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???

He Sucks, She Sucks, We All Suck Vancouver

Dating

 

[dropcap]The truth is[/dropcap] I hadn’t planned to write anything.  I was busy with school and papers and grad school apps etc.  But there came a point when I just couldn’t bite my tongue anymore and the things that were being said…well…just seemed…so…totally and completely off the fucking mark.  And with that, here is my “response” to the 2 articles stirring up a dating storm in Vancouver (though you don’t have to read them to understand my post, I don’t think…): Do Vancouver Men Suck & Do Vancouver Women Suck, A Reader’s Response

 

Dear Vancouver,

I hear it all the time.  I experience it myself.  Dating in Vancouver sucks.  And according to this article, we might just be able to get away with blaming the men.  And to be honest, I completely agree, men in Vancouver absolutely suck.  But then again so do the women.  See that’s the thing about being dicks.  Just because you’re one doesn’t mean I’m not one too.  And the same goes for the gender issue brought up in this article.  Just because men here suck at dating, and possibly life, doesn’t mean women don’t too.  And while I know I’ve just thrown a truckload of double negatives your way, I want to make something perfectly clear.  I agree with the article.  I disagree with the article.  I think it said some things worth saying.  I think it missed the mark completely.  So ya know.  Crystal clear right?

The problem with dating in Vancouver is actually pretty simple.  Well, at least knowing what the problem is, is simple, everything else like how it got this way and how to change it…well those are up for grabs.  But here it is, this is what I know about dating in Vancouver:

1.  Vancouver Men are Pansies
2.  Vancouver Women are Bitches
3.  Everybody is still fucking
4.  We’ve become the “American School System of Dating”

Just so we’re clear.  I don’t have all the answers.  But I do know that dudes here are pansies.  Full stop.  And I know it’s politically incorrect.  And I know reverse-gender oppression and all that.  But the truth is, if I wanted to date someone more feminine than me, I’d pick a chick…they’re much prettier and smell nicer.  I want a man.  I want a man who can grow a full beard.  I want a man who’s balls are too big to wear skinny jeans.  I want a dude who knows how to make a decision, was smart enough to do something with his life, has a plan and takes some action.  Truth is I want more than this, but this will suffice for the moment.

 

1.  Vancouver Men are Pansies.
Men in Vancouver are shy.  And quiet.  The only time I ever see any aggression is in the most negative of ways, bar fights, street fights, etc.  Ironically the exact things that are working against getting them laid, which is what all that fighting is about isn’t it…sexual frustration?  And while you can try to claim that men are like this in every city I assure you, it’s simply not true.  And I’m not a ten, so you can’t blame it on that either.  I can go anywhere in the States, and boys are talking to me.  Spain and they’re hollering down the street.  When I was in Paris, I had a Chef (in his full Chef get-up) leave his restaurant and come across the street into the launder-mat I was using and chat me up…and he didn’t even have any laundry!  The list goes on.  But in Vancouver, it’s few and far between.  And most of the time I’m not even certain they’re chatting me up.

And that’s out in public.  People claim the internet is so different and online dating is so easy and guys will say anything.  This is true.  To some extent.  While I won’t get into the idiocy that are the messages of Vancouver men (that’s…uh…basically the rest of this blog)…I will say that this lack-of-assertiveness translates onto the net as well.  While here in Vancouver I get anywhere between 0-5 messages a day, and at least 80% of those are bullshit like hot tiiiiiiiiiiits and messages that make you think you’re Drowning in a Sea of Idiocy, this isn’t the case in every city.  And how do I know??  Because I’m a woman who appreciates a little Science and Dating and who doesn’t love a good experiment.

So, one day I changed my dating profile, just for the day, to say Boston (since, after all I am considering grad school there, might as well see what’s up with the dating).  And within that one single day I had over 50 messages, at least 75% of which were eloquent and interesting.  Now it’s not perfect science, perhaps Vancouver is small and we have to factor in that I was a “new” profile in Boston and not in Van but still, that’s a pretty huge increase.  We simply can’t ignore it. [Update: the messages are just as fucking stupid in Montreal (see my SSDated instagram for proof), so clearly I just need to move to Boston *half joking*]

So to sum up.  Vancouver men are more feminine than men in other cities and I have no idea why.  Vancouver men are shy and less likely to approach a woman, in public or online, and I have a partial idea why.  And that’s how we get to point number two.  Vancouver women are bitches.

