Dirty Talk: Only If You Deliver

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t always starts innocently enough.  He asks how is your day going? and I think how tedious sweet.  But if we’re on plenty of fish or okcupid or twitter or facebook or maybe even via text, it usually ends the same, he wants to turn the chatter sexual; he wants the dirty talk.

And don’t get me wrong, I love the dirty talk.

There, I said it.  When it’s good, it’s amazing.  I love it whispered in my ear.  I love it showing up via text message.  I love it in my inbox (DM stands for dirty message, no?) but here’s the thing of the thing…if you’re not eventually going to put it in my box, I’d rather you just sort out the male yourself.

You see, the problem is I’m a writer.

Which, generally speaking, means nothing except that there are probably a lot of ramen noodles and tear filled nights in my future but when we’re talking about articulating anecdotes of arousal, sending soliloquies of seduction, teasing with testimonials of torrid temptations, I admit, I may have the upper hand.  And if we’re being real, that’s basically the only one I need.

Unless, of course, you plan to deliver.  I don’t want Delissio.

In which case, you know where to find me or at least plead your case.  You go ahead and bring it.  Show me your lumberjack lasciviousness, your burly backroom bellows; hit me with your famous filthy frenzy, your slickest unchaste urges, show me what you got and don’t be shy about it.

But if you’re just looking for some escapist excitement, some bored-on-a-monday mystery, some spank bank material, some spice-it-up-with-your-wife-later-flirtation, go ahead and get the fuck out of here.  Because you are wasting my time.  And that, in and of itself, makes you a shitty person (more on this another time).

If the words you’re spouting are not a preamble to the amorous activities of the future, to be honest, I’m not interested, because after all, I can make this shit up on my own and I would do a better job.  While I may be just a fantasy behind a pair of lips to you; to me, you’re just an ordinary guy.  Which, in and of itself, is perfectly fine.  I love to date guys.  Ordinary is cool, extraordinary is better.  But we’re talking about spending time coming up with saucy things to say to you with absolutely no payout?  Fuck that.  I’d rather write the story myself.

Because you see…

I’m fairly certain you have an amazing job.  Not like amazing in a monetary way, see I couldn’t care less about that.  But in some powerful sense.  Maybe you’re a President or a CEO.  Or maybe it’s more of a heroic thing, a Fireman or Policeman perhaps.  Or even better, perhaps you’re both powerful, incredibly intelligent and in my field, a Professor maybe, the head of a publishing company perhaps, an Editor.

And I have no doubt that you find me attractive, in fact you’ve told me over and over again.  There’s no need to reveal myself just because I’m worried you don’t really grasp the fact that I’m chubby, you get it and you think I’m amazing.  In fact, the attraction is so strong that we spend most of our time in some sort of tender tousle where you try to rip my clothes off and I try to keep you at bay, temporarily.

You see, we’ve got a thing going on.  It’s passionate.  It’s secret.  It’s unbelievably fun.

And on Wednesday night, I stop by your office building.  Everybody has gone home for the night but you’re busy working late.  I show up, half expecting to find you asleep on the couch in your office, but not my hard worker, you’re vigilant, you’re aggressive, there’s a reason you’re at the top of your field.

You look up from your desk, I stand in the door frame.  Your smile is not the smile of laughter, it is not a roller-coaster smile or a punchline smile.  Your smile is brisk, it’s sharp, it owns the room, it will take me down.

“Come in,” you say and I do, slowly, so you can get the whole view, but not before closing the door.  I am me, but not me.  By now you’ve walked over and are standing dangerously close.  I can feel the seconds beat against my ribs.

“What took you so long,” you ask as you slide your left hand inside my jacket and around my waist, but I know you’re not really asking.  This is just the chatter, the preamble, the small talk that takes place while you encircle me like a shark.  You smell like a man; all skin and cologne and testosterone.

