Rob Thomas' birthday weekend

I have a long-standing abhorrence of Valentine's Day.  I won't retread old ground, but suffice it to say, I'm not one to make a big deal of Vday.  Here's how I spent my Friday night: I was killing time, waiting for Jadek, wandering about SqOne.  I haven't been to the mall for quite some time and it didn't take long for its effects to take its toll.  I felt ugly.  So I bought myself a delicious MAC lipstick (Dark Side) and too many creams at Clinique (I like them, but I had a resolution to stick with drug store creams this year... poof).  I found jeans on sale at Ricki's (a store I adore) and tried them on.  I have been envious of girls wearing their boots over top of their jeans - I have many boots but they're always hidden under my sensible boot-cuts.  Anyway, I tried on these "skinny" jeans and lo!  they fit!  5 inches smaller around the waist than the ones I had on!  ...what... Obviously I bought two pairs of those.  Feeling sufficiently assuaged, I decided stop tempting myself.

I had scoped a great table, so I guarded it with my backpack while getting caught up on life.  Read a great post by Elle, which makes me think I should rename Vday for me too.  Until I get a suitable replacement, hers will do. 

Finally, Jadek arrived and our "romantic" date had begun.  You know where you don't need a reservation on Valentine's Day?  The Food Court.  So, we had Taco Bell for dinner and it was fab.  Then we window shopped at the Microsoft store - there was indeed love that night, poppets.  I fell in love with the Windows Surface Pro 2.  The wise Jadek steered me out the front door and we watched the dance stylings of little kids playing with the MS Kinect.  On our way out of the mall, we passed an ice cream store and I remembered I had a coupon, so we got milkshakes to go.  Got home, changed into PJs and watched our weekly TV allotment.  Perfect.

But, you know, just because I think that February 14 is a viciously calculated plan to monetise affection, doesn't mean I have heart of stone.  So when Jadek showed up and gave me a single yellow rose, that he carefully carried all the way from his place (through tunnels! in snow!), I did melt, just a little.  I also told him this sets a high standard - because now I know that flowers are possible all the time and I have empty vases.

This weekend, we decided to avoid the ridiculous coupled crowds and do decidedly unromantic things - like lunch at Denny's and watching action flicks.  I even had plans to see friends (and new baby!) and then hang out with the family on Sunday.  And since he works Monday, despite it being a provincial holiday, this was just an ordinary weekend for us.  I think that's what it made it most special.

full circle

Last year, a dozen yellow roses signalled the beginning of a new relationship.  Though, it wasn't new at all - we'd dated before, we'd broken up like seven times, we haven't stopped being in each other's lives since we met (officially) over a dusty bank of computer monitors more than thirteen years ago.  This time, I think, we did the mature thing: laid our cards out right at the beginning, no games, no coy suggestions.  This time, I think, we did it right.

ding

As the year races past me in a dizzying blur, I set out to do one more thing off my NYR checklist: speed dating. In theory, this is something that makes me really nervous: many men, only three minutes to decide which ones deserve a proper date, stopping talking as soon as the bell goes ding… I didn't think I could do it. But AnCe and Nish were going and I thought, what the hell.

AnCe set up our lowered expectations, which Nish confirmed is the key to a successful first date. This, again, goes against everything in me. Why waste my time with mediocrity when I know it's not going to work? Anyway, we showed up and I immediately fortified myself with a drink. Then, I asked the (cute) bartender to pour me a glass of water in my massive wine goblet. He's all "I can just give you a water glass" and I'm all "that would ruin the illusion"… so he pours me a glass of water with a few drops of iced tea to make a perfect replica of rich white wine. I found myself wishing he was part of the speed dating process, but alas.

Anyway, as "G" I found my place in the lounge area. And it began. Now, more than twelve hours after the experience, I will admit that it is mostly a fog. I only have a few highlights…
#4: opened his convo with the usual "what do you do for fun" question, but since he was the fifth person I'd talked to, I was kind of sick of answering, so I said "what do YOU think I do for fun" … his answer? "Hard core porn?" …to which I replied, "it has its time and place. This would normally have been funny, except when he found out I'm a Children's Librarian, he said his favourite book is "superfudge"… all in all? I think he's gay.
#11: moved to Mississauga from Barrie and thought the 'Saug was more boring. I blinked my surprise at him and he says "well, maybe it was the booze and drugs that made it so entertaining"… ooookaaaay.
#8: a Star Trek fan that prefers Kirk to Picard. That killed it.
#2: I liked him - quiet and cute and, when Nish began distracting me, used his jacket as a shield. Charming, really. And I like the geeks - they comfort me.
#7/#8: interchangeable Polish guys who were absolutely hilarious.
#15: aka Alanis. He talked more about his friend Sonia (in Woodbridge) than himself and I thought, "oh dear - you need to ask her on a date."
… All in all, fifteen guys were there and they were all very covnersational. No total freaks or psychos. But dateable? I only checked off six. Now we wait to see if the same six will check me off.

