I Want to Date You Like Rainbows

I want to date you like rainbows

 

[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]  ou look…Like a friend I once knew.  Like a reason to pause the movie.  Like a reason to eat all my vegetables so that I can live forever just to know you a little bit longer.  You look like a woman I’d like to get to know.  Like a ship lost at sea.  Like a port in the storm, but not just any port, a safe haven, a harbor.  Like a dream I had once, in the summer, on a sunny day, when I fell asleep watching the clouds while the bees sung me to sleep and it felt like you were beside me, even though I didn’t yet know you.  You look like a reason I would get out of bed, even if it was early, on Saturday mornings, just to make you coffee.  Like a heart I’d make a cocoon around with the warmest quilt on a Sunday in the winter.  You look like someone I want to kiss forever or at least until my heart stops chugging like a steam engine or a college freshman.  I want to know what the voices in your head are saying about me.  I want to text you back immediately and make plans well in advance so that you can plan your schedule.

I want to date you like rainbows.  I want to explain magic tricks to you.  I want you to practice your spoken word in front of me.  I want to make your nerves into cotton candy so that with every breath they shrink and shrink and shrink and then I swallow them whole.  I want to lick the summer rain off your skin because I am a desert by your side.  I want to rush things with you just so that you’ll tell me that slow and steady wins the race.  I want you to draw a picture of a turtle to remind me.  I want to stock your fridge.  I want you to have everything within arms reach, except me, I only need a hand.  I want to hold your hand until you don’t want to squirm away anymore.  I want to call you and say it’s me and have you know that it’s me.  I want you to leave long drawn out messages on my voicemail.  I want you to call more times than you think you should.  I want you to call and text and check in more than you need to, just to make sure I’m still interested because I know you have to, and I will still be, interested, every time you call.  I’ll still be right here, playing your messages over and over again while I fall asleep.  I want to hear your voice.  You can never call too much.  I want you to embarass yourself in front of me just so I can tell you that it doesn’t matter.  I am yours.

I want to love you like you love swimming.  I want to feed you lucky charms in the afternoon when all your work is done.  I want to write love poems on your back in suntan lotion but not tell you so that my love becomes a part of you and everyone will know that you’re mine and that you’re loved more than regular words can convey.  I want to play super mario and give you all the gold coins I collect.  I want to call you yoshi and watch you stick out your tongue and laugh and then I want to shove cake in there and kiss you till we’re both covered in icing.  I want to lie in bed with you, sweaty and in love, satisfied and on fire, and then I’ll turn to you and say let’s do weird stuff and listen to your laughter for hours.  I want to wear our inside jokes like pajamas.  I want to sleep with your sense of humor.

I want to order the ‘date-night’ special with you.  I want a lifetime of splitting appetizers, even if we have to order the poutine with the gravy on the side because I don’t eat red meat.  I would take all my dressings on the side for you.  I want to give you a bite of everything even though you tell me not to because it’s making you fat.  I want to make you fat just so we can go to the gym and I can watch you sweat and work it all off.  I want to be your champion and I’m going to make you do three more reps come on come on come on you got it just so I can kiss your juicy lips right after.  I want to get you gatorade when I’ve pushed too hard.  I promise to rub your muscles when we get home.

I want to jump over a broom with you.  I want to call you my own, my team, my better half, my other half, my one and a half.  I want to half you forever.  See what I did there?  I know you like those kinds of puns.  See?  Do you see?  Because I see you, like really see you.  I want to go to parties and re-enact funny youtube videos we’ve watched together.  I want to have witty repartee with you.  I want to have a gravitational pull with you, our smiles, our jokes, our love, pulling people in.  I want to watch who you become.  I want a promise, written in cake and tradition.

I want to have milk chocolate babies with you.  You fell in love the day I said you would make an amazing mom.  I’ve fallen in love every day since.  I will protect you.  I will protect our babies.  It will be okay.  I can see the future and it’s going to all work out, but not because I can see it.  Because you are good and I am good and we will do good things.  We will make this world a place where good things matter.  You always said you wanted to change the world, you wanted a man who wanted to change the world.  And now I’m doing that.  In a small way.  In a minuscule way, when you think about how big the world is.  But I’m trying.  I’m doing things.  For our kids that don’t exist yet.  I’m loving the fuck out of this world so that you can let a sigh out and relax every once and awhile…it’s not all on your shoulders.

You’re still the woman I see myself ending up with, and having babies that smile bigger than the sun with.

 

Or at least that’s what I hear.  When he says the words I love you.