 

2. Vancouver Women are Bitches.
Now ladies, before you start freaking out on me…I love you.  To me??  Oh well, to me you’re fucking lovely, amazing, sweethearts, princesses, best ever, love ya…but to guys…well…um…it can get a little rough.  You see the thing is, the whole dating in Vancouver situation is a bit of a snowball.  Because here we are moaning about how guys don’t approach us or talk to us, but when they do, we suddenly become the Simon Cowells of dating…critical bitches, yo.  He’s gay.  He’s too feminine.  Ugh, hipster.  He’s weird.  He’s creepy.  He’s too short.  and the list goes on.  And while I also, don’t really want to date a short feminine hipster who’s a little bit weird or creepy and may or may not be gay…it might be a good idea if I don’t treat him like shit because

a. he’s human
b. he might be a fucking genius (which aside from the gay possibility, could really negate all that other stuff for me) (see #4 coming up) and
c. who knows if he ends up being the most amazing person you’ve ever known and the whole hipster thing is just a phase.
d.  or maybe turns out you love hipsters
e.  or maybe or maybe or maybe…have a fucking imagination…and imagine the possibilities

Plus, in the interest of sisterhood, shouldn’t we all be particularly kind and pleasant to any fellow interested in talking to us, if only to help propagate a species of males who regularly approach chicks in Van?  THINK OF YOUR SISTERS!!


That being said, I take you back to the point above where I mentioned that half the time a boy is chatting me up, it’s so timid and feeble I assume he just wants us to be besties.  And I’m almost certain during the conversation he hasn’t once considered all the dirty things I might be able to do with my mouth (Sidenote:  To be clear he should never SAY any of the dirty things he thinking till at least some of them have been put into action, I mean Social Protocol, yo, but still…he should be thinking them…if he wants me, I mean).

That being said, girls in Vancouver are fickle bitches.  I can’t tell you how many times girls complain about how dudes dress.  But here’s the thing ladies…you can’t ask for a man in a suit and be disappointed when he’s metrosexual.  And you can’t ask for a dude that puts effort into his outfit and then be disappointed when he shows up in skinny jeans and $200 high tops…which you can be damn sure he put some thought into.  So the next time you want to complain about how a guy dresses, just remember that you’re actually asking him to tuck his little purse of man coins (cajones, nuts, love lockets, berries, wedding tackle, etc.) just a little bit further away from you and hey if you’re cool with that then cool.  It’s not my business.  But don’t come crying to me while I love a man with a full beard and a baseball cap (and pants large enough to let his man marbles breathe) ready to talk science and fuck me senseless…uh…er…something like that.  Basically ladies…stop asking for a Pretty Prince when you want a King.  Because you can’t have both.  And the next time some dude says what’s up…give him a shot.  I’m not saying you need to sell your soul or makeout with him in public.    But give the dude a go.  You never know when it turns out he has a PhD. in something other than his pants (though that’s fun too).

 

3.  Everyone is Still Fucking.
Vancouver is a city you can get laid in.  No doubt.  100%.  No question.  Maybe it’s because we’re liberal.  Maybe it’s because the clubs here suck and what else are you going to do but grind up on someone else.  Maybe it’s because we’re all just so fucking happy to be so close to the mountains, the ocean, and amazing sushi that we’re willing to throw caution (and our panties) to the wind and get down.  And to be clear…this is a judgement free zone…get down with your bad self.  But here’s the one drawback I’ve seen so far.

Why would men want to bother to step their game up?  Why would it even occur to them to be smarter, more interesting, kiss better, or any of the other things we want from them??  THEY’RE STILL GETTING LAID!!!!  And while I’m currently doing my best to limit this phenomenon (which is quite the sacrifice for someone who rallies around the term SLUTmazing)…I can’t do it alone ladies.  I’m just one woman!

 

4.  Vancouver is the American School System of Dating.
People typically think of Hollywood as a town of beauty-obsessed starlets and airheads, so perhaps I shouldn’t feel so shocked that Vancouver, the Hollywood of the North, has become full of the same.  I almost don’t know how to describe it.  I was to yell at this city, like a frustrated parent screams at their 21 year old who just keeps fucking up…over and over again and all you can do is explode with YOU BETTER GET YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT KIDDO!!!  Because that’s really where the problem lies.  The bigger, more important problem.  It lies in a set of fucked up priorities.  In a city where the dating complaints sound a bit like something George Bush might say.  We have become the American Education System of Dating.

The first article described three young women:

they’re attractive, smartly put together, and fit. They hike the Chief, do the Grouse Grind, ski, bike the seawall, and kayak

And then that’s it.  That’s the end of the description.  I mean, seriously?!  Take a moment.  And let’s think about what’s missing from this list of what I can only assume is supposed to be a description of what makes these women dateable, desirable, worthy, etc. in our fair city.  So, let’s see…they’re attractive and fit.  So that’s good.  And they’re smart…oh no wait…they’re smartly put together…ok…so I guess that’s cool, they have some fashion sense.  And…then we’re back to descriptions of their athletic pursuits.  Super.  And to be honest, this is Vancouver.  A city where being fit and fashionable are your best assets.  I weep for humanity.