Things I learned from this whole experience:
1) It's hard to answer "what I do for fun" - I read, I watch movies, I play Warcraft and board games, I like to hike in the summer. I travel, but not alone. I like the legitimate theatre (symphony, opera, plays). I want to shark-dive and parachute-drop. But I don't know how to ride a bike or rollerblade or do any cute sporty things. I wish I could have just filled out a card and handed it to them to remember… like a dating resume.
2) 3 minutes is more than enough time for me to judge a person. Thank you, Customs, for teaching me to spot a liar in 13 seconds or less. #13? You are a poseur. Get over your drumming self.
3) I need to ask AnCe what she's wearing before we go out - we have, I swear, identical clothing taste. Either that, or I convince her to room with me so I can raid her closet. Hmm… I wonder what shoe size she wears?
4) I have bad hearing. It was a loud buzzing atmosphere with everyone talking and being gregarious and I had to struggle to hear the quiet ones (the ones I like!), which meant I was watching their lips instead of their eyes and that can't be good. I wonder if a discreet hearing aid would be completely out of the question?

We hear back on Friday. I shall keep you posted, poppets!

single in the city

What's a single girl to do on Valentine's weekend? I don't really put a lot of stock into this demarcated day of love - even when I'm in a relationship - but it's so hard to ignore when you're slapped in the face with it for weeks and then inundated all day. All I wanted to do was hang out with my single ladies, drink a few martinis, eat a little poutine and trash talk all the couples we happened to people-watch. Two out of four isn't bad, I suppose.

It got better the next day, when we had a singles-Timmy's date (though we were foiled by our poutine-for-breakfast plan) and wandered home slowly, stopping in for a little book shopping before settling for home-made perogis, bead-destroying and chat-chat-chatting... holy chatting. At some point, I looked around and said, "why's it so dark" and Nish replied, simply, "the sun went down." Nothing like hangin' with your bestie... you don't have to be "on", you don't have to be more or less of what you are, you don't have to censor your words... because this girl knows you and loves you (not instead, but because). After dinner (mmm, spaghetti and meatballs), and some Disaronno, we and LilBro+one went out out to Neu+ral for a long-anticipated DJ Dwight reunion. God. Was it ever good. We were so sore the next day, but all we did was find out when the next long weekend was and booked that Sunday for another go.

So, the Valentine's weekend came and went. The candy's on half-price at your local store, Easter bunnies have replaced plush hearts and the industry has moved on to their next money-maker. Me? I'm happy to have spent Valentine's weekend with my beloved brethren, reminding myself that family is not just with whom you share your genes but also those with whom you share your life. Next singles event is in April - can't wait!

material/men

We are living in a material world, and yes, I am a material girl. As long as the material is a floor-length Chinese black silk number with pewter-silver embossed dragons and silver inner-lining. I won't appreciate gingham. You know, not all materials is the same. Perhaps if I were appreciative of just any kind of material, I wouldn't be considered so high-maintenance. Perhaps not. What I do know is that my standards for men is much like my standard for things: I am bloody picky. This has been demonstrated emphatically in the last few days through various conversations with various people. Much like my search for the perfect couch and the perfect night gown, the search for the perfect boy is proving a test of my patience. So far, I've compiled a list of things for which I didn't realise I was looking.

1) Politics can make or break us. Sure, he's tall, blond, attractive, gainfully employed, lives on his own WITH a car and we have similar geeking interests. But he's going to vote conservative in the next election and I just can't reconcile with that. I mean, he supports a two-tier health-care system and is opposed to a gun registry! I can't possibly date this guy for more that two weeks without having an explosive fight. And then he'd probably change his mind about that registry.

2) Age does matter. Yeah, I know, he's sweet and cute and has a certain charisma about him. He likes cake, makes French history puns and laughs at my wit. But he's 22. TWENTY-TWO. That's barely above the half-plus-seven rule, and it shows. The wearing of the hat all the way through dinner (sideways to boot)? No. Just... no. I'm looking at RRSPs and going back to school; he's looking at paying off student debts and graduating for the first time. *sigh*

3) The wittiest banter I have is with gay boys. Yes, I get along best with them. They're kind, supportive and find ways to tell me I look fat in an outfit without shredding my ego. We have candy-floss conversations and hard-core debates. We're politically like-minded. Dammit - we just have the wrong functioning parts!