Sex with an Ex: He Fucked Me Stupid

Sex with an Ex

 

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he doors to the elevator close.  And you try to say something.  Try to make your tongue sing for its supper.  Try to use words to bake phrases rich with meaning.  But what comes out is something like a drunken slurring.  Your words spill forth out of order.  There’s stuttering and stammering.  You erupt into giggles.  It’s useless.  You smile like the village idiot.  Beaming.  Cheeks flushed.  There’s no point.  You can’t form logic in this state.  Your brain is mush.  Your tongue won’t cooperate.  It’s official.  He’s fucked you stupid.

He came up for your birthday.  To celebrate this huge time with you.  Your 30th.  He offered to go to Vegas with you but with so much going on in your life you really just wanted to do something low key.  So low key in fact that you asked him to come up the weekend before.  So that you wouldn’t have to share.  Wouldn’t have to worry about trying to entertain your friends and him at the same time.  You’re selfish like that.  So is he.  Wanting you all to himself.  Though you still couldn’t totally give him that.

There’s a party you promised to go to.  And you wanted to go, so it’s not like that.  But it means you have to share each other.  Take those greedy hands and keep them to yourselves for a couple of hours.  Maintain a sense of decency by holding your lips as far apart from each other as you can.  He feeds you a cupcake when you both think nobody is looking.  It turns out they are.  And in that moment you’ve become that cute couple at the party.  That everyone hates.  Even though you’re not making people uncomfortable by making out or anything equally inappropriate but your banter.  Your witty repartee.  It’s just as bad.  People can see it.  Everyone can feel it.  This thing between the two of you.  The back and forth.  The tit for tat.  The ebb and flow.  It’s like foreplay.  And it your face hurts from all the smiling.

After the party you go back to the hotel.  The hotel he got because he’s not from here.  This out-of-town boy of yours.  Making your heart flutter.  And fucking you stupid.  The room is dimly lit.  He takes off his dress shirt.  Stands in front of you in a white t-shirt.  Wraps his arms around your waist and uses his hips to push you back towards the bed.  His arms are smooth and warm.  He kisses you.  Passionate kisses.  Flawless kisses.  Done this a million times kisses.  We fit right into place with each other kisses.  And he tastes like icing sugar and chocolate cupcakes.  He tastes like you can’t remember why you’re not together anymore kisses.  He tastes like I really do love you kisses.  He tastes like the flavor of licking this exact moment.  Where you’re both so happy.  And he’s about to fuck you stupid.

Fuck you hard.  And long.  Slow.  And soft.  For an hour or two.  This way.  That way.  This way again.  Hold you close.  Kissing.  Kissing.  Kissing.  Your tongue in his mouth.  His tongue in your mouth.  Sweet things.  Dirty dirty things.  All the things you can think of.  Until you just can’t think anymore.  And when it’s over.  And you both fall back in the sweaty sheets.  You’re content.  Satisfied.  At ease.  Snuggling in his nook.  This strong man.  Keeping you safe.  Until someone asks are you hungry? and you both throw on some clothes and go out to get some food.

The doors to the elevator close.  And you try to say something.  But you can’t.  It’s official.  He’s fucked you stupid.  And it’s amazing.  Even if only for this very moment.  This weekend getaway.  This luxury of feelings.  The ability to have these amazing temporary experiences.  And then go back to your regularly scheduled single programming on Monday.  Because for the moment.  It works.  And you’ll continue to do it.  Until it doesn’t anymore.

 

Or…ya know…at least that’s how it happened for me.

Legitimate Fictional Character or Sunshine French Toast Love

Hearts
Friend:   “You’re legitimately a Carrie Bradshaw”
Me:  “I like that I’m now legitimately a fictional character”

“It’s like wanting to be a rapper or a basketball star,” I say, to Mega Love over breakfast, his fork holding french toast meant for my mouth.  “Naw!” He says, “It’s not like that at all” his head shaking and the sweet carbs tease my tongue.  I laugh.  It’s because he loves me.  And that’s what I tell him.  He’s barely ever read my writing.  My choice not his.  I’m bizarrely protective of my words (or my heart, you could say) with those closest to me though I share them like air here on this blog.  “Nope” he says, “It’s because you’re talented” and I can see this thing in his eye.  Like the image he holds there, the one he knows in his heart and feels in his bones, his image of me, stretches hope like a river of endless possibilities.  Stands side by side with my Father who believes I could get into Harvard if I really tried, holding hands with my Mother who asks about Pullitzers in a way that makes space for me to win one.  “You’re amazing” he says and I have to take a sip of coffee, this lump in my throat threatening to make a scene with wet eyes.  Our knees touch under the table.  He won’t let me share my food.  Feeds me like a cub from his plate again.  Kiss in public.  A love that can’t be explained when they ask why we’re not together.  Can’t be explained when they ask how we can continue to eat this love, over breakfasts, on weekends spent away from my dating and his Seattle.  Can’t be explained in any other way except in that image.  Of me in his eyes, his eyes on me, eating French Toast like it was made of sunshine in a world where I could become a writer.