You push me back against the wall, rough and aggressive, only not, because you use one hand to brace us and the other to hold me, always just one inch shy of any actual hurt.  You press your lips into mine, I press my hips into yours.  We are the opposite of a tug-o-war.

Your mouth is warm and wet and for a moment the power dynamic changes.  This is my obstacle course, I’m leading the way.  At first the kisses are so slow that you can barely stand it.  I spread your mouth open the smallest amount with my own, trace the bottom of your upper lip with the tip of my tongue, pull back for just a moment, gently bite my lower lip and then offer it up to you.  It slips inside your mouth, and you suck on it, soft.  And then harder.  The tension matches your arm as you reach around my waist and pull me closer.

And then your demeanor changes.  The room shifts.  The temperature changes.  Your breathing sounds like drums.  Your skin feels like fire.  You taste like promises and peaches.  You reach your hand down and maneuver your way under my dress, run your hand along the softness of my underwear, and then find your way inside…

And I could go on.  In fact, I will, in my head, when I write it how I want tonight.  And I might just change it for tomorrow.  Tonight it’s an editor who takes what he wants, throws me on the couch and exacts a debt I owe.  Tomorrow it’s a Fireman with whom I do unspeakable things.  Thursday, I could be pulling an under-the-desk-lewinsky while he has a meeting with someone, only the two of us aware.  A week from now it might be on a trip to Paris with a wealthy benefactor or a naive dishwasher.  But either way, it beats the hell out of so…uh…what are you wearing?

Unless, of course, you are an intelligent powerful man who finds me to be both amazing and beautiful….


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

Dirty Talk: What Are You Wearing?

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[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he message reads:  What are you wearing?  And it’s your move.  The board is set.  The pieces are all lined up.  Now all you have to do is ask yourself, do you want to play?

I used to spend a great deal of time wondering what boys wanted to hear in response to this.  I mean, did they really want to know what I was wearing in a literal sense?  Or was this their way of sussing out whether or not I was down for a bootycall?  Or were they just being misguidedly playful?

I don’t wonder anymore.  In all honesty, it doesn’t matter what they want to hear in response.  It recently occurred to me that I had been asking the wrong questions.  The only question that really matters, is how I want to respond.

There are two reasons a guy would send you this text.  Only two.  And you can try all the explaining and excuses or bullshit responses but the truth is, I’m right.  On this one thing.  Every guy ever, was asking, is asking, for one of these two reasons:


1.  He’s throwing bird seed.

2.  He wants to fuck you.

If he’s throwing bird seed, RUN!  This dude does not care about you, and I’m not even talking about in a swooning-girlfriendy-kind of way.  This dude doesn’t give a shit about your time, your feelings, your happiness.  To be honest, he doesn’t even care about you as a human being, you are a means to an end and dammit, You’re better than that and stop being so pathetic and rewarding this type of shitty behavior from human beings!!!

If he wants to fuck you, then you’ve got a decision to make.  Actually you’ll have several.  The first of which is whether or not you want to.  Now here’s where this may get tricky for some.  Fucking and caring are not mutually exclusive.  For all I know, it’s your sweetheart of a boyfriend being cheeky or cute or sexy when he sends you this text.  And that’s great.  Hopefully you want to answer it with something sexy (and we’ll get to that in a bit), because he is your boyfriend and all so I would hope you want to bang his brains out.

But what about if it’s just someone you’ve been dating?  Or what if it’s a bootycall you’ve had for years?  Or a potential one night stand with someone from the internet?  Or a guy from church?  Or any of the other million possibilities that may have not occurred to me?

What then?

This is the part I can’t really help you with, except to suggest some questions you might want to ask yourself to help you think through your decision.  Because after all, this is your decision.

So when he texts what are you wearing? ask yourself these questions:

Do you want to have sex with him?
If you’re not ready to have sex with him will you have the self-control to stop things if they progress too far (and are you prepared to tell him ahead of time what your limits are)?
Are you prepared for the after-sex level of commitment (or more likely lack thereof) that he is offering?
Have you correctly ascertained that he falls into this and not the bird seed category?
Do you properly understand that sex and emotion are not mutually inclusive?
Will you be okay if the “relationship” never progresses past a sexual experience?

