A New “Something”: The Scientist

Dating a Scientist

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

Dating

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

The PhD (part one): A New “Something”

Dating

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

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

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

Aliases:   ThePhD

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

Crimes:
Met:   Plentyoffish.com
Dates:   One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

First Dates: The Nick Name and Dating Rules

Dating

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

First Date: Lindsay’s Law (Part Two)

Dating Mistakes

 

 

Continued From First Date:  Lindsay’s Law (Part One)

 

House Date Tally

Points Awarded For: letting me cheat at pool (moves ball four inches left), being sociable, seeming fun, did I mention the pool?

Points Deducted For: neglecting to mention that the cue holder had a glitch and if you put it in that spot….*pool cue smacks me in the face and smears blue chalk across cheek and lip* fucking awesome!…drinking (yes I encourage drinking, but remember kids, it’s a first date, AND I’m not drinking, Just Sayin’).

 

We play 4 or 5 games of pool. I win several. Though it becomes clear he was taking it easy on me. So that’s fun. We decide to watch movie. He decides to get stizzled. Which was super lame when TEDski did it, no lie. But I’m not so bothered by it. Yet.

So I know you’re thinking, SSD, What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing With. This. Dude? But. Well. I was having fun. At that point. We watched Wedding Crashers. Yes I’ve seen it before. Yes it was funnier than ever before. Yes I may have gotten stizzled too (don’t judge :P). And quite honestly. It was kind of like a depressurizer. Like a practice date. Kind of thing. Er. Um. Ok. No good excuse really. Plus it gets worse. So much worse.

We make out. I know. *Shakes head* Fuck. lol. I know. But I digress. So we make out. It’s not great. He’s kind of swallowing my face. Occasionally there’s redemption. But rarely. And I keep thinking. Soon. Soon. He’ll see, feel, whatever. The pace. The rate. The motion. The pressure. The area. That I’m kissing like. And he’ll adapt. He’ll adjust. He’ll get good.

But he doesn’t. Fucking Adolescent.

And yet. Somehow this genius. Corralled me into his bedroom. Which no joke. Had a stuffed South Park character on the bed. And lacrosse medals from his youth on a dresser. And yet. It’s like his retardation had magical powers. Because before you know it. I was thinking. Sure. Sex? Why not.

Only. Only. Only. His penis is. Well. Small. Like Twitter Guy small (fix link) And well. Another new fresh experience. To me at least. A penis that though hard. Isn’t like. Rock hard. Just like. Mostly hard. I mean what the fuck? At first I assume. It just needs some help along. And so I help it. But nothing changes. Until well. It changes. I mean fuck. You can’t get rock hard? And then you’re going to shoot early like a teenager?

So we get dressed. There’s all kinds of bullshit about being so relaxed…and how great [I am] and blah blah blah. The irony is it wasn’t even my best work. Not by a long shot. Oh. And another final slice of awesome pie. We all know I like a bit of hair-pulling and aggression. And no joke. When I kind of slid his hand to my head. To make that known. To make the gesture. He just started rubbing my head. I mean fuck. Are You Retarded? Now you’re definitely not turning me on. You’re just fucking frizzing up my curls son! He says something about watching the rest of the movie and we’ll do it after a quick rest. I know this is bullshit but I can’t think of an excuse without saying bullshit! so I watch the rest of the movie. At some point he takes the last sip of his drink. Which. If I wasn’t so high I’d have sworn that he had ashed into earlier and I’m thinking did you just fucking swallow the roach and then not even notice? Fuck Me. I’d be pissing myself with laughter if I didn’t have some pink balls going on.

Then he says. The fucking. Magic golden words. So uh…would you be upset…if we just called it a night…blah blah blah…I’m so relaxed…and long day…and blah blah blah noise noise noise. No biggie I said. I’d love to see you again he said. I’m sure you would, ass wipe, but I’m thinking not only was this a shit date. You’re a shit lover. Yeah I said lover 😛 don’t judge me. I don’t know is what I actually said. Because I really didn’t. Maybe this was just a case of a kid getting carried away. I mean I did have fun earlier on in the date.  But then again he lied about his height.  And fuck I really hate that, plus don’t want the dishonesty of height to be rewarded.  Plus maybe he was a really shitty lover and not only would never be able to do the things I like and act in a manner that turns me on…but honestly…he kissed for shit and had a small weenie. Just Sayin’. He was clearly a little upset. Not my problem. I would consider it. He said, okay well I guess just call me… and then I cut him off uh no…you can call me I said, and I’ll let you know if you’ve earned a second chance, I thought.

