WorldWideWaterCooler

Ever since reading He’s Just Not That Into You I’ve been pretty blase about guys who don’t call back. Virtually everyone I’ve dated in the past year has just “stopped calling” at some point (a few because I ripped them apart on the world wide web and they took the hint), and it was all good, because it was obvious that things weren’t really working out anyway.

I’ve come to realize that after a less than spectacular date, the “I’ll call you sometime” really is the most polite way to give the brushoff. It’s like a code for “I don’t hate you, but I don’t really like you either, so thanks for a mostly pleasant time and have a good life.” Everyone understands it. It works.

What I don’t get is the “drop off the face of the earth” syndrome. Allow me to illustrate:

A day or two after a perfectly lovely date…

*You’ve got Mail*

Guy emails: Hi Jen, I had a really nice time the other night, I’d love to see you again, when are you free?

Self replies: Hi Guy, I had a lovely time too - when were you thinking of getting together?

Guy replies: I was hoping later this week or early next…

Self replies: I’m free dates 1,2,3. Give me a call and let me know which works best for you.

Guy: Sure, I’ll call you at/on XYZ and we’ll figure something out.

*crickets*

I happened to have a conversation the other day with someone who knows a guy who did this to me… apparently he got really busy with work, and forgot to call, and then a week or two passed and he felt like too much of an idiot to pick up the phone that late, and decided to just cut his losses. I get that if he was really interested that he’d make the effort to call - but then why bother following up on the date at all?

Guys, Is it too much trouble to ask that if you have no intention of calling me, quit saying that I should expect my phone to ring within a certain date/time range? Just use the ubiquitous “sometime” and drop the bullshit.

Unless you’re trying to shove my ambivalence across the line into distinct dislike. Because in that case, it’s working!

Say you were out in a bar on a random Monday, and you met a lovely young lady, and she had her beer goggles sufficiently affixed enough to actually give you her phone number, and you don’t actually know anything about her other than how old she is and what she does for a living. Well, when you call her and she actually agrees to go out on a date with you, you’re probably in for an interesting evening of “getting to know you.”

But when you find out her educational background and aspirations, and respond with “wow, you’re so smart! I never went to school, I’m a painter” she doesn’t have a lot to say to that. Though I can tell you what she’s thinking…

Some people are book smart, some people are life-smart. And it’s inevitable that people in one group are bound to be intimidated by people in the other. Don’t be.

While I need to be able to identify with both my friends and partners on some sort of intellectually stimulating level, and would prefer not to date a drop-out or a burn-out with no direction or aspiration in life, I don’t need someone with any sort of pedigree, or letters behind their name.

But putting yourself down because I might have letters behind my name - that’s just not cool.

You be you. That’s all I ask.

Also, if you are a girl out on a random Monday and meet a nice guy in a bar, maybe consider your blood-alcohol level before giving out your number…

Here’s another totally ridiculous neurosis of mine - one that puts the ‘ridiculous’ in the ridiculously high standards.

Thing is, every now and again I get into a funk (shocker, I know!). I am in a foul mood for no discernable reason, and I’m just fed up with people and life in general. The truth of the matter is that I’m probably just stressed out, or PMSing and will get over it all soon enough.

Sometimes my wee fits come on without warning. If you are unfortunate enough to be out and about with me during that time, I’ll do my best to just stay quiet and not be too much of a pickle. You know that whole “if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all” schtick? Yah. That’ll be me.

And occasionally, when I’m out, and in a foul mood, something will distract me enough that I’ll be significantly less cranky - I may even crack a smile!

If that happens, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T DRAW ATTENTION TO IT! Don’t say “good to see you finally smiling” or “hey, you seem happier now” or “way to turn that frown upside down” (that last one is likely to make me want to rearrange your face).

For if you remind me that I’m actually having a good time in spite of myself, I’ll remember that I’d rather be surly, and will launch full-force back into the mood I started in. A sour, mean and cranky one. And now it will be directed at you. Buzzkill.

This one’s for me. A reminder not to break my own rules - they’re there for a reason!

So my minor meltdown the other week was a direct result of breaking my own rule.

