The Scientist: Coffee, Conversation, and Kisses

First Dates

 

Continued from… A New “Something”:  The Scientist

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

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

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

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

We laughed, we learned, it was fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leaned over and kissed me.

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

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

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

Could it all finally be working out???

A New “Something”: The Scientist

Dating a Scientist

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

A New “Something”: Skinny Jeans

Dating Nosedive

 

The older I get, the less birthdays actually seem to matter.  That’s why, this year, when the opportunity to go on a first date fell squarely on my birthday, I didn’t really see it as a big deal.  It just seemed like another day in an already busy calendar, and after all, the time was finally right.  I had managed to find my way through a hard year of getting my bearings in grad school (read: I didn’t go on a single first date since France and The Comic), I had finally transferred over to the creative stream and excepting an academic conference in October, I was basically done with academia and ready to focus on the Creative Writing side of my degree (read: I was happy, I was less busy, life was ripe for the picking)

*cue raucous applause and several minutes of elated sighing*

Needless to say, your girl was ready to have some fun.  So when Skinny Jeans asked me out, I accepted.  Plus, I was planning to have my party the next night anyway so it wasn’t like I was some lonely singleton just trying not to spend my day of birth alone, I had a busy schedule of fun (and work) things, and Thursday night was just when I could fit him in.

He had messaged me on POF, nothing too thrilling, but he seemed normal.  He was pretty good looking: 5’10, black, English Speaking (a thing I’ve really come to find necessary with my ever failing ability to speak French), and he seemed cool enough.  We added each other on Facebook and everything was a go.  He lives in a sort-of-suburb of montreal and since he’s from here we figured it would be easiest if he came to my pace (don’t freak out, not my apartment, just picked me up downstairs, it’s a very busy place, no chance of being murdered etc.).

Thursday rolled around, he texted that he was here, and I went down to meet him.  I was already a ball of nerves for two reasons:

  1. I hadn’t gone on a date in over a year
  2. I hate first dates.  Well, not the whole date.  Once I meet the guy and he’s normal and we get along things are awesome, great, wonderful.  But the few hours before we meet, I’m near vomitting at all times.  I just hate it.  I don’t even totally know what I’m afraid of, but needless to say, I’m not calm and relaxed.

We greeted with a hug, and though I wasn’t super jazzed about his fitted pants, I was pleased.  He, however, may not have been.  He didn’t smile a whole lot in the beginning, though I’ve also met guys who didn’t smile a lot at first and then we’re all over it later so who knows, I’m probably too sensitive about the smiling.  But then again, this is my blog, and I’m trying to make dating better for everyone, so really what I’m saying is Boys, more smiling, smile right from the beginning, big warm welcoming smiles.  I get that you’re nervous but she is too and nothing quite says, I’m so pleased because you look exactly like you’re dating profile photos like a sunshine smile.  

We walked and talked for a few blocks until we came to a coffee shop.  We went inside, and that’s when things got awkward.  Well, for me.  He wanted to get something to eat and there was a really long counter so I kind of ended up ordering my own coffee and then paying for it.  And what I mean by awkward is really that internally I began a conversation whereby I attempted to defend the action of not paying but honestly…honestly…honestly?  We all know I’m not a fan.  But even more than not paying as a literal thing bothers me, it’s also what it says about him as a person, and most important of all, I think it says a lot about what he thinks of me (which if we’re being real here is that he doesn’t think spending time with me is worth $4.00).

But, not one to jump to conclusions (er…uh…at least not mid-date), I made the best of things and sat down for a chat.  We ended up talking for 2.5 hours, until the coffee shop was closing down.  I admit, I was a tad confused, this chatty behavior seeming very contradictory to the paying of coffee, and thus started to think maybe he had his own reasons for not paying and that maybe I should let it go.

We had been talking about a local pool place and suggested that maybe we could move on to there, at first he said yes but then followed it up quickly with oh, I can’t, I have to go set up for a video shoot tomorrow.  It made sense, after all, when we’d originally booked the date he’d asked for earlier rather than later.  But still.  But still.  I’m not a fan of being double booked on.  I get that there was a huge possibility that I could’ve been a dud, but still.

