I am sort of seeing O/N but I’ve learned to never put all your eggs in one basket (or is it counts your chickens before they hatch? One of the cliched, overused terms fits here I’m sure).
So far I’ve had Great Success (like Borat). If great success means a bunch of douche bags email with such witty repartee as: “Hey babe wanna msg me?” and “your hot lets met”. There was also this gem in my mail box this morning: “hey lookin for a little love just somethin on the side summer fun” from a married fellow with a picture of his 6 pack looking slightly deteriorated.
I don’t know about you but I love being the little somethin on the side for summer love. I’m sure his wife approves too.
The reason I joined was to avoid douche-baggery and cheesy pickup lines at the bar – is that too much to ask? Also, to have a good laugh at all the stupid idiots out there who really think emailing a girl three words (hottie lets chat) is going to render her quivery with desire and immediately she’ll respond with a “your place or mine?”. Obviously it must work for some guys or they wouldn’t all still be doing it.
I don’t think the whole internet dating thing is for me. I guess I’ll stick to meeting guys at the bar, drooling on their sleeves while trying to shove a drink in my hands and incoherently mumbling sweet-nothings at my cleavage. Isn’t that how everyone found the man of their dreams?
Weddings and I have always had a love/hate relationship. I worked at a Private Club (not that kind of club, perv) therefore have worked during many, many weddings. I also had seven separate friends get married last year and several the year before. Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of weddings.
Anyhow, the other day, as I do whenever I have too much time on my hands*, I started thinking about some strange things a little too intently. Why do spiders have eight eyes and live in bathtub drains? Why does coffee taste delicious black unless it’s at Tim Hortons where I need to put their crack-creamers in it to fully enjoy the robust flavor? Why do people (ok, girls) settle for a person they don’t think is the Right One just so that they can “finally” get married?
The answer came to me in a dream**. Girls want security. Girls want to know that they’ll have someone to wake up to every morning, someone who thinks hair-in-a-ponytail and sweatpants is a sexy look for them, someone who will fetch their newspaper and fan them with banana leaves while feeding them caviar and cream cheese on those cute little toasted bread rounds.
One thing most girls don’t want is a guy who is much less successful than her. That’s right, I said it, and you know it’s true. While I personally am not looking for a sugar daddy (although any interested parties feel free to apply here), I also don’t want to tell my parents that I met the love of my life in a romantic exchange involving my spare change and his fingerless gloves wrapped around a Styrofoam cup.
I have friends who are dating complete jerk-offs mainly because they know they have financial security and someone willing to fly them to Palm Springs or Vegas on a whim. I’d rather be living in a (large) cardboard box (with windows and weather proof coating), scraping gum off the pavement and selling it to unsuspecting tourists for a living then be a so-called trophy wife.
Don’t get me wrong. If future Mr. Alice happens to have loads of money and nothing better to do with it then spend it on me (and my shoe collection) I won’t complain. I would still need to have a job, especially if it was the daunting career of researching great vacation spots.
**my alarm was going off and playing some Good Charlotte…there may or may not have been dancing polar bears in said dream. Also, a really large talking willow tree, Pocahontas style.
I had a fabulous day. I was woken up at 8:30 am (yes, I realize an early wake-up does not a fabulous day make – wait for it) by my friend Blondie to let me know West Jet was having a seat sale. She’s been trying to get me to come to PEI with her for ever. We booked our flights round trip for $380! To understand the ridiculousness of this you have to know that it’s across the country (obviously) and that when I went to Newfoundland in 2002 it cost me $1100 – and that was considered “cheap”.
My work sponsored a Heavy-Horse Pull team this year (I sound like such a cowboy lately – I swear it’s just because the Stampede is here this week) so I brought two of my very good friends – PA and his wife Frenchie (one girl whom I can tell anything to without ever being judged – love her). We watched the event and drank free beer and generally had a really good time. The cute singer of the band at the event even came and introduced himself to me, which was sweet.
One of the Committee Chairmen and I were chatting and he asked where my boyfriend was. I said I didn’t have one since O/N and I haven’t really talked about it or anything. So he goes into the whole “Well, why not? Pretty young girl like yourself?” To which I always feel like answering:
“Because I don’t actually need a boyfriend to feel good and secure and like I’m worth something. I’m perfectly happy being myself, independent and knowing that I have all my fantastic friends and a great guy who I like spending time with. I don’t necessarily need the labels and the crap that may come with it and maybe in a few years time I’ll be all over that like white on rice but for now I’m actually quite content just living and taking things as they come.”
