Category: Turn Offs

It’s Getting Crowded In Here

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Jul-2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next post…

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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.

Next post…

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“Meh” Is Not What We’re Looking For

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Jun-2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Dating App Profile Pictures: An Observation

divorcedanddatingat301 Comment

Oct-2017

It’s times like my break from dating after the Lumbersexual interlude, that the dating apps can really galvanise your need for time out. I was still going through the dating apps on my phone – they truly are a boredom buster, and there lies one of the issues with them. People are on there mindlessly swiping, while watching TV or lying in bed (hopefully) alone. And I definitely spent my fair share of evenings swiping and judging, and judging and swiping, with my inner narrative going wild at all the cliche pics, such as….

Car selfies – is the purpose of this pic to show me you can drive, Rich? Or a metaphor for your desire to be in the driving seat? I’m still unsure, but it’s a strange place to take a picture of yourself.

Other people’s dogs – If you’re trying to get me to swipe on the cuteness of your dog, Ryan, you’re barking up the wrong tree (yup, I just wrote that). I know a lot of girls, and guys, that actually do swipe for a cute dog so it’s kind of mis-selling if it turns out not to be yours. As much as I like dogs, there ain’t a dog cute enough to get me to swipe on a profile that I wouldn’t have swiped on sans dog.

All groups – Dan, your friends all look super fun but I’ve spent two minutes trying to work out which one you are in all 5 of your group pics, I’m now convinced there’s twins in the group, I’m distracted by that one guy’s leg tattoo, I’m wondering if I’ve already dated that guy on the left in the second pic and so I’ll be fucked if I’m going to swipe right on someone I literally can’t pick out of a line up.

With a hot friend – if your first pic is with your hottest friend it’s going to be disappointment all round when I scroll to the next pic and the hot guy from the first pic has disappeared, Tom.

A lil’ too close to a girl – I don’t know who that girl is you’re snuggling up to Brad, but I don’t think any good conversation starts with the question “is that your girlfriend or your sister?”

In a wedding – if it was to have a pic of you in a suit, Matt, I get it, I love man in a suit, but those suits hired for the wedding party you’re in are cheap and/or don’t fit well. It’s not a good look on anyone. And if it’s to show that you’re responsible enough to have been chosen to be in a wedding party, that’s really not saying much. Most weddings I’ve gone to have always had one groomsman who’s the loose canon that the bride didn’t want but the groom insisted because they’ve been friends for 25 years. How do I know you’re not that guy, Will?

Old pics – in only one of your pics, Abe, do you look like the 39 years your profile says you are. The others are clearly from about 15 years prior. Own your age cause if we meet you’re gonna have a hard time pulling off 24.

Blurred/cut off pics – listen, Alex, if you can’t work out how to crop a pic for your profile pic then I fear the delta in our technological abilities may be indicative of a personality mis-match too.

Views – that’s a really nice pic of a mountain, Jackson, but what am I supposed to glean from this? How do I even know you took that pic? You coulda got it off Google.

All selfies – I have to question where your friends are Blair. Doesn’t every group of friends have a photographer? I’m it for my group, which can make getting non-selfie pics of myself tricky but even I’ve managed it. So if all you can muster is selfies, especially that look like they’ve all been taken on the same day, I’m wondering about your social life.

Kilts – unless I’m at home in Scotland, where kilt pics can be the equivalent of the above “in a wedding” pics, I’m going to presume you’re wearing a kilt cause your great-great-great grandfather was half Scottish, Devan, and that’s about as close as you get to Scots heritage. Almost always makes me swipe left.

Naked torsos only – I get it Nick, you’re only here for sex. Your three practically naked pics, especially the one with you suggestively pulling down your shorts at the side with one finger, are hardly screaming that you’re here for anything serious.

Fishing – I’m guessing that “massive catch” you’re showing off is supposed to be an indication of how big your dick is, Niall? I don’t like fish.

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How To Turn Me Off In One Second

divorcedanddatingat301 Comment

Mar-2016

Amazingly second date guy from “the day of 2 dates” wanted to see me again. Did he not notice my karma induced sweats?! Regardless, it boded well for me that being a hot mess didn’t seem to put him off, so I went with it.

We texted daily, the usual “how was your day” stuff as well as getting to know more about each other – what our favourite midweek dinners were, the TV shows we were currently watching, our mutual love of sports. It was fun and easy and I was excited to see him again. Between the first date and the second date though, Easter weekend fell and he went away to see family. We kept in touch but it was during his trip that I saw the first red flag…

I don’t know if it’s still a thing but in 2016 there was this app called Dubsmash. You could record yourself lip-synching to songs or movie quotes and then send it to people or post it on your social media. On his way to his family’s place, he recorded him lip synching to Jim Carey’s lines in the police road stop scene from the film Liar Liar (Google it). It was… puzzling. I clearly missed the joke. I showed a friend, he missed the joke too. I passed it off as him being bored on the drive and sent a cursory reply text with all the laughing emojis and said no more. If only that had been the last Dubsmash.

Over the course of Easter weekend, I received 4 other Dubsmashes from him, which he’d also recruited his family for. The first was another movie scene which he and his sister acted out, then there was one of his whole family (mum, step-dad, sister, brother-in law – all adults) singing “We are family”, then one of him, his step-dad and brother-in-law singing in their garage (the song escapes me) and finally their big finish of the weekend was the three of them again in the garage but this time with instruments, matching white vests and black leather jackets singing. “The Boys Are Back In Town”.

