The Scientist: Coffee, Conversation, and Kisses

First Dates

 

Continued from… A New “Something”:  The Scientist

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o, there we were, The Scientist and I, having coffee in a cafe, on a first date in Montreal.  And it was good.

He asked a ton of questions, something we all know I love and so rarely happens.  We both talked about our careers (he asked about my writing, which was amazing on two levels:  one, it was awesome to have someone take such a huge interest in something I love, and two, it forced me to think about my ‘process’ and some other things I hadn’t really put that much time into considering).

He talked about a research paper he had just submitted, with some colleagues, about a new discovery in the way memories are formed (and only had to dumb it down a little for me), which was great to hear someone talk so passionately about something and because frankly, that level of intelligence is super hot.

At one point, I was talking about the Conference at Yale University that I was going to shortly, and he asked about the paper I was presenting.  I told him that I was writing about “Happy Objects” in John Gay’s 18th C. play The Beggar’s Opera and what are the chances that he would know that play I was talking about?  Zero, right?  It has to be zero.  And yet, and yet, in a strange string of connection, he’d learned about the play once because of it’s later connection to the Jazz song “Mack the Knife” done by Frank Sinatra.  What are the chances?!?! (he could probably tell me, he’s that smart).

We laughed, we learned, it was fun.

Eventually, the cafe was closing and the waiter brought the bill to our table, saying something about how they could split it up at the front if we wanted but the Scientist immediately chimed in that he’d take care of it (before I even had time to make that awkward reach).  And though my coffee was probably only about $5.  And though, I’d recently tried to justify that specific gesture not really mattering.  And though, I am woman hear me roar and equality and all that.  This is one of the few dating rituals that I actually think matter, and has some logic behind it.

He paid the bill, we went outside, but neither of us seemed interested in saying goodbye.  After all, we hadn’t even started to talk about what it was like to grow up in Colombia, or all the world traveling he and I had done, etc.  We decided to take a stroll down Saint Urbain, and whether it was the conversation or simply the company, before I knew it we had walked all the way down to Sherbrooke (and I had hardly noticed I wasn’t in particularly comfortable shoes).

Conveniently, there is a little courtyyard with benches and light displays at the corner of Sherbrooke and Saint Urbain, it was like a rest stop for romance, a space for something special, or maybe it was just a few benches and some bushes.  Either way, we sat down for a bit and continued talking.

And that’s when it somehow took that turn to how I write about sex and dating.  It didn’t seem to bother him at all, in fact he seemed kind of intrigued.  But not in that, oooh you’re a dating blogger and maybe you can make me more important by writing about me way that can be a real turn off.  He just seemed, well, interested in knowing more.  We continued to talk about dating war stories for a bit, I mentioned the lavender leather jacket and he talked about a date where the person did not match their profile in the slightest.  And then he went on to ease my dating fears and said that I was exactly the person I had seemed online (pictures, profile and conversation).

We talked a bit more about dating and writing, and he even suggested that I could go on bad dates, if only for the material.  I told him I could never do that, and honestly I really couldn’t.  It’s one thing to turn a horrible date into something less horrible by writing about it and sharing your experiences with people, but to purposely go out with someone knowing that you weren’t interested in them just seems dishonest and cruel.  I just couldn’t do that to people.  Most guys, I said, when I tell them, immediately jump to the conclusion that I date for sport, which couldn’t be further from the truth, after all, I said, first dates are the worst.

Realizing that we, of course, were on a first date and not wanting him to think I wasn’t enjoying myself, I felt the need to clarify that the part of first dates that I hate is that initial uncertainty because the other person might be a total freak or murderer.  It’s because it’s online dating, and I never know if the person is going to actually be the person they have claimed to be, or if I have managed to represent myself correctly as the person I really am so that I too match up well to my profile.  I wish I didn’t get so nervous and stressed out for first dates but I do, so there you have it.  Nonetheless, I told him, that after I meet someone, then I’m fine.

I know this blog post is very facts fact facts details details details but don’t let that distract you from the first date magic that was happening as we sat side by side (but in that leaning in triangley way) our knees occasionally touching.  I had clearly made him a bit uncomfortable with all my I hate first dates talks, so I wasn’t really surprised when he hinted at, insinuated, and then just flat out asked if I hated everything about first dates and would I mind if he kissed me.  And while I don’t normally like the first-kiss-permission-ask, the way he did it (or maybe it’s just because I liked him thus far) didn’t bother me.  I smiled, blushed, subconsciously tried to look extra cute, and nodded.

