The Bird Seed Theory, or Why He Keeps Contacting You

Bird Seed Theory

Something She Said

Stories about sex and dating, screenshots of sexist online dating messages, murder jokes, elaborately long fruit puns–you never quite know what you’re going to get.

Every so often I come to a realization about dating.  An answer to a dating question that feels so long fought for and so hard-battle-done-by that it’s like solving the Riddle of the Sphinx.  Like figuring out what the hell happened to Amelia Earhart.  Like I just destroyed the ring in the fires of Mount Doom.  Like I just solved world hunger.  Like I just figured out where in the world is fucking Carmen San Diego, coherently explained the Matrix, and made cold fusion easily accessible and replicable to the general public.  It’s like I know, like seriously fucking know, exactly how many licks it takes to get to the centre of a Tootsie-Pop.

And it’s finally happened.  I know a thing, about dating, like fucking know it, and thus I give to you:

 

The Bird Seed Theory (or, why he keeps contacting you).

 

Here’s the thing: dating is all about effort.  And the fundamental difference in how men and women view effort is the leading cause of dating frustration.  Okay so I kind of made that bit up…the “leading cause” bit…but bear with me and you might start to agree.  See, if you were to ask most women what is the worst part about dating?  I would hedge my bets that they would say “it’s the uncertainty”.  Sure, rejection hurts and uncomfortable moments suck and after awhile everybody gets frustrated and wants to call it a day, but the worst THE WORST part about dating is the uncertainty.  the waiting.  the fade.  and then the come back charlieness of it all.

I don’t really know how it came to me (that’s a lie, I know exactly how it came to me…so let me just tell you).  Driving home from UBC, the day I moved out of residence back at the end of April 2010, I was talking to my brother (who had so graciously helped me move), about The Nick Name and how I just couldn’t figure out what his fucking deal was and why he kept in contact with me when he obviously didn’t like me so much that he like had to fucking have me.  And just like that, it all came together for me. GENIUS!!!  Sort of like He’s Just Not That Into You…Version 2.0…The Bird Seed Theory.

You see, women are very selective about the effort they put into men and dating.  For those who love a good analogy like I do –> We throw thick chunks of bread at select ducks.  Only the ones we really like.  The ones we see a potential with.  The ones who make us swoon.    Or that can dick us down just right (don’t get it wrong…it’s not always about mush and heart)…but the point is we only throw bread when its worth our while.  Effort is precious and we don’t like to waste.

Guys throw bird seed  *makes bird seed throwing gesture*.  Guys throw bird seed constantly…all the time…every moment…of every day…every heart beat…throwing fucking bird seed…not caring who it lands on.  Now this isn’t to say that boys will date or bang all the ducks they throw seed at.  That’s not the point.  The point is to have the option. Boys are always on the prowl, always having things in the mix.  It’s like it’s in their DNA or something.

And I know what you’re thinking…doesn’t that negate the theory of effort?  And the answer is NO.  Quite the opposite.  Because in fact, men don’t see throwing the seed as effort.  Because it’s all in the name of sex (or whatever motivates them, ego, adrenaline, etc.).  And while we (women) are only keeping the options open with those boys we want right now, boys are inherently thinking…more…possibility…later.

So here’s your real-world-tangible-practical-jesus-I-wish-we’d-known-this-earlier-so-much-wasted-time-lesson.

The next time Come Back Charlie sends text message…a FB wall post…a special Tweet…a phonecall…whatever….that leaves you thinking wow.  He misses me.  He’s thinking about me.  He made a mistake in how he treated me before.  He didn’t mean it when he pulled the fade on me.  He didn’t mean it those other 2 times he bailed on plans.  He thinks I’m special really fucking special.

He Doesn’t.

but but but.  No!  He really really fucking doesn’t.

