Crash Boom Bang: Disappointments Upon Disappointments

Crash Boom Bang


[dropcap]I[/dropcap] know that life is what you make it, that you have to decide to be happy.  I know that I’m privileged and lucky and fortunate and life really is pretty fucking beautiful for me.  But I still get sad, and things can still suck.  That being said, there can be a certain hilarity when life gets miserable all at once, when you’re piled up with disappointment after disappointment, in a very small period of time (picture a cartoon of me being buried alive by a landslide of rocks…don’t worry it’s a cartoon, I’ll survive).

And that is what happened last week.


So, I had finally started dating someone really smart.  And then he dumped me.  And I was sad.  And maybe I was sad because I had been rejected.  Or maybe I was sad because I had been rejected by someone I liked.  Or maybe I was just upset because he was smart and now that would be gone from my life.  Or maybe I was sad because of how he did it (rather than just ripping the bandaid he blamed it on academia and being busy) or maybe I was sad because I felt like I had been dumped before he’d even had a real chance to get to know me or maybe or maybe or maybe.  Who knows.  What I do know is this:  I felt sad.  I felt a huge sense of disappointment.  Like this was my one shot to hang out with someone who was seriously smart, who thought I was attractive, who wasn’t completely socially stunted, and who seemed interesting (if not hilarious).  And though my mother assures me that,

you’ll meet tons of smart people

I have to say, at 32 and in a graduate school program, WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY???


Bummed about being dumped, I went to my first fiction workshop (up to this point the classes had been a lot of discussion of published works and writing techniques).  And that’s where my Professor repeatedly called my writing “Chick Lit”, and proceeded to drone on about how men are basically all super awesome and the narrator of my story is a judgmental bitch (more on this later but the gist of it was that he couldn’t understand how a girl wouldn’t want to hear a bone-head guy discuss his favorite muscle group…all the while never asking her a single question…or how a girl could possibly be upset that an old man had lied about his age [by ten years] and shown up to a date looking like a completely different person than the images on his dating profile).  Oh, and I should mention that many people in the class agreed (so we can’t just chalk this up to some fucked up Professor).  The only conclusion I could come to was that I myself was an idiot, or I was surrounded by idiots.  Either way, I pretty much wanted to throw myself off the balcony.

One student actually said “why doesn’t your narrator stop dating if she hates it so much”

*throws self off balcony as life is hard and that is apparently the answer*

But then things seemed to be looking up.  I let someone in emotionally (okay, admittedly, it was kind of accidental, but needless to say a man called me within hours of said horrible writing workshop and I burst into tears while on the phone).  But that’s something.  You see, it was Top Secret, from just before I moved to Montreal.  He had moved to Ontario and was now coming for a visit to Montreal and had called to let me know of his plan.

At Christmas, when I came home to Vancouver, we didn’t have a ton of time but he wanted to hang out and hang out we did.  We went out for lunch.  It was fun.  It was nice.  It was real friendship shit.  But then, just as before winter break, he went right back to barely having any contact with me.  Sure we’d quick message here or there but if you want to be friends with someone and especially if you want to be more than friends with someone you have to put in that effort to get to know them, to stay in contact with them, to keep their (and yours, presumably) lust alive.  But he didn’t, we didn’t.

But here we were, visiting in his hotel room, eating pizza, watching youtube videos and getting reacquainted.  Or so I thought.  Because before I know it, he’s trying to kiss me.  Which, in theory, is fine.  But, honestly, I wasn’t really feeling it yet.  I didn’t, however, want to shut things down permanently, I just needed some time, because we had gone back to zero and I might need a couple hangouts and conversations to get back up to 60.

The next day I had to finish an already late scholarship application, and he seemed busy with work stuff, so I stayed in and said that we would meet up the next day.  Friday came, and I was running late to meet him for his show so I skipped the bus and jumped in a cab.  I made it to the show before him and when he arrived we went in.  Given that he was in the show, I was seated at a table by myself, at the front (WHY DO THEY ALWAYS MAKE ME SIT IN THE FRONT!!).

After the show we talked a bit, he basically insinuated he wanted to bone but didn’t want me to feel pressured and I finally had the balls to say, at this moment (and because of the reasons mentioned above), I just wanted to be friends and we could just see what happens.  He seemed to take it pretty well.

Because we were at the show, they told us we could go upstairs and hear the rest of the Motown show that was happening, and though I wasn’t super keen at that exact moment (I had developed an excruciating migraine) I went anyway because he wanted to go (plus I had just taken some excedrin so the headache would foreseeably dissipate).

The show turned out to be AMAZING!  I had an absolute blast.  The music, the dancers, the fact that it was free, what more could a girl ask for?!  We were joking and having fun, things seemed great.

SPOILER ALERT:  they weren’t, apparently.


After the show wrapped up, he asked so how are you getting home?

I was baffled.  Home?  It was only 11:00pm, I had assumed we’d go get some food or at least hang out and do something.  I mean shit son, I was in full hair and makeup, I’d even worn a brand new dress with uncomfortable shoes!  I said the bit about food and hanging out.  He said he wasn’t hungry and that maybe we could meet for lunch or something tomorrow.

Was he fucking serious?!?!  He expected me to wake up and do my hair and makeup for a lunch date with a dude sending me packing on a Friday night???  This dude was nuts.

I tried to convey this sentiment nicely.  I tried to convey that I thought we were friends.  After all, he’d just spent the evening telling me how awesome I was, how much more awesome it was to have a girl to hang out with and write jokes with than to have a pretty girl to just fuck, how much of a lousy lay he was to begin with…blah blah blah

(sidebar:  If I let you take a joke I wrote and then you treat me like shit, you have to take it out of your act, those are the rules)

His response:  I have enough friends

Interspersed in this dialogue was some bullshit about him being a gentleman and wanting to put me in a cab rather than have me take the bus home (which had been my original plan).  I declined and declined and declined.  However, after he said the thing about having enough friends I thought well fuck him and took the $20 he was handing me (I am a broke grad student after all, I can’t even see the poverty line let alone live above it).

Plus, I figured, as I walked for 6-10 blocks fueled by pure rage and disappointment, I would just take the bus anyway and that $20 would reimburse me for the cab I had taken earlier because I couldn’t fathom being late to his show.  I mean…







Unfortunately, this wasn’t the end of the week of shitty things.  Almost as soon as I got on the bus (a packed bus no less, given that it was 11:30 on a Friday night), a group of fine young gentlemen proceeded to talk loudly (though mostly in French) about how fat I was and whether or not all black guys or just some black guys dig that.  The discussion included hand and arm gestures.

And before anyone gets all well don’t listen to them and they’re idiots etc.  I know this.  This conversation didn’t ffect how I feel about myself or my body (I’m lovely).  It did, however, make me feel very uncomfortable and admittedly a bit unsafe.  You see, I’m rarely scared of being raped or murdered, however, it is a very real fear that a teenage boy might spit on me or something.  Also, it made me sad because while I’m able to block out this kind of despicable behavior, I know that there will be other girls, who will experience this, younger girls, more fragile girls, girls who don’t yet know that they are entirely enough and absolutely beautiful, and for those girls I felt the hurt a bit more.  Not wanting to give these boys the attention they misguidedly and desperately sought, I put in my ear buds and pretended as if the conversation didn’t exist.

And thus ended my week.  Undateable.  Isolated and alone in a writing program that fits like a wet wool bodysuit.  Having lost all faith in the ability of men to not be the fucking worst (hyperbole, I know, some of you are fucking wonderful, even if I’m currently having a difficult time remembering this).  Spiraling into sadness.  Blargh.

So to sum up…Dumped Crash!…Writing trashed Boom!…all faith in the male species dashed Bang!  Sorry for the downer post.  Let the disappointment really sink in tho.




Something She Dated: A Goodbye in 3 Parts

UPDATE:  This post went up on my website in October 2012, when I was busy with grad school, sad about the state of men and dating, and just generally burnt out.  You’re now reading this, obviously, on my new site – where the writing covers many more subjects than just sex and dating (thus helping to eliminate burn out) but I wanted to keep this post up regardless because it helps to show how I was feeling back then 🙂




I’m tired.  Is that what you want to hear me say?  You beat me, you won.

Those are the words in my head.  They look even sadder typing them out than they sound bouncing back and forth between my ears.  I want to pull the toque over my eyes.  I want to put on ear muffs.  I want winter to get here so I can forget all about the disappointment.

