The Bird Seed Theory, or Why He Keeps Contacting You

Bird Seed Theory

Something She Said

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He Doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

10 MORE Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing On Twitter

 

 

Continued from Ten Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing On Twitter

 

11.  Twitter is not for porn

There’s no need to post porn on Twitter and there’s no need to RT porn on Twitter because ALL THE REST OF THE INTERNET!!!  Anyone who is old enough to be cool watching/seeing porn knows damn well how to look for it on the internet.  Tweeting or RTing porn is really just a sign that you’re old and out of touch, sorry, that’s all there really is to it.  And honestly, you should keep that weirdness to yourself.

 

12.  Manually RTing (and Quote Tweet)

Some people will disagree on this one (the explanation I’m usually given when I ask why is–because the person believes that their followers need some kind of explanation or contextualization–however, this really only explains the manual RTing of links etc. and wouldn’t explain anything for most tweets).  The only time “quoting a tweet” is fine is when someone has said something that will contextualize the hilarious/poignant thing you plan to tweet.  However, and this is a big one, if what you’re adding isn’t a joke or important message and is simply a reply to the original tweet, quoting it is just annoying because now all your followers have to see this tedious tweet.  There’s a reason you don’t always hit “reply all” on an email and a response to a tweet isn’t that much different; if it’s not a joke that could potentially stand on its own, don’t bother.

The reason Manually RTing a tweet is bullshit is twofold.  One, by manually RTing instead of just hitting that lovely little retweet button, what you’re doing (whether you mean to or not) is hijacking this person’s work to claim a little bit of the glory for yourself.  Though you’re not stealing or plagiarizing the tweet, you’re trying to ride the coattails of someone else (it’s a little bit like name dropping in a way, trying to elevate yourself on the shoulders of another).  Two, you’re essentially stopping the thread of RTing.  Nobody is going to want to retweet the joke with the stupid quotations marks and your even stupider addition to it and thus, the RTing cycle stops with you.  And even if, by some miracle, people do retweet your manual retweet, the original tweeter will never know and we’re back with reason one, you’ve hijacked their joke.  Don’t be a dick.  If you like someone’s tweet and want to pass it along to your followers (which I always encourage), simply hit the retweet button, nbd.

 

13.  Typing in front of the @

Now this one isn’t an all or nothing as sometimes, many times even, it’s totally kosher to type something in front of an @.  Good reasons for doing this are:  your response is hilarious, your response is really important, your response is interesting.  When you type in front of the @ sign, it means that now everyone who follows you (not just those who follow you and the person you @ed) will now see your tweet.  This can be great if, like I said above, your tweet is worth sharing.  However, long back and forth conversations, boring chit chat, etc. are not good reasons to bother doing this.  Generally speaking, have some humility and don’t assume that a conversation is so fucking interesting that everyone would want to read it (because let’s be honest, they most likely don’t).

 

14.  Tweeting about unfollowers (whether organically or through a third party bullshit service)

You know how it’s super embarassing and awkward to tell a total stranger about how you have no friends and everyone hates you?  This is just like that.  While I’m all for honesty and authenticity, certain things just don’t need to be talked about, ever.  Additionally, you have no idea why these people unfollowed you and let’s be real, talking about people not being interested in what you have to say is about as clear of an example as possible that they were right because you’re boring as fuck.  Don’t be a crybaby.  Either you care that they left (in which case keep that shit to yourself) or you don’t and then you wouldn’t bother tweeting this nonsense.  Plus, the people who do still follow you really don’t care so don’t alienate them too.

 

15.  Don’t click the DM links

You know how you think your account got hacked because now weird shit is being posted on your behalf?  Yeah, you didn’t.  You’re not important enough to be hacked, no one gives a shit.  You’ve been phished, and unless you’re brand new to the internet, this makes you an idiot.  No one is saying mean shit about you on their blog, and no one is passing around a photo of you.  Don’t click weird links, don’t click links from people you don’t know, and if you do click a link for goodness sake don’t enter important information.  And if you do fuck up and make this mistake, change your password.

 

16.  Don’t thank someone (or shout them out or #NF anyone) for following

I often follow a list of people, like 100 at a time (perhaps on a list called “Montreal Awesomeness” or something because I live in Montreal now so I’m all about the locals).  That being said, I may have read your bio, or a couple of tweets, but I didn’t sign on for a lifetime.  I’m a bit like that highschool teacher who gives you the speech about how everyone starts with an A and it’s up to you to keep it.  Meaning, just because I followed doesn’t mean I can’t just as easily unfollow and shouting me out or thanking me for following just makes me feel weird and pressured.  I didn’t follow you as a favor or to be nice (logical reasons to thank someone).  This is Twitter, and at its core is totally selfish.  I followed you for me, so let’s not make a big thing of it eh?  Don’t make this weird.

 

17.  Auto DM, Auto Follow, Auto Unfollow, Auto anything really

Auto anything is bullshit.  If you can’t do something on Twitter yourself, you shouldn’t be doing it.  It lacks effort, integrity, and interest.  Don’t be boring and annoying.  Stop this shit.

 

18.  Be Interesting (subtweeting, vague tweeting, boring tweeting)

If the subtweet can’t stand on its own as an interesting message or a funny joke, don’t bother.  If the name you’re using won’t be recognized by your followers (either as a joke name, like the way I often address a nonspecific Chad, or someone you often reference), don’t bother.  If the tweet is something obvious like good people are good and respect women and I suck at tweeting, don’t bother.  If the tweet would fit more accurately in a your daily log of activities, went to the gymmom made dinnerso tired gotta shower, don’t fucking bother.

 

19.  Checking in to anything (foursquare, yelp, getglue, etc.)

Nobody cares where you are, are eating, are watching, etc.  And, if they do care, they’ll follow you on those specific apps themselves.  If you’re worried people don’t know you exist on these other platforms, a tweet once a month or every two months, just so they know, is fine I guess.

 

20.  Instagram on Twitter

Look, I know, I hate it too, how Twitter/Instagram severed the ability to find people via the app when Facebook bought them.  But, that doesn’t mean you need to post 5 pics in a row on your Twitter feed.  One link to instagram, every so often, when it’s a really good pic or (even better) a really great caption, is fine.  But more than one link in a row is annoying, if I wanted to see your pics, the first link would’ve already had me clicking follow (particularly now that you can follow etc. via a webpage and not just on your phone).

 

Disagree with any of these?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments (but make sure you offer up some *logic* on why I’m wrong and you’re right).  Have any more to add?  

10 Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing on Twitter

People will tell you that you should do Twitter your own way and in many ways they are right.  You should express yourself how you want to express yourself, that is, after all, what self-expression is all about, no?  That being said, people do a lot of stupid things (in no particular order).

 

1.  Team Follow Back

Under no circumstances should you involve yourself with anything #TeamFollowBack related or anyone who says “I follow back” and here’s why.  Team follow back and all people who automatically follow back are really telling you that they’ll follow anyone and who wants to be followed by someone who will follow anyone.  This is not a third grade birthday party and it’s time to be a selective grown up.  Moreover, how good can someone’s tweets really be if they only gain followers by promising to return the favor?  Follow people because they’re awesome.  Follow people because they interest you.  Follow people because you’ve created elaborate fantasies where you do all kinds of illicit things and everyone is always happy, or whatever.

