Dating a 23 year old…Not Just For 23 Year Olds Anymore

Amenable

 

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t’s Friday night.  I’m ahead of schedule.  And then traffic comes to a stand still.  Because…of course.

I text stuck in traffic, might be a few minutes late, sorry.  He responds no problem…I’m still looking for the place.

At 6:45 I arrive.  I ask, but no worries he tells me I haven’t been here long.  I notice though, he’s been there long enough to get himself  a coffee.  I get one for myself and return to the table.  And that’s how it began.  That was the moment where I found myself, on a Friday night, on a first date, with a 23 year old.

 

We had been talking for weeks.  He seemed really excited.  I couldn’t figure out why it had taken him so long to finally make it happen.  He claimed it was because of school…which I get…trust me.  But nonetheless, I have the patience of a 3 year old Mamma doesn’t like to wait plus who can sustain interest for a stranger that long?!?!.

The texting had been cute, and we did seem to have a lot in common, plus with leaving in a few weeks I figured fuck it, I’m game!  Not to mention the fact that he was so so so young and well, maybe I’d find out what this whole cougar thing was really all about.

 

Prior to meeting he had asked what I wanted to do on our first meeting, saying that he wanted to make sure I was happy.   I suggested shooting pool (my fall back/true love activity) but asked what he wanted to do.

His response…I want to spend the day with you, I’m not so great at pool.  Maybe coffee, dinner, bowling and movie?  Up to you though we can pool as well or instead if you wish.

I suggested we stick with coffee given that we could totally end up detesting each other but said that I wouldn’t make any plans for later in the evening in case we wanted to keep the date going.

And then came the sign that would’ve told me everything, excepting the fact that it went undetected.

I could tell he was excited for our date plus he literally said I’m really looking forward to it…Hope you are too.  And then he added I’m quite amenable in case you haven’t noticed.

Now, in my defense…given the context…you can understand my mistake…I just wasn’t thinking…it didn’t seem very important.  Oh.  Fuck.  Who am I kidding?!?!  I study English Literature and I’m a writer, I have no defense.  I wasn’t paying attention and I misunderstood the word.

See, at the time he said it: amenable …I was thinking that he was excited to see me, that he was friendly, and easy going…amiable…amicable…any of those friendship related terms.  But that’s not at all what he meant.  Dude knew his exact meaning and his word choice was no mistake, he meant to say exactly what he said, he was amenable to me.  Amenable.  Sigh.  Worst.

 

a·me·na·ble/əˈmēnəbəl/

Adjective:
  1. (of a person) Open and responsive to suggestion; easily persuaded or controlled.
  2. (of a thing) Capable of being acted upon in a particular way; susceptible.
Synonyms: obedient – docile – tractable – liable – answerable

 

Worst.  Because see the thing of the thing is…I’m not into that in the slightest.  If anything I want the exact opposite.  Roles switched.  That being said, like I keep saying, over and over again…I’m out of here in a few weeks, so why not be open to new things?  Who knows, maybe I’d find out that after all this time the only thing I love more than being dominated, is to be the one doing the dominating.  Okay, sure, it felt doubtful but I went with it anyway.

 

So there we were, sitting in a starbucks, sipping our coffees and talking.  Good conversation.  Cute conversation.  Sharing funny stories.  Sharing information about ourselves.  Making jokes.  Admittedly I was closing more of the punchlines and he was doing more of the setups but it worked.  There was witty repartee and giggles.

He told me about his family, about Egypt, about school.  I told him about writing (round-about-ly), grad school and moving.  He was definitely cute in a nerdy kind of way.  His profile said he was 6’0, but…and I don’t know if I’m growing, he was slouching, it was the heel in my boots making that huge of a difference, or the fact that he was pencil thin…but he really didn’t feel that much taller than me (standing at 5’7…last time I checked).  Don’t get me wrong, he was definitely taller…just not by the lot that I was expecting.  Nonetheless, the date was going well.  I think.

