Dating a Dating Blogger: The Butterfly Effect

Panda Ponders

Welp.  I’m dating again.

Grad School is over.  Teaching and marking are done, grades have been submitted.  Summer is here, and I have just under 3 months to enjoy absolutely everything Montreal has to offer before my lease runs out and I return (temporarily) to Vancouver.

And before you close the tab on this post because you can’t stand to read another article where I’m frustrated and bitter and jaded about the state of men who are interested in me, that’s not what this post is going to be like.  In fact, it’s probably the absolute opposite.  Or, at least it would be except for one small but crucial element.

More than ever before, I’m worried about altering the trajectory of the dating in my life (see:  butterfly effect).

I should explain.

I used to keep the blog, my Twitter, and my Facebook hidden from the men I dated.

Then there was a period where I felt like my identity was really wrapped up in the blog (turns out it wasn’t the blog as much as being a writer) but either way, I wanted them to know me and to do so they had to know about the blog.  Not to mention I’m basically the world’s worst liar so if a guy asks what I write, I have a problem telling him I write travelogues for nomads (though that sounds kind of fun…no?).

Then the last few months happened (where in all honesty, I have gotten really bitter) and so I started putting my Twitter handle on my Tinder profile.  Wait.  Let me explain the logic of that because I swear there was some.  It started out because I thought that maybe (cringe for my gross ego) if men knew that I was even slightly funny and/or maybe interesting then they’d stop boring me with talk about their stupid penises and maybe try to have a conversation with me.

Then, it became about… welp if they won’t have a conversation with me because I might be awesome, maybe they’ll just be less offensive because I might make fun of them on a public platform.

For the majority of men, I doubt they even read my “profile” aka that otherwise unexplored space below a picture of me.  For reference, it currently says:

Is this app only for hooking up?

Are you trying to bore my vagina into submission?

Are you bothered that Subway lies about inches?

Twitter: @SSDated

 

That being said there have been a few cool guys who managed to check it out.  Well, technically, many guys could have read it and just thought I was the dumbest, but only a few guys have mentioned anything that wasn’t related to their cocks, so I’m making an educated guess here.

 

Now, why does this all suddenly weigh so heavily on me?

 

Because I went out with a guy.  He first contacted me through Plenty of Fish but in the time it took for me to be done with school, we had matched on Tinder.  And thus, he was exposed to my Twitter and this here blog.  And before you worry that I’m going to tear this poor guy apart on the internet and that that’s my big concern…

A.  Do I ever tear anyone apart who hasn’t been a total fucking d-bag to me?  (hint: no)

B.  Spoiler Alert:  he hasn’t been a d-bag to me

C.  Whether it’s good or bad or funny or weird or swoony and amazing, dating is a fickle bitch.  And while he’s probably too busy right now to even concern himself with reading my blog, I know he’s read posts before and possibly will again and I just don’t like the idea that something I say here could affect whatever we have going on.  Not to mention how sticky things could get if I start adding in some new characters, if you know what I mean (I just mean dating other guys, in case you didn’t feel like that was heavy handed enough).

And before you say that it’s not that serious, not that big of a deal.  I know from personal experience that it kind of is.  For those of you who have been around here long enough to remember The Vampire, that all fell to shit and I basically never heard from him after he found out I wrote about dating.  And while other guys have been more understanding…that’s not entirely the point.

After all, even at my most casual, even with a booty call, even when I couldn’t possibly have made any claim on a guy’s time or his dick, I still would’ve been upset, felt a little jilted, and honestly been kind of turned off if I had to read about a dude I’m with (however loosely) banging other chicks.  I always know, when dating, that these things are a potential reality but just like calories, I like to pretend they don’t exist.

So, are you with me so far?  Does this all make sense?  How I don’t want to fuck up my life (read: possible best summer ever!) by dropping a rock in the calm lake waters causing a ripple effect with the potential of a tsunami?  Okay, good.  But now what?

What do I do, about the website?  (which, in a bizarre side note has managed to have the highest readership I’ve ever had, even though I haven’t been posting much because of school).

Do I blog about everything anyway and hope it doesn’t change the course of whatever happens with any of the guys I go out with?  Do I write the posts now but save the posting until August?  Do I save it all and finally write that ebook that I’ve been meaning to and just release it all at once and make some money from the stories (which feels presumptuous and greedy but a girl has to eat, after all someone has to pay back this student loan to the government)?