 

2. Don’t beg celebrities (or others) to follow you back

I know this is similar to number 1. but it happens so often and is even more aggressive and uncomfortable than simply being un-discerning like team follow back that it needs to be addressed.  Asking if someone follows back, begging to be followed, and any sort of angry @ mention where you bitterly state that someone won’t follow you back because of their follower ratio is about as pathetic as it gets.  This is sad and you’re not only embarrassing yourself but humanity as a whole.  Get a clue.  And as stated in 1. if you’re following a person simply so they will follow you back, knock it off, you’re doing it wrong anyway.

 

3.  #FF (Follow Friday)

This one is a bit of a double edged sword.  In theory, it should work great, the people who you think are awesome recommend other awesome people to follow and then you do, in fact, follow them.  In reality, Fridays are the worst on Twitter.  People #FF entire lists of people without offering any kind of explanation as to why (or when they do, the reason is often stupid like #HotChicks or #MyFavoriteGuys – both which are stupid reasons to follow as judgments like hot and favorite are about as relative as its gets and let’s be honest, if your #FF is a whole list of people you’re not very discerning to begin with and thus your recommendation means nada).

That being said, I was recently reminded of the one positive of this whole thing.  It can make someone feel really special.  Someone recently did a #FF for me that was about how they thought I was great etc. etc. and dammit if it didn’t make my entire day.  That being said, if the person did it all the time or even for a bunch of people on the same day, it would start to feel a little like bullshit.  So, if you decide to do #FF, do it sparingly and with real thought and emotion.

 

4.  Stop Careless (Moronic) RTing (retweeting)

For the love of intelligent things, if someone does #FF you, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES RT it (you may be able to get away with doing so if the tweet is incredibly hilarious and well written but otherwise, no exceptions).  See, here’s the thing – the people you’re RTing it to ALREADY FOLLOW YOU! So now it just looks like you’re either a moron who doesn’t realize this or a total jackass who RTs compliments (have some humility, yo).  Even worse than this is RTing it if the #FF is a list of however many names the person could squeeze into 140 characters.  Now, not only are you okaying this foolish behavior of pandering and idiocy but you’re propagating it to your followers (who I assure you don’t care that you were on a nondescript list) and are not going to then follow all the people on said nondescript list anyway.  Hell, they might even unfollow you for this annoying behavior (I know I do).

 

5.  Stop Careless Thanking

We get it, you’re grateful!  There is no need to thank the person who #FFed you in a list with 6 other people and even less of a need to thank the person, while still @ing all the people in the original tweet – because here’s what – not only does the rest of the list not care that you’re thankful but they now probably hate you a little bit for your stupidity.  USE SOME LOGIC.  Seriously.  And if you RT someone thanking you for your #FF nondescript list, just close your Twitter account now.  Honestly, you’re a blight on society.

 

6.  Don’t ask for Retweets or favs (stars)

Up until recently I didn’t know this was a thing, that people asked each other for this, that people traded these things like a barter system, and my life is infinitely sadder now that I know this exists, so don’t be one of these people.  If your tweets don’t speak for themselves, they weren’t very good anyway.  And if you think your tweets are dynamite (and they actually are) then just engage with people, offer witty quips, RT and star the tweets of others that you enjoy and so that the people you find funny know you exist, just don’t expect things from people like a trade off.  If you’re good, people will eventually see.

 

7.  Don’t worry about follower ratio

If someone makes you laugh or interests you, follow them.  Regardless of how many people you are following.  There is no magic follower ratio, there is no magic if I follow less than 500 people I will be seen as a big deal answer.  Follow who you like, don’t follow who you don’t like.  As a tip though try to remember slow and steady wins the race.  Back in the day I remember my getting dizzy when I tried to keep up with more than 400 people but you adapt, you get better at Twitter.  So don’t sign up and follow 2000 people, start slow, find your groove, and adjust as you go.

 

8.  Think before tweeting

In all honesty, this applies more to @ mentions than anything.  You can tweet whatever the fuck you want to and people will follow or unfollow accordingly.  But @ mentions are a little different.  You see, the people following you signed up for that shit so if you tweet asinine nonsense and they see it, well, they made that choice.  @ mentions, however, don’t have that same limit.  You can @ mention anyone (though that doesn’t mean you should).  Here are some general guidelines to keep in mind:

  1. Don’t repeat the joke back to the person in slightly different words.  Write your own jokes (see also: doing this is never funny).
  2. Don’t @ mention them with the opposite of their tweet.  If I tweet https://twitter.com/SSDated/status/349305174164119554 and you respond with https://twitter.com/raywade1/status/349306633400229888 You can rest assured that I 100% hate you.
  3. Don’t bother @ mentioning with any of the following:  ha!, haha, lol, lolz, lmao, lmfao, so true, etc.  Just star their tweet and be on your way.
  4. Don’t @ mention something off topic.  If the person tweeted about ice cream and you come back with so what do you do for work? you’re a fucking moron.
  5. Don’t bother @ mentioning someone about a tweet older than a week.  In social media time that’s like a year ago and the original tweeter is no longer thinking about it.  Find something newer to respond to.
  6. Use your words.  I can’t tell you how many times an @ mention doesn’t make sense (I’m assuming because the person thinks I can read their mind).  If you can’t be clear in 140 characters than maybe don’t mention them.
  7. Finally, honestly, truly, just put a little thought into your response.  I often get @ mentions where I follow up with several back and forth tweets till the guy (sorry dudes, it always seems to be you) admits that the original @ mention to me was stupid and he didn’t really think it through.  So don’t make me be that bitch that harasses you till you realize you’re a moron.  Just stop the idiocy before we get started.  It’s okay to just star a tweet and not bother @ mentioning.

 

9.  Hashtags

Now this one is a little controversial.  Some people absolutely can’t stand them.  I think they’re okay when used thoughtfully.  I’m okay with a hashtag if it’s cute and/or funny #FatPanda #TheyBuriedMeAliveSomeoneHelpMeImHungry etc.  That being said, even when funny or creative, brevity and moderation are your friends.  Once or twice.  Here and there.  No big deal.  I’m also okay with hashtags when they serve a purpose #StandWithWendy being a favorite of mine recently or my always favorite #PossibleBookTitles or any of the ones about changing movies/bands/etc.  Two rules of thumb to avoid be a super douche when it comes to hashtags:  Don’t hashtag incorrectly (don’t hashtag #montreal #vancouver #sydney #boobs in a tweet about gardening in the hopes someone will care about your tweet, they won’t) and don’t hashtag excessively (this goes for instagram too–there’s no need for #igers, #instagrammers, etc.  A. because we’re all instagrammers, this is instagram, don’t be a fucking moron and B. these are redundant, the same, just pick one).

 

10.  Don’t treat twitter like a chatroom

Don’t tweet Hi or any variation of this at anyone, ever.  If you have something to say, say it.  Not only do public greetings like this seem creepy (and out of touch with social media), but they confuse the person you’re @ing.  First, they’ll probably wonder if they know you somehow.  When that’s not it they’ll wonder what’s going on, why would someone tweet a greeting, that’s so bizarre.  Then, after they’ve wasted sufficient time on this, one of two things will likely happen.  They’ll respond because they’re kind and you’re pathetic and the whole thing makes them uncomfortable or they’ll block you because fuck that.

 

Disagree with any of these?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments (but make sure you offer up some *logic* on why I’m wrong and you’re right).  Have any more to add?  

READ MORE:  Ten More Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing On Twitter

Third Date with France (Part I): He Calls Me Sweet

Dating

 

He calls me sweet.

I think it’s a language barrier thing. But it makes me swoon.