Nonetheless, he walked me home from the coffeeshop and then proceeded to chat with me for another 45 minutes outside of my apartment building.

Was he waiting for an invite up?

Was he just having a good time?

At some point I could tell what was happening.  I could feel it in the air.  I could see it in the way he was standing.  He was working out to a goodnight kiss and I guess all that chatter was a good way to fill the time.  Eventually he worked up to it and planted a big kiss on me.  It was nice.  I probably pulled away too soon but there were so many people around (it being a high traffic area) and I’m not a fan of PDA with new boys, with a boyfriend sure, but first kisses should happen in dark sexy places, not orange lit doorways with people coming and going.

Eventually we said goodbye.  And *spoiled alert* I won’t make you wait on this one for a second blog post, because it really was goodbye.  We texted back and forth a few times, but after a few messages it became clear he wasn’t interested.  He was a confident, aggressive fella and not asking for a second date was indication enough, if not the fact that his responses to texts were often only a few phrases.

Do I know what happened?  Nope.  Maybe he didn’t like how I looked or thought I was dull.

But why did he kiss me?  Honestly, no idea.  I don’t really understand sexual activity with someone you’re not at least interested in seeing again (not to be confused with drunk goggles etc. because we were both stone cold sober).  And it seems unlikely that the kissing wasn’t good or something because he went out of his way to mention that I was a good kisser.

Did something happen between the date and now?  Again, no idea.  Like I’ve said before, as much as I absolutely fucking hate not having any answers to dating questions, sometimes they just never come.  And you just have to be okay with that.  So I am.  This is me, being okay with it.  But then again, it might have something to do with the fact that a week later, I already had another first date booked 😉

**********

One final note about Skinny Jeans before I move on, because we all know I LOVE a teachable moment.  I know that guys are often worried about being an asshole when it comes to rejection and so I feel the need to point out how Skinny Jeans was, in fact, an asshole, and how he could’ve easily avoided it with little to no effort.

The key to rejecting a girl, besides all the obvious advice I’ve given before is clarity.  Don’t push and pull.  Don’t give and take.  Just reject.  Pick one line of attack and follow through.  With Skinny Jeans, the texting was…sporadic.  He responded on and off.  And when he responded, it was enthusiastic and then it wasn’t.  But not in a tapered off way, the attention was misleading.  What he should’ve done, assuming he wasn’t comfortable with just saying hey look, thanks for meeting me and stuff but I’m not interested so all the best, was to ignore all messages.  Just stop responding.  Girls aren’t idiots, we get the message.  When it becomes clear is when he responds to some messages and then nada.  And then texts, so I respond, and then there’s texting and then nada.  And the fact that hadn’t unfriended me on facebook was weird too.  Now obviously I got the message, after all, like I said, I’m not an idiot, but he could’ve saved me several days of excitement, and then several more of confusion, followed by the eventual disappointment, if he’d just be more clear (or more silent).

And before you all get up in arms in his defense, let me say this…we are all assholes sometimes.  Doing something assholey doesn’t make you a monster, but that doesn’t mean we should pretend you aren’t a jerk for doing something that causes another person distress (AND COULD BE AVOIDED).  Learning is good.  Self-awareness is good.  So ya know, go out there and date up a storm, but try and be considerate of the time and feelings of others along the way.  That’s a cool thing to do too.

The Comic: Kissing on the Docks in Old Port

Pearl Necklace

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o, I had met a Montreal Comic, watched him host a show, and now we were at the docks in Old Port.

In all honesty, it was a pretty great idea for a first date-second location.  It was novel (he got to point out things because I’m new here, show me the river, there were boats – and who doesn’t love boats?!?).  It was private and one could argue romantic, but without being pressure-filled and presumptuous (like say, going to someone’s apartment might be).  And it was just kind of fun.