Threw up the dueces. And I was out. To think I put on cute undies for this dipshit.  Mother. Fucker. Unbelieveable. But at least. I don’t have to worry. About not having funny ridiculous things to blog about. Because I mean Fuck. This shit. I just dive right into it.  It’s fucking everywhere.  Surrounded.

So now onto the rest of his nickname. Lindsay’s Law.  Everybody in the world I’m sure has seen the movie Cocktail.  With Tom Cruise.  And in that movie there’s a fella.  Named Doug Coughlin.  And he has these little rules.  For life.  Guidelines per se.  And he calls them Coughlin’s Law.  So that.  Is sort of like this.  Or more correctly.  This is like that.

Lindsay’s Law.  A guideline.  Based on this experience with Lindsay.  Or perhaps you could even say.  The lack of experience.  Because technically.  Technically.  I didn’t have sex.  With Lindsay’s Law.  On the one hand you could say he’s ruining things for all other boys to follow. On the other hand. I’m grateful because I learned something really valuable. And that something will henceforth be enforced under “Lindsay’s Law”

[colored_box color=”blue”]

Lindsay’s Law

A law prohibiting any action (by SSDated and complicit “Something’s”) beyond kissing and some harmless over the bra action on the first date. 

[Additional Information]  This law will act in preventing future nakedness with boys who turn out to be undeserving. This law is to be recognized in dating situations and is not subject to the “One Night Stand aka Intelligence Officers of the World” carrying’s on, as though fall under the total slutdamonium addendum.

[/colored_box]

 

 

 

Additional Reading:  Sex and Dating: How Cum I’m Making Him Wait?

First Date: Lindsay’s Law (Part One)

Dating

[dropcap]What if…[/dropcap]

 

“What if things work out with Trucker Joe, at least for a little while I mean.  And I don’t go on any more bad dates aka things become serious and boring rather than hilarious and awesome saucy?” – SSD

Those words.  Not necessary.  I mean who am I kidding.  There is more than enough ridiculous hilarity to go around that I’m certain it won’t stop landing at my feet.  And no sooner had I verbalized this notion, than the next day I was exiting a hotel room and running smack into a lurker.  But even then.  I wasn’t completely convinced.

Would there be enough ridiculousness to keep the blog entertaining?

Turns out.  Most certainly.  And even if the actual situations in my life don’t open themselves to hilarity.  I’m bound to do something ridiculous on my own to really push that situation to the max.  Squeezing every last drop of misteps and malfunction into my totally full glass.  So let’s all drink to that!

As I’m sure you can infer from the title of this post, there’s a new “Something” on the block.  His psuedonym needs a two part explanation.  Part before the date.  And the rest after *no spoilers*.  So the first part.  Lindsay.  Oh Jesus.

Detour.

Parents.  I’m begging you.  Stop naming your boys with girls names.  You can try and act like the names are just really classic and that historically they belonged to strong men.  But cut the shit.  If you called your little boy Daisy.  I don’t care what story you have to back it up.  True or not.  On the off chance he doesn’t murder you just to establish his overtly aggressive manhood.  He’ll spend his entire life trying to not be considered a pansy.  Seriously.  No chick wants to be yelling out, Oh Sally Oh Sally…unless of course, she’s Sally’s lovely lesbian lover.  Which I am not.

Back on Track.

So that being said.  Lindsay’s Law.  Has a girly name.  A name that is the same as numerous chicks I know.  It’s not actually Lindsay (or Kelly, Kelsey, Darcy, Jamie, Ashley, Lesley or Courtney) but it’s in the same field.  I know it’s not his fault.  And honestly it’s not that huge of a deal.  But frankly it just fit.  So now.  Onto our tale of this new fella.  The Law part will get explained later.  If you can bare it.

So he hits me up on POF.  Obviously.  We message back and forth.  Pretty quick.  He apologizes if it’s too forward but asks for my phone number.  I like forward I tell him.  We text.  We make some plans.  For Friday night.  Good I think.  For two reasons.