But of course I didn’t say that. I laughed, shrugged and said something awkward. You know with the whole batting of the eyelashes. “Tee hee, I dunno”.
So that’s fine. Cab drivers ask me if I’m married all the time and when I say no they ask why. When I was a receptionist, the clients in the reception area would ask me if I was married and why not. Strangers always ask me if I’m married and although I feel like telling them that I’m not sure I ever even want to be married and it’s none of their business anyway, I don’t. I laugh and blow it off, but it does get kind of annoying.
It wouldn’t have bothered me so much except that walking to the bar with PA and Frenchie we ran into my friend Bubbly and her new boyfriend. Then my friend PartyGirl and her new boyfriend. We proceeded to the bar with Bubbly and bf, where we met her friends. Another couple. I’m normally very good at not being awkward or even feeling like a 5th (7th?) wheel but this was like coupledom embodied. So between the texts with O/N (who was out with his guy friends for a birthday) I had to enjoy 3 new couples and a married set. Granted the marrieds are the best and I never feel awkward with them. New couples however? Totally different story.
So I left.
And here I am, drunk and rambling. Maybe I’m being a big baby and should have just sucked it up and enjoyed spending some QT with my friends, but really? Not feeling it. Plus I met three really awesome people while waiting for a cab outside, which we ended up all sharing. To thank me for sharing (cabs are impossible to find this week) they paid for my fare so I guess all in all the day was actually pretty great. I think I’ll just have to stay out of those awkward 5th wheel situations for a while.
You know how girls always have that cutesy romantic fantasy of making out in the rain? Maybe of getting flowers delivered anonymously to her office? Or there’s the one where you get into a big screaming fight and then the girl says something controversial, and the guy yells can’t you see it’s because I love you? or something along those lines. I’m not sure what’s sexy or fantastical about a screaming match though, so that last one may just be my twisted mind.
Anyway, last night I decided that making out in the rain was certainly not cute enough. Or perhaps I figured it was TOO cute. See, I don’t really do cute/romantic/sweet. Yet, after a drunken night of two-stepping, cowboy hats and Bud (yuck – Bud sponsors the Stampede, it tastes like piss water to me) and after disrobing to hop in the shower with O/N, he pulls me outside for a little dance.
Side note: Yes. This really happened. To me. Yes I know, it’s wrong and cheesy and a little horrifying.
Remember though; I am naked. He is naked. It’s raining. We’re dancing. Obviously we ended up getting it on in the backyard with me bent over a flower pot.
So afterwards, after the shower, we’re laying in bed being idiots (we were trying to see who could make thier voice lower while saying “ohhhhh yeaaahh”, like in that commercial? He obviously won, being a boy and all but I think I put in a valiant effort), and he tells me he has a song for me. Keep in mind he is drunk here. He says: “AA [my initials] I think I love you, AA, I think I love you, dah dah dum dah” to which I giggled awkwardly and changed the subject.
What can I say. Dancing in the rain and confessions of love in a song, all in one night? Too much for a self-proclaimed cynic to handle.
Oh, and I just hope his neighbors don’t have telescopic-lensed cameras.
There was that weekend in Vancouver when we spent the days together; going to the gym, walking to a Vietnamese restaurant for noodle bowls and iced coffee, making fun of his friends who were on the stag with him because they would be drunk messes by four o’clock while he was just getting ready to hit the shower for a full night of drinking. Going for dinner and drinks with my friends in Vancouver while he went out with the guys and having the guys call me at 11 to come meet up, although I told them all I was perfectly happy staying at my friends or cousins if they wanted to have the stripper dance all night or whatever it is that boys do on stags.
There were the times we lay in bed all day on a Saturday, watching movies, eating “bad food” and making fun of each other. Me for his World of Warcraft playing at 31 years old, him for my weird TV habits (namely watching part of the cooking show, flipping to CNN for commercials, taking an intermission for the house-fixing shows then back to the cooking network). There was the fact that we chatted pretty much every night, whether it was via msn or telephone, and if we didn’t chat neither of us ever asked where the other had been, or why they hadn’t called. There were the poker games that slightly frustrated and bemused him because he was obviously a better player and yet I always managed to win at least some money off the guys.
There were the bad pick-up lines he’d test on me first and make sure they were awful enough for no girl to take seriously and then go trying them out, mostly for my and his friends amusement. There were the 80s tunes cranked at 3 am, much to the chagrin of the upstairs neighbors. There was the time we lay in a field after the bar, talking about our families, the dog I was scared of losing (who died shortly after), and the cancer that ravenged his Aunt’s body.
