Skip to content

Dating Your Father Is Awkward!

February 5, 2012

Nature may abhor a vacuum but my love life seems to exist in one. My hottest date this week? A movie with my dad. And not ever a fun movie but a serious documentary.

After a couple of meetups, Christmas Party Guy – the whole reason for the revival of this blog – has moved to the Friendsville Recycling Bin. On the one hand, it sucks because we’re very compatible and he’s awesome. On the other hand, it’s great because we’re very compatible and he’s become an awesome friend. We’ve had fascinating conversations about everything from the politics of Stephen Harper to how to deal with an idiot who believes Greedo shooting first was an improvement on the original. We’ve also had frank discussions on life and relationships. We’ve reached a point where I feel comfortable running personal questions by him so expect to see him pop up from time-to-time when I share his take on events in my dating life.

Of course, I’m still totally open to the option of us getting drunk some night and stupidly making-out. But then, who isn’t?

The joys of online dating continued, this time in rap form. That’s right, rap. A guy sent me a message which was a rap about us getting together. When I rapped it to myself – very quietly and in the privacy of my own home – it actually wasn’t that bad but there were a few lines in it which were, well, they were complimentary to my boobs but objectified women in general. Not really the way to sweep me off my feet. Also, to make some of the lines work, he used atrocious grammar. Look, you can make up dirty rhymes about my rack all you want, but ‘interested’ should never be two syllables. Both me and my titzizzles have standards and you have failed to meet them.

A friend left for India this past weekend. She was dreading the trip because she knew that her grandma and aunt already had a bunch of potential suitors lined up for her. “It will be a parade of eligible bachelors through my aunt’s living room. I’ll be expected to be in full dress every day in case an unexpected suitor shows up at the door. Ugh. You have no idea how much I’m going to hate this trip.” While I understand where she’s coming from, I also envy her for the fact that her family is setting up a grab bag of possible future husbands for her to check out while my mom just asks me if maybe my standards are too high.

That’s pretty much my dating life for the last 10 years: my dad still pays for my movie-watching, chalk up yet another addition to Friendsville, my boobs get more attention than my face, and I secretly wish I had an arranged marriage just so I could say “I’m married, mom. Shut up!” even though I know that then I’d just whine about arranged marriages being another way to control women and treat them like property.

Yeah, I’m shocked I’m still single too.

An Open Letter

January 28, 2012

I am fully aware that online dating requires effort and that I’m not going to find someone overnight, but the last two weeks have left me shaking my head and asking why bother? I know there must be some nice guys on there somewhere, I’ve had friends who’ve found a few of them, but that whole ‘you have to kiss a lot of frogs’ saying? I’d be happy with even a frog at this point. All I’m finding are a lot of ticks. I deserve something that isn’t a parasite… even if I did squeal when I found our old family microscope in the basement. (Yes, we had a family microscope. What part of ‘nerd’ do you not understand?)

Perhaps I’m being harsh, but so far the only thing this whole online dating thing has resulted in is a gigantic headache. Apparently that’s what happens when you repeatedly bang your head on the keyboard. Is it really that hard for people to take 30 seconds to think before they send a message? Am I asking too much that perhaps they actually look at my profile before they copy and paste the same message they’ve sent to the last 385, 294 women who’ve signed up after them? Should I just create a profile with no pictures or words because they obviously don’t look at them?

In an effort to at least feel like I’m not wasting my time, I have a few suggestions for the guys who may be looking at my profile (or not looking at, just messaging it as the case may be).

1. I’m married but there’s certain things my wife just can’t give me. We’ve discussed an open relationship but she’s not comfortable with that idea so I’m looking for a discreet person for an affair. Here’s your discretion: I am not linking to your actual profile. Count your lucky stars on that one. While I’m not one to judge someone for what they do (or don’t do) behind closed doors, you are asking a complete stranger to help you cheat on your wife. If you have an open relationship or your wife has given you the okay to look elsewhere for a certain act she doesn’t enjoy, then carry on your business. By your own admission, that is not the case. You are a lying, cheating scumbag and I hope your wife crazy glues your balls to your ass. I’d do it but there’s no way I’m getting that close to you.

And if I don’t respond within a week, don’t message me again and ask if I’ve had a chance to think about your offer. I thought about it, rejected it, and had a long shower while I tried to wash the dirty off. Thanks, but HELL NO!

