They Call Him Top Secret (Well, Actually I’m the Only One Who Calls Him that Because He’s Top Secret)

Top Secret

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o this one time, I went out with this super awesome guy.  He was sweet.  He was interesting.  He was absolutely fucking hilarious.  And he didn’t want me to blog about him.  Blargh.

And I told him I wouldn’t.  But there has to be a loophole right?  A way to talk about something really awesome that happened in the 3  weeks before I left for Montreal?  I mean there just has to be.  Because the problem isn’t really me blogging about him is it?  It’s that he doesn’t want anyone to read it, him included.  So.  I guess I could write about it.  But use the tools of the CIA or whoever else blotts out important documents.

We met by chance. Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. And in so many ways we were a perfect match.  He possessed a quality very few of the dudes I’ve dated have had.

Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  logistical problems Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. You can only get “so” familiar when you’re out for dinner or drinks.

We went on 3 dates.  Er.  Well.  We hung out 3 times.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  kissing Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  in a park. Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. 

And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.

And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.

And that was that.  Time flew by.  My 3 weeks were up.  And it was time to move to Montreal.  We said we’d keep in touch and honestly I really hope we do.  Even if it’s just as friends, or who knows…a rad guy is a rad guy and that’s how I feel about this new “something” who I call…Top Secret.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Vancouver Dating Blog: When Hormones Attack

When Hormones Attack

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o I thought I was done with Come Back Charlie.  I mean he totally blew me off, no?

No.

Wait…what?  He didn’t blow me off?

And that’s how the conversation started whereby my friends (and myself) were able to realize that I may have been freaking the fuck out getting upset over nothing.  Because after all, this wasn’t the beginning of a burgeoning relationship. At best this would be a 6 week summer fling followed up (maybe) by some home for christmas flinging.

I mean…okay, sure…he could’ve made sure I knew we weren’t hanging out on Friday night.  I mean, that would’ve been a less douchey thing to do but the first date had gone so well and he seemed to like me (in a summer flingy kind of way…we weren’t soul mates or anything)…so maybe it was just a case of assumptions gone awry and accidental asshole behavior.  And at the very least I owed it to myself to find out, no?  I mean, what could one text hurt, right?  Either he would ignore it, be a dick or something (which seemed unlikely) or he’d respond back and we would make plans to hang out again.

He did the latter.  In fact, he was the one who asked me to hang out again (I had simply texted hey, how’s it going?).  And because I’d spent the weekend talking it over with friends about how it’s the summer and fuck it (literally) and what have you got to lose? etc., when Come Back Charlie asked…I decided to go for it.  And so CBC and I made plans.  To hang out.  Watch a movie.  At his place.  Tuesday night.

 ~

 And then Tuesday happened.  I got my hair did by the lovely @HairByKatieRose (who *SPOILER ALERT* by the way is clearly some kind of psychic or oracle or wizard because instead of styling my hair curly [as it goes naturally] or straight [as is the fashion] she gave it this gloriously half and half SEX-HAIR look that was beyond amazing…it had body, it was hot, it was…well…pretty fucking magical…because after all I had…well let’s not get ahead of things here).

Now I could ramble on about TMI warnings or tell you that things are about to get gross or whatever.  But dammit, who has that kind of time, so I’m just going to spit it out.  While amazing that Come Back Charlie and I were about to have our second date, there was a hiccup.  I had…my period.  Or well.  Just a little.  Barely anything.  A boyfriend wouldn’t care.  A booty call wouldn’t care.  A drunk one night stand wouldn’t care.  But I was a stone cold sober fox and so it made me very apprehensive.  This was not the first time sex I was looking for and moreover, this would likely mean skipping a few stages…that we all know I cherish.

The truth is, going into the date I had it set in my mind.  I will not have sex tonight.  I. Will. Not. Have. Sex.  TONIGHT.  My body doesn’t always listen to what it’s told though.

But…well…you’ll see.

I showed up around 9pm.  I may have been a little hesitant, still feeling a little jilted from the prior lack of engagement, but as soon as I saw Come Back Charlie and his gigantic man body all was forgiven.  And it only got better from there.  He was as sweet as pie.  I picked the movie (which ended up being THE WORST MOVIE EVER…word to the wise that Russell Peters Hockey movie barely has Russell Peters in it…oh and also…worst movie ever…ever!).  The only highlight of this choice was that it gave us plenty of time to make jokes to each other and comiserate in the awfulness of the movie.

There was a ton of laughter.  A ton of cheeky cute smiles.  There was a ton of touching.  And I can’t lie, everytime his hand made a move along my leg (even if it was only my shin), I swooned.  Now don’t get me wrong, when I say swoon I don’t really mean anything more than a little flip of the stomach which btw can be caused by something as intense as an “I love you” and as little as when Michael Ealy looks at the camera and says SSDated, this is for you and takes his shirt off.  But a flip is a flip, a swoon is a swoon, and dude was winning major points in the I want to have sex with you department.

Additional points were added when everytime I wanted to take a sip of water from my glass on the coffee table (which was just far enough away from the couch that I’d have to get up)…Come Back Charlie would simply reach out one of his gigantic arms and without moving an inch from the couch grab my drink for me.  *Drool*

Eventually giggles about the movie turned to making out on the couch.  And that’s when I made my fatal mistake.  Because you see, I’m a moron.  I blame all those hormones swirling around in my body keeping me from thinking straight.

You see, when I said want to go to your bedroom? what I really meant was let’s go to your bedroom so this dry-humping can be more sucessful and you can really get a good grab of my ass and sure I guess I could lose this shirt and bra and of course let’s get you shirtless for sure.

Which would’ve been fine.  Except that he’s a guy.  And so what he heard was let’s go to the bedroom because we’re going to have some sex.  Sex is good.  I want to have sex with you.  In your bedroom.  Because that’s where the sexin’ happens.

And so then of course, I had to tell him.  So…um…erhm…uh…um…we can’t have sex tonight because I have my period.

To be honest, I expected him to sulk like a 6 year old who was just told that his birthday his been cancelled.  But he didn’t.  In fact, far from it.  His was probably one of the nicest, least deterred, least upset, responses I’ve ever ecountered and given that I’m a woman and this happens every 21 days give or take…this isn’t the first time I’ve had this conversation.

