I am alive

Yeah. This audit is kicking my ass. But it has not sufficiently taken the wind out of my sails enough so that I will not voice my most recent complaint: sick people on the bus. Like “people blinkers” there should be a “sick bus”. This bus should come online at about this time each year and people that have the urge to repetitively clear their throat in 60 second intervals, with dry and hacking coughs, with snotty noses and a seeming inability to operate a goddamn Kleenex, should be shepherded on to this bus to leave those of us who are trying to have erotic daydreams alone. This is me at 8:15 this morning, half asleep and enjoying the sun and scenery as my bus rockets over the Granville Street bridge… “he thrust his throbbing-” hack, hack, ahem…. STOP IT. Just stop it. And it was like right behind me, practically on my shoulder and you just know that they’re not covering their mouths.
What else is going on? Um, a bug landed on my neck when I was out for a run on Monday. When I got home and felt something crawling on my neck I pawed at it, causing the bug to bite me (and me to subsequently kill the bug). I was a little perturbed that I had been bitten because a) it hurt and b) how many bitey bugs are there in Vancouver? I didn’t think a lot! Here is the reply I got from my mother upon hearing this story: “You should have kept the bug in case you have a reaction; that way the doctor’s will be able to better diagnose and treat it.” And here is Michael’s reaction: “Do you have any super powers now?”. I said “yeah, sure, if you consider narcolepsy a super power”.
And lastly, I have had two donuts in as many days. I love donuts. Normally I would feel guilty about the caloric (and fat) consumption, but the great thing about running ragged, not being home and averaging five or six hours of sleep a night is that you lose weight. I think I am going to deep fry my dinner tonight.

Corny

I met up with JupiterGirl and A at Café Barney on Friday night. It was supposed to be a low key night. I had even asked A to give me a lift home when she was heading out, which would definitely be at a reasonable time since I arrived at Café Barney (soaking wet and with messy hair thanks to the horrific amount of rain) at 5:45pm. It was the perfect storm, Friday. And I don’t just mean the weather. It was culmination of lack of sleep, being run a bit ragged at work, having not seen JupiterGirl for a couple of weeks, and beer. Lots of beer.
A left around nine? I stayed on. At some point texting B seemed like a brilliant idea. Looking back at the texts I sent I must say that I am proud of both the lack of spelling errors, the proper punctuation and their overall length. I do remember laboring over them to make sure they were painstakingly correct. B ended up joining us at Café Barney and we left around 12:30. Yep. I think I am going to leave out a lot of the details here.
The next afternoon as B was leaving my apartment it struck me that we had a date scheduled for around 7 that evening. He left around 1pm. I asked him if he still wanted to come over for 7, or should I make the trip to the West End to see him. He said he would return. And he did. We had a substantially subdued evening, complete with Ibuprofen, his refusal to judge me, complements, great conversation and a good movie.
On Sunday it was sunny. It was pretty corny. I opened my eyes and could see the brightness beating against my curtains. It stayed nice all day. It was a most enjoyable day.
Today it is sunny again. I am at work. I am not supposed to work on Mondays. It’s like a religious holiday for me or something. My car is in the shop. I am tired. I have three loads of laundry to do, my blinds are disgusting and I need to scrub my tub. My kitchen floor is sticky. I’m running out of fruit. B called as I was getting ready for work and it made me smile. We confirmed via email that we are both sporting similar grins a la cat that ate the canary. I won a free coffee at Tim Horton’s. The corniness continues…

Blinkers... they're not just for cars anymore!

People should have blinkers. I have decided this, upon returning (yesterday) from my harrowing trip through Pacific Centre where people veered into me from various angles in an attempt to steer themselves into whichever store it was that caught their fancy. You need to signal, okay? Additionally you need to observe the minimum speed limit. It’s like these people inundated themselves with NyQuil before venturing out on their lunch break or something. Set phasers to “stun”. It was like watching some hypnotic, dreamlike dance as people moved slowly, confusedly through the stores and kiosks, eyes alighting upon glittering subjects, moving as though wading through treacle. God. What are these people like when they return to work? Someone needs to infuse their water with coffee. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t all stop and smell the roses from time to time, but when I’m on my lunch break and I’m trying to buy a pair of shoes because the Steve Madden boots that I had resoled about a month ago (for $50, no less) have apparently come unglued (like my mind): you need to hurry up and get out of my way. Yeah, so maybe there should be a “slow lane” for the confused shopper. That could help. So if you’re someone who, say, hasn’t been let out of the basement for a long time and is both intrigued and terrified by the overwhelming specter that is Pacific Centre, you could put on your blinker and turn into the slow lane. People like me could then easily bypass you instead of having to bob and weave like a boxer in order to their respective destination.

Hot

Yeah. So either B is the quintessential con man (who mistakenly thinks I have money) and is out to woo and seduce me for all I am worth, or he’s a criminal on the run from the US authorities and will be caught and deported shortly. Oh right, there is another option: he’s a kindred spirit with a good sense of humor that seems to enjoy and appreciate spending time with me, in addition to thinking that I am “kinda hot”. Um, did I mention he cooks, his apartment is spotless, he’s an amazing kisser, he is 6’1”, he has a sexy voice, is very communicative and open and seems to like to hold my hand? Frick. If this ends today it will still have been an amazing three weeks. Please don’t let this end today.
Sweet ass. In other news, I forgot to put salad dressing on my salad before I left the house today. This was perturbing, but I was able to work through it by melding the creamy goodness of my avocado with the chunks of tuna that peaked and bobbed through the lettuce. Crisis averted.
I feel like buying lingerie. You know, for… around the house and stuff.
Shut up.