If you can honestly answer yes to these questions then I would guess you’re ready to answer his text.

And by the way, if your answer is yes…that’s awesome.  Good for you!  Get yours!  Have fun!  Be safe!  And feel free to come back and tell me everything!!  But if your answer is no, hey that’s okay.  We all come in different emotional packages and we want different things out of life and that’s just all well and good.  The most important thing is that you know yourself, make smart decisions for yourself, and to be completely honest, keep your judgment of others to a minimum (that goes for both the yesers and noers).

So how do you respond to his question what are you wearing?

First and foremost, think sexy.

But what if you’re not (looking sexy at the moment)?  Sure, okay, so maybe you’re like me and busy studying in your jogging pants, sports bra and sweatshirt.  Here is the time for the white lie.  How far you stretch the truth is your call and it will have a lot to do with what you (and he) are into.  So you say,

I’m wearing red lace panties with a matching red bra…
I’m wearing that little black dress you like…
Absolutely nothing…you should get over here to keep me warm…
Nothing but high heels and a smile…
Whip cream and caramel sauce…have you had dessert yet?

But if you’re like me and hate lying in any form?  Well, at that point there are two options really.  The first is to make the white lie real.  Go put on that black dress.  Go make a sexy sundae.  Your call.  The only downside to this scenario is that puts you in a situation of already putting in a lot of effort when for all you know he was just checking in and actually wanted to hang out 2 days from now (though depending on the situation you two have, this might be a sign he’s a bird seed thrower – take note).

The second option takes less effort (and is possibly less sexy but I’d argue if he really wanted you, he mostly just wants to know that you’re up for it and it doesn’t actually matter what you’re wearing).  Simply make what you’re working with more sexy.  So you’re wearing a sports bar and a sweatshirt???  Set those ladies free and tell him that underneath your sweatshirt is nothing but warm bare skin.  You get the idea.

All that being said, try to remember that this is likely a dude you’re just going to have a sexual fling with and a white lie isn’t the worst thing in the world but that putting in effort for a man who isn’t putting in any real effort for you will only wind you up in the disappointment bin.  Keep it light, keep it happy, keep it sexy, keep it breezy.

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

Dear Boys, What Are You Wearing?

Something She Said

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

What are you wearing?  That’s what the message says.  What are you wearing?  That’s what all the messages say, from all the boys, at some time or another, and I haven’t a fucking clue how to respond.  Hell, I’m not even entirely sure it’s a question.  I’m stumped.

 What do you want from me?!?!?!?


When you ask this thing what are you wearing?; when you say these words what are you wearing?; when your message appears across my screen what are you wearing?:  I mean, am I supposed to tell you the literal truth?  Because here’s the thing of the thing.  When you and I are together, when we’re at the stage that I’m ready for you to see the skivvies, oh yeah, I’m wearing the Red Lacies.  The sexy boy shorts.  This illicit thing.  For sure.  But when I’m at home, alone, away from you.  You can be damn sure that I’m wearing my adorable jogging pants.  No they’re not tight, they’re just normal, don’t make this weird.  They’re regular soft and stretchy comfy pants.  So no, I’m not wearing that sexy lingerie you’re dreaming of.  And no, I’m not sauntering around naked.  Don’t be an idiot.  I have shit to do.  Like cooking bacon that splatters.  Or jazzercising in front of open windows.  And that stuff can’t be done naked.    Obvs.

