He Was a Dick and I Got Cocky

Head Desk


[dropcap]The PhD.[/dropcap]  We had a first date.  He seemed super interested.  I wanted to be super interested.  But the next week.  The one in which he said we should go out again.  It came and went.  And we did not go out again.  In fact after that initial date and texting session.  We never spoke again.  Nothing.  Nada.

Now I can’t say I’m super upset.  Mostly I’m just peeved the same way a child is when you tell them they can’t have a toy even though they likely forget what it is they wanted within an hour.  Mostly just upset when somebody isn’t fucking falling-off-chairs-writing-love-poems-masterbating-non-stop-to-thoughts-of-me-swooning over me.  But I’ll survive.

The truth of the matter is.  This was a glaring rebuttal to my previous theories about A. my ability to manipulate my own feelings of chemistry and B. the fact that simple intelligence is enough for me (fix link).   The thing of the thing is.  He was a bit creepy.  I wasn’t very attracted.  Truth be told.  If it hadn’t been for his raging intelligence…I likely would’ve never gone out with him at all.  Not even a second look.  And I definitely wouldn’t have been up for a quick peck on the date.  A lip or two.  A kiss kiss wait and kiss and done.  But it happened.  Because he wooed me.  Just a smidge.  Just a titch.  Barely at all.  But a bit.  With his brain.

The same brain which I attribute his being a dick to.  Because honestly he was a bit of a dick.  In the arrogance kind of way.  But honestly I get it.  I don’t know how you can be that smart and not be a little dickish.  Just Sayin’.  And did I want a second date.  Certainly.  Did I want a future.  Likely not.  But at the very least I wanted to be nominated for an award.  I wanted a callback.  A 2nd round job interview.  I at least wanted my name on the fucking ballot.

And the truth is I thought it was.  Would be.  Was getting one.  I was cocky.  I assumed he’d thought I was awesome.  And maybe he did.  Maybe he lost interest because I didn’t get frisky on the first date.  Maybe he sensed my lack of lust for him.  Maybe the after date texting was a trap that I sluttily fell into.  Maybe he has a girlfriend.  Maybe he’s gay.  Maybe he’s dead.  Who the fuck knows.  And aside from the fact that.  Pause.  I know this doesn’t make me look good.  Unpause.  Aside from the fact that this would have been excellent research into what it’s like dating smart guys (something I have no experience with), it’s really not a huge deal. That and ya know I had been hoping to have sex with a super aggressive guy.  Fail.  But hey.  You win some you lose some.  Sometimes it’s as simple as that.  He was a dick.  I got cocky.  Nobody made contact.  And it all just went away.  The end (of ThePhD).


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

The PhD (part three): The Aftertext

How to Write a Dating Profile
[dropcap]So[/dropcap] things had gone well.  He was smart as hell.  A bit of a dick.  But the date went pretty good.  He got a kiss.  I got to hear someone say they thought I was the total package and looked even better than my pictures.  And at the very least I wanted a callback from the audition, whether I wanted the part or not.  And sure enough.  Like almost every “something” before.  Before I’m even home again.  There’s the text.  Reinforcing what I thought.Had a fun time 😉 he texts.  And when I get home.  I return the sentiment.  Me too.And then it gets.  Well.  A bit cheesy.  If I remember correctly even before our date ThePhD had said something lame about the wonderfulness of my curves (paraphrasing).  And I’m pretty sure he mentioned it once again on our date.  Plus there was that inappropriate story *looks up to the right like I’m tallying things in my head*.  Needless to say.  If the touching and kissing hadn’t made things clear.  All these other things did.  The dude was into me.  Or at the very least.  The dude was into chubby chicks like me.  (more on my thoughts about this to come in another post).  But the point of this little calculation.  To illustrate why his next text, though not alluring/sexy/awesome, was not a surprise.

Your softness is very tempting 😉  he says.  Ugh.  Gross I think.  But not one to miss an opportunity to be cheeky/gain information.  I responded.  What do you mean by softness? my lips? my personality? my body?