The audit

I’m not sure if I’ve ever started off an audit without some kind of computer problem. And all the signs were there, indicating the problem that was waiting to occur today, the start of our audit. Yep, I had been getting emails from our systems admin team for a couple of weeks reminding me that they were going to replace my computer with a new one. They would do it on Monday, when I was off. Sure enough, get in today and all hell breaks lose. The auditors came around 10am. I believe we finally had Quickbooks back up and running around 1pm. Now I have a headache, am pissed off and exhausted. The thing is: I knew this would happen. The correct way to have dealt with this, given my history with computers, upgrades and backups at audit time, would have been to say to the tech guys “No, I simply will not switch my computer out until after the audit”. Secretly I must like to struggle.
And of course my boss is panicking and dropping the f-bomb everywhere, which makes it really enjoyable to share a small space with her. The thing that she is doing that I love more than all the other things, is the way she eats sushi with her hands and then sucks her fingers after popping each spicy salmon roll into her mouth. It is driving me mentally insane. I want to drive the (unused and unopened) chopsticks up her nostrils.
I am going to program my robot with articulated arms to kill her. Do you think Microsoft makes a software for that?

Mondays

Today, today, today. I got up and went for a run. What crappy weather. Note to self: waterlogged fleece is exceptionally heavy. I bandaged my right baby toe because of it's overall fatness and ability to get blistered and calloused. Examining later this evening I realize it's really quite a mess. A bad case of gangrene would really piss me off right about now.
Took the beast in for an estimate today. I will get it fixed next Monday: if I can bring it in at 8am they will be able to do it in a day. My mom said "oh, so you took it to one of the big companies?". I took it to Craftsman Collision. Apparently that was wrong. Oh well, I'm already going to hell for masturbating, coveting my neighbour, not respecting my elders and killing someone. Just kidding: I don't think the guy actually died.
Managed to piss off one of my closest friends and get shunned by both parents. I love it when they work together to work you over. I can just see the conversation:
Mom: "Duder said that I need to be more 'supportive' of her and not criticize her so much."
Dad: "Well, what prompted that?"
Mom: "Oh, well I had just finished telling her that she was a poor judge of character."
Dad: "Really? What was that based on?"
Mom: "Oh you know, decisions she made when she was nineteen and had low self esteem because we constantly derided her throughout her childhood."
Dad: "Right. Like when we made her drop out of piano because we didn't think she was giving it her all?"
Mom: "Exactly. And akin to how we would always compare her to Carrie and point out her shortcomings, like how Carrie looked really good in shorts and had such nice flowing hair."
Dad: "Do you think she might've been upset when her brother called her a dyke when she cut her hair off that time?"
Mom: "No, I really don't think that any of this negativity has had any impact on her psyche at all."
Dad: "You don't think she blogs about any of this, do you?"
Mom: "No, I think she's too stupid to put it all together. At least I hope she is because I don't want to be responsible for her psychiatrist bills."
Sweet. I'm laughing on the inside.
I'm still pretty happy with my duvet cover, though.