It’s been two and a half years since I started writing this blog; since it was just a way to avoid repeating the same stories to my friends.  I had had such high hopes.  Not for the blog, but for dating.  And now it all just seems so sad, so fraught with failures, so lethargic with let downs, so many damn dating disappointments.

I haz sad.  I haz dating sad.

But the truth is I don’t know how to write the crisis of this story.  I don’t know what the problem, with me, is.

I used to be so hopeful.  I used to think boys had such potential, such spirit, such masculine beauty, were so full of life and happiness and sheer unadulterated joy.  I used to think they were amazing, all of them, in their own special way.  But as the disappointments just kept hitting like bricks that stick, I just feel heavy, and I’m sinking to the bottom.

The irony is that I was never expecting one man to be everything.  In fact, it was like I was hoping that all men could just be one thing, if they could just be one thing…

Be funny.
Be smart.
Be passionate.
Be interesting.
Be lusty.
But I guess the implied caveat was the hardest part of the application to fill.

AND….Be interested in me.

Instead of finding this, I found a series of guys who I gave an inch and they took a mile.  Or threw the inch back in my face.  Or disappeared with the inch never to be seen again.  And honestly, a girl only has so many inches.

And while I still think I’m lovely…I have to wonder…why can’t anybody see it?  Why aren’t there any boys who think I’m funny, and pretty, and smart and interesting and who they themselves are funny, and smart and interesting?

Do I really only get one heart pounding relationship in life?  Is that it?  Is that all I get?  Is this why people get married…because you’re lucky to even just find one single person who can see that you’re amazing, let alone several?

And in all honesty, along the way, and probably particularly because of France and The Comic, I’ve become distanced from the very notion that there are men out there who want me to experience pleasure, who give a shit about whether or not I get off, who want to see me sweat and smile and cum and smile again, who care about more than just getting their dick sucked and cumming on my tits.  And while it seems dramatic (and problematic) to allow a few boys to taint my view of an entire gender, the feelings are there, the seeds are planted and I’m starting to think that my only choices are to become a sexual camel or to start researching the treatments for carpal tunnel.





But…it’s not just the dating.

It’s hard.  Putting it all out there, ya know.  And getting almost nothing in return.  Almost nobody comments anymore.  Sure, I get a few Twitter mentions and a Facebook like or two and yes from the stats I can easily see that readership is up…but still.  Can you imagine a comic performing for a completely silent audience, night after night?  Would you be able to bear your open breast for all to see, share some of the most intimate details of your life with complete strangers and be unphased by their near silence?

And I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it while it lasted.  My goodness, did I.  But when the chips are down and it feels too bothersome, too cumbersome, too…something…and you’re doing it just for you, it’s easy to say…I think it’s time to pack it in.  And so that’s what I’m doing.  Packing it in.

Now don’t get me wrong.  This isn’t the end of me, I’m not dying or anything.  I plan to continue writing (and that’s another big part of why I’m stopping, because I want the time to take my writing in another direction).  This isn’t the last you’ll hear of me.  And don’t think I haven’t appreciated you all along the way, hell I even brag about you sometimes like you’re my children, like your presence is a photo in my wallet that I take out at family gatherings and work functions to show off, my sweetheart, look at her, isn’t she beautiful.

And this is really the worst description of why I’m ceasing the blogging ever…because honestly it’s a hundred other reasons too.

It’s school
It’s life
It’s wanting something different
It’s wanting to continue growing and developing
It’s writing funding proposals
It’s finishing my first fictional short story for publication
It’s work (TAing classes and running tutorials)
It’s the fact that I’m turning 31 in just a few days*
It’s too many things to list
It’s too many things even to think about
And then it’s 100 things more beyond that.

And it’s terrifying.  Because it all feels so final.  Because it all feels so for sure.  Like I’ve just crumpled up the piece of paper that had my identity written all over it and threw it in the trash.  And now I’m staring at a blank page.


*I actually turned 31 a few weeks ago, this just took me a really long time to post





What do you do when you let go of the most interesting part of yourself?

My preferred method is to cry.  Like a grown up.


You told me to eat peaches and to try not to cry.  Said, “Sit down,” and pulled out a chair while I seasoned my bowl with the drips from my face.  Said, “This is going to be hard,” and rested your hand on my shoulder.

I stuck my chubby fingers into the bowl and squeezed at a slice but the slimy flesh swam away like a goldfish.  I bet it’s forgotten me already.  I couldn’t hear half of what you said because my ears were filled with water.  I was swimming in a puddle.  I was holding my breath.  I was hiding in the weeds till you reached down and yanked me back up.

“This is going to be hard,” you said, and then you took my identity away.  For three years I had known who I was based on the story that I told.  I was a dater.  I was a blogger.  I was a writer.  I had found myself huddled in the mess.  I had written my way out in spaghetti noodles.  I had dropped pretzels to become an adult.  I was covering my map in trail mix.  And then one day I wasn’t hungry anymore.

And now I’m standing out here in the middle of a forest, or sinking in a bubbling aquarium, or melting into the bottom of a chocolate milkshake.  The metaphor is not the point.  The analogy is not the destination.  I am lost in the middle of my life.  I don’t know who I am without this tagline.  I don’t know if my jokes will be funny anymore.  I am now a girl without context.  I am no longer a sex and dating blogger.  I don’t know what I’m going to say at parties when people ask me what do you do?

I put the peaches down and go into the bathroom.  I look in the mirror; I seem smaller.  I wonder if my laugh will be quieter.  I feel naked.  My cheeks are slick and smooth, today my teeth don’t shine.  I stare into my own eyes and you ask, “What do you see here?”

My tongue has muscle memory.  It rises up and shouts something loud.  It looks like a fist.  I want to eat something.  I want to eat everything.  I want to eat my own hands if only to stop my tongue from wagging.  I want to consume.  I want to run my tongue over every idea I’ve ever had about sex and dating so that they’re mine.  Just in case, just in case, just in case this was a mistake.  But if we’re being honest, they’re not that brilliant to begin with.  This isn’t nuclear fission.  I was just telling my story.

“What have I done?” I ask out loud, “what have I done?”

You tell me to go back into the living room, to sit down and eat some peaches and to try not to cry.  Say, “This is going to be hard.”  I expect it to sound harsh.  I expect you to be annoyed with having to repeat yourself but the words are like feathers, or bunnies, or white Wonderbread.  You reach your hand into the bowl and grab a slice of peach; hold it up.  Juice drips from the bottom, it shines like my cheeks.  You run your other hand along my chin until I open my mouth and then slip half the peach inside, lay it across my teeth, say “bite” and then “chew” after I do.

The peach is soft and squishy.  I can chew this peach.  I can handle this peach.  I can conquer this peach.  You tell me to try not to cry.  You say “hush,” and then, “swallow” and I want to.  My throat is our enemy.  My heart has beaten its way across town.  It moves in rook and pawn.  I watch the clock tick and tock.  I hear my heart thunder.  I swallow.

You told me to eat peaches and to try not to cry.  Said, “This is going to be hard,” and then waited.  You made decisions like a grown up and asked me to live with the consequences.  Said, “This is going to be hard” and then changed my life completely.  You told me to eat peaches and to try not to cry and then asked me to trust you.  Said, “This is going to be hard,” and then rested your hand on my shoulder.

I tried not to think about the next party when I would fumble to find interesting words and come up short with I’m a Grad Student and then I would shrug to fill the empty space.  I tried not to think about the emails I would have to send to my supporters, to say goodbye, to say it’s over.  I tried not to think about anything except swimming goldfish and their 3 second memories.  I ate the rest of the peaches and went to sleep.  I’m going to be fine, I thought.  After all, I had seen this day coming.


“This is going to be hard,” I said.

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

When Your Summer Fling Flings You Aside Are You Flung?

When Your Summer Fling Flings You Aside, Are You Flung?


[dropcap]So[/dropcap] let’s see…Friday night I went out with a 23 year old…and made out in the rain in a movie theatre parking lot.  (following the it was great to meet you text message was a barrage of amenable text messages about how he had been shy and would certainly please my every whim and desire the next time.  Apparently he too wanted to go down on me (not that I’ve ever really had anyone not want to go down on me…but verbalizing it…rather than say…telling me they wanted to fuck me…was becoming a trend…the 23 year old…Come Back Charlie…*spoiler alert* and some others not yet discussed.)  I digress.  The text messages went on for quite awhile.  Perhaps I didn’t play along enough.  Perhaps it was because I pointed out that with both of us currently staying with our folks, there was hardly a place for said behavior to occur.  Still, it seemed to end well.