And then somehow, when I wasn’t looking, he kind of became right.  And I kind of became a writer.

[Note:  the rest of this post is deleted because I write for all new things but I didn’t want to delete the post altogether because I like how it sums up the day with Mega Love <3]

 

 

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

Night At The Drive In: Awesome, Awkward and Answerless

Drive in movie theatre

When I last left you guys…I had just texted Trucker Joe back.  Sorry I missed your call. Tuesday sounds great 🙂  So it looked like we were going to the drive in.  Date #6.  Awesome.

So as days usually do, Tuesday rolled around.  I met up with Trucker Joe and we headed to the Drive In.  This was the first time he really got to learn about my “Rule Following” tendencies (I casually informed him that he might want to hide his coffee a smidge since being the geek I am…I already read all the FAQs for the Drive In…and bringing in your own shit was a definite no no).  Not that I’m above smuggling in chocolate etc. into a regular over-priced theatre but I’m pretty sure the Drive In.  Is not a too big to fail situation.  And that is when the bag guy sidled on up to my window.

Detour.  So here’s the thing of the thing.  I don’t like things that touch me unexpectedly.  This is my catch phrase.  People usually hear it first when they ask me if I like animals.  It actually comes up pretty often because for some reason these animals generally can’t sense this.  So they touch me unexpectedly.  Inappropriately.  They migrate towards me.  Just Sayin’.  This statement however, also applies to boys hitting on me…and that other category.  Of guys.  Who just like.  To talk.  To me.  Even though I’m weird and awkward so you’d think they wouldn’t want to.  But something about my eyes.  Or my mannerisms seems to send the message.  That I care.  And you should continue.  Go ahead fella, keep talking, I’m interested.

Back on Track.  So the bag guy (aptly nicknamed) hands me a bag for garbage and proceeds to ramble on about Drive In movie related things.  Awkward.  Speaking of awkward.

Detour.  Have I ever mentioned how awkward and spastic I am?  Well I’m doing it now.  Now I will admit.  It’s not all the time.  I mean.  I can play team sports successfully.  And I’m pretty awesome at badminton (don’t judge me, I was at the provincials every year in highschool).  But in everyday life.  I can be.  Pretty fucking clumsy.  Mega Love and I used to have a running joke that I was kind of like a big bear.  A cute cuddly plush bear.  But still.  Grizzly stature.  Knocking shit over with every movement.  And sometimes I swear I can almost hear that sound.  That bears make.  Like a growl.  A little bit like a confused rumble.  But also like a Whoopsies Did I just knock that hunter over? *puts bear paws up to mouth* hmmm?

Back On Track.  (I swear there is a tie in coming).  So yeah.  Speaking of awkward.  The day before our date.  I had been sitting at my desk.  Writing or something.  And I was leaning back in my chair.  When all of a sudden.  The back snapped off.  I fall back tumbling feet over ass.  Awesome.  I look around in fear.  Alas.  I am alone.  Nobody saw nobody saw.  Fuck me that hurt.  My ass.  Hit the ground like a rock.  Tail bone imprint in the carpet.  (here’s the tie in).  So that night.  While getting ready for my date.  Slipping the Red Lacies on.  I happen to glance in the mirror.  And what should be staring back at me.  But the hugest bruise on my ass.  Now this probably isn’t really that relevant.  To the date.  Because *spoiler alert* no red lacies were ever touched.  Let alone taken off to reveal the battle scars with a chair and the floor.  But sometimes.  A story is just too ridiculous not to tell.  And I feel it reveals some things about me.  Some things you might not otherwise get to see, as readers.  So yeah.  This is me opening up about how awkward and clumsy awesome I am.

So we park.  We get snacks.  A chick compliments my dress.  And this is where I really start thinking.  About Trucker Joe.  And Me.  And the lack of compliments.  And the lack of touching.  Like where is the hand holding?  Where is the let’s go this way touch on the small of my back?  Where is the lean in and whisper?  Where is the You look beautiful tonight?  Where is the I want to fuck you senseless and do all kinds of ridiculously awesome and delicious things with you?  Just Sayin’.