We walked along for awhile, hand-holding etc.  The first kiss came and went and it was pretty good (I’m starting to wonder about the science of race and kissing at this point given how few black men and how many white men suck at it).  I was wearing my magic dress (the one that makes my boobs look huge, my stomach look small, and my ass look great) and feeling good.  Things were going swimmingly.

The night wasn’t, however, without its flaws.  For example, he definitely got a bit too handsy out there on the docks.  I’m all for a secluded public makeout sesh at 2am when no one is really around but these DDs don’t make public appearances for anyone so it did kind of annoy me that he kept trying to get at ’em and even tried to put ’em on display.  Like, we’re on the docks here not out in the middle of the desert dude, people could come by.  Plus, he kept feeling all over my body, so I spent a lot of time petrified that he’d feel my spanx and it would be like that scene in Bridge Jones’ Diary.

After awhile, the night started to cool off quite a bit (my first respite from the 30+ humid heat of Montreal that had been constant since I’d moved there at the end of July) and so he took me home.  When we arrived at my apartment, I assumed that would be the end of our date.  A quick kiss goodbye and something about doing this again and I’d be off.  But, that’s not quite what happened.

Detour:  Do most men feel like only teenagers get pressured into doing things that they didn’t want to do?  Do most men think that it’s either black or white, you want to fuck immediately or not at all?  Because, I have to say I feel like that’s the case, and it’s just not true.

Because even me, this supposedly strong, bold, self-assured, take no prisoners, suffer no-bullshit no-nonsense, woman, gets pressured into shit from time to time and I’ll tell you how and why it happens.  It happens, because sexual activity can be a slippery slope.

In my experience, guys are almost always pushing for a bit more, for things to go a bit faster, and AS FUCKING IRRITATING AS IT IS THAT I HAVE TO HOLD  THE REINS AND GUIDE THE PACE, that’s usually how it happens.  It’s generally the girl trying to slow things down.  But, this isn’t to say she doesn’t want the same things to happen (as I often do), it’s that she needs more time, more connection, more whatever.  And it is this reason that she doesn’t just jump up and say fuck you and bolt.  Because she wants things to progress, just at a different speed, and so she doesn’t want to spazz out on the guy, but he keeps pushing and pushing for just a little bit more.  And he doesn’t do it in a scary way (usually), it’s mostly done in an annoying way, so that by the time I’m “making eighth grade love to him” (read: giving him a handy in the front seat of his – what I now think is his parents’ – car outside of my apartment, and letting him give me a somewhat sloppy pearl necklace, I’ve started to lose all that passion I had when we first started making out on the docks.  Suddenly, I’m thinking about how I’m almost 31 and just got pressured into giving a handjob I would’ve rather saved for our second date and cleaning his jizz off my collar bone (and silently laughing that he also got it on his mom’s upholstery).  Suddenly, I’m not so into this comic who seemed nice and fun and though he’s managing to smooth this over a bit by praising my digital skill set, I’m still mostly focused on the fact that I feel a bit icky for having been pressured at all and I’m feeling a bit sad because now I’m thinking about other girls who have really been pressured and even forced to do all kinds of things they didn’t want to do by shitty guys and how I’ll get over this but will they be able to get over the horrible things that happen to them and now I’m thinking about how I can help those women hurt by those shitty men instead of being hot and bothered for this weak guy who – and maybe it was just the way the street lighting bounced off the dashboard or the way the shadows fell but I’m pretty sure this guy – has the most terrifying O face I’ve ever seen.

So yeah.  That’s how our date ended.  A handjob in a shitty car on a brand new street under the lamps and the possibility someone might see you cum.  The lights of Montreal a little dimmer in my eyes.

A New “Something”: Dating a Montreal Comic

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] started this new website because I wanted to branch out from blogging solely about sex and dating because I have some bullshit ego that actually thinks I might have some important things to say that involve more than how I like to get fucked and the idiots who never get the chance to use this information and I needed a new place to do that.  But, that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to write about sex and dating, because I definitely do.  The problem is that it turns out it’s a bit hard (pun always intended) to get back in the fucking…swing of things.