There’s a saying that goes something like ‘the only difference between a guy saying something creepy and a guy say something sweet, is how good looking he is’. And in a roundabout way, there’s some validity to this. Though it’s not all about the looks. It’s in the way he says it, in the way he looks at you, in the way you two are together. It doesn’t have to be love, it doesn’t have to be soul mate stuff, it doesn’t even have to be the same with every guy. But what can be creepy or a turn off with one guy, can in fact be totally adorable in another.

Like pet names.

The Nick Name once called me schmoopy. I almost died of disgust. That being said, I might’ve even let it slide with France. Okay, admittedly, schmoopy is ridiculous in any language, but you get my drift.

So when he called me Vampire because of my late night hours (see: writer/grad student/nightowl), it was adorable.

And when he calls me sweet, instead of sweetie, I make no effort to correct him. Because it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t even want him to use the correct term. Because, sweet.

After our Friday night makeout session, I was hooked.

We texted. We made chatter about work and training (at the gym), about school and writing, about the sturdiness of my newly put together Ikea bed and whether or not it would hold our combined weight. He would happily help me test it out, he said, force te garanti.

And then I did something I don’t normally like to do. I put away all the bullshit rules I feel are implied of a relationship where the guy actually likes me and isn’t just throwing bird seed, and I asked him

So, when do I get to see you next?

His response?

When do you want!!

Oh Jesus. Look at the excitement or language barrier. Swoon. Tomorrow night? To which he answered YES!! Now that’s the kind of enthusiasm I could get behind and in front. And that was that, we would hang out Sunday night. The chatter continued. He had to go to work again soon. This time he was working security. And then he asked have you eaten yet? I had, which is what I told him. Apparently, he wanted to get something to eat and wanted me to join him. I know it seems meaningless but honestly, swoon. The fact that he wanted to hang out with me in a situation that absolutely negated any possibility of sex or action of any kind…well…made me feel good. Simple as that. I told him next time. And he said you bet sexy!

The next afternoon, Sunday, he texted

Hi sweet.

We talked for a bit and eventually I asked

what time he wanted to hang out tonight?

His response was

I don’t know but maybe late, is probleme?

And honestly it was a problem. I had just gone from feeling secure, feeling liked, feeling like we were dating to feeling like a jump off in less time than it takes to explain what a jump off is.

[For those that don’t know…because when I tweeted this term awhile back I realized it wasn’t as commonly used as I would think…it’s about the same as a booty call…or a side chick…it’s the chick you don’t claim…it’s the girl who’s just for sex…it’s friends with benefits but without the friends…just ask Lil Kim]

Admittedly I was hurt. Not devastated or anything. I mean, what had I really been expecting to happen between us? Could a language barrier be that easily overcome (especially given my love of communication)? Did we even have anything in common? Did we have any of the same values? Hopes for our future? Dreams for the world? Could we even ever have a phone conversation? So I mean…I guess it wasn’t the end of the world. It certainly wasn’t going to keep me from participating in all kinds of sexy shenanigans with him.

All that being said, I like to know where I stand.

Because I can put up my walls and be a grown up and prepare myself for a relationship based purely on amazing sex (and enjoy the fuck out of it…don’t get me wrong). And I can be the sweet girl that shares things with you and lets you in and is all giggles and sunshine and wants to talk about (fun and interesting) things till 2am (and THEN have the amazing sex). But I need to know which girl to be. Both girls are me. Both girls are authentic. Both girls are the truth. But I need to know which girl to be if we don’t want to end this thing with me playing psycho killer on repeat and ripping you to shreds on the blog.

And so I asked, because that’s how I roll,

How come?

Which he thought meant, what time are you coming? And thus answered 9pm or 10pn

I told him I meant – why? But yeah that’s fine. And it was. Truthfully, when he had said late I had been thinking midnight or 1am or something.

And then he answered my question

Because is only my day off per week i don’t want stress for speed, be relax.

Which was fine with me, and something I completely understood. I hate being rushed for a date, because then I show up all flustered and stressed and it taints things a bit. And being that I’m a nightowl, I didn’t really have a problem with this.

Still, there was a bit of a sting from the whole thing. Okay, sure maybe I wasn’t a jumpoff, but I didn’t feel great about it. I mean, he was still just coming over to my place, and the whole coming over late thing, and blah. Meh. Boo.

Except.

Then he threw a change up.

And asked if I wanted to go see a movie.

Which I most definitely did. Did I have any idea what was playing at the theatres here?? No clue. Did I have a particular movie in mind?? Not a chance. Did it really matter in the slightest?? Not one single bit.

I met him on the corner of Saint Catherine and Saint Mathieu. Now, here’s where I’m going to say something. That might sound…a tad…racist? no…that’s not the word…but well…maybe just a generalization? I don’t know. You decide. But here’s the thing, he was wearing sweat pants, joggers, the kind of thing that I spend almost everyday studying in the winter (except without UBC stamped on the butt, obviously). Only…I didn’t mind.

Now I know what you’re thinking. a. Ugh. Gross. and b. Um…hasn’t this chick given dudes the hardest time for wearing the same thing on previous dates (see: Garbage Man and Cry Baby Romeo). Okay, actually I just realized that Cry Baby Romeo would negate this theory…so it’s definitely not a race thing…maybe it’s just a hot guy thing? or a muscle bound sex god thing? I don’t know.

See I was going to write this whole big thing about how white dudes wearing jogging pants is totally unacceptable for anything shy of spending the weekend together. But then, what about Cry Baby Romeo ?? Admittedly, he was a step up from Garbage man, his joggers were nicer, newer, more stylish. But nonetheless, it still wasn’t great. So humph. There’s go that theory. Or maybe the theory works and Cry Baby Romeo was just the exception to the rule. More thought on this required.

Needless to say, when France showed up in what looked like brand new joggers and a tight t-shirt, I couldn’t have cared less. He has an amazing shoe game too so I guess it kind of just worked. And honestly, with arms like that who’s even looking at the bottoms.

And so after hugs, and hellos, we walked. For like 10 blocks. Which really isn’t the biggest deal except I was wearing these sandals that sometimes give me blisters when I walk too much (and which I’d worn because I’d assumed we were going to go to the theatre that was only 4 blocks away in the other direction). But I rolled with the punches be breezy and all that like it was no big thing.

The walk, as walks tend to do, gave us plenty of time to talk. On our first date he had asked me if I stayed friends with exes. I had answered yes, because generally speaking, anyone I’ve had a relationship with is a good enough person that I would want to. And at the very least I like things to be amiable. But then I guess the conversation had turned to something else because I never got to ask it back. This walk would give me such an opportunity.

In a very small window of time, I found out a few things, that were…um…not great.

He has kids (not a bad thing on its own). They’re back in Paris. He’s not with the mom, obviously. Hmmm.

The next day he has to go see his ex, I guess they lived together because his name is on the phone, cable, etc. and he has to go get that all sorted out. Hmmm.

And then I asked, so do you stay friends with your exes?

[For reference, boys, the correct answer is yes. Sure, we don’t want you to be all in love with them still and you don’t even really have to be buddies, but what we don’t want is anger. Nobody likes Angry Anthony. Real Talk].

Unfortunately, his answers was not great. He seemed a little unsure how to answer or how to say it. I suggested, like do you stay friendly or when you’re done with them, you’re done with them?

He chose the latter. Oh. Hmmm.

Maybe it was the horrified look on my face or the fact that I literally said that was awful to hear as someone who’s just started dating him. I mean, is that what I have too look forward to? If we ever stop seeing each other he’ll just toss me aside, all angry like?

