Cry Baby Romeo and Icing Sugar Kisses

Cry Baby Romeo

 

Because I said I would and a person is nothing without their word, that’s why.  So when Cry Baby Romeo asked me out, I said yes and we made plans.  But not before we had at least one more decidedly boring text-conversation, that is, until I finally couldn’t take anymore one word responses and simply said to him…Just so you know…a conversation only works if you say something I can respond to.  His response was a noticeable improvement in the word-count and presence of question marks.  Which lead me to believe that perhaps he was just awful at texting and not an entirely tedious individual or some other optimistic bullshit that allows me to keep dating.  And so like I said, I agreed to meet for a drink.

I almost immediately regretted it when he asked me to pick where.  ok relax, he’s not from here, that must be why he wants you to choose.  So I picked a place.  Coppertank Grill.  I’d been to the one on Main before and it had been the perfect amount of packed with tons of distractions TVs in case of awkward lulls, so I assumed the one on Broadway would be the same.  Good.  Set.  Done.

And when Sunday night rolled around, admittedly I was filled with dread excited.

Because I hadn’t gone on a date since August (mostly due to school).
Because he could turn out to totally surprise me.
Because I never want to be the bitter chick who has given up on guys.
Because according to his dating profile pics he was a babe.
Because I hadn’t had a NEW kiss since The Nick Name last Christmas.
Because I’m a dating blogger and what if I run out of material.
Because how bad could it be.
Because I might actually have fun.

I showed up fifteen minutes early (look at me being a good person) to find CryBabyRomeo already there.  And do you know how I new it was CryBabyRomeo before even going inside?!?!  Because the place was dead.  Seriously deserted.  In the entire restaurant there was maybe 15 people total, including staff.  Awkward.

At first, I swear he was not pleased to see me.  Did he even smile?  Super.  But not one to be pouty, I flashed him my friendliest grin and did my best to be extra warm and bubbly.  I smiled.  I asked questions.  He rubbed his forehead.  I’m not even joking, the dude looked like he was in pain.  He was basically auditioning for an Advil commercial.  But I mean what do you do?  what do you do?  (anyone who just read that in Dennis Hopper’s voice a la Speed should definitely contact me immediately because I want to date you).  So what did I do?

I just carried on.  Ordered my standard diet coke, and he thankfully ordered a drink while I sat there and hoped a little alcohol might loosen this dude up.  And miracle of miracles. it did.  Somewhere around the one hour mark this Dudley Doolittle of Disappointment became a real live date.  There was laughter.  There were jokes.  And it became increasingly clear that he was pleased with my appearance (not because I’m hideous but isn’t that the biggest complaint boys seem to make of online dating?  Thus, I’m always seeking reassurance that, in fact, my photos represent me perfectly…and they did).

Somewhere around the two hour mark, we were laughing so hysterically that I mentioned how the subject was so hilarious that nothing I could offer now would even hope to compare.  He suggested I try anyway and with my mind in a state of utter blankness, I said the first thing I could think of  So…uh…do you like pool?  To which he responded an enthusiastic YES!  followed by We should go play.  Right now? I asked.  Right now he said.  Possibly the first indication that the man had balls after all.  And in the blink of an eye we were at Guys and Dolls Billards on Main.  Which, to be honest, as far as pool halls go, was pretty awesome.  We played a few games, I won more than my fair share and he took it like a champ.

Now aside from all the obvious innuendo of playing a game based on sticks, balls and holes, the game of pool can be incredibly sexy.  What with all the leaning and bending and showing and the what not.  And though I didn’t actually need any pointers, CryBabyRomeo still found plenty of welcomed opportunities for closeness. The flirting was adorable and the tension palpable.  I’m not entirely sure how we went from rubbing foreheads and awkward conversation to laughter and sexual heat but arrive there we did.