One.  Uh…hello…it’s a date?!?

And Two.  Takes pressure off the excitement of waiting for date number 4 with Trucker Joe.

Pre-Date Tally

Points Awarded For:  He just moved to a town 15 minutes away.  He’s 6’0.  Some of his pics are super cute (some are just alright).  He seems fun.  Let’s give it a go.

Points Deducted For:  None before the date.  But man.  They pile up.  A little bit at first.  Than it’s bad to worse in a matter of minutes.  And yet.  I partly blame myself.  But you’ll see.  So here we go.

So we meet for coffee.  In that town.  15 minutes away.  I’m a little bit uncomfortable.  This being my area and all.  I don’t want to run into someone I know.  I don’t want him to turn out to be someone I know.  Luckily he’s 2 years younger, so the latter seems unlikely.  I park.  There’s a guy.  That could be him.  Walking to his truck.  Only.  Hmm…he doesn’t look 6’0.

Don’t be him…don’t be him…don’t be him.  I pick up my cell to text him.  I was hoping to run into the grocery to grab some gum first.  And then my phone is ringing.  And guy in truck is on a phone.  Hello? Hey It’s Lindsay.  Fuck.  Yeah I know…I can see you.  Wave.

So I get out.  Definitely not 6’0.  I mean.   what.  the.  fuck.  Seriously!?!?!?!  When are these boys going to fucking learn.  Don’t lie to me.  It just pisses me off.  And the thing is.  I’d date a guy.  Who was 5’10.  At 5’7, that’s still 3 inches taller.  But when you lie about it.  I think the following (none look good on you, boys)

A.  You’re a douche

B.  You are retarded (I get trying to fudge a few inches on someone say 5’0 or something but I’m 5’7, so fuck, don’t you think I’ll notice when our eyes are basically at the same level?)

C.  You’re a jackass (Um…are you seriously trying to “trick” me or “pull something over” on me? really? reeeally?)

D.  You’re a pansy (take what you got an own it, nothing’s weaker than lying about yourself for the appearance of seeming…taller? hotter? better? I don’t even know…lame)

So to sum up.  Boys that lie about their height = pansy ass retarded douchey jackasses.  Just Sayin’.

But fuck.  Whatever.  Let’s press on.  So we got coffee.  (lesson #1 of this date.  In future.  I can avoid the awkward do I pay or does he pay should I reach and offer scenario by simply letting him order first.  If I order first, then it’s all like, is this together? er..um..awkward.  If he orders first then it’s simply turn to me and I order and then he pays.  Simple.  Golden.  Score.)

We go for a walk.  On the dike.  The bugs are fucking everywhere.  The conversation is pretty good.  Just average shit but enjoyable.  But he walks too fast.  He’d previously mentioned he has a pool table and his roomie is away for the weekend (they rent a house).  At this point I figure I could A. take him and/or B. this is small town business, he grew up here, so I’m not worried so much about being murdered.  And fuck.  The damn bugs.  So we leave and go back to his place to play pool.

Pre-House Date Tally

Points Awarded For:  truck, paying for coffee, having date ideas, good convo, and pool table (we all know I love to shoot pool).

Points Deducted For: lying about his height, I don’t like his jeans, I hate people who speed walk in non-cardio workout situations

To Be Continued…In Part Two First Date:  Lindsay’s Law (Part Two)

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

Dating

[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.

Detour.
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

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

Dating
[dropcap]Perhaps[/dropcap] it’s a case of being careful what you ask for.  Because if I recall.  If I recall correctly.  It was me.  Recently talking about how I want dates to take me “out to do fun things”.  And it was also me.  Lamenting against boys who “a. kiss me in public” and “b. pounce way too soon.”  And here I am.  Getting exactly what I asked for.  Trucker Joe.  Taking me on active dates.  Not kissing in public.  No pouncing.

So the weekend passes in fabulous fashion and Tuesday arrives.  Trucker Joe and I have our 3rd date.

Detour.
This is my first 3rd date since I started this roller coaster of awesome sauce where I am the SHE in the scenario of the Somethings She Dated.  Just Sayin’.  Take notes.  This will be on the exam.