My new duvet cover

And thus another weekend comes, sadly, to a close. Oh no wait, I don’t have to work tomorrow: suckas. So, I shall recap my weekend for you, because I know you want it. You dirty whores.
On Friday I met up with L at the Cheshire. I hadn’t seen her for echelons, so we had a lot of catching up to do. It was busy. We chatted and drank. Life is good. We may go to Vegas.
On Saturday I drove to North Vancouver to see a movie with Michael. We saw “The Lives of Others”. I highly, highly recommend this movie. I cried. I never cry. I punch people in the shoulder, I finger hummers, I adhere to the five second rule when food falls on the floor, but I do not cry. Super good movie. Michael was doubly happy because he got Nibs. What the hell are Nibs? How can something that has “wax” as an ingredient be so tasty? After grabbing a light lunch with Michael (light because we had consumed an unhealthy amount of popcorn during the flick) I jumped in the car (which works!) and headed back to Kerrisdale because… B was coming over!
He showed up around 8, we had a late repast and he liked my apartment. I do have a nice apartment: I am lucky. I have to give kudos to P, because she is responsible for half of the art that I have, so my apartment would be a lot less stellar without it.
So dinner was good, it was mostly shop talk. We then retired to the living room to play chess. I’m pretty sure he let me win because he felt so bad for beating me mercilessly at Scrabble. Then we did what we appear to do best: analyze things. It’s really weird to meet someone as analytical as me. The plus side is that we’re both very communicative and so we’re able to deduce why we do or act in certain ways and then share that information with each other in the hopes of getting a better insight into how we “tick”. Then… some time passed… ahem… and he left around midnight. Insert shit-eating grin here. He said he would call me the next morning.
He called me the next morning and said he had had a really good time. I concurred. Then I called P and we went to Sophie’s for breakfast. You know, at 1pm. I had pancakes. You know what’s a bad idea? Having pancakes with loads of syrup and three coffees at 1pm. Buzzed much? So we jittered up and down 4th and I bought a new duvet cover and fitted sheet at Bed. P got some pillow covers with an anime design on them and some cool shoes. We had fun, I was in a good mood.
I came home, talked to some people, did some laundry and enjoyed my duvet cover. I know it’s just an object, but I really like it, hence the pic. I like the colors, I like the pattern. It doesn’t take a psychology major to connect the dots that were: me discovering that one of my existing fitted sheets was so worn as to have a hole in it; me getting new bedding; me throwing away the old, tired fitted sheet; me installing new bedding in my boudoir. Fresh. Clean. New and exciting!
I had an interesting and lengthy conversation with the POF guy (let’s call him “D”) that I had spoken to while killing time at Sip on Thursday night. I had given him my blog address and was very flattered to learn he had “mortgaged his house” paying for an internet connection at Starbucks while reading the blog. He seemed to find it enjoyable. This pleased me immensely. He is writing a book and we discussed the background of a couple of the characters as he tried to decide just how tragic their lives should be. It was a bit like playing God. Is it wrong to enjoy that kind of thing?
Then B called later in the evening to say that he had been thinking about me today and was looking forward to seeing me soon. I will interject here that we were not “intimate”. No articles of clothing were removed. It was all very PG. I was actually in the middle of some rather cathartic writing when he called so he kept the call brief. He’s hot and considerate. Damn.
And now it’s 10pm and I’m sitting on my new duvet, wondering what to do with my most recent (albeit cliché: oh, a girl with an eating disorder, haven’t seen that before) short story. Hey, it’s garbage but it’s a start. It felt good to get it out. I’ll consider it the launching pad to bigger and better things.
Yeah. So that was about it. It was a good weekend. It most definitely exceeded my expectations. I’m happy. I’m allowing myself to be happy. I feel good about things. I’m excited to start writing again. Cool. I really dig this duvet.

The thing about blogs...

Huh. I wonder if my car has been stolen? Anyways, onto the other excitable area of my life: dating. Last night I met up with P at Sip on Granville. We chatted a bit about a fellow that she had met the previous weekend, and commented on the correlation between the escalation in his alcohol consumption and the frequency of his phone calls to her. Hmmm… I’m not one to give relationship advice (though I do anyways), but it seemed a bit fishy. But, because we’re all coming from different places and we all think and operate in different manners, I agreed that she should try and get together with him again, to develop a more rounded impression. Then her boss called and let P know that she had to come back to work. Fun! I don’t think I have ever seen such a small person each such a large hamburger so quickly. Wow. P felt pretty bad, and I felt pretty bad for P, but such is life. I am used to the people that I love working much more than I. I stayed on, by myself, at the bar and had another glass of wine. I talked to a fellow POF member that commented that it sounded like someone was screaming in the background. Sadly, it was the music. I talked to Michael. Some old, drunk guy thought I was trying to talk to him. Ew.
Then I packed up my stuff and walked over to the West End to meet up with B. He had said to come by “’round 8”. I showed up at 7:59. He showed up at 8:20. Sigh. Again, he had just come from work. Why does everyone work so much? Needless to say I was less than thrilled at having to camp out on his doorstep in the cold and rain whilst waiting. He was upset at having made me wait. We got to his apartment and I asked if he wanted me to stay or if he wanted a little downtime. He could tell I was disgruntled. He said he preferred that I stayed. We had tea and played Scrabble. He kicked my ass by about 100 points. He used the word “heme”. I didn’t know that was a word, but it is. During a couple of turns I had no vowels: I hate that. Also, “vete” is not a word. Damnit. Then we listened to some music, chatted a bit and I think I finally reached a level of almost pure comfortableness with him. Way to relax, Duder! It was nice.
At some point during the evening he expressed an interest in my blog. I said I couldn’t give him the address. He insinuated that I had written negative things about him on the blog. I concurred. I told him I would give him the address in a year. He said he would try and find it on blogspot. I tested how difficult it was to find using the search function using key words and – not so difficult. So then the question becomes: do you temper your blogs when you know people will be reading them? I could even have gone back and deleted some of the negative entries. But, like the picture of Michael and I at the company picnic from a couple of summers ago: that was a point in time. That was how I looked then. That was the headspace I was in. That was what I was thinking. And I’ve never purported to know what he was thinking: he could have his own blog where he refers to me as a frigid, distant bitch, and I suppose that he would be entitled to that thought. So it’s kind of weird. If he did find the blog he might be mad. Or, he might gain a better insight into the way my mind works. That could be a bad thing.
Anyways, that’s where that stands. Aside from the lateness, I had a really good time last night. I think he did too. Does that trump the negative diatribes of prior blogs? I guess we will see.
My car better be there tomorrow.