Turns out, if you take a year off and rarely date, that you get a bit out of touch with sharing certain vulnerable bits about yourself.  Especially, when SPOILER ALERT: that shit is embarrassing

But enough of my insecurities and awkwardness – because I’m here right – so, obviously, I’m still planning to write and share and do this thing and mostly just hope you don’t find me tedious and boring.  And with that, let’s get to it…

 

The Comic

It was late August, and I had been living in Montreal for a few weeks.  The first week sucked as I tried to find an apartment.  The second week was so so as I tried to fill my new tiny apartment with furniture without having a car, family or friends to help transport.  And the third week was – well – you can read about it HERE from the very beginning.  Needless to say, things in Montreal seemed to really be working out.

So, the comic.  I’m not sure how we found each other.  (that’s a total lie, I’m basically the KGB and reverse engineered our meeting like a fucking pro – long story short, I saw his profile in tiny form on an acquaintances Facebook page, saw that he was a comic HURRAH! and that he lived in Montreal HURRAH! (A LOCAL MONTREAL COMIC!!) and then I looked for him on Twitter and there he was HURRAH!  The logic was that following someone on Twitter = normal, adding a stranger on Facebook = weird, and we all know I like to keep my weird to myself…well…and you guys).

Almost as soon as I followed him he started talking to me.  Nothing epic, just ya know hey, how’s it going, so I see you followed me on Twitter, etc.

Disclaimer:  I waited a year to write this so while some things are imprinted on my memory like hot iron to an ass cheek, other details are a little fuzzier, so conversations may be a little weaker than normal due to recollection limitations (ie. I’m getting old and forgetty).

We DMed for a bit.  Then somehow the talk switched to Facebook and him wanting to know what I looked like (I was still anonymous back then).  I did my usual spiel of so um I’m fat but sure if you want to see and we added each other to Facebook.  He came back with something along the lines of 

You look like you’re someone that would be great to cuddle with

I took this, of course, to mean that you look huge and cuddly and like someone I’d want to watch a non-sexual movie with and then braid each other’s hair.

Apparently though, that’s not what he meant.  While I think of cuddling as sweetness and comfort, to some people it’s more like foreplay, the thing that leads to sex and thus, very much, has sexual connotations.  Who the fuck knew?!?

We messaged back and forth for awhile (just because I thought he wanted to be buddies wasn’t a reason to stop chatting.  This was a new city, where I knew no one, I certainly wasn’t in the position to be tossing potential friends to the wayside, particularly friends in the “making people laugh” business – what are you, nuts?!?!).

And then, he invited me to a show.

It was kind of last minute and I already had plans to workout (I had already lost nearly 20lbs. since moving to Montreal), so I told him I’d be there but I’d probably be a bit late.

*skip to a couple hours later*

I show up to the address, walk in the building and find a practically empty bar.  Luckily the bartender is paying attention and motions me upstairs for the comedy club (Comedy Works).  I can hear laughter coming from inside and do my very best to open the door as silently as possible.  Once inside, I look around, and the place is fucking packed to the gills (bearing in mind it’s a small place, it’s dark as fuck, and I’m all nervous and awkward), so I just kind of stand in the back, plus I don’t really want to draw attention to myself by scrounging around for a seat when someone is performing onstage.

And then I see it, it’s him, the comic I’ve come to meet.

His act is pretty funny, a tad feminine for my taste but regardless, up there under the lights commanding the show he looks pretty good.  Out of the corner of my eye I spot one bar stool.  One singular tiny little bar stool, wedged between two grown men.  It appears to be the only seat in the room, and it’s calling out to me.

When the Comic (who I now realize is hosting the show) steps off the stage, I see this as my chance to dart across the room and snag this stool.  I quietly ask the two men if anyone is using the stool and could I steal it away from them.  Instead, though, one of the men jumps up to give me his seat (enchante).  

