[dropcap]T[/dropcap]here’s a lot to be said for how your behavior can be different when you know you’re leaving a place, moving away, saying goodbye to a city that you’ve known your entire life. And most of it is good. Your attitude changes and suddenly you’re more open then you’ve ever been before because after all what have you got to lose?
besides your time and dignity but they gave you a fresh batch of that when you move to a new city don’t they, it comes standard in the Welcome Package, no?
And it was this exact attitude that made me say yes when Come Back Charlie asked me out again recently. Well that and the fact that he was 6’4. So when he asked to take me out for coffee I accepted. And that was that. Plans were made. It’ll be great to chill with you he said it’s been a long time coming. Yeah. No joke dude. About 2.5 years. But I promised myself I wouldn’t hold it against him, the time wasting of times gone past I mean. Until of course I showed up for our date and he sent me a text message saying he would be late. Worst.
Admittedly I was a tad early for our date when I got the text message that read Hey i’m gonna be a bit late. I gave a friend a ride to surrey a while back but he forgot his keys so Iim just droppin it off. i’ll be joining you shortly. is that okay?
And what was I supposed to do with that
except take a screen shot, tweet it to all my followers and ask this question: is this super lame or am I being a bitch? sent 7 minutes before we’re supposed to meet (& I’m already here). Most responses were that he was a douche (or some version of this). One response was particularly interesting, someone suggested that he was in fact just being a good friend and isn’t that a good quality in a person. In all honesty, she was right. Because if I had a friend who needed me, they would come first before a guy. Always. That being said, whether or not the text was a cop out is a whole other story.
No sooner had I tweeted the cropped for anonymity version of the text, when my phone rang, it was him; Come Back Charlie. We had a quick exchange where I mentioned I was already at Starbucks and he assured me he would be there very soon and he apologized. I accepted this and let it go. Shit happens, right?
For those of you who know me, know that I don’t like to pay for my coffee on the first date (I realize now that I should probably write a post about this explaining my reasons more fully so stay tuned for that). Nonetheless I wasn’t about to sit in this Starbucks for who knows how long without a drink to my name, so I got a drink, grabbed a seat in the back and waited (read: tweeted). Luckily for me (and to be honest him) he showed up within about 5 minutes.
I knew him the moment he walked in the door. Now I don’t know whether it’s just because I seem to keep going on dates with guys who say they’re 6’0 or 5’10 and end up feeling more like 5’10 and 5’8 respectively, or he was actually lying down about his height but he seemed way taller than 6’4…he seemed like a fucking giant. A gloriously tall giant. And even better is that I should specify that he was built like a baller (basketball, football, what have you). You see the thing is, while tall is great, if you’re pencil thin it doesn’t really do it for me that much. I like a man of size, if you know what I’m saying (I’m saying body size).
He came over to where I was sitting, we exchanged smiles and hugs and I suggested he get something to drink. When he returned to the table…it was magic. Now I’m not saying we started talking about science and had deep discussion about literature and politics or anything. We weren’t even really cracking a ton of jokes. But it was comfortable in the sexiest kind of way. The conversation literally began with a discussion of dentistry. I had been to the dentist earlier that day (he had texted when I was on my way and that’s how it began, he asked how it went). And that was all it took, we were off to the races.
We talked about our days, our families, our school, our jobs (er…I sort of have a job…as a writer), my grad school stuff, his day job working in a lab out at UBC, his experience at SFU playing ball, my plans for Montreal, the fact that he was going to more school (this time in criminology) so that he could join the VPD (Vancouver Police Department, in case that wasn’t obvious). And the sexual tension was palpable. He was hot and tall and wanted to be a cop but also had a university degree and a job. The love story writes itself. Well. Let’s not get ahead of things.