2. I’d like to [insert explicit sexual act here] to/with/on you. There are sites where you can find what you’re looking for. Yes, there are even people on this site which are also looking for that but all it takes is 10 seconds of looking at my profile to know that I’m not that person. Perhaps mass-spamming every girl about how great your obviously tiny penis would feel doing [insert ‘taboo’ desire here] has worked for you in the past, but don’t get all fake hurt when I don’t respond and start calling me mean names. I’m not a prude, I just don’t feel the need to list my preferred sexual acts on a message to random strangers who clearly aren’t looking for that sort of information!

3a. Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Really? Your very first message to me is a purposely misspelled, over-exclamated (I’m determined to make this a word because the online world needs it), one-work introduction?

3b. Anything with more spelling and grammatical errors than an LOLcat picture. This is how you decide to introduce yourself to me? U R kNot a 14 yrz gurl!!!! I understand spelling mistakes happen and I’m willing to overlook occasional comma-misuse because I know I’m guilty of both of these but there is a limit. My profile clearly indicates that I read, that I enjoy relatively intelligent conversation, and I’m a nerd. You think the way to interest me in you is to put in so little effort to your message that my computer has a red squiggle under every single word? If you can’t be bothered to at least seem semi-intelligent, then I can’t be bothered to waste my time by responding. It’s a simple equation.

4. I only have one picture… and there’s five guys in it. I understand it’s online dating and we all want to put our best foot forward. I’m not about to put up that photo of me after a night of partying where I look like I took a ride through the tumble-dryer or the 3,000 one which emphasises exactly how large my tummy is, but my photos clearly show who I am. Maybe you think you look really good in that picture of you with your buddies, but then crop it so I know which one is you. You’re all attractive but I can’t help but wonder if you’ve put up a picture you’re in or a picture you took.

5. I have no interest in meeting/dating you, but I just wanted to let you know that I thought your profile was awesome/funny. You seem like you’d be a nice person to know. I got this message… twice. And not from the same person. Um, thanks? I know I should just take it as a compliment that they think online me is awesome/funny and move on, but for the love of Quantum Physics, why did they feel the need to send it with the disclaimer ‘I want nothing to do with you as a person’? At least they both started with the disclaimer so I didn’t get my hopes up before getting knocked down. For future reference, gentlemen, unless you’re ending the message with “want to get together some time” or “I know your profile says dating but would you be interested in getting together just as friends”, I don’t want to hear it. I get enough compliments from my mom that I don’t need your pity compliments. (But I do give you points for actually reading my profile.)

6. You look like my mom. Would you like to meet up? SERIOUSLY? I can’t even. Don’t you have a motel you should be running right now, Norman?

7. OHMYGOD, I LOVE DOCTOR WHO TOO!!!!! I’VE NEVER MET SOMEONE WHO LIKES DOCTOR WHO!!! You’re online and you’ve never met someone who likes Doctor Who? Are you joking? Because the rest of your message sounds like you’re not joking. Look, it’s great that you love Doctor Who, all the smart people do, but I don’t think you understand how the internet works. The internet is filled with people who get me and my dorky ways, so if you don’t get the internet then we’re not going to work in the long run.

8. I’m allergic to cats but I think that once you get to know me, you’ll be willing to change your desire to always have a cat. You think that one date with you and I’ll be willing to write off my two cats that are almost 10 years old? One enchanting evening in your company and I’ll give my two self-cleaning bed warmers the boot? One afternoon of tiptoeing through the tulips hand-in-hand and I’ll send my two continuous-love-giving fuzzballs to an already overcrowded SPCA? There is a reason why I mention my cats on my profile. There is a reason why I say that if you hate cats or are allergic you should just keep moving. I love my cats. I’ve had them since my last cat (which I got when I was four) passed away. No. No amount of getting to know you is going to make me choose you over my cats. Now, move along. (But points for actually reading my profile.)

9. I think we have a lot in common. Except we don’t. Unless you’ve totally lied about your interests on your profile. The closest I come to finding something in common is that you like UFC and I like hockey. They’re both sports. Oh my Invisible Space Pickle, it’s like we’re twins! Not every thing I love or enjoy is listed on my profile so I get that it’s probably the same with you, but when my list of TV shows reads like a day at Comicon and your list of TV shows reads like you’ve had a frontal lobotomy (Wife Swap? SERIOUSLY?!) I don’t think there’s much chance for any of our interests overlapping.

