Emotional Walls: Self-Protection When Dating

Dating Mistakes

 

[dropcap]So [/dropcap]after reading Wax On Wax Off, Date’s On Date’s Off (which I’ll assume you’ve done *pointed look*)…I know what you guys are thinking.  Ditch The Nick Name.  Ditch him.  Ditch him.  Ditch him!  And Ditch him quick, girl!  And I get it.  I get you.  I should know better.  Or maybe I shouldn’t.  Maybe you would have done the same.  Maybe you wouldn’t.  But try to remember there are always going to be things I forget to post on here.  Things I leave out.  And maybe they change things.  Give you a different opinion of things.  Maybe they don’t.  But remember.  Hindsight is 20/20 and while sometimes I’m harsh and abrupt and know my shit.  The real life me.  The one who tries to be open to things.  She’s a little softer.  A little more optimistic.  She believes in people.  Most of the time.  Believes in the best in people.  Most of the time.  And sometimes she’s right.  Sometimes she’s wrong.  So there ya go.  Cut me a little slack.  Because well.  Hopefully you love me 😛 even if they don’t.

So here’s a couple tidbits I may have neglected to include:

After that first date with The Nick Name and following that text message on my drive home Had a really great time.  There was more texting.  Initiated by him.  Something about the magic of my shirt.  (not unlike my magic dress and magic jeans from previous dates with other “somethings“).  So here we were…barely home from a first date and we’re texting back and forth still.  Seemed a good sign to me.  After having been unsure on the date about whether he found me attractive (due to the lack of major touching [hugs excluded] and having never noticed him checking me out).  I was relieved to find out.  That indeed he was loving the way the clothes hugged my body.  Or perhaps more exactly.  The way my shirt dipped and swayed.  Along with my lady bits.  And the necklace that often hung down in between them.  Apparently he had spent the evening trying not to get caught.  Trying not to be obvious.  But keeping his eyes on the ladies.

And an even better sign.  The phonecall the next day.  When we were just talking about our days.  And he happened to mention.  About his lunch with a friend.  Where it was clear he had bragged about me.  His hot YOUNG date.  And there may have been some insinuations that he may have also relayed a positive review of my…attributes.  And I can’t lie.  I’m no youngbuck.  We all know I’m 29.  So to have a guy acting like I AM some youngbuck he’s lucky to be hanging around with?  I’m saying.  That’s some good shit.  I liked the view of my reflection in his eyes.  Just sayin’.


Detour.   So I know what you’re going to say.  These tidbits don’t matter.  This all just sounds like excuses. A dude on Twitter said it pretty clearly:

in reply to @SSDated ↑

@SoThenSheSo Then She…
@SSDated sick or not, dudes make dates if they want to. #sadly

And honestly.  The fuck if I know.  I mean the guy on Twitter.  Quite possibly oh so right.  But it didn’t seem as cut and dried to me as say.  A guy only ever calling you after midnight and wondering if he wants to date.  Because I’m aware.  That’s clear.  He doesn’t.  But a guy cancelling because he’s sick.  When all other signs point to liking you.  Hmm.  For me.  Stupidly.  Or not.  It felt like a thinker.

But regardless.  I had made a decision.  To be aloof.  Make no effort.  And this decision.  Lasts for 2 days.  December 15th.  A full 48 hours.  Before I caved.  Try not to judge me.  Remember the TMI I alerted you to in the previous post.  Give me some Goddamn sympathy alright.  I was a girl inundated with hormones.  Honestly I think I did a pretty rad job.  Considering how many chicks go all crazy and shit.  When I caved.  It was simple.  Calm.  Relaxed.  Breezy.

How are you feeling? I said.  That’s it.  Keep it simple.  My logic.  I was just being nice.  Delusional logic works for me.  Don’t hate.

His response.  I’m good to go! Lol.  Funny just left UBC and thought about you, How’s SSD?

I say something about being awesome and just busy busting my ass on these exams and counting down the days till my last exam.


He rallies.  Come on Tuesday!

I respond in turn.  Asking him something about aside from feeling better how is his day going?

He responds with an extremely detailed list of the activities of his day.  No simple text.  Dude is writing out a novel.  And so I ask.  What exactly does “good to go” mean after all.  Is that like he feels better than the day prior…or he’s feeling good enough to hang out?

Good to go with both.  He says.  Good to go with both. But have daughter this weekend.  So how is after your school is done?


My thoughts about this.  Um.  Fuck.  I don’t want to wait another week to hang out.  It’s already been almost 2 weeks since our first date.  Which by the way is a sensitive issue with me since after all…isn’t this kind of what happened with Garbage Man…ya know…like when I’d assumed he’d died of the plague?


