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?