Admittedly, when he said it was totally fine and acted like it wasn’t a big deal and definitely didn’t deter him from the making out in anyway…that was the moment he probably changed my mind…turned out sex would happen.

Well played sir, well played.

You see, the more we made out and grinded up and down on each other’s bodies, the more it seemed feasible.  You see, I barely had my period.  And we could put down a towel he said.  And I guess, in the heat of the moment, I let my decision making skills fall to the wayside and my hormones and lust get the better of me.  Hey!  It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.  Don’t act so damn surprised!

And I know what you’re thinking.  Big fucking deal.  So what…you had sex on your period…plus you barely have your period…no big thing…people do it all the time.  And to that I would say wait.  Because the sex…or at least the having of it…was not the problem.  It was the missed stages.  We went straight from making out to having sex and while in theory…for some people…that’s fine.

But when it comes to sex…I’m like Veruca Salt.  I want what I want when I want it.

Needless to say we had sex.  There were some highlights.  Like when he was on top and just all big and manly and thrusting away and I let it slip out that oh…you’re so hot in a sexy whispered breath of course…and then he slowed his pace, looked at me and said no…you’re so hot!  I mean shit, son.  That’s some good stuff right there.

But of course, there were some lowlights…like the fact that I didn’t get mine. blargh.  And then of course there was the fact that he came in what felt like 3 minutes or so…which I guess considering I didn’t get mine could be argued as a good thing but didn’t bode well for future performances.

But then we were right back to the highlights*

*I say highlights because at the time these things felt awesome and great but now given that I know how the story turns out…well…meh.

Normally, I’m not a huge snuggler.  Okay that’s a lie.  I’m a relative snuggler.  My desire to snuggle depends greatly on who you are, what you mean to me, and what our current relationship is.  So needless to say Come Back Charlie and I weren’t really at a “snuggly” place yet.  And yet.   And yet.

Maybe it was just because he was so big and thus I fit into his nook like a little cocoon.  Maybe it was because he was just so damn sweet after.  Who knows.  But there were snuggles.  He just kept snuggling and wouldn’t let go.  Eventually I looked at the time and saw that it was 1:30am and I should go because you have to work in the morning.  But he didn’t see it quite the same way.  But he said just a little bit longer.  And so I stayed and cuddled a little bit longer.

Eventually around 2am though I put my foot down (literally) and got up.  I tried to shuffle out of the sheets as he seemed near sleep.  I expected him to stay in bed.  Instead he got dressed and basically played grab ass while I got dressed and gathered up my things.  And then he grabbed me around the waist, kissed me and said, so when do I get to see you next?  I just smiled and said text me.

He walked me to the door.  And then out into the hall.  We continued to makeout like teenagers.  He said something like so just hit L for Lobby to which I responded uh…yeah…I know…I got into Grad School.  And he really got me…Smart ass! he said.  And then we made out some more, until the bell of the elevator alerted us to the open doors.  A guy stepped off the elevator, obviously flustered by our kissing and then got back inside.  Not his floor.  I giggled goodbye, hit L for Lobby and watched the doors closed.

And I’m not sure whether he wanted a fist bump or my phone number but buddy in the elevator began to chat me up.  Bizarrely not the first time I’ve experienced this kind of behavior.  Boys are weird.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

When Your Summer Fling Flings You Aside Are You Flung?

When Your Summer Fling Flings You Aside, Are You Flung?

 

[dropcap]So[/dropcap] let’s see…Friday night I went out with a 23 year old…and made out in the rain in a movie theatre parking lot.  (following the it was great to meet you text message was a barrage of amenable text messages about how he had been shy and would certainly please my every whim and desire the next time.  Apparently he too wanted to go down on me (not that I’ve ever really had anyone not want to go down on me…but verbalizing it…rather than say…telling me they wanted to fuck me…was becoming a trend…the 23 year old…Come Back Charlie…*spoiler alert* and some others not yet discussed.)  I digress.  The text messages went on for quite awhile.  Perhaps I didn’t play along enough.  Perhaps it was because I pointed out that with both of us currently staying with our folks, there was hardly a place for said behavior to occur.  Still, it seemed to end well.

And yet, like The PhD. before him, after a series of dirty text messages, I never heard from him again.  Okay that’s a lie, I heard once, one text message but it was about school and being busy and who the fuck cares.  The truth was, I was probably using the whole nowhere to kick it as an excuse because as much as it seemed interesting to date a 23 year old…I wasn’t really feeling him.  Deuces.

Monday I went out with Come Back Charlie.  He sent the usual text so great to meet you and can’t wait to see you again. We made plans.  Or.  Well.  I thought we made plans.  He asked if I was free Wednesday, I wasn’t.  I asked if he was free Thursday, he wasn’t.  Well, I said, I’m busy Saturday and Sunday so it’s either Friday or next Monday or Tuesday?  Friday could work, he said.  But then he added, that he’d have to check and see if he was working early Saturday morning or not.  To be honest, it felt like a brush off.  But then again I tend to overact and get my spikes up for anyone who displays anything other than total admiration for me if I think I’m being jilted.  But I was trying to be breezy, no?  So I said sure, sounds great and that was that.

Looking back now, it’s clear that we were only hanging out if he let me know, which he did not.  But at the time, I foolishly thought we had plans, assuming that he didn’t tell me he had to work.  See.  I make dating mistakes too.  All the time in fact.  Just in case you were under the misguided presumption that I always know what the fuck I’m doing.  Anyway, so Friday rolled around and somewhere around 2pm I sent a text message saying so, are we on for tonight?

We were in fact, not on for tonight.  He had to blah blah blah tonight and wouldn’t blah blah blah till tomorrow blah blah blah.  And so that was that.  I got the brush off.  Ain’t that a bitch.  Looks like this whole Vancouver summer fling before I move to Montreal thing really just wasn’t going to happen.  So I mean, fuck.  But whatever.  I guess.

My response to his text message?  Silence.  Because what is there reallly to say.

It takes all my strength to say nothing.  To text nothing.  Because I know that there is no point.  Because I know these feelings are irrational.  Because nobody likes bitter betty.  But here, in this blog, where I share some of my most vulnerable moments, I can tell you this:  I am a ball of rage.