10. I’d like to talk to you about Jesus. Please don’t. I don’t know if this falls into the ‘didn’t read profile’ or ‘read profile and is praying for my soul’ category but either way, just don’t. Would you go onto the profile of someone who identifies as Jewish and tell them that? No? Then don’t do it for me just because I’m an atheist. I was raised in a Catholic household, I attended church, I even fell asleep and started snoring during a Latin Mass which is a rite of passage for Catholics everywhere, there is no argument you can make about religion that my aunts and uncles haven’t made me suffer through during a family dinner. I don’t send you messages that start with “I’d like to talk to you about Carl Sagan” so please do the polite thing and leave your faith on your profile.

Despite all my negativity in this post, there have been a few interesting conversations and messages which I may be pontificating about on here in the future. In the meantime, I can’t help but worry that perhaps Tree Lobsters! is right about my future.

Sadly, that sounds about right.

The Rejection Rebound

January 16, 2012

I’m just going to say what we all know: rejection sucks.

Whether it’s applying for a new job, asking someone out, or swiping your credit card, no one likes rejection.

You can give yourself all the pep talks in the world, but it still makes you question yourself to some degree. What is wrong with me that he doesn’t want to date me? The self-doubt that can come from one person saying “no, thanks” is incredible when you think about it. How many pairs of sweatpants are bought because of those words? Or tubs of ice cream? Or bottles of wine?

Scratch that last one. I buy bottles of wine because it’s Friday. Or Monday. Or sunny. Or snowing. Or I’m thirsty. But I avoid drinking when I’m feeling down because that’s just a bad combination.

I know that putting myself out into the dating world means that this will happen again, and I know that it’s not the end of the world, but I let myself wallow in my self-pity for just a little while. It felt good in an odd way. It was therapeutic to think of every possible reason why I was less-than-worthy to date and then to just let it go. I got dolled up, put on some heels, and took myself on a “date”.

For the record, I was a fantastic date! I was witty, charming, told great stories, didn’t drag me to a chick-flick, and only ate from my own plate. Any single guys reading this: I’m a great catch!

I spent the next day thinking of reasons why I’m awesome and finding new-to-me science fiction shows to watch. It’s like the nerd version of therapy. Feeling like crap? Watch ridiculously attractive fake-nerds spew techno-babble about quantum physics and alternate realities. Works every time! Especially when combined with McDonald’s take out and two cuddly, purring kitties.

Sitting outside CPG’s house with binoculars also helped.

The Robber of Future Children

January 11, 2012

I took a leap of faith a few days ago and sent a text to a guy I had been chatting with. I suggested we meet up for coffee or something (emphasis on the something, of course!) and then I sat about waiting for a reply. As the minutes turned into hours, I did want many (completely sane) girls do when waiting for an answer: I went a little bat-shit crazy with theories as to why he wasn’t responding. Not legitimate theories, but those out-of-left-field-make-no-sense-in-the-light-of-day theories.

I spent the remainder of the day being that annoying friend who constantly checks her cell phone while dining out. While my friend’s discussed the finer points of why Marchand should or shouldn’t be suspended, I was in the bathroom contemplating reasons why my phone was still silent. (For those who care: Marchand was suspended five games – see the video at the bottom of this link to learn why- and I completely agree with the decision but I also have a real hate on for Marchand as a player. He’s a glorified goon. If I ever see him in my team’s jersey, I’m switching teams. Not a joke.) While my friend’s were clapping along to our friend’s band, I was going over every previous interaction looking for the moment I went horribly, horribly wrong with my assumption that the feelings were mutual.

What have I done to cause him to not respond?

The middle of the night found me staring at my ceiling going over every possible reason, no matter how crazy, that he hadn’t replied. He’s a computer guy (true) and was able to find my IP from when I googled his name and then traced me snooping through his facebook and his twitter and then followed my IP here and saw this site and it freaked him out! (Probably not true.) He was some how able to hack my email and found my NSFW description of his backside to my friend. (Probably not true.) We have a mutual friend in common that badmouthed me. (Possible.) Oh god, it’s that ex from six years ago who hates me because I called the cops on him and the RCMP later rejected his application because of it! (Last I heard, he was up in Yellowknife so probably not true. Also, I called the cops because he was drunk and pounding on my door. Nothing serious, just frightening for a single girl.)

Round and round the ideas swirled when suddenly Robber of Future Children jumped into the fray. It helped calm me down and I was able to step away from the crazy and return to sleep.