But like all fun and games, this one had to end.  The night was getting on, so we packed up the balls, he paid and we headed outside.  It was freezing.  I was wearing about 4 layers.  And Yet.  And Yet.  Le Sigh.  This boy had moves.  All prior pansiness aside, the man knew what was what.  And in the beat of a heart, he had slipped his hands into my jacket, around my waist and pulled me towards him.  Flawless.  His lips met mine.  Briefly.  Gently.  The slightest of parting with the subtlety and sweetness of icing sugar.  First date.  First kiss.  New “Something

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

The PhD (part two): Never Let Them Take You to a Second Location

Dating

 

[dropcap]So[/dropcap] like I was saying in the last post…things were going good.  That was until he said something.  Something that just didn’t sit all too great with me:

He’s not close with his family.  Like at all.  Neither parents.  Nor brother and sister (having one of each).

Now I know what you’re thinking.  What does it matter what his familial relationships are like if you’re just trying to have some fun and date him.  But the thing of the thing is.  To me.  It’s weird.  No judgement.  When people don’t get along with their families.  Now it’s not a dealbreaker per say.  Because after all.  People don’t choose the family they’re born into.  You can’t blame a 6 year old who spends the next 30 years fucked up because his dad’s an alcoholic and his mom has intimacy issues.  But still.  We’re not talking just not close with his parents.  He’s not close with his siblings either.  And he told me it’s basically because they each married spouses who resemble their father…who is not his father.  But shit son.  This is your flesh and blood we’re talking about.

Don’t worry though.  All of this goes through my head in a matter of 30 seconds and as soon as it does we carry on.  Because after all.  There’s rarely ONE THING for me that is a dealbreaker.  Deals are broken by chipping away at them.  Little by little.  And there weren’t nearly enough chips yet.  So while pool was fun.  Like most dates.  The boys are done with the pool before I am (not necessarily the date, just the pool).  So he suggests we go just up the street to this little place to get something to eat.  Now you all know me and my food issues.  But alas.  You also know I KNOW guys hate that shit so obviously I’m like sure…food…sounds great.  He pays the bill and we leave.

We walk to less than a block, go inside and grab a table.  It’s a small place.  We get menus.  He orders another beer.  He orders some kind of prawn thing.  I get edamame.  I figure.  Easy to eat.  Nothing garlicky or saucy.  And no spinach to get stuck in my teeth.  I’ll be set.  Only.  This is me here.  The worlds most awkward dater.  I’m like a fucking bear.  Or Godzilla.  Toppling small cities and crushing children in my wake.  So there we are just chatting away.  When what should happen.  Maybe I was laughing.  Maybe just breathing in at the wrong time.  Who knows.  But what I do know is that in one fell swoop.  I inhaled a fucking soybean.  Don’t worry.  I somehow managed to swallow and act like no big deal.  Unless of course that soybean is sitting in my lungs and will one day kill me.  Other than that I was fine.

But it’s as if awkwardness is contagious.  Like somehow by remaining in my proximity one can become infected with a case of the awkwards.  And so in keeping with this theory it was not surprising when ThePhD upong trying to eat a pod.  Shot a soybean into his beer.  *splash*  Where I swear it disappeared until his very last sip when it was recovered.  Just Sayin’  Awesome.  Oh but wait.  Speaking of awkward.  I forgot to mention another awesome sauce moment being the very moment I walked into the first bar and saw him.  See I didn’t notice till I went to the bathroom.  But I had button my tunic-length sweater thing…into the wrong buttons.  Aka lopsided.  Aka just call me Poindexter.

Detour.  So I kind of forgot to mention.  A little bit about the balls on this dude.  Because the PhD. wasn’t so subtle.  Unlike TheNickName and Trucker Joe.  Dude was going for it.  Almost right from the start.  Within an hour of our date commencing he was hand-around-the-waisting, close-standing, and I’ll admit it first-kissing.  That’s right folks.  He planted the first one on me while we were still at the pool hall.  Now it’s hard to say if I was keen on it or not.  But what I did know, was that I was undecided and thus didn’t want to blow my chances pending I did want future kissing.  So I allowed that first kiss.  Short and sweet.  Adorablly cute pulling away.  Something about being shy and all that jazz.

