Category: Lessons

All The (Christmas) Feels – Part 2 of 4

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Nov/Dec-2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next post…

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You And Me Does Not Equal One Plus One

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Oct-2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Sod’s Law, that’s why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next post…

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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!

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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.

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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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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’ve Never Liked Cats

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Jul-2016

What’s more distracting when you’re fooling around with someone – the surprising colour of their penis or their cats watching you intently throughout? I never thought I’d find out the answer to that question, but here I was.

As was Canada’s want every 1st July, I’d thoroughly taken to donning some red clothing and celebrating my new home’s birthday on a yearly basis. Actually, that’s a lie, my closet contains almost NO red and yet somehow I still manage to muster a celebration. This year I started the day off on a hike with friends – because the west coast way of life had got me in its grips by then and I was in full on exercise and outdoorsy mode. After an early morning grind, we spent a rainy few hours in a rooftop hot tub drinking beers before deciding on plans for the rest of the day.

We prised ourselves from the hot tub and continued celebrations at a party the owner of my kickboxing gym was throwing in his apartment. He was attempting to date my girlfriend so we’d got the invite – your friend being pursued by someone can be fun for you at times too. It was a lively, interesting group, a few of whom I knew but there were a couple of people I’d never met. Including a friend of the host’s who was a pretty hot, 36 year old Vietnamese Canadian guy that worked in sales, had a thing for motorcycles and seemed to be up for a pretty big night.

I talked to him a little in the couple of hours we were there, while meeting everyone else, chowing down on some BBQ and making plans for our next move. We had another party we had to go to and were meeting up with other friends for that, so we headed off, leaving behind my girlfriend who was having all the moves put on her by the (clearly in love with her) gym owner. Not long after we left I’m told rounds of body shots began, which we realised was instigated purely as a way for him to flirt with her further. Bold strategy, sir.

As we headed onto the next stop, I never really gave Vietnamese Canadian (his short term nickname) another thought but as we left we threw out the invite for them all to join us at our friend’s house party – it was going to be a complete free for all so the more the merrier.

It was only late afternoon at this stage and we probably should have made a stop for some proper food. The BBQ had been great and I remember there being an incredible amount of guacamole but seriously, who eats enough at a party? But as sensible adults the only stop we made was for more booze as we met our other friends and headed toward the house where the next party was.

The weather had cleared up so everyone was in this great big back yard, perfect for parties. There was a tonne of people, a fire pit, beer pong table and an incredible amount of booze. What a way to celebrate Canada.

As night fell and more people came and fewer people left, we got a text from my girlfriend saying the ones left at the first party were going to cab it to where we were. When they turned up the body shots had most definitely taken effect.  But really, who were we to talk? I’d switched to gin and already made a sizeable dent in what had been a full bottle.

From discussions over said gin, as well as friends “Tindering” for me – is it even a verb? And why do they treat it like a game? It’s my actual life! – there was definitely a thought in the back of my head that it would be nice to “meet” someone that night. I would use the word hookup but that would make it seem like I had an intention of something happening which, given the amount of gin I’d consumed, I knew was probably not a great idea.

So when Vietnamese Canadian turned up with my friends I was more than a little secretly pleased. The body shots he’d consumed meant he was all of a sudden much more familiar, and flirtatious, with me than he had been before. We ended up chatting by the back fence, can you say romantic?, and got on pretty well. We spoke about our upbringings and families, travelling and work. Turned out he currently worked in sales but really wanted to get into acting – they don’t call Vancouver the Hollywood of the Northwest without it resulting in way too many wannabe actors being here.

Before we got too far into the hopes and dreams chat, our friends (the gym owner was his friend and the girl he was chasing down like a getaway car was my friend) said they were thinking of leaving and due to some car/key/other logistic that my gin-addled brain couldn’t follow, my conversation partner  said he needed to go with them. Quickly they all suggested I go too and that gin soaked brain of mine thought it was a great idea. So after a seemingly never-ending round of goodbyes with my friends asking if I was sure I wanted to leave with him, we were all in a cab headed back towards downtown.