They are intertwined.  Hmm.  Interesting.  Nice save dude.  Nice save.  Which is exactly what I tell him.  Nicely put.  Until of course.  He ruined it.  You definitely have what I have a weakness for.  Maybe it’s because it was late.  Maybe it’s because I was bored.  Maybe it’s because of the texting conversation I had had earlier that day with The Nick Name (don’t worry if you’re thinking…what conversation? I haven’t told you yet it’ll be in the next post).  Maybe it’s because having no booty call in my life, no dating during the winter semester and only an imaginary affair with my professor, I hadn’t had sex since August.  Maybe because I don’t have a crush on him yet and thus nothing is at risk.  Who knows but either way.  I find myself playing along.
And what is that exactly?  I ask.  Smart, curvy, and maybe very naughty lol.  LOL is right, I think.  Technically the only compliment in that group that I actually liked was the smart but still.  Like I said.  Bored. Or playful.  Or perhaps I’m just a dick/douche myself.  But either way I was playing along.  Maybe very naughty?  What would make you think that? I asked.  You definitely earned a penalty. (he meant for cheating at pool)  Hmm.  Didn’t even really now what to respond to that.  Frankly it seemed a little out of sync to me.  Luckily it didn’t matter because before I needed to respond, I was getting another text.Are you a good listener?  it reads.  Um…depends what you’re talking about I guess.  The truth of the matter was I wasn’t even trying to be difficult.  The things he would say next hadn’t really even occurred to me that he was capable of.  So when he asked are you a good listener I almost thought he was trying to figure out if I would be a good support system for him or was perhaps going to critique me on my ability to listen instead of talk on our date or something.  But alas.  Obviously.  Not the case.
Well I like to take charge…in a firm but pleasing way.  Okay so he had me at take charge and if it had been anything else would have lost me at the firm but pleasing way ugh. gag. cheesy.  But because well.  I like a take charge guy in life.  And I REALLY like a take charge guy in the bedroom.  I was willing to overlook it.  No big deal.
Unfortunately for you guys.  I’m going to stop the publishing of the exchange right there.  I want to say it’s because of privacy or something.  But honestly it’s because A.there are some things people don’t need to read about me in an explicit way (I prefer to insinuate and let you infer) and B.because frankly the cheesiness that is mixed in with the awesomeness is frankly…a little embarrassing.But let’s just say.  Turns out this nerdy geeky intellectual…was Balls out like Chuck Norris or what I expect an MMA fighter to be like (regardless of whether or not any of them are actually like this).  And in case you need a clearer picture of the kind of take charge attitude I can appreciate…Check out two posts I previously wrote for metanotherfrog.com.  They’re actually a fairly vanilla version but.  well.  you’ll get the idea.I Am The Christopher Columbus of Kink and Chokehold (fix links)

The conversation carries on.  Blah blah blah.  This that this that.  Says the right things.  Yada yada yada.  Nice he says I think we’re on the same wavelength.

Indeed I say but it’s getting late and I should probably get some sleep.  Tomorrow being Christmas Eve Day and all.

Goodnight he says and talk soon 🙂

N.B.  Attention Readers.  I have a question for you.  Just a matter of semantics really.  And mainly just out of curiousity.  My question is Would you consider the texting interaction between ThePhD and I to simply be texting or sexting?  The reason I am unsure is this.  All topics/conversation/questions/statements were of a logistical nature.  This is what I like to do.  What do you like.  That kind of thing.  And not a This is what I’m going to do and then and then and then responded with oohs and ahhs and this is what I’m going to do back to you.  Etc. etc.  So is sexting only when the conversation imitates sex? or when it involves sexy chatter of any nature?  Comments (as always) wholeheartedly encouraged xoxo


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

The PhD (part two): Never Let Them Take You to a Second Location



[dropcap]So[/dropcap] like I was saying in the last post…things were going good.  That was until he said something.  Something that just didn’t sit all too great with me:

He’s not close with his family.  Like at all.  Neither parents.  Nor brother and sister (having one of each).

Now I know what you’re thinking.  What does it matter what his familial relationships are like if you’re just trying to have some fun and date him.  But the thing of the thing is.  To me.  It’s weird.  No judgement.  When people don’t get along with their families.  Now it’s not a dealbreaker per say.  Because after all.  People don’t choose the family they’re born into.  You can’t blame a 6 year old who spends the next 30 years fucked up because his dad’s an alcoholic and his mom has intimacy issues.  But still.  We’re not talking just not close with his parents.  He’s not close with his siblings either.  And he told me it’s basically because they each married spouses who resemble their father…who is not his father.  But shit son.  This is your flesh and blood we’re talking about.