It all makes sense now

Alright. I'm on the mend. My car battery was dead, as I had figured it would be. I called Big D (whose first few words to me were "okay, relax") and he came over with his jumper cables and, well, jumped me. We really couldn't visit, since I now needed to drive all over Vancouver charging my battery. So that's what I did. Fun!
But now it all makes sense. I needed to understand what stress was. I needed to appreciate how otherwise calm and serene my life is. It was time for me to understand what a privilege it is to have a car that works, and to be "accident free". I get that now. I slept so well last night!
And then today, our systems admin said he had something for me. There was a lumpy 7-11 bag on his desk and he said "it's yours, take it". I expressed a bit of consternation and he said "don't worry, it's nothing bad". So I gingerly picked up the bag and looked at the contents: a robot! Almost identical to the one that M got for me at the Christmas party. It was surreal! It was like something (though I know not yet what) had come full circle. This was my serendipitous reward for getting through a couple of days of loud noises and attacks from the Christian right. I now have the robot proudly displayed in my office. I think I will bring my other robot from home and perhaps bond with my coworkers while we play Robot World Domination.
I am happy today! Happy Robot Day!

It's happening

Wow. I had just started a blog about how the mobile guy from Ralph's wasn't going to show up, but he's here. I got a call at 4pm (the scheduled appointment time) saying that the guy was running late and could we reschedule. I told him I had already taken 2 hours off work and that my car wouldn't start and that I kind of wanted it done today. Maybe it was the panic in my voice, or perhaps the anxiety, but the guy showed up 40 minutes later. I feel bad now because it's 5pm and the mobile guy is effectively working overtime. Plus I think my battery is dead because I think the car alarm has been going off since Monday, even though there is no sound. I showed him where we cut the wires. I bet he thinks that's pretty special. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hang around and watch him. You know, I could give him all the pointers that people gave to me such as: you're not pushing the button hard enough; you need to start the car; find the red button; put the key in and lock and unlock the car; and put the key in and press the third button on the key fob. My idea - disconnect the battery - doesn't look so dumb now, does it?
Please let him fix my car. There is actually a siren in my engine for this stupid alarm. I'm going to rig it up in my apartment somewhere. Maybe soup up the fire alarm or something. No one would be asleep after Duder burns the toast! Good times.
I think this guy is about 17. Given that, I will not offer him a beer. Or sex. I asked him if there are a lot of car alarm problems that are so severe that they require a mobile unit to come out and fix it. He said no. So... pretty much it's just me. Awesome. Only I can wreck an alarm system so badly that it can only be repaired with wire cutters. And then get hit by a nun.

Today is the day

Okay, I must admit that I didn’t sleep well last night. Things, car things, that spin wildly out of my control, agitate me. I can’t fix my car. I have a fear that the alarm guy that is coming to look at it this afternoon won’t be able to fix it either. I fear things that I do not understand. I guess I do not understand my car alarm. My car alarm is a piece of shit. I do not understand pieces of shit. It’s almost poetic… like getting hit by a nun.
Here is a synopsis of my conversation with ICBC last night.
ICBC: “Did you get the name of the person that hit you?”
Me: “Yes. Sister Mary M.”
ICBC: pause… “Really?”
Me: “Uh, really.”
ICBC: “Was she like, all dressed up?”
Me: “Um, no. Regular clothes.”
ICBC: “Wow.”
Me: “Yeah. I guess I haven’t been praying hard enough.”
ICBC: laughing… “I guess not. Sorry. It’s not funny… but it kind of is.”
Me: “I think karma’s out to get me.”
Yeah. And then there was the conversation with Big D who told me that he fell out of his chair and started rolling on the floor laughing. Okay, great. You know, it really wasn’t funny when it actually happened. People tell me in a couple of weeks, when this is all over I will look back and be able to laugh. I don’t know. I just want to regain some of my hearing, bring my blood pressure back to normal, be able to drive my car and discern if I’m on some religious-right hit list. Simple things, really.
Big D said “you just have to laugh when stuff like that happens”. Um, no. When the equivalent of an air raid siren is going off, and it’s your fault, and you can’t make it stop, it’s not funny. The correct statement, then, is “your friends just have to laugh at you when stuff like that happens”. That’s more adept.
Anyways. I’m just hopeful that it will be fixed today. And that a Greenpeace volunteer, someone from Amnesty International or perhaps someone named Ghandi doesn’t drive into it in the meantime. That would really be terrific. You see that large, silver object there? Please don’t aim your car at it. Drive around it. It’s not invisible! That’s right…
I guess I should try to do karma correct things today to try and get back into fate’s good books. Lots of door opening, holding the elevator, giving change to homeless people. Fingers crossed people, fingers crossed.