And as a side note, if your suggestion is anything other than the first option…does that make for a summer of posting about what…feminism?  my personal weightloss?  body issues?  non-male-specific-sex-posts?  poetry?  shitty fiction?  ugh.

Biggest Loser Update: Week 19 aka The End of Summer

Losing weight

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 19

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 5

Total “Somethings” Dated: 7

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 40

Total Best Summers Ever:  1

Wow.  It’s so hard to even know where to start.  I mean there I was.  4 months ago.  Thinking.  I’m really going to do this.  I’m going to have myself some breezy fun with the Boys of Summer (fix links).  And then I’m going to write about it.  And share my fears.  My torments.  My dry spells.  My lusty kisses.  My total slutdamonium.  My weightloss.  My struggles.  My triumphs.  My lessons learned.  My humor.  Perhaps even a tear or two.  With the interweb.  With strangers.  Blogger buddies.  And real life friends alike.  (Didn’t know I’d be sharing it with “somethings” too.)  I mean.  That’s what one could dream about.  Because honestly.  I never really dreamed it would get more than a few hits.  And I expected those to come from TheHell.  And Rain.  And the 3 or 4 other friends I could maybe bribe (with promises of buying them beers and candy at a later date) to read.  I mean.  Would my dating life even be that interesting?  Would people really want to read about it? 

And here I am.  4 months later.  A better person for it all.  Because I lived it.  It happened.  I was open to it.  And even when I was closed to it.  I was still there.  Still experiencing it.  And honestly.  Regardless of the all the idiocy and retardation.  I can honestly say.  I had the summer of my life.  And certainly it wasn’t just the dating.  It was a combination.  The Dating.  The Blog.  Blogger Buddies.  Real life friendships.  Softball.  An amazing new team.  Amazing new friends.  Weightloss.  The Gym.  The Boys.  The Ups and Downs.  The freakin’ hilarity of it all.  A wedding weekend of wildcards and wonderful women.  A softball reunion and old friends.  Saturdays out for food tastings and talk.  Coffee chats.  New friends.  Renewed friendships.  Quality time.  Bonding.  Video games and doritos.  Stizzlicious.  And love.  Perhaps not romantic love.  But family.  Friends.  Dreams.  Happiness.  Love was everywhere this summer.  Love doesn’t care about douchebags and retarded boys.  I am cotton-candy-swaddled in love.  And this summer.  Really was the best ever.  Except for next year.  And every one that follows.  I can only hope.  Yours was as good.

But alas.  With the end of summer.  Comes school.  And with school.  Comes new priorities.  It’s no longer just about fun and flamboyancy.  It’s time to buckle down and be about it.  And what does that mean for you, my cherished readers.  Well.  For right now.  Not a WHOLE lot.  Because I’ve been preparing.  And I’ve got you covered.  Post-wise.  For quite the little while.  And I’ll still be here.  To read your comments.  And correct typos in my posts.  And for me.  It meant.  Removing my PlentyofFish.com profile.  But you never know.  When a story about a “something” might come along.  And under the profession you may very well see.  Student.  Professor.  Coffee Shop Barista.  Librarian.  Or Fitness Trainer.  (in case it wasn’t obvious these are the only people I will be coming in contact with for the next couple of months).

 

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

Biggest Loser Update: Week 15

Biggest Loser

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 15

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 5

Total “Somethings” Dated: 7

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 34

So it’s week 15 now and I’m down 34 lbs.  And I won’t lie.  Things are stepping up in the boy department.  For starters.  You’ll kindly noticed the increase in the number of “somethings” dated during my summer of boys.  In 2.5 months (may to mid-july) I’d only managed to land 3 dates.  And now.  In the last 3 weeks I’ve managed to almost double that number?  Just Sayin’.  I think the weightloss is really paying off.  Okay well obviously it’s paying off (health, happiness, general awesome sauce) but I mean directly boy/dating/something related.

Now I know this is online dating.  And fuck.  Disappoints are always abound.  Boys without balls are everywhere.  Action (the act of doing something not messing around per se) is sparse.  So I don’t want to get to ahead of myself.  But seriously.  Things are looking up.