And then he became all cute again. There were hugs in the street, jokes about not needing to be scared. Real sweet shit. But the moment can’t be erased. But, I mean, was I really looking for something serious? No. In which case, does it really matter? I guess not. Though I don’t like the idea of anyone being that angry at me that they would cut me out of their life. I mean damn. But I guess, you can’t worry about that stuff so, let’s just press on.

We finally arrived at the theatre. Discussed movie choices. Settled on TED. To be honest, I picked TED and he let me pick. So yeah. Cute. And then came the thing that I love. Came the thing that says to me, I am man and I’ve got this. I know it’s sexist. I know many of you people disagree with how I view a guy paying for things. But the truth is, it’s not about the money. It’s about the gesture. It’s the fact that he just strode right up to the counter, ordered two tickets, and then paid for them. Case closed. Done. Butterflies. It’s the same way I’d swoon if while walking down a sidewalk, the dude walks on the outside with me on the inside, or the way I’d want him to grab my hand if it looked like I was going to walk across a street when it was unsafe. What can I say, my dad taught me this stuff as my protector, my hero, my rock. And I find it important.

We rode the 10 escalators to the top. Okay maybe there were only 4 but whatever. I was wearing one of my many maxi dresses and made a joke about how I always have to hold them when I get on and off an escalator because I’m worried they’ll get caught in the gears and rip right off. His response? That if that happened he would take off all his clothes and give them to me. He would walk around in his boxers for me. Now maybe I’m too easy. Or maybe he’s too hot. But dammit if that shit didn’t make me swoon some more. *stands closer, touches him more, is happier*

Once at the top, he asked if I wanted anything to eat. I’ve been really watching what I eat since coming to Montreal (hence the 20lbs. weightloss) and I didn’t really want to spoil it so I said no thanks, I’m good. He was hungry. And I know you’re probably thinking, wow, this sounds really tedious, is this chick really just rambling on about movie theatre food? But I assure you, it’s to highlight a bigger situation.

See, he looked at the line for the popcorn etc. and then he looked at the line for Tim Hortons (yes…they have Tim Hortons in the movie theatre here). The line was 10 deep at the popcorn and only 2 guys at Timmy Hos so that’s where he went. Now, we weren’t late for our movie, we had lots of time. But real talk, he chose Timmy Hos because of the no-line. Now who among us doesn’t hate a lineup. I mean, you’re basically a serial killer if you enjoy it. That being said, it seemed a bit odd to me, like was it really that big of a deal.

Until, I watched as he got more and more irritated. I swear the two dudes in front of us managed to take as long as humanly possible with their order, and there seemed to be some confusions. And I stood there, watching, as this dude beside me got angrier…I mean I could almost literally see his blood pressure rising. I did my best to be adorable and distract him which seemed to work (because fuck yo…this isn’t my city and I’m not about to have some crazy awkward situation where buddy flips out on someone). That being said, the night was a bit of an eye opener both with this and the whole not staying kosher with exes thing. Apparently dude was a tad angry. And honestly I should’ve probably picked up on the that when on the first date he wouldn’t explain any of his tatoos to me (and not because he was tired of doing so or blah blah blah) but more like because he had walls, emotional walls.

Nonetheless, he waited for the food and since Timmy Hos didn’t have water, I had to join the other line to get some. And in the end I ended up offering to get his drink…so really reinforcing, the whole him paying for the movie really isn’t about the money, it’s about the gesture, which I’m happy to return when it presents itself.

 

My First Date In Montreal: A New “Something” Called France

First Dates

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o France had seen my facebook.  I waited patiently.  Would he think me lovely?  Would he still want to meet me?  Am I just as adorable in my ‘perfect pose’ photos as I am in the ‘having fun and living real life’ photos?

His response said it all.  Something like OMG you’re so curvy I love it! and you’re a magnifique woman!!! wow.  (I say “something like” because with the language barrier and all you can understand my not giving a shit that he said u r instead of you’re and a few other grammatical errords but I don’t want to drive you guys mad with it…so can go ahead and assume I’m ‘editing’ things for the rest of this post (and all the others probably). So yeah.  Swoon.  And I didn’t even mind him using the word curvy…I mean he’s French and all…whatever.

I said some things.  And then he reiterated the point…he thought I was sexy as fuck (in as many words) but it was more than that he said…I was awesome.  And then as we were talking about the gym he even made a joke about how I could forget the gym…he liked me just the way I was.  I mean, fuck.  *falls of chair and doesn’t even care* SWOON!

Sidenote:  Jesus I’m easy to woo with a couple bullshit lines though eh? (I mean I’m not saying they were bullshit from him…hopefully he meant them…but seriously…dudes…it’s so easy…how can you guys not make this shit happen?!?!)

Then I said something about here I was thinking you could train me and he said Yes…I can train you…to which I replied…I bet you could.  Smooth right?  We texted for awhile longer.  Talked about how I’m a nightowl (something that would later haunt me…well maybe haunt me…maybe a good thing…you’ll see).  Talked about how he was excited to get back to training (he was just recovering from a muscle injury of some kind).  And real talk…if this was him out of shape…fuck.  No.  Words.  And then finally, with my hairdryer sitting in a box ready to be opened we made plans to hang out.

I think he still thought I might take him up on the whole help-me-construct-my-ikea-furniture-thing as I still hadn’t put my bed together yet (read: was still sleeping on the world’s most uncomfortable futon) but that wasn’t quite how I saw things.  The conversation actually started with something as simple as so what are you doing today? and I said that I was going to be putting my furniture together and he said can it wait, I am seeing a friend later but I could come help after? and things just progressed from there.  I figured he could swing by and we could just for a walk.  My friend always suggested to me that when I meet dates it doesn’t have to be at a coffee spot.  Just grab some beers and hang out in a park she said and while that wasn’t really my style (given that I’m sober) and a park seems a little sketch…the idea of him coming here and taking a little walk while we see what’s what sounded pretty good.  Plus, I’m not going to lie…it was still really hot and humid here and the idea of trekking somewhere and showing up all hot and bothered didn’t really appeal to me.  The idea that he would show up here and I would be all blissfully freezing (having just made love to my air conditioner) sounded perfect.

And for anyone freaking out about me having a guy know where I live etc., it’s a big apartment building, my name isn’t anywhere on anything, there’s always a night door man and it’s locked.  Not to mention there seems to always be people everywhere here…guess that’s downtown summer living for ya.

The only thing that did have me a tad apprehensive was that we weren’t meeting till like 11:30pm (see: nightowl ass biting).  But here’s the thing of the thing.  In Montreal…and other major cities (major major not like Vancouver major)…people do things later.  And it’s no big deal.  Eating dinner at 10pm like it’s nothing.

Additionally, given the language barrier and school starting soon…and my desire not to be in a committed relationship (at least not long term)…I’m not sure I had any real designs or hopes for how this would all turn out.  I mean being completely honest, if he just turned out to be the hottest booty call I’d ever had…I’d be satisfied with that.

And afterall…I could’ve put it off for another night when he’d be free earlier but…uh…no patience.

Plus.

My god.

If only.

If I could.

If only I could show you.

The hottness.  Like licking the sun.  Like the African desert.  Like my loins after looking at his pictures.  So.  Fucking.  Hot.

I’m not sure if I mentioned it before but he came here from France to play football.  When that didn’t take him to the moon he focused on personal training.  And I can only imagine how many lonely ladies must book with him simply because he’s so fucking hot…(I would…just to be clear…I sooooooooo would…well except that I wouldn’t want him to see me all disgusting and sweaty and panting [though I’ve had exes reassure me they think watching me workout is super sexy] but still).