I want to text you know you just blew it right?  because there is a part of me that actually thinks that it is not simply a case of him not liking me enough but that he might really be that stupid.  But I think we all know, it’s not an either or situation.  He doesn’t like me, stupid or not.  Bird Seed.  Full Stop.  Because otherwise he would’ve told me the moment he knew…rather than waiting for me to text and ask if we were still on, only to then inform me that we’re not.

I want to text thanks for wasting my time or good thing I wasn’t waiting around to hear from you or fuck you fuck you fuck you but really fuck me fuck me fuck me I’m so stupid I fucking hate you!!!

I want to send him a link to the blog.  I want him to read this post.  I want to know how can someone seem so totally into me (even if we are expiration dating, a time stamped affair), and then just fuck it all up.

I want I want I want.  Doesn’t he know that the rest of the summer was laid out for him?  We could’ve watched movies and created our own x-rated scenes.  We could’ve laughed.  We could’ve done all the fun things in dating without worrying about where is this going? and what are we doing?  We could’ve had the drive in movie theatre make out, thrown our empty popcorn tubs and sodas on the ground (metaphorically of course, you know mamma don’t litter) and driven off into the night.

It feels like handing someone an all-out-paid-for dream vacation and them just shrugging their shoulders and saying something ridiculous like meh…I think my passport is expired.  Like that’s an acceptable reason to turn down such a treasure.

I want to rage.  I want to smash things.  I want to write long, well thought out, articles that somehow change the world into being the place I want it to be.  A place where people respect the time of others.  A place where people say what the fuck they’re thinking.  A place where people don’t treat others like shit.  I want to be right and maybe I just don’t give a fuck about being happy!!!

Except that I do.  Because I’ve adopted a new policy in life.  Better to be happy than to be right.

I actually used to think the total opposite.  Better to be right (because in being right, you could find happiness).  But given that you can’t control others, that often isn’t the case.  And so I changed my mind.  Better to be happy than to be right.  Better to keep your mouth shut about some things.  Better not to bother trying to teach someone something that you think is right which, if we’re being honest, they probably either disagree with or even more likely don’t give a shit about.

Plus aside from the fact that he could’ve saved me the time and energy wasted in being excited/stressed about hanging out, was there really anything to teach Come Back Charlie besides how to be a fucking decent human being, no, of course not.  The truth was, he just simply didn’t like me.  Adorable conversation, hot and heavy making out, even cute realizations that our father’s have the same careers…all of that aside…the dude didn’t want to see me again.  Case closed.  And I just fucking accept it.  So I did.

 

Well…until I had a conversation with two close friends.  More on that next time *awkward winky face* *falls over* *jumps up* *bats eyelashes to try to make up for stumble instead looks like a girl having a seizure* *gives up and walks away*

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Come Back Charlie: First Dates and the Battle to Keep Your Clothes On

First Dates

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o the toilet was about to overflow…and then it wasn’t.  He fixed the problem (old building, old plumbing), cleaned up and was back to the movie and me in no time with no resounding repercussions except that I was now terrified to go to the bathroom.

Minor bathroom mishap aside, the date was going great.  We were snuggling on the couch, his arm around me, his hand playing with my curls, his hand in my hand, his hand on my leg.  And pretty soon it was happening.  That look.  That thing guys do.  When I know they’re getting ready to try to kiss me.  I can sense it.  I can feel it.  And most of all, I can see it.  Out of the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision, there he is, just looking at me, instead of the movie (much like with the 23 year old only a few nights before).  And then it happened.  He kissed me.

Admittedly (and I’ve mentioned a hundred, or 8 or so, times before), there’s always a grace period.  A moment where you’re just trying to calm your nerves, you’re just trying to suss out how the other person moves, whose lips go where, whose tongue likes to do what, before it all just comes together.  And come together it did.  His mouth, wet and warm, moved in sync with mine.  His soft juicy lips pressed against mine, my bottom lip sliding into his mouth to find a gentle suck, his bottom lip sliding into my mouth to find a little nibble, a little flick of the tongue across the bottom of his upper lip, his tongue on parade in my mouth.  And that’s just the kissing.

At some point I’m pretty sure the movie ended.  I think the guy came in off the ledge.  Who knows.  We had been making out for the most of it.  Then, given that he wasn’t going to be getting any of my clothes off tonight excepting whatever he managed to get access to by shuffling my maxi dress down a bit and going in on my bra, and the fact that he worked the next morning at 7am, I figured I should probably make my exit.  He, however, didn’t see things quite the same way and wanted to keep me around.

Maybe he thought he could convince me to go further?

Maybe he just liked having me around?

Maybe making out and dry humping on the luxuriously soft leather couch that somehow also had room for the both of us to lie down on (me in his nook and on his chest) was enough for him?

Who knows.  But he asked me to stay, and stay I did.

We spent the next two hours or so locked in some sort of snuggle-cuddle-makeout-trace the muscles of his chest with my fingers-cuddle-makeout-laugh at something on TV-makeout-attempts to set my boobs free-cuddle-snuggle-makeout-tussle until eventually it really was time for me to go.  But not before him telling me all the dirty things he wanted to do to me…like go down on me.  Which I know you’ll all think I’m insane for declining but as soon as the pants off there’s never any going back and dammit, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a hundred times…I LIKE MY FUCKING STAGES.

It’s not about dating rules.

It’s not about whether or not he’ll call me if I sleep with him.

I’m not worried about whether he’ll respect me in the morning.

I…like making out.

I…like the first moment he feels how wet he makes me, and the first time he puts his fingers inside me.

I…don’t want to rush.

I…like the fucking buildup and dammit I need it.

And so, on this first date, I kept all my clothes on, and my stages in tact.  And hopefully there would be a second, or third, or fourth date, with Come Back Charlie, in my near future.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Third Time’s the Charm: A New “Something” She Dated

2nd chances

 

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]here’s a lot to be said for how your behavior can be different when you know you’re leaving a place, moving away, saying goodbye to a city that you’ve known your entire life.  And most of it is good.  Your attitude changes and suddenly you’re more open then you’ve ever been before because after all what have you got to lose?  besides your time and dignity but they gave you a fresh batch of that when you move to a new city don’t they, it comes standard in the Welcome Package, no?

And it was this exact attitude that made me say yes when Come Back Charlie asked me out again recently.  Well that and the fact that he was 6’4.  So when he asked to take me out for coffee I accepted.  And that was that.  Plans were made.  It’ll be great to chill with you he said it’s been a long time coming.  Yeah.  No joke dude.  About 2.5 years.  But I promised myself I wouldn’t hold it against him, the time wasting of times gone past I mean.  Until of course I showed up for our date and he sent me a text message saying he would be late.  Worst.