But then it’s back in the truck and we’re watching the movie.  Which for reference turns out to be fucking unbelievably hilarious.  Like maybe-I-should-roll-up-my-window-because-I’m-concerned-my-endless-laughter-might-annoy-that-carload-next-to-us kind of hilarious.  The Other Guys, gets the SSDated seal of approval.  For sure.  Though I will say this one thing.  I find.  With certain movies.  You have to watch it with someone.  Like Anchorman.  I watched it once.  By myself.  And it was…meh.  But then Mega Love and I watched it.  And I practically died laughing.  Not to mention the inside jokes going on forever.  The back and forth.  The witty banter.  Jew eat that cat poop!  Jew at that cat poop right now!  So yeah.  The Other Guys.  Awesome Sauce.

It was so good I almost didn’t notice that we were at a sexy drive in movie theatre and not making out.  Salt, the 2nd movie,  on the other hand.  Was not nearly good enough for me not to notice.  And it wasn’t even just the wanting to make out.  It was the why the fuck aren’t we making out.  That really bothered me most.  The sitting there.  Thinking.  Ask him.  Say something.  What.  The.  Fuck.

But I didn’t.  Say anything that is.  Because I’m awkward like that.  And nervous.  And in keeping with the spirit of “being breezy” this summer…honestly I didn’t want to seem critical.  And this silence of mine.  And technically his.  Since he was giving me no fucking glimpse into what was going on.  Kept up back at his place.  Watching TV.  Just hanging out.  No touching.  No kissing.  No fucking clue.

We chatted.  He asked about what schools I’m thinking of applying to.  I told him I hadn’t narrowed it down that much yet.  I’m still at the which state do I want to live in stage.  We looked up some schools.  We googled some shit.  I showed him some funny videos.  We had some chuckles.  And eventually.  I was like.  I gotta go.  And so he walked me to my car.  And then there was that hug.  And the waiting.  To make sure I’m all good.  And I went home.  Confused.  A little frustrated.  But mostly just stumped.  Because we all know my love of rationale.  Reasons and explanations.  Science and Dating.  Basically.  I like answers.  I like shit settled.  I like to know what’s going on.  But tonight.  Tonight.  Tonight.  I would go home confused.

 

 

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

Love Is: My House On Faculty Row

Hearts

[dropcap]People[/dropcap] have been asking me a lot lately.  If Mega Love proposed.  Right now.  Would I say yes?  And the answer is no.  Not a chance.  No hesitation.  Uh-uh.  Nope.  Nope.  *head shake*   No.  Because the thing is.  I don’t want a boyfriend.  I definitely don’t want a husband.  Right now.  I just want fun.  Breezy.  Fun.

Dating is fun right now.  Exciting and nerve-racking.  Like sour candy.  Caught in your cheeks.  Delicious.  Torture.  Bliss.  It’s up.  It’s down.  It’s novel and I’m learning.  Learning about myself.  About boys.  About other people and their lives.  By comparison to mine.  From their vantage point looking in.  From my vantage point looking out.  It’s kind of like shopping.  Can I help you, Miss?  No thanks, I’m just browsing.  And right now.  This very moment.  I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  Because honestly.  I’m having the time of my life.  I’m being honest.  And selfish.  And I’m totally okay with that.

Being selfish I mean.  Because I don’t want to think about anyone else.  Have to look after anyone else.  Have to worry about anyone else.  Because for the first time in 16 years.  I feel good.  I mean really really good.  Like I’m finally not broken anymore.  Like after 16 years of a sadness that shakes you.  Takes your breath away.  Taints everything.  Poisons everything.  Is everywhere and in everything.  Suck.  Suck.  Sucking every last drop of hope and joy out of you.  It finally ends.  And now.  I get to be happy.  I mean really happy.

So you can understand can’t you?  How I wouldn’t want to risk it.  Risk this happiness.  On something.  On someone.  I mean sure.  In the future.  Possibly.  But not right now.  Not when it’s all still so fresh.  So new.  Still such totally uncharted waters.  And I’m not hiding from love or anything.  I’ve got tons of love surrounding me right now.  An amazing family.  Wonderful friends.  Life is beautiful.  And one day.  One day.  I’ll consider it.  Consider a future of team effort.