4) Hell hath no fury like Dizzy scorned. Well, that's an overstatement. It's more like this: if you hurt my feelings (and I mean really hurt my feelings) I'm never going to get over it. Ever. This is not to say I can't get over blow-out fights or anything - I sure can (as JC can attest to with numerous examples). It's just that there are some things I'll never get over. Is there a comprehensive list? Unfortunately, no. I'm quickly learning that things I thought I'd never forgive seem more easily done than things I thought I'd get over. The common theme does seem to be this: if I've ever been made to feel embarrassed, you're never going claw your way out of that hole.

5) I don't understand casual dating. In fact, I get bored with it. So, if I think we're going to have irreconcilable differences, we're probably never going to have a second date. Yes, I know, you shouldn't be marrying after your first date - but if you think you'll never marry a guy after the first date, is it worth wasting your time on a second? Probably it is - because first impressions shouldn't be your only impressions. I've just never been motivated enough to test that axiom.

...in the end, I know I come up with some really lame excuses ("he's a Conservative" is my latest favourite). But I'm pretty happy with my life right now. I should probably feel more lonely than I am, but I just don't. I can't help it. I'm not unhappy being single! I'm not happy either, but I'm in a middling "content" zone. Perhaps I don't have enough free time to sit and contemplate these things - and you know what happens when I sit and think. It's dangerous. Do I want to have a significant other? Yes, absolutely. Do I need one? No, not at all.

Like receiving gifts, I'm always leery of things of an intensely personal nature: perfume, clothing, art. You have to really know a person - REALLY know them - to be right about these things. It's not that I don't appreciate the gifts, but if they're not the kind of bottles I like, the kind of books I read, the kind of music/art I appreciate... it's just going to be regifted. I don't want to smell like just anything - I have a certain scent and that's what fits me. Like boys. I don't want just any near-perfect-on-paper man - I want someone who'll actually inspire me to think they're worth dating off-the-list. I am picky, no doubt. But in the end, I guess I think that if I can think it, it must exist. The perfect couch, the perfect mate ... yep, if I look long enough, hard enough, I'll find what I want.

...right?

what the...

Five days after the best cake, I get a text message: "am sick. have fun on your trip." umm, thanks? I don't even know whether I should be responding to that. My first instinct is, of course, to do what I do best: offer chicken soup. But, are we friends now? Can I do that? And, really - I don't want to be exposed to any sicknesses less than 48 hours before departure time. I think I may text him back with "hope you feel better" on Friday night before I shut my phone off.

In other news: I will be working Canada Day this year, yet again. The job description will actually ask for "happy peppy people" (or, "pro-active customer service" in HR-speak), so you know I'll be faking that after five hours. At least there will be ice cream and fireworks afterwards. Who's in?

dates in the dark

WillSmith kept me company at Million Dollar Baby last night. No, not the Will Smith. For those in the know, this is the same guy who tried so valiantly to get me to accompany him to coffee a couple of months back, the one who looks like the Fresh Prince, complete with hat to the side. Let me back up here.

Last week, I was hosting Superman Returns. The auditorium where I'm screening these movies is really really dark, so I had no idea next to whom I was sitting until after the movie was over. I couldn't help but let out a little *snork* when Lex Luthor threw his crystal-encased-in-kryptonite into the ocean and out popped an island. The guy sitting beside me leans over and says "I'm sorry, I think you may be doubting the scientific validity in Lex Luthor's method." I reply, "no, I'm doubting his real estate acumen." I guess you had to be there. Anyway - the movie blew the first time around but at least I was being entertained this time by snarky commentary. When I turned on the lights, lo and behold what do I see? WillSmith staring back at me. We exchanged the usual "hey, don't I know you?" lines before I went to pack up the equipment. This took me forever, because we had gotten a new set-up last week and I wasn't used to packing up the new gear. When I exited the theatre, the lobby was empty, except for the Portuguese cleaning lady; however, she kindly infomed me that my "friend" was "waiting" for a "while" but he left already. Teehee!

Fast forward to yesterday and we watched MDB together. A definite lack of snarkage, as this was actually a decent film - though he did make a few Dirty Harry jokes, which went over my head. Afterward, he hung out in the front row while I packed up the equipment again. When he saw me put everything away in under two minutes he says (almost) seriously, "Wow, you must have been avoiding me if you're such a pro with this stuff." My "new gear"explanation sounded lame to even my ears, despite its veracity.
"Listen," he says, "make it up to me with cake."
"Cake?"
"You do like cake, don't you?"
"Who doesn't like cake?"
"Marie Antoinette fans?"
I had no witty comeback for a French history joke, albeit a faulty one.

I think we're having cake. I think this would be a date. I'm a little freaked out - I haven't dated in an aeon. And this time, there will be no 15 foot Clint Eastwoods or Kevin Spaceys to distract me. I'm hoping cake is neutral territory, so if it's going horribly, I can just bail with my "early work" excuse, which is brilliant because it's true. Did I mention he wears his hat to the side? And I think he may be younger than me? Oh, why couldn't we just continue having our dates in the dark?