I had been dating someone a while back, and while things didn’t work out, we agreed to be friends. We did have a few things in common, so it wasn’t totally far fetched for us to communicate or even hang out every now and again.

I should’ve known it was coming, when I decided at the last minute to skip out of an event I’d normally be found at. He was there, and said he was “disappointed I wasn’t there - would’ve been good to see me.” But I ignored the warning bells.

And then one day, he dropped the bomb that should’ve sent me running for the hills: “You know, I’ve been thinking about you, about us, a lot lately…” But instead of running away, I ran right back, with “I’ve been thinking about you too…”

Which turned into a late-night meeting, “just to talk,” which turned into a “strictly platonic sleepover,” which stayed platonic for about 8 seconds.

Which was followed by a few more of these mutually beneficial “sleepovers.” Preceeded and followed by hours of cuddling & chatting. Full of such gems as “I care about you” and “I miss hanging out with you” and “I wish things weren’t so messed up” and “I wish things could be different…”

So me, being the naieve sap I am, replied to all that with my “this is now more than friendship for me” message. Which led to a hearty “thanks but no thanks” from him.

Had I stuck with my rule of Never Going Back I would’ve saved myself a world of hurt.

If a relationship doesn’t work out, there is usually a DAMN GOOD reason for it. You tried, it flopped. Move on. And DO NOT fall into the “let’s try to be friends” trap.

To avoid the trap, I’ve come up with a handy filing system. A little mental tool for you, when you think you’ve been sucked in by someone who tries to charm you out of your pants.

While we are all unique like snowflakes and defy labels etc., but filing your acquaintances of whichever sex you’re likely to end up in bed with into the following categories can help keep things clear and keep you from letting a momentary lapse in judgement lead to unnecessary heartache:

-> Someone you have a few things in common with, who genuinely cares about your well-being = A Friend
-> Someone you have sex with, and do not engage in more stimulating conversation with than “I like it when you do that thing” or “Hey, did you catch the game last night?” = A Friend With Benefits
-> Someone you have sex with who also genuinely cares about your well-being = A Boyfriend
-> Someone you have sex with who pretends to care about your well-being but who’s actively avoiding Boyfriend status = An Asshole who is asking to have my brothers pay him a visit with a tire-iron and a crowbar, and no tendancies toward negotiation.

Or, just remember these words of wisdom from one of my bestest guy friends: “Have I taught you NOTHING? You are a cute girl. Therefore, a guy will say ANYTHING if he thinks it will get him laid.”

I may need to needlepoint that onto a throw cushion or something…

This is a quickie, but I have a huge pet-peeve with people who misuse words and language.

I physically want to claw my eardrums out whenever I hear people use the words irregardless or orientate - yes, they’re recognized on dictionary.com as “slang versions” of regardless or orient, but it doesn’t mean it’s correct or grammatically sound to use them. (Yes, there are probably spelling mistakes galore on these pages… that’s not the issue here.)

Or people who fuck up on cliches. I know someone who consistently said “You can’t know the good with the bad” (instead of without the bad) - the way she said it doesn’t even make sense! Do people even consider the words coming out of their mouths? Sometimes I wonder.

Anyway, it should come as no surprise then, that when I was talking to a potential date on the phone, and he used the word “symbiotic” thinking it was a synonym for “symbolic,” well I just wrote him off entirely then and there.

I suppose I could’ve corrected him, but I think he understood that my sudden remark of “well, I’m really busy now until after the holidays” is a synonym for “while you probably have no idea what you said wrong, I’m no longer interested.”

One of my biggest pet peeves about first dates is the frequency with which guys tend to choose restaurants based on seemingly a wish and a prayer, and have no idea what they’re in store for - both in terms of their dining experience and the financial hit they’re about to take.

Now I’m all about trying new places in terms of cuisine, based on the recommendation of friends, or just to satisfy my own curiosity. However I’m enough of a foodie that I’m quite comfortable in any dining establishment, whether it’s two stars or five. I have dated people who clearly are not.