Admittedly I was a tad early for our date when I got the text message that read Hey i’m gonna be a bit late. I gave a friend a ride to surrey a while back but he forgot his keys so Iim just droppin it off. i’ll be joining you shortly. is that okay?

And what was I supposed to do with that except take a screen shot, tweet it to all my followers and ask this question: is this super lame or am I being a bitch? sent 7 minutes before we’re supposed to meet (& I’m already here).  Most responses were that he was a douche (or some version of this).  One response was particularly interesting, someone suggested that he was in fact just being a good friend and isn’t that a good quality in a person.  In all honesty, she was right.  Because if I had a friend who needed me, they would come first before a guy.  Always.  That being said, whether or not the text was a cop out is a whole other story.

No sooner had I tweeted the cropped for anonymity version of the text, when my phone rang, it was him; Come Back Charlie.  We had a quick exchange where I mentioned I was already at Starbucks and he assured me he would be there very soon and he apologized.  I accepted this and let it go.  Shit happens, right?

For those of you who know me, know that I don’t like to pay for my coffee on the first date (I realize now that I should probably write a post about this explaining my reasons more fully so stay tuned for that).  Nonetheless I wasn’t about to sit in this Starbucks for who knows how long without a drink to my name, so I got a  drink, grabbed a seat in the back and waited (read: tweeted).  Luckily for me (and to be honest him) he showed up within about 5 minutes.

I knew him the moment he walked in the door.  Now I don’t know whether it’s just because I seem to keep going on dates with guys who say they’re 6’0 or 5’10 and end up feeling more like 5’10 and 5’8 respectively, or he was actually lying down about his height but he seemed way taller than 6’4…he seemed like a fucking giant.  A gloriously tall giant.  And even better is that I should specify that he was built like a baller (basketball, football, what have you).  You see the thing is, while tall is great, if you’re pencil thin it doesn’t really do it for me that much.  I like a man of size, if you know what I’m saying (I’m saying body size).

He came over to where I was sitting, we exchanged smiles and hugs and I suggested he get something to drink.  When he returned to the table…it was magic.  Now I’m not saying we started talking about science and had deep discussion about literature and politics or anything.  We weren’t even really cracking a ton of jokes.  But it was comfortable in the sexiest kind of way.  The conversation literally began with a discussion of dentistry.  I had been to the dentist earlier that day (he had texted when I was on my way and that’s how it began, he asked how it went).  And that was all it took, we were off to the races.

We talked about our days, our families, our school, our jobs (er…I sort of have a job…as a writer), my grad school stuff, his day job working in a lab out at UBC, his experience at SFU playing ball, my plans for Montreal, the fact that he was going to more school (this time in criminology) so that he could join the VPD (Vancouver Police Department, in case that wasn’t obvious).  And the sexual tension was palpable.  He was hot and tall and wanted to be a cop but also had a university degree and a job.  The love story writes itself.  Well.  Let’s not get ahead of things.

After two hours of smiles and chatter and first date bliss, we had finished our coffees and it was time to make moves.  His idea of a good move was to take things back to his place and watch a movie.  My idea of a good move was to call it a night and count the minutes until the second date.  But then it occurred to me, I’m fucking leaving town and time is of the essense.  And perhaps more importantly, I didn’t have to abide by any dating rules because after all there would barely be enough time to hang out before I had to leave.  Or so I thought, turns out 6 weeks is actually plenty of time to date someone but more on this later.  And so after a little more prodding from him, I agreed, at least, to let him drive me to where I’d parked my car.

Now say what you want.  Judge me as you will.  I don’t care what you think I know who I am and this is just one tiny piece of a puzzle of attraction or a domino race of dating appeal.  But when we got to his car, I swooned a little.  Kind of like that time I met Trucker Joe and he was all standing there beside his sex monster of a big black pickup truck.  It’s not like he was driving a car made of diamonds or a wizard mobile but just that his car was nice.  And I’ll leave it at that.  Pursuant to getting in this stellar mobile was the music.  You can tell a lot about a person from the music they listen to.  And while I won’t bore you with the details, it was good.

And in all honesty, that was really all it took in addition to the rest of date being awesome for me to agree to go back to his place (in my own car, of course).  When we got there, I realized that he had clearly been hoping for this all night (given that he’d bought a bottle of wine not yet knowing the stringency that is my not drinking).  No big deal of course, and either cute with the planning or balls out with the expecting but since I’m not one to feel obligated, it didn’t really matter either way.

Once up at his apartment, and having had a little look around, I sat down the couch, ready to watch a movie.  Though there was plenty of room of the couch he snuggle up right beside me which shouldn’t have been surprising but was nonetheless.  Obviously he was feeling me or he wouldn’t have invited me back to his place.

Detour.  I tend to do this ridiculous thing on dates where I’m so excited and fat that I eat rather sparingly throughout the day, like somehow that will make this huge difference and I’ll go from being Beth Ditto to Angelina Jolie or some shit but nonetheless it’s a thing I do.  I aware it’s stupid.  I plan to discontinue.  I’ll let you know how that works out.  Aside from the obvious stupidity of this, comes a couple random side effects.  One, is that my stomach then always ends up growling on dates which would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m terrified dude can hear it and thinks I’ve got some digestional issues or something.  Not sexy.  The other is that because I’m not eating I’m fucking starving and thus drink a ton of water, this in turn makes it look like I have the bladder of a small squirrel.

Back on track.  So we’re at Come Back Charlie’s apartment and I ask to use the washroom.  No biggie.  Then it’s time to watch the movie.  Sweet.  Something about a man on a ledge or something like that *spoiler alert* I  barely watched it.  At some point however, I have to pee again.  I excuse myself and go to the washroom.  In the toilet, I see toilet paper.  *TMI Alert (not to worry it’s not particularly gross but I am talking about pee so yeah…warned* Now because I’ve been drinking so much water my pee is basically clear and so I can’t tell if I forgot to flush or something crazy like that last time I was in here, or what the fuck happened but I’m horrified, obviously, at what I think is my forgetfullness and proceed to flush the toilet.  And that’s when it happens.  Because, of fucking course, it would happen.  Because this is a first date, and that’s just what fucking happens to me.  Shit like this.