I accept, and sit down.  I assume he’s just being kind and that this will be the end of the exchange.  It is not, however.  He continues to talk to me, asks me questions.  Honestly, I don’t remember most of what was said, just that it was all harmlessly but definitely flirty.

The next comic goes up and the show goes on with the laughter caused from stage and the flirting caused by the man to my side.  Until, of course, the knight turns out to be the headliner and heads up to the stage.  Well ain’t that some shit!?!?

Around this time is when my comic, the one I had come to see, spotted me and came over for a chat.  I was expecting a new friend but lo and behold before I had enough time to bat my incredibly short eyelashes, his arm was sliding around my waist and hugs and a lot of close standing ensued.

It was around this time that the whole cuddling-misunderstanding started to dawn on me.

The next part of the night is a bit of a blur (and I’m doing my best not to make this story drag on forever – like you know I tend to do).  The show is over, he helps clean up the place, I make friends with other comics (so much so that later people think that I’ve come as a friend of one of them).  A little while later we all go downstairs to have a drink at the bar.  The comic informs me that his friend drove him (and that he lives in the ‘burbs) but if I wanted to stay and hang out he’d dash home and get his car and come right back).

At the time my thought process went like this…

Good…he obviously thought he might have to have an excuse to bail out and now doesn’t want one

Bad…how broke is he that he can’t take a cab home one time because of a sexy lady?

Goodlook at me going out by myself (sort of) in Montreal…life is fun…be a good spirit…smile…weee!!!

Bad…show some fucking forethought man. damn. bring your own car and don’t make excuses if I was lame.

Good…he invited me out, he made me laugh, his friends are lovely and think I’m fucking lovely, hurray.

Bad…how long does it take to get to the ‘burbs and back

 

The good won in my head and I said sure.  After all, I was busy making friends with the other comics, a lovely and interesting girl and the headliner (who as it turns out is married and thus felt he could safely tell me that I’m absolutely beautiful and while I don’t trust his judgment, truth or not who doesn’t have a good night when someone goes out of their way to publicly announce you’re beauty? I mean that’s some ‘night-making’ shit right there.

Because of construction, it took the comic longer than he had hoped to get back to me but get back he did.  We stayed at the bar a bit longer and then headed to his car, in order to go to a second location.  And before anyone gets all ON THE FIRST DATE?!?! and IS THAT SAFE?!?!  I assure you, unless he had a gun, I could take him and thus my safety was never in peril.

We discussed going for food but I wasn’t really that interested in eating and he didn’t seem to have any especially great places jump to mind (which I honestly found a bit weird – isn’t Montreal supposed to have amazing food and be the Canadian city that never sleeps?!?!).  Eventually, he suggested we go to Old Port (vieux port) or Old Montreal (vieux Montreal) or more specifically to the part we went to…the docks.

 

To Be Continued…

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.

They Call Him Top Secret (Well, Actually I’m the Only One Who Calls Him that Because He’s Top Secret)

Top Secret

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o this one time, I went out with this super awesome guy.  He was sweet.  He was interesting.  He was absolutely fucking hilarious.  And he didn’t want me to blog about him.  Blargh.

And I told him I wouldn’t.  But there has to be a loophole right?  A way to talk about something really awesome that happened in the 3  weeks before I left for Montreal?  I mean there just has to be.  Because the problem isn’t really me blogging about him is it?  It’s that he doesn’t want anyone to read it, him included.  So.  I guess I could write about it.  But use the tools of the CIA or whoever else blotts out important documents.

We met by chance. Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. And in so many ways we were a perfect match.  He possessed a quality very few of the dudes I’ve dated have had.

Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  logistical problems Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. You can only get “so” familiar when you’re out for dinner or drinks.

We went on 3 dates.  Er.  Well.  We hung out 3 times.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  kissing Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  in a park. Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. 