But seriously?!  Would you date these girls?  I mean hot bodies and financials aside, what do these chicks have to offer?  And while you could make the argument that for the sake of brevity, details about personality were left out…but in an article that runs for five pages (no judgement, people in glass houses, I’m just saying)…that argument kind of falls flat.

And so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the article focuses greatly on appearances.  Which are valid mind you, attraction is attraction.  Pretending it’s irrelevant isn’t helping anyone.  But if the women of Vancouver were really able to give that hypothetical Genie lamp a rub…is a dude who dresses up for his lady really what we’d ask for???

How about a man who can hold a conversation, who understands the ebb and flow of asking questions and offering things that can be responded to, who has SOMETHING TO SAY!  How about we aim for the stars and ask for intelligent men who have thoughts about science or math, or the history of art, or how a font curves in a way that makes his heart pound, or can tell a joke that is actually funny and not in that stupid I just said something super dumb but I’m going to attempt to cover it up by calling it a joke way that just makes you want to tear your hair out.  What happened to wanting real things that matter??  Who cares if he is wearing a sharp blazer if the man can’t manage to follow an argument from thesis to proof to proof to proof to conclusion.  When did we get so fucking tedious!!

And ladies, you’re not excused either.  Because there are really only three complaints I ever hear from guys.  Stupid, Crazy, Snobs (the nicer way to say Bitches).  And while crazy I have some thoughts on (that’s another article entirely)…they’re often right about the other two.

So this is to everybody (me included, improvement is always possible and required).  Step your game up.  Read a book.  Be more than anyone ever expected you could be.  Say something.  Do something.  Change the world.  Be interesting.  Make a point.  Make a mark.  Hold your head high and be proud of what you’re doing with your life.

And for fuck sakes…ladies…be nicer to the next guy that chats you up…(but if he’s a loser don’t sleep with him…it’s as bad as faking orgasms and you need to start thinking of your fellow woman).  And guys…man the fuck up…put some of that natural testosterone to good use and chat a lady up.  And be clear about it.  Because the only thing worse than being rejected??  Is being rejected by a girl who probably would’ve liked you if only she’d known that weren’t trying to be her new bestie.

Finally, while I applaud @AmigoJor for getting out there and doing his thing.  I have to toss out a few words of advice for the boys because I almost think everything he said was misguided.

1.  Don’t talk to chicks on the bus if it’s anytime before noon.  She’s busy.  She’s trying to get to work on time.  She can’t be bothered with you because her boss wants the blah blah on his desk by noon plus she’s not really a morning person and dammit can’t I just enjoy this latte in peace.  Plus daytime isn’t sexy, yo.  Save that shit for afternoon to evening.

2.  Beaches?  Park?  Sure…those are awesome for July and August…but uh…this is Vancouver.

3.  Yaletown.  I can either buy into the stereotypes…in which case she’s got the nervous jittery look because her body is still trying to recover from all the coke she did last night not because she’s anti-social.  If we want to go the PC route…don’t assume…if you boys want us ladies to see you in your skinny jeans and not think gay! you’re going to have to knock the Snobby girls are from… shit off.  It goes both ways.

4.  Coffee Shops…home run.  What can I say…he’s right (though I see it in a slightly less cynical way).  And I almost kind of hope that one day I might run into this fella in a coffee-shop…and he’ll say something kind and interesting and we’ll have banter.  He’ll ask for my number and I’ll give it.  And perhaps he never calls.  And perhaps I don’t really want him to.  But we’ll both go home and start a snowball effect.  We’ll tell our friends about the time we met a person who was kind and funny and sort of maybe amazing (or at least not creepy and weird/ bitchy and distant) and how he acted like a man and I was a perfect lady.  And it will encourage our friends to do the same.  And they’ll tell their friends and so on and so forth.  All because one day a couple different people wrote articles and then some other people put it into action.  Or ya know.  Something like that.

But one final word of advice…gentlemen…don’t ever say something like this “Ahh, lovely sunrise with those heavy clouds in the distance, eh?” (from article)…because while you think she responds with “yahh” out of disinterest, there’s another much more likely reason.  There is no good response to this.  Or at least not one that someone who’s just be taken aback by someone new talking to her on a bus can come up with in a timely manner.  This is a question for an art gallery or a third date.  When your chatting a new chick up on the bus, on the street, at a pub, you have to make sure she can respond without feeling like an idiot.  This is not the time to quiz her knowledge of 18th century philosophy.  Just relax.  And ask her something normal.  Like how is your night going?  


So good luck out there my lovelies.  Because don’t mistake my harsh no-bullshit approach for anything other than a love for this city and her people.  I love Vancouver.  And I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t care.  I just want you to knock off this teenager-apathetic-I-don’t-need-to-be-amazing-nonsense and get started.  It’s never too late.  Nothing is permanent.  The world is waiting with baited breath.  Now go out and date like I know you can.