Don’t worry though.  All of this goes through my head in a matter of 30 seconds and as soon as it does we carry on.  Because after all.  There’s rarely ONE THING for me that is a dealbreaker.  Deals are broken by chipping away at them.  Little by little.  And there weren’t nearly enough chips yet.  So while pool was fun.  Like most dates.  The boys are done with the pool before I am (not necessarily the date, just the pool).  So he suggests we go just up the street to this little place to get something to eat.  Now you all know me and my food issues.  But alas.  You also know I KNOW guys hate that shit so obviously I’m like sure…food…sounds great.  He pays the bill and we leave.

We walk to less than a block, go inside and grab a table.  It’s a small place.  We get menus.  He orders another beer.  He orders some kind of prawn thing.  I get edamame.  I figure.  Easy to eat.  Nothing garlicky or saucy.  And no spinach to get stuck in my teeth.  I’ll be set.  Only.  This is me here.  The worlds most awkward dater.  I’m like a fucking bear.  Or Godzilla.  Toppling small cities and crushing children in my wake.  So there we are just chatting away.  When what should happen.  Maybe I was laughing.  Maybe just breathing in at the wrong time.  Who knows.  But what I do know is that in one fell swoop.  I inhaled a fucking soybean.  Don’t worry.  I somehow managed to swallow and act like no big deal.  Unless of course that soybean is sitting in my lungs and will one day kill me.  Other than that I was fine.

But it’s as if awkwardness is contagious.  Like somehow by remaining in my proximity one can become infected with a case of the awkwards.  And so in keeping with this theory it was not surprising when ThePhD upong trying to eat a pod.  Shot a soybean into his beer.  *splash*  Where I swear it disappeared until his very last sip when it was recovered.  Just Sayin’  Awesome.  Oh but wait.  Speaking of awkward.  I forgot to mention another awesome sauce moment being the very moment I walked into the first bar and saw him.  See I didn’t notice till I went to the bathroom.  But I had button my tunic-length sweater thing…into the wrong buttons.  Aka lopsided.  Aka just call me Poindexter.

Detour.  So I kind of forgot to mention.  A little bit about the balls on this dude.  Because the PhD. wasn’t so subtle.  Unlike TheNickName and Trucker Joe.  Dude was going for it.  Almost right from the start.  Within an hour of our date commencing he was hand-around-the-waisting, close-standing, and I’ll admit it first-kissing.  That’s right folks.  He planted the first one on me while we were still at the pool hall.  Now it’s hard to say if I was keen on it or not.  But what I did know, was that I was undecided and thus didn’t want to blow my chances pending I did want future kissing.  So I allowed that first kiss.  Short and sweet.  Adorablly cute pulling away.  Something about being shy and all that jazz.

Back on track.  So while at the restaurant things were no different.  But here’s the funny thing.  Touch my thigh under the table.  Sure.  Even get a little frisky/slutty/ballsy and move from the one thigh to the centre of two.  Whatever.  But start feeling my waist.  My sucking-it-in-already-trying-to-look-thin-you-know-I’m-chubby-right-what-are-you-feeling-for-waist-area-touching?  What.  The.  Fuck.  Um…no.  Because now again I’m going to have to pull out the I’m shy and I like to take things slow.  When in reality the truth is please-don’t-touch-my-chubby-belly-when-we’re-out-in-public-and-people-can-see-me-with-you-on-this-first-date-in-a-city-where-there-is-always-someone-nearby-who-knows-me.

But he takes it all in stride.  Our plates are cleared.  He orders another beer.  Now I know I sound like a prude.  Counting beers.  And a hypocrite in fact since as far as drinking goes.  I was always go hard or go home.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  At a house party.  Or a nightclub.  3 beers in 2.5 hours is no big deal.  It’s fun.  It’s a night out.  It’s barely anything.  On a first date when both people drink.  3 beers in 2.5 hours might not be the best idea.  But it’s not a fucking disaster by any stretch of the term.  But 3 beers in 2.5 hours when your date is sober?  I mean really.  Come the fuck on Bridget!