How everyone in Kerrisdale and UBC was really attentive to me today

Let me first get the thing with B out of the way: meh. That is what I am going to say about that. I think I have been over analyzing the situation, reading too much into what his emails do or don’t mean, and acting as though he has some obligation to me, which he doesn’t. That said, I did go for dinner at his place on Sunday and: he is a good cook; we listened to some good music; we watched “Shaun of the Dead”; there was hand holding. I had an enjoyable time and am going to leave it at that.
Sadly, all the drama surrounding B cannot hold a flame to what happened to me today. From which I am still recovering. The result of which has made me what to find some Valium and go lie down for the rest of the week. I went to UBC to take my grandmother out for lunch today. I parked on the street (where I was not supposed to) and rang up to let her know I was here. She came down, we walked over to my car, I went to de-activate the alarm and… the alarm started. I could not turn it off. It was ear-splitting. I pressed the little button until I though I would shatter it, but nothing worked. Michael had mentioned some magical kill switch under the dash so I sprawled out on the road, head under the dash, sorting through various important-looking wires with the ear splitting wail of the alarm sending my blood pressure through the roof. No such luck. Several panicked phone calls to Michael later (with more talk about this magical red button) I arrived at the conclusion that I did not know what to do or who to call. The people living in the million dollar homes and condos surrounding my car must’ve been thrilled. Then my grandmother’s husband Ed came down and told me to try and start the car. I thought he must be daft: surely the car would not start. And yet it did. Great, bested by a 90 year old. Okay, nerves shattered, knuckles scraped raw from monkeying under the dash we go to Mahoney’s for lunch. Yes. Blood pressure starting to subside.
I paid $6 for parking and then went back to the car and opened it with my key. When I had exited the car I did NOT turn on the alarm because I was terrified of it. Once the door opened the alarm went off. I thought I was going to plotz. Okay, but Ed had proven that, by turning the engine on the alarm would turn off. Yeah, wasn’t working. Again, looking for the magic red button. Trying to figure out what to do. I asked my grandmother to go into the pub and ask if they could send someone round to help (I was thinking UBC security or some such thing). She manages to find the pub’s maintenance man who somehow turns it off. He suggests that perhaps I wasn’t pressing the alarm de-activate button hard enough. Uh, methinks I was. Nevertheless, I am quickly realizing that, due to the inconsistencies with the alarm, the problem is larger than I want to acknowledge. I have a stilted lunch with my grandmother, trying to pay attention to her and ask intelligent questions about my family members’ wellbeing, whilst becoming more and more anxious about the concept of trying to get into my car again. I had a beer.
Returning to the car after lunch I think there cannot be a problem: I had actually left the damn thing unlocked. No alarm, no key lock, nothing. I open the door. The car alarm goes off. I briefly consider crying. And then, it just gets better: a woman trying to pull into the parking space next to me hits my car. I say “what the fuck” but it’s okay, because no one can hear me over the ear-splitting alarm. The woman looks like she’s pushing 85. She is kind of confused. She parks her car, blocking traffic in the parking lot, to get out and talk to me. I advise her to pull in next to me so as not to impede traffic and so that we can exchange insurance info. Yeah. She is a Sister. I kid you not. She has a passenger who looks to be about 100 and is probably on the verge of a heart attack because of all the excitement, and Sister Mary says is it okay if she gets this woman to her appointment and then come back and swap details with me. I say sure, I do have some other LOUD issues to deal with. Some UBC faculty in white lab coats wandering by help me, as does an older asian man who has a Honda CRV and starts chatting up my nana. I have hope, as people in lab coats are smart, right? They all work together and soon the alarm is turned off again. I get in my car and drive my grandmother home. She invites me up and I say no thanks, I do not want to turn my car off yet. I slow down to about 5 kilometres per hour and encourage her to duck and roll.
I get back to Kerrisdale. I now have to open an ICBC claim and go through that whole process. God bless you, Sister. I park my car across from the giant hole in the ground where they are going to be erecting some damn pricey condos. I get home, I call an ICBC express place and they say they can take me at 3:30. I go back to my car. I open the door. The alarm goes off.
At this point, I am not even feigning an attempt to stop it. I see three guys at the job site (manly men), I walk over and calmly say that I have been having alarm issues all day and can they please disconnect my battery. One of the guys suggests pressing the de-alarm button. I smile wanly at him. I say no, please disconnect it. Another guy says “is it really your car?”. Funny! So one young guy gets under the dash and starts flipping all the fuses and – lo and behold! – finds the mythical “valet” switch that Michael had been referring to. It does not seem to be doing anything. People in the apartment building that I am parked in front of are looking out, wondering if it’s a car jacking or something. We pop the hood, I get in trouble for the amount of corrosion on my battery terminal and one of the guys muffles the alarm. Thank you, sweet jesus. Another guy goes and gets some pliers and snips the wire running to the alarm. All is silent. I want to kiss these guys. But now my car won’t start. So I can’t get it to the ICBC place to get an estimate for Sister Mary. I don’t care.
I go back to my apartment and call an alarm company. I try a couple more things that they suggest, but my car will not start. I don’t care. They have a mobile unit and are going to come and see me at 4pm on Wednesday. I said “okay, and while you are here, is it possible to have the alarm removed?”. He says yes. Fantastic. I am going to go old school and get the club. I hate car alarms. I hate my car alarm. I hate when people drive into my car while my car alarm is going off. I hate that my mom thinks that I am over-reacting. I would like to see anyone retain their sanity after their car alarm goes off four times and then someone drives into their car.
I don’t want to call ICBC today. I think I’ve had enough. I think I will do that tomorrow. I think it’s funny that no one can steal my car now because it won’t start. I think I will sleep with the guy that takes the alarm out on Wednesday because I have elevated him to a god-like status in my mind. I wonder if Sister Mary would approve.
Oh. It’s so quiet in my apartment right now.

Oh my fucking god!!