Sure it’s quite possible he cares about you in the same sense that I generally hope people in the world are happy and leading joyful lives and all that.  But to be totally honest, he doesn’t give a shit about you.  Nothing has changed.  I promise.  He is NOT the exception.  You are NOT the exception.  Maybe he enjoys your conversation, maybe he thinks you’re hot and would be cool with a bang (pending that it fit his schedule, pending that some other chick he has been throwing bird seed at and that he wanted more wasn’t available) but honestly, it doesn’t matter.  Whatever his circumstances or reasons are…this dude is not interested in you enough for you to give him the time of day.  Even a proper booty call knows how to be blunt, honest and respect your time.  A dude throwing bird seed has no concern for your time.  Because while throwing bread at him is exacting effort on your part…you’re just another duck on his row to throw some seed up.  *seed throwing gestures*

And to make sure you all listen.  And really know that this isn’t just something I’m saying but can’t back up with actual facts.  I give you both Garbage Man and The Nick Name.  Both these dudes were done with me by the 2nd date (possibly even before).  And after that 2nd date…they kept in contact.  For months.  Like seriously fucking months.  The Nick Name actually kept in contact for years!! though I never saw him again after that 2nd date.  And while in my mind I cannot fathom exerting that much effort to stay in contact with someone you had no real interest in hanging out with again…for them I imagine I was just one in a ton of other chicks.  Or one in a ton of other hobbies.  Or one in a ton of whatever-the-fuck-they-do-with-their-time.  But while I assumed the continued contact was a reflection on the good so-so satisfactory meh times we had spent together and the connection we had.  I was wrong.  So so fucking wrong.  They were just throwing bird seed.  And I was just a duck running around with my head cut off.  Does that analogy work?  I think so.  You get the idea anyway.

So the next time a dude who isn’t treating you like you think he should.  Or a dude that ditched you comes back with a less than grand gesture.  Or really you just have an inkling that you’re doing all the work.  STOP THROWING BREAD at his bird seed throwing ass and find yourself another pond to go loiter at.  Because this one is not good for you.

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

Learning to Live with Uncertainty in Dating

Uncertainty in Dating

 

could go without underwear.

I don’t like to, but I could.

The same goes for a bra, but then I take no responsiblity if while walking down the street you get knocked through the glass window of a store because my over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder was taking a day off and the goons were out on a stroll.  My nips, however, never apologize, for anything.

I could get by without pajamas, and the super rich moisturizer I like to put on my feet in the winter.

I could survive without meat, and milk, and cheese (though the cheese would be the toughest).

I could eat fries without ketchup, I could stiff upper lip having to sit in the middle seat on an airplane.  I can carry on without air conditioning and cable and a landline, even a cell phone.

I could manage with candles instead of electricity, assuming I could get my hands on a type writer.

I could endure 2 weeks in the woods.

I can weather the storm.  I can take the beating and keep on trucking.  But what I struggle with most, what tears at my soul, itches my very being, knaws at my sanity…is a lack of answers. (which probably helps to explain my obsession with science regardless of my career centred in words)

This is particularly problematic given that dating is the soul-sucking-never-ending-black-abyss of never-knowing-anything-with-certainy.  When it comes to dating, you have to accept you might never know.  Dating is swaddled in uncertainty and you’re likely to be left in the cold without a blanket.  And you just have to accept that.

I say you but what I really mean is me.  Because dammit I have to learn.

But the answers?!?  All the answers.  I want them.  Need them.  I have to find a way to live without them even though every cell in my body is screaming for the truth, a reason, some logic, a glimpse into someone else’s reality…all I really want is an answer, all the answers, forever answers, most answers, because answers, give me the fucking answers!!!

But the truth is, they’re not coming.

And before anyone says something stupid like but the answer IS the lack of answers…go fuck yourself.  A lack of answer is not actually an answer.  (and it’s that kind of bullshit logic that is at the centre of almost everything that is wrong with our world, so knock it the fuck off and be smarter).  Sure, we might be able to draw a conclusion, hint a suggestion, hypothesize and infer but these are not concrete.  When I say answers I mean an ACTUAL FUCKING ANSWER.

Nonetheless, there are no answers coming for Come Back Charlie.

Why didn’t he call?  Maybe I was a lousy lay.

Why didn’t he text?  Maybe he just thought I was tedious or not pretty enough, maybe he didn’t like the sound of my laugh, or my smile.

Why didn’t he seem to want to hang out anymore?  Maybe his laughter was bullshit, the sweetness all fake and he was just a dude looking for a quick bang (but not interested in a second).

What had changed?  Maybe he didn’t like that I wasn’t magically in love with him or maybe he got busy with work and school.

Why didn’t he like me?  Maybe he had a girlfriend or maybe another girl came along that he simply liked better.  Or maybe even just a TV show.  Truth is, I’ll never know.