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And that was that.  Time flew by.  My 3 weeks were up.  And it was time to move to Montreal.  We said we’d keep in touch and honestly I really hope we do.  Even if it’s just as friends, or who knows…a rad guy is a rad guy and that’s how I feel about this new “something” who I call…Top Secret.

 

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

Come Back Charlie: First Dates and the Battle to Keep Your Clothes On

First Dates

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o the toilet was about to overflow…and then it wasn’t.  He fixed the problem (old building, old plumbing), cleaned up and was back to the movie and me in no time with no resounding repercussions except that I was now terrified to go to the bathroom.

Minor bathroom mishap aside, the date was going great.  We were snuggling on the couch, his arm around me, his hand playing with my curls, his hand in my hand, his hand on my leg.  And pretty soon it was happening.  That look.  That thing guys do.  When I know they’re getting ready to try to kiss me.  I can sense it.  I can feel it.  And most of all, I can see it.  Out of the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision, there he is, just looking at me, instead of the movie (much like with the 23 year old only a few nights before).  And then it happened.  He kissed me.

Admittedly (and I’ve mentioned a hundred, or 8 or so, times before), there’s always a grace period.  A moment where you’re just trying to calm your nerves, you’re just trying to suss out how the other person moves, whose lips go where, whose tongue likes to do what, before it all just comes together.  And come together it did.  His mouth, wet and warm, moved in sync with mine.  His soft juicy lips pressed against mine, my bottom lip sliding into his mouth to find a gentle suck, his bottom lip sliding into my mouth to find a little nibble, a little flick of the tongue across the bottom of his upper lip, his tongue on parade in my mouth.  And that’s just the kissing.

At some point I’m pretty sure the movie ended.  I think the guy came in off the ledge.  Who knows.  We had been making out for the most of it.  Then, given that he wasn’t going to be getting any of my clothes off tonight excepting whatever he managed to get access to by shuffling my maxi dress down a bit and going in on my bra, and the fact that he worked the next morning at 7am, I figured I should probably make my exit.  He, however, didn’t see things quite the same way and wanted to keep me around.

Maybe he thought he could convince me to go further?

Maybe he just liked having me around?

Maybe making out and dry humping on the luxuriously soft leather couch that somehow also had room for the both of us to lie down on (me in his nook and on his chest) was enough for him?

Who knows.  But he asked me to stay, and stay I did.

We spent the next two hours or so locked in some sort of snuggle-cuddle-makeout-trace the muscles of his chest with my fingers-cuddle-makeout-laugh at something on TV-makeout-attempts to set my boobs free-cuddle-snuggle-makeout-tussle until eventually it really was time for me to go.  But not before him telling me all the dirty things he wanted to do to me…like go down on me.  Which I know you’ll all think I’m insane for declining but as soon as the pants off there’s never any going back and dammit, if I’ve said it once I’ve said it a hundred times…I LIKE MY FUCKING STAGES.

It’s not about dating rules.

It’s not about whether or not he’ll call me if I sleep with him.

I’m not worried about whether he’ll respect me in the morning.

I…like making out.

I…like the first moment he feels how wet he makes me, and the first time he puts his fingers inside me.

I…don’t want to rush.

I…like the fucking buildup and dammit I need it.

And so, on this first date, I kept all my clothes on, and my stages in tact.  And hopefully there would be a second, or third, or fourth date, with Come Back Charlie, in my near future.

 

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

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 a 23 year old…Not Just For 23 Year Olds Anymore

Amenable

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t’s Friday night.  I’m ahead of schedule.  And then traffic comes to a stand still.  Because…of course.

I text stuck in traffic, might be a few minutes late, sorry.  He responds no problem…I’m still looking for the place.

At 6:45 I arrive.  I ask, but no worries he tells me I haven’t been here long.  I notice though, he’s been there long enough to get himself  a coffee.  I get one for myself and return to the table.  And that’s how it began.  That was the moment where I found myself, on a Friday night, on a first date, with a 23 year old.