Back on track.  So while at the restaurant things were no different.  But here’s the funny thing.  Touch my thigh under the table.  Sure.  Even get a little frisky/slutty/ballsy and move from the one thigh to the centre of two.  Whatever.  But start feeling my waist.  My sucking-it-in-already-trying-to-look-thin-you-know-I’m-chubby-right-what-are-you-feeling-for-waist-area-touching?  What.  The.  Fuck.  Um…no.  Because now again I’m going to have to pull out the I’m shy and I like to take things slow.  When in reality the truth is please-don’t-touch-my-chubby-belly-when-we’re-out-in-public-and-people-can-see-me-with-you-on-this-first-date-in-a-city-where-there-is-always-someone-nearby-who-knows-me.

But he takes it all in stride.  Our plates are cleared.  He orders another beer.  Now I know I sound like a prude.  Counting beers.  And a hypocrite in fact since as far as drinking goes.  I was always go hard or go home.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  At a house party.  Or a nightclub.  3 beers in 2.5 hours is no big deal.  It’s fun.  It’s a night out.  It’s barely anything.  On a first date when both people drink.  3 beers in 2.5 hours might not be the best idea.  But it’s not a fucking disaster by any stretch of the term.  But 3 beers in 2.5 hours when your date is sober?  I mean really.  Come the fuck on Bridget!

Because the thing is.  A first date.  Is like a job interview.  There’s a reason you dress up.  Make sure you smell delicious.  Pop in a breath mint.  Get your hair did.  Etcetera!  Because though you haven’t a clue if you want the job forever.  In fact you don’t even know if you want the job at all.  But you damn well want to make sure that they offer it to you anyways.  And then you’ll have the option to accept or decline.  I mean shit son.  Best.  Fucking.  Behavior.  People.  Social fucking protocol.  And another little sidebar for you drinkers out there who tend to forget.  With every drink you down.  A breath mint should be considered.  Because no matter how full up with the natural equivalent of parsley (aka have good breath)…alcohol ruins that.  And while your tipsy ass might not notice.  Your date sure as fuck will.  Just Sayin’.  Not to mention.  You’ll want to be very careful of what stories you tell.  Because you’d be surprised what doesn’t seem so inappropriate after 2-3 beers.

But don’t get me wrong.  I know I’m kind of making this date sound.  Er.  Um.  Not that great.  But the truth of it was.  All evidence pointed to him being a great deal smarter than your average bear.  Not to mention so far my only real life reference for Grad school information.  See the thing is.  I know some people with BAs (all from Canadian schools).  I know almost no one with an MA or a PhD. and of those whom I must (though I can think of none right now) I can almost guarantee that they didn’t get them from American schools.  The few people I know who took the GRE are not people I can talk to in real life, physically I mean.  And to have contact with someone who not only has a PhD but also has experience with American universities.  Well that’s fucking rare.  And fucking awesome.  To me.

So needless to say.  The conversation was good.  He was a wealth of information.  And I was having a good time.  However, I can’t lie.  He was a bit arrogant.  In his defense.  I can imagine if you’re incredibly smart.  Arrogance can creep up on you.  But real talk.  At some points.  He was a bit of a dick.  And I said so You’re a bit of a dick! *laughter*  He face reads no surprise nor hurt/anger at me saying this.  Because it’s kind of true.  Don’t worry though.  It wasn’t like he was being a dick to me or anything lol.  And the truth of the matter is.  We have a lot in common.  Well.  At the very least.  We both like cop movies.  (a category I’d never really thought about until he used it to answer what kind of movies do you like).  For reference.  I also like law movies and military movies.

After awhile it was time to go.  He lived nearby.  I can guarantee he was hoping we’d go back to his place.  But alas the moment we left the restaurant I insinuated I was parked just over there.  And so he walked me to my car.  And then came this awkward moment.  I’m not entirely sure he knew it was awkward.  I credit the beer for this.  But he just kind of stood there.  Arm around my waist.  Looking at me.  In his defense I had been saying I’m shy to his advances all night.  And in fact I think he kind of mumbled that in some sort of not-sure-if-I-should-kiss-you-because-you’ve-been-saying-you’re-shy-all-night.  And then there was me.  Also awkward.  Mostly because honestly.  I was still totally undecided about this guy.  But I did know I didn’t want to blow the job interview.  At the very least I wanted to be offered the job.  And I’d decide later if I’d accept it or not.