And yet, like The PhD. before him, after a series of dirty text messages, I never heard from him again.  Okay that’s a lie, I heard once, one text message but it was about school and being busy and who the fuck cares.  The truth was, I was probably using the whole nowhere to kick it as an excuse because as much as it seemed interesting to date a 23 year old…I wasn’t really feeling him.  Deuces.

Monday I went out with Come Back Charlie.  He sent the usual text so great to meet you and can’t wait to see you again. We made plans.  Or.  Well.  I thought we made plans.  He asked if I was free Wednesday, I wasn’t.  I asked if he was free Thursday, he wasn’t.  Well, I said, I’m busy Saturday and Sunday so it’s either Friday or next Monday or Tuesday?  Friday could work, he said.  But then he added, that he’d have to check and see if he was working early Saturday morning or not.  To be honest, it felt like a brush off.  But then again I tend to overact and get my spikes up for anyone who displays anything other than total admiration for me if I think I’m being jilted.  But I was trying to be breezy, no?  So I said sure, sounds great and that was that.

Looking back now, it’s clear that we were only hanging out if he let me know, which he did not.  But at the time, I foolishly thought we had plans, assuming that he didn’t tell me he had to work.  See.  I make dating mistakes too.  All the time in fact.  Just in case you were under the misguided presumption that I always know what the fuck I’m doing.  Anyway, so Friday rolled around and somewhere around 2pm I sent a text message saying so, are we on for tonight?

We were in fact, not on for tonight.  He had to blah blah blah tonight and wouldn’t blah blah blah till tomorrow blah blah blah.  And so that was that.  I got the brush off.  Ain’t that a bitch.  Looks like this whole Vancouver summer fling before I move to Montreal thing really just wasn’t going to happen.  So I mean, fuck.  But whatever.  I guess.

My response to his text message?  Silence.  Because what is there reallly to say.

It takes all my strength to say nothing.  To text nothing.  Because I know that there is no point.  Because I know these feelings are irrational.  Because nobody likes bitter betty.  But here, in this blog, where I share some of my most vulnerable moments, I can tell you this:  I am a ball of rage.

I want to text you know you just blew it right?  because there is a part of me that actually thinks that it is not simply a case of him not liking me enough but that he might really be that stupid.  But I think we all know, it’s not an either or situation.  He doesn’t like me, stupid or not.  Bird Seed.  Full Stop.  Because otherwise he would’ve told me the moment he knew…rather than waiting for me to text and ask if we were still on, only to then inform me that we’re not.

I want to text thanks for wasting my time or good thing I wasn’t waiting around to hear from you or fuck you fuck you fuck you but really fuck me fuck me fuck me I’m so stupid I fucking hate you!!!

I want to send him a link to the blog.  I want him to read this post.  I want to know how can someone seem so totally into me (even if we are expiration dating, a time stamped affair), and then just fuck it all up.

I want I want I want.  Doesn’t he know that the rest of the summer was laid out for him?  We could’ve watched movies and created our own x-rated scenes.  We could’ve laughed.  We could’ve done all the fun things in dating without worrying about where is this going? and what are we doing?  We could’ve had the drive in movie theatre make out, thrown our empty popcorn tubs and sodas on the ground (metaphorically of course, you know mamma don’t litter) and driven off into the night.

It feels like handing someone an all-out-paid-for dream vacation and them just shrugging their shoulders and saying something ridiculous like meh…I think my passport is expired.  Like that’s an acceptable reason to turn down such a treasure.

I want to rage.  I want to smash things.  I want to write long, well thought out, articles that somehow change the world into being the place I want it to be.  A place where people respect the time of others.  A place where people say what the fuck they’re thinking.  A place where people don’t treat others like shit.  I want to be right and maybe I just don’t give a fuck about being happy!!!

Except that I do.  Because I’ve adopted a new policy in life.  Better to be happy than to be right.

I actually used to think the total opposite.  Better to be right (because in being right, you could find happiness).  But given that you can’t control others, that often isn’t the case.  And so I changed my mind.  Better to be happy than to be right.  Better to keep your mouth shut about some things.  Better not to bother trying to teach someone something that you think is right which, if we’re being honest, they probably either disagree with or even more likely don’t give a shit about.

Plus aside from the fact that he could’ve saved me the time and energy wasted in being excited/stressed about hanging out, was there really anything to teach Come Back Charlie besides how to be a fucking decent human being, no, of course not.  The truth was, he just simply didn’t like me.  Adorable conversation, hot and heavy making out, even cute realizations that our father’s have the same careers…all of that aside…the dude didn’t want to see me again.  Case closed.  And I just fucking accept it.  So I did.


Well…until I had a conversation with two close friends.  More on that next time *awkward winky face* *falls over* *jumps up* *bats eyelashes to try to make up for stumble instead looks like a girl having a seizure* *gives up and walks away*


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

And The Douchie Goes To… Neither? Both of Us? (Part 3 of 3)

Head Desk

And The Douchie Goes To…


It’s really tough to say.  Because we were both kind of douches.  I think? But then again.  It’s dating.  And what is dating except a process where you selectively reject and accept people.  You keep some cards close to your chest (at least you should).  There are games.  Not necessarily malicious or deceitful games.  But social rules.  Patterns of behavior.  I mean you’re playing a game simply by not being socially retarded.  You make mistakes and learn.  Or not learn as the case may be.  Maybe he was a douche for how he presented himself.  Maybe I was too.  Maybe I was a douche for thinking he was a douche.  I mean sometimes.  It just starts to not matter.  And honestly.  I have to say.  I’m getting a little bored with the whole Trucker Joe saga.  It was fun/retarded/dramatic/interesting while it lasted.  But it’s over now.  Finito.  And in the interest of full disclosure.  Because I’d hate to think that anyone might get the impression that I was only presenting his exact convos while leaving my side to be spliced and spiced.  I figured I’d better show you my part.  So here it is.  My exact response to him.  A couple days later.

[colored_box color=”blue”]SSDated          September 11 at 12:09pm<
Hey 🙂
Congrats on finding a girl you really connect with! Had I known a really intense connection was what you were looking for I could have probably saved you the trouble, because I knew we’d never have that kind of connection, right from the get go (though I had some fun hanging out and got a ton of material lol) so I guess I’m sort of glad you didn’t. Truth be told I kind of specifically chose to date you because I knew there WOULDN’T be an intense connection (afterall I wasn’t looking for that…I just wanted to date and have some fun…which I thought had been clear from the first date when you asked me about exclusivity and I was totally against it). And perhaps you yourself didn’t know that’s what you were looking for…though just as a tip…a guy who needs an emotional connection for sex…is a guy who is looking for an intense connection (and there’s nothing wrong with that…truth be told millions of girls the world over [I’m assuming [blah blah] included ;)] are seeking exactly that…just not me).[/colored_box]

So yeah…glad I was finally able to understand it all (most people probably wouldn’t have bothered but what can I say…I’m a girl in constant and perpetual search of answers…for everything…hell anyone trying to spend their entire life in school [whether learning or instructing] has to have a pretty big hard on for knowledge…yes no?) And again congrats on finding a gal that you feel a wonderful connection with (I’m sure she’s a wonderful person) and I’m glad all the pieces are fitting together for you. Who knows maybe one day over coffee you can tell me all about her 🙂

And then a couple of days later.  He facebook defriended me.  *rolls on floor laughing*  Perhaps he saw the first posting of the And the douchie goes to….series and thought that I was calling him a douche (which I was, but in my defense, only tentatively and I also included my self in the category).  Perhaps in the Twitter words of a good friend…

I surmise that he did it mostly b/c he didn’t want ‘her’ to find the blog, thus indicating him as a douche bag – but still: BABY

Perhaps my facebook status updates just simply aren’t as funny as I’d like to imagine.  Maybe my photos scare the likes of small children everywhere and he was just protecting his vision.  Or maybe the whole wanting to be friends thing was BS from the get go.  Perhaps he’s like one of those chicks who drops all her friends the moment she’s gets a boyfriend.  Who knows.  But I do know this.  I had a time.  And Trucker Joe taught me some shit.  Okay well not really him per se.  But through the act of dating him.  I learned some shit.  And at the very least I know I taught him some shit.  Like the fact that lamb is indeed baby sheep.  So at least I’m educating the dating masses.  One “something” at a time.