Because the thing is.  A first date.  Is like a job interview.  There’s a reason you dress up.  Make sure you smell delicious.  Pop in a breath mint.  Get your hair did.  Etcetera!  Because though you haven’t a clue if you want the job forever.  In fact you don’t even know if you want the job at all.  But you damn well want to make sure that they offer it to you anyways.  And then you’ll have the option to accept or decline.  I mean shit son.  Best.  Fucking.  Behavior.  People.  Social fucking protocol.  And another little sidebar for you drinkers out there who tend to forget.  With every drink you down.  A breath mint should be considered.  Because no matter how full up with the natural equivalent of parsley (aka have good breath)…alcohol ruins that.  And while your tipsy ass might not notice.  Your date sure as fuck will.  Just Sayin’.  Not to mention.  You’ll want to be very careful of what stories you tell.  Because you’d be surprised what doesn’t seem so inappropriate after 2-3 beers.

But don’t get me wrong.  I know I’m kind of making this date sound.  Er.  Um.  Not that great.  But the truth of it was.  All evidence pointed to him being a great deal smarter than your average bear.  Not to mention so far my only real life reference for Grad school information.  See the thing is.  I know some people with BAs (all from Canadian schools).  I know almost no one with an MA or a PhD. and of those whom I must (though I can think of none right now) I can almost guarantee that they didn’t get them from American schools.  The few people I know who took the GRE are not people I can talk to in real life, physically I mean.  And to have contact with someone who not only has a PhD but also has experience with American universities.  Well that’s fucking rare.  And fucking awesome.  To me.

So needless to say.  The conversation was good.  He was a wealth of information.  And I was having a good time.  However, I can’t lie.  He was a bit arrogant.  In his defense.  I can imagine if you’re incredibly smart.  Arrogance can creep up on you.  But real talk.  At some points.  He was a bit of a dick.  And I said so You’re a bit of a dick! *laughter*  He face reads no surprise nor hurt/anger at me saying this.  Because it’s kind of true.  Don’t worry though.  It wasn’t like he was being a dick to me or anything lol.  And the truth of the matter is.  We have a lot in common.  Well.  At the very least.  We both like cop movies.  (a category I’d never really thought about until he used it to answer what kind of movies do you like).  For reference.  I also like law movies and military movies.

After awhile it was time to go.  He lived nearby.  I can guarantee he was hoping we’d go back to his place.  But alas the moment we left the restaurant I insinuated I was parked just over there.  And so he walked me to my car.  And then came this awkward moment.  I’m not entirely sure he knew it was awkward.  I credit the beer for this.  But he just kind of stood there.  Arm around my waist.  Looking at me.  In his defense I had been saying I’m shy to his advances all night.  And in fact I think he kind of mumbled that in some sort of not-sure-if-I-should-kiss-you-because-you’ve-been-saying-you’re-shy-all-night.  And then there was me.  Also awkward.  Mostly because honestly.  I was still totally undecided about this guy.  But I did know I didn’t want to blow the job interview.  At the very least I wanted to be offered the job.  And I’d decide later if I’d accept it or not.

So there we were.  Standing in the street.  In the misty Vancouver rain-ish.  Trying to navigate the end of this date.  He said something about us going out again later this week.  I said sure, that sounds great, just gimme a call.  And then I.  I.  Yep.  Kissed him.  Longer than a peck.  Not so long that I let him taste the magic in my tongue.  And I was off.  Leave him wanting more I say.  Or at least that’s what I’m trying to do these days.  It’s not a science.  It’s a skill in progress.  But that was it.  Date over.  And I was off home.

To Be Continued…Here:  The PhD (part three): The Aftertext


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


The PhD (part one): A New “Something”


Exams were coming to a close.  The infamous Dec.21st (also known as the last day of exams) was a mere day away.  Things with The Nick Name were at a standstill, caught somewhere between a window and a wall space.  But as a major advocate for dating more than one person at a time.  You can damn well bet I had some other boys in the mix.

In fact I find with the flakiness of people in general, the inexactitude of online dating and the general retardation of boys on POF it’s a good general rule to keep a whole bowl of chex (fix link) mix in circulation at your boy party.  Because after all.  Cheerios can get soggy.  Peanuts are a cheap staple that you can do better than and frankly pretzels can cut ya!  So best to keep refilling and tossing that bowl so that the quality bits can find their way to the top.  Just Sayin’

So with exams (and apparently things with The Nick Name) over.  It was time to stick my hand back in the bowl and hopefully pull a cheezie.  Lucky for me there was a guy waiting on my exams to be finished so we could go out.  A new “something” if you will.  And his name.  The PhD.