So yeah.  I’ve even thought about cropping the photos just so you could see his bod, his chest, his super human abs.  But he’s so prolificially covered in tattoos that I’d be petrified someone who knows him would see it and rat me out.  So you’ll just have to take my word for it.  And the words of my friends who I so obviously texted his photos too and who no doubt will be using those photos when their mens are out of town.  Real talk.  Even their men are drooling.

So I digress.  Needless to say, I wasn’t about to wait any no longer to meet France (which is the psudonym I’ve given him because HOTTEST GUY EVER! MOST HOT! SO HOT! COULDN’T YOU JUST DIE FROM HOW HOT HE IS?!?! seemed like a bit of an asshole move…so yeah…France it is).  Plus anyone who knows me, or even just reads this blog, knows how much I actually HATE first meetings.  So awkward.  Most nervous.  *vom*  So getting it out of the way is always a heavy motivator for me.

We made plans.  Text me when you’re here  I said.  He was very understanding btw of me not wanting him to come inside on this first meet.  I totally understand.  Nice.  I mean not that dudes are usually huge dicks like let me up repunzel!!! or anything but still, very sweet about it.

And then before I knew it, it was 11:15 and he texted to tell me he was ready and did I want to take a walk.  I gave him my address.  No response.  2 minutes later I texted, do you know where that is?  No response.  2 minutes later he texted back I’m here.

Eeeekk!!  Gimme 3 minutes I said I hadn’t expected you to get here so fast.  His response lol.  It’s okay I was near.  And then he mentioned how about 2 months ago he had been looking at a place here and how the pool on the roof was nice.  I threw on my shoes and hussled down to meet him.  Admittedly I was a bit thrown when I came out of the door to the apartment building and there were about 10 people there.  Not all together.  A couple here.  A group of friends there.  A few guys by themselves.  The place was happening.  But immediately I felt super awkward and my terrifying fear of not being able to recognize the person I’m meeting began to choke me.  Especially when I looked over at one of the guys and thought…what the fuck…can that really be him?

To my relief…it was not.  He was the dude a few feet over.  The dude who looked just like his photos.  The dude who was absolutely fucking adorable (and hot…though sadly he had his shirt on…as normal men tend to do).  I walked over.  He recognized me right away.  I sort of went in for a hug (as I’m want to do…I’m a hugger…what can you do).  Unfortunately it was a tad clumsy because with him being European and all he was all down with the double cheek kiss and well I’m a spaz. 

I suggested a direction and we began.  At first it was a bit awkward.  I was nervous.  He was nervous (I think).  First dates are super awkward yo!  Plus add to that that I wasn’t familiar with his accent, he wasn’t familiar with mine and I tend to talk super fast when I’m excited and there were definitely a few slow starts with the conversation.  Soon, however, things went a bit more smoothly.  To be honest, it’s a bit of a blur.  I’m pretty sure at some point he said he’d gone out with something like 8 chicks in the 4 years he’d been on and off the site (he went back to France at some point, had a relatioship or two, etc.).  I, in super awkward and spazzy fashion, made a joke and called him a slut.  That took a minute or two to iron out.  Apparently humor doesn’t always translate well.  But by the end we were all a giggle and having a lovely little chat.

And then before I knew it we were almost back at my apartment building.  Sad face.  I didn’t really want it to end yet.  Apparently he didn’t either because he suggested we have a seat on this brick ledge thing.  We talked for awhile.  Just about normal stuff.  Like what it was like to grow up in Paris.  And the fact that I’m a writer (I even told him what kinds of stuff I write about and even mentioned that I blog for The Province (so here’s hoping he’s forgotten that since).  And to my surprise he didn’t really seem phased.  Sure he asked the usual thing boys ask, whether or not I date for actual dating happiness or just to get material for the blog and I assured him most definitely that the dating came first and the blogging was just a side product.  Which is the truth.

Eventually we wrapped things up and it was time to head home.  He walked me to the door, hugged, gave me the double kiss and that was that.  Well, until he texted an hour or so later to tell me You’re very beautiful.  Have a good night and hope to see you soon sweet.  

Le sigh.

Welcome to Montreal: Is this What Karma Feels Like?

Karma Fairy

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o just in case you haven’t been following along.  This summer has been an interesting one to say the least.

I went out with the most ridiculous guy.

I decided on a grad school (Concordia) and made plans to move to Montreal.

I went out with a 23 year old who was extraordinarily thin and amenable (and yet then fell off the face of the planet).

I went out with a giant of a dude, who seemed smart, fun and into me.  I was wrong about the latter (and maybe the rest).

I went out with a dude, who I liked.  But he’s Top Secret.

And then I moved to Montreal.  And so here we are.  Well actually there we were.  Because it’s been 4 weeks now.  And I’m almost FINALLY caught up on the blog.  Though.  Swoon.  Do I have a story or two for you.  Just Sayin’.  Lock the doors.  It’s going to get…good.

I should probably preface this by saying that though I’ve travelled quite a bit (and a lot of it solo), I’ve never actually lived anywhere other than Vancouver (and it’s surrounding areas).  I should also mention that I don’t speak French (unless you count those 5 years of highschool French that existed over a decade ago and well…I wasn’t that fluent to begin with).  Finally, I was coming to Montreal knowing no one, not a soul, not a friend of a friend, not an old aquaintence, nobody.  So needless to say, moving was a big fucking deal.

The first week was the worst.  Sure, I made it here fine; not a tear was shed at the airport or on the plane.  And then I got here, and it was hot as fuck and the humidity (Oh the humidity!!!) was…well…tropical.  And then it was time to hunt for an apartment.  Which did not go well in the beginning.  Maybe it’s because I’m a princess.  Maybe it’s because the landlords of Montreal have a different definition of “renovated” than I do.  Maybe it’s just because things are old and instead of redoing them…they just get painted over…everything…with paint…what the?!?!  Basically I was gutted.  I had come to Montreal expecting to pay so much less than I did in Vancouver…and well…I ended up paying exactly the same.  That being said, I have a lovely view, there’s an outdoor pool on the roof (I hate indoor pools blech!) and my apartment is easily 200sq. ft. bigger than my place last year.  Plus I’m mere blocks from my school, 2 different metros, a mall, a movie theatre, and crescent street (which is apparently quite the big deal…I’ll keep you posted on this).  So, a week after I arrived in Montreal, I signed a terrifying year long lease (as mandated by the province of Quebec) and moved into my new place.

I had gotten through the week with only one or two tear-filled-hysterical-phone-calls-home-to-my-parents and I guess you could say things were looking up.  Unfortunately as my apartment was bare, excepting my two suitcases, it didn’t really feel like home.  Luckily there was a girl in the building selling her ikea futon and in one quick transaction (assissted by some very cute lebanese boys) I had both a bed and a couch.  Sure, admittedly probably the most uncomfortable bed/couch ever…but hey…at least I wasn’t a 30 year sitting cross legged on the floor.

Unfortunately, I was still sick.  Oh I didn’t mention that?  Well that’s cause it’s gross.  Now maybe it was the water.  Maybe it was the stress.  Maybe it was some combination of 18 different things but imagine a bad trip to mexico and here I am 3 weeks later and 15 lbs. lighter (don’t freak out though…a lot of this weightloss is due to the endless walking I’ve been doing).  The good news is somewhere around the 3rd week things started to get a little better in that department and though I still often feel nauseous etc. I’m doing much better.

Also, around that 3rd week things started falling a little bit more into place.  I spent 4 hours at Ikea and managed to furnish my place so that it at least somewhat resembled a college dorm grown up apartment.  And then put it all together myself…like a grown up.  Boom!