 

The water starts to rise.

 

Fuck.

 

Me.

 

Horrified.  Terrified.  Petrified.  And all the other words that describe that overwhelming sense of fear mixed with shame that glues your feet to the ground and makes you sweat.  That.  All of that.  But of course, at some point you have to be a super hero.  So I fixed the problem myself and he was never the wiser.  So I ran out of the bathroom babbling something about how I didn’t do anything I swear but you’re toilet is going to overflow.  And then I sat on the couch like the princess I am and let him take care of it.  Less because I’m lazy and more because is that really the image I want of him or that he wants me to have of him…him touching all kinds of toilet related things.  I think not.  Like the toilet, I still expected this night to be salvaged and to go on functioning like normal.

That being said, you’ll have to wait till next post to find out whether the date functioned like a well-oiled romance machine or went straight down the tubes (like I hope the water in the toilet would).  I mean, assuming you’re interested and all.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

What Happens When You Give Someone a Second Chance?

Second Chances

 

[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hat happens when you give someone a second chance?  For me, it usually ends in regret.  I think we all see where this story is going…or do we?

The message reads something ordinary but I respond because the height on his profile reads something tall and deliciously 6’4.  He responds back with a more in-depth description of himself.  It seems all too familiar.  I know this profile.  It’s a different picture but I know this guy.  Only not really.  Because you see, we never actually met.

He first messaged back in 2009.  Before this blog was a thing.  He got my number, he even made plans.  But somehow he always managed to drop the ball.  Given that it was about 2.5 years ago I can’t remember exactly what his deal was but I do know this, he was a time waster.  He was that kind of person that said things like let’s hang out tonight but wouldn’t specify a time and me being the naive nice person that I am, I would assume that meant we were hanging out.  But for assholes boys it often has a different meaning, I gather.  And maybe it just never worked out because he meant well but was just basically a moron.  Or maybe he was purposely wasting my time.  Maybe it was a bird seed thing, an asshole thing, a stupid thing.  Didn’t really matter.  It was a thing that was happening and I wasn’t interested.  I told him to lose my number.  He did.

But he came back in 2010.  And this time I asked him what his fucking deal was.  Only, not specifically enough.  You see looking back now I should’ve asked in more detail about why the dude couldn’t fucking plan to save his life, or why planning wasn’t his thing, and knowing that it was mine, why on earth he’d want to hang out with me.  Pussy is the answer by the way.  I should’ve asked him all this.  Instead I asked what had changed.  He gave some bullshit response about having grown up.  I wasn’t impressed.  Truth was, I was busy exploring my relatively new interest in white guys and not interested in kicking it with him.  But I asked him anyway, for the reason anyone asks anything ever, because I wanted to know.  I’m weird like that.

I’m fairly certain he came back at least one more time in 2011 but as I don’t have facts (read: I didn’t find it interesting enough to write a post about and thus can’t reference it now), I can’t hardly ramble on and on about it.

That being said.  Third time’s a charm???  I mean, here I am, a mere few weeks away from Montreal and I’m trying to live it up.  I’ve barely dated in this last year what with working so hard at school and studying for the GRE and grad apps and blah blah blah and dammit, I kind of wanted to make up for it this summer.  Additionally, as much as I lament my experience with dating in Vancouver, the truth is I fucking love this place.  Sure it has it’s ups and downs and yes I want to see the rest of the world and live in as many places as possible but this is my home, it will likely always be my home and I love it dearly, flaws and all (frankly it’s my love of this place that causes me to even engage in the whole “Vancouver Dating Scene” chatters because if I didn’t care, if I wasn’t interested in trying to help it change, I wouldn’t bother saying anything).  Honestly, the idea of leaving Vancouver with a bad taste in my mouth from a year of non-existent or shitty dating is not how I want to go.  I wanted to do someonething fun before leaving.  Because what better way to leave Vancouver than swooning over a summer of torrid temptations and sultry sexcapades?

So when Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, Mr. Atlanta, Mr. Basketball, Mr. Come Back Charlie himself messaged me again, well can you really blame me for wanting to give him a try?

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

I Want to Date You Like Rainbows

I want to date you like rainbows

 

[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]  ou look…Like a friend I once knew.  Like a reason to pause the movie.  Like a reason to eat all my vegetables so that I can live forever just to know you a little bit longer.  You look like a woman I’d like to get to know.  Like a ship lost at sea.  Like a port in the storm, but not just any port, a safe haven, a harbor.  Like a dream I had once, in the summer, on a sunny day, when I fell asleep watching the clouds while the bees sung me to sleep and it felt like you were beside me, even though I didn’t yet know you.  You look like a reason I would get out of bed, even if it was early, on Saturday mornings, just to make you coffee.  Like a heart I’d make a cocoon around with the warmest quilt on a Sunday in the winter.  You look like someone I want to kiss forever or at least until my heart stops chugging like a steam engine or a college freshman.  I want to know what the voices in your head are saying about me.  I want to text you back immediately and make plans well in advance so that you can plan your schedule.

I want to date you like rainbows.  I want to explain magic tricks to you.  I want you to practice your spoken word in front of me.  I want to make your nerves into cotton candy so that with every breath they shrink and shrink and shrink and then I swallow them whole.  I want to lick the summer rain off your skin because I am a desert by your side.  I want to rush things with you just so that you’ll tell me that slow and steady wins the race.  I want you to draw a picture of a turtle to remind me.  I want to stock your fridge.  I want you to have everything within arms reach, except me, I only need a hand.  I want to hold your hand until you don’t want to squirm away anymore.  I want to call you and say it’s me and have you know that it’s me.  I want you to leave long drawn out messages on my voicemail.  I want you to call more times than you think you should.  I want you to call and text and check in more than you need to, just to make sure I’m still interested because I know you have to, and I will still be, interested, every time you call.  I’ll still be right here, playing your messages over and over again while I fall asleep.  I want to hear your voice.  You can never call too much.  I want you to embarass yourself in front of me just so I can tell you that it doesn’t matter.  I am yours.