Ahhhhh! Clearly I am an unfailing optimist. For anyone that ever doubted that, please read this blog. So after all the confusion with B, we had made plans to get together at 8pm tonight. At 4:45 (after I had emailed him at around 2pm to confirm that we were still on) he sends me an email with the title "I suck" and says that he is feeling sick, and he would like to cancel as it would be best not to spread the sickness around, and could we re-schedule for Sunday night. I should have just emailed back "uh, you fucking suck, eat me" but instead I email "sure... is everything okay?". I will add here that I logged on to Plenty of Fish and discovered that he had removed his profile. Odd, no? He replies that he has a really sore throat and had a bad day and is feeling kind of blue. Okay, twinges the old heart strings a little. Why? I'm not sure. Clearly because I'm retahded. So I ask did he want me to call him tonight, or did he want some down time. He responds that he would "love" to hear from me tonight. So I get home around 8:45 and call him. His phone rings and then goes to voicemail. Sweet. So his phone wasn't turned off: he either couldn't get to it, or chose not to answer. I called back half an hour later and it went straight to voicemail, so he had turned it off. Uh, on a date much?
Holy fucking shit. This is just stellar. I am actually smiling and laughing as I write this. Women aren't confusing - men are. Hey, maybe I pulled back from the hand-holding thing, but uh, I had just gotten out of a six year relationship and it took me by surprise a bit. At least I didn't dick him around and cancel on him... twice. So yeah. I called JupiterGirl and explained the situation to her. She was totally confounded. I said that I kind of wanted to follow it up, because the situation was so surreal and I am kind of (intensely) curious to know what B would have to say about it.
Yeah. I am still reeling and trying to wrap my head around this one. In the meantime I called Michael and, in my pissy mood, lamented about being stood up. Yeah, that's fair: call the ex and complain about your dating problems. He said he was sorry that my "date" had cancelled on me. To which I replied that no, he wasn't sorry. Yep, class act. Nothing like calling your ex boyfriend to try to pick the fight that you should be having with the loser that bailed on you. The mind is a funny thing. At least, unlike B's, mine seems to work at least the majority of the time.
Did I mention oh my fucking god?!

Dating at thirty

Last night C came over and, after he inquired about my mental state (having read my blog); I filled him in on the most recent details. Because yes, my friends, the story did not end with me getting baked on a Wednesday night and entertaining fantasies about Doctor Jack. Here is what happened at work on Thursday. I use the term “work” lightly, as most of the day involved me skittering around in a sleep deprived tizzy, and bouncing between M and JupiterGirl for advice (to the point that JupiterGirl asked me “are you bipolar?”).
I had been wondering when B would receive my happiness exercise, which I had mailed to him on Monday. Well, apparently he received it when he got home on Wednesday and then proceeded to email me that he was honored that I had shared it with him. He said that I was an amazing person and that he hoped that he had been able to illuminate that for me, if just a little. I emailed back that I was glad to have gone through the exercise and thanked him for turning me on to it. Then he emailed back that if I ever “need to talk” he’ll “be around”. I was stunned. I mean, the 45 minute date was abysmal, but I felt he was kind of turfing the whole thing pretty quickly. And via email no less. I emailed JupiterGirl that I was shocked, but life would go on and I would just let this fade from the recesses of my mind. It didn’t add up, I was kind of surprised and disappointed, but overall I decided it had been a good first foray into the dating world and I also was able to discover some things about my self. Then I told my coworker M about the “let’s be friends” email. I told him it didn’t add up: B had been very complimentary to me and I thought we had made a connection. M asked me if I wanted to be friends with B and I said I was ambivalent: I have enough friends. He said I should call B on it. I should say that his actions and his words didn’t add up and what was going on. I was mortified, there was no way I was going to talk to B and ask him to tell me why he was choosing to not pursue a relationship. M has reached a point of somewhat enviable apathy in his dating life: he has no fear; he is a straight shooter. He said that I might learn something from B, by B’s response. M said that the best case scenario would be that there had been a miscommunication, and that B was actually interested in me. I said no, he probably thinks I’m ugly. I went back to JupiterGirl who then asked me if I was bipolar. She said (and rightly) who cares what B thinks? Was I to attempt to fix whatever personality flaws that B had deigned so heinous as to render me un-datable? I decided sucks to that, I’m thirty, I am who I am and I am not changing for anyone. You like me or you don’t. Most people don’t. A lot of animals are scared of me too. But I continued to ponder and analyze and assess. What had gone wrong? Had I come on too strong? Did he think I was too juvenile? And yet, he could’ve said no to coming out to see me on Friday night. He could’ve bailed on Saturday and he didn’t. And he was always complimenting me. It didn’t add up, so I emailed him. I confessed that I was a bit confused, and could he help me understand why he was choosing the platonic route. He emailed back that he suspected he had “missed something” and that he thought it was I that had chosen the platonic route. What??!! It was at this point that my day disintegrated in the emotional equivalent of spinning around in circles and arm flapping. I replied that I was sorry if I had given him that impression and that I would like to see him “(for longer than 45 minutes) so that we might discern from whence this miscommunication arose”. Yes, I used the word whence. Pretty amazing given my level of fatigue. Long story short: when he tried to hold my hand on Saturday and I withdrew it, because I felt it was overwhelmingly intense he interpreted that as me physically rejecting him. Coupled with the fact that I am not a warm or approachable person at the best of times (with people that I know and love, no less), he arrived at the conclusion that I was being distant because I wasn’t interested. Excellent. I need to buy M a coffee today for bullying me into doing this.
C asked me what it was like dating at thirty. So far it’s been pretty bumpy. Things are markedly different than they were when I was dating in my early twenties. People have more experience (and baggage) now. I don’t think people are as gravitated towards sex. We’re more tentative. It think we want to get to know each other better because, at thirty, there is a lot more to get to know. We’re more concerned about how established we are, career paths, whether we believe in marriage, want children. At thirty some people already have been married and do have children. It’s more adult. At twenty we were drinking whatever beer was on special that night and rocking out to the house band. Okay, so I still do that now on occasion. But at thirty I prefer to have a nice glass of wine, some good conversation and listen to something I haven’t heard before. I think that is a good analogy of dating at thirty: it’s different, it’s more sophisticated, but it fits. Unfortunately, I’m still working on the sophistication bit…