But right now I think.  I feel.  Like it’s quite likely I won’t ever want to get married.  Won’t ever want to have babies.  Sure.  The idea of baking up some little minions that are part me and part someone I love.  That sounds amazing.  Creating a life.  Growing something inside my belly.  Sure that’d be cool.  Really cool though.  Would be raising them.  Raising them how I want.  Teaching them things.  Giving them room to learn how to learn.  Showing them the world.  Watching them grow their dreams.  Loving them.  Helping them.  Growing old with them.  But that’s a lot of responsbility.  And I don’t even like the idea of having a pet.

Because in the life I picture for myself.  I live in some fancy professor housing.  On a university campus.  Of which I’m sure only exists in movies I watched as a child.  But nonetheless.  I’m living there.  And my life is gorgeous with Academia.  And writing.  Travel and friends.  Love.  Love.  Love.  I do what I want.  When I want.  And then I play with other people’s kids.  And get to go home when I’m done.  Quirky Auntie SSD.  She always tells the best stories.  And has the best snacks.  Took me for the morning after pill when I couldn’t tell my mom.  Listened when my dad and I were fighting.  Told me how he was just looking out for me.  Talks about equality and kindness.  Talks about doing the right thing and figuring out what that is for myself.  She believes me when I say I’m going to change the world.  Says she’ll help me.  Says she’ll always be there for me.  She makes me feel loved.  And safe.  Like the world will be okay for me.  Because she’s out there.  Waiting for me.

But even then.  I think about love.  And how one day.  That might be something I really crave.  Really desire.  Because I can imagine it feels good.  For someone to know you.  To really know someone.

Their favorite constellation.
The salad dressing they use on Sundays
The way your head feels resting in their hands
The shape of their ice cubes
The shape of their ice cubes
One day.  I’ll want to know someone.  So well.  That I know the shape of his ice cubes.

But not today.  Because today.  There are 3 weeks left till school starts back up.  And I know what my dreams are.  And falling in love.  And knowing someone.  Aren’t on that list.  Studying.  Learning.  Taking care of myself.  Getting good grades.  Like really good grades.  Higher than ever before.  Slaying the GRE.  Getting into Grad School.  Those are my dreams.  Those are my cake.  And the rest.  The rest is just icing.

A Mix Tape Kind of Love (Broke My Heart as a Favor)

Hearts
[dropcap]Sometimes[/dropcap] a story.  Is just a story.  A moment that takes up more than a couple of moments.  In a life.  But it’s worth mentioning.  It has value.  It happened in history.  And it needs to be recorded.  With words.  Or in music.  In a photograph.  In a smile.  A stain on a shirt.  A keepsake.  Sometimes.  Things.  Are just as they are.  Special.  Beautiful.  Broken.  But worth it.  So tell me.  So tell me.  Take my hand.  And I’ll tell you.  About the time I went to see Mega Love.  The love of my life.  Broke my heart as a favor.  Changed me.  Changed me.  Set me free to change myself.  That kind of love.  That keeps you together.  For all the right loving reasons.  When none of the practical ones are there.  He loved me.  I loved him.  We were in love.  And now we’re not.  Well.  I can’t say for certain.  About him.  But I’m not.  I know about that phrase.  I love you, but I’m not IN love with you.  That used to sound so retarded.  But I get it now.  I get it now.  I get it…

But then.  But wait.  So then.  What.  Like, are we doing?  Meeting up in a hotel room.  And I can’t really tell you.  Because I don’t really know.  But it feels good.  And we both seem to have smiles on our faces.  And we both seem to be okay with how things are.  Things are good.  But things are also heavily coated in white lies by omission.  Because he doesn’t know I’m dating.  He doesn’t know I’m writing about it.  He doesn’t know.  And for all I don’t know.  He could be doing the same.  And I think we’re both okay with that.  At this moment.  This moment in time.  This moment in our story.  This very moment.

So just because I’m a sucker for details.  For perfection and precision.  Because even if I don’t post the second I get home from a date.  I like to keep things in order.  A relatistic representation of what my life is like.  Of what is actually happening.  And I find it fucking hard to keep track.  Of the order.  And I’m the one living it.  So I can’t even imagine.  How difficult it must be for you guys.  So here’s a quick rundown of what’s been happening.

Saturday – Hotel with Mega Love
Tuesday – 3rd Date with Trucker Joe
Friday – 1st Date with Lindsay’s Law
Tuesday – 4th Date with Trucker Joe
Friday – Seattle with Mega Love (and this is where we are right now)

I email Mega Love the weekend before I expect to be in Seattle.  I know we hinted at only seeing each other once every six months but also know we said we would tell each other when either one of us is in town.  So this is me.  Telling you.  I’ll be in town.  I’m coming down to shop on Friday.  So just wondering if you wanted to meet up at all.  He did.  Want to meet up that is.  Definitely.