I want to love you like you love swimming.  I want to feed you lucky charms in the afternoon when all your work is done.  I want to write love poems on your back in suntan lotion but not tell you so that my love becomes a part of you and everyone will know that you’re mine and that you’re loved more than regular words can convey.  I want to play super mario and give you all the gold coins I collect.  I want to call you yoshi and watch you stick out your tongue and laugh and then I want to shove cake in there and kiss you till we’re both covered in icing.  I want to lie in bed with you, sweaty and in love, satisfied and on fire, and then I’ll turn to you and say let’s do weird stuff and listen to your laughter for hours.  I want to wear our inside jokes like pajamas.  I want to sleep with your sense of humor.

I want to order the ‘date-night’ special with you.  I want a lifetime of splitting appetizers, even if we have to order the poutine with the gravy on the side because I don’t eat red meat.  I would take all my dressings on the side for you.  I want to give you a bite of everything even though you tell me not to because it’s making you fat.  I want to make you fat just so we can go to the gym and I can watch you sweat and work it all off.  I want to be your champion and I’m going to make you do three more reps come on come on come on you got it just so I can kiss your juicy lips right after.  I want to get you gatorade when I’ve pushed too hard.  I promise to rub your muscles when we get home.

I want to jump over a broom with you.  I want to call you my own, my team, my better half, my other half, my one and a half.  I want to half you forever.  See what I did there?  I know you like those kinds of puns.  See?  Do you see?  Because I see you, like really see you.  I want to go to parties and re-enact funny youtube videos we’ve watched together.  I want to have witty repartee with you.  I want to have a gravitational pull with you, our smiles, our jokes, our love, pulling people in.  I want to watch who you become.  I want a promise, written in cake and tradition.

I want to have milk chocolate babies with you.  You fell in love the day I said you would make an amazing mom.  I’ve fallen in love every day since.  I will protect you.  I will protect our babies.  It will be okay.  I can see the future and it’s going to all work out, but not because I can see it.  Because you are good and I am good and we will do good things.  We will make this world a place where good things matter.  You always said you wanted to change the world, you wanted a man who wanted to change the world.  And now I’m doing that.  In a small way.  In a minuscule way, when you think about how big the world is.  But I’m trying.  I’m doing things.  For our kids that don’t exist yet.  I’m loving the fuck out of this world so that you can let a sigh out and relax every once and awhile…it’s not all on your shoulders.

You’re still the woman I see myself ending up with, and having babies that smile bigger than the sun with.

 

Or at least that’s what I hear.  When he says the words I love you.

Dating a 23 Year Old…Not Just For 23 Year Olds Anymore (Part Two)

Hand Holding

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t was 8:00pm.  The date had been going well? 

I had suggested, if you want, we could go catch a movie?

Seeking a friend for the end of the world.  (Sidebar: Spoiler alert…this is NOT the comedy fest the trailer had suggested but instead a die hard romance flick with all the first date negatives of an independent film–numerous parts of total silence and nobody wants to make out while the rest of the theatre groans at the slobbering lip smacking of two newbs in the back row).

He was all over it.  I, of course, had come prepared with show times.  Just because I’m not into the whole being the boss thing doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept and given that when someone offers me a choice of three restaurants I’ll likely spend the evening debating the merits of each while we all die of starvation, I figured I should probably be prepared for the date should it take a turn for the movies.  Which it did.  Nailed it! 

Unfortunately, we only had 15 minutes till it started so the rest was a bit of a blur in rushed movements and flustered breath…and zooming cars.  His was fancy.  It was like he was a real grown up and everything.  Maybe 23 ain’t so bad after all.  (by the way, this statement is funnier because I, of course, was driving my parent’s car…given that I’m living with them for the few weeks before I book it to Montreal…and am a writer/grad student…so I’m basically just shy of homeless but well below the poverty line…but I digress…this is supposed to be about our date).

We arrive at the theatre and go in.  The place is packed, the line is lengthy.  If our skin tone was the same I might be worried people would think I was out with my son on a Friday night.  That was obviously a joke, my son wouldn’t be beige ralph lauren sweater.  We get to the counter.  I’m flustered because he doesn’t step up first.  Does he think I’m fucking paying?  I’m all for this whole cougar thing but fuck that noise, son!  Like I said, I’m a writer/grad student…so I’m basically living on hopes and dreams, I don’t even want to pay for myself.  I lean back and ask What movie are we seeing??  I fucking know what movie we’re seeing.  This is his moment to step up.  To use those long skinny 23 year old legs and bust his way to the front and order up two tickets to blah blah blah please but he doesn’t.  And there are like 500 people in line behind us.  Ugh.  Paying for my own coffee AND movie on a first date!?!?  Is this what dating a 23 year old is like because I’m not down with that.  1 for blah blah blah please I say, mortified that my date has left me to foot the bill.  And yes, I did feel the cashier judging me.  The upside…I had enough points saved up from back in the day when I had time to see and could afford movies.  So hurrah.  I got my ticket turned around and bam…he was gone…to another teller.  Which I guess is the normal thing to do but honestly it seemed weird to me, why would he just stay with me and get his ticket right after mine.  Whatever.  Best not think too deeply on it.

I ask if he wants to get any snacks.  He says that he’s fine.  He asks if I’m getting anything.  I say no, I was probably afraid he’d stand there and let me pay and then not only would I be the chubby chick with the super skinny dude looking so odd-couple, but would also be the chick whose date didn’t deem her worthy of being a gentleman.  Awesome.  No thanks.  *hunger grumble*

We get seats.  He wants to sit in the very last row.  I think this is amazing (I get nauseous if I sit too close).  We’ve been rushing around trying to get here in time to see this movie.  I’m hot, I’m mildy sweaty, I’m trying not to breathe heavily.  And then the lights dim.  Sweet, I think, now the music will drown out my breathing until I relax and cool down.  But not so, my friend (reference earlier reference to said negatives of independent-esque films).  The movie is about as fucking quiet as it gets.  No such luck.

Sidebar:  I do this moronic thing before first dates.  I barely eat.  Like somehow the not eating will make me 50 lbs. lighter and when I show up they’ll be confused and like hey…what’s this super model doing here?  And while it’s always possible my beauty blows them away upon first arrival, I think it’s safe to say not having a sandwich really doesn’t make that big of a difference to the first impression I make.  Nonetheless.  It’s a thing I do.  [Note: a thing I plan to stop fucking doing and let me tell you why].  The biggest downfall to this plan isn’t what you might think.  I don’t get light headed, there’s no cranky pants happening, and my body hasn’t given up on me quite yet.  The real problem, the real betrayer, is my stomach.  Because of course, after not eating for awhile, you’re mother fucking hungry and while I can control my brain sometimes like a wizard, my stomach is not on board with the game plan.  She has an attitude and likes to grumble till the cows come home.  And so you can just imagine me sitting there, during this borderline silent movie, terrified of the stomach grumbles that I can only imagine must be audible from Mars.  Worst.