But I mean I get it.  I’m a writer, after all, I can be creative.  I can amp it up for you.  But is that what you want?  Is that really what you’re asking me?  Do you want me to create some verbal fantasy that I think you’ll think is sexy?  Or are you aiming for a realistic picture of how adorable hot I look in real life, at that very moment?  Or is there a third (and forth) possibility?  Are you hoping this will lead to sexting or phone sex?  Or even more hopeful, is this your way of testing the waters of booty call lake, to see if I’m interested in getting wet, in having a quick dip?  I honestly don’t know what your deal is, boys, and thus, here is my plea:

Dear boys,

My dear sweet boys.  What is it exactly that you want from me?  The reality of it all?  Or do you want the smoke and mirrors and pay no attention to that man behind the curtain?  Do you want to be able to picture me in the very way that I am, at that very moment that you message me?  Or is your aim the sugar and sexy spice that comes standard on our date nights?  Are you trying to get into my skivvies?  Is this the time for fantastical fictional narratives?  Honestly, tell me boys, seriously, what the fuck do you want from me when you type those confusing words–What are you wearing?

Yours Truly,

Judgey Wudgey

aka Something She Dated
aka Your favorite jogging pants sexter
aka That girl at the coffee shop
aka flip that bacon girl it’s burning
aka Dating Vancouver a better place one “something” at a time

Persistence Will Get You Everywhere: The Nick Name Keeps Himself in the Game



[dropcap]So just a quick recap. [/dropcap]

There were phone calls.  A first date came and went with success.  Then the date’s were on then off.  Then on then off.  Then there was a window that closed. A wall that went up.  And yet somehow I was still feeling a chemical (fabricated I would guess almost entirely by my mind and desire to eventually get laid by someone not a stranger) attraction to The Nick Name.  And one would assume he did not feel the same.  But there he was.  Just under a week later.  On the day I finished my exams.  Popping right back up.

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 didn’t respond further.  Didn’t think I needed to.  Not sure if I wanted to.  But the next day.  There he was again.  With minimal effort of course.  But making enough of an effort to stand outside the wall but close enough to touch it, if you will.  Which may have been the reason the conversation happened as it did.
Did you xmas shop after you finished all of yours exams etc.? he asked.  But I was busy.  I was at a party which unfortunately didn’t live up to the hype I had hoped.  And then I was having drinks with ladies and chatting all night long.  No time to stop to text a boy back.  Plus of course even if I did have time.  It would be to text The PhD back (as he had been texting cute things in anticipation of our date the next day).

The next morning I woke up.  lol who am I kidding.  I was on Christmas break.  The next afternoon I woke up.  And thought sure.  Why not.  So I responded to the previous night’s text.  Something about having done absolutely no shopping yet and was he all ready for Christmas.

A friend is coming over tonight to wrap all of my presents and then yah I’m done! he quickly responded.  Fun I said wrapping presents is my favorite thing to do! And that’s when it happened.  Somewhere between attraction + opportunity – window + wall = me getting flirty (so unlike me).  Well maybe my second favorite thing.

What’s your favorite? he asks.  And it’s sort of off to the races from there.  He tells me he’s had lots of thoughts about my lady bits (don’t worry my words not his).  I wonder if it’ll happen with us.  A second date not a future.  I hope so he says Your sched. was crazy busy and mine got there when we got closer to xmas.  Next week is pretty wide open…Wanna get together on the 29th?  Dinner at my place?

Sure I text.  Sounds good.  And then he’s home from work.  And the conversation really turns to.  Well.  Inappropriate for all your innocent eyes and naive ears.  The thing is though.  I’ve yet to find someone who did it as well as Intelligence Officer.  I mean honestly.  I don’t know if it was just the right time right place of our little scenario.  Or what.  But everything he said was perfect.  He ebbed and I flowed.  He flowed and I ebbed.  He didn’t rush the convo.  It was dirty.  It was explicit.  It was exactly what I wanted. (fix link)

But The Nick Name.  It was.  Er.  Um.  Okay.  It was rushed.  It was not the things I wanted.  I mean it wasn’t like things I didn’t want or anything.  But it lacked a certain.  Throw down.  A certain take charge.  There was no verbal hair pulling to say the least.  But I played along.  Because I was horny.  And happy (with life not with him) and frankly it was my Xmas break and why the fuck not.  Until of course he asked the question all boys ask.  Stupid boys.  You gotta send me a sexy pic that I can use tonight.  It’s not the using my pic that makes him stupid.  That actually makes him awesome.  Yes indeed.  Go ahead and feed my ego.  But asking a chick you barely know to send you a dirty pic in this day and age of nothing can be erased and everything comes out?  Don’t be retarded.  Obviously I responded more in a more demure and breezy fashion.  But nonetheless with a not gonna happen.