He leaned over and kissed me.

Even though we were in public, it felt somewhat secluded and the kisses were good so, we ended up kissing for several minutes before I eventually pulled us apart.  He said something about me being a good kisser and we decided to continue our walk up Sherbrooke.

We walked and walked, and talked and talked until finally we found ourselves near McGill and his home.  It was getting late and I still had to get home, so we checked the time of the next bus and he waited with me until it came (but not before sneaking in a few more steamy kisses).

And that was it, the end of a really good date, with really good conversation and kisses, with someone who seemed like he could be a really good match.

Could it all finally be working out???

A New “Something”: The Scientist

Dating a Scientist

 

Many people have been quick to point out to me, I have a history of dating…er…um…well…hot and dumb?  Though it should be noted, I was recently telling my mother that it’s not so much that I’m some vain asshole picking hotness over smartness, these are the guys that are choosing me.  And if I’m going to date a dumb guy, he might as well be hot, no?  Now I’m not saying I’m some kind of smarty pants, but there is something to be said for the fact that I have 2 BAs and am working on my MA.  Needless to say, I clearly value higher education and intelligence.

But I digress, THIS is about the Scientist.  So here goes…

He messaged me on OkCupid.  He asked intelligent questions (and never mentioned my tits once), our conversations included paragraphs (it was actually fun getting to know him), he seemed really interesting (he’s traveled all over the world), and it seemed like we would probably have a lot in common.  Oh, and he’s getting his PhD in Neuroscience.  No biggie.

In all honesty, my only hesitation was his height – 5’9.  Now, don’t get me wrong, height isn’t everything, and it’s not even necessarily a downside but the thing of it is that when the guy isn’t particularly tall – I feel bigger.  I’m already fairly tall at 5’7 and add to that I’m a BBW or Plus size or whatever you want to call it chubby bunny, and then if the guy isn’t tall sometimes I feel a bit like, like, well like, I take on a bit of a masculine energy.  But I digress, my issues aside, he seemed like a cool dude (and smart as fuck, have I mentioned that yet, that he’s super smart, well more on this later!)

Detour.  It was the week of my 32nd birthday.  I had just started to get back into dating (read: put up dating profiles on POF and OKCupid) and I had 3 potential first dates coming up.  The first was with a really pushy French guy (from France, big surprise) who, even though I pretty clearly stated that I was looking to hang out in an area of Montreal that I was familiar with, was trying to convince me to trek my way on an adventure to a hookah joint (that was conveniently only a block from his house, though I had already clearly said no, I don’t want to have a drink on your terrace, I’m not comfortable with that for a first date).  Needless to say, boys, pushiness is not a turn on and I eventually decided it wasn’t worth the stress and texted to cancel (well in advance though, so don’t you worry).  The second guy was Skinny Jeans, and we all know how that turned out.  And then the third brings us back to this story, The Scientist.

Unfortunately, with classes, TAing, my first date with Skinny Jeans on my bday, and my own birthday party, I had booked up the whole week except for Saturday.  Even more unfortunately, the Scientist was running the Montreal Marathon that day which would put him out of commission for another two (as I imagine running that kind of distance basically cripples you for a day or so after).  And then, as luck would have it, that brings us back to the days I have class again and the point of this lengthy story is to tell you that from the time he actually first asked me out, it would be another week and a half before we got to meet.

One of the problems with making a date that far in advance is it is both too much and not enough time all at once.  It’s too much time to spend waiting (because you’d be surprised how much you can convince yourself you don’t want to go on a first date after your first date back in over a year is a total flop).  And yet, it’s entirely too much time because normally when you’ve started talking to someone, you…ya know…talk to them, but when you’re waiting for a first date, there is a big part of you (and it’s an advisable part, I admit) that doesn’t want to talk to the other person.  You are, after all, saving up your most interesting banter and stories for the first date, when you’ll impress them with your flawless conversation.  So, during those 10 or so days it was almost radio silence, on both sides, while we waited for our big date.

By which time, of course, I was feeling a bit more like this, than excited to meet a new fella:

 

 

But obviously I didn’t bail because I’m not a total jackass and when thursday rolled around, I got all gussied up and ready for our date.  I was running a tad behind, as per usual, so was planning to catch a cab so I wouldn’t be late, when the Scientist called and, apologizing profusely, asked if we could please push our date by 45 minutes so that he could attend an art show of a friend that he’d forgotten he’d promised to attend.