Regardless of the fact that he was the one all excited to hang out again after our second date, actually asking so when do I get to see you again?, the lines of communication fell flat.  I texted once or twice.  He texted once or twice.  He never asked me to hang out again.  He never made plans.  I asked once and when nothing came of it, didn’t ask again.  And that was that.  Come Back Charlie would be no more.

Am I sad?  Not really.

Am I hurt?  Maybe a little but still, in all honesty, not really.

Then what is this feeling, this irritation, why do I even give a shit?  Well, I’ll tell you.  Because there go the fantasties of hot (given that he could improve) stress free sex with a goddamn giant for the last few weeks before I leave for Montreal.  Because there goes the built in booty call to come home to at Christmas.  Because dammit, I don’t like when things don’t go my way.  I’m a fucking child like that.  Disappointment is a bitch.  But hey, that’s dating.  Right?

Feel the sting, absorb the punch, stand up tall, and keep walking.  No More Come Back Charlie.  Deuces.

 

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

He’s an (oxy)Moron: The Indecisive Lawyer

Head Desk
[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o sometimes.  I have to tell a story.  Because I just have to.  Because it’s in the timeline of my life.  In the timeline of my dating.  And it’s entirely possibly you don’t care.  But I have to say it anyway.  Because it’s a piece of the puzzle.  The puzzle of Something She Dated.  The puzzle of me.  Fuck.  Just let me tell  you the story already.

2.5 weeks.  That’s all that’s left.  Until school starts again.  Which is mostly only relevant to potential “somethings” in the sense that in 2.5 weeks.  Their clock.  Is up.  Buzzer sound.  If they haven’t started the race by then.  They’ll be disqualified.  And perhaps they can try again during Christmas break.  Or reading week in February.  Or next April.  Maybe.

Detour.  So we all know I like words.  I mean.  Christ.  I’m a writer.  Studying Literature.  It doesn’t get much more wordy than that.  Oh.  Except when I remind you all that my favorite words include Lozenge and Racoon (which I pronounce rah-coon not raa-coon).  But more so than just words.  Is the hilarity that words can cause.  A simple situation.  Is a simple situation.  Until you add irony.  And connection.  And themes.  Man I love themes. 

Back on Track.  So there I am.  Looking around on plentyoffish.com.  For quite possibly one of the last times before school.  When who should message me.  But a law student.  And we all know I’ve been dying to catch myself a smarty-pants fish.  And for reference.  He’s tall.  And cute.  So I think why not.  Can’t hurt.  Just to chat.  But then a couple details come out.  He’s from here.  But going back to school in Winnipeg in 6 days.  But this is perfect.  And let me tell you why.

1.  I like a smarty-pants
2.  Um…he’s cute…and tall (presumably…we all know my luck with this lol!)
3.  A fling is fun
4.  If all goes well, perhaps I will have someone already lined up to keep me warm during Christmas break

But here’s the big one.  The clincher.  The reason for all this lead on and build up.  The tie in, if you will.

5.  He is a law student + Clearly if meeting was good to go it would be first date Total Slutamonium + Let’s not forget the recent experience that caused the creation of Lindsay’s Law = A Law Student Finds A Loop Hole In Lindsay’s Law.  I mean this shit just writes itself.  Yes No?

So reason #5 would probably have been enough for me.  I mean quite frankly.  Like I said.  I’m a friggin’ sucker for a funny story/awesome experience/hilarious irony/potentially great sexcapade.  But even so, I was still glad for #’s 1-4.  So after a great deal of chatting and texting.  We decide to meet.  During basically the busiest weekend I’ve had all summer.  No biggie right.  What could go wrong?

Thursday:  I’m way too busy.  Can’t possibly meet at any point during the day.  He is very eager.  But I can’t.  Simple.  Case closed.  So we aim for Friday.