Oh and P Sizzle.  I can’t remember my exact waist measurement before I started the summer.  But at the very minimum I’ve lost 6 inches around my waist (and at biggest guestimate…I’ve lost 10).  And I’m down 3 sizes.  Three Whole Sizes.  So yeah.  Come on down boys.  Mamma’s lookin fly!

Third Date: Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part One)

Dating
[dropcap]Perhaps[/dropcap] it’s a case of being careful what you ask for.  Because if I recall.  If I recall correctly.  It was me.  Recently talking about how I want dates to take me “out to do fun things”.  And it was also me.  Lamenting against boys who “a. kiss me in public” and “b. pounce way too soon.”  And here I am.  Getting exactly what I asked for.  Trucker Joe.  Taking me on active dates.  Not kissing in public.  No pouncing.

So the weekend passes in fabulous fashion and Tuesday arrives.  Trucker Joe and I have our 3rd date.

Detour.
This is my first 3rd date since I started this roller coaster of awesome sauce where I am the SHE in the scenario of the Somethings She Dated.  Just Sayin’.  Take notes.  This will be on the exam.

Back on Track.
I have duly noted all the advice about him likely being shy and how I should just make the move.  So we meet and I hop into his big truck again.  And we’re off to the driving range.  It’s hot.  The temperature I mean.  It’s so fucking hot and humid that I swear my shins are sweating.  And by swear I mean.  I look down and there actually fucking sweating.  Okay.  More likely it’s a combo of moisturizing and fucking humidity (it’s hot and the ocean is moments away.  Just Sayin’).  Oh and here’s some more awesome.  Turns out.  You (and by you I mean me) sweat a lot when hitting golf balls.  All that bending over and trying not to show your goodies and thank god you wore shorts under your mini skirt and why are you wearing a mini skirt to hit golf balls? and its because nothing fits with all the weightloss and fuck he’s seen the rest of your outfits that do fit and keeping your boobs in your bra and putting the ball on the tee and trying to look cute and hitting the ball and trying not to be a total spazz.  That shit takes effort.  I mean like excuse yourself to go to the loo and towel off effort.  But here’s the redeemer.  He’s sweating too.  But in a very manly sexy way.  And well.  He appears to not even notice my sweat.  Whether because he’s a gentleman or just thinks I’m sexy doing whatever.  Doesn’t matter.  Because it’s awesome.

And PS…I’m not so great at golf.  Putting balls in my mouth?  sure.  I’m a rockstar.  But whacking balls in a straight line hundreds of metres away.  hmm.  not so much.  But this works out perfectly because I was planning to be all could you show me how and aren’t I demure and cute and teach me something instructor hottie ooh just like this?  So I didn’t even have to fake it.  Because I needed the instruction.  Apparently my boobs will be preventing me from becoming Tiger’s newest competition (and aid me in becoming his newest conquest…jokes).  But I’m not going to lie.  I’m glad he was noticing.  Score one for he’s attracted to me and is just shy.

Golf is over.  He suggests coffee.  And I know you’re probably thinking.  Why not drinksBecause I haven’t sipped the sauce in going on 2 years and 8 months now.  That’s why.  We get coffee.  I make no reach for the wallet.  I made no reach earlier at the driving range.  I’m not going to lie.  At $45 for a pedi, cost of makeup, hair products, perfume, shaving, waxing, special underoos, expensive lip gloss, and the fact that I’m likely (TMI WARNING) to put his dick in my mouth long before I let him put my lady bits in his.  And I think I deserve at least a couple coffees.  Just Sayin’.  I mean shit.  I’m not shotgunning Gin here, a coffee or two is hardly asking for anything.

The thing is though.  Starbucks is closing.  It’s only 830pm.  Guess we chose the wrong one.  But no biggie.  We sit outside.  And for those in the White Rock area.  Go ahead and leave your doors unlocked.  Clearly not a high crime area.  They leave the patio furniture out.  Unlocked.  All night long.  Bizarre.  Anyways.  We sit and chat for like 2 hours.  It’s cute.  It’s adorable.  It’s interesting.  I have my legs positioned in the sexiest (read slimmest and most toned) viewing angle the whole time.  Just Sayin’.

But then the mosquitoes come.  So we leave.  Back to my car.  And that’s when…

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Nope…Still wait for it.

We hug.  Shut The Fuck Up?!!?!  I hear you say.  And I know.  I sat there.  Thinking.  Do it.  Do it.  Fucking lean over and kiss him.  Hold his hand.  Fuck.  Do.  Something.  DO.  Something.  Do SOMETHING!