His response.  I will look at your pics on POF 🙂  No problem with that I think, in fact I encourage it.  Have at ‘er.  And that’s when I tell him I have to go.  I have to get ready for tonight.  Which ironically is my first date with ThePhD.  His final message I want you !!  Have fun tonight!! 

The next day….

I thought about you lots today and our text messages from yesterday! oh I bet you did, Indeed I bet he did.
It was Christmas Eve Day.  And it was more of the same.  Texting from The Nick Name.  Asking about my day.  My plans for Christmas Eve.  Which if you follow me on Twitter should know were going to be blissful and independent.  With my parents out of the country this year.  And spending Christmas Day with my brother, his girlfriend and her family.  I was free to spend Christmas Eve blissfully, relaxingly, amazingly alone and doing my own thing.  Which as I told The Nick Name when he asked was going to be full of dancing, decorating, xmas movies and yummy thai food.
That sounds fun he texted I wish I was sitting on your coach watching you!  I assured him that wouldn’t be a good idea as I would get nothing done.  The chatter continued.  At some point we talked about kissing.  Something we had yet to actually do.  (man this was fucked up).  He insinuated he was a good kisser.  Some joke about having a plaque.  I said I wasn’t sure if I was a good kisser.  So far all my reviews had been good if not raves.  But still.  As a person who writes and yet won’t call herself a writer.  I’m hesitant to claim skills that are relative.  Like kissing.  He assured me he was happy to be the judge.
The conversation took a sexy turn again.  Back and forth we went.  And then suddenly.  Radio Silence.  Which was followed 2.5 hours later with Sorry, I was watching a xmas movie.  How was dancing and decorating?  want to talk on the phone?
It was late but honestly I did want to talk to him on the phone.  Since the very beginning.  The phone had been his strong suit.  And honestly I kind of wanted to regain that image of him.  Because as of late.  He’d been a bit of a douche.

To Be Continued…

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

The PhD (part three): The Aftertext

How to Write a Dating Profile
[dropcap]So[/dropcap] things had gone well.  He was smart as hell.  A bit of a dick.  But the date went pretty good.  He got a kiss.  I got to hear someone say they thought I was the total package and looked even better than my pictures.  And at the very least I wanted a callback from the audition, whether I wanted the part or not.  And sure enough.  Like almost every “something” before.  Before I’m even home again.  There’s the text.  Reinforcing what I thought.Had a fun time 😉 he texts.  And when I get home.  I return the sentiment.  Me too.And then it gets.  Well.  A bit cheesy.  If I remember correctly even before our date ThePhD had said something lame about the wonderfulness of my curves (paraphrasing).  And I’m pretty sure he mentioned it once again on our date.  Plus there was that inappropriate story *looks up to the right like I’m tallying things in my head*.  Needless to say.  If the touching and kissing hadn’t made things clear.  All these other things did.  The dude was into me.  Or at the very least.  The dude was into chubby chicks like me.  (more on my thoughts about this to come in another post).  But the point of this little calculation.  To illustrate why his next text, though not alluring/sexy/awesome, was not a surprise.

Your softness is very tempting 😉  he says.  Ugh.  Gross I think.  But not one to miss an opportunity to be cheeky/gain information.  I responded.  What do you mean by softness? my lips? my personality? my body?