And it’s pretty much guaranteed that a date will not go well if you’re too busy worrying about which fork to use rather than paying attention to the person across the table. It’s also not wise at this point to start cracking wise about the “frou-frou-ness” of the place. Just keep your mouth shut, eyes open and do what everyone else is doing. Act like you belong - it’s much more charming than using humour to amplify your outsiderness. Remember, at this point as my date, you really doesn’t know if I eat at upscale restaurants all the damn time or not - but if I do, I’m highly unlikely to want to do so with you again if you seem obviously uncomfortable doing so.

The other side of this particular coin is that it’s fairly prudent to find out what you can expect to spend on dinner somewhere before making the reservation. There’s nothing worse than watching someone choke on his tongue when he opens the menu and sees the average entree price. Dropping a couple hundred dollars on a great dinner isn’t an everyday occurrance for me - but it’s not unusual either. If you suggest going to the most expensive restaurant in town, I’m not going to stop you. I’m also not going to hold back from ordering three courses if I feel like it (I usually do), or the wine I want, or espresso with dessert. I’d do it on any other date, or with friends, whether I was footing the bill or not.

I’m also a “modern woman” and will carry enough cash to cover my half of the bill (because as soon as you mentioned where we were going, I did my research and checked out the menu beforehand). And while I can cover my half of the bill I’d really rather not. Not because I can’t afford it but because it seems like a fairly juvenile concept to me. I’m a firm believer that by “keeping score” of equality on a case-by-case basis, nobody wins.

Because frankly, there are other ways to keep things “equal” that don’t involve splitting every cheque. I believe the person who does the asking should also do the paying. I have friends who will be visibly upset with me if I so much as attempt to take out my wallet after they’ve invited me out for dinner. So while the first date (I am not a first-date asker) will be on the guy who wants to take me out, I always make an effort to contribute to the relationship myself.

Perhaps I’ll ask him on a 2nd or 3rd date and pay for dinner and/or a movie. I might show up with ingredients and a bottle of wine and make him dinner. If I’m out shopping, and see something I’m pretty sure he’d like, I’ll usually pick it up and give it to him as a “just because” gift. Or, as things progress, I’ll make sure I do that thing he loves so much, that makes his toes curl and his eyes roll back in his head - whether it does anything for me or not.

And (with the exception of that last one) it’s how most of my friends and I operate. Someone will pick up the cheque for a few beers, and at some point in the future the other person will invite them over for dinner, or pick up a cheque somewhere else. Favours are reciprocated, not because of obligation or some score-keeping system, just because it’s the cycle of spending time together and how we operate.

What can I say - I’m a giver, which is truly its own reward. All I’m asking for is someone who is comfortable being a giver as well, without always thinking of a future reward or evening the score. And if that makes me a spoiled princess, I’m perfectly ok with that.

Vancouver is a small, small city.

I went out on a date with another someone from Lavalife this past weekend, and it turns out he’s a recent ex of a local blogger I “know.” Not that we know eachother offline at all, but we’ve been reading, and occasionally commenting on eachother’s blogs for the better part of the past couple years. I do believe we have at least one real, live, in-the-flesh friend in common.

This means I’ve read about Lavaguy and Local Blogger’s relationship. Not a lot, since she doesn’t write much intensely personal stuff in detail… but some.

So the question is, does this fit into the realm of dating a friend’s ex? Except without the friend part? I’ve heard a one-sided perspective about their relationship, and do have a few (nothing hugely negative or opinion forming or anything like that) preconceived notions about Lavaguy.

I even, when talking to friends who read Local Blogger, refer to him by the pseudonym she gave him on her blog.

And every guy has a schtick - some little signature move that they use on girls they’re dating to show interest, gauge response, and reel us in that much closer. When Lavaguy pulled out a couple things that felt deja vu familiar, I immediately remembered Local Blogger writing about a couple things he did or said when they were dating. Of course when I got home that night I checked her website to make sure I wasn’t making things up in my head. And I wasn’t. And in that moment, the magic died.

Now here’s the part where I get a little extra crazy: from what Local Blogger puts out on her website for the world to read, she seems like a perfectly lovely specimen of a human being. And after our date, Lavaguy seems like a fairly normal person too.

