Twitter Guy: The Date Stage

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o yesterday we left off when Twitter Guy had the forethought to see the impending rain clouds hanging over Vancouver, the logic to think my game might be cancelled and the make-shit-happen-ness to arrange some date plans.

And HERE is where we rejoin Twitter Guy and Something She Dated…at Stage Three…the moment when Twitter Guy at the very least becomes inducted into the category of “Something” She Dated.

8pm.  He gets there before me.  Finds a booth.  I arrive.  Hair straightened.  Wearing the magic jeans.  Which he laters mocks me for.  Being that they were what I wore with Intelligence Officer.  I recognize him right away.  Geek Chic.  For those paying attention he was way way closer to picture 3 (the good one).

The booth is kinda weird.  It’s like a corner and we’re looking like straight at other people.  I move past it.  He is an excellent conversationalist.  For once I don’t have to do so much work.  Which is good because I’m fairly nervous.  Unfortunately I think it’s very obvious that I am.  There are a couple of reasons why.

Detour.

I like to compartmentalize the people in my life.  He even mentions this at some point on the date.  Very perceptive.  In one compartment there are boys of “dating” (Garbage Man fell into this category).  In another there are the boys I’m just having sex with aka the booty call (Intelligence Officer etc.).  As of this moment I have absolutely no idea which category I’m supposed to put Twitter Guy in.  So even on this first date, I feel a bit weird about not knowing how to approach things.  I decide to stick with the friendly vibe.  This in turn means not worrying so much about which topics are okay to talk about, which stories to tell etc.etc.etc.

I think I tell a few too many stories about the waaay back.  I may have come off as a bit random, a bit tawdry, a bit ridiculous.

The Tie In.

He appears not to worry about it too much.  The conversation is good.  A little heavy with innuendo and sexy topics but nature of the beast I think.  Either way, I’m having a good time.  I’m laughing.  Plus he manage to poke holes in my argument that men and women can’t really be just friends.  I like that.  He’s smart.  I like that he’s geeky and techy.  I like that I could talk about Google Analytics and he would know what I’m talking about.  You’d be shocked how difficult it is to talk about anything even remotely related to this blog with my real life people.

Detour.

Foreshadowing.  Do I look like I like to makeout in public?  I was recently at dinner with some friends and one of them was regaling us with her current dating situation.  She’s been on two dates with a guy.  They’ve held hands.  He hasn’t even tried for a first kiss yet.  And I’m just thinking.

What.  The.  Fuck.

I’m lucky if I can get the guys to wait till we leave location one of the date before they’re puckering up.  Do I give off the vibe that says.  I’d like you to kiss me in public?  Is it that I’m just so damn sexy they can’t control themselves?  Are they concerned that I’ll be a horrible kisser and before they risk it going any further they better damn well make sure I pass?  Seriously.  This isn’t rhetorical.  I’m asking you blog readers.

What.  The.  Fuck.

And here’s the thing.  Like I would get it if they were trying for kisses with other girls and the girls turned their cheeks or something and the boys just continued on with the date undeterred.  But it just seems like.  My “somethings” they’re reading for my juicy lips at any moment.  Out in public? who cares!  Date not over? who cares!  Give Us A Kiss They Say.

The Tie In.

So I don’t remember exactly how it happened.  We were well into our date.  I’m sure he’d been laying the plans since he “let” me have the corner seat [psizzle…I heart the corner seat.  In a booth.  On a sectional.  I’m just sayin’.  good move].  He looked at me…and kiss.  I remember thinking…mmm…so that’s a good sign.

Detour.

I’m not sure I’ve ever spilled the whole beans on the nickname/persona Tin Man that I used to operate with and honestly I’m not going to here, especially because that’s not totally who I am anymore.  Mega Love changed all that.  But I’m also not totally the girl I was, when I was with Mega Love.  I’m somewhere in between.  Though I’m way closer to Tin Man than say Charlotte from SATC.  That being said.  I’m definitely a bit dysfunctional with the A of PDA (reference Garbage Man and hand holding on first date…and he was all like rubbing my inner forearm and being like does that feel nice…and I was all awkward and just like, “uh…I guess…but that’s just cause you’re touching me…not like that part of arm is special or something…uh…yeah”).  But it’s not just that.  I’m even more uncomfortable with the PD or PDA.

Try and remember.  I’m not drunk.  I’m not 21.  I’m not Charlotte.  And I CAN be connected to anyone in Vancouver within Six Degrees.

The Tie In.

I swallow my dysfunction and carry on because afterall I’m having fun.  I mention something about my love of shooting pool (even though I’m not very good) and he immediately suggests we go play.  Awesome.  Shows Action.  Shows up for anything.  Shows fun.  Top Notch.  I suggest this sports bar ; I love (you can rent pool tables, play mini-golf around the bar, get yummy food, play video golf and other arcade games, plus it’s inside a casino, what’s not to love?) which while awesome turns out to be almost totally empty on a wednesday night (for reference).  So we decide to go there.  On our way to our separate cars.  He kisses me again.  It’s both mmm (kisses) and eek (public display).  We get in our cars and drive to the casino.

TheHell coincidentally calls at this exact moment.

Detour.

No I’m not lying about the coincidentally.  This is not like the text messages she often sends me on other first dates…you know…to make me look super cool and popular.  Yes I know that’s lame.  Yes we think it’s totally awesome.  No we don’t care that you think it’s lame.  But seriously though, it wasn’t like that because since Twitter Guy reads the blog, I figured he would already know about that and that WOULD then make it lame.  She just called for my advice about Vegas hotels (10 plus trips gives you a little perspective on what hotels are better).