Back on Track.
I have duly noted all the advice about him likely being shy and how I should just make the move.  So we meet and I hop into his big truck again.  And we’re off to the driving range.  It’s hot.  The temperature I mean.  It’s so fucking hot and humid that I swear my shins are sweating.  And by swear I mean.  I look down and there actually fucking sweating.  Okay.  More likely it’s a combo of moisturizing and fucking humidity (it’s hot and the ocean is moments away.  Just Sayin’).  Oh and here’s some more awesome.  Turns out.  You (and by you I mean me) sweat a lot when hitting golf balls.  All that bending over and trying not to show your goodies and thank god you wore shorts under your mini skirt and why are you wearing a mini skirt to hit golf balls? and its because nothing fits with all the weightloss and fuck he’s seen the rest of your outfits that do fit and keeping your boobs in your bra and putting the ball on the tee and trying to look cute and hitting the ball and trying not to be a total spazz.  That shit takes effort.  I mean like excuse yourself to go to the loo and towel off effort.  But here’s the redeemer.  He’s sweating too.  But in a very manly sexy way.  And well.  He appears to not even notice my sweat.  Whether because he’s a gentleman or just thinks I’m sexy doing whatever.  Doesn’t matter.  Because it’s awesome.

And PS…I’m not so great at golf.  Putting balls in my mouth?  sure.  I’m a rockstar.  But whacking balls in a straight line hundreds of metres away.  hmm.  not so much.  But this works out perfectly because I was planning to be all could you show me how and aren’t I demure and cute and teach me something instructor hottie ooh just like this?  So I didn’t even have to fake it.  Because I needed the instruction.  Apparently my boobs will be preventing me from becoming Tiger’s newest competition (and aid me in becoming his newest conquest…jokes).  But I’m not going to lie.  I’m glad he was noticing.  Score one for he’s attracted to me and is just shy.

Golf is over.  He suggests coffee.  And I know you’re probably thinking.  Why not drinksBecause I haven’t sipped the sauce in going on 2 years and 8 months now.  That’s why.  We get coffee.  I make no reach for the wallet.  I made no reach earlier at the driving range.  I’m not going to lie.  At $45 for a pedi, cost of makeup, hair products, perfume, shaving, waxing, special underoos, expensive lip gloss, and the fact that I’m likely (TMI WARNING) to put his dick in my mouth long before I let him put my lady bits in his.  And I think I deserve at least a couple coffees.  Just Sayin’.  I mean shit.  I’m not shotgunning Gin here, a coffee or two is hardly asking for anything.

The thing is though.  Starbucks is closing.  It’s only 830pm.  Guess we chose the wrong one.  But no biggie.  We sit outside.  And for those in the White Rock area.  Go ahead and leave your doors unlocked.  Clearly not a high crime area.  They leave the patio furniture out.  Unlocked.  All night long.  Bizarre.  Anyways.  We sit and chat for like 2 hours.  It’s cute.  It’s adorable.  It’s interesting.  I have my legs positioned in the sexiest (read slimmest and most toned) viewing angle the whole time.  Just Sayin’.

But then the mosquitoes come.  So we leave.  Back to my car.  And that’s when…

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Nope…Still wait for it.

We hug.  Shut The Fuck Up?!!?!  I hear you say.  And I know.  I sat there.  Thinking.  Do it.  Do it.  Fucking lean over and kiss him.  Hold his hand.  Fuck.  Do.  Something.  DO.  Something.  Do SOMETHING!

But alas.  I’m chicken shit.  And it became abundantly clear that I am inexperienced in the laying of the mac down.  Here I thought I was a pro.  But maybe I was drunk.  Or maybe I’ve just never really done it before (which seems most likely).  But the boys just always beat me to the punch.  I’ve never needed to.  I think ever.  So I get in my car.  And drive home.  An awesome date.  But no kiss.   no kiss.  no kiss.  seriously?  no kiss.

To Be Continued…In Part Two…Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part Two)

 

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

The Date Whisperer: Garbage Man Raises The Bar

Dating

 

It started out like a scene from a Romantic Comedy…

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

(My) Reasons For Not Having First Date Relations

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

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

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

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

Slow and steady wins the race…or so they say

 

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