But that’s not all that was happening during that week.  You see, I’d changed my POF and OKCupid profiles to Montreal a few weeks back and though I had been getting messages, the truth is most of them had gone unanswered by me.  I wasn’t really motivated.  I was stressed, I was sick, and dammit I had bigger fish to fry.  Plus, none of them were really standouts.  I mean sure, there were some standouts in the negative pile (but that’s a whole other blogpost).

And then came a message that would change everything.

I recognized his photo.

Much earlier in the year, like March or April, when Montreal and Concordia were still just ideas of possibility, I changed my profile to Montreal for a day or two, nothing big.  Did I recognize him from then?  Had he saved me as a favorite awhile back?  Had he messaged?  Regardless, I’d never contacted him back.  And truth be told, I almost didn’t contact him back this time.  For a few very superficial reasons.

The first…he had a horrible user name.  It was something dark or like something that could be the title of a megadeath song.

The second…he was insanely hot.  No joke.  He was all muscle.  Real talk.  Ripples of choclatey goodness perfected into some kind of Zeusy god-like body type.  And as would seem natural, every photo was him, at the gym, working out.  But the pics weren’t like iPhone self shots in a dirty mirror.  They were professional big business type shit.  Was he a model?  A fitness professional?

Now I know what you’re thinking…why wouldn’t you respond to someone because they’re hot…isn’t that a reason you’d want to???  Yes…of course.  Except what if he was a fake?  Some creepo who wasted the time of chicks (and possibly lured them out) by posing as someone else, someone he’d stolen photos from.

Nonetheless, after a few short messages, when he asked…I gave him my phone number.  Now I’m of the belief that giving a dude your number is no big thing, and definitely not a safety issue.  At worst it could get annoying and at best he’d be smart enough to stalk you through some genius techniques and then I think we all know I’d likely want to date a guy that smart…so problem solved.  Also, and this is the real reason I released the digits so quickly…my apartment came with free wifi, unfortunately, along with several other beloved sites (torrent downloading, youtube, porn!, etc.) dating sites were blocked too.  Not one to be deterred, I would just switch wifi off every so often to check my messages but this was a hassle and texting would be a lot easier.

Plus…there was a bit of a language barrier.  He was French.  (Ironically not Quebec French but Paris French.)

In all honesty, when I thought about dating in Montreal, it never really ocurred to me that there might be a language barrier.  Before I left people just kept telling me everybody speaks English, you’ll be fine.  And so it was a little shock when I found myself trying to have a conversation with someone who didn’t speak English fluently.  Not a negative shock by any means, just a shock.

So where was I?  (don’t say “wrapping this story up” lol because this is the tip of the iceberg my friends…  Tip.  Of.  The.  Iceberg).  So we began texting back and forth.  And it was cute.  It was sweet.  And moreover, he was cute and sweet.  He offered to help me at Ikea, offered to drive me there, and help me carry all the heavy things.  He offered to help put the furniture together.  He appeared to expect nothing in return.  He appeared to just be a really sweet guy acting like a total gentlman to a newcomer, to a chick he wanted to impress, to another human being.

But…this ain’t my first rodeo and there was no way I was getting in a car with a strange dude in a city where I wouldn’t even know if he was going the right direction to Ikea.  But even more than the safety thing (because honestly…and though I often make this joke…if he was strong enough to drag me off somewhere…I’d probably want to date him…so ya know…win win)…all joking aside…I was more worried he’d just be some huge freak or something.  What can I say, I’ve met a few losers along the way and one of my greatest fears is that my date will embarass me in public.  Plus, like I said before, what if it turned out it wasn’t even him in the pictures.

So we texted for a few days (because I kept putting him off…after all I still had to buy a hair dryer to make this curly mop look presentable).  And then one day we were texting and I asked him if he’d met anybody off POF before.  A fairly standard question and he responded in kind, only then he added that his profile had been deleted that day and he didn’t know why.

Fuck.

My first thought?  They are fake pictures, it’s not him, people reported him, and this was all for nothing.  Blargh.

I casually suggested this to him (the part about being so good looking that people might think his profile was fake).  I’m super stealth, I know.  To which he responded with a picture.  Except here’s the thing, the photo was of the same guy in all the other photos, but if you can steal one you can steal six so who was to say this picture was actually him.

I then, of course, channeled everything I’d ever learned from detective shows or a Liam Neeson movie and told him that his pic could still be fake and he should send me one with him holding up 3 fingers because that’s a totally normal request from a stranger.  Which he promptly did.  And fuck me if it didn’t turn out he was the hottest guy in the world.  Seriously.  Is this what karma feels like? (not that I believe in Karma).  But if I did, would this be some sort of karmic reward for all the dating bullshit I’d put up with?  All the nonsense and ridiculousness and dudes who lied about their height and brought hatchets on dates (oh tedski (fix links)) and showed up wearing lavendar leather jackets and talked  about meat while making out?

But then of course, the tables turned on me.  He wanted a pic of me.  Ya know, to verify identity and all that.  Only unlike boys…or those chicks who sit around in full hair and makeup all day looking gorgeous and beautiful at every moment incurring my hate and jealousy like it was going out of style I was sweaty from putting together furniture, had no makeup on, hair was tied up in a hideous bun, etc. etc. etc.  There was no fucking way I was sending him a photo of my current state.  For a moment I thought about sending just a recent picture but if he was savvy and asked for a 3 finger verification or whatever, my goose would be cooked and there would be no eject button that wouldn’t have me crashing and burning.

And that’s when it occurred to me.  Facebook.

Now while I’m normally totally against adding people you’re newly dating (or haven’t even met yet) to your facebook…it has happened in the past and now would be a perfect time to break my rule.

First, because it would let him see a wide range of photos (me looking svelte from good angles…and yet also me looking plump and chubby and not caring about anything at my going away party).  Because though I always put up super honest photos of myself, full face and body plus extras, one of my greatest fears is that a boy won’t look closely enough (read: be blinded by my smile and happy demeanor) and not realize how chubby I am…and let’s be real…sometimes people are just total shit and so I wouldn’t put it past humanity that I could show up on a date one day and have a dude be like…what’s up fatty?  But I digress.

Second, it would make me feel more confident about meeting him.  Something about having a normal facebook with a normal timeline and evidence that if you’re a serial killer and murder me, there will be some kind of trail left for the authorities and my friends and family to trace, that made facebook seem like a good idea.  And so I told him as much (less the serial killer stuff).

He was cool with it.  And so he gave me his full name and I added him.  (Don’t all swarm to my facebook at once and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T MENTION ANY OF THIS ON THERE!!!!!!!).

 

(I’m not going to write To Be Continued like I usually do because let’s face it…there are a ton of posts coming…they’re all a continuation of what happened before…you should just assume that because of OCD prior experience with the blog that it always comes in chronological order…real time dating if you will.)

Third Time’s the Charm: A New “Something” She Dated

2nd chances

 

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]here’s a lot to be said for how your behavior can be different when you know you’re leaving a place, moving away, saying goodbye to a city that you’ve known your entire life.  And most of it is good.  Your attitude changes and suddenly you’re more open then you’ve ever been before because after all what have you got to lose?  besides your time and dignity but they gave you a fresh batch of that when you move to a new city don’t they, it comes standard in the Welcome Package, no?

And it was this exact attitude that made me say yes when Come Back Charlie asked me out again recently.  Well that and the fact that he was 6’4.  So when he asked to take me out for coffee I accepted.  And that was that.  Plans were made.  It’ll be great to chill with you he said it’s been a long time coming.  Yeah.  No joke dude.  About 2.5 years.  But I promised myself I wouldn’t hold it against him, the time wasting of times gone past I mean.  Until of course I showed up for our date and he sent me a text message saying he would be late.  Worst.