So on Friday.  I drive down.  And before I even hit Tulalip.  Fucking red and blue lights.  Flashing all over my ass.  But I think.  Stay calm.  You were speeding afterall.  This IS your fault.  Just be nice.  Accept the ticket.  Suck it up.  And carry on.  That is.  Until I saw the ticket.  And I freaked out.  When I saw the amount 350.  Only wait.  That’s the officer’s number.  Whew!  But then I see it.  I see the fucking amount they expect me to pay.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

US $550

Like are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!?!  $225 I’d understand.  $250 I’d get.  But $550?  Don’t they know there’s a fucking recession on?!?!  Is this even legal (btw according to the legislature [yes I’m that big of a geek] it’s not, the max is $250 but looks like I’ll have to show up for this…motherfucker).  I mean fuck.  $550.  That’s a trip to Vegas.  Here I am not buying new clothes all summer long…sweating it out in long ass jeans that now fall off my ass and shirts that look like parachutes…just to save money till now.  And I’ve just blown way over my budget before hitting the first store???  Fuck.  Me.

But here’s the thing of the thing.  I don’t talk about it that much on here.  At least not in specifics.  I reference that I was once “not this happy”?  Not this calm and relaxed.  Not always so breezy.  And I’m not really going to get into it that much more right now either.  But I will say this.  Last summer I took a trip.  I conquered some things.  I changed.  And I’ve spent the rest of the year really coming in to my own.  Coming in to the happiness that everyone deserves.  And a part of that happiness.  Part of what makes life so different for me now.  Is how I deal with things.  Breezy.  How I react to things.  Accept it.  Solve it.  Proactive.  And happy.  Can’t change it.  Then let it go.  Got a solution.  Then make it happen.  But stay calm.  Stay happy.  Life.  Is.  Beautiful.

So that being said.  I pouted for about 5 minutes.  And then carried on my merry way.  I would fight the ticket sure.  And maybe I would lose and have to pay the full amount.  And maybe I wouldn’t.  But nothing was going to change at that exact moment.  And crying and ruining my whole day.  Was not the best outcome.  So I didn’t.  I just carried on.  Off to the stores I went.  Buying new bras (4 inches smaller around).  And new jeans.  3 sizes smaller.  And a Dereon dress.  In 2x.  When I didn’t even used to fit the 3x.  And shopping in the Faith 21 section of Forever XXI.  Like shopping.  In regular people stores.  Pretty fucking brilliant.  And I don’t mean like buy a dress.  And squeeze my ass in.  And have jiggly bits all visible and hanging out.  But wearing it anyway.  I mean.  Looking foxy.  In a dress.  That breezily fits.  No bits showing.  No bulges.  All amazing.  All happy.

And then it was time for Mega Love.  And I’m sorry folks.  Because while I’m okay with getting graphic about the “somethings” sometimes.  Mega Love.  Well.  That’s just different.  Sorry.  But what I will say is this.  It was good.  We were good.  The neighbors know just exactly how good we were.  But not just the “good” good stuff.  Other stuff was good.  We had a dance party.  He showed me new music.  I showed him new music.  We talked.  We laughed.  We tried to watch the Real World.  It was hot.  It was sweet.  It was beautiful.  And he told me so, You are so beautiful, you look so good, your body….  And the kisses.  Like letting the rain soak you through in Puerto Rico.  The kisses.  Like intertwined fingers under my favorite constellation, Orion.  The kisses.  Like soft quilts in the coldest winter on a king size bed.  The kisses.  The kisses.  Our kisses.

And then it was time to leave.  10:30pm.  Because it was still at least a 2.5 hour drive.  And I wasn’t going to spend the night.  That.  Would be playing with fire.  And honestly.  I like my own bed.  Because there’s no one else in it.  And I like it that way.  For now.  So we said goodbye.  And I drove off into the night.  Armed with two CDs worth of music.  mp3s that sing our history.  A mix tape kind of love.

The thing is.  I recently lost all my music.  A decade worth of downloads.  And it’s not even just the effort it would take to download it all again.  It’s simply trying to fucking remember.  Who.  What.  What it was called.  What I even listened to.  What WE listened to.  So he made me some CDs.  One of old songs.  One of new songs.  And I have to say.  No matter what happens with us.  If our love just dissipates into the universe.  If we marry other people.  If we never marry.  If we grow up and marry each other.  And have the little milk chocolate babies we always talked about.  Me naming the first, if it’s a boy.  Whatever happens.  In life.  I will always know this.