Yours Truly,

Something She Dated
aka That girl at Starbucks two seats over
aka Your favorite chat up chick
aka Miss Social Protocol 2012
aka Your dating fairy godmother
aka Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

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

He Was a Dick and I Got Cocky

Head Desk

 

[dropcap]The PhD.[/dropcap]  We had a first date.  He seemed super interested.  I wanted to be super interested.  But the next week.  The one in which he said we should go out again.  It came and went.  And we did not go out again.  In fact after that initial date and texting session.  We never spoke again.  Nothing.  Nada.

Now I can’t say I’m super upset.  Mostly I’m just peeved the same way a child is when you tell them they can’t have a toy even though they likely forget what it is they wanted within an hour.  Mostly just upset when somebody isn’t fucking falling-off-chairs-writing-love-poems-masterbating-non-stop-to-thoughts-of-me-swooning over me.  But I’ll survive.

The truth of the matter is.  This was a glaring rebuttal to my previous theories about A. my ability to manipulate my own feelings of chemistry and B. the fact that simple intelligence is enough for me (fix link).   The thing of the thing is.  He was a bit creepy.  I wasn’t very attracted.  Truth be told.  If it hadn’t been for his raging intelligence…I likely would’ve never gone out with him at all.  Not even a second look.  And I definitely wouldn’t have been up for a quick peck on the date.  A lip or two.  A kiss kiss wait and kiss and done.  But it happened.  Because he wooed me.  Just a smidge.  Just a titch.  Barely at all.  But a bit.  With his brain.

The same brain which I attribute his being a dick to.  Because honestly he was a bit of a dick.  In the arrogance kind of way.  But honestly I get it.  I don’t know how you can be that smart and not be a little dickish.  Just Sayin’.  And did I want a second date.  Certainly.  Did I want a future.  Likely not.  But at the very least I wanted to be nominated for an award.  I wanted a callback.  A 2nd round job interview.  I at least wanted my name on the fucking ballot.

And the truth is I thought it was.  Would be.  Was getting one.  I was cocky.  I assumed he’d thought I was awesome.  And maybe he did.  Maybe he lost interest because I didn’t get frisky on the first date.  Maybe he sensed my lack of lust for him.  Maybe the after date texting was a trap that I sluttily fell into.  Maybe he has a girlfriend.  Maybe he’s gay.  Maybe he’s dead.  Who the fuck knows.  And aside from the fact that.  Pause.  I know this doesn’t make me look good.  Unpause.  Aside from the fact that this would have been excellent research into what it’s like dating smart guys (something I have no experience with), it’s really not a huge deal. That and ya know I had been hoping to have sex with a super aggressive guy.  Fail.  But hey.  You win some you lose some.  Sometimes it’s as simple as that.  He was a dick.  I got cocky.  Nobody made contact.  And it all just went away.  The end (of ThePhD).

 

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

Sexual Chemistry: Can Attraction and Chemistry Develop Over Time?

I can't believe I went out with him

 

[dropcap]So[/dropcap] I have this theory about attraction.  As it relates to me.  And my ability to control it.  Manipulate it.  Make it do what I want.  Conjure it out of nothing.  Squash it when it’s inconvenient.  Play with it.  Like a kitten with a ball.  Bat it about.  Like a scientist.  With beakers and formulas.  Recipes and hypotheses.  Baking a cake of attraction.  Mixing a compound of chemistry.

Now here’s the thing of the thing.  I’ve been boy crazy since as long as I can remember.  Crushes form quickly and often without substantiating factors.  Sometimes crushes last for awhile.  Especially if there’s limited interaction to foil the mystery.  Sometimes they last for mere days.  hours.  minutes.  But see a crush is just a crush.  A moment of chemistry.  A hint of attraction.  For a boy to have staying power is a whole other issue entirely.  While I may be crush-slutty I’m a long-term connection prude.  It takes a lot to keep me interested in the long run.  But then again.  To me.  That makes total sense.  Most people seem to be the complete opposite.  Once they like you.  They really like you.  But for me.  In the beginning.  Dating is just.  Attraction (not always physical).  Sexual tension.  Chemistry.  Kindness and them being a gentleman.  Honestly.  A guy with the right moves and social protocol no matter how little potential for future liking, could easily keep himself in the mix at the beginning.

Additionally I should probably mention.  I’m fairly certain I’m attracted to a high percentage of males.  The reason I say “fairly certain” is because after all “high” is a relative term and I would need to know the statistics on the rate of attraction other females feel for said number of males to really truly know.  Science and Dating.  Just Sayin’.  But even without full on stats.  I can guess.  That while other ladies might have the potential attraction for say 3 in 10 guys.  My number is likely more like 7 in 10.  I think *(stats hypothesized on IRL seeing of guys…not online dating photos as results may definitely vary with that).