So there we were.  Standing in the street.  In the misty Vancouver rain-ish.  Trying to navigate the end of this date.  He said something about us going out again later this week.  I said sure, that sounds great, just gimme a call.  And then I.  I.  Yep.  Kissed him.  Longer than a peck.  Not so long that I let him taste the magic in my tongue.  And I was off.  Leave him wanting more I say.  Or at least that’s what I’m trying to do these days.  It’s not a science.  It’s a skill in progress.  But that was it.  Date over.  And I was off home.

To Be Continued…Here:  The PhD (part three): The Aftertext

 

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

 

The PhD (part one): A New “Something”

Dating

Exams were coming to a close.  The infamous Dec.21st (also known as the last day of exams) was a mere day away.  Things with The Nick Name were at a standstill, caught somewhere between a window and a wall space.  But as a major advocate for dating more than one person at a time.  You can damn well bet I had some other boys in the mix.

In fact I find with the flakiness of people in general, the inexactitude of online dating and the general retardation of boys on POF it’s a good general rule to keep a whole bowl of chex (fix link) mix in circulation at your boy party.  Because after all.  Cheerios can get soggy.  Peanuts are a cheap staple that you can do better than and frankly pretzels can cut ya!  So best to keep refilling and tossing that bowl so that the quality bits can find their way to the top.  Just Sayin’

So with exams (and apparently things with The Nick Name) over.  It was time to stick my hand back in the bowl and hopefully pull a cheezie.  Lucky for me there was a guy waiting on my exams to be finished so we could go out.  A new “something” if you will.  And his name.  The PhD.

Aliases:   ThePhD

Stats:   37, 6’0 
Profession:   Researcher/Academic
Education:   PhD. Ecology and Statistics

Crimes:
Met:   Plentyoffish.com
Dates:   One

Honestly it all happened rather fast.  In fact almost as an exact opposite to the situation with The Nick Name.  He messaged me on POF.  Within about 5 back and forths he asked me out.  I told him about exams.  He could wait he said.  Then exams came and went.  I texted All done!  He responded with When is good for you?  I answered Thursday.  Thursday at 7 he said.  Look at this dude I thought.  Handling shit.  People think it’s so simple.  Making a plan.  Taking control.  But honestly.  In dating.  In the dating I’ve experienced.  Balls are very rare.  Where should we meet? I asked.  Name of local billiard place he answered and included the address in the text too.  Boy had been prepared.  *Denzel Washington Voice* My Man!

Thursday rolled around.  I got gussied up as per usual and went to meet my new “something”.  I was full of nerves.  For a couple of reasons.  One.  Because we’d had such minimal chatter beforehand, we knew very little about each other.  Two.  Ever since my brother said those fateful words:

“So how do you know he (is in law school, has a PhD, etc.)?  silence  Because he told you?? pointed look” (fix Link)

Well.  Let’s just say I’m trying to learn to take things with a grain of salt.  And thus, did ThePhD even have a PhD in fact?  And finally.  Three.  Though the third reason could almost be split.  A little 3A and 3B if you will.  3A being that as of yet.  As of just his photos.  As of his blonde hair.  I wasn’t so sure I’d be attracted to him.  Like at all.  And then 3B was the affective factor of TheNickName on my perception of attraction.  Sure we weren’t going to be dating.  But honestly it’d only been a few days.  I was still hopeful for some other…attention.  And honestly I have this theory.  And it seems pretty straightforward.  Common sense like.  But I’ll explain nonetheless.

The thing is.  If I’ve gone out with a guy and let’s say I rate the whole overall experience as a 6/10.  And there’s a new guy in the mix.  With the unknown but suspected potential of an 8/10 experience.  But also the potential to be a 2/10 experience.  If I was given only one choice.  Could only go on one date.  No backsies. I’d take the 6/10.  I’d take the dude I’d already met.  The one I was certain wouldn’t embarrass me in public.  Wouldn’t be a TOTAL dud.  Etc.  Now in real life this never happens.  There’s no one saying YOU CAN ONLY GO ON ONE DATE!  But the point of my story is this.  Sure I’d go out with the PhD.  But my excitement will always be less and my nervousness/anxiety oh so much more with the new guy.  Just Sayin’.