They are intertwined.  Hmm.  Interesting.  Nice save dude.  Nice save.  Which is exactly what I tell him.  Nicely put.  Until of course.  He ruined it.  You definitely have what I have a weakness for.  Maybe it’s because it was late.  Maybe it’s because I was bored.  Maybe it’s because of the texting conversation I had had earlier that day with The Nick Name (don’t worry if you’re thinking…what conversation? I haven’t told you yet it’ll be in the next post).  Maybe it’s because having no booty call in my life, no dating during the winter semester and only an imaginary affair with my professor, I hadn’t had sex since August.  Maybe because I don’t have a crush on him yet and thus nothing is at risk.  Who knows but either way.  I find myself playing along.
And what is that exactly?  I ask.  Smart, curvy, and maybe very naughty lol.  LOL is right, I think.  Technically the only compliment in that group that I actually liked was the smart but still.  Like I said.  Bored. Or playful.  Or perhaps I’m just a dick/douche myself.  But either way I was playing along.  Maybe very naughty?  What would make you think that? I asked.  You definitely earned a penalty. (he meant for cheating at pool)  Hmm.  Didn’t even really now what to respond to that.  Frankly it seemed a little out of sync to me.  Luckily it didn’t matter because before I needed to respond, I was getting another text.Are you a good listener?  it reads.  Um…depends what you’re talking about I guess.  The truth of the matter was I wasn’t even trying to be difficult.  The things he would say next hadn’t really even occurred to me that he was capable of.  So when he asked are you a good listener I almost thought he was trying to figure out if I would be a good support system for him or was perhaps going to critique me on my ability to listen instead of talk on our date or something.  But alas.  Obviously.  Not the case.
Well I like to take charge…in a firm but pleasing way.  Okay so he had me at take charge and if it had been anything else would have lost me at the firm but pleasing way ugh. gag. cheesy.  But because well.  I like a take charge guy in life.  And I REALLY like a take charge guy in the bedroom.  I was willing to overlook it.  No big deal.
Unfortunately for you guys.  I’m going to stop the publishing of the exchange right there.  I want to say it’s because of privacy or something.  But honestly it’s because A.there are some things people don’t need to read about me in an explicit way (I prefer to insinuate and let you infer) and B.because frankly the cheesiness that is mixed in with the awesomeness is frankly…a little embarrassing.But let’s just say.  Turns out this nerdy geeky intellectual…was Balls out like Chuck Norris or what I expect an MMA fighter to be like (regardless of whether or not any of them are actually like this).  And in case you need a clearer picture of the kind of take charge attitude I can appreciate…Check out two posts I previously wrote for metanotherfrog.com.  They’re actually a fairly vanilla version but.  well.  you’ll get the idea.I Am The Christopher Columbus of Kink and Chokehold (fix links)

The conversation carries on.  Blah blah blah.  This that this that.  Says the right things.  Yada yada yada.  Nice he says I think we’re on the same wavelength.

Indeed I say but it’s getting late and I should probably get some sleep.  Tomorrow being Christmas Eve Day and all.

Goodnight he says and talk soon 🙂

N.B.  Attention Readers.  I have a question for you.  Just a matter of semantics really.  And mainly just out of curiousity.  My question is Would you consider the texting interaction between ThePhD and I to simply be texting or sexting?  The reason I am unsure is this.  All topics/conversation/questions/statements were of a logistical nature.  This is what I like to do.  What do you like.  That kind of thing.  And not a This is what I’m going to do and then and then and then responded with oohs and ahhs and this is what I’m going to do back to you.  Etc. etc.  So is sexting only when the conversation imitates sex? or when it involves sexy chatter of any nature?  Comments (as always) wholeheartedly encouraged xoxo


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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


The PhD (part one): A New “Something”


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

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

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

Aliases:   ThePhD

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

Met:   Plentyoffish.com
Dates:   One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Third Date: Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part Two)


[dropcap]Part Two [/dropcap]of this Saga, Continued From Third Date:  Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part One)