So now that you have all these little tidbits of info about me.  I should tell you.  I’ve always kind of felt I have control over the attraction I feel towards others.  I can amp it up.  Play it up.  Make it more than it might be in and of itself.  And I can also chill it the fuck out, rein it the fuck in and gear it the fuck down.  Like a fucking scientist on the loose, I can both mix up chemistry from nothing and dilute chemistry into nothing.

So here we are.  Several paragraphs into this blog post and I bet you’re thinking.  What the fuck is she talking about?  Where is this going?  What does this have to do with anything?  And here’s the tie in.  Also it may help answer some questions about why TheNickName got as far as he did and *spoiler alert* even further than I’ve told you about thus far *hides face in shame*.

So like I was saying in The Wall: A Story of Dysfunction.  I was attracted to The Nick Name.  But it ebbed and flowed.  Every time a date was scheduled excitement fed the desire.  Every time a date was cancelled the desire was dashed and the interest waylaid.  It was, to all appearances, as if I controlled it.  Manipulated it.  Conducted it like a symphony.  The truth is.  It’s not like there was some kismet connection.  He was just a nice guy.  With a voice I drooled over.  Don’t ask.  I have no idea why.  And he thought I was smart.  And funny.  And hot.  And of course he was a grown up.  And taller than me.  And not socially retarded.  And so like I told you guys (and TheHel) already.  No I wouldn’t say he was hot.  But yes I would say I was attracted to him.  Because I wanted to be.  Because being attracted to him was serving a purpose at this point.  Making me happy.

So while the window for dating was closed and the wall to protect me was erected…there was still room for.  Well.  Let’s just say not every door had closed on The Nick Name.  And it was in just under a week from his last texts about this time of year being too busy to start dating but that it’ll happen with us at some point when he stuck his foot in the very last door left open for him.  So take notes boys.  Whether it’s a good thing or not.  The way back in.  With a lady.  Is having paid attention.  Having listened to her conversation.  Because though likely a bullshit move.  Remembering shit.  Wins points.  Real talk.

The day my exams ended.  TheNickName remembered.  And texted

Yay, school is over for two weeks.  Howd Shakespeare go?  Enjoy your time off!!!

Amazing I said Hit it outta the park.  How are things with you?

And so he replied
That’s awesome for you! Atta girl!  Things are good, just stupid busy during this time of the year with work and Xmas functions.  Talk soon!

I felt no need to respond further.  No questions were asked so I wasn’t being impolite.  If he wanted anything.  He’d have to be making the moves.  Clear moves.

 

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

He’s a Cheater and You’re an Idiot (But You Don’t Have to Be)

Head Desk

 

[dropcap]I get it.[/dropcap]  You catch your man online dating.  You don’t want to jump to conclusions.  You don’t want to feel sad about your shitty relationship and impending break up.  Mostly, I’m guessing, you just don’t want to be alone.  But seriously, ladies, step your game up, step your self-esteem up, step your common sense up.  And quit being fucking ridiculous.

So there I was on plentyoffish.com just minding my own business.  Checking out profiles.  When I get a message.  I mean top of the line piece of lusty literature, witty and intriguing, a real gem.  Hold onto your panties ladies.  It’s about to get wild.  The message reads:

How are you?

I should’ve probably started this post by mentioning that things “online” are slow.  Let me rephrase that.  Things online are hideous and boring.  Essentially, it has become apparent that while swimming in the seas where supposedly plenty of fish are lurking, I only attract the bottom feeders.  Awesome.  Which is what allows me to be open to the fact that this guy is cute.  Not drool on my keyboard cute, but by no means avert my eyes and delete cute.  So I give him the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe he’s just not feeling creative.  Maybe he’s just a slow starter.  Maybe he’ll pick it up a bit.

Hey 🙂 Thanks for the message…I’m doing great.  How’s your day going?

And then total silence.  I didn’t really notice at the time because I was being bombarded with messages.  Sure, yes,   bottom feeders, with the occasional poisonous puffer fish, and a shark once in a while, but generally speaking – bottom feeders.  However, a week later when I see his face appear in my messages again.  I think.  Hmm…I’ve seen him before.  Did I delete him?  Did we talk?  So I click the “view all correspondence” button.  And see the meager history.  He messaged.  I responded.  He appears to have forgotten.  And yet.  Here he is again.  Launching those lovely love letters in my direction.  The message reads:

Hey wat up?