But not one to shy away from a chance.  Let alone a chance with someone who at least has the potential to be my unicorn.  My own personal version of a unicorn.  Because after all wasn’t it me who said, “I Want To Lick You Brain(fix link)  I want to fondle your frontal lobes.  I want to get complex with your cortex.  I went to meet ThePhD.  In Kits.  To play pool.  And see what’s what.

And there he was.  I saw him right away.  Looking basically exactly like his pictures.  And the first thing he said after hello?  The bar had some weird rule (or lack of extensive liquor license) that drinks couldn’t be taken into the billards section of the bar.  Awesome I thought.  Fuck me.  I don’t even get a chance to get my bearings before I have to awkwardly break it to ThePhD that I don’t drink?  Ugh.  He takes it well.  Finishes his beer while we chat.  And then we head on over to the pool tables.

The chatter is.  Well.  Pretty good.  I find out he’s American.  Just finished his PhD at UBC in Ecology and Statistics.  He spends most of his days behind a computer crunching numbers and doing science-y things.  He’s done a ton of travelling (like myself) [something I found very bizarre with both Trucker Joe and The Nick Name having neither done much travelling nor having a desire to really pursue it any further].  All is going quite swimmingly.  He’s letting my cheat.  Which I always do when I play pool.  And making mildly cheesy remarks about being awarded penalties for the cheating later.  When it happens.  He says something that well.  I don’t know.  Just doesn’t sit well with me.

To Be Continued…Here:  The PhD (part two): Never Let Them Take You to a Second Location

 

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

First Dates: The Nick Name and Dating Rules

Dating

 

[dropcap]So[/dropcap] I feel like in my excitement and hurry to catch you all up to speed on The Nick Name I forgot to give you some of the most basic of details about him.  His stats.  And if you’re anything like me.  You need the specifics.  Because they add context.  Help you keep track of who is who.  When I’m talking about what is what.  Ya know?  So here they are.

Name:  The Nick Name
Age:  38
Height:  6’0
Profession:  Sales
Status:  Divorced

But there’s one more detail that I’ve never had to have a space for.  With all the other “somethings“.  There has never been a need to have a “offspring” section.  Because no one’s ever had one.  But he does.  The Nick Name. A 7 year old daughter.  Who he has every other weekend.  But good terms with the ex and all that.  So there ya go.  The deets.  To keep you in the loop.

So school was coming to a close.  I was ready to make some plans.  I was ready for him to ask me out.  I mentioned the finish line was in sight and when did he want to hang out?  Immediately.  ASAP he says.  Only he has his daughter that weekend.  Sunday Night.  And so it’s a date.  The day of, he texts.  Reaffirming.  I like that.  Reassures me I’m not dealing with a flake.  He says he’ll probably get there a bit early and get us a table.  I like that even  more.  Handling shit.  Awesome.

I’m nervous.  I walk in.  And there he is.  He’s got a pool table.  Set up.  Ready to roll.  Just chilling.  He’s relaxed.  Which relaxes me.  He asks what I’d like to drink.  Diet Coke I say.  He’s prepared.  He already knows about this.  And he’s having a beer.  He just has the one the whole date.  We play pool.  He’s pretty good.  I’m doing not bad.  He finds this cute.  He lets me cheat.     Just a little bit.  Nothing major.  Have to move the white ball away from the side when it’s too close.  He has no problem with this.  It’s all very adorable.

We talk a lot.  About travel.  Of which I’ve done a fair amount.  Of which he’s done very little.  We talk about sports.  Playing and watching.  There’s talk of my future.  Grad schools.  Where and which ones.  Basically there’s hardly ever a lull and I’m enjoying myself.  He seems to be too.