Friday:  I know I’ll be A. downtown and B. free around 9:30pm.  So we make plans.  He’s going out for beers with buddies.  He’ll be ready around then.  I text.  I’m finished with my plans…are you still down for hanging out?  And you won’t believe his response.  I mean you will in a online dating boys are fucking douchebags so often it’s ridiculous but you won’t in a is this boy retarded…nobody puts SSDated in the corner (or something like that).  His response:  I think I’m going to stay at the bar for awhile.  Um…hey douchebag?  Were you under the impression I would A. think that response was of an acceptable excitement level to meet me or B. wait for your ass?  Boy.  Please.  So obviously I threw up the dueces (metaphorically) and went home.  20 minutes later.  He texts:  Still Downtown.  Nope.  That’s all I say.  Nope.  Because nobody likes Angry Annie.

Saturday:  He messages.  So apologetic.  So sorry.  So wants to make it up to me and blah blah blah.  But the thing is.  I’m not free.  All day busy.  And at night I have 2 events to go to.  But he’ll wait up for me he says anytime I want to hang out.  Yeah.  Dude.  Like I want to meet a stranger (who may or may not be retarded) at 2am…seriously?  I tell him I’ll consider it lol.  But the thing is.  This all becomes irrelevant.  **TMI WARNING***  As throughout the evening.  It becomes an inconvenient time of the month.  So the question becomes.  Do I consider meeting him the next day.  Even though.  Well.  To be frank.  There would be no sex???  I mull this thought over throughout the evening with a new friend.  We decide.  I’ll text.  Just tell him what’s up.  And go from there.  I was supposed to wait till the next day to do it.  lol but when I texted to say I wouldn’t be meeting up that night.  He was so damn persistent I eventually just spilled it.  Fortunately.  Er…Um…unfortunately he was okay with “the situation”.  Honestly.  A bit too okay.  Like thinking sex was still on the table.  Um no.  Thanks though on behalf of women everywhere for being cool with it….but no…I’m not.  We decide to meet for coffee the following night.

Sunday:  The plan is to meet for coffee.  Because see.  I was still technically busy.  I was supposed to have dinner and hit the town with my bro (his girl, my cousin and his girl).  So the plan.  I would meet Law Student around 5…dinner at 7…hit the town with the fam…and assuming coffee had gone well and he still thought I was hot and I still thought he wasn’t a serial killer…we would hook up afterwards.  And then sometime around 330pm.  He hits me with it.  Umm…so I think I should probably spend tonight with my dad, ya know spend some time with him before I go back to school.

Um…What.  The.  Fuck.  And that’s kind of what I said.  Or at least insinuated.  And that’s when he lays it on me.  The oxymoron.  Yeah I guess I’m kind of er…um…indecisive.  An indecisive lawyer (law student)??? like what the fuck dude.  You will not be going far in this career methinks.  But either way.  I had to draw the line on the douchebaggery.  So I hit a little control/block/delete (see how I played off of ctrl/alt/delete there…just wanted to make sure you caught that…the reboot ya know 🙂  And there you have my non-experience with the non-lawyer.

Though as my brother pointed out to me (quite astutely I might add).

How do you know he’s a law student.  Because he told you?

Aww fuck me.  *palm to forehead*  So that my friends…is the story of the Indecisive Lawyer…He’s an (oxy)Moron.  Fuck I Love Online Dating.

 

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

My Kingdom for an H: Another Dating Disaster

Head Desk

You won’t believe it.  I mean you really won’t believe it.  And yet I knew who it was before Alice Cooper had even sung his second  poison…your poison running through my veins (my ringtone).  Okay well technically I can’t really claim I knew because well how do you test for that once everything has become hindsight-style…but logic aside…I fucking knew.

6 weeks since 2nd date with Garbage Man (aka Houdini)
2 weeks since last contact with him
1.5 weeks since The TEDisaster
1 week since taking down all dating profiles in an effort to have complete focus on schoolwork till the end of term paper madness and final exams
4 weeks until all term papers are due and final exams will be over

Regardless of the time that had passed and TEDisasters that had happened and the fact that I DO (I swear) have friends that could be texting me.  I knew it was him.  From another room.  I knew.  And there it was.  A text message from none other than….Garbage Man

But wait…it gets better…the text message was the most brilliant piece of articulate literature you will ever encounter in your life.  No? You don’t beleive me?  Surely you expect something high caliber and exsquisite from the man that brought you bison in bed?  Still no?  You have such low expectations of a man who couldn’t manage to deliver a third date inside a 4 month window?  Okay so you’re right.  The text said this:

H.

Need me to repeat that?

H.