I mean swoon right?  But like I said, times are dumb and ugly, and I’m bored.  And frankly, because I’ve got nothing invested, there’s nothing to lose.  So I message back, but I kick it up a notch.  I can’t be talking to boring people.  So either he’ll hit me back with info that’ll lead to conversation or he’ll be boring again and then I’ll know, and stop responding.

Hey 🙂 Not much…just getting ready for school tomorrow…How was your weekend? Get up to any Halloween fun?

And this time I get a response.  Almost immediate.  I mean barely enough to type all the words kind of immediate.  Only the response isn’t from…well…see for yourself.

Hi,
this is Mike’s girlfriend. Yes he has a girlfriend, so please don’t bother writing him again. I can’t believe he actually turned out to be one of these guys….and there are far too many guys with girlfriends on these websites, I once went out with one of them myself. Not good! My advice to you, go out instead of going online, it’s a harder search for a guy, but you have a better chance of finding someone decent!

Hmm…I’m going to have to stop you right there Mike’s Girlfriend.  Because your science, your logic, is off the charts stupid.  Online dating and cheating?  I’m not sure there’s even a correlational relationship between the two let alone a causational one.  Though if you can show me some data I’ll more than happily change my tune.  And for reference I mean data that proves this same relationship between dating and cheating in the conventional manner doesn’t exist as well.

Next problem?  Why can’t you believe he turned out to be one of “those guys”?  And I’m assuming “those guys” means cheaters.  Because here’s the thing, Mike’s Girlfriend.  I doubt your surprise.  Nobody even thinks to check to see if their boyfriend has a POF account, who doesn’t already have an inkling that he’s (thinking about, in the process of, already has) cheating/ed.  Plus anybody who feels the need to message someone talking to said boyfriend on POF, likely assumes even if he shuts his profile down it’ll pop right back up again.  It’s almost as if this has happened before…hmmm?  Thoughts?  Finally, Mike’s girlfriend, giving advice?  Really?  Really?  Do you really think you’re in a position to be offering up said advice, given that your relationship is in shambles?  And if I’m being honest, you wouldn’t be suggesting I stop talking to Mike if you were planning to dump his cheating ass so I can only assume you plan to forgive him at which point any possible chance you had for being a source of worthwhile advice goes right out the window.

Not one to ignore a teachable moment, I respond.

Not to be mean or anything but do you really think you’re in a good position to be offering advice?  I mean, I’m sorry your guy is a dick but my advice to you would be…break up with him and don’t sweat it as he obviously isn’t a great guy for you (or anyone)…keep your head up and don’t be bitter (or offer unwarranted advice that makes you seem bitter)…and carry on your merry way with a good life.

I assume this will be the end of it.  Actually I don’t, I expect some sort of childish rant, but I just couldn’t help myself, I had to say my peace.  And just as I’m about to hit block, as to avoid being baited into an ongoing conversation with this sad dumb chick.  I get another message:

Yeah, whether or not I actually found someone decent is now questionable 🙁

I metaphorically slap her, in my mind, grab her by the shoulders and shake.  For the love of a pretend being you fucking tool?!?!?  How did you let this become your life?!?!  What on earth are you doing?!?!  But that seems harsh.  So I simply respond, as kindly as I can and hope she absorbs at least some of my advice.

Questionable?? Oh honey. There is no question here about whether or not he’s decent.  He’s checking out online dating sites…and assuming you two are exclusive…that’s a pretty big no brainer. Plus…not to be super critical…but if you have to “hack” his account or snoop through a webpage left open or however it is you found his page…if you have to do any of that…you’re in a relationship that wasn’t working to begin with. And now obviously I don’t know your story or situation…but seriously…is there really a question here???

There was no response.  I’m hoping that Mike’s Girlfriend heeded my words, grabbed her purse, and hightailed it out of his place (which I’m assuming is where she stumbled upon this situation), and his life.  Grabbed herself a set of self-esteem and brain power and put the two together for good use.  Perhaps she even sought out some counselling (something I’m always in favor of) to deal with her numerous issues.  I expect a thank you message from her in the near future.  Maybe some flowers…

No?  You don’t think that’s what happened?  You’re probably right.  Mike probably cried, or acted like a total dick who had a right to peruse online dating sites, and said he was so so sorry.  Maybe he meant it, maybe he didn’t.  They’re back together.  It won’t end well.  Because you can’t form a healthy relationship with someone who’s emotionally broken and/or a total idiot.  Sorry Mike’s Girlfriend.  It’s never going to get any better until you get your shit together.  Which I have faith that you can do.  If you want to.