Oh and just a little bee tee dub for everyone.  Though I was originally never able to find a link connecting Trucker and Joe and I in my notorious Six Degrees of SSDated way (he’s being a decade older, likely accounted for that).  I was able to stumble upon one (though tenuous) when he became oh so “in a relationship”.  Because guess what?  Blah blah and I share a “mutual friend” and it’s a boy no less.  And one I know from plentyoffish no less.  Hmmm 🙂  So there you have it.  Trucker Joe and I in less than six degrees.  LOL.  Oy.


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

And The Douchie Goes To … Me? (Part 2 of 3)

And The Douchie Goes To…

Detour.  I know.  It’s a bit weird to have a detour before we’ve actually gotten on the road with this blog post.  But I digress.  I just wanted to give a quick refresher.  Because with me being back at school.  And having the most insane (read: I’m a baby) flu for the last 2 weeks.  Posting has been a bit sparse (at least by comparison to my summer schedule).  So I know people can forget.  And that’s normal.  I’m not blaming.  And I’m certainly not taking it personal.  Shit.  I mean I can barely remember what happens to me.  So how on earth are you going to.  So here goes.

Things with Trucker Joe had really just.  Kinda well.  Fallen to shit.  We’d had 7 dates.  On the 4th we made out like high school kids.  On the 5th he had ball issues.  But I knew there was more.  By the 7th I had enough balls to ask what was up.  The explanation.  Well.  Failed to impress.  So we became facebook buddies.  And then.  All of sudden.  Via facebook.  Trucker Joe was in a relationship.  With someone who wasn’t me.  Bizarro I know.  At first I thought he was a big douche.  I assumed he had been dating this chick the whole time and instead of being upfront about it had just simply given a bullshit excuse about not being physical with me because (and I quote) “he didn’t love me.”  After less than 2 months of casual dating no less.

But then.  The very next morning.  There came a message.  That would set in motion a series of thoughts.  That would sway my opinion.  Fickle as it was at that moment.  From the douchie going to him.  To the douchie going to me.  How can that be? you ask.  *So I gesture*  Walk with me.  And I’ll show you the path my brain took.  And we’ll figure it all out together.  The message reads:


[colored_box color=”blue”]

Trucker Joe          September 7  at 5:28am

tough questions…. i was attracted to u….. that night u looked sooo good and i was so horny but in the end [SSD] there was just something missing for me…. which i have found in [blah blah], we just connected on so many levels and to b honest it is a little scary but so exciting for me…i only met her a week ago but it feels right for me….well i guess school is bout to go full swing so knock them dead 🙂



So first.  This was AMAZING!  Now try not to judge.  Because even though you might not qualify your life based on making the Hollywood’s Hottest 50 list.  If they actually fucking wanted you on it.  You’d feel damn amazing.  So this is like that.  It’s not that I’d since felt anything less than hot.  But I had never really believed his answer.  About thinking I was attractive but not being attracted to me because of divorce bullshit.  And this.  Was my validation.  He was attracted to me.  I did turn him on.  *high five* I win.

Secondly.  wait.  what?  you still need more time?  you haven’t yet stopped vomiting over the fact that he committed (publicly, on facebook no less) to a chick he’d known after a week?  Okay.  I’ll give you another minute.  But honestly.  I don’t think it’s going to get much better.  I mean this is basically right out of Autumn in New York or some other equally lame romance.  So time isn’t going to change it.  Better we just plow straight ahead.

So after the vomiting stopped.  And I made an attempt not to judge (for reference I’m a realist.  I said attempt I made an attempt not to judge).  And that’s when my thoughts took me to the unluckiness of it all.  I mean seriously.  What are the fucking chances.  That me.  The girl just looking for a summer of fun.  Breezy.  Sexy.  Antonym of intense fun.  Finds the one guy.  Like literally the one guy.  Who needs an intense emotional connection to have sex.  And even more than that.  That I find the one guy who isn’t looking to bang away the pain/anger of his divorce.  I mean seriously.  Come the fuck on bridget!

So here’s the thing of the thing.  I will admit.  I have a character flaw.  *shocker*  Well obviously I have several.  But this one specifically.  I mean.  We all know it.  I’m judgey wudgey was a bear.  Though to redeem myself.  I’m quick to change my mind.  I’m quick to let someone back in who I thought was out.  You get the idea.  But of my judging.  I must admit.  I am hardest.  On guys.  Who reveal.  What I would consider…erhm…um…feminine qualities.  And I won’t go on and on about this.  And it really shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of you readers at least.  I mean fuck.  I’m trying to date Chuck Norris and MMA fighters.  Though I love a physicist.  So when I say feminine.  Honestly.  I mean ridiculously romantic.  And not in a real love kind of way.  In a retarded kind of way.  I’m stopping now because this really is a whole blog post on its own.  But the point is.  I spent a good while.  Just.  Well.  Laughing.  Because honestly.  I found it so hysterical.  The ridiculousness of the thing itself.  And then the hilarity that he would end up dating me.  Of all fucking people.  OBVIOUSLY it wouldn’t work out fool, sheesh.

So the thought process?  Come, let’s walk on.  So there I was all hysterical and happy.  When I start to think.  Hey!?!  I mean what the fuck?  Wasn’t this the same guy who had wanted to keep things breezy (my word obviously)?  Who talked about wanting to date casually? (of which I was a big fan).  I mean what a douche.  Why did he even date me at all.  I clearly expressed from the very first date that I wanted to keep things open.  breezy.  a girl asks you out for Friday night I said you go ahead and accept that date.  And yet here he was.  Looking for a connection.  A deeply emotional connection.  All along.  This guy who attempted to paint himself as fun and carefree.  Wanted a girlfriend?  Was seeking…well whatever you call committing after a week.  What a douche!

But wait.  And here’s where we find ourselves down the garden path.  In the orchard I like to call.  SSD, you’re a douche too under that logic or calling the kettle black.  Because here’s the thing of the thing.  Just as he painted himself as a guy who wanted to date non-exclusively.  I too painted myself as such.  And as such, I did in fact give the impression that there was potential.  For more.  And though I may have said as much on this blog.  And said even more about it to my friends.  I never actually told him, conveyed that thought to him.  There was never a chance.  He would have never lasted past Christmas.  He never had a shot.  There was never a concern.  He wasn’t even in the race.  I mean not really.  So I mean.  I can’t get pissed that he was (see ghetto diagram) acting centre when in fact he was far right because there I was claiming centre and residing far left.

no relationship potential————–casual dating/open to possibility————-(he’s a) crazy chick

So there you have it.  It looks like the douchie really was going to go to…me afterall.

But wait.  It looks.  wait.  does it?  Yep.  It looks like this path we’re walking on.  It doesn’t quite end here.  Look how it winds through that orchard but carries on.  There’s still enough light out.  Surely we should keep walking, yes no?

To Be Continued….

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

Dear Boys, The Busy-Tired Scale

Uncertainty in Dating


*For reference the video is mostly just funny, only vaguely related in that it combines both online dating and a scale graph. But it’s mostly just funny and from a show we all know I love. So watch, enjoy, and then read 🙂


Busy-Tired Scale


[dropcap]D[/dropcap]ear boys,

The thing is boys.  Sometimes faking it?  Not such a bad idea.  Nobody likes Debbie Downer.  And the same thing is true.  For Beaten-Down Bobby Dean.  Maybe your job sucks.  Maybe life is kind of shit for you right now.  Or maybe you’re a workaholic and you use of work like a crutch.  But if you plan to date me, boys.  For the love of god boys, it’s time to fake it up a notch.  Sure enough.  It would be ideal that you just were actually happy.  Satisfied.  Fulfilled.  Upbeat.  Energetic.  Enthusiastic.  But if you can’t be.  If you really just can’t authentically be.  It’s time to start fuckin’ fake it.  Because the girls dating you.  Don’t give a shit.  Okay that’s not totally true.  They might.  I don’t.  Well I mean.  I do in the sense that I want everyone in the world to be ridiculously happy.  But not in the sense that it’s an acceptable excuse or reason for anything.  I don’t want complaining and bitching and moaning.  I want candy and sunshine and rainbows.  Or at least some jokes and laughter.  Just Sayin’.  Plus no lie.  I’m not your mamma.  And it’s not my job to get your life straight.  That’s yours.  And I don’t do babysitting.