But alas.  I’m chicken shit.  And it became abundantly clear that I am inexperienced in the laying of the mac down.  Here I thought I was a pro.  But maybe I was drunk.  Or maybe I’ve just never really done it before (which seems most likely).  But the boys just always beat me to the punch.  I’ve never needed to.  I think ever.  So I get in my car.  And drive home.  An awesome date.  But no kiss.   no kiss.  no kiss.  seriously?  no kiss.

To Be Continued…In Part Two…Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part Two)

 

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

Biggest Loser Update: Week 10

Weightl oss

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 10

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 3

Total “Somethings” Dated: 5

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 23

(This paragraph may be skipped for those that abhor a long read and/or are only interested in dating aspects of blog)
I want to quickly mention.  That I’m a bit disappointed.  With this weightloss.  Or should I say lack of more.  But while I realize that I’m falling well below my goal of 3-5 lbs. a week I also realize that my weightloss is relative to said goal.  Another example of this is my grades.  During my undergrad (BA – Psych) I accomplished astoundingly little (aside from actually obtaining my degree).  I was miserable.  I chose my major in a similar fashion to throwing a dart at a map.  I was lost.  I was not passionate.  I came out with something like a 62% average.  For a reference point.  That is so low that if I had ever left the program.  I wouldn’t qualify to get back in lol.  But I passed.  I got my degree.  Now I’m back.  Working towards something (English Literature) that I have very little experience in (I never took past the required first year English) but hopefully more than enough passion for.  And this last year.  I set my sights very high.  I will need 78% just to qualify.  85% to be competitive.  90% to be really competitive.  95% to go to Harvard (that’s a joke, I’m clearly not going to Harvard).  I didn’t expect it would be easy.  I’m not even sure I expected to get anywhere near on my first try.  But this year I ended with a 82% average.  Fucking Amazing (for me).  But still.  A bit of a disappointment.  Because of where my goals lie.  And the weightloss.  Is kind of like that.  82% compared to the 62% I was pulling back in the day is fucking phenomenal.  Just like 23 lbs. in 10 weeks is.  But don’t worry.  Not reaching my goals yet.  Won’t keep me down.  It’ll just get me working harder.  Time to step my game up.

(start reading here, for those that skipped)
So just a quick update on my journey towards BEING the biggest loser and subsequently my journey away from DATING the biggest losers.  I know I said I was going to take a break from online dating until I lost 25 lbs. but well…I changed my mind (stranger things have happened).  This decision was likely do to the following:

1.  I am feeling pretty darn svelte these days
2.  My desire to practice more so I don’t let wildcards (fix link) slip through my fingers
3.  It’s been about 3-4 weeks since I left POF (just over 2 since I told you guys)
4.  Honestly, to help counteract the urge to meetup with Mega Love (which I’ll be honest still hasn’t officially been decided one way or the other)

So I’m 23 lbs. down and back on PlentyofFish.  Look out boys.  Mamma’s coming to town.  And she’s hungry.  It’s only been about 3 days so I wouldn’t have expected too much.

There was the one guy who IM’d me.  We chatted aimlessly but amicably enough for about an hour.  Haven’t heard from him since.  No huge loss.  The only reason he’s even worth the mention is simply because I plan to mention him in the following post and so this is your little precursor  (take note).

Next were the messages back and forth.  And back and forth.  With the.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  21 year old.  Who actually told me he had balls.  Promising.  But has as of yet failed to use them.  But there’s still potential.

Following him, we have messages back and forth between Trucker Joe* and I.  Numbers have been exchanged and mentions of coffee occured.  But I’ve learned not to put all the ball’s in my mouth (not quite sure about that analogy but you get the gist…ya know…eggs…basket…counting) so I’ll keep you posted.

And last but not least we have Mr. Clean*.  We’re still only at the very most beginning point of messaging.  But frankly he’s a babe.  He’s seems fun.  So he earned himself a mention.  I’ll keep you posted.

*Explanation of names and stats to follow in subsequent posts.

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

Biggest Losers Update: Week 8

Dating
For those new to the blog or in need of a refresher, this is a continuation from the post Until I’m The Biggest Loser I’ll Have To Settle For The Biggest Losers where I talk about how I’m perfect (joking) except for my weight and that until my weight is on point I’m going to end up dating losers because the winners are chasing the perfect ladies with hottie bodies.  And for reference the term losers is very relative.  There are definitely levels of losers.