10:30pm.  I’m home.  After my 3rd date with Trucker Joe.  And I’m thinking.  What.  The.  Fuck.  Get some water.  Think.  Sit on bed.  ThinkI should’ve asked.  Chicken.  Chicken.  ChickenWhat.  The.  Fuck.  I’ll just ask now.  now.  now.  Start to text.  Delete text.  Fuck.  Is this like Sex and the City with Carrie and Aiden and “Are We Sluts?”  Start to text.  I mean this just doesn’t make sense.  It HAS been 3 dates.  And we all know I’m the hottest thing next to the stove top I just told you was hot don’t touch it…I JUST told you it was hot.  But then again.  It has ONLY been 3 dates.  Maybe he’s just a gentleman.  Put Phone Down!  Sit on bed.  Think.  Fidget.  Fidget.  FUCK!!!  Okay.  Fuck this noise.  He’s not my soulmate.  Worst that can happen is he either says, no I’m not attracted or he is but thinks I’m retarded for asking.  Best case scenario.  I find out what the fuck is up.  And we all know.  I like to be in the know.  Just Sayin’.  So I text.  Letter for letter.  Here is exactly how lame I am (please try not mock me too much in the comments.)

Me:  U still up?
Him:  Yup I am…what’s up?
Me:  I probably should’ve said something earlier tonight but well lol I’m shy but I have to ask.  are you attracted to me?
Him:  Ya I am…why are you asking?
Me:  Um…well (lol now I feel stupid) I guess just cause…um…u haven’t made any moves…not that there’s anything wrong with that but also when we first met u kinda also talked about looking for friends so I guess I was just a bit uncertain
Him:  It’s not that I don’t want to…I just like you a lot (probably too much lol) but I just don’t have committment in me right now and if things were to happen you might end up not liking me.

So I know this sounds  a bit weird but here’s some missing info.  On our first date he asked me if I needed exclusivity in someone I was dating?  And I was like no.  (funny sidebar:  I relayed this quesstion to my mother and before I could even get my answer out, she was all like, of course not lol and her and my dad have been together for 40 years.  Just Sayin’.)  But seriously I was like, no.  Some chick asks you out on Friday night.  You go ahead and take that date.  Go have some fun.  Now.  I don’t need to know about it.  You just go ahead and keep that info to yourself (fix link).  And I most certainly won’t ask. I mean Christ.  I get it.  You were married for 10 years-ish.  And not great 10 years.  And then the first chick you date is the same age (and aka ready for babies and marriage etc. like right now!.  The chick he dated right after his divorce (and before me obviously) was planning their future after only two months.  And when he called it quits.  She was all like “well you shouldn’t have slept with me blah blah blah“.  So I get it.  And the thing is.  I’m not looking for committment either.

Him:  U still talking to me???
Me:  lol sorry – world’s slowest texter here.
Me:  Hmm so is it just a case of you not wanting me to get hurt and/or get pissed and stop talking to you?
Him:  I don’t want either of those to happen
Me:  Well neither thing is likely to happen because

a.  I’m a grown up and can look out for myself
b.  my heart is not aiming at committment
c.  I know where you are committment wise
d.  I’m awesome!

Him:  You ARE awesome! lol
Him: Believe me there are things I would like to do to you I mean with you 🙂

And that’s where I’m going to be stop the exact relay of our texting.  Because it gets a little grown up.  Okay well not that grown up.  But considering we haven’t even held hands.  It was grown up for us.  And honestly it’s just private and I don’t want to share it. lol.  love ya though.  But I will say.  It is clear.  He’s attracted to me.  No doubt.  He has plans to be out of town for the (BC) long weekend.  Actually from Thursday till Tuesday morning.

And then he asks.  Me over for dinner.  On Tuesday night.  A whole week away.  He’ll cook me dinner.  At his place.  I’ll get to see his digs.  He’ll be putting in effort.  We’ll have alone time.  Fuck this is working out.  Top Notch.  Top.  Fucking.  Notch.  OMG I’m nervous already.  And inCREDibly excited!



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