And just as bad as overworked and undersatisfied?  Is the other end of the spectrum.  Like you’re just not doing anything.  Nor anything.  At all.  And sure that might be fine if you’re my booty call.  And at least have enough money for condoms and rent (hmm…and all the stuff that keeps you clean, makes you smell good, cleans your sheets, etc.etc.etc. I got standards *what?*).  But if we’re dating.  You need some passion.  Because there are going to be conversations.  Which not only require substance.  But become amazing when you start talking passionately about something.  I mean dreams.  Goals.  Plans.  Hopes.  Prospects.  Passion.  Passion.  Passion.  Interest.  Passion.  Eagerness.  That shit is sexy.  So bone up on your passion boys.

For clarity.  I’ve created a scale.  For ease of understanding this connundrum.  And boys.  You want to be a 5.  5 is middle ground.  5 is balanced.  5 is getting you laid.  And not just regular laid.  But like guy I like laid.  You know.  Extra bits.  Circus Acts.  Red lacies.  Just Sayin’.

1 – You’re almost never busy.  In fact.  What the fuck do you do all day anyway?

2 – Occasionally you’re busy.  Mostly I think playing video games or dealing pot.   Not productive.

3 – You appear to have some kind of job.  Moderate Ambition.  You’re always available to hang out.

4 – You most definitely have a job.  You love it.  You are committed to it.  You have time for friends and me.

5 – Your job demands a lot of your time.  But you’re still always full of energy.  You make the effort to contact me and still have time to regularly (1-2 times a week) hang out.  And I assume your friends.

6 – Your job is taking over your life. Your hobbies take a hit. Your friends take a hit. You still find time to keep in contact with me.  You rarely take longer than 30 min. to return a text.  Your ambition, motivation and satisfaction make up for time lost.

7- Your job is taking over your life.  Your job IS your life.  You’re still happy with your job but you find yourself rarely making a return text within my 4 hour max. window.

8 – Your job is taking over your life.  Your job no longer fills you with satisfaction and happiness.  This sentiment bleeds into all parts of your life.  Our contact is minimal.

9 – Your job fucking sucks.  Sometimes you think about going postal.  Mostly you just think about how hard life is for you.  boo hoo.  You spend weeknights and weekends depressed and lethargic instead of having sex with me.  This is a bad move on your part.

10 – You are too busy to notice anything.

So my boys.  My dear, dear boys.  I really just want the best for you.  I mean.  And my judgement isn’t static.  I don’t think if you’re one number on the scale right now.  That you’ll always be there.  But it’s up to YOU to make shit happen.  Afterall boys.  That’s what your balls are for.  Yes, no?  So boys.  Make shit happen.  And if while you’re making shit happen.  You happen to hover around 4 or 6 instead of 5.  That’s cool babe.  We’re still all good.  But start slipping too much in either direction?  And I’m throwing you out.  Garbage Man style.  Because 9s are unacceptable.  Just Sayin’.

Yours Truly,

Judgey Wudgey

aka Something She Dated
aka Graphing For More Balanced Dating
aka Concerned Citizens For Better Online Dating
aka That Girl at the Gym Two Treadmills Over
aka Your Coffee Shop Crush


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

My Kingdom for an H: Adventures in Dating

Dating Mistakes

[dropcap]5 days[/dropcap] have passed since the H. and the phone call with Garbage Man.

He texts.   He SSD.  Just thinking about you thought I would say hi.
I respond accordingly.  banter.  banter.  back to studying.
4 more days pass.
He texts.  Studying Hard?
Me.  Yeah I’m studying my ass (in retrospect turns out I never typed “off” but he appeared to let it slide)
sexy banter.  sexy banter.  back to studying.

6 more days pass.  I decide to put in some minimal effort.

I text.  How was your weekend…get up to anything fun.

He responds accordingly.  banter.  banter.  back to studying.

3 more days pass.

He texts.  banter.  banter.  back to studying.

4 more days pass.

I text.  Hey Gman…off to Vegas for the weekend…

Him.  Have fun.  Place a bet for me.  Talk to you when you get back.

Me.  Will do.

4 more days pass.

I text.  Back from Vegas.

He responds accordingly.  cute banter.  very cute banter. it’s getting late.  We’re trying to figure out what he’s doing for his birthday aka I have plans on Saturday but are we going to hang out Friday night.

He texts.  Hey SSD, can I call you tomorrow night?

Me.  Sounds good.  back to studying.

Sidebar:  Up to this point he has been very attentive with the texting.  Reliable, responsive…things are finally looking up.  But…I think this too soon.

“Tomorrow night” rolls around….7…8…9…10…are you kidding me?  Though I’m trying not to not actually paying that much attention because I have my final final the next day and it’s high-stakes study mode.  My phone has been switched to silent.  Around 11 I take a little peak and find this idiocy.

10:45pm  —  Hey SSD sorry I just been busy call me.
10:54pm  —  Not sure which # to call

Well here’s clue you useless excuse for a human being  average well-meaning person?  If you’re sending text messages to a phone…it’s a cell…that’s your best bet…because if you call my house…at this hour…shit well just forget it.  Only here’s the thing of the thing.  Take a risk.  Pick one and dial.  But no call ever comes.  Around 11:30pm I decide to send a quick text (I don’t want to be a hypocrite and become non-responsive do I?)

Me.  It’s late and I’m still studying.  talk tomorrow I guess.

Thursday arrives.  I take my final final.  It goes brilliantly.  I get two different papers back from different classes.  A- and A.  Fucking eh!  I’m on cloud 23…things are peachy keen.

I text.  School’s Out!!!  Gimme a shout when you have some time.  This #

no response.

I text.  Did you not get my last text message are you really this busy?  (admittedly a little bit of crazy may be showing but I blame Telus Mobility).

no response.

Next day.  His birthday.

Me.  Happy Birthday.  (I admit this is overboard…2 texts with no response…but just as I wouldn’t want to talk shit about a friend’s ex only to have them get back together…I don’t want to be the bitchy Betty who skipped his birthday wishes if we end up dating later lol!)

no response.

Next day.

Me.  Hey Garbage Man so i gotta say i don’t think this is going to work.  you manage to keep in touch for 4 weeks while i study but fall off completely now that I’m done? 

The next text message we send at the exact same time.  Sure it’s always possible he responds and then immediately turns his phone off until the following day but this seems little unlikely.

Me.  (technically it’s part 2 of one message)  Honestly it would’ve been cool to hang out but i just think you’re too busy and I can’t stand unresponsiveness which is a bad combo…makes sense right?

Him.  Sorry been busy.  Going out for dinner.  Probably not going to be able to see you this weekend.  Hopefully ttyl.

No shit we’re not going to see each other this weekend.  With the sporadic text messaging I had already made some plans (and even if I hadn’t would surely be faking some regardless!).


*Light bulb Moment*


No I say light bulb moment but let’s be serious for a moment.  I am the chick that never leaves a party early (something awesome might happen!).  So I play along…just for a bit…just because I want to see how this plays out…just because though completely frustrating…I’m not at all emotionally invested so I figure it’s still heart-safe to keep participating…for the moment.

Next day.  Like he’d only just got the second half of the message now or something.  And admittedly this is where it starts to get a bit not good negotiation-y.  My crazy begins to show.  I’m pretty much mortified by the whole thing but let it never be said that I don’t blog  a. the whole truth  b. even when it’s my crazy showing.

Him.  Ouch.  I get up at 520 in the morning so I’m in bed early.  Too bad.  It would have been nice to get to know you better.

Me.  Why Ouch?  it’s nothing personal.  I just think you’re too busy for me to date – don’t you think?

Him.  It only matters what you think.

Me.  True.  Guess I was just asking in case I was out in left field or something and you wanted to prove me wrong.

Him.  I could prove you wrong but if your mind is made up why waste time.

Me.  If it was made up i wouldn’t still be texting or trying to hang out.

Him.  I’m confused.  shocker.  understandable.