Guy who hits chicks = super ridiculous loser
Guy who is unhappy in his job = moderate loser
Guy who isn’t a go getter = moderate loser
Guy who is 40 and living with parents = mega loser
Guy who is boring = moderate loser
Guy who lacks common sense = moderate loser
Guy who wears spandex in public = huge loser
Guy who isn’t awesome funny = moderate loser

So as you can see.  When I say I’m going to have to settle for dating losers.  I’m not talking serial killer losers.  Beating your girlfriend losers.  Steal money from you and put drugs in your purse when the police bust him type losers.  I’m talking about moderate losers.  Lack excitement losers.  Lack social intuition and common sense losers.  Lack hilarity and awesomeness losers.  You get the idea.

So here’s an update on my Summer of Boys and my status as the Biggest Loser.

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 8
Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 3
Total “Somethings” Dated: 5
Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 18

For those of with eagle eyes…you’ll notice that while the weeks passed and pounds lost have changed…the dating has lulled.  And by lulled.  I mean hasn’t budged a fucking inch.  Fuck me.  Now I will admit.  If only to save some fucking face and not look like the hugest retard who can’t manage to get a date.  I’ve done a couple of things that are limiting my dates.

The first thing limiting my number of dates, has been ongoing.  Which is, perhaps I’m being too picky.  And by too picky I’m not saying that I should just go out and bang every guy who shows interest.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  The best sex I’ve had this summer.  Was with Intelligence Officer (fix link).

Detour.

Which I understand you not really knowing because while you may have gleaned from some notion of this from my vague references I never really got into the nitty gritty for you.  Which sorry I’m not going to here.  Except to say that it was good.  Everything about it was good.  Well everything except for his ghetto-ness of not having a place to repeat the escapade.  But other than that.  All good.

Detour 2.

We all know I have a thing for height.  I always say, the guy has to be tall, because I’m big (and for a girl a decent height at 5’7).  He has to be tall because otherwise I look like the guy and nobody likes that.  So while Intelligence Officer squeaked through because of his personality (and super manliness).  I have been automatically disqualifying any pursuers under 5’11.  Now in fairness to myself, they may have been duds as well as the height…but maybe not, I can’t remember.

Back on Track.

And here’s the point of the point of the thing of the thing.  The best sex of my summer so far has been with a guy who stands a mere 2 inches above me at 5’9 (which let’s cut the shit is basically the same height as me).  And I should actually even go on to mention.  That while you may be thinking well shit she’s gotten frisky with 3 guys recently and you would be right…but I would wager that Intelligence Officer would easily fall into the Top 10 and could quite possibly fall into Top 5 (based on overall experience).  So perhaps I need to start being a little more lenient with height.  Maybe I really need to give these guys a chance…hmm…yes no?  I’m not saying I’ll just go bang them.  But maybe, they should get a date.  Or at the very least a message back.  To see what’s up.  To give them a chance.  Because just as guys can look way worse than their photos.  They’ve also been known to look way better.

The second thing limiting my number of dates, started only about a week ago.  I closed all my dating profiles.  And before I freak you out too much.  Don’t worry.  It’s not a permanent thing.  I’m just taking a little break.  A moment.  A breather.  For one thing, I think it would be nice to have my face off of PlentyofFish.com for a smidge because like I always say, Vancouver is a small ass town (fix link) and frankly I don’t want to be fucking etched into the brains of every guy on there (who doesn’t want me) ya dig?  For another thing, the plan is to join back up when I reach the 25 total pounds lost mark.  I’ll take some new pics.  I’ll look sexy.  I’ll look fresh.  It’ll be top notch.  See how optimism is my thing 🙂

So 7lbs.  It could take 3 weeks.  It could take 1.  We’ll all just have to wait and see.  But don’t worry.  Until then I have a ton of bloggy stuff that’s been back-logging for awhile now.  So wish me luck.  Fingers crossed.

Oh and BTW.