Admittedly I was a tad early for our date when I got the text message that read Hey i’m gonna be a bit late. I gave a friend a ride to surrey a while back but he forgot his keys so Iim just droppin it off. i’ll be joining you shortly. is that okay?

And what was I supposed to do with that except take a screen shot, tweet it to all my followers and ask this question: is this super lame or am I being a bitch? sent 7 minutes before we’re supposed to meet (& I’m already here).  Most responses were that he was a douche (or some version of this).  One response was particularly interesting, someone suggested that he was in fact just being a good friend and isn’t that a good quality in a person.  In all honesty, she was right.  Because if I had a friend who needed me, they would come first before a guy.  Always.  That being said, whether or not the text was a cop out is a whole other story.

No sooner had I tweeted the cropped for anonymity version of the text, when my phone rang, it was him; Come Back Charlie.  We had a quick exchange where I mentioned I was already at Starbucks and he assured me he would be there very soon and he apologized.  I accepted this and let it go.  Shit happens, right?

For those of you who know me, know that I don’t like to pay for my coffee on the first date (I realize now that I should probably write a post about this explaining my reasons more fully so stay tuned for that).  Nonetheless I wasn’t about to sit in this Starbucks for who knows how long without a drink to my name, so I got a  drink, grabbed a seat in the back and waited (read: tweeted).  Luckily for me (and to be honest him) he showed up within about 5 minutes.

I knew him the moment he walked in the door.  Now I don’t know whether it’s just because I seem to keep going on dates with guys who say they’re 6’0 or 5’10 and end up feeling more like 5’10 and 5’8 respectively, or he was actually lying down about his height but he seemed way taller than 6’4…he seemed like a fucking giant.  A gloriously tall giant.  And even better is that I should specify that he was built like a baller (basketball, football, what have you).  You see the thing is, while tall is great, if you’re pencil thin it doesn’t really do it for me that much.  I like a man of size, if you know what I’m saying (I’m saying body size).

He came over to where I was sitting, we exchanged smiles and hugs and I suggested he get something to drink.  When he returned to the table…it was magic.  Now I’m not saying we started talking about science and had deep discussion about literature and politics or anything.  We weren’t even really cracking a ton of jokes.  But it was comfortable in the sexiest kind of way.  The conversation literally began with a discussion of dentistry.  I had been to the dentist earlier that day (he had texted when I was on my way and that’s how it began, he asked how it went).  And that was all it took, we were off to the races.

We talked about our days, our families, our school, our jobs (er…I sort of have a job…as a writer), my grad school stuff, his day job working in a lab out at UBC, his experience at SFU playing ball, my plans for Montreal, the fact that he was going to more school (this time in criminology) so that he could join the VPD (Vancouver Police Department, in case that wasn’t obvious).  And the sexual tension was palpable.  He was hot and tall and wanted to be a cop but also had a university degree and a job.  The love story writes itself.  Well.  Let’s not get ahead of things.

After two hours of smiles and chatter and first date bliss, we had finished our coffees and it was time to make moves.  His idea of a good move was to take things back to his place and watch a movie.  My idea of a good move was to call it a night and count the minutes until the second date.  But then it occurred to me, I’m fucking leaving town and time is of the essense.  And perhaps more importantly, I didn’t have to abide by any dating rules because after all there would barely be enough time to hang out before I had to leave.  Or so I thought, turns out 6 weeks is actually plenty of time to date someone but more on this later.  And so after a little more prodding from him, I agreed, at least, to let him drive me to where I’d parked my car.

Now say what you want.  Judge me as you will.  I don’t care what you think I know who I am and this is just one tiny piece of a puzzle of attraction or a domino race of dating appeal.  But when we got to his car, I swooned a little.  Kind of like that time I met Trucker Joe and he was all standing there beside his sex monster of a big black pickup truck.  It’s not like he was driving a car made of diamonds or a wizard mobile but just that his car was nice.  And I’ll leave it at that.  Pursuant to getting in this stellar mobile was the music.  You can tell a lot about a person from the music they listen to.  And while I won’t bore you with the details, it was good.

And in all honesty, that was really all it took in addition to the rest of date being awesome for me to agree to go back to his place (in my own car, of course).  When we got there, I realized that he had clearly been hoping for this all night (given that he’d bought a bottle of wine not yet knowing the stringency that is my not drinking).  No big deal of course, and either cute with the planning or balls out with the expecting but since I’m not one to feel obligated, it didn’t really matter either way.

Once up at his apartment, and having had a little look around, I sat down the couch, ready to watch a movie.  Though there was plenty of room of the couch he snuggle up right beside me which shouldn’t have been surprising but was nonetheless.  Obviously he was feeling me or he wouldn’t have invited me back to his place.

Detour.  I tend to do this ridiculous thing on dates where I’m so excited and fat that I eat rather sparingly throughout the day, like somehow that will make this huge difference and I’ll go from being Beth Ditto to Angelina Jolie or some shit but nonetheless it’s a thing I do.  I aware it’s stupid.  I plan to discontinue.  I’ll let you know how that works out.  Aside from the obvious stupidity of this, comes a couple random side effects.  One, is that my stomach then always ends up growling on dates which would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m terrified dude can hear it and thinks I’ve got some digestional issues or something.  Not sexy.  The other is that because I’m not eating I’m fucking starving and thus drink a ton of water, this in turn makes it look like I have the bladder of a small squirrel.

Back on track.  So we’re at Come Back Charlie’s apartment and I ask to use the washroom.  No biggie.  Then it’s time to watch the movie.  Sweet.  Something about a man on a ledge or something like that *spoiler alert* I  barely watched it.  At some point however, I have to pee again.  I excuse myself and go to the washroom.  In the toilet, I see toilet paper.  *TMI Alert (not to worry it’s not particularly gross but I am talking about pee so yeah…warned* Now because I’ve been drinking so much water my pee is basically clear and so I can’t tell if I forgot to flush or something crazy like that last time I was in here, or what the fuck happened but I’m horrified, obviously, at what I think is my forgetfullness and proceed to flush the toilet.  And that’s when it happens.  Because, of fucking course, it would happen.  Because this is a first date, and that’s just what fucking happens to me.  Shit like this.

 

The water starts to rise.

 

Fuck.

 

Me.

 

Horrified.  Terrified.  Petrified.  And all the other words that describe that overwhelming sense of fear mixed with shame that glues your feet to the ground and makes you sweat.  That.  All of that.  But of course, at some point you have to be a super hero.  So I fixed the problem myself and he was never the wiser.  So I ran out of the bathroom babbling something about how I didn’t do anything I swear but you’re toilet is going to overflow.  And then I sat on the couch like the princess I am and let him take care of it.  Less because I’m lazy and more because is that really the image I want of him or that he wants me to have of him…him touching all kinds of toilet related things.  I think not.  Like the toilet, I still expected this night to be salvaged and to go on functioning like normal.

That being said, you’ll have to wait till next post to find out whether the date functioned like a well-oiled romance machine or went straight down the tubes (like I hope the water in the toilet would).  I mean, assuming you’re interested and all.

 

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

Dating and Social Media: The Town Twidiot

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]f you follow me on Twitter (@SSDated) you know that I keep my identity under wraps, unlike my boobs and lips, which I tend to showcase like they’re going out of style.  I do this because I want to be a Professor one day and I’m pretty sure Harvard doesn’t hire sex bloggers.  That being said I’m all about meeting people in real life.  Showing them who I am.  Hanging out.  Chatting it up.  Laughter chuckles jokes.  Whatever.