I should have seen it coming but we weren’t even 5 minutes into the cab ride and gym owner and my girlfriend clearly had designs on heading home together, so Wannabe Actor (new short term nickname) took his chance and suggested we did the same. In the cold light of day now, I look back and know I should have just gone home but he seemed like a nice guy, he was a friend of a friend and they knew where I was going. Having ironed out whatever the logistical dilemma was that we’d all had to leave at the same time for, he and I carried on in the cab to his place.

To preface the next part of the story, I never felt in danger, I never felt unsafe but there was something that made me incredibly uncomfortable almost from the get go when we arrived at his place.  But what happened next also provided two of the weirdest/wtf anecdotes I have from dating. So, you know, every cloud…

The first thing was that as we walked through the door he started saying “hey, I’m back!” and I’m thinking, um.. you could have mentioned you had housemates. Turns out housemates would have been a better alternative. Instead it was two Siamese cats. I’m more of a dog person. And, honestly, a single guy having two cats? It just seemed a bit… odd. But ok, to each their own.

He got us some drinks, cause of course that’s what we hadn’t had enough of by that point, and we started fooling around on the sofa. Try as I might to relax and enjoy it there was something stopping me. Make that two things. The two cats had barely left his side since we walked in and were now sat at adjacent corners of the sofa. Watching. Actually staring. I kept thinking they’d get bored and go do whatever cats do. Seriously, I’m really not a cat person, I don’t even know how they keep themselves busy. But no. For the entire time we were on the sofa, they were about 5 feet away, glowering at me.

As if that wasn’t distracting enough, when Wannabe Actor then decided to move things to the next stage and whip off all of his clothes in what felt like a very hurried but rehearsed fashion, the cats were the last thing on my mind. While wondering what the rush was and also why every last article of clothing had to come off at once (he clearly wasn’t one for the tease) something else caught my eye. Well, I mean it was pointing right at me.

Now, call me sexually inexperienced or sheltered, but for the life of me I couldn’t work out if I was just way more drunk than I’d even realised or if his penis was in fact ombre. I mean it was proper dark, almost black, at the base and then almost white at the tip. It was the perfect ombre, just on a penis. So perfect that I found myself considering that if my hairdresser had been able to achieve that level of blend on my ombre hair I’d have tipped more than 20%.

Was that normal? Was it a Vietnamese thing? I mean, he was tanned but that darkest dark was a surprise. Is ombre a normal penile feature? Was it like vitiligo of the penis? Should I be concerned? Honestly, everything and anything was running through my head.

Then I spotted the damn cats again and that was it. Game over. Lights went on. I had the WTF am I doing here moment. It was time to leave. (Note, quite some time had passed since he’d done his stripper move so it wasn’t like clothes came off, my face fell and I ran. It was a little more subtle, though maybe only marginally.)

I made my excuses, ordered a cab and got the hell out of there. On the way home, I really did start to wonder what the hell I’d been doing, why I’d gone back with him and generally questioning my choices. Let’s just say I was tired and emotional and I’m pretty sure the cab driver was imagining all sorts of traumatic scenes that I’d just fled. Little did he know it was a pair of staring Siameses and a shaded penis.

After a few catch up conversations the next (very hungover) morning with friends, I was reliably informed that such a dramatic shade scale was not all that common on guys. I had found the ombre unicorn, if you will. It didn’t feel that magical but Ombre Catman (new, long term nickname) would go down in history for sure.

A few weeks later, with the cats and blended member a fading (pun intended) memory, Facebook messenger pinged on my phone to bring all those memories jolting back. Ombre Catman said he was sorry he hadn’t been in touch before now, he apologised for how drunk he’d been and hoped I’d let him take me out for a date.

I was pretty close to saying no, but prior to the weirdness back at his place, he’d seemed like an alright guy. And at that point, “alright” was a step up from “meh” so I said yes. He also somehow slipped into conversation that a few days after that night, one of his cats had died and he was devastated. I felt bad for him. Losing a pet is awful, of course, but I also felt so guilty because I’d been cursing those cats every time I told the story since that night.  So, hoping cheering him up with a date might alleviate some guilt, I agreed.

A few days later he picked me up after work for a picnic on the beach. He’d planned it all with snacks, a blanket and wine and in the car we quickly brushed over the events of the Canada Day night, both admitting we’d had more to drink than was wise and definitely more than would have been preferred for a first night together. It was agreed to leave it in the past and start afresh. I was grateful for that.