So I ask.  What about tonight or tomorrow night?  Because if not it’ll be another week before I’ll be free again.


And that’s when I get it.  The text message.  That closes the window.  That starts the building of a brick wall.  I’ll explain further in a second but let’s see this *sarcasm* fucking awesome text repartee.


I’m at this customer function, then tomorrow xmas/retirement part for a guy I used to work with.  The xmas/mid term season is too busy to start dating someone lol.

I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know how to respond.  Is he making a commentary on busy schedules?  Is this the blow off?  Is he actually busy (and me too)?  Is he just not that into me and this is the kiss off?  Is he just retarded?  So I respond with the only response I can think that of.

Ok.

I mean shit son.  What am I going to do…argue with him?  That’s fucking retarded.  But that’s not the end.  He responds.  Which again adds to my confusion.

Don’t be mad, its obvious we are, have been, both crazy busy this month.  And I was sick too, didn’t help.

But wait I think.  Didn’t I only respond with Ok.  So I say I’m not mad.  All I said was Ok.  Was there another response you had been hoping for?

Nope. He says Just checking, making sure the “ok” wasn’t dismissive.  It’ll happen!  Later.

Yeah.  Later is motherfuckin’ right.  Only the thing is.  I’m torn.  Between the me who wrote this (only the first few paragraphs are pertinent).  And the me that’s made of cotton candy and rainbows and motherfuckin’ sparkles and is always open and up for anything.  But the truth is.  After this exchange.  And the good 15 minutes or so I sat in complete silence STEAMING and absolutely livid with the retardation I was being dealt (and perhaps buying into).  That window where I’m soft and cuddly.  Agreeable and sweet.  The girl you want to take home to mom.  That window of time where I want to hold his hand and be open to all things cute with The Nick Name.  Yeah that fuckin’ window slammed shut.

 

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

Wax On Wax Off, Date’s On Date’s Off

Dating Mistakes


Dates On.

Sunday was the first date with The Nick Name.  Monday we text.  Chatter.  What have you.  I was still technically in school and working on two papers.  Children’s Lit and Shakespeare.  I hate Shakespeare at this point.  But that’s another matter entirely.  Tuesday we text.  Chatter.  He’s not feeling great.  Possibly getting sick.  I’m exhausted from school.  It’s whatever.  Wednesday.  He’s sick.  No mention of cancelling Thursday.  We text.  We chatter.  I’m deep into paper writing mode.  But still.  I’m not fucking clueless.  I can sense it coming.  I mean.  People don’t get better overnight.  I mean.  I still have the occasional residual coughing from a BRUTAL cough/cold/flu I had in September. Just Sayin’.

And here’s the thing of the thing.  I’m the queen of expectations.  In that I expect people not to be retarded and spit it the fuck out, say it like it is, I don’t have all day.  But I’m an optimist.  If I weren’t I wouldn’t keep letting those damn expectations get the best of me.  So even though I know I have a “cancel” coming my way.  I have this little hope.  A hope of a hope.  That I’m not going to be disappointed.  That this second date I’m hoping for is going to happen.

Date’s Off.

But it doesn’t.  Thursday morning rolls around.  And there is a text.  On my phone.  About how sick he is.  And blah blah blah.  And I know what you’re thinking.  I’m sure he was super apologetic.  I’m sure he likes you.  Only I wasn’t so sure.  Because there was no I’m so sorry.  It was mostly a boys pity party.


Detour.  I know boys are babies.  When they get sick.  I was in a 6 year relationship after all.  And I have married friends to tell me all about it.  We’ve all seen it.  We can attest to it.  Boys are the biggest pansies when they get sick.  And just a Dear Boys, for you boys…nobody likes a pans.  Just Sayin’.

Back on Track.  So I’m kind of upset (partly just at the situation [him being sick and date being cancelled] and partly at the fact that he knew he was sick…should’ve cancelled earlier).  But…I also get what it is to be sick.  And I fucking hate being sick.  So I get it.  Being sick sucks.  We barely know each other.  Not sweating it.

Okay I’m lying.  I’m not sweating it to him.  But I’ll tell you guys the truth.  I was Major cranky pants.  Sergeant super irritaed.  Colonel “this sucks” hissy fits McGee.  Mostly I’m just pissed because while the lack of apology would’ve be fine on the one hand.  His text.  Conveys mostly a concern that he might be too sick  to go to his work Xmas party on the Friday night and a friend’s Xmas party on the Saturday.  But it’s whatever.  I realize we barely know each other.  And but of course Xmas parties come but once a year.  So basically I’m just telling you guys this so you understand how I was irrationally feeling though I am FULL ON aware of the irrationality of feeling those feelings in the first place.  So obvs. I keep the feelings ick to myself.  And to my friends lol.