 

We had been talking for weeks.  He seemed really excited.  I couldn’t figure out why it had taken him so long to finally make it happen.  He claimed it was because of school…which I get…trust me.  But nonetheless, I have the patience of a 3 year old Mamma doesn’t like to wait plus who can sustain interest for a stranger that long?!?!.

The texting had been cute, and we did seem to have a lot in common, plus with leaving in a few weeks I figured fuck it, I’m game!  Not to mention the fact that he was so so so young and well, maybe I’d find out what this whole cougar thing was really all about.

 

Prior to meeting he had asked what I wanted to do on our first meeting, saying that he wanted to make sure I was happy.   I suggested shooting pool (my fall back/true love activity) but asked what he wanted to do.

His response…I want to spend the day with you, I’m not so great at pool.  Maybe coffee, dinner, bowling and movie?  Up to you though we can pool as well or instead if you wish.

I suggested we stick with coffee given that we could totally end up detesting each other but said that I wouldn’t make any plans for later in the evening in case we wanted to keep the date going.

And then came the sign that would’ve told me everything, excepting the fact that it went undetected.

I could tell he was excited for our date plus he literally said I’m really looking forward to it…Hope you are too.  And then he added I’m quite amenable in case you haven’t noticed.

Now, in my defense…given the context…you can understand my mistake…I just wasn’t thinking…it didn’t seem very important.  Oh.  Fuck.  Who am I kidding?!?!  I study English Literature and I’m a writer, I have no defense.  I wasn’t paying attention and I misunderstood the word.

See, at the time he said it: amenable …I was thinking that he was excited to see me, that he was friendly, and easy going…amiable…amicable…any of those friendship related terms.  But that’s not at all what he meant.  Dude knew his exact meaning and his word choice was no mistake, he meant to say exactly what he said, he was amenable to me.  Amenable.  Sigh.  Worst.

 

a·me·na·ble/əˈmēnəbəl/

Adjective:
  1. (of a person) Open and responsive to suggestion; easily persuaded or controlled.
  2. (of a thing) Capable of being acted upon in a particular way; susceptible.
Synonyms: obedient – docile – tractable – liable – answerable

 

Worst.  Because see the thing of the thing is…I’m not into that in the slightest.  If anything I want the exact opposite.  Roles switched.  That being said, like I keep saying, over and over again…I’m out of here in a few weeks, so why not be open to new things?  Who knows, maybe I’d find out that after all this time the only thing I love more than being dominated, is to be the one doing the dominating.  Okay, sure, it felt doubtful but I went with it anyway.

 

So there we were, sitting in a starbucks, sipping our coffees and talking.  Good conversation.  Cute conversation.  Sharing funny stories.  Sharing information about ourselves.  Making jokes.  Admittedly I was closing more of the punchlines and he was doing more of the setups but it worked.  There was witty repartee and giggles.

He told me about his family, about Egypt, about school.  I told him about writing (round-about-ly), grad school and moving.  He was definitely cute in a nerdy kind of way.  His profile said he was 6’0, but…and I don’t know if I’m growing, he was slouching, it was the heel in my boots making that huge of a difference, or the fact that he was pencil thin…but he really didn’t feel that much taller than me (standing at 5’7…last time I checked).  Don’t get me wrong, he was definitely taller…just not by the lot that I was expecting.  Nonetheless, the date was going well.  I think.

However, and I feel this is a point I need to stress to the boys the most, but I could be wrong.  SMILE PEOPLE.  Because when you’re sitting directly across from someone at a coffee shop, that’s about the ONLY way she’ll really know you’re feeling her.  At the time, I was more than unsure.  Sure he thought my chatter was great but did he think I was cute? adorable? sexy? hot? attractive?

Best way to figure it out???  Signal that the coffee portion of the date is over and see if he wanted to go to see a movie at the theatre down the road…

So that’s exactly what I did…

I Suggested…if he wanted to…that we could see a movie.

 

Did he say yes?  Did we carry on with the date and go see a movie?  Or he make a lame excuse in order to call it a night and end the date at that???

 

To Be Continued…Here

 

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