I’m full” very rarely pass my lips, and I’m not ashamed of it. I wanted to address with him the fact that I wasn’t at my best during the date but I didn’t really want to have to answer too many questions.

Barely an hour later I’d managed to hide some of my steak, rice and beans under the tortilla that came with it, he’d got the cheque and I was heading for the hills, aka my own bathroom. I barely even stopped to hug him properly and I may or may not have broken into a slight run as I crossed the road back to my building.

Later that evening when I was feeling better and all the water and the Immodium had taken effect, I texted him to thank him for dinner and admitted I hadn’t been feeling my best but would love to see him again if he wanted to. He replied saying he hadn’t noticed anything and if that wasn’t even me at my best then he’d love to see me again.

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him (hi there trust issues, but also I was a mess how could he not have noticed?!)  but I wasn’t about to question it so I took the compliment and vowed to myself never to plan dates with different guys in the same day again. I couldn’t help but feel there was something very karmic about it turning out the way it did. I should have been fully engaged in each date, not being half present and trying to fit them both in because it worked for my diary. And, for the most part at least, I have stuck to that vow since.

I’ve found myself in a number of situations while dating that I can’t work out if I’ve crossed the boundary of human decency, if I’m just too naive or if this is “just how it is in [insert year here]”. This was definitely one of them. I’d never dated multiple people at the same time. I’d been with one person for the entirety of my 20’s and prior to that I’d had a couple of high school boyfriends so chatting to, flirting with, or dating multiple people is not something I’d ever done before. It wasn’t something I was instantly comfortable with.

My go-to now, when I’m querying a situation like that, is “how would I feel if the shoe was on the other foot?” I can’t say I’d mind if someone had been on another date earlier in the day before going on a date with me, or vice versa, but at the end of the day no one’s going anywhere, there’s time to have dates on different days so why even put myself in a position where I question my morals and karma comes back round to kick my ass?

I never did see Hairy Tattoo Guy again, despite him enquiring about a second date. I just didn’t feel like we had very much in common, apart from maybe both moving to the city from somewhere else, but that goes for about 90% of the population here and I’m not about to date them all. And despite the mess I was on my second date of the day, I did actually go out with that guy again. The story of how that went and the birth of his nickname are up next.

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