***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***TMI ALERT***
****BOYS MAY WANT TO TURN AWAY****BOYS MAY WANT TO TURN AWAY****
So I have to tell you now.  That I was harsh PMSing.  And to be clear.  I’m not some moody teenager who doesn’t know when they’re acting ridiculous.  BUUUUTTT.  When it’s almost my “Lady Time” (I don’t care what you people say…it’s my favorite way to allude to it and I’m keeping it!) I can become…to put it nicely…hysterical.  Now I’ll be aware that I’m being hysterical.  And I’ll know that at some point…say within a week.  I’ll return to normal.  But that doesn’t mean I can necessarily turn it off.  So in my defense.  In my irrational feelings defense.  I blame mother nature.  And that bitch who visits me every month.  And such is life.  You gotta accept the good with the bad.  But I just needed you guys to know.  I needed a preface.  I needed to explain why I felt so hysterical when we all know I’m an advocate of not being too intense in the beginning.  Being.  Breezy.  If you will.

Date’s On.

So the weekend comes and goes.  He goes to the parties like a champ.  And oddly enough he seems to be feeling better.  Perhaps it was his optimism.  Perhaps he’s one of those lucky people who if they can get enough rest are feeling tip top within a day or two.  I can barely understand this concept since I’m usually sick for weeks at a time.  But there ya go.  Who am I to question optimism and health right?  So through all this time we’re texting and occasionally calling.  He suggests we hang out Sunday night.  But alas.  I have my first final exam of this session 830am Monday morning.  So that’s a no go.  Monday night? and it’s on.  Date’s on.  We have plans for Monday night.

Monday morning I get up at the crack of dawn.  Who am I kidding.  I was up well before dawn.  In fact dawn had barely broken by the time I was parking at UBC.  When I get a text from him.  TheNickName.  Something super cute about wishing me good luck and about how I was going to kill it! and to call him when I’m done.


Which I did.  In both respects.  And that’s when I heard it.  In his tone.  In his voice.  In his cough.  The cancel was coming.  He was sick again (or still) whatever.  So we were back to square one.  Sick.  Date cancelled.

Date’s Off.

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


First Dates: The Nick Name and Dating Rules

Dating

 

[dropcap]So[/dropcap] I feel like in my excitement and hurry to catch you all up to speed on The Nick Name I forgot to give you some of the most basic of details about him.  His stats.  And if you’re anything like me.  You need the specifics.  Because they add context.  Help you keep track of who is who.  When I’m talking about what is what.  Ya know?  So here they are.

Name:  The Nick Name
Age:  38
Height:  6’0
Profession:  Sales
Status:  Divorced

But there’s one more detail that I’ve never had to have a space for.  With all the other “somethings“.  There has never been a need to have a “offspring” section.  Because no one’s ever had one.  But he does.  The Nick Name. A 7 year old daughter.  Who he has every other weekend.  But good terms with the ex and all that.  So there ya go.  The deets.  To keep you in the loop.

So school was coming to a close.  I was ready to make some plans.  I was ready for him to ask me out.  I mentioned the finish line was in sight and when did he want to hang out?  Immediately.  ASAP he says.  Only he has his daughter that weekend.  Sunday Night.  And so it’s a date.  The day of, he texts.  Reaffirming.  I like that.  Reassures me I’m not dealing with a flake.  He says he’ll probably get there a bit early and get us a table.  I like that even  more.  Handling shit.  Awesome.

I’m nervous.  I walk in.  And there he is.  He’s got a pool table.  Set up.  Ready to roll.  Just chilling.  He’s relaxed.  Which relaxes me.  He asks what I’d like to drink.  Diet Coke I say.  He’s prepared.  He already knows about this.  And he’s having a beer.  He just has the one the whole date.  We play pool.  He’s pretty good.  I’m doing not bad.  He finds this cute.  He lets me cheat.     Just a little bit.  Nothing major.  Have to move the white ball away from the side when it’s too close.  He has no problem with this.  It’s all very adorable.

We talk a lot.  About travel.  Of which I’ve done a fair amount.  Of which he’s done very little.  We talk about sports.  Playing and watching.  There’s talk of my future.  Grad schools.  Where and which ones.  Basically there’s hardly ever a lull and I’m enjoying myself.  He seems to be too.

Though I won’t lie.  I can’t totally tell for sure.  I mean obviously he’s smiling and chatting and being interested and interesting.  But he doesn’t seem to be checking me out in the slightest.  And he hasn’t touched me once.  Except for our initial hug.  But I press on.  No biggie.  We’ll just wait and see.