Me.  About what?  (not because I didn’t believe he was confused but I figured there were so many possible things he could be confused over I would need him to narrow it do so I could clarify).

Me.  Does this help…I’d love it if you proved me wrong and showed you had time to date me…

No response.  Next day.

Him.  I would like to date but not sure what kind of time you would like?

I don’t respond to this right away.  I’m not really sure how to.  It’s not like I devised a mathematical equation for dating…like dates on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday with phone calls on alternating Wednesdays and twice on Sunday…I just want to date…and if we’re not actually going to see each other…stop wasting my time (and text messages) and I’ll get back on the prowl (oh who am I kidding…I mean devote more time to the prowl as I never really left).  Plus I don’t like this question on the basis that it’s another indication he’s slightly retarded (don’t normally people know what dating normal amounts would be?) and it makes me feel like demanding Debbie…but I have to respond something (though I vaguely consider just never responding and leaving the scenario as “the cool one” lol!).  I am not though…read on.

Me.  I don’t know it’s not like a set thing but if i like someone I’d kind of expect to hang out like 1-2 times a week i guess.  Though them wanting to [hang out] would be the most important.

And that my friends is the end of the story.  It’s been 3 days with no response.  Sure it’s possible he texted and Telus fucked with my social life again.  Sure it’s possible he never even got my text.  Perhaps he’s logically mulling it over unlikely.  But the thing of the thing is…I’ve let far more crazy show then I would have preferred and I’m all efforted out.  Garbage Man and I have now known each other twice as many months as we’ve had dates and although that may bode well for him liking me it does not bode well for a summer of fun and stress less dating.

Am I frustrated that he wasn’t cool and we didn’t have a great third date and I didn’t get to have some frisky fun and most importantly get that “first sex after the ex sex” out of the wayDefinitely.
Am I sad?  Not at all.
Was the frustration worth the hilarity and few good times?  One Hundred Percent!
Would I prefer the hilarity and good times without the frustration (drama)?  Obviously (give me some credit)
Am I ready for the next fella?  Definitely.

The ride was bumpy sure…but definitely not a deterrent…Onto the next ride…

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

Tedanese: The Final Exam

Hand Holding


[colored_box color=”blue”]  *If you skipped class and want to catch up you can find your lessons plans as follows:

TEDanese 101: Chapter One — Introduction and Origins
TEDanese 101: Chapter Two – Conversation and Oral History
The Sunday Profile: Facebook Has Gone TEDanese  [/colored_box]

So like I was saying, in Chapter Two…on Friday around 3pm he texts (presumably because he knows that’s when I get off from school). For our date he suggests….wait for it….wait for it….


A Bonfire.


Need me to repeat that? A Bonfire. On the beach.

Now, okay, yes, I am aware I live in Vancouver (a city notorious for its oneness with nature)

And yes, a bonfire and watching the sunset does have romance appeal

And yes, I am attempting to operate under a strict Be Breezy mantra (and yes I get the irony of strictly following advice to be relaxed and go with the flow)

But……Bonfires are illegal on Vancouver beaches…and…I…am a rule follower

But……a bonfire seems very involved and difficult to ditch if not good

But……I wanted to wear the magic hippie dress (which I did end up doing just with different shoes and a hoodie over it most of the night)

I tell myself to be breezy and agree, on the presumption that if the cops came and we had to run, he would lag back so that I could make my escape. It’s not about out running the bear after all, just the other guy you’re with (aka the bear’s next meal). So I siked myself up…this will be fun!

On the phone, Tedski had told me that he would save me a parking spot (given that this was a Friday night and he lived in Kits).  He doesn’t, however, specify whether its a street spot or garage.

(sidenote: one of my biggest online dating fears is that I won’t recognize my date from their pictures.  Tedski has 4 pictures up on his page – 2 with short hair, 2 with surfer hair).

So, I pull up to his address and he has told me that he is waiting outside.  I see a guy that looks like him standing beside a truck. S urfer hair, big nose (he had made jokes about having a big nose in earlier convos).  I smile, pull up, roll down my window, flash a sexy smile and say,

so is this my spot?

*eyelash batting eyelash batting*

No, I think I’m staying.

Um WHAT!?!  Did this dude just fucking reject me on sight???!?!  Is that his way of saying, he’s seen me, and is no longer interested? Or did he have another spot for his truck but now it’s gone. Stay breezy.

Okay I guess I’ll just find another spot round the way.

I do, oddly enough find one quite close. I walk back. Be Breezy. He’s about halfway down the block.

I smile and wave. He smiles back. I sort of mouth hey?

He’s turned and walking away to the apartment building across the street. Wtf?!?! I start to text something like…uh…did you just see me outside and…

When I realize. It wasn’t him. There is another guy standing kind of hidden between two parked cars down the way. That other guy must have thought I was a total lunatic. Great way to start a date. I walk over to greet Tedski and we hug hello (I’m a hugger).

Apparently 5’7 is the new 5’10 (lie numero uno) because when we face each other we are at the same eye level. His profile said specifically 5’10 but he is clearly the same height as me at 5’7. I am not impressed. But I smile because I’m Breezy.

He’s wearing dress pants and a leather jacket.  Who wears dress pants and a leather jacket to the beach?  I am further not impressed. But I smile because I’m Breezy.

I also smile because though judgmental, blunt and honest in general – I cannot bring myself to tell Tedski that things are not looking good. Plus I’m an optimist and am hoping the date will get better, I mean fuck, witty repartee can salvage a lot of wreckage.

He’s got a pack full of bonfire paraphenalia and other goodies and a garbage bag full of wood and paper for the fire. Now, if this was my boyfriend, or we were camping, or some other suitable situation, I would be breezy…but no joke..if it wasn’t for me standing beside him –hair all done up, make-up on point, jewellry and the magic dress in full effect—he would look like a homeless Santa Clause. Be breezy…just be…fuckin’ Breezy…breathe

So we walk to the beach and on the way stop at Starbucks…I order…he pays…I go to the ladies room…and when I come back he’s got my coffee and he bought me a cookie that I hadn’t ordered but, he said,  just in case I wanted one.  He doesn’t get anything for himself, he’s brought a couple of brewskies along

you don’t mind do you?

Sidebar: remember how earlier when I said I didn’t drink he made this cute suggestion like we’d get virgin margaritas? Now it’s not a huge deal, people drink around me all the time and its no problem…it’s the fact that he was now going to do something very unlike what he had said earlier…

We go to the beach…and this is where it starts looking up.

I had forgotten how absolutely breath-takingly beautiful vancouver really is…especially from Kits beach. The mountains twinkle with snow and lights up to the right over downtown. The water is soothing and though a bit breezy (not me, the actual air) the night is fairly warm. The Sunset is amazing.

We post up on a log to chat while we watch the sunset. He sets down a blanket. Very gentlemanly, plus I wouldn’t want to risk snagging the magic dress. He looks at me for a longer than normal but date appropriate amount of time and says “you’re really cute!”  I, of course, am made even more awkward than usual by this.

We talk and it’s pretty good. Not a whole lot of witty repartee, just mostly informative stuff like where did you grow up—how many siblings—where have you travelled—kind of stuff. I turn my head sideways and try to picture kissing him. Not a huge fan of his teeth. But good hair. I’ve mentioned I’m judgmental right? His face is pretty cute so aside from the height deception, the not great clothes, this could potentially work.

Shit. Who am I kidding. This dude is losing me all over the place.  Sure…funny can make up for almost anything.  I mean, David Spade and I’m breaking the rules. But Tedski’s no David Spade. Garbage Man had been way less funny and honestly I was way more attracted to him. But I’m Breezy so I smile and I laugh and I carry on, though I swear I’m giving my best awkward laugh but staying on this side of polite so that I don’t hurt his feelings.

He has brought an extra jacket for me (which turns out to be needed) very cute and gentlemanly but if I’m being honest not something that particularly impresses me.  I’m less, chivalry will get you everywhere, and more, being smart and funny will get you everywhere.

He builds my ego with compliments.  He builds a fire.  Don’t make fun of me but no joke, I was already checking for the PoPo.

Oh yeah…and he’s got an axe.  Yes, an actual fucking axe, on a first date, presumably for splitting wood into kindling. Or murdering dates. Either or.

The fire blazes. It gets dark. I am doing an awful lot of mountain/star/ocean gazing. The chatter takes a serious nose dive.