So you can imagine that the idea of dating someone from Twitter sounded  pretty awesome.  In fact it became a thing I actively lusted after.  Because after all, this would be someone who knows me.  Someone who checks in everyday to watch me spout off about boobs and brains, boys and balls, blowjobs and baby batter.  Someone who reads the blog and thus gets access to a basic step-by-step guide of how to get laid and not frustrate the fuck out of SSDated.  I mean it’s like a roadmap.  A How-to handbook.  A who’s who of quirks and flaws, eccentricities and strengths.  An owner’s manual to well…fucking Me and even to…fucking me.  It all seemed so easy and flawless.  Or so I thought.

I mean where could it go wrong?

It would be like having an opposite sex friend who knows all about the endless slutty things I’ve done.  The time that stupid boy made me cry hurt-ego tears and the time that other boy enraged me so beyond belief I cried frustears (tears caused by frustration just in case that wasn’t super obvious).  Because I think we all know Tin Man doesn’t spill real tears over boys.  They would rust my armour.  And this said guy on Twitter would have access to all my crazy and amazing.  And of course, the key ingredient to this delicious soup.  Even after all that, he’d still want to date me.  The 80s Rom-Com practically writes itself.

Unfortunately like all pipe-dreams this whole dating someone from Twitter scheme was not without its hiccups.  Things I had neglected to register while I put on my rose coloured glasses and had a look around.  I mean.  Had I completely forgotten about my Datey-No-Facebookey rule??? (pretty self-explanatory…if we’re dating you don’t get access to my facebook…it’s simply too much information that you don’t need).  It appeared I had.  Because here’s the thing about Facebook and Twitter.  You should NOT under any circumstances I repeat!! Fucking NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES be friends with (FB) and/or following anyone (Tw) you’re dating (and vice versa).  And here’s why.

The thing about Social Media is that it’s just a shitload of information.  All the time.  Nonstop.  Fucking endless.  And while I love it.  Can’t-live-without-it type love.  Who-else-can-I-share-my-two-liners-with type love.  Where-else-would-I-post-all-my-ridiculous-inside-jokes type love.  Need-my-daily-fix-of-witty-banter type love.  Want-the-world-to-know-me-and-this-is-how type love.  Not everybody needs to be inside this love.

When you start to date someone, they really don’t need to see all your cards.  In fact it’s better if they don’t.  They don’t need to know you’re feeling lusty right away which you tweeted about.  And they don’t need to know that you’re dating 4 other guys which is what you posted as your Facebook status update…you player you.  They also don’t need to see you having flirty conversations with 10 other guys on Twitter, who by the way you couldn’t be less interested in.  But he can’t tell that.  And while everything you do may be innocent.  In fact, for all the person you’re dating knows, you actually dig them the most.  And the other 3 guys are just a way to take the pressure off and keep your options open.  Or maybe they’re not.  But either way.  It’s too much information way too fucking soon.  And you just shouldn’t be doing it.

So like I said, you should not under any circumstances ignore the Datey-no-Facebookey rule and you most certainly should not ignore the newly develop Dont-Date-Where-You-Tweet rule…especially if you’re like me and are a fucking Dating Blogger.  As it would turn out, I of course, have a problem taking my own advice.  And as the story unfolds, you’ll begin to see that I put the name Twidiot to good use.  Naive, silly little Twidiot.

 

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

Vancouver Dating Blog: He Haz Potential (Part One)

Facebook Stalking
HAZmazing
The Stats: 6’1 — 37 — Haz Mat
The Story:  Awhile back I turned off my POF notifications.  I had the less than amazing App on my phone and frankly I didn’t need all the emails telling me LoserAged65 and RetardedClinicallyDiagnosed were messaging me and saving me as their favorites.  But then it came.  My ladytime blogistential crisis.  And I was flailing.  I wasn’t really considering closing my POF profile or anything but still.  I was.  urgh.  uh.  grrrr.  Not impressed with what was on the table for dinner.  So I figured I’d do a little perusing.  And the first place I looked was the “boys that have saved you as a favorite” list.  Because after all nothing bolsters a lady like a bunch of boys who wack off to her at night but never speak to her think she’s pretty.  And there he was.  Hidden amongst the column of duds.  A possibility.  A chance.  A “SomeMaybe”.
There he was.  Big like a hot sexy bear.  And his tagline was about laughter (so is mine).  And his profile seemed to stress humor.  Dry sarcastic humor.  My kind of humor.  But what would I write to him?  I didn’t want it to just be…saw you saved me as a favorite so I needed something to say.  And then it came to me.  From his profile.  The one that said he was looking for someone Open to adventure and any Top Secret Missions.  And I’m nothing if not a gal prepared for a Top Secret Mission.  Top Secret being my favorite of all kinds of missions.  I said.  So at the very least we have that.He messaged back.  I messaged forth.  He ebbed and I flowed.  Asked for digits.  Took it to the phones.  Texted up a storm.  Adorable.  Little bit cheeky.  Funny.  Banter.  And one of the highlights.  Our humor?  Very much the same.  So far.  I have been wrong before after all (fix links).  And then he told me he would call.  And he did.  And it was all pretty fucking flawless.  Except.  except.  e.x.c.e.p.t…..He was leaving for Cancun in 2 days.  And I was busy for those 2 days.  And I know what you’re thinking.  He’s only going for a week.  But a week?  In online dating?  Is kind of like forever.  And you know what makes it EVEN worse?  When he suggests that we Facebook each other.  Something I rarely do.  Something I NEVER do before I’ve even met someone.  But he charmed me right out of my pants my good senses.  And so I did it.The Pros:  Takes a bit of the pressure off of whether or not he’ll think I look like my pictures.  I always worry that my pics on POF look better than I do in real life (they’re not photoshopped or anything…and some “Somethings” have commented I look even better…so clearly…I just have issues lol).  But on Facebook I have pictures without makeup, pictures in my weekday bra, pictures where I’m just having fun and laughing louder than you can imagine instead of busy trying to look hot and thin. Good pictures.  Real pictures.  Me pictures.  And, because on the phone, I had said I was chubby and he had said no, you’re curvy and I was like no, I’m chubby *said with a giggle and a smile* I had some minor trepidation.  But after Facebook, he would have a rounder picture (pun intended).  The pros for me?  He feels less like a potential serial killer.  Especially when I click one of his friends and they have like 10 friends in common with me.  He has none in common with me but still.  Feels like a real person.  With a real life.  Who won’t ya know.  Murder me.  Right away.The Cons:  I can be a Tin Man.  A pillar of resignation and deprivation.  Basically I can easily not eat a donut.  Until you put one right in fucking front of me.  Even worse.  Telling me I can’t throw the donut out and in a week (through miraculous science that keeps it fresh) I can eat the donut.  So I sit there.  All week.  Just staring at it.  Thinking about it.  Fantasizing how good it will taste.  The icing on my lips.  The jelly on my tongue.  How it will fill me up completely but never past full.  It will melt like better but be soft and doughy like fudge.  It’ll be salty and sweet all rolled into one.  By the end of the week I’m mostly certain this donut will fucking complete me.  And so you can see.  Things can get out of hand.

The Standing:  I asked when he would be back from Cancun.  He said Saturday at 8pm.  He said he wanted to hang out right away.  Said we would talk later in the week.  And then he went to Cancun….

To Be Continued….  HERE

 

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