That being said, maybe he can’t hear it because as soon as the lights dim, he’s reaching for my hand.  Which in theory, is adorable.  It’s cute.  It’s something you usually want.  But given that I still haven’t caught my breath from our hustle, you can imagine that it might get a bit clammy or at the very least that I would be terrified it would.  We continue to hold hands for awhile.  We hold hands till I spend more time thinking about the hand holding than the movie.  We hold hands till I’ve worked out 5 different disengagement scenarios.  We hold hands till I can’t fucking take it anymore.

Only I’ve left something out.

Sometime in there I can feel him looking at me.  When it comes to peripheral vision I’m basically Batman.  Or spiderman? My spidey senses are tingling.  Plus he’s only like 10 inches away from me.  It feels like he’s been looking at me for half an hour.  I would guess it’s actually about 10 or 20 seconds.  I know what’s coming.  I’m trying to decide if I want it to.  I decide you only live once and just a few weeks to Montreal and well we did have a good conversation with laughs.  I turn my head.  He kisses me.  It is not great.

In his defense, we are in the most awkward position for a first kiss.  First kisses should not happen in movie theatres.  With arm rests that don’t move.  And when you’re still kind of sweaty.  And you’re nervous.  And awkward.  That you’re on a date with a 23 year old.  Who is like 1/4 of your size.  Even if he does obviously think you’re a babe.  This is not the first kisses you want.  I kiss long enough to let him know that this was an okay thing to do, but I soon pull away.  I did after all, just pay to see this movie and dammit I’m going to see it.

The movie sucks.  My stomach grumbles.  And then it ends.  We talk about the movie.  We thought the same thing.  Almost exactly.  So that was cool.  We walk outside.  It’s dark now and pouring rain.  Neither of us have jackets, it is summer after all.  And I don’t mean a Vancouver sprinkle.  This is not casual Vancouver rain.  This is the rain of movies.  This rain is begging to be made out in.

We walk back to our cars, parked side by side, away from all the others.  We dawdle.  I sense he wants to still hang out.  But given that we’re both students living with our parents (he made a comment earlier about having to park his car on the street given that the 3 car garage in their kerrisdale home was already housing 3 of the 5 cars in his family…but no matter how big his house may be or the length of the hallway separating his parents from us there is no way I would be taking an adventure to see it and like I said I’m at home for a few weeks till I move), there was really no where to go.  Had it been warm and dry, we could’ve gone for a walk on the beach or something, but it was not.  I knew he was likely thinking we could just sit in the car and get it on talk but to be honest, I didn’t really want to.  I’d had enough talk for the first date and if he wanted more chatter, well that’s what second dates are for.  And as for the rest of it…we all know I like my stages and that shit someone always gets skipped through way too quick in a car and since I’m no longer 22 and into power sex (the sex you have simply because it’s fun and exciting and validates that you’re hot)…doing it in a car is not for me.

I want privacy, and freedom…and I really do my best work when I’m not hindered.

That being said, I wasn’t above trying it one more time, to see if his nerves had calmed down and a new position was all he needed.  I stood closer to him.  In the rain.  Said something about well maybe we should call it a night… leaned in and that was really all it took.  And this time, it was much better.  And with every moment of my gentle coaching improved even more.  Unfortunately, as sexy as making out in the rain was, I started to become all too aware of how thin he was (image…his chest was like the width of one boob, and the other one was left out there all on its own), and I could hear cars driving and even people walking and talking.  And so after a little while I pulled away.  We said our goodbyes.  Planned to do it again sometime soon.  Got in our respective cars and drove away.

And by the time I got home I had a text message that read:  Hey!  Had a great time this evening.

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Dating a 23 year old…Not Just For 23 Year Olds Anymore

Amenable

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t’s Friday night.  I’m ahead of schedule.  And then traffic comes to a stand still.  Because…of course.

I text stuck in traffic, might be a few minutes late, sorry.  He responds no problem…I’m still looking for the place.

At 6:45 I arrive.  I ask, but no worries he tells me I haven’t been here long.  I notice though, he’s been there long enough to get himself  a coffee.  I get one for myself and return to the table.  And that’s how it began.  That was the moment where I found myself, on a Friday night, on a first date, with a 23 year old.

 

We had been talking for weeks.  He seemed really excited.  I couldn’t figure out why it had taken him so long to finally make it happen.  He claimed it was because of school…which I get…trust me.  But nonetheless, I have the patience of a 3 year old Mamma doesn’t like to wait plus who can sustain interest for a stranger that long?!?!.

The texting had been cute, and we did seem to have a lot in common, plus with leaving in a few weeks I figured fuck it, I’m game!  Not to mention the fact that he was so so so young and well, maybe I’d find out what this whole cougar thing was really all about.

 

Prior to meeting he had asked what I wanted to do on our first meeting, saying that he wanted to make sure I was happy.   I suggested shooting pool (my fall back/true love activity) but asked what he wanted to do.

His response…I want to spend the day with you, I’m not so great at pool.  Maybe coffee, dinner, bowling and movie?  Up to you though we can pool as well or instead if you wish.

I suggested we stick with coffee given that we could totally end up detesting each other but said that I wouldn’t make any plans for later in the evening in case we wanted to keep the date going.

And then came the sign that would’ve told me everything, excepting the fact that it went undetected.

I could tell he was excited for our date plus he literally said I’m really looking forward to it…Hope you are too.  And then he added I’m quite amenable in case you haven’t noticed.

Now, in my defense…given the context…you can understand my mistake…I just wasn’t thinking…it didn’t seem very important.  Oh.  Fuck.  Who am I kidding?!?!  I study English Literature and I’m a writer, I have no defense.  I wasn’t paying attention and I misunderstood the word.

See, at the time he said it: amenable …I was thinking that he was excited to see me, that he was friendly, and easy going…amiable…amicable…any of those friendship related terms.  But that’s not at all what he meant.  Dude knew his exact meaning and his word choice was no mistake, he meant to say exactly what he said, he was amenable to me.  Amenable.  Sigh.  Worst.