I received the last one while at a friends party and by the reaction on my face my friends expected me to show them an unsolicited dick pic. Turns out a choreographed family Dubsmash from someone I’ve only met once gets the same return. And so his nickname of Dubsmash Dude was born.

After Easter weekend I wasn’t quite so excited about seeing him again. What can I say? Watching him “rocking out” in a white vest and lip-synching (badly) just didn’t do it for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love people who know how to have a good time, and aren’t afraid to make fools of themselves to make other people smile but I’d probably need to know someone way better before I was ever going to find that funny. And it’s unlikely it would ever make someone more attractive to me. But it’s not a theory I’m willing to test out.

Add to the Dubsmashes the fact that I’d been introduced to someone on the Friday of Easter weekend who had piqued my interest and until that point, and still to this day, never sent me a Dubsmash. So by the time we were arranging our dinner date for the Tuesday night after Easter I wasn’t really into it but I figured I should give it another date, he was a nice guy and he’d put up with my caffeine shakes and sweats on the first date so it was only fair.

He invited me to go to his place and he would cook dinner. A lot about that made me uncomfortable and now, over a year later, I would never agree to it – there have been lessons learnt about being ok with your own boundaries and not agreeing to things you’re uncomfortable with just to be agreeable. But at the time, I thought it was nice that he’d offered to cook so I accepted his offer.

I thought about saying “that would be lovely and, just FYI, I don’t eat fish” but for some reason I didn’t, I figured he would check. On the day of our dinner he messaged me late morning and while confirming time and address details said “I take it you’re ok with tuna?” I politely said sorry, no.

Let’s just say his reaction was less than stellar. You can’t have known I was coming for dinner for a few days and then only on the day of decide to check if I eat what you’re planning to cook and then be put out when I say I don’t. It pissed me off. He made a fuss about having to go to the supermarket again and finished his moan with “I’ll just get another protein and hope it works in the recipe, unless there’s anything else you don’t eat”… ok then! Now I’m really looking forward to dinner!

Later that day, I made the $30 cab ride out to his place (did I mention he lives in the burbs and the burbs and I are strangers to each other?) at which point the guy I’d met on Good Friday was texting me to plan a date. Dinner with Dubsmash Dude was looking like a poor choice.

His place was dark and a bit dingy and, considering he was having someone over, not particularly tidy or clean. One of the reasons I’ve now stopped going to guys’ places, few are tidier, cleaner or more central than mine. Fact. So I was uncomfortable from the moment I arrived and as he cooked us dinner (now being made with ground chicken rather than tuna… not sure that’s the culinary substitution I’d have made but there we are…) we chatted and it was at this point I found out what one of my biggest turnoffs is.

I’d never come across it before due to my newness to dating and also because everyone I’d dated before sounded like me. You know in Friends when they talk about the words that make Chandler’s balls jump back up inside his body (Janice saying “ohhhhhh myyyyy god”)? It would appear that someone trying to do a Scottish accent does the female equivalent to me.

I tried to laugh it off and went the “wow, that was terrible, haha, never do it again hahaha, lol, lol, lol” route to which his response was to continue doing it. So more sternly I asked him to please not do that and he proceeded to tell me (still in a “Scottish accent) that he looked Scottish – he was ginger – so he could carry it off. Um, not so my friend.

All I could think was “you will never kiss me with that mouth”.

It got me thinking, especially since then as I’ve dated people from all over (my friends affectionately call me the United Nations of Dating), I would never do that, I would just never attempt to do someone’s accent. A) because I’d be shit at it. And B) because it can actually be mildly offensive.

Since moving to another country, I’ve had to get used to the whole accent conversation. Some of my other immigrant friends really hate when people comment on their accents. I don’t mind it, you have to accept that it’ll be a part of being in a different country. But I actually get told a lot I don’t have an accent. To which my reply is always “that’s impossible because everyone has an accent, even when you sound like everyone around you”.

I think what people mean is I don’t have the accent they expect. I don’t sound like the female version of the guys in Trainspotting or Gerard Butler. I had a fairly soft Scottish accent to start with and moving to the Middle East as a kid gave it an interesting International School coating, to the point where most people here take a while to hear an accent or inflection they don’t recognise and then, when they do, they think it’s Australian or Irish. Though that’s mostly because they don’t really know accents, more than me actually sounding Australian or Irish.

However, I have found myself getting slightly offended when people comment on my accent, as if somehow them saying I don’t sound Scottish makes me less Scottish. I’m an incredibly proud Scot, especially this far away from home, so it gets under my skin a little. But that’s my accent, me speaking with a Scottish lilt, not someone trying to imitate it. Someone trying to do the accent essentially for comic effect… no. Please God, no. It’s as bad as, maybe worse than, someone shouting “Freedom!” in their best Scottish Mel Gibson impression at me. Get out. Get in the bin.

I’d tried to be jokey about it with Dubsmash Dude and, honestly, if someone on a second date suggested I stopped doing something a couple of times I would probably take heed of that request. He clearly felt differently. The rest of the evening was peppered with him sporadically switching into a “Scottish” accent and me slowly losing the will to live.

After finishing dinner, which I hope for his sake was that crap because of the last minute ingredient switch and not just an indicator of his level of cooking skill, I couldn’t wait to leave and get my $30 return cab ride home, sure that I would never see him again.

If the Dubsmashes were the initial straws on the camel’s back, the repeated attempts at the accent were most definitely the ones that broke it.

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