The dating boomerang
I have a lot of fun writing this blog; mostly because none of the guys who I go on dates with know of its existence. In addition, all names used are disguised, to preserve the anonymity of those poor suckers. As you know, I like to speak my mind. As the cliché goes, honesty is best policy… until Honesty creeps up behind you, and knocks the wind out of you. Hear this:
This year, I signed up to play volleyball with Ottawa Sports and Social Club (OSSC). The goals are three-fold: a) keep fit b) have fun c) meet new people (read: meet men). So, yesterday, I met my team for the first time. Unfortunately, our team majorly lacks males. Of the 8 players, only 2 are boys. So much for a new dating pool!
So, when I arrived at the gym, where we were to play our game, I found that one of the guys on our team – Mac – looked very familiar. Then again, I often find similarities between real people and fictional characters (case in point, the Mad Hatter from “Bonus points if you can read a map.”) At first, I didn’t pay much attention to the feeling of familiarly I got from Mac. But as the game got on, the sensation that I have met Mac before, became stronger. That sensation was coupled with fearful apprehension.
My fears were confirmed when I got home and checked out our team’s mailing list. I have MORE than met Mac before:
In Winter 07, I went to a Valentine Day Singles’ Mixer organized by Meet Market Adventures. I went mostly as support for a single friend of mine, but also, out of curiosity. But, very shortly after I got there, I realized that there were no suitable candidates for me: the average age at this event was 40. So, I stayed on the sidelines, while my friend mingled. Then, Mac approached me. He was one of the younger men there. I felt a connection with him, and so we chatted, danced, kissed, and decided to go on a date. All was well, until he dropped me off, when I realized that his was a one-track mind, and the track was leading right into my pants.
So, the next day, I e-mailed him, and told him off. I don’t have the original e-mail, but it went something like: “I think the only thing you want from me, is to get into my pants, as evidenced by phrases like ‘God, your f*king sister is in town this week? I was hoping to see you.’” Of course, he retorted with: “I think you’re the one that’s really only thinking about sex.” Very mature! Whether or not I had been thinking about sex, my fantasy definitely didn’t star Mac the Eager Beaver. We never communicated after that.
Now, 2.5 years later, I find myself hoping that he won’t recognize/remember me. And if he does, I will deny, deny, and deny.
Grandpa the Cupid
Are you a victim of matchmaking/matchmaking parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, or other random family members?
Until very recently, I have never been able to empathize with my friends whose family members continually try and hook them up with nice boys, or nice girls. That doesn't happen to me. My parents – being very young – just don’t have friends with sons my age! I guess I have been blessed. At least, that’s what I thought, until I went back to Motherland.
Let me remind you that last time I went back – 2 years ago – my grandfather had been intent on introducing me to the “nice, smart, 30-year old gentleman” who worked with him. Alas, that didn’t happen, and the nice young man was very disappointed – or so Grandpa claimed. This time, I hoped to escape my grandfather’s meddling in my love-life, which is really just a major ploy to try to get me to move back to Russia.
But, no such reprieve was to be had by me. Within 10 minutes of getting into the car to go to my grandparents’ datcha (the Russian version of a cottage, albeit a lot more rustic), they announced that my potential husband had married someone else. In case you are wondering, that was the EXACT wording used (except, in Russian). Something inside me died at that news. There were tears, many, many tears. They were silent tears of relief.
But, my quiet hurrah was short-lived. My singlehood was the subject of many-a-conversations that ensured in days that followed. In fact, I was eventually forced to have a strongly worded discussion with my step-Grandma, during which I, in no uncertain terms, revealed that I had absolutely no intention of moving back to Russia for a guy. For a great job, maybe; but for a guy – great or not – definitely not! Grandma was miffed. So, she told Grandpa. And so, over dinner, they proceeded to make a mental list of boys who would move to Canada. Feeling defeated, I let them. I believe that there was only 1 suitable candidate. He’s probably short.
However, in the end, I persevered. I promised them that I will go to Harvard for my grad degree and it is there, that I will find my beloved: someone who is tall and smart. In fact, I made it seem like it was their idea. Genius, eh?
Oh Lord, what have I got myself into?
New look = new dating pool?
This is an anecdotal post, and herein, I have no advice to offer except for what my friend said: "it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye." So, watch out for your glorious orbs! Here goes: I am officially on vacation until Sept 27. In fact, I should be camping with my family right now. Unfortunately, I’m not. On Saturday, mere hours after we arrived on our camping site, I decided to show off my muscles (à la Arnold Schwarzenegger) and went out in search of firewood. To my misfortune, my intentions of arriving to the campsite, laden with massive logs for the campfire, came to abrupt halt when I snapped a branch off a tree log, and the branch – angry – recoiled, hitting me right across the eye.