He says a lot of things in different accents, especially Ukranian (we both are). I don’t like accents. Generally people are not good at them. I don’t like laughing when things aren’t funny. I feel its akin to lying. I do it anyway obviously because I can’t bring myself to just sit there in the goddamn radio silence of dead air after every non-funny thing he says or does.  Breezy.

In attempts to be funny, he often breaks out into song. I am not a fan. See reasons I don’t like accents again. His voice is shockingly good but I’m not lovig it. As a shy person, someone loudly singing in a public place makes me very uncomfortable.  You know how sometimes at a party someone will bring out a guitar – yeah I hate that person.  Similar to when people sing happy birthday, the vulnerability that they’re exposing me to makes me incredibly uncomfortable.  Mostly because most of the time they suck and so we’re all just faking it along.

He says he has to go take a whizz. I get left alone by the fire. Awesome. Only he doesn’t go very far, only like 30 feet away and I’m like holy shit is this dude going to whip out his dick and take a piss this close to me!?!?   I’m horrified, but it’s dark and I don’t think he knows I can see him.

And then he pulls it out.

A cigarette.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME! (lie number 2 – his profile specifically says non-smoker)

While he’s gone a couple walks by. They ask if you’re allowed fires. I say no – point to Tedski. They ask if they can join us. I say sure.

Teddy gets back. He doesn’t seem particularly impressed. Obviously, he wanted it to be just us, but then then they offer us beer, he accepts (I decline obviously) and everybody is happy (relatively speaking).

This couple turn out to be super cute and fun. The chick is a little chubby bunny just like me. We talk about life and school and work. They ask Tedski what he does and he tells them but in this round about not really upfront kind of way. Another strike…I don’t like people who aren’t overtly open. Secrets are for losers and boring people.  Plus, it always just seems like you have something to hide which is weird and makes everyone uncomfortable.  I’m not saying you have to share your life story but if you can’t reveal your career to someone in a 10 second sentence or less than you’re probably in the wrong one.

Several times I’m listening to something the girl or guy are saying and Tedski will just start talking to me…in a voice louder than a whisper…almost as if they aren’t there…or he can’t hear them…and even often leans his head across in front of my view as if to block them from my gaze. This happens numerous times. Teddy has another beer. He’s probably just pissed we’re not having alone time…but still…there’s no excuse for being so rude. He offers me some chocolate he brought for the date. The accents and singing and lame jokes continue. Not good. Teddy has another beer (are you counting?…that’s 3…now don’t get me wrong…I can probably drink most people under the table…or at the very least used to…but this is a first date…with a chick who no longers drinks…think maybe you should tone it down?).  Plus, he’s not one of those people who becomes super awesome when they’re drinking.

Funny thing though…this couple had been together for 7 months now…and they met…wait for it…wait for it…on Plenty of Fish.

So I tell them it’s our first date. We all have a chuckle. The guy says something like “kiss her, kiss her, kiss her” – not sure if Tedski senses I don’t want to, just doesn’t want to in front of these people, or something else but thankfully he doesn’t. So fucking awkward.

Tedski pulls out a joint. No fuckin’ joke! Now don’t get me wrong…I like to get Stizzled with the best of them but on a FIRST date? When it’s NEVER even remotely come up in conversation about whether your date would be cool with it? Seriously? I smile. Be breezy. I don’t partake.

The boyfriend asks if they should leave us alone, a couple of times. Tedski says nothing and I’m all like…no worries (all the while thinking please jesus christ don’t go!!). Dude probably senses I’m super uncomfortable or that Tedski wants them to get scarce. I wonder why this guy can sense my awkwardness but not Tedski? The girl and I go and try to find a bathroom. I tell her about the date and how it’s not so great. I say please don’t leave lol! She gives me her phone number.

Eventually the fire dies down. The other couple find other wood and plan to keep it going. We pack up and leave. I nonchalantly check my watch. It feels like this is the longest date in this history of the world.  I assume it’s like 1am or something.  It’s only 930pm! We had only been about 2 hours at the beach. Christ!

He casually asks about the date. I say I had fun. I mean, what else do you say to someone’s face? I know it’s kind of lying but I can’t help it…He asks if he looks like his pictures…I say yeah because I don’t know what else to say…like maybe you should stand next to a garden gnome in your photo for better height representation? He says I look way better than my photos (which I take as a huge compliment since I think my photos are actually pretty hot!)

We’re walking back up the hill towards my car and Tedski Manor and I can feel it coming…

“so we can do one of two things…” he says “…I can walk you to your car or you can come back to my place, meet my roommate, chill out…”

I spout some nonsense about being a lady (ha!) and demurely say we’d better call it a night.

My car is parked on a hill to beat all hills. We hug goodbye and he kisses me on the cheek. I have to gather the magic dress to get in the car…and then the cross-checks me like I’m…well…some really aggressive hockey player! If this had been a date that was going well I would have been mortified but since it wasn’t…meh! Teddy then holds the door for me. I get in. I’m buckled. Ready to roll. I look at him like…okay you can shut the door now.

He mumbles something about “getting a good night….” and before my thoughts can catch up and make my head turn he’s planting a kiss on me…

Awkward smile. I think I might have laughed uncomfortably. And I’m off. Bleh! I wipe my mouth. Yes, it was closed-mouthed-no-movement-all-saliva-remaining-on-outer-lips but still I was definitely a bit grossed out and immediately drove to the grocery to buy water and do some swishing lol! Might have been a minor over-reaction but I’m not sure I’ve ever let my mouth get violated before. I just couldn’t think fast enough. Plus it was so shocking. How could he have possibly thought it was a good idea…I ended the date at 930? I mean even if I was actually “ladylike” at the very least if I liked someone I’d be like, let’s get a coffee/drink/whatever. Driving home, I think I may have even done some outloud laughing and also some “thank god”ing and woohooing that I was free of that date!

I mean, it was a total and complete TEDisaster!

20 minutes later. I get a text.

U r wonderful!

Sidebar On Me Being Judgemental and Unforgiving:
So here’s another thing of the thing…as much as I can be hard on people/judgemental/etc. I was actually really upset by the whole date.

One, because well frankly I’m disappointed that it was so awful though in hindsight, I should have been more critical of the witty repartee and seen earlier it wasn’t up to par.

Two, because it never actually occurred to me that I would have a date where they liked me and I didn’t like them back. Now I’m not an idiot, I know people don’t always like each other but I always figured if one person didn’t like the other, well it would probably be mutual, because I mean, don’t you notice if someone doesn’t like you and that saps out all the chemistry?

For whatever reason though I actually had a bit of a cry over it…no joke…on the phone with my mom…that being said…I once cried over cheese…I bought it at Safeway…along with other groceries…but it had been what I went to the store for…I was making something…paid for it…got home…they hadn’t put it in the bag. Tear fest…so I’m just saying…but yeah it was upsetting.

The next night I get a message on Plenty of Fish talking about a “great time” and “would love to get together again.” I message back and as nicely as possible convey that he’s a “great guy” but that there was “no chemistry” and “good luck”

But hey. I got a language, an ego boost, a new buddy, and some dating experience out of it.


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

Law and Order: Dockett Number 492801: People vs. Garbage Man

Head Desk
The following story is non-fictional
and depicts actual people and events.

(deep voice over)    In the Criminal Justice System, the People are represented by two seperate yet equally important groups;  the Police who investigate crime and the District Attorny (Crown Counsel in Canada) who prosecute the offenders.  These are their stories.

Dun! Dun! (Law and Order sound)
Trial Part 4 
Opening Arguments
Febrauary 20, 2010

Crown:               In summation, I intend to prove that the defendant, Garbage Man, has committed the
crime of  “aggravated assault on future dates”. Pursuant to a conviction by guilty
verdict We, the people, will be seeking damages in the case against TELUS Mobility
Canada for “conspiracy to disrupt relationship formations” to the tune of $10, 000.
(for unreliable mobile service).

Dun! Dun!
Trial Part 19 
Febrauary 20, 2010

Crown:                Court reporter, would you please read aloud the messages which occured the day
after SSD’s “breezy” phone call.  These messages occured between Garbage Man
and SSD on, submitted as exhibits F and G in evidence.

Reporter:             (reading aloud in monotone 80s computer voice)

Gman:                 All better. Have dinner plans Friday, want to hang out afterwards? You could come
to my place or I could drive out to yours maybe? I’m busy rest of weekend. Our
mobile phone companies are incompatible (read: TELUS sucks). Bye Sexy.