Another reason I’m cool with the date slow-down for the moment is I have a wedding for one of my very bestest closest friends coming up this weekend…and by weekend I mean starting Thursday-ish and running till Monday-ish on the island (for non-locals that’s Vancouver Island, aka Victoria).  I am so brilliantly excited.  I think they’re the cutest couple and I heart them both so so so much.  Not to mention Hellooooo singles table woohoo!!!!  I’ve never even been to a wedding without Mega Love let alone when I’m all confident and ready to flirt MY ASS OFF!!  And final not to mention.  Because of the weightloss I fit this sexy-awesome Rocawear dress that I’ve had for like 3 years and only worn once (when it didn’t look amazing)…and I actually even have to have it tailored (tighter that is :P).

So wish me luck with that too.  That I get some hot singles table ass.  Or at the very least some flirting practice.

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

Addendum To Biggest Loser

Losing weight

So I know I can be harsh.  And my love of themes can give the wrong impression.  I thought this might happen with the post about how Until I’m the Biggest Loser I’ll Have to Settle for the Biggest Losers.  And I think it kinda did.

Sometimes.  Wait.  Scratch that.  Most of the time.  It’s hard to get your exact point, your tone, the precise meaning, across the interweb.  It’s kind of like when someone asks you to define the difference between Awesome and Rad.  I mean.  Where do you even start.  But I digress.

Sometimes I forget that you, my blog readers, aren’t my friends in everyday life.  You don’t know what I’ve been through.  You don’t know what my life is like.  You don’t know where I’m coming from.  And while a hurdle, this isn’t usually that big of a roadblock.  But.  Well.  I hate to be misunderstood.  Specificity has no bigger supporter than me.  Vague is no friend of mine.  So because the last post was already pretty long and fumbled…here is an “attempted” point form list of some of the clarifications I’d like to make.  Some are in response to comments left (which PSizzle were awesome and thank you so much for both your support and bringing up new points or things I needed to clarify…I heart you!)  and others are just things I think are important.  For clarity’s sake.

1.  Audience.    The post was about me.  Not women in general.

2.  Location.     Vancouver IS very different than Toronto and London (New York, LA).  Christ, it’s even completely different than Seattle (it’s closest major american city for ya’ll that don’t know).  Vancouver is small.  Vancouver is characterized by health, exercise, affluence, nature, etc.  (for reference all wonderful things).  In Atlanta they love me, New Orleans same thing.  Seattle is golden and Florida is a kingdom of ripe fruit (for my pickin’).  I stress, Vancouver is very different.  And even if it wasn’t for the characterizations as mentioned above…the simple size of Vancouver works against my me.  There’s a reason I use plentyoffish.com.  It’s not because the site is awesome.  It’s because it’s the only one that has a decent amount of local people on it.  Every other website can’t seem to get the same draw.

3.  Pulling.    I’ve pulled hotties.  I’ve pulled notties.  I’ve pulled averages.  I’ve pulled nice guys.  I’ve pulled pro-football players (yes, plural).  I’ve pulled regular joes.  I’ve pulled hard-workers.  I’ve pulled military guys (in more than one country).  I’ve pulled a UFC fighter (not to be confused with MMA guy).  I’ve pulled a bouncer, a promoter, a Chef.  I’ve pulled Canadians, Americans, Eurpoeans, Africans, Latin Americans.  I’ve pulled a fireman, a DJ, a Graphic Designer.  The list goes on.

But you know who I’ve never pulled.

The Smart Guy.  The Physicist.  The Professor.  The Lawyer.  The Doctor.  The Poet.  The Extreme Hacker.  The Guy who’s brain I’d like to lick.  I’ve never pulled the Funny Guy.  And I don’t mean I’ve never pulled a guy who knew how to laugh or tell a joke but I mean the really Funny Guy.  The Witty Repartee Guy.  The Sparring Words Guy.  The challenges and makes me think Guy.  I’ve never met the Changing the World Guy.  I’m thinking this might require a whole post to really get to the bottom of it.  But here’s the gist.  The hottie?  Not even close to a specification that makes someone not a “loser”.

Example.  The first date I went on with someone off of plentyoffish.com was Barbie.  He was a bartender.  He had the double shirt.  He had…an 8 pack.  I mean seriously, like fucking steel.  He was definitely a pretty boy.  But.  Dumb as bricks.  I mean honestly, borderline retarded.  Super nice guy.  Really sweet.  Absolutely no filter.  Conversation was insane.  And not in a good way.