Once upon a time, when I was 26, I took a class and met a guy. We flirted, we studied, we agreed to go on a date. I had lunch plans with some girlfriends on the same day as the date. My date that evening was a popular topic and we returned to it again and again through out the course of lunch. I was nervous. It had been a long time since I had been on a proper first date, and I could think of a million excuses why I shouldn’t go on this one. One of the girls, noticing my shaking hand as I talked about the date, reassured me that it would be fine.

“But that’s the problem,” I replied.

“You’re nervous that the date is going to go well?” I watched them share a puzzled glance across the table. Couldn’t they see how obvious it was that things going well could be a problem?

“What if tonight goes well, and we end up dating for, I don’t know, let’s say four years. Then in four years time, things go south and we break up. I’m still only thirty, I can date again and find someone else. He’ll be 41. I’ll have pushed him into another decade,” I explained, my voice getting higher and faster. “All of a sudden, he’s pushed back into the dating world at a time when he’ll be dating women who have children from a previous relationship or have decided they don’t want children. But what if he wants children? He’s in an entirely different dating range, and I did that to him. I robbed him of future children!”

The table was silent for all of 10 seconds before my friends erupted into laughter. Beside me, one of them laughed so hard she snorted and started banging the table in some bizarre attempt to get her breath back. Across from me, the other one cried as she repeated robbed him of future children again and again. The hilarity of what I had just said hit me and I laughed along with them.

And that’s where worrying about things I can’t control gets me: loudly proclaiming myself the robber of future children in a busy restaurant before I’ve even gone on one date with the guy.

I don’t know why he hasn’t responded and I might never know why he hasn’t responded. Maybe he’s really busy. Maybe he’s taking a page out of the Swinger’s handbook and waiting three days (Best part of that movie is remembering that Vince Vaughn used to be really skinny!). Maybe I misread the signals and this is his way of saying no. Maybe he was kidnapped by a gang of Siberian Gulag escapees who are holding him ransom in the sandy wilds of Namibia and no one knows because the kidnappers can’t find an internet connection to upload the ransom video. Whatever the reason, pouring over every nuance of every word I ever said to him isn’t going to give me the answer. Staring at my phone thinking about times I could have made it clearer that I liked him but didn’t isn’t going to make it ring. I’ve put myself out there and that’s all I can do.

Besides, his calling or not calling does not change the fact that I am so fucking money.

Fresh Eyes on Old Ground

January 8, 2012

My first thought when I decided to get off the couch and actually make an effort to find someone to watch Sherlock with was that I would have to find new things to do and places to go, attend art exhibitions, expand my circle of interests, leave my apartment! And while I still think that it would be good for me to do those things – save perhaps expanding my circle of interests, I already have a lot of loves thankyouverymuch – I was reminded today that perhaps I just need to keep my eyes open while I do the same things I always do.

Well, eyes open and be willing to start conversations.

I met a guy in the coffee shop today. I know, I know, I should know better. But this is different, I swear! We were sitting next to each other, I struck up a conversation, we laughed for the hour or so we were both there, we ended up getting into a conversation with another table, and when I left first, there was a backward glance-and-smile which was returned. See? Different. I didn’t give him my phone number so, you know, also different!

Plus the idea of kissing this guy doesn’t make me react like a 17-year-old girl finding a spider in an outhouse. Very different from The Coffee Guy (who, incidentally, appears to have taken the hint *fingers crossed*). And while I’m not about to say I want to marry him! or change my facebook relationship status based on one afternoon of giggles, I will definitely be willing to exchange contact information should our paths cross again.

I’ve decided that this week I’m going to work on keeping my eyes open to the possibility of future nasty-dance partners while going about my usual day-to-day. I’m going to smile at that guy I’d normally avoid eye contact with because he’s way too gorgeous and out of my league. Fuck it, I’m a fucking amazing person and he should be fucking grateful I’d like to chat with him. *snap* I think I might put that on a post-it and stick it on my mirror as my weekly mantra. Who else will explain to him that while Luther did write the 95 Theses, he never nailed the document to a church door? (It was a private letter to his fellow clergymen. It was they who copied and distributed it. No nailing of the document to church doors by anyone.) Who else will be able to explain why BSG has that stupid filler episode in which a certain character dies? (I’m not giving it away here in case any of you have plans to watch BSG at some point which you totally should!) This is why any guy should be falling over themselves to chat me up! I know shit, yo!