Mega Love.  Was.  Is.  Will always be.  My Music Soulmate.  Our love wrapped up in a mix tape.  A mix CD.

When I got home, I immediately loaded all the songs onto my ipod.  And the next day.  While going through it at the gym.  I almost cried numerous times.  I laughed at loud.  I was nostalgic.  I was filled with joy.  Every song filled me with OMG I can’t believe I forgot about this one! and the memories *sigh* so brilliant.  And even the new songs.  Which I have on repeat.  Like non-stop.  Are amazing.  Are amazing.  Are Amazing.  My soulmate.  My music soulmate.  Tears.  Of.  Sheer.  Happiness.

 

 

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

The Ex-Files: A Hotel Room, 5am & The Lurker

Hearts
[dropcap]The thing is.[/dropcap]  I get it.  On the one hand.  You were all just looking out for me.  And Fuck.  You may still be right.  About  it happening at all.  But the thing about blogging.  Is you can never really convey everything.  No lie.  I mean.  Even in real life.  I have a super close friend.  And even she doesn’t know if this whole.  Meeting up with Mega Love thing is a good idea.  She’s worried I’ll get hurt.  She’s worried.  Well.  About all kinds of possibilities.  But they say.  You never really know a relationship unless you’re in it.  And nobody was in it.  Except Me and Mega Love.  And that my friends.  Brings us to the story of the Hotel Room, 5am, & The Lurker.

So friday night I head out to a BBQ to meet my very first blogger buddy in person.  And for reference I give Miss Zoe Blue a rave review of the highest kind.  Prior to the BBQ, Mega Love and I had been hoping to meet up.  Just for a quick hello hello.  But alas.  The border.  The ruiner of all plans.  The bane of my existence.  Kept him (and posse) from arriving on time.  I said I would text after the BBQ, in case we could meet up then.  I didn’t leave till a bit after midnight.  I figured he wouldn’t want to meet.  Being that it was late and he would be doing promo shit all weekend long at Caribbean Fest.  But he did.

So we met.  And chatted.  He was staying at a friend’s house.  The chatting was.  Just chatting.  I couldn’t tell if he thought I was still cute/adorable/sexy as hell/etc.  And it was hard to tell too if he even noticed the 30 odd lbs. I’d lost since the last time we hung out.  There wasn’t any touching except for the hug goodbye.  But then again.  I was exhausted.  Plus we both knew we’d be meeting up the following night.  The only problem was.  I was going out with my friends first.  So we said goodbye and I was on my way.

Saturday rolls around.  I go out with my friends.  Awesome Sauce.  The earliest I can bust out (and maintain self-respect for not being a shitty friend/party buddy) is about 1am.  I text Mega Love.  On my way.  I get to the hotel around 1:30am.  The bed is the size of a swimming pool.

Detour.

Have I ever told you guys how much I heart a king size bed?  No?  Well I’m telling you now.  The key to my heart is thinking I’m funny, super hot, and having a king size bed, oh and wearing the double shirt.  Just Sayin’.

Back on Track.

He tells me I look great.  Which I do.  I haven’t eaten in hours and hours now and I’m fucking starving.  I ask if he has any food.  He feeds me sushi.  Lounging on the bed.  Turns to intertwined on the bed.  Turns out he definitely did still think I was cute/sexy/smokin’ hot/etc.  Perhaps even more so.  Turns into kissing and…this is where I leave you folks.  To your saucy imaginations.  Of all the sexy and delicious things that would fill this space.

But I will say this.  The kissing. was flawless.  Like seriously.  I still haven’t solved the riddle of whether it’s delicious lips, someone who knows how to kiss well, someone I just simply kiss well with…or what.  But.  Oh.  Dear.  Was it good.  There are no words to describe.  The juiciness.  The softness.  The passionate.  The power.  The when.  The how.  The right now.  The awesomeness that was our kissing.  Just Sayin’.  So was the rest of it.  But the kissing is the only thing I’m willing to talk about here.  wink wink.

Fast forward to hours later.  He tries to convince me to sleep over.  But I have one-a-day contacts, no glasses, no spares.  Plus honestly.  I don’t think it’s a good idea.  Keep some limits.  So there I am.  Dressed back in club clothes.  and I look at the clock.  5am.  Awesome.  About to do the walk of shame (though I almost want to say pride since it was such an awesome time/good decision so far).  And I open the door to leave, and I’m saying goodbye.  And I run right into this dude.  Like.  Lurking outside our door.  No joke.  5am.  I’m guessing in last night’s clothes as well.  Just standing there.  In front of our door.