SSD:                    Sounds good. I’ll come to your place (SSD specified that she answered the
message accordingly because she hasn’t given him her home phone number yet
so she certainly was not letting him come over to her house). When were you

Gman:                  Dinner is 7, so maybe 830 or 9?

SSD:                     9 is good. What’s your address again?

Gman:                 I’m really looking forward to seeing you again. (sighing and “ahh”ing from the
gallery)  Would it alright if we made it 930? Gives address.

SSD:                    Yeah 930 is fine. Cya then.

(Court reporter is excused and SSD is sworn in)

Crown:               (looking at SSD)  and were you on time?

SSD:                 Well not exactly…you see I spent too much time primping and didn’t leave my house till
9pm…uh…and it’s about a 45 min drive to Gman’s place…and then the highway was shut
down because of a huge accident…and so I had to take this endless detour…but…but…I
called him…(trails off)

Crown:               Please describe the conversation

SSD:                  Well…can I have immunity first please…because I risked calling illegally from my cell
because I didn’t have hands free set up yet)

Crown:               Granted…continue

SSD:                  Okay so it was like this…I called Gman and was like…blah blah traffic…blah blah
unavoidable…blah blah sorry…

Then he was like “You’re pretty punctual usually though aren’t you?”

Then I was like…(Flashback to first date and being a couple minutes late)…uh…yeah
I guess…sometimes I’m late though…(awkward laugh)…

And he was like…(not said in soothing voice, but more disappointed parental tone)…
oh well what can you do…if there’s an accident there’s an accident…blah blah blah
…cya soon…then I hung up.

Crown:               and how did that make you feel, SSD?

SSD:                  Honestly I almost turned around and drove home. I mean Fuck this…oops *blush*
excuse my language Judge…so I was like forget this…I mean the proper response when
someone calls to tell you that they’re going to be late is…(even if it means sucking it up
and faking it)…no worries that’s fine…take your time and drive safe. I mean…we
barely know each other…not to mention he had been the one pushing the time
back earlier anyway right?

Crown:               and so did you turn around?

SSD:                  No. (sighs).  I figured I would give him the benefit of the doubt. Plus I’d just spent like
2 hours primping for him…so I wasn’t going to waste it.

Crown:               Tell us what happened when you arrived at his house.

SSD:                 So when I get to his house, admittedly it is almost 10:30pm and I felt hugely embarrassed
that I was so late…even though mostly it wasn’t my fault…and super awkward because
of how he acted on the phone…plus hello! second date jitters…and then I knocked on the
door…and he pokes his head out just a smidge…and I guess he was trying to be funny
but I kept thinking…yeah…we’re not tight like that yet that joking in an awkward
situation is a good idea…and then…you wouldn’t believe it?!?!

Crown:              Oh, do tell us…please go on…

SSD:                  He was wearing jogging pants!!!

(Gasps are heard around the courtroom. Whispers, pointing and laughter ensue. Judge brings down gavel several times asking for “order!”)

Crown:               And you were shocked at this drastic change in attire from the first date?

Defence:             Objection! Leading the witness!

Judge:                 Sustained

Crown:               I’ll rephrase. What was your reaction to his attire?

SSD:                  I couldn’t freakin’ believe it! I had just spent 2 hours getting myself all super-sexified and
girly and he’s wearing sweat pants? I mean come on! And the thing is, it’s not like I’m
anti-sweat pants…heck I wear them myself when I’m at home…but this was supposed to
be our second date. A Date for Christ’s sake!! And yes…I know…the date did take place
at his humble abode but that does not make practically wearing pyjamas acceptable.
Plus, what moron thinks he’s getting laid in sweat pants???

Defence:             Objection! The witness is using prejudicial characterizations of my client!

Judge:                 Overruled! Defendant wore sweatpants on a date…calling him a moron is not a
characterization it’s a fact.

Crown:                Tell us what happened next SomethingSheDated…

SSD:                    Well…uh…I was so distracted by the whole phone call plus weird door opening plus
jogging pants that I barely said anything for the first…like half hour. Plus he didn’t
even have a movie or something planned to watch. He was watching the Olympics
when I showed up…and so we just kept watching them.

Crown:                Thank you, that is all.  The prosecution rests. Your witness.

Defence:              So had you and the defendant discussed what would be happening on this second date?

SSD:                   Well…uh…no…I mean…I assumed…

Defence:              (interrupting) Ha! You assumed!

Crown:                Objection! Badgering the witness you Honour!

Judge:                  The defence will please let the witness answer the question. Go ahead SSD…you may

SSD:                    so yeah…uh…I just assumed that he was aware that effort was required. I mean…I
figured after how amazing our first date had been…the second date would at least
attempt to compare…

Defence:              and the date did take place in his “home” and you after all said you wear sweatpants in
your “home” did you not?

SSD:                    Yes…but not when getting frisky is a possibility…

Defence:              And did you get frisky?

Crown:                 Objection!

Judge:                  Overruled…please tell us about the frisky activities (judge rests chin on elbows and
upturned palms and leans towards witness, very pervy-like)…yes do tell us all the

SSD:                     (blushing) yada yada yada making out yada yada yada shirts off yada yada yada
uncircumcised yada yada never seen one before yada yada not ready to have sex
yet yada

Defence:                 So…besides the attire…did he do anything else that “turned you off” or would
prevent future copulations?

SSD:                     Well (looks up quizzically and scrunches face)….he did sort of talk about meat during a

Gallery:                  (numerous voices) He did what? (Laughter) Can you imagine? (Laughter) What kind of
meat? (Laughter)

Judge:                    QUIET! Or I’ll have you all in contempt! Witness will continue and please…specify the
meat in question…

SSD:                      Well it was sort of after he found out he wasn’t going to get laid that night…but
before he figured out he could get a bit further than he already had…and we were
just talking and he brought up the fact that he had had sushi for dinner with a guy
from work…and then he was talking about eating healthier blah blah…and then he
started talking about how he’s started eating Bison…

Defence:                 (interrupts with laughter) Bison? Seriously?

SSD:                       yes! (Annoyed) Bison!

Defence:                 and yet…you still let him get further with you?

SSD:                       well…yeah…I mean…we kind of laughed at the topic and then got it on again…

Defence:                 The defence rests.

Judge:                     The witness may be excused.

Dun! Dun!
Trial Part 36
Closing Arguments
February 20, 2010

Defence:               The Crown has not been able to prove its burden for the crimes charged. At best, they
may argue that my client gave future dates a dirty look but certainly not “aggravated
assault”. In addition, my client lacks the intelligence to formulate the “intent to cause
confusion” about whether or not he likes the witness.

Crown:                  The Defence has spun tales about the appropriateness of casual attire and tried to
distract you with notions of “the clothes do not make the man”. They have claimed
that abuse using the weapons of bad pants and meat talk are not vigorous enough to
justify an “aggravated assault” charge but they forget this comes after the weeks of
pummelling, while my client waited to hear about the defendant’s health and a second
date. Finally the defence asserts that the accused lacks the intelligence to intentionally
cause confusion, which in itself proves his guilt in “grand stupidity”. They cannot have
it both ways. The jury must convict this man before he causes further harm to
innocent daters everywhere. It is your duty!!

Dun! Dun!
Trial Part 45
February 20, 2010

Judge:                        And does the jury have a verdict?

Presiding Juror:         We do your Honour.

Judge:                         And what say you

Presiding Juror:        On the charge of “aggravated assault on future dates” we find the defendant guilty.
We would also like to make the recommendation to the Court, that the charges be
ammended to include “intent to cause confusion” and “grand stupidity”.

Judge:                         That is highly unusual…hmm

Presiding Juror:        We know, Your Honour, but we felt that it was justified to speak out on behalf of
the victim.

Judge:                        Very well…the Crown is advised to consider the jury’s statements for future
charges.  And how say you on the charge of “conspiracy to disrupt relationship
formations” in cahouts with TELUS Mobility.  On the issue of damages, we
award the claimant, SSD, on behalf TELUS Mobility, a total of $10,000 for
time wasted and anxiety and uncertainty suffered.

Judge:                        Deputies, please remove the defendant. The Court would like to thank the jury for
its time.  Court is adjourned.

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