If he was out with his friends he didn’t necessarily tell me, he didn’t “check-in” on me either and I was free to go out on a Wednesday and make an ass of myself. I could wake up late on a Sunday, go for coffee with a friend and spend all day hanging out with her. I could go to Victoria for a weekend without asking someone else what their schedule was like. All the things I hated about having a boyfriend, I didn’t have with him. All the things I wanted from a boyfriend, I got from him.
Slowly and steadily we started breaking each other, putting the acts in motion to destroy everything we had. One week it would be me who did it. Broke him, hurt him in some way. The next week it was him. It all started with an offhand, drunken, misconstrued comment: “If I wanted a relationship I’d still be with The-Ex”, “But you don’t want a Relationship so you’re with me?”, “I’m Not With You”.
It escalated into a full-on what the hell do we want from each other war. Trying to prove to each other that we didn’t need each other. Trying to prove that we were both still the strong, independent people we were when we first met. I don’t need you. I have myself. We tried to fix it. Tried to make things right, get over our bruised egos and look past the hurtful things that had been done. We tried to pretend nothing had happened. Then we tried to talk about it and lay everything out in the open. It was too hard. It was too painful. I don’t need you. I love you. I don’t need you. I hate you. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.
Hi there! Thanks for coming to pick me up! I know you told me 7:30 but I still have to put some more eyeliner on. Why don’t you have a seat on my lovely couch – just knock a few of those cushions off, there ya go! Watch out for the candles though! Isn’t my home lovely? I opened an Ikea catalogue and just picked a million things. Gosh Ikea makes life easy!
Excuse me while I go freshen up. Don’t worry my roommate is around here somewhere, she’ll make awkward small talk with you to prepare you for the evening, while making judgements about you in her head – which her and I will discuss at length when I get home!
Sorry that took so long, I have no idea what I do in the bathroom for half an hour! Gosh, I look pretty! I see you met Snookie and Sugar-Pie, my kitties! That’s great that you’re pretending to like them and pet them when really you are severly allergic and will probably have to take several anti-histamines later. Well, let’s head out, shall we?
What a gentleman you are! Thanks for getting the car door for me, I love men who believe in gallantry. Well except when it’s sexist, I get to decide when it’s ok and when it’s sexist! Fun, no? Don’t worry I won’t reach across and get the lock for you. I know it’s raining out and all but I’m too busy wondering why you’re taking so long and making me wait while you fumble with the lock!
What a cozy resturant you’ve chosen! I never choose, I always tell you I don’t care where we go and then if it’s somewhere I don’t like you get to hear me complain about it endlessly! This is fun because it takes the pressure off me and lets me judge you yet again!
I know you told me we were going for dinner and all but I’m actually not that hungry, weird no? I guess I’ll just order a salad and the most expensive martini I can find. Are you going to eat that pasta? I should have ordered pasta.
Let me tell you all about myself! I have all these friends who are the BEST ever! I can gossip with them and giggle endlessly about other people! Did you know that Jennifer Aniston is dating John Meyer? I’m glad my friends and I can talk about all that important stuff together! I know if I ever had a real problem they would probably start acting really busy and not return my phone calls but they are seriously the BEST EVAR!!
I have this heinously boring job but I still love to talk about it! Especially about the clothes other people wear there and who’s dating whom! It doesn’t matter that you’ve never met any of these people, I’ll still tell you all about them! It’s almost like you DO know them! How lucky are you?
Well, dinner was nice but I’m awfully tired and there’s a rerun of The Bachelor that I’m dying to watch! I’m going to pretend to offer to pay for the bill, but if you actually wanted me to pay any of it I’d be shocked! I don’t even think I brought any money! Then I’d have to tell all my (BEST EVAR) friends about how you made me pay on the first date!
Well here we are, back at my place! Why don’t you walk me to the door so we can have an incredibly awkward goodbye? How about you pretend you had lots of fun and say that we should do it again sometime? Ok, well awfully nice spending time with you! What was your name again?
Well I wasn’t exactly successful in turning off my cell phone early but I also didn’t really drink and didn’t call pseudo-bf. In fact, a guy I dated in High School(!), that I ran into last weekend called me. He and a friend came to meet up with us for a drink and I didn’t even think about pseudo-bf until he called me! (Side note: I wouldn’t exactly call it dating. We slept together in high school).
Anyway, I didn’t answer my phone but instead of feeling smug I felt a little sad. I think I’m actually through with him.
As for this old/new guy, (I’ll call him O/N) I’m pretty glad I ran into him last weekend and that he came out last night. I think I may plan to run into him again.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s like 6’2″ and can pick me up like I’m a sack of flour. Or something less fattening. Like salad.