No sweat, I told him, let’s push it an hour so that you’re not rushed.  Plus, now I could save cab fare and take the bus, hoorays all around.  When I showed up at the cafe, the place was super cute but also really dead.  I must’ve been looking around confused because the hostess asked if I was meeting someone–yep–a guy?–yep–around the corner.  And there he was.  We hugged, I sat down, and so it began…

The Date Whisperer: Garbage Man Raises The Bar

Dating

 

It started out like a scene from a Romantic Comedy…

Two adorable singles headed out for a pseudo-blind date.  They decide to meet at a coffee shop, a seemingly safe and fool-proof plan.  Pragmatically they choose a coffee shop halfway between their respective homes.  The girl google-maps the meeting spot, just to double check the Starbucks location.They set off, each in their own vehicles, boy aren’t they cute.  They arrive at the shopping complex where they have planned to meet up.  He goes to the Starbucks on the south side of the mall, She goes to the one on the north side of the mall.  What are the bloody chances???  They both think they’ve been stood up and go home…screeech just kidding!  He called to see where I was at, we got it sorted out and repositioned accordingly.  And that’s when all the magic began…

 

Coffee
When I walk up, I see Garbage Man immediately (as he’s standing right outside).  This is a huge relief since one of my biggest fears is that awkward moment (if it happens) where you don’t recognize the person you’re meeting (or they’re not there yet and you have to stand around feeling like a loser.  But I digress because he was right there.  We hug.  I’m a hugger.  He is tall.  And adorable.  If he was a 3 or 4 in his pictures, he’s a 5 or 6 in person!  Excellent Jeans, Nice hoodie, very good hair, excellent cologne.

We go inside.  He proceeds to do several incredibly cute things:  asking what kind of coffee I drink, paying, asking about and getting the splenda/stir stick/lid/etc. for my drink, finding us a table, getting our drinks and bringing them to the table.  It’s all very chivalrous (aka just nice).

Coffee goes on for two hours and is filled with chat chat chatter.  Beautiful miraculous chatter, flowing and nervous, butterflies and giggles, smirks and cute smiles, witty repartee at its finest.  This may be a slight exaggeration but then I bring to your attention the title to this blog: The Date Whisperer.  The point isn’t really that Garbage Man is the most amazing person ever or even that he’s an excellent match for myself…the point was his ability to navigate this date, it was effortless, like it had a life of its own; a flying carpet showing me the world.

Neither seems to want the date to end.  He’s mentioned getting food more than once and though I’d sooner chew someone else’s gum then eat in front of him at this juncture (yeah that’s right, I’m a chick who doesn’t want to eat in front of a guy right away, so sue me), not to mention I’m actually not at all hungry what with all those butterflies filling me up, but I’m not ready for the the date to end, so we go for food.

 

Dinner
Coffee turns into dinner and still we’re not ready to call it a night (I credit the magic dress I’m wearing, boobs look huge, ass looks great, tummy looks small woohoo! magic dress!).  At this point I’ve made the estimation that he in fact is neither a serial killer nor a super dud, so we go back to his place to watch a movie.

 

His Place
So you could say we watched a movie but honestly I can barely even remember watching it.  I believe (because again, I was under the spell of the Date Whisperer) that we just kind of sat there for quite awhile enjoying the fact that we were sitting so close.  Close sitting leads to hand holding leads to making out leads to me drawing my line in the sand and then it was time to call it a night.  The only other funny thing worth mentioning was the fact that he wears Rocawear cologne.  Now most of my friends did not really see any significance when I mentioned this but…well…honestly…I just thought it was hilarious because Rocawear is essentially an African American brand (Jay-Z, Rocafella, etc.)  It’s like he’s a black, white guy…okay not quite but still funny.

 

(My) Reasons For Not Having First Date Relations

I’m 28 not 22, it’s not as easy to be easy anymore.

I still haven’t had sex (or even a kiss) since Mega Love and first date sex is not what I had in mind.

I haven’t had sex with a White Guy SOBER since the first time I had sex, like a decade ago.

White guys make me more nervous, I feel like they’re judging me a lot harsher than black guys not to mention that I feel like with black guys, I’m something they’ve seen before, but white guys I almost feel like I’m their detour to chubby town or that they just find ME sexy and are not normally into girls this big.

Slow and steady wins the race…or so they say

 

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