[colored_box color=”grey”]Dear Girls,
Don’t be like Mike (‘s Girlfriend).  Say no to idiocy and flawed logic.  Use reality as your guide.  Seek help when you need it.  And most importantly.  Don’t take shit from nobody.
Yours Truly,
Judgey Wudgey

aka Something She Dated
aka Dating losers so you won’t have to
aka Protecting the name of our gender
aka The science (logic) and dating police[/colored_box]

 

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

Biggest Loser Update: Week 19 aka The End of Summer

Losing weight

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 19

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 5

Total “Somethings” Dated: 7

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 40

Total Best Summers Ever:  1

Wow.  It’s so hard to even know where to start.  I mean there I was.  4 months ago.  Thinking.  I’m really going to do this.  I’m going to have myself some breezy fun with the Boys of Summer (fix links).  And then I’m going to write about it.  And share my fears.  My torments.  My dry spells.  My lusty kisses.  My total slutdamonium.  My weightloss.  My struggles.  My triumphs.  My lessons learned.  My humor.  Perhaps even a tear or two.  With the interweb.  With strangers.  Blogger buddies.  And real life friends alike.  (Didn’t know I’d be sharing it with “somethings” too.)  I mean.  That’s what one could dream about.  Because honestly.  I never really dreamed it would get more than a few hits.  And I expected those to come from TheHell.  And Rain.  And the 3 or 4 other friends I could maybe bribe (with promises of buying them beers and candy at a later date) to read.  I mean.  Would my dating life even be that interesting?  Would people really want to read about it? 

And here I am.  4 months later.  A better person for it all.  Because I lived it.  It happened.  I was open to it.  And even when I was closed to it.  I was still there.  Still experiencing it.  And honestly.  Regardless of the all the idiocy and retardation.  I can honestly say.  I had the summer of my life.  And certainly it wasn’t just the dating.  It was a combination.  The Dating.  The Blog.  Blogger Buddies.  Real life friendships.  Softball.  An amazing new team.  Amazing new friends.  Weightloss.  The Gym.  The Boys.  The Ups and Downs.  The freakin’ hilarity of it all.  A wedding weekend of wildcards and wonderful women.  A softball reunion and old friends.  Saturdays out for food tastings and talk.  Coffee chats.  New friends.  Renewed friendships.  Quality time.  Bonding.  Video games and doritos.  Stizzlicious.  And love.  Perhaps not romantic love.  But family.  Friends.  Dreams.  Happiness.  Love was everywhere this summer.  Love doesn’t care about douchebags and retarded boys.  I am cotton-candy-swaddled in love.  And this summer.  Really was the best ever.  Except for next year.  And every one that follows.  I can only hope.  Yours was as good.

But alas.  With the end of summer.  Comes school.  And with school.  Comes new priorities.  It’s no longer just about fun and flamboyancy.  It’s time to buckle down and be about it.  And what does that mean for you, my cherished readers.  Well.  For right now.  Not a WHOLE lot.  Because I’ve been preparing.  And I’ve got you covered.  Post-wise.  For quite the little while.  And I’ll still be here.  To read your comments.  And correct typos in my posts.  And for me.  It meant.  Removing my PlentyofFish.com profile.  But you never know.  When a story about a “something” might come along.  And under the profession you may very well see.  Student.  Professor.  Coffee Shop Barista.  Librarian.  Or Fitness Trainer.  (in case it wasn’t obvious these are the only people I will be coming in contact with for the next couple of months).

 

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

Biggest Loser Update: Week 15

Biggest Loser

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 15

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 5

Total “Somethings” Dated: 7

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 34

So it’s week 15 now and I’m down 34 lbs.  And I won’t lie.  Things are stepping up in the boy department.  For starters.  You’ll kindly noticed the increase in the number of “somethings” dated during my summer of boys.  In 2.5 months (may to mid-july) I’d only managed to land 3 dates.  And now.  In the last 3 weeks I’ve managed to almost double that number?  Just Sayin’.  I think the weightloss is really paying off.  Okay well obviously it’s paying off (health, happiness, general awesome sauce) but I mean directly boy/dating/something related.

Now I know this is online dating.  And fuck.  Disappoints are always abound.  Boys without balls are everywhere.  Action (the act of doing something not messing around per se) is sparse.  So I don’t want to get to ahead of myself.  But seriously.  Things are looking up.

Oh and P Sizzle.  I can’t remember my exact waist measurement before I started the summer.  But at the very minimum I’ve lost 6 inches around my waist (and at biggest guestimate…I’ve lost 10).  And I’m down 3 sizes.  Three Whole Sizes.  So yeah.  Come on down boys.  Mamma’s lookin fly!

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*

Biggest Losers Update: Week 8

Dating
For those new to the blog or in need of a refresher, this is a continuation from the post Until I’m The Biggest Loser I’ll Have To Settle For The Biggest Losers where I talk about how I’m perfect (joking) except for my weight and that until my weight is on point I’m going to end up dating losers because the winners are chasing the perfect ladies with hottie bodies.  And for reference the term losers is very relative.  There are definitely levels of losers.