It was a gorgeous summer’s evening on the beach and it was busy with other people enjoying the sunset and families making the most of warm nights to tire out the kids. The chat was good and while I wasn’t sure I could entirely see the sense in him giving up his successful career to try and pursue an acting career, with no real background or basis, I did actually think there was some potential with him.

At least, I thought there was maybe some potential, until he thought it was appropriate to try and slip his hand down my shorts as we lay on the beach.

There had been some flirtatious touching and play fighting, but despite agreeing to leave the events of our drunken night behind it seems he obviously thought we could just get right back to it. I was surprised he didn’t whip all his clothes off again to be honest. Worse still than just being a surprise to me, it was compounded by the fact that there were people right by us! Families. Kids. People. With eyes! Stroke my arm all you want buddy, but to try and get your hand down the waist of my shorts and between my thighs in the cold, public, light of day, you’re going to need a lot more than a bottle of rose and some cheese.

He seemed taken aback that I was taken aback. As if, the events of the other night had somehow made it ok, like it was his to go after again. I was confused. Should I feel bad? I mean, we had fooled around the other night and then I agreed to go out on a date with him. Was I leading him on? Had I been giving him other signals? Was I just  playing hard to get? Pretending to be a prude? I couldn’t help but answer no to all of those questions.

Why is it, as women, we’re made to feel like we can’t say no. Or we can but need to expect that it’ll get pushback, it’ll be questioned, ridiculed, negatively received. It’s so rarely just accepted. Again I never felt in danger or unsafe, but I just felt a bit icky.

He apologised, half heartedly, more in a “I know you don’t really hate it but let’s all pretend here” type way and laughed. I think the laugh made it worse.

Thankfully the sunsetting of any potential between Ombre Catman and I coincided with sunset on the day and I ensured we were packed up and on our way back to the city as soon as the sand underfoot would let me. I’ve never liked cats and that hasn’t changed.

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Second Dates Can Be As Bad As First Dates. Who Knew?

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Jun-2016

Despite my resolution to move away from the quiet guy sphere after a few less than stellar dates, one of those meh dates came back for seconds and I figured maybe it was worth another try.

It was the second date guy from the Friday evening, and he asked if I wanted to go out for dinner. Even before we got to the date it was all pretty bizarre, to the point where I did wonder why I was going, more than once. He insisted we go to a specific pizza place, which was fine as their pizzas are great, and he suggested 5.30pm. Now, I’m hardly a late night rager but even that was early for me to be going out for dinner. I was going to ask if we could make it later but I realised it could work in my favour if he was still not lighting my fire I could escape without my entire night ruined. Though as one of my girlfriends queried “How old are you? What is this? Some Early Bird special?” She had a point.

One thing I didn’t mention about my first date with this guy was how it ended once I cut it short.

As is always the case when you’re wanting to get out of somewhere quickly, the server took an age to come over (one of the reasons I disliked the place he’d picked for the first date so much is the service) but when she did I was expecting the normal exchange of “can we get the bill?”, “sure, together or separate?” One thing I love about Vancouver is that splitting a bill between all parties, either in equal portions or based on what each person had, is something almost every food and drink establishment offers and it’s great for when you’re out in a big group of friends. However, it causes a little more awkwardness when you’re on a date, especially a first date, and one of you actually has to basically out loud determine who’s paying. It’s always a fun cliff hanger!

In this instance however, he cut the exchange in half by declaring “can we get the bill and we’ll pay separately”. Well alrighty then.

The ‘paying on a first date’ debate is lengthy and controversial and seemingly culturally influenced – my North American friends have a different take than us Brits – and really there’s no right answer. For me, I will always offer to pay for myself on a first date and if he declines my offer I’ll happily let him pay. After that, while you’re still in the early dating stages, I prefer taking it in turns to pay rather than splitting bills.

However, while I’m comfortable paying for my own, there is always something attractive about a guy picking up the bill, it’s not so much about the money for me but more about them taking charge, making a decision, wanting to show their values. To make it so blatantly clear he had no intention of paying the $12.60 for my two gins, it was more than a little off-putting.