He wants to order some food.  I’m not really hungry.  And by this I mean.  I’m fucking starving as I’ve barely eaten all day partly as I want to be looking as svelte as possible and partly from nerves and excitement.  But I’m weird.  I’m chubby.  And I’ve got fucking issues.  Eating in front of a guy on a first date does not make me feel awesome.  But I know boys don’t like that.  So I say sure.  Let’s get something to eat.

I look at the menu.  It’s like a “who’s who” of foods that are garaunteed to crash a date.  Chicken Wings.  Spinach dip.  Garlic this and garlic that.  Fuck me.  We go with the dip.  Of which I can’t lie…I barely touch.  Whatever.  I know I’ve got issues.

So we’re eating and chatting.  Chatting and eating.  And it’s lovely.  And then it happens.  The bill comes.  And before the waitress can even fully place it between us.  He’s grabbing it and reaching for his wallet.  Taking care of business (fix link).  The date kind of wraps up.  Comes to a nice natural close.  Because after all.  I’m a lady these days.

Detour.  So I kind of have this new policy/philosophy.  About first dates.  Now I’ve already established no first date sex (Lindsay’s Law).  But.  See.  I mean.  I now feel it actually needs to be even more than that.  Or technically even less than that.  So.  I will from here on out, or until further notice *wink*, not be going home with a date.  No apartments for an apres ski.  No condos for a cocktail.  No mansions for a movie.  No houses for a heart to heart.  No second location.  Because that’s always where the trouble begins.  And even further to this.  No kisses.  At the absolute maximum.  Maybe a quick smooch.  Definitely no makeouts.  But I’ll be trying to keep it casual.  Giving them the cheek.  Like a lady.  Like a lady.  If I say it enough I’ll become.  Like a lady.

Back on track.  So we’re putting on our coats.  And getting ready to leave.  When he says it.  Asks about a second date.  Says he’s had a really great time.  Doesn’t know about my schedule.  But would I like to go out again.  Say Thursday night.  That’s my man there.  Booking the second date while still on the first.  Balls.  To the wall.  And I’m in.  Sure.  I say.  That sounds great.

He walks me to my car.  Very gentlemanly.  Hugs me goodbye.  He may have been going for a kiss.  He may have been aiming for the cheek.  But either way the cheek is what he got.  Policies.  Implemented.  He waits to make sure my car starts and all that.  Gentleman.  Love it.  And on the way home I get a text.  Had a really great time he says.  Me too, The Nick Name, me too.

 

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

Taking It To The Phones: Caller #1 You’re On

Dating

[dropcap]The[/dropcap] Nick Name gives good phone.  There.  I said it.  Flawless.  The phone whisperer.  No wait.  That sounds like a horror movie.  No phone whispering.  But it was.  Good.  good.  Good.  Good.  Just Sayin’.

So when I last left you, we we’re just coming into contact with The Nick Name.  Texting.  But with 2 weeks to go until school and term papers were completed.  2 weeks to go before there could be a first date.  He asked.  And I accepted.  Caller #1 you’re on.

So he called.  And I answered.  And he asked questions.  Questions that allowed me to talk about school.  About my papers.  My literature papers.  Papers that no one except maybe someone in the field could have an interest in.  Hell, I barely had an interest in.  But I’d be telling him about a a paper.  Then feel bad that I was both monopolizing the conversation/boring him to tears.  And so stop talking.  But then he’d swoop in and ask more.  More about The Outsiders.  Tell me he read it as a young boy.  Ask about research.  Basically BE interested.  And even if he wasn’t.  Which I mean…how can you be?  He faked it like a pro.  Or at the very least someone who thought I was awesome.

And his plan worked.  Because in turn.  I thought he was awesome.  Awesome as someone you don’t know can be.  Plus even if the phonecall itself hadn’t won me over the text message following it certainly did.

You’re so smart!  Winner winner chicken dinner.  Because I’m saying boys.  While I want you to think I’m hot and sexy and blah blah blah.  The real winner.  Thinks I’m smart.  And funny.  Just Sayin’.  The next two weeks were filled with texting and phonecalls.  Sometimes 2 calls a day.  Obviously not initiated by me.  We all know I like my men to take the reins.  My men to have the balls.

And because I’m sure I’ll reference the chatter we had in the posts to come I won’t go into it too deeply here. But I will say this.  We talked about all the usual stuff.  Day job stuff.  Family stuff.  Dealbreakers and sweetspots.  We talked about past dates.  He knew about TEDski (fix link) and the date that scarred me for life.  He assured me he was the height he said he was.  But then.  He felt compelled to tell me.  This one other thing.