Though I won’t lie.  I can’t totally tell for sure.  I mean obviously he’s smiling and chatting and being interested and interesting.  But he doesn’t seem to be checking me out in the slightest.  And he hasn’t touched me once.  Except for our initial hug.  But I press on.  No biggie.  We’ll just wait and see.

He wants to order some food.  I’m not really hungry.  And by this I mean.  I’m fucking starving as I’ve barely eaten all day partly as I want to be looking as svelte as possible and partly from nerves and excitement.  But I’m weird.  I’m chubby.  And I’ve got fucking issues.  Eating in front of a guy on a first date does not make me feel awesome.  But I know boys don’t like that.  So I say sure.  Let’s get something to eat.

I look at the menu.  It’s like a “who’s who” of foods that are garaunteed to crash a date.  Chicken Wings.  Spinach dip.  Garlic this and garlic that.  Fuck me.  We go with the dip.  Of which I can’t lie…I barely touch.  Whatever.  I know I’ve got issues.

So we’re eating and chatting.  Chatting and eating.  And it’s lovely.  And then it happens.  The bill comes.  And before the waitress can even fully place it between us.  He’s grabbing it and reaching for his wallet.  Taking care of business (fix link).  The date kind of wraps up.  Comes to a nice natural close.  Because after all.  I’m a lady these days.

Detour.  So I kind of have this new policy/philosophy.  About first dates.  Now I’ve already established no first date sex (Lindsay’s Law).  But.  See.  I mean.  I now feel it actually needs to be even more than that.  Or technically even less than that.  So.  I will from here on out, or until further notice *wink*, not be going home with a date.  No apartments for an apres ski.  No condos for a cocktail.  No mansions for a movie.  No houses for a heart to heart.  No second location.  Because that’s always where the trouble begins.  And even further to this.  No kisses.  At the absolute maximum.  Maybe a quick smooch.  Definitely no makeouts.  But I’ll be trying to keep it casual.  Giving them the cheek.  Like a lady.  Like a lady.  If I say it enough I’ll become.  Like a lady.

Back on track.  So we’re putting on our coats.  And getting ready to leave.  When he says it.  Asks about a second date.  Says he’s had a really great time.  Doesn’t know about my schedule.  But would I like to go out again.  Say Thursday night.  That’s my man there.  Booking the second date while still on the first.  Balls.  To the wall.  And I’m in.  Sure.  I say.  That sounds great.

He walks me to my car.  Very gentlemanly.  Hugs me goodbye.  He may have been going for a kiss.  He may have been aiming for the cheek.  But either way the cheek is what he got.  Policies.  Implemented.  He waits to make sure my car starts and all that.  Gentleman.  Love it.  And on the way home I get a text.  Had a really great time he says.  Me too, The Nick Name, me too.

 

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

Trucker Joe: Starbucks Coffee Date

Dating

[dropcap]So, like I was saying…[/dropcap]

It was super sunny. I Had my shades on. I was walking across the Starbucks parking lot. And I just kind of sensed someone was watching me.  But being the daydreaming space cadet super focused person that I am.  I just kept on.  Possibly a little more boobs-out-tummy-in-think-hot-be-hot-thoughts than normal but whatever.  And then I hear it.

He says, Something I can’t remember but cute and attention getting.

So I turn.  And there he is.  Getting out of possibly the sexiest black pickup truck I have ever seen.

Detour.

Though I date boys not their cars.  I think a vehicle says a lot about the person.  Obviously not always accurately.  But still.  The Volvo I drive.  Certainly speaks to my uber-safety rule following ways.  Mega Love drove a Jetta (suped up etc. but still a Jetta).  Garbage Man drove some sort of small girly car.  Intelligence Officer, a yellow pickup truck (mix of masculine and goofiness pretty much spot on).  Twitter Guy drove a station wagon.  Back in the days of being gangsta (I’m only partly joking) I wanted my boys in Escalades.  But these days.  With my new found love for super masculine white guys.  I don`t always say it.  But I’ve got *crossies* for trucks.

Back on Track.