 

a·me·na·ble/əˈmēnəbəl/

Adjective:
  1. (of a person) Open and responsive to suggestion; easily persuaded or controlled.
  2. (of a thing) Capable of being acted upon in a particular way; susceptible.
Synonyms: obedient – docile – tractable – liable – answerable

 

Worst.  Because see the thing of the thing is…I’m not into that in the slightest.  If anything I want the exact opposite.  Roles switched.  That being said, like I keep saying, over and over again…I’m out of here in a few weeks, so why not be open to new things?  Who knows, maybe I’d find out that after all this time the only thing I love more than being dominated, is to be the one doing the dominating.  Okay, sure, it felt doubtful but I went with it anyway.

 

So there we were, sitting in a starbucks, sipping our coffees and talking.  Good conversation.  Cute conversation.  Sharing funny stories.  Sharing information about ourselves.  Making jokes.  Admittedly I was closing more of the punchlines and he was doing more of the setups but it worked.  There was witty repartee and giggles.

He told me about his family, about Egypt, about school.  I told him about writing (round-about-ly), grad school and moving.  He was definitely cute in a nerdy kind of way.  His profile said he was 6’0, but…and I don’t know if I’m growing, he was slouching, it was the heel in my boots making that huge of a difference, or the fact that he was pencil thin…but he really didn’t feel that much taller than me (standing at 5’7…last time I checked).  Don’t get me wrong, he was definitely taller…just not by the lot that I was expecting.  Nonetheless, the date was going well.  I think.

However, and I feel this is a point I need to stress to the boys the most, but I could be wrong.  SMILE PEOPLE.  Because when you’re sitting directly across from someone at a coffee shop, that’s about the ONLY way she’ll really know you’re feeling her.  At the time, I was more than unsure.  Sure he thought my chatter was great but did he think I was cute? adorable? sexy? hot? attractive?

Best way to figure it out???  Signal that the coffee portion of the date is over and see if he wanted to go to see a movie at the theatre down the road…

So that’s exactly what I did…

I Suggested…if he wanted to…that we could see a movie.

 

Did he say yes?  Did we carry on with the date and go see a movie?  Or he make a lame excuse in order to call it a night and end the date at that???

 

To Be Continued…Here

 

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

New Move, New Site, New Boys, New Life

Montreal

New boys, new life

 

NEW MOVE

Some of you have been reading from the beginning.  The way back when.  The precipitating moments to some of the biggest changes about to occur in my life.  You were there.  I was there.  And now we’re here.  But where is here exactly?

Here is…moving to Montreal for graduate school (Concordia University).  3 years in the making and it’s finally here.

I’m thrilled.  I’m stressed.  I’m excited.  I have trepidation.  It’s going to be amazing.  I’m absolutely fucking terrified.

I don’t know anyone there.  Not one single person.  I don’t speak french (unless you include the 5 years of high school french I took which you probably shouldn’t given the fact that the only knowledge I retained is je suis fatigue [I am tired].)

 

https://twitter.com/SSDated/status/210254050535546880

 

Though I’ve been lucky enough to travel quite a bit, I’ve never actually lived anywhere outside of the lower mainland so to me this move is a huge fucking deal.  For you guys, it probably won’t make much of a difference.  Admittedly, I think I’ll have to say goodbye to my tagline of Something She Dated:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place One “Something” at a Time but otherwise then that you probably won’t notice much of a difference.

Or…well…maybe there will be some changes.  Good ones.  In my opinion.  And hopefully in yours.  But changes nonetheless.

 

NEW SITE

AUGUST 2013 UPDATE:  It was SomethingSheDated.com but now that I’m writing about various topics I’ve got the new (and permanent…no more changes I swear) site here SomethingSheSaid.com (which technically you should already know, since you’re here, reading it)

First off, there’s the new site design.  Like everything new, it’ll probably be irritating at first, you’re used to seeing this button here and that thing over there.  But like when you get a new iPhone, you hate it for 30 minutes, you adapt and it basically becomes your new boyfriend.  No?  Just me then?  That’s cool.

Rather than bore you with a run down of everything on the site, I’ll let you explore and see for yourself…or don’t.  To be honest, if you’re a long time reader the layout likely won’t matter to you.  Just know this, you MAY (read: probably will) have to RE-subscribe to the RSS feed (and if so, just click the feed button…it’s on the top right under the scroll bar and you’ll be good to go).  And, because who doesn’t like a contingency plan)…when in doubt…and you just want to read the most recent posts and you can’t figure out where to look but you know you want to read them in order…look to the right…middle of the screen and you’ll find the heading “recent posts” and you’ll be all set.

 

NEW BOYS

So that’s the next thing that might hopefully could maybe will be different.  Boys.  Hopefully there will be more.  Lots more.  Both here and when I move.  I expect a few more stories than usual because I have about 4 weeks left here and why not go balls to the wall right?!?!  And then of course not only is Montreal a completely new city that I haven’t yet dated my way through but let’s be honest, I think they’re a bit more my key demographic if you know what I mean.

Additionally, I’ll finally be able to answer (in an informed way) the truth about the theory that Vancouver Men Suck.  And I won’t just be doing online research, I’ll be getting out there, talking to people on the street, in cafes, in class, in the halls, around campus, on my bed…wherever 😉  Needless to say, online dating won’t be my only avenue of contact, I’ll be getting down in those dating trenches and loving at least 50% of the minutes of it every minute of it and then reporting it back to you.

 

NEW LIFE

Another change is that you may see a few more life related posts mixed in the…mix.  The truth is as amazing as this move will be, I expect it to be equally stressful and when stressed, I turn to writing and what better way to keep you all up to date then with posting about it all here.  Some of it may be boring.  Some of it may be hilarious and exhilarating.  I’ll be doing my best to keep it to the latter.  Read.  Don’t read.  I’ll still love you either way.

And that’s pretty much it guys.  All the new news in my life.  The loosely drawn map of the adventures to come.  It’s going to be great.  And feel free to leave me comments about things you like or don’t like about the site (and things that aren’t working or any troubles you’re having….unless of course the trouble is with the commenting system or something…and then…ermmm…email or find me on social media).

 

All my love, till the next juicy boy update….

XOXOX

SSDated