I first thought that a piece of bark or a branch got stuck in my eye, and diligently tried to wash it out. However, after 24 hours of wallowing in pain, misery, and self-pity, I finally conceded that something was wrong, and traveled 2.5 hours to the most convenient hospital. Since I couldn’t drive myself, my sister kindly took over the wheel and carted me off to the emergency room. Despite the pain, my sense of humour seemed intact. In triage, when a (male) nurse asked me: “Are you allergic to anything?” my first instinctive answer was: “Only to assholes”. Later, when the resident was checking out my eye, she gleefully exclaimed: “Now, we’re going to do something fun!” I retorted: “Fun for you, or fun for me?”
Now, drugged with antibiotics and painkillers, I’m generally OK, as is my eye. I have, what the Doc termed “corneal abrasion” – a glorious name for a scratch of the eye. I’m not going to lie to you though: in the early stages of my “accident”, thoughts and images of me wearing an eye-patch forevermore invariably raced through my head. Hey, does anyone know of a good pirate-dating website? I could brush up on my pirate vocabulary.
“Arrr, this buccaneer to me eye be pleasin’!”
“Who is this scallywag? T' Davy Jones wit' ‘im!”
I wish you hadn’t told me that
You know what wrong with people who date? We don’t know what we want from dating! Don’t have a clue! Proof? How many times have you heard the following:
- “I’m not looking for anything serious right now”; or
- “We’re in different places in our lives.”; or (my personal favourite)
- “If you get involved with me, I’ll end up hurting you.”
I guarantee that if you canvas the persons who have uttered such clichés, and ask them “What are you looking for?” they couldn’t answer you.
The only way to figure out what you want is through self-exploration, and that’s about as gay as it sounds (no offense to any of my gay friends!) Seriously, how many of us actually consciously indulge in introspection, extrospection, & retrospection about our dating habits? I only know a handful of people. I’m not one of them.
The reason for this post is that a few weeks ago, I had an epiphany. I realized that – prior to that moment – I had no clue what I was looking for. And, in exactly the same moment, I realized what I was looking for. Unfortunately, this mind-blowing realization came at the expense of a really nice guy, Peter.
About Peter: I first met him in person at a party, and a little while later, he messaged me on-line. He didn’t remember me, but I remembered him. Since I had enjoyed his company the first time, I agreed to go on a date with him. The timing was off, since I was just getting into the busiest time of the year for me at work. But, I made time for Peter, and – wait for it – we had a great time! We even decided that a second date was a surety. In no uncertain terms, I told Peter that I was traveling out of town for work in the following 2 weeks, so we decided to touch base again in 2 weeks’ time.
Well, Peter didn’t (couldn’t) hold up his end of the bargain. He messaged me after the first week-end, with profound details on the happenings in his life, with inquiries into my life. I was busy, so I didn’t reply. He messaged me again the following week, detailing his plans for the week ahead. Still über busy, I, once again, didn’t reply. Finally, when I was back into town, he messaged me again to set up for our 2nd date.
Things at work had started to calm down, so I finally replied to his e-mail with my availability. But – since I am a social butterfly – before he got back to me, I was all booked up. So, I proposed the following week. And that’s when Peter proceeded to dig his own grave.
His reply (which started with: “I really hoped to avoid telling you this…but) contained details on the circumstances surrounding the determination of our 2nd date. He talked at length about his upcoming trip to Montreal: he could go either “this” week-end, or “next” week-end; he could either take Monday/Tuesday off work, or Thursday/Friday; the ideal day for our date was on Tuesday. Then again, he was ambivalent about it, since what mattered to him is that WE GO ON A DATE.
He also mentioned that his friends (he listed them off by names, and didn’t preface them with the customary “my friends, w Lisa and Patrick…”, were going up for the entire week, but he couldn’t take that much time off work. (By the way, what’s up with that? This is the 2nd time I hear a guy do that: refer to someone by name as if I’m supposed to know who they are. It’s really annoying. E.g. Dave just messaged me. He’s having a party on Saturday, do you want to go? Who the f*ck is Dave? Is he your friend? Your brother? Your sister? Your Dad? Your boss? WHO?! In any case, I digress.)
I really, really wanted to give Peter a chance. But the cornucopia of details in his e-mail, and previous e-mails, led me to believe that he was looking for a serious relationship. That’s when it hit me: I do not want that. I am very content with dating.
So, I broke Peter’s heart, but I didn’t give him the lame “I’m not looking for anything serious right now.” Instead, I explained to him that I was very focused on my career, and was considering jobs outside of Ottawa. I avowed that I felt he was looking for something more serious (which he confirmed in his final reply). And, yeah, I did tell him he provided too much information in that last e-mail. He took it positively.