However, and I feel this is a point I need to stress to the boys the most, but I could be wrong.  SMILE PEOPLE.  Because when you’re sitting directly across from someone at a coffee shop, that’s about the ONLY way she’ll really know you’re feeling her.  At the time, I was more than unsure.  Sure he thought my chatter was great but did he think I was cute? adorable? sexy? hot? attractive?

Best way to figure it out???  Signal that the coffee portion of the date is over and see if he wanted to go to see a movie at the theatre down the road…

So that’s exactly what I did…

I Suggested…if he wanted to…that we could see a movie.

 

Did he say yes?  Did we carry on with the date and go see a movie?  Or he make a lame excuse in order to call it a night and end the date at that???

 

To Be Continued…Here

 

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

I Saw You.

I saw you

[dropcap]I saw you.  A question.  A promise.  A few words in a newspaper.[/dropcap]

 

I saw you.  When I peeked in your bedroom window.  Lurking behind you on the street.  When you sat next to me at the coffee shop.

You smelled like.  Unisex cologne.  Axe body spray.  Saturdays and sunshine.

You leaned over and asked.  Got any spare change?  Ever had sex with a Kennedy?  Anyone sitting here?

 I pretended I didn’t speak English.  I was casual, I was calm, I was a female James Dean and pushed out the chair with my foot gesturing for you to have a seat.  I choked on my coffee and sputtered all yours.

You smiled.  I smiled.  You smiled.  That really happened.

You put your of books down on the table and asked if I would keep an eye on them while you held up a bank.  Called your mom.  Got yourself a coffee and did I need anything?

 I blinked.  Twice.  Like a hospital patient.  Like a four year old.  Like the cat had my tongue.

While you were gone I glanced at your books.  And wrote my name in the table of contents, and then drew a heart around it.  To check if you were overdue.  Because I wanted to see what you were into.

Apparently you’re really into Astrophysics.  Botany.  Eighteenth Century Whore Biographies.  Didn’t really matter, it was just nice to know you’re into something.  I like a man with passion.

On your way back to the table, coffee and two cookies in hand, you caught me checking out your books and said we’re not all born Hemmingways.  Adorable shrug

That’s what your books were about.  Writing.  How to write poetry for the senseless.  How to write a mystery without a crime.  How to woo writers (in ten steps or less).

And I swooned to your waves, knocking my boat about at sea.  And I drowned in the sheer bliss of it all.  And I mumbled mmhmm like you had just said, nice day, ain’t it.

I brought you a cookie you said, handing it over to me.  I said Trick or treat?  I said I’m on a diet.  I said thank you, that’s so sweet and I’m pretty sure some sweat trickled down my back.

I thought that was going to be it.  You would read and I would write.  You would write and I would read.  We would be writers in proximity.  To greatness.  To each other.  To a couple of coffee shop cookies.

Only, then you looked at me.  Sighed hard like you’d just heard about how a man once walked on the moon. Shook your head a bit, smiled and said You look like heaven, if I wasn’t an atheist.  You look like trouble on a quiet night, in the summer, when our legs are itching for an adventure.  Sigh.  Jesus, you’re beautiful.

 And then a car crashed through the window.  And then someone pulled the fire alarm.  And then I had to go meet a friend.

I got up to leave, thanked you again for the cookie, and held my breath.  You asked for my phone number.  You said you couldn’t live another moment without me in your life.  You said have a nice day.

And that was that, the moment passed.  And it makes you wonder about all those passing moments.  The very few that happen in a day.  The astronomical amount that happen in a lifetime.  The opportunities you miss because you were shy, I was awkward and time wasn’t interested in slowing down for us.

I saw you.  In a dream.  In the corner of my eye.  When you sat next to me at the coffee shop.

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

Trucker Joe: Starbucks Coffee Date

Dating

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

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

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

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

Detour.

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

Back on Track.

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

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

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

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Detour.

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

Back on Track.

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

Me too. Trucker Joe.  Me too. 

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

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

Online Dating and First Date Jitters

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

Detour.

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

Detour from the Detour.

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

Back on Track.

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

Detour.

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

Back on Track.

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

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

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

To Be Continued….

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