So, as is fitting for my own personal brand of neurotic, I can’t help but wonder, where did they go wrong? Is she actually crazy, or is he hiding some strange bit of himself under the surface that will cause me to turn tail and run as soon as I discover it?

At this point, I think my biggest motivation for going on a second date with him would be to satisfy my own curiosity in getting to know a person that I’ve only read about online, and see how well he matches up with the picture painted in my head of who I think he might be. Our date, while a good time, wasn’t anything remarkable, but I want to see if he’ll suggest the same books, or exhibit the same quirks (and if I’ll find them adorable or annoying) as he did with Local Blogger.

However, while it may make for some good storytelling, there is a real person involved, and my diva streak stops just short of using people solely as toys for my own amusement. So I’ll probably put the kaibash on the whole thing if he suggests another date and try to shelve my curiosity about this one.

Have you ever had a moment where you think perhaps someone was born without that special filter? The one that stops them from saying everything they’re thinking OUT LOUD? Well I had a date with Mr. Filter-Challenged not too long ago.

Our brief conversations up until that fateful night had a bit of sexual innuendo to them. Nothing too risque, just some playful ribbing. So it wasn’t at all strange or inappropriate when during dinner he jokingly said “I was trying to check out your ass on the way in, but your pants aren’t tight enough!”

I even joked back, mentioning more than one person has said I need this shirt which boldly states “Who Needs Big Tits When You’ve Got An Ass Like This.” Now bringing up the shirt wasn’t meant as a slam against my chestal region, which is modest but perfectly lovely in its own right. It was just meant to alert him to the fact that my ass is indeed a fine, fine slice of all that is right and good with the world.

So I mentioned the shirt, and we laughed, and talked about something else, and then there was some silence while we chewed. And then, as I’m sitting there eating whatever it was I ordered, watching the waitress in the background try not to drop stuff, out of TOTAL SILENCE, my date says

“You know, your breasts really are in perfect proportion to the rest of your upper body… it looks good… you’ve really got nothing to worry about there…”

OH NO HE DIDN’T!

OH YES HE DID!

What planet is he from that it’s ok for him to a) say that out loud and b) reveal that for at least the past six minutes, he’s been staring at my chest, evaluating its proportionality to the rest of my body - or more simply BASICALLY SAY OUT LOUD THAT HE’S BEEN OGLING MY TITS OVER TERIYAKI CHICKEN.

The worst part of it all? Our table was positioned such that I couldn’t even make the “I’m going to the ladies’ room” excuse and bolt out of there as fast as my feet would carry me!

Instead I powered through the rest of my dinner, declined desert and threw a “thanks for a lovely evening” over my shoulder as I dashed for my car.

Note to self: Perhaps wear a Burkha on dates from now on. And always call ahead of time to ask for a table that is out of view of both the bathrooms, and the exit!

Although I haven’t had much time to date lately, I still continue to torture myself by connecting with people from lavalife.

I’ve been exchanging emails with one gentleman who seems like he’d at least be interesting company. After a week and about 6 messages back and forth, I finally suggested in my most recent correspondance that perhaps he’d like to meet this week for coffee or lunch.

His response?

Omigod… I just noticed now that you asked me about coffee or lunch at the end of your last note… and the answer is a definite yes, although I should temper that by at least mentioning my apprehension about meeting someone “from the internet”.

Say it with me now…

WHAT. THE. FUCK!

He sent the first “smile” on lava, and the first lavamail, and the first email.

What did he think was going to happen? Why not just put in his profile that he’s looking for a freakin’ pen-pal?

le sigh.

When oh when will I learn. Never date someone who has read your blog - unless they are a blogger themselves and understand the medium. And even then beware.

BUT ESPECIALLY NEVER DATE SOMEONE WHO’S READ YOUR BLOG WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE MEDIUM.

I met someone a little while back, and we casually chatted for a while about school/work stuff, since we both went through the same program at university and are loosely in the same field. At that point, since I wasn’t thinking about anything beyond friendship, I mentioned I had a blog and gave him the url.