This thing that is so amazing in its sheer volume of IRONY and COINCIDENCE that it caused me to actually say, you’re bullshitting right? and then I felt really awful because he wasn’t, so I had to explain why I was so hysterical/mystified/enthralled/excited about what he had said.  The coincidence and the similarity to Mega Love and yet the bizarre occurrence of it.  And I know you’re all thinking.  What the fuck.  How can she just leave us hanging.  What was it?!? What was it?!?

Only I can’t tell you.  Because I can’t say what it actually is.  Without potentially really hurting Mega Love.  Not because there’s actually anything wrong with what it is but because he’s such an extremely private person that I feel he would be hurt.  And no he doesn’t know about the blog.  But I’m going to fathom a guess that one day.  One unfortunate day in the future.  He’ll stumble upon it.  And that’ll be that.  And unfortunately I can’t ask him if it would bother him because then alas I’d have to reveal both that I’m dating and that I’m blogging about it.  And I tried and tried.  Wracked my brain.  To come up with another way to reference it.  A similar depiction.  A relatable illustration.  But I got nothing.  I can come up with nothing.  Which should tell you the sheer rarity of that to which I’m alluding if depicting it would be so obvious that I simply cannot.

But just know.  That one day.  If and when I can do it.  Without hurting Mega Love.  I’ll share with you the crazy ironic bizarro thing that links these two boys.  And the awesomeness that is my chance dating life.

 

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

The Nick Name: A New “Something” Gets A Pseudonym

Dating

 

[dropcap]He[/dropcap] messaged first.  Nothing amazing.  But he’d read my profile and commented on something in it.  Good start.  Plus honestly, he was just really nice, not creepy-over-complimenty nice, but just genuinely interested nice.  And the conversation just kind of flowed.

He asked about what I liked to do for fun.
I asked him what were three things he thought were funny.
He told me about where he grew up.  I did the same.
I asked him to describe his best friend and how they knew each other.
He asked about school and all the things that take up my time.
Conversation was good.  No lulls.  And then he did what was most surely a move but even my awareness of it, didn’t take away from the fact that I thought it was awesome.  I seem to only be on here to read your messages so why don’t you call or text me when you want to say hi.

Nicely done.  In one fell swoop he managed to make me feel special, indicate he liked me thus far, and take the conversation offline.  Well done, sir.
And so I did, text him I mean.  And it was nice.  Cute.  Good.  Though not…off the charts amazing.  And so I began to get a little worried.  Would he be incredibly corny and unfunny like Tedski (fix links)?  But then he did something awesome.  Totally unaware.  He did something so funny I almost peed my pants.  He created his own pseudonym for the blog.  Inadvertently of course, as he most certainly doesn’t know of its existence or his presence in it.  But nonetheless.  The NickName was born.

I have to warn you though.  Some people get the hilarity of this story.  Some think it’s…meh…whatever.  But I relish it.  Cherish it.  Think it’s fucking brilliantly hilarious.  Because we all know I am madly in love with irony and coincidence.  So here’s the thing of the thing.

I have a friend.  If you’ve been reading from the beginning you may recognize references to her in the blog and her comments.  TheHel.  But let’s back it up even a little further.  One day TheHel and I were talking about an aunt of hers whom everybody calls TheCath (cathy?) or something like that.  I thought it was fucking hilarious and decided to call my friend TheHel.  So when the new something sent a text message in which he gave himself a nickname of TheShortenedVersionofHisName  I fell off my chair laughing.  He of course was joking.  I of course was like it’s sticking.  It’s stuck.  And thus was born his pseudonym TheNickName.  Okay perhaps it doesn’t even seem that funny now as I type this out.  But because he obvs. doesn’t know the story of her name.  And well frankly you just don’t laugh in the face of irony.  You make love to it.  TheNickName. I like it.

And that’s mostly why.  Even though some of his texts were very hit or miss.  When he suggested we chat it up a bit.  I was like.  Uh.  Ok.  Sure.  Because it was just too perfect.  Too ironic.  Too hilarious.  Too blog worthy.  Even though I generally hate to doing that.  Having big chats before meeting.  Because I think it gives a false sense of knowing a person (which can be a serious illusion…read: Tedski).  And yet….

Detour:  At this point, I was in the process of writing 3 HUGE term papers and in my last 2 weeks of school.  He understood this and was willing to wait it out to meet me.  But in the meantime what could we do.  Stop contact and wait?  Just text for 2 weeks?  Or talk on the phone like normal people?

Back on Track:  So against my better judgement…we took it to the phones…

To Be Continued….

 

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