“Never was a Story of More Woe” than Waiting for a 2nd Date


(rewriting Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, about a Garbage Man)

A des’prate wait this morning with it brings; 
The text, for assurance, will he show his head? 
Go hence, to have talk of these dating things; 
Some shall be assur’d, and some neglected: 
For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of SomethingSheDated and her Garbage Man-o.

So we had had our first date, our first meeting, Garbage Man and I — and it was awesome.  But now it was the day after and while I had played my 18-22s as a calm, cool, and collected Tin Man-esque gal, I was only a few months out of a 6 year relationship with Mega Love.  Not to mention that this was probably my first real experience with dating and was definitely my first experience with dating white guys (I don’t know why that matters, but somehow it seemed like it did, because it was just another factor making this situation feel all too alien to me).

Sure, I was a bit swoony when describing this date to my best friend and her husband.  But, I also know that this is hormones and pheromones and the novelty of it all, so I kept this new found swooning to myself–meaning I had to refrain from texting, calling, and all other forms of overzealous, overeager, too soon crazy.  That is, until he texted, the next evening.

Hey Victoria, I had a good time last night.  Don’t study too hard.

Breathe easy.
Be Breezy.
I text back.

I had a good time too.

The next few days that pass take the stregnth of 10 men (and one close friend) to keep me from texting or calling, because oh man, do I want to.  Don’t worry though, I kept that crazy urge to myself.  Well, myself and my friend and her husband.
After all, I mean, do I really think that Garbage Man is the love of my life, my soul mate, my other half, the Will Smith to my Jada Pinkett, the foreign baby to my Angelina, the brain to my George Bush, the passcode to my sphinx?  Probably Not.  And yet, and yet, I was dying to talk to him, to contact him, to set up our next date.
Here are the following reasons why I figure I’m so super super super impatient, wish I could call, and wish the weekend would come sooner so Garbage Man and I could (potentially) hang out again (though I reiterate, I know feeling this is nutty, and thus would not reveal this crazy to anyone but my friends, definitely not GMan).
  1. Making out (need I say more?  first kisses, butterflies, newness, exciting, hot, amazing!)
  2. My days are currently filled with reading endless pages of literature and studying.  No matter how good the books are, making out with butterflies in my stomach will always win as an activity I’d rather be doing.
  3. may, I repeat may, be vaguely vulnerable after the demise of my relationship with Mega Love.
  4. This really is my first real dating experience using the following definition :

A Date: An event where both parties know it will take place ahead of time; see term “setting a date”. It is recommended both parties show up sober and fully clothed. Dates take place in coffee shops, restaurants  someone’s apartment when appropriate, or at an event. Dates do not take place in cars, nightclubs, parking lots, or anywhere in Ft. Lewis. Though there is such a thing as a double date – if the numbers are not evenly matched (aka 2 girls 2 guys) than this is a party and not a date (aka 2 girls 1 guy or 2 girls and 5 guys etc.). For the purpose of this blog, dates with boyfriends do not count.

5.  Did I mention that there was making out?  No wonder I can’t focus!

So, I hold out till Wednesday.  4 days.  Not so good.  But at least it’s a breezy message, which I figure is okay since he texted the day after the date (though I’m vaguely aware of the fact that he hasn’t really contacted me again since the date.  Is he just being patient because I’m so busy with school?)

I text How’s your week going?
He texts Slow.  I think I’m getting the flu.  How are you doing?

Is it weird that my initial reaction to this was as if he had just told me he wasn’t interested anymore?

We texted back and forth for awhile after that but I’m not going to bore you with the texts.  I will say that Garbage Man ends up being sick for like the next 3 weeks but *Spoiler Alert* we do eventually have a 2nd date, so stay tuned :).



*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*

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Victoria Young

Writer. Dater. Masturbator. Stop ruining my jokes by believing the self-deprecation. I am far greater than your boner will ever know.