A few days after that we went out for dinner, and he couldn’t stop gushing about how much he loved my writing. That set off tiny warning bells, but I figured it wasn’t too bad. After all, still in friend territory. Except by the end of the night he did kiss me and we sortof had plans to see eachother again. I should’ve known better. I should’ve stopped things right then and there. He read my blog, it could never work out.

But, being the chump that I am, I go out with him for dinner again, during which I am called “the next Sophie Kinsella”, told multiple times that I should write a book, or for a magazine, or freelance, OR JUST GET PAID TO WRITE! GOOD GOD I AM WASTING MY TALENTS ON A BLOG!

So after that I ran screaming, right? Wrong. For I am Not. Smart.

At. All.

We went out one more time. And as we were having another round of really pleasant conversation, I start to say something - which he interrupts (oh! and he’s a chronic interruptor!!!) with “Oh I know what you’re going to say, you blogged about this.”

ACTUALLY YOU DON’T, BECAUSE I DIDN’T! OH MY GOD, HEAD EXPLODING IN 4, 3, 2, 1,..

BANG!

He made the fatal flaw of assuming that the entirety of my life is put out on the internet for the whole world to see, and even worse than that, assumed that there was nothing more to my life than what I put out on the internet for the whole world to see.

So I did what any passive-aggressive blogger would do. I used the power of my blog for evil, instead of good. I posted details of my life that I may have left private if I had thought there was a future with this guy. And I posted them in a way that left them very open to interpretation - because I knew he would read them, and assume they were monumental to my existence, instead of just passing blips on the radar.

Things like being smitten with boys with dark rockstar hair and big brown eyes. When this guy happens to have blonde hair and blue eyes and he looks more like an accountant than a rock star. Did anything happen with a brown eyed boy? Who knows. I certainly didn’t say one way or the other.

Or like celebrating a year of being single with “nookie and pannekoeken” - with myself? with someone else? with someone I’m dating? with a friend with benefits? with a dog? I didn’t say, and the blogosphere, and this guy, will never know.

And since those entries, his number has mysteriously ceased to appear on my incoming call display.

Although he did get one thing he wanted - I finally wrote about him. In his favourite category. Happy now?

Remember a while back, when I talked about my physical type?

And that part where I said all of those were negotiable, and don’t really matter?

I think I lied.

Because as much as I may get along with guys of all shapes, sizes and colours, a pair of big chocolate coloured eyes, on a shaggy-rock-star-esque haired brunette with a killer smile will cause me to swoon.

Every. Single. Time.

The major reason for the spontaneous combustion of the not-quite-relationship I just got out of, was the gross misrepresentation on the part of the guy (let’s call him Mike, cuz that’s his name, and I told you that already) about exactly who he is and what he’s about.

Let’s just say that when we discussed our personalities waaaaay back in the beginning, I said I was a certain personality type. He claimed he was a certain personality type that I happen to get along with quite well. As time went on, he said he’s really a personality type that I don’t get along with all that well, but he really wants to explore the side of him that’s the type I do get along with. That wasn’t exactly the truth either. Confused yet?

I never made any illusions about who I was or what I was about. Then one day he tried to persuade me to change. That was the day I knew it would never work out. And it wasn’t a little change he wanted - this was way outside my comfort zone. So far that I’d need a passport and probably a special visa to get there.

Had I known who he really was from the beginning, I would’ve put the kaibash on the whole thing before it even got started. He’s a nice guy, but knowing who he really is from the beginning would’ve saved us both from a couple of fairly awkward months. I just don’t get the point in pretending to be something you’re not. You’ll never find what you want that way.

And now, just because I can, a list of totally petty things that I would’ve been willing to overlook, but drove me UP. THE. WALL. about this guy:

-HORRIBLE Kisser. Like, worst I’ve ever encountered. Sad but true. Although he can, Man should not kiss with (stiff lips and) tongue alone. Picture if you will (or don’t if you’d prefer not to): open mouth, seal it with other open mouth, swirl tongue around while leaving lips completely still. Drooling ensues.
-He wore pants with pleats. PLEATS!
-Goofy teeth! (Not horribly goofy, but I’m strangely hyper-sensitive about teeth.) For Christ’s sake, your father is a doctor! Don’t tell me you couldn’t have had braces when you were younger!
-No sense of humour. I know I’m completely un-funny, but at least I make an effort, which is usually amusing enough in and of itself. Not being able to take a joke is a total dealbreaker.