I'm an amazing person

So, several things happened after my last blog last night. I smoked a joint. I ate all the Nilla wafers, and the remaining four chocolates. I'm like a human Hoover or something. I watched Lost and you know, when you're baked, the dialogue is so bad as to be hilarious. Here is my recap of last night's Lost (from an altered persepective):
Some guy: was it you?
Syed: no, it wasn't me!
Some guy: my wife said it was you!
Syed: no, you've got the wrong guy.
Some guy: it was you, wasn't it?
Syed: no, I've told you, it was not me.
Some guy: did you do it?
Syed: no, I wouldn't do that.
Some guy: you did it, didn't you?
Syed: no, no.
And then Locke played chess for a while and then...
Some guy: did you do that do my wife?
Syed: no.
Some guy: admit that you did it.
Syed: I cannot admit to something I didn't do.
Some guy: I'm going to to come back and we're going to talk about this some more.
And then the wife tells this totally wack story about a cat in a box of firecrackers. Holy crap, what was that about?
And then this morning I got an email from B telling me that he received my happiness exercise and was honored that I had sent it to him. He said that he thought I was an amazing person, and was happy if he had been able to illuminate that for me in some fashion. I emailed back that I thought he was great to, well on the road to full self-actualization and that I wished him well with his upcoming career choices. Then he emailed back that if I "ever needed to talk" he would "be around". Sweet.
And thus concludes my first foray into the dating scene. Seriously? I'm okay with that. But you know what else? Women are not complicated. Men are complicated. The guy compliments me incessantly every time he sees me and then plays the "let's be friends" card via email? It's all good. I am an amazing person. I force my friends to tell me this all the time. Life goes on. It's actually kind of funny.
I should write an episode of Lost.

The 45 minute date

Another two blog day! Wow, I guess it’s all about quantity and not necessarily quality. Nonetheless, I felt compelled to write about this, my first forty five minute date.
I met up with B at Brioche at 6 o’clock as we had agreed to yesterday. He looked very dapper in his suit. I hate to say it, but men in suits: dead freakin’ sexy. I hate corporate life, I hate corporations, but give me a man in suit and I will… well, I will try and get him out of it.
I had a glass of wine (forgoing the obligatory coffee because for the love of god I am going to sleep tonight). I got there a bit early. I read my Economist. After B showed up he grabbed a coffee and we chatted for a bit and he told me that he was planning on going back to the office to work on his resume, as he had received an interesting job prospect from a recruiter. He said that, as usual, I was inscrutable. He told me I looked tired. Both were likely true. And then after I was done my glass of wine (which took me 45 minutes) he said, “Good work” and we left. He asked how I was getting home and I told him I was taking the bus. He asked how my writing was going, a reference to the “happiness exercise” that resulted in my epiphany moment over the weekend. Laughing, I told him that I had written down my moment of happiness and that I had mailed it to him. He seemed at first surprised and then pleased, and said that he looked forward to reading it. I said I looked forward to trying to beat him to his mailbox so he couldn’t read it.
Then we were standing in front of Harbour Centre and he said he was going to head back down to Waterfront to catch a bus. I said okay and stood there. What was I supposed to offer? Another handshake? Then he leaned in, gave me a kiss on the cheek and a hug and told me to get a good night’s sleep. I nodded my consent.
Perplexed and puzzled I wandered over to my bus station. A million thoughts and doubts running through my head. And then I remembered the happiness exercise. Why was I beating myself up? If B wanted to be only friends, then that was fine. What was the loss? Was it comparable to the demise of a six year relationship, replete with a joint bank account? Uh, no. And the possibility did exist that he did want to get home at a reasonable hour to work on his resume to apply for the job and change his career path. What was I lamenting about? I still have a phenomenal week ahead of me: I get to see my engineering buddy tomorrow; I am going out for drinks with some coworkers Friday night; I am going in to White Rock for a poker night on Saturday night. Yeah, life is really sticking it to me. M, my coworker who liberated the robot with the articulated arms for me at the Christmas party, appears to be single again. A guy I had a small crush on that used to work with us is showing up for the after work gathering on Friday. Another guy on POF mentioned grabbing a coffee at some point.
When I arrived home Big D called me. He could sense I was a little dejected and helped bring me out of it, mentioning that perhaps, just perhaps I was overreacting again. Like I was prone to that or something. Then JupiterGirl called and summed it up rather succinctly: “At least he showed up”. God, yeah. How bad would I have felt if he was a no show.
I’m not unhappy. I’m actually quite happy! I’m listening to the Buena Vista Social Club. Two of my friends called me and made me feel good about myself. Lost is on at nine instead of ten tonight (almost as if they knew my date would be a scant 45 minutes and wanted to accommodate my early retirement to bed). I think I am going to smoke a joint. I will totally not understand the plotline on Lost. I will eat a lot of Nilla wafers, and likely some of the Ferrerro Rocher chocolates I have. Yeah, it sucks to be me.