For some of my friends, that would have been enough to never reply to another of his texts, never mind not even consider a second date, and meant they were openly sceptical that I was giving it another chance. I believe the phrase “By Felicia” may have been used more than once about him. I apparently love a red flag though, so happily went on a second date with a guy who was financially ungenerous and wanted to eat dinner at 5.30pm. Who says I make poor choices?

If there was ever a second date to give my friends an “I told you so” opportunity, this was it. I can genuinely say the best thing about the date was the pizza. The chat was stilted, I realised quickly just how different we were (and not in a good way), he was awkward with the server, and I always think how someone interacts with a server says a lot about them as a person. So it was less than ideal and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I made up a story about needing to go and see a friend who was in crisis afterwards. I hate lying and I was going to see a friend after but the crisis part and urgency with which I needed to get there were maybe slightly / definitely completely embellished.

Rather than have to endure a similar wait as we did on date number one, as our plates were being cleared away I quickly asked for the bill at the same time. It caught him off guard but he got himself together quick enough to shout after the waitress “she had the dipping sauce, you can put that on her bill!” Wow.

As I picked my jaw up off the floor, the waitress looked over at me as if to say “sorry if that’s your date” and when we were doing the card machine dance she pointedly said to me with a smile “ok and yours is $33.29, including the dipping sauce”. Love a bit of server collusion on a date. Before the receipt was even printed I was putting on my coat to leave. I felt rude asking for the bill so quickly and being in such a blatant rush to get out of there. I felt rude despite him really not displaying any manners of his own, I couldn’t help it. I’ve realised sometimes I’m too nice. It’s not something I ever thought I’d say about myself, but in dating I realised sometimes I needed to be a little more assertive.

To quell my (misplaced) feeling of being rude, I said yes when he asked if he could walk me to my friend’s. I’d tried to be vague about where I was going but when I pointed in a general direction he said that’s where he was going too. Well, great. We walked in awkward conversation while I was preoccupied with trying to decide how I was going to give him the brushoff, knowing I was likely going to need to do it in person, here and now.

I intimated that we were getting close to my girlfriend’s place and as I suspected he said “so can we hang out again?” (“for you to not pay again?” I finished in my head). At that point I bit the bullet and launched into the story I decided I was going to go with. I know I said I hate lying and I really do, but I had also learnt the value in knowing when it was just easier all round and he seemed like the sort who wouldn’t take “I’m not feeling it” very well.

I explained that an ex had recently got back in touch which was confusing things for me and I didn’t want to string him along (an actual event which has since taken place – I must have brought it on myself). He looked questioningly at me and said “so why did you even come on the date? When did this happen?” I said it had been over the weekend and I’d thought about cancelling but didn’t want to be rude and I know realised it would be too difficult to keep dating other people. He started asking when I’d dated this guy, what he wanted, why we’d split up, what I was going to do and finished with “so how long should I give you?”

Wait, what? No, no, this isn’t a temporary (albeit fake) situation. This is me telling you we’re done. I told him I wasn’t sure and thought it might be best for us not to see each other again. We’d come to a standstill now outside my friend’s place and as he turned to go he said “ok, I’ll check in again in a week”. Um, what? No! I said we shouldn’t see each other again. And what was this? A business meeting that has follow up tasks?!

I fell into my friend’s apartment, already spilling the story as she opened the door and Unbelieving Cheapskate, as he was now known, was talked about at length. For some reason, his questioning of my story had really shaken me. I don’t think I should be able to get away with lying, I really do hate it as a practice and yet I was affronted that he’d even dared question it. And was annoyed he’d made me lie even more with all his damn questions. Jeez, I’d built up an entire fake ex in my head by the time we were done.

My girlfriends laughed and took the opportunity to throw their “Bye Felicia” advice in my face, which I had to take. Though I still argue that knowing when something is not worth pursuing and when something maybe just needs a little bit of time is a tricky balance. They say fireworks are bad, they’ll just fizzle. They say you should be able to tell right away if there’s something there. But presumably based on that first piece of advice, it shouldn’t be with fireworks? Well I don’t bloody know what the happy medium looks like. Yet.

What I do know though is that Unbelieving Cheapskate is true to his word. 8 days after our date, I got a text “it’s been a week, is there any update?” Genuinely could have been the content of an email from my boss. For once, I did the unthinkable for me and didn’t reply. Bye Felicia.

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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.

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