So there he is.  Stepping down out of the truck.  And.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

He is sooo much hotter than his photos.  He looks younger (than his photos, not me).  He’s a babe.  I’m not sure he’d be everybody’s cup of tea.  But I think he’s pretty friggin’ sexy.  No lie.  And really.  It only matters what I think (in this instance).  Now for the clothes.  The attire.  The wrapping paper.  Is he hawiian shirt guy or david beckham?

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

He looks like he just stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch commercial.  No lie.  He’s wearing a polo shirt that’s sort of like those short-sleeved rugby shirts that A&F are so famous for.  Sexy.  He’s wearing cargo shorts.  At the perfect length.  But enough about the superficial.  Did I mention he’s tall.  His profile says 6’0 but honestly he seemed taller because I had to go on my tippy toes to get my head above his shoulder for our hug (which at 5’7 says something).  And yes I hug.  Because I’m certainly not shaking my date’s hand.  That’s way too business-meeting.  And I can’t not have some kind of physical greeting.  It’s just not normal.  Plus no lie.  Good excuse to check the cologne.  And boy smelled gooooood.  Just sayin’.  True Story.

So we go inside.  He holds the door.  And not beccause it just flows.  He specifically opened it.  For me.  Very cute.  I order.  He orders.  He pays.  I hit the loo.  One, I really have to go and Two this is his chance to gracefully ditch just in case.  I come back.  He hasn’t ditched.  He’s got my drink.  Outside okay? he asks.  I nod and smile.

We sit outside.  For the next two hours.  Conversation flows.  The sun lowers.  Laughter.  Happiness.  Finding out interesting things.  Revealing interesting things.  I may.  MAY.  have been a bit nervous in the first little bit.  And instead of saying Whiterock.  I may.  MAY.  have said White Wock.  But other than that it was pretty fuckin’ flawless.

We laughed.  A lot actually.  Somewhere around the 3/4 point of our date, he mentioned that he would like to see me again.  Quarterback drops back, sees his man in the distance and makes the throw.  I would definitely like to see him again.  Touchdown.  The date continues.  We’ve been done our coffees for awhile.

We get up to leave.  Throw out our cups.  Start walking to our cars.  His is much closer (I park a bit away, don’t want my doors dinged).  As we’re nearing his car he says I’ll walk you to your car.  Very cute.  Chivalry is so manly.  We get to my car.  We hug again.  No kiss.  (but we’ll get to that in a moment).  He says again that he’d like to see me again.  In a very manly way no doubt.  But.  And here’s the awesome sauce.  He says this and then says, give me a call.  Like not only do I get to have the certainty that he would like to see me again, but I get to be the one holding the power (aka not waiting by the phone) aka feeling super good.  Well played Trucker Joe.  Well played.  He leans down to open the door.

Take a moment.  To fully take in that sentence.  The two parts of brilliance there.

Leans down.  As in.  Tall enough that to open the door he has to lean a bit.

Opens door.  As in.  Total gentleman.  And again.  Not just because it’s convenient.  I mean.  His hand is there.  Ready to assisst a lady.  While I’m still fumbling with the unlock button.  Sexy.

He waits for me to get my dress all inside the car and sorted.  Seat belt on.  One last smile.  And close door.

The Date Was Perfection.  He was the date whisperer.  The real date whisperer.  The souped up.  Enhanced.  There’s an app for that.  Brand new idate 2.0.  Whispering the crying-baby-worries I had in my head.  Touchdown.

Detour.

Now back to that kiss.  So here’s the thing.  About first kisses.  About me and first kisses.  About me and kisses in public.  About any form of public displays.  I’ve said it before.  I’ll say it again.  I’m not a fan of the public displays of affection.  With first dates.  We were at Starbucks.  A busy parking lot.  It was still light out.  I love that he didn’t try to kiss me.  I don’t doubt that he wanted to/will want to.  But I love love love that he didn’t.  I won’t lie.  The second hug.  The end of the meeting hug.  Was longer and deliciously tighter than the hello hug.  It was good.  Ahhhh.  Good date.  Nothing else to say about it.

Back on Track.

When I got home later that night.  I had a message from him.  Had a great time meeting you tonight.  Can’t wait to do it again.