Guy who hits chicks = super ridiculous loser
Guy who is unhappy in his job = moderate loser
Guy who isn’t a go getter = moderate loser
Guy who is 40 and living with parents = mega loser
Guy who is boring = moderate loser
Guy who lacks common sense = moderate loser
Guy who wears spandex in public = huge loser
Guy who isn’t awesome funny = moderate loser

So as you can see.  When I say I’m going to have to settle for dating losers.  I’m not talking serial killer losers.  Beating your girlfriend losers.  Steal money from you and put drugs in your purse when the police bust him type losers.  I’m talking about moderate losers.  Lack excitement losers.  Lack social intuition and common sense losers.  Lack hilarity and awesomeness losers.  You get the idea.

So here’s an update on my Summer of Boys and my status as the Biggest Loser.

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 8
Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 3
Total “Somethings” Dated: 5
Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 18

For those of with eagle eyes…you’ll notice that while the weeks passed and pounds lost have changed…the dating has lulled.  And by lulled.  I mean hasn’t budged a fucking inch.  Fuck me.  Now I will admit.  If only to save some fucking face and not look like the hugest retard who can’t manage to get a date.  I’ve done a couple of things that are limiting my dates.

The first thing limiting my number of dates, has been ongoing.  Which is, perhaps I’m being too picky.  And by too picky I’m not saying that I should just go out and bang every guy who shows interest.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  The best sex I’ve had this summer.  Was with Intelligence Officer (fix link).

Detour.

Which I understand you not really knowing because while you may have gleaned from some notion of this from my vague references I never really got into the nitty gritty for you.  Which sorry I’m not going to here.  Except to say that it was good.  Everything about it was good.  Well everything except for his ghetto-ness of not having a place to repeat the escapade.  But other than that.  All good.

Detour 2.

We all know I have a thing for height.  I always say, the guy has to be tall, because I’m big (and for a girl a decent height at 5’7).  He has to be tall because otherwise I look like the guy and nobody likes that.  So while Intelligence Officer squeaked through because of his personality (and super manliness).  I have been automatically disqualifying any pursuers under 5’11.  Now in fairness to myself, they may have been duds as well as the height…but maybe not, I can’t remember.

Back on Track.

And here’s the point of the point of the thing of the thing.  The best sex of my summer so far has been with a guy who stands a mere 2 inches above me at 5’9 (which let’s cut the shit is basically the same height as me).  And I should actually even go on to mention.  That while you may be thinking well shit she’s gotten frisky with 3 guys recently and you would be right…but I would wager that Intelligence Officer would easily fall into the Top 10 and could quite possibly fall into Top 5 (based on overall experience).  So perhaps I need to start being a little more lenient with height.  Maybe I really need to give these guys a chance…hmm…yes no?  I’m not saying I’ll just go bang them.  But maybe, they should get a date.  Or at the very least a message back.  To see what’s up.  To give them a chance.  Because just as guys can look way worse than their photos.  They’ve also been known to look way better.

The second thing limiting my number of dates, started only about a week ago.  I closed all my dating profiles.  And before I freak you out too much.  Don’t worry.  It’s not a permanent thing.  I’m just taking a little break.  A moment.  A breather.  For one thing, I think it would be nice to have my face off of PlentyofFish.com for a smidge because like I always say, Vancouver is a small ass town (fix link) and frankly I don’t want to be fucking etched into the brains of every guy on there (who doesn’t want me) ya dig?  For another thing, the plan is to join back up when I reach the 25 total pounds lost mark.  I’ll take some new pics.  I’ll look sexy.  I’ll look fresh.  It’ll be top notch.  See how optimism is my thing 🙂

So 7lbs.  It could take 3 weeks.  It could take 1.  We’ll all just have to wait and see.  But don’t worry.  Until then I have a ton of bloggy stuff that’s been back-logging for awhile now.  So wish me luck.  Fingers crossed.

Oh and BTW.

Another reason I’m cool with the date slow-down for the moment is I have a wedding for one of my very bestest closest friends coming up this weekend…and by weekend I mean starting Thursday-ish and running till Monday-ish on the island (for non-locals that’s Vancouver Island, aka Victoria).  I am so brilliantly excited.  I think they’re the cutest couple and I heart them both so so so much.  Not to mention Hellooooo singles table woohoo!!!!  I’ve never even been to a wedding without Mega Love let alone when I’m all confident and ready to flirt MY ASS OFF!!  And final not to mention.  Because of the weightloss I fit this sexy-awesome Rocawear dress that I’ve had for like 3 years and only worn once (when it didn’t look amazing)…and I actually even have to have it tailored (tighter that is :P).

So wish me luck with that too.  That I get some hot singles table ass.  Or at the very least some flirting practice.

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