4.  The “Like Us For Who We Are.”     Maybe it’s a difference between girls who feel they shouldn’t have to be made to feel less for not being a stick figure and girls like me, obese.  But I call bullshit.  Because I don’t want a guy to like me for being obese like that’s some indication of who I am.  That is most definitely NOT who I am.  It’s a flaw.  Something to overcome.  I am not the cheeseburger I ate when stressed for exams.  I am not the blubber it turned into.  I AM the person who sometimes lacks the ability to appropriately deal with stress.  But that’s not something I would want to be dated for.  I’d want to be liked in spite of that.  Plus trying to deny how important sexual attraction is a counterintuitive action much like the actions that made a world in which a book called “he’s just not that into you” even needs to be published.  I’m just sayin’ people.

5.  Health.    To be clear, I am not trying to get model thin.  I won’t be using diet supplements (or anything else that even has the possible potential to damage my brain, body, etc.).  I am losing weight to be healthy. Plain and simple.  People are attracted to health.

6.  Matching.    Though I get shy on first dates, at the beginning of parties, and speaking aloud in class (Christ! I don’t drink…can you really blame me?).  I have a great deal of confidence.  Sure I’m normal.  There are moments, days, the occasional week when self-esteem takes a hit.  But usually.  I think I’m pretty awesome.  Sometimes that might be obnoxious.  Mostly I think it’s just great.  I mean.  Join the party everybody.  You should think you’re pretty awesome too.  And if you don’t, well either the problem is something you can change…in which case go right ahead and become more awesome.  Or the problem is just a thinking thing, in which case…go right ahead and just start recognizing your awesomeness.

But here’s the thing of the thing.

I don’t think my body matches my self-esteem.  I can garauntee you, if I was not obese.  I’d be talking to the fellas.  I’d be flirting on beaches and coffee shops.  I’d be approaching in bars and lounges.  I’d be making buddies with the guys in the next row at the concert.  But I don’t.  Because I don’t want to be the granade in the scenario.  And I know (generalization sorry boys) that they’re not thinking…awesome maybe instead of letting me touch her perky tits and cup her firm ass, she’ll talk about books, and travelling and ask me questions about science.  So I smile.  And I’m nice and friendly.  But I hang back.  I don’t lead the pack.  And I just want to make my body match my stride.  Which would be at the front of the pack, saying….Haaaaaave you met Cindy?

7.  Bodies.    For reference ladies…I think we’re all freaking beautiful!  Go on with your bad selves.  Big boobs?  rock ’em.  Gorgeous smile?  flash it.  Amazon tall?  God your amazing and you damn well better show it off!  Batt those lashes.  Sway those hips.  Point those sexy toes.  Flat stomach? midriff it.  Juicy thighs?  Wear those tiny shorts!  I’m saying….perhaps the saying goes for you too…it’s time to get balls out!  There’s no need to be a carbon copy of Jennifer Aniston.  And my weightloss will be nothing even slightly headed in that direction.  I am not a size 8 trying to get to a size 4.  I am size don’t-want-to-die-at-50 trying to get to a buys-clothes-at-a-regular-store.  Jus sayin’

And in that spirit.  Here is a little spoken word.  About Boobs.  Since as women I don’t think we’re ever more self-concious whether they’re huge, small, different, somewhere in between.

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

Until I’m the Biggest Loser I’ll Have to Settle for the Biggest Losers

Losing weight
[dropcap]I am an honest person.  True Story[/dropcap]

And I know what you’re thinking.  “But didn’t you just ask all the boys of summer to white lie you, not tell you the whole truth, wrap you up in sugar coating and all that?”  And the answer is yesEmphatically YES! 

But here’s the thing of the thing.  There’s a big difference between knowing the truth and wanting to hear the truth.  Knowing the truth and sharing that truth with others who didn’t ask for it.  Sometimes the truth should just keep its damn nose to itself.  Boys.  I’m just sayin’.

But other times.  I have to shout it.  I want to shout it.  About myself.  I have to say it.  Outloud.  Because it’s the truth.  I’m okay with it.  And I kinda wish you would be too.  But I won’t force you.

I am self-aware.  True Story

I prefer terms like Chubby Bunny and Pleasantly Plump.  Hate terms like BBW and Obese.  But a spade is a spade and I could be a Biggest Loser contestant.  And before you get all, “But that’s not all you are” and “you’re beautiful and you’re smile…” it’s cool…I know.  But this isn’t that blog post.