And I’m thinking.  Is he looking for his room?  Is he doing a walk of shame too?  Was he just listening at the door?  Who knows.  But what I do know.  Is he wasn’t done for the night.  Because that’s when dude proceeded to chat me up.  How you doooing? *head nod and smile*.  I’m way too awkward and spooked to do anything other than head down the hallway to the elevator with some sort of mumbled grunt of umph.  And when I turn around.  In the elevator.  And look through the little window.  There he is.  Just watching me.  Like a lurker.  Lurking.  In a hotel hallway.  At 5am.  Awesome Sauce.

 

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

Biggest Loser Update: Week 10

Weightl oss

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 10

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

Total “Somethings” Dated: 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ex-Files: Can You Stay In Contact After a Break Up?

Hearts

So I should warn you right now.  This post.  It’s not going to be funny.  Because it’s about Mega Love.  And he’s nothing like the “somethings“.  He’s the only boy I’ve ever loved.  Sure I’ve had other relationships.  But the feelings were never love.  Not like with Mega Love.  To be brief (because the advice I’m seeking is needed asap) here is a quick timeline of our relationship.  And by quick.  I mean relatively.  Because we all know I’m queen of the epic.

We met in January 2004.
We were exclusive almost right away.
We broke up in October 2009.
(That’s just under 6 years for those that want to skip the math)
We broke up because I couldn’t take the long distance any longer (and may have just been unhappy with the relationship in general) and he wasn’t 100% sure about marriage yet.
I’ve since realized it’s likely I’ll never get married and/or have babies (it’s not really what I want out of life)
I don’t really know his thoughts or feelings on the matter at current.
He wanted to be friends and have contact.
I did not (nor did I think I could handle it).
We essentially broke up over the phone.
During Christmas break 2009, I went shopping in seattle.
We met up for an hour or so.
Had some much needed goodbye kisses and hugs.
I was in a good place.  I still thought we might get back together.  So did he.
In January he came up to Vancouver for work for a weekend.
We met up.  We had closure sex.  A couple of times.
I only spent one night at the hotel.  It was hard to sleep.  The next night we just had sex and then I split.
(I don’t think he was too happy about that).
For me, the closure weekend really was closure.
I no longer wanted to get back together.  I was happy we had split.  Things were good.
I have no idea how he felt about it.
I told him I would call after my exams in April.
Just before I leave for my friend’s Vegas stagette, he emails to say he’s coming up and do I want to hang out.
I’ll be away at the stagette so I can’t (whew for having an honest out).
When I return home and after writing my final final I send an email.
Basically saying, I’m moving on.  Hope things are good.  I can’t be friends.  etc.
He emailed back.  Clearly upset by the moving on bit.  Said that though he wasn’t “moving on” that he was keeping his heart open and hoped that I would too (you never know who might come into your life) Acknowledging he figured I wouldn’t be able to stay friends and thinking it was fine and probably best.  But he was finding it hard to come up to Canada and not think about me, and it would be weird to come up here and not let me know.
I said fine.
We’ve had no contact since.

Skip to now.  I get back from my weekend of wedding festivities on the island and there’s an email from Mega Love.  Telling me he’ll be in town the 7th/8th (tomorrow) and also the 24th/25th.

And now I’m.  Well.  Uncertain.

Does this email need a response?  I’m thinking probably.  Is he just letting me know he’ll be in town so that if I were to run into him at the mall I wouldn’t be like “I can’t believe you just showed up”?  Is he telling me because he wants to hang out (but leaving it in my court since I’m the one who has been…can’t hang out…can’t have contact…this whole time?  What is he hoping for?

And before you say well why don’t you just email back and ask?

Because I don’t know what my answer would be if it’s anything other than him “just letting me know.”

I know I don’t want to get back together.
I would love to have some wild and crazy sex.
I would not love to have sweet sex and/or make love.
I would not want to hear about him dating/dated/kissed/anything other girls.
I would love to have sex if I was able to convey to him exactly what I wanted and have him be okay with that.
I would not want to hang out/go to a movie/have dinner/have coffee/etc.
I would not want to hurt his feelings.
I would not want to get rejected.
I would not want to go back to that sad place right after we broke up, and again 2 weeks later when I realized we weren’t going to be getting back together.
I would not want to lead him on.
I would like to get my freak on with someone I know isn’t retarded.
I would like to get my freak on with someone who has ample equipment and skill/technique.

So here I am.  Asking for advice.  Pretty Please.  Don’t worry though, I promise to take it with a grain of salt.

*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*