After two hours of smiles and chatter and first date bliss, we had finished our coffees and it was time to make moves. His idea of a good move was to take things back to his place and watch a movie. My idea of a good move was to call it a night and count the minutes until the second date. But then it occurred to me, I’m fucking leaving town and time is of the essense. And perhaps more importantly, I didn’t have to abide by any dating rules because after all there would barely be enough time to hang out before I had to leave.
Or so I thought, turns out 6 weeks is actually plenty of time to date someone but more on this later. And so after a little more prodding from him, I agreed, at least, to let him drive me to where I’d parked my car.
Now say what you want. Judge me as you will.
I don’t care what you think I know who I am and this is just one tiny piece of a puzzle of attraction or a domino race of dating appeal. But when we got to his car, I swooned a little. Kind of like that time I met Trucker Joe and he was all standing there beside his sex monster of a big black pickup truck. It’s not like he was driving a car made of diamonds or a wizard mobile but just that his car was nice. And I’ll leave it at that. Pursuant to getting in this stellar mobile was the music. You can tell a lot about a person from the music they listen to. And while I won’t bore you with the details, it was good.
And in all honesty, that was really all it took
in addition to the rest of date being awesome for me to agree to go back to his place (in my own car, of course). When we got there, I realized that he had clearly been hoping for this all night (given that he’d bought a bottle of wine not yet knowing the stringency that is my not drinking). No big deal of course, and either cute with the planning or balls out with the expecting but since I’m not one to feel obligated, it didn’t really matter either way.
Once up at his apartment, and having had a little look around, I sat down the couch, ready to watch a movie. Though there was plenty of room of the couch he snuggle up right beside me which shouldn’t have been surprising but was nonetheless. Obviously he was feeling me or he wouldn’t have invited me back to his place.
Detour. I tend to do this ridiculous thing on dates where I’m so excited and fat that I eat rather sparingly throughout the day, like somehow that will make this huge difference and I’ll go from being Beth Ditto to Angelina Jolie or some shit but nonetheless it’s a thing I do. I aware it’s stupid. I plan to discontinue. I’ll let you know how that works out. Aside from the obvious stupidity of this, comes a couple random side effects. One, is that my stomach then always ends up growling on dates which would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m terrified dude can hear it and thinks I’ve got some digestional issues or something. Not sexy. The other is that because I’m not eating I’m fucking starving and thus drink a ton of water, this in turn makes it look like I have the bladder of a small squirrel.
Back on track. So we’re at Come Back Charlie’s apartment and I ask to use the washroom. No biggie. Then it’s time to watch the movie. Sweet. Something about a man on a ledge or something like that *spoiler alert* I barely watched it. At some point however, I have to pee again. I excuse myself and go to the washroom. In the toilet, I see toilet paper. *TMI Alert (not to worry it’s not particularly gross but I am talking about pee so yeah…warned* Now because I’ve been drinking so much water my pee is basically clear and so I can’t tell if I forgot to flush or something crazy like that last time I was in here, or what the fuck happened but I’m horrified, obviously, at what I think is my forgetfullness and proceed to flush the toilet. And that’s when it happens. Because, of fucking course, it would happen. Because this is a first date, and that’s just what fucking happens to me. Shit like this.
The water starts to rise.
Horrified. Terrified. Petrified. And all the other words that describe that overwhelming sense of fear mixed with shame that glues your feet to the ground and makes you sweat. That. All of that. But of course, at some point you have to be a super hero.
So I fixed the problem myself and he was never the wiser. So I ran out of the bathroom babbling something about how I didn’t do anything I swear but you’re toilet is going to overflow. And then I sat on the couch like the princess I am and let him take care of it. Less because I’m lazy and more because is that really the image I want of him or that he wants me to have of him…him touching all kinds of toilet related things. I think not. Like the toilet, I still expected this night to be salvaged and to go on functioning like normal.
That being said, you’ll have to wait till next post to find out whether the date functioned like a well-oiled romance machine or went straight down the tubes (like I hope the water in the toilet would). I mean, assuming you’re interested and all.
Vancouver Dating Blog: Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time
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