This is about dating and it’s correlation to body size.  Specifically MY Vancouver dating pool and its kiddie pool size in relation to the wide net I wish I could cast.  While there may be plenty of fish in the sea there are very few fish swimming in my plus size online bird bath.

So why is my dating pool the size of a bird bath?  Partly it’s a numbers thing (with Vancouver being a fairly small city, not to mention one highly characterized by granola eating hippies and organic produce buying yuppies (love ya :P)) but mostly it’s a Darwinian selection thing.  When selecting a mate, it’s in your best interest to pick one that is strong and durable.  It’s a sexual attraction thing.  It’s a live-for-a-long-time kinda thing.  Sure you can’t predict the future and you’re mate could be hit by a bus tomorrow.  But it’s a hedge-your-bets type thing.

And I get it.  I’m guilty of it too.  I’ve always said I didn’t want to date somebody else who was obese.  Fuck we’d probably just bounce off of each other.  All kidding aside though.  It’s the truth.  I’m not attracted to majorly overweight guys.  And I know you’re thinking that’s cold, girl.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  It has less to do with how they look than what the weight signifies (to me).

To me, the weight reveals everything.  They have issues.  They have stuff to deal with.    And before you say something ignorant like, I know lots of happy fat people.  Think.  I mean really think.  Chris Farley.  Kirstie Alley.  Elvis.  Oprah.  Me anytime before 2 years ago and after I was twelve.  Jus sayin’.  And yes I know everybody has issues.  I had issues.  I have less issues now.  And because I’m looking for fun fun fun dating.  I don’t want boys with issues.  I want boys that have less issues.  Like how I have less issues.

The Tie In.

Okay so maybe losers is a bit harsh.  But spot me some leeway.  Call it wordsmithing and poetic license and dramatic effect and all that.  Thematic significance and we all know I love themes.  It just fits.  And for Christ sakes! I know you’ll at least cosign that the “somethings” and “potential somethings” I’ve been dating aren’t “winners”.

My theory is this…..

Sidebar:  Okay so I’ve written and rewritten the end of that sentence like 20 times and nothing feels…well…like something I could write and not be judged for being a totally politically incorrect asshole.  So I’m just going to be a politically incorrect HONEST asshole.

My theory is this…until I’m the biggest loser (read: not obese) I’ll have to settle for the biggest losers (read: not physicist smart, not highly educated, not super confident/manly/ballsy, not always tall, sometimes no dates at all).  Now don’t get all, Oh SSD?!? (hands on your hips and disapproving pout) on me.  Because frankly I know I deserve to spend time with wonderful awesome guys.  I think I’m awesome.  It’s not a self-esteem thing.  It’s a reality thing.  And I’m okay with that.  most of the time.

I am university educated.  I have big boobs and a nice smile.  Some boys have said nice eyes.  My friends appear to like me.  At parties I’m sociable and said to be funny (people have been known to laugh).  I’m adventurous and I’ve been out in the world (read: I have things to talk about).  I’m independent (read: have lots of my own interests).  I’m a dynamo in bed. (okay that one I’m just hoping is true and if not a girl can always learn with enough enthusiasm right?)

So why wouldn’t the dates be pouring in?  Why aren’t I being bombarded online and courted offline.

I have one theory.  It has something to do with where the men are. The ones with balls of steel and Chuck Norris swagger…Read More Here

For another perspective on this topic there are some amazingly wonderful and lovely ladies who have weighed in on this topic: Cece @ The Big Girl Blog, Lucky Girl @ How Very Lucky, and KB @ KB In NYC. They all make some really awesome points.

Unfortunately unlike Lucky Girl, I haven’t been all sorts of different body sizes.  I’ve just been the one.  Big.  I haven’t been a normal weight since before I had hips (which ironically occurred late though I had boobs by grade four).  So I don’t have anything to compare my current dating life to.

But that’s all about to change.  Because you all know me and science.  I can’t simply accept an idea, a notion, a claim.  I have to test it.  And I’m not going to get into but my life is the peachiest it’s ever been in my entire life.  Except this one last thing.  My weight.  So not only is this the summer of boys.  But it’s also the summer I become the biggest loser.  So wish me luck.  I’ll keep you posted on any inverse correlational details.  And for reference…the tally thus far.

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began:  5
Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys:  3
Total “Somethings” Dated:  5
Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys:  12

 

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