The Tie In.

So yeah.  I don’t have hands free.  So I speakerphone it and hope for the best.  Right away I have to hit her with a definite too much information situation.  She’s okay with it lol.  God, friends are great.  Readers, however, I’m not sure we’re tight like that.  So I’m just going to say that I relayed to her that though Twitter Guy was very much NOT my suspected type…I was feeling a lot of “chemistry”.  I ask TheHell for advice on how far I should let the evening progress.  She’s wondering why we’re not banging already given the “chemistry” I’ve just mentioned.  Then I’m parking at the casino and he pulls up beside me.  In some sort of spastic motion I get flustered, yell goodbye and slam the phone shut.  Wouldn’t want him to think I was talking to a friend about the date would I?  Oh, wait.  Isn’t he going to read….oh fuck.

So we head inside.  I hit the bathroom on our way in.  Christ I’ve been drinking diet cokes all night what do you want from me.  When I come back he’s got the table all set up.  And.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

He’s already got me a diet coke.  And yes I know it sure doesn’t take much to impress me.  But I thought it was very nice/suave/showed forethought.  So we play pool.  The sexual innuendo is uncontainable.  Fuck.  I.  Mean.  Seriously.  It’s a game based on sticks, balls and holes.  What did I expect would happen.  Just Sayin’.  So like I said, we play pool.  At first we’re fairly evenly matched.  Then, as can sometimes happen when I play pool, I suddenly get rather good/lucky.  I win 3 out of the 4 games.  Remember how I said previously that he was competitive.  Yeah.  That becomes really obvious.  I’m sure it’s all in good fun.  But I have to say I think he was legitimately upset that he wasn’t playing like a pro.  I tried to not let it bother me. Plus truth be told I credit my dashing good looks for the wins.  No?  You think I just got lucky?  Really?  Can’t even just gimme this one huh?

Detour.

I don’t like competitive people.  Okay well not totally true.  I don’t like competitive people who let their competitiveness outshine the fun.  Fun is always paramount.  Fun is always what’s most important.  Fun is always number one.  You may not believe me (given all the Tin Man stuff) or you may be like, “yeah no that sounds exactly right” but I’m actually quite sensitive. So if someone else gets upset. It’s kind of like a Tsunami. I can feel it coming. I often can’t put up the levvies before it washes all up over me. But I digress, I’m making it sound way more serious than it was…back on topic.

The Tie In.

Okay wow.  This post is starting to get really long.  So it’s time to start speed-blogging.  We’re finished with pool.  There’s more PD of whatever.  We decide to leave.  But what now?  We decide to go over to his place.  It takes a fair amount of time.  But that says more about where we started from because all things considered his place is the closest of all the “somethings” dated thus far to my house.  woohoo!

At his place.  He’s still moving in.  He seems rather embarassed about there being boxes and things being unpacked.  I couldn’t care less.  Didn’t bother me in the slightest.  The lighting was amazing.  I’m talking very conducive to activities.  However.  There was no white noise.  No TV.  No Music.  I know, he was just moving in and hadn’t unpacked everything but this problem wasn’t novel.  Intelligence Officer wasn’t prepared either.  Neither was Garbage Man.  But this is a whole other blog post.

We chat.  We makeout.  Things are getting frisky.  I can’t lie.  Up to this point I had actually just decided I was going to end the night about here.  Clothes still on.  Mystery still intact.  But I digress.  I’m Slutterific.  I’m Slutastic.  I’m Slatabulous.  I’m Slutsational.  I’m Slutmazing.  I’m Slutzilla.  I’m slut fucking awesome.

Detour.

All linked Slutcabulary are different links to articles on metanotherfrog for their celebration of women and our general slutty awesomeness.  True Story.

The Tie In.

So unfortunately, like with Intelligence Officer.  This is where I leave you.  As the privilege of knowing what my sex is like is privvy only to those that take part in it.  Well almost.  I mean in order of privvy.  It goes.

Me.
Sexy Partners.
Girlfriends.
Blog Readers.
The rest of the world.

But.

Wait.

Detour.

See I kinda feel weird not saying any more.  But I also said I wouldn’t say anymore.  He didn’t ask me not to say more.  He might not even care if I say more.  But I said I wouldn’t say more.  I know fuck me and my exclaimers remorse.  Always saying things I won’t later want to mean.  But my word is my bond so I won’t.

The Tie In.
So yeah.  I think my exit from his place and the scenario could have left a great deal to be desired.  What can I say.  I’m awkward.  Even more awkward when I’m not certain of how things stand.  I think I said something like, “Well I hate to hit and split,” reached over and kissed him, “but I gotta dash.”  And then it was a quick get dressed, fix my hair in the mirror, grab my stuff and I’m out.  I honestly didn’t mean to be so abrupt but like I said, I’m awkward when it comes to uncertainty.  Not to mention that thing…that I can’t mention…of the random and ridiculous nature…left me feeling even more awkward.

And THAT my loyal co-conspirators…is the end of the Date stage…also sometimes coinciding with the sex stage depending on your stance regarding total slutamonium!

 

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

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Victoria Young

Writer. Dater. Masturbator. Stop ruining my jokes by believing the self-deprecation. I am far greater than your boner will ever know.