This might also be the week I try to watch the potty mouth. Keyword in that sentence being ‘might’.

Gossiping and Derping

January 3, 2012

After I posted yesterday’s entry bemoaning the current state of my dating affairs, I met up with a friend to gossip and feel better about my lot in life. Sure, I’m single and unemployed like that our other friend but at least I’m single, unemployed and hilarious! She’s single, unemployed and as annoying as a Jingle Cats CD on repeat!

We had big topics to discuss: how our holidays had been, if there had been any movement on the Christmas Party Guy front (I’m just going to start calling him CPG until I come up with a better – shorter – name), how things are with her current boy, social plans for our group in January, the current state of affairs in North Korea as Kim Jong-Un replaces his deceased father and will we see an improvement in the country’s relationship with the West, and whether or not we can continue to be friends with Jingle Cat CD lady.

Who am I kidding? The closest we got to discussing North Korea was making Team America jokes. We haven’t seen each other since before Kim Jong-Il passed away so it was inevitabre. Inevit. Inevitabre.

As we settled in for a good gab-fest, CPG wandered into the establishment. He came straight over for a chat and I’m pretty sure I had a big dopey grin on my face the whole time because I’m awesomely dorky like that. He thanked me for the Christmas card I left in his mailbox, we chatted about what we had gotten up to over the holidays, and I had all the social grace of a sea cucumber as I spilled my friend’s drink. Smooth as sandpaper.

He went and did his thing far enough away from us that we were still able to talk quietly about him in the very loud room. My eternal thanks to the table next to us who must have been using invisible soup-can phones to talk to people in another room because they drowned out anything we said. General consensus was that I should totally tap that, that I need to step up my game and make that happen, that I’d be a fool to not make a concerted effort. In short, I think my friend was about one more drink away from asking him out on my behalf.

As is obvious in many aspects of life – getting dressed, using the bathroom, getting to ‘that point’ while doing the horizontal tango – the boys were much quicker in finishing up their business. We were still on topic #2 when CPG stopped at the table to say good bye. I tried to smile but I’m pretty sure I just derped. But the important thing here is not that I derped, but that he could have easily left without us even noticing and he didn’t. He made a point of saying good bye and that he would be seeing me around.

Granted, it wasn’t a “hey, let’s get together and compare naughty bits” but he worded it that he would see me around. Not maybe, not hopefully, not possibly, but ‘would’. That’s got to count for something, right? I’m not about to jump up and down and scream things like it’s meant to be! He likes me! but it does mean that perhaps I should take another kick at that can before I send it to the Friendsville Recycling Bin.

Maybe Karma isn’t that high school bitch after all.

Oh For Two

January 2, 2012

It’s the second day of a new year and that excites me. The year of 2011 was less-than-stellar for me. It wasn’t a horrible year full of so many trials and tribulations that I questioned whether I could go on, but it wasn’t an easy year. It was stressful. It was long. It was often difficult. In amongst the stressful were some wonderfully amazing moments, but overall, I was happy to see the backside of 2011. It’s not a year that I’m anxious to repeat.

The year ended with a phone call from the Coffee Guy on the last Friday. The call came in after 11:00pm while I socialized with a friend in public. It didn’t seem like the appropriate place to answer the phone and scream “fuck off” so I let it go to voice mail. He was either drunk or he has the creepiest phone voice in the world. Perhaps a combination of the two? Either way, I haven’t responded. I’m of two minds if I should text him a ‘fuck off’ or just leave it radio silence. Radio silence requires less effort on my part (and less confrontation in general) so for now, it’s winning.

I left a pretty open invite to Christmas Party Guy that I’d be open to getting together sometime to chat or play tonsil hockey (okay, so that part was more of a subtle subtext) but so far, no dice. No email, no text, no running into him on the street (we live in the same neighbourhood) despite camping outside his house, nothing. Not even a restraining order. It’s like he’s giving me the radio silence. If this is Karma, then Karma is totally that bitch in high school I always hated but had to be nice to because she was dating my friend.

And that’s how I’m starting 2012: one guy I never want to hear from again and one guy I really wish would contact me. It’s a fabulous 0/2 start for this endeavour. I was a nerd growing up; I’m not used to getting ‘0’ marks on something I do.

Tomorrow, I punch up my online profile and find some free-meet-people-shit going on in my city over the next few weeks. But I can’t do it today, I need to sit outside Christmas Party Guy’s window with my binoculars.

Kidding!

That’s tomorrow night.