Still not quite clear?  It’s a fucking H.  Now I know we’ve had our share of technical difficulties in the past and I will readily admit that Telus Mobility is single-handedly trying to ruin my social life with its unreliability but seriously?

And here’s where it all goes downhill.  And I mean really downhill.  Not like the downhill you’ve seen already but like watersliding down a zero gravity shoot downhill.  Because I can clearly CLEARLY see now that I should have just walked away (metaphorically) and deleted that retarded*(see video below) H (literally) but I’m a student of curiousity and I couldn’t fathom not finding out what the deal was.  So I responded (please save all jugement and ridicule till the end).

Me:  You might want to resend that because all I got was an H.

no response.

I decide to just call because I don’t have the patience to await a text response.

no answer.  I don’t leave a message.

Are you fucking serious?  Now don’t get me wrong…I’ve sent a text message or two to my friends and then gone into a class or a movie or something.  But seriously…to a chick you’re trying to get?  That screams stupid to me…but I digress.

15-20 minutes go by and I get a text.

Him: Hey SSD.  Sorry I’m just making dinner.  How are u?  Can I call you after I eat about an hour?

I find this mind boggling.  Not only have has he been a total fucking retard basically since right after the first date but now he texts only to then ask me to wait for him?  Why did you ever bother texting!!!???!!

But that’s not what I say.  I tell him sure.  call me at home.

And now I feel the need to reiterate something I may or may have not mentioned before that may or may not make me look like slightly less of a ridiculously stupid girl who puts up with stupid stuff and then wonders why stupid stuff keeps happening.  I had a mega love relationship.  Mega love did not conquer all.  Mega love lost.  I got over the mega love but could not be less interested in finding new mega love again right now.  I just want to date.  I’ve never really dated before.  I want to go out and have lots and lots of fun (don’t read: super slutty…I mean actual clothes on 80s summer activies fun…mini-golf go carts batting cages fun).  Thus because I’m not looking for a husband to be…I’ve set the sights a little lower…though I like to think of it as being less judgmental also known as being breezy.  Add to that the scarring first date that was the TEDisaster and you could say I might be putting up with a little more than I normally would in an effort not to have to have a first date.  now back to the show…

He calls.  It’s a little awkward at first…mainly because I don’t feel any inclination to make this particularly easy for him by being my chatty self and also because frankly I’m waiting for some kind of explanation of why he’s so ridiculous.  He doesn’t offer one up.

I was recently having a conversation with a friend who brought it to my attention that not everyone thinks like I do.  In fact most don’t.  I personally find this hard to understand (clearly I do everything the best and right way) and yet its believable (this would certainly explain other drivers) that not everybody owns a copy of my rule book (a whole other blog post forthcoming soon).  Something worth considering.  Perhaps something I should mention.

So I do mention it to him.  In a nice way.  That I can’t stand un-responsive (non-responsive, irresponsive?) people.  In hindsight I should have been even more specific…I generally feel that there is a 4 hour window for text messages that require a response.  Yes there are exceptions.  Lots of them in fact.  But if you’re trying to date me…you’d do well to get back to me quickly…it’s that simple.

I balls-out ask why he didn’t call in the last 2 weeks or more so the 2 before that.  He offers up some bullshit about figuring some stuff out and basically the jist is that he’s miserable at his job, it’s really hard on his body blah blah blah.

So here’s the thing of the thing…just as I let certain things slide because I’m not looking for a relationship…I’m also specifically NOT INTERESTED in other things.  Case in point:  him getting his life together, his trials and tribulations, you get the idea.  Now this may paint a bitchy picture of me but well…it’s not like I put long term on my dating profile and when asked I’m pretty honest…I want fun fun fun not work work work.

So we talk for a bit more.  He wants to hang out.  I explain that though last month (ya know…when he was dickin’ around with bullshit) I was free as a bird but now I’m solid booked with school for the next month…till exams are over.  He accepts this.  Tells me it’s his bday the day after my last exam.  Suggests we hang out.  (hope he doesn’t expect a present lol!).  I come to this conclusion.  I’ll be putting in no effort.  I’ll be focused on school.  If he wants to keep in touch that’s his work to do and he’s more than welcome to try.  Perhaps this is really ONLY his 2nd chance since this is the first time I really explained…this is how I operate.  We’ll see.

to be continued…

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