So there you have it.

Upon reflection, I think I only stuck around as long as I did because I was just so amazed that I found someone I didn’t immediately hate after the 2nd date, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with that. Now I know: wait a couple months, and it’s quite likely I’ll find something worth dumping him over!

So Mike, NO SOUP FOR YOU!

Next!

After last night’s Foo Fighters concert, new guy and I met up for a quick minute with a good friend of his (we had been holding their stuff as we were in the stands and they were on the standing only floor). It was like a page out of the soap-opera bar-star days all over again. Very odd. Very disconcerting. (More after the jump if your feed isn’t indicating that.)
(more…)

In addition to all the regular stuff I do all of the time (eat, sleep, work, work out, be social, clean house, have crazy roommate, try not to go crazy myself) - I figured “self, that’s not nearly enough challenge! Let’s add something new!” But one new thing isn’t insane enough, so lets add two!

Lets try to get two of the most frustrating things in the world taken care of AT THE SAME TIME. Start dating someone new, and buy a car.

And funnily enough, they are not as different as one may initially think!

The Marketplace
Finding a car and finding a man are equally frustrating. You’re trying to find one that’s just the right blend of flashy and reliable, that you’d feel equally comfortable showing off to your friends as your family. No rust, no dents, no trouble under the hood waiting to spring up as soon as the warranty runs out. Temptation is high to give in to the frustrations and just pick one and say “That’s it, I’m settling, you’ll do.” However in both situations that’s likely to leave you stranded at some point, waiting under a streetlamp for roadside assistance to show up.

The Negotiations
You’d think that for someone with a degree in such things, I’d be a lot better at Communication. But you’d be wrong. It’s not that my skills in general are lacking, but if there are two things that will make me clam up and forget that I have any intelligence at all, they are cute boys and car salesmen. I always walk away from situations knowing what I should have said - yet totally didn’t because I was so tongue-tied. Being completely adorable usually works to my favour in both scenarios - however a few kisses and perhaps a light grope only helps me get my way in one of them - I’ll let you decide which.

The Terms of the Deal
I am not normally one to dally. I may take a long time to run through options before I finally choose a car or a man, but my choices are quick and dirty. I usually have a pretty strong idea of whether it’s a “yes” or a “no” by the 2nd date, or the test drive. I either want it or I don’t. I dislike leasing with the option to buy. Unfortunately, neither men nor cars are quite that easy to secure for meaningful, strife-free long-term endeavors.

The Aftermath
As it stands right now, I’m currently in “negotiations” with both a dealership, and a guy. Thje uncertainty in both situations is totally killing me - but in the interest of “closing the deal” I’m currently trying to keep my cool and stay mellow about it all. Sometimes in life, things will just happen in their own time, and there’s not much you can do about it but cling to your favourite coping mechanism (mine’s currently Stella Artois) and hope for the best.

I am sick of being the Turnaround Girlâ„¢.

What is the Turnaround Girlâ„¢ you ask? She’s the one who is a really fantastic catch herself, and seems to end up with nothing but idiots. This is because of her innate ability to make her partner feel fabulous about himself, and in return, he turns into a fully datable member of the male species.

The problem is, while Turnaround Girlâ„¢ is dating a guy, she’s putting up with all the bullshit he came into the relationship with. The jackassery, the low self-confidence, the baggage, the complete lack of skill in bed. But instead of seeing all this and running screaming like so many before her, she sees the diamond in the rough. And polishes it up. And by the time that is done, she’s usually so covered in coal dust herself, that the diamond has lost any appeal.

But he’s completely turned around and is a fabulous catch for whoever dates him next. Great. Most of the time he even calls a few months later to thank her for making him realize what a better man he’s become.

Can’t I just have someone after they’ve had their turnaround relationship? Someone who knows what their best self is, and wants to be that for me? Is that too much to ask?