Me too. Trucker Joe.  Me too. 

(Phonecall to TheHell this morning).  So from now on THIS is the date.  That erases the memory of the date with Tedski.  If I’m ever scared/scarred and nervous again.  You just remind me of this.  Tell me about this date again.  And I’ll be set.

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

Online Dating and First Date Jitters

Dating
[dropcap]At 3pm yesterday[/dropcap] I felt sick to my stomach.  Nerves.  Dread.  Trepidation.  4 hours till my meet and greet with Trucker Joe.  And I was a ball of anxiety and worry.  I blame Tedski (fix link).  I blame the date that scarred me for all the other boys.  The worst date ever.

Detour.

Within two days of being back on Plenty of Fish, Trucker Joe messaged me.  He thought I was funny.  He looked manly.  Into dirt biking and camping.  Beaches and fun.  He had a lot to say.  I didn’t have to hand-hold the conversation in our messages.  It just flowed.  He was enthusiastic.  He seemed happy.  He had nice teeth.  He was tall.  He had 2 photos up.  1 – 3/4 face visible shot.  1 – dirtbikes.

Detour from the Detour.

Boys are not good at taking photos.  Barbie looked worse.  Garbage Man looked much better.  Tedski looked much worse.  Intelligence Officer looked much much better.  Twitter Guy looked better than his worst photos and worse than his best photo.  So with that being said.  There are 3 categories of attraction when it comes to online dating and me.  The “not-at-alls” who I delete, The “maybes” who seem likely there could be attraction especially pending some more photos and/or in person.  Maybes qualify for dates assuming their personalities don’t suck.  And finally the “babes” who still have the potential to disappoint (read: Barbie).

Back on Track.

I liked Trucker Joe’s personality.  But that being said.  These days, with 5 dates under my belt, I know how misleading photos and messages can be and thus prefer to meet sooner rather than later.  Which can mean that less things get asked.  Less is known.  Which is great if the date is good because than you’re left with lots to talk about.  Horrible if the date is bad and you’re like fuck! how did I even agree to this?  But I digress.  The conversation led to plans flawlessly.  He asked if I was a Starbucks or Timmy Ho’s girl?  I said, Starbucks but as a student I’m often a foldgers hazelnut instant at home coffee girl.  He said, He’d love to buy me a starbucks, as he’s not on a student budget 😉.  Phone numbers and text messages exchanged.  Date set.  Wednesday night.  Last night.

Detour.

The thing about the date with Tedski (fix link) was.  It left a horrible taste in my mouth.   One that had me generalizing.  Scared.  Scarred.  About older guys.  About guys who have just led completely different lives than me.  About guys who have very different levels of education than I do.  About guys in certain types of employment (see “I Thought I Was a Job Snob” coming soon).

Back on Track.

So there I was at 3pm yesterday.  Nerves. Dread. Trepidation.  But not about myself.  Because in the words of TurnJacson I already know what I’m bringing to the table.  So I wasn’t worried about me.  But FUCK was I worried about him.

Would he look like his photos?
What would he wear?  Would he be in Dad jeans or something equally awful and old and awful?
Would his sense of humor be like Tedski’s?
Would he be a total loser?
Would he be inappropriate or weird?
Would he embarrass me? (remember this is a small town/city/area)

But a phonecall from TheHell.  A pep talk.  And I went.  Drove to Starbucks.  Parked.  (turns out I drove past him and he recognized me right away which I think speaks to having good valid photos on my profile :P).  Got out of the car and started walking in.  I wore the magic dress.  I know most people said jeans and a cute shirt but shit son, it’s summer and way too hot for long jeans (and that’s all I have right now with not wanting to buy new clothes that soon wouldn’t fit).  So it was super sunny.   Had my shades on.  And as I was walking across the parking lot.  And I just kind of sensed someone was watching me.

To Be Continued….

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

The Date Whisperer: Garbage Man Raises The Bar

Dating

 

It started out like a scene from a Romantic Comedy…

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

(My) Reasons For Not Having First Date Relations

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

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

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

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

Slow and steady wins the race…or so they say

 

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