Aliases:   ThePhD

Stats:   37, 6’0 
Profession:   Researcher/Academic
Education:   PhD. Ecology and Statistics

Met:   Plentyoffish.com
Dates:   One

Honestly it all happened rather fast.  In fact almost as an exact opposite to the situation with The Nick Name.  He messaged me on POF.  Within about 5 back and forths he asked me out.  I told him about exams.  He could wait he said.  Then exams came and went.  I texted All done!  He responded with When is good for you?  I answered Thursday.  Thursday at 7 he said.  Look at this dude I thought.  Handling shit.  People think it’s so simple.  Making a plan.  Taking control.  But honestly.  In dating.  In the dating I’ve experienced.  Balls are very rare.  Where should we meet? I asked.  Name of local billiard place he answered and included the address in the text too.  Boy had been prepared.  *Denzel Washington Voice* My Man!

Thursday rolled around.  I got gussied up as per usual and went to meet my new “something”.  I was full of nerves.  For a couple of reasons.  One.  Because we’d had such minimal chatter beforehand, we knew very little about each other.  Two.  Ever since my brother said those fateful words:

“So how do you know he (is in law school, has a PhD, etc.)?  silence  Because he told you?? pointed look” (fix Link)

Well.  Let’s just say I’m trying to learn to take things with a grain of salt.  And thus, did ThePhD even have a PhD in fact?  And finally.  Three.  Though the third reason could almost be split.  A little 3A and 3B if you will.  3A being that as of yet.  As of just his photos.  As of his blonde hair.  I wasn’t so sure I’d be attracted to him.  Like at all.  And then 3B was the affective factor of TheNickName on my perception of attraction.  Sure we weren’t going to be dating.  But honestly it’d only been a few days.  I was still hopeful for some other…attention.  And honestly I have this theory.  And it seems pretty straightforward.  Common sense like.  But I’ll explain nonetheless.

The thing is.  If I’ve gone out with a guy and let’s say I rate the whole overall experience as a 6/10.  And there’s a new guy in the mix.  With the unknown but suspected potential of an 8/10 experience.  But also the potential to be a 2/10 experience.  If I was given only one choice.  Could only go on one date.  No backsies. I’d take the 6/10.  I’d take the dude I’d already met.  The one I was certain wouldn’t embarrass me in public.  Wouldn’t be a TOTAL dud.  Etc.  Now in real life this never happens.  There’s no one saying YOU CAN ONLY GO ON ONE DATE!  But the point of my story is this.  Sure I’d go out with the PhD.  But my excitement will always be less and my nervousness/anxiety oh so much more with the new guy.  Just Sayin’.

But not one to shy away from a chance.  Let alone a chance with someone who at least has the potential to be my unicorn.  My own personal version of a unicorn.  Because after all wasn’t it me who said, “I Want To Lick You Brain(fix link)  I want to fondle your frontal lobes.  I want to get complex with your cortex.  I went to meet ThePhD.  In Kits.  To play pool.  And see what’s what.

And there he was.  I saw him right away.  Looking basically exactly like his pictures.  And the first thing he said after hello?  The bar had some weird rule (or lack of extensive liquor license) that drinks couldn’t be taken into the billards section of the bar.  Awesome I thought.  Fuck me.  I don’t even get a chance to get my bearings before I have to awkwardly break it to ThePhD that I don’t drink?  Ugh.  He takes it well.  Finishes his beer while we chat.  And then we head on over to the pool tables.

The chatter is.  Well.  Pretty good.  I find out he’s American.  Just finished his PhD at UBC in Ecology and Statistics.  He spends most of his days behind a computer crunching numbers and doing science-y things.  He’s done a ton of travelling (like myself) [something I found very bizarre with both Trucker Joe and The Nick Name having neither done much travelling nor having a desire to really pursue it any further].  All is going quite swimmingly.  He’s letting my cheat.  Which I always do when I play pool.  And making mildly cheesy remarks about being awarded penalties for the cheating later.  When it happens.  He says something that well.  I don’t know.  Just doesn’t sit well with me.

To Be Continued…Here:  The PhD (part two): Never Let Them Take You to a Second Location


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