How to quickly lose your job

This is great. My day began when I was hauled into a 90 minute meeting with the No. 1 and No. 2 in command of the company. My manager was supposed to be in the meeting, but she is sick and for some reason they thought that I would suffice. I will interject here that I still have not had a good night’s sleep and that my eyes actually physically pain me. They are red. It looks like I have smoked a big, fat jay. Which ties in well with my inability to articulate succinctly or send emails that make one iota of sense. The CEO of the company asked me for my input on something and I believe my response was “debit, debit, credit, RDTOH, NRTC, pretty, shiny!”. Stellar. And then my stomach started growling and I feared making eye contact because my eyes feel like burning coals boring into my head. So they totally think that I’m shifty.
Then, a few minutes ago the CFO sent an email out that he couldn’t make an after work function on Friday because “unfortunately” he would be out of town that day. I emailed back to him “unfortunately for whom?”. Yeah, so he came in to say that I was lucky that I had replied to him only, and not cc’d everyone on the original email list. Sleep deprivation rocks. He asked me if it was okay if he left early today and I said that yes, because he had earned my respect he could leave early. And now he is leaving and he just told the marketing department to “keep an eye” on me and make sure I stay until five.
Ah, yes. One day I will have to deal with upper management with no sense of humor. That will be a short career span on the Duder’s resume.

Tired

Why am I not sleeping? I have not had a good night’s sleep since last Thursday. I have now reached the level of tiredness that results in one feeling slightly dizzy, having diminished eyesight and slightly slurring one’s words. So effectively I look like I’m kind of drunk. The CFO just came in asked if I had ever done a Statement of Changes in Financial Position and I said, “a statement of what now?”. I said yes, I had done one in school. He wanted to know if I could try my hand at doing one today. I said sure. This will be easy. I am going to say our cash balance at December 31, 2005 was xx. At December 31, 2006 it was xx. The changes are because we bought some shit, and people gave us some cash. The rest I am going to plug as postage.
I endeavour to go for a run tonight. I will likely run into a tree. If no one hears from me for a couple of days, I have been stunned unconscious somewhere along 33rd or 37th avenue. No, it’ll probably happen as I try and slog my way up the hill on Camosun, so check there first.
I’m turning my phone off tonight. It’s not because I don’t love you all, it’s… well, yeah, I guess it kind of is.

Achieving epiphany

I think I left off on Friday, when I was waiting for the promised phone call from B. And wait I did… all day. I rolled out of the office a few minutes early, wanting to get home at a decent time to hit the gym before meeting up with JupiterGirl at Café Barney on Granville. I worked out, alternating between apathy, anxiety and bewilderment as to why B hadn’t called. Surely our first meeting hadn’t gone as well as one would’ve hoped, but I had thought that we had made a connection. I voiced this to JupiterGirl and we treated the problem as a rubix cube, turning it over, twisting and manipulating the situation to try and get all the colors lined up. In between getting dripped on by a defective skylight and engaging in verbal copulation with our server. Who spent a lot of time with his derriere pointed in JupiterGirl’s direction. He’s lucky she didn’t bite it.
At the behest of JupiterGirl I decided to text B and put the ball in his court. I sent him something non-committal, I think I wrote “B: I thought we had a connection and that I was going to be the mother of your children. What happened? I love you.” Kidding. The text sent, we chatted of other things such as work – fun! - and JupiterGirl’s burgeoning relationship with a fellow POF member. Long story short, B and I ended up exchanging a couple of texts and, having had two drinks, I thought it prudent to invite him to join us for a drink as he was just getting off work. He said sure and, true to his word, he showed up around 11pm having just gotten off work no less. I must say I felt bad: that was one hell of a long day for the guy. After shooting JupiterGirl several “finish your damn beer and go” looks she bid us a fond farewell and I was left to chat with B. And chat we did. Until the bar closed. At which point we went in search of coffee. There was none to be had so he walked me to my car in the pouring ran, sans umbrella while I almost removed his eye with the jagged and exposed spine of mine. We shared a moment and then he disappeared, off to find a bus or cab home.
I was then left with the conundrum that JupiterGirl had left with me: he had initially said that he wanted to see me on Saturday. Given our impromptu (but thoroughly enjoyable) get together on Friday night, was our date for Saturday still on? Three times in one week? Certainly he would be sick of me.
My phone rang around noon the next day and it was him! I was surprised and relieved. He invited me to his neck of the woods… to his apartment to be more specific. Because my mother is sure that no one could possibly wish to do anything other than rape and murder me and stuff my body into their freezer, I gave her the relevant details. I must say that I still hadn’t quite got a read on B yet, and he had affirmed the same thing of me. I guess we are both quite inscrutable people. Makes for some lengthy silences, complemented by furtive eye darting and nervous smiling. Okay, that’s just how I deal with it.
His place was nice. It was spacious and really, really clean. I surreptiously checked for body parts in the freezer when his back was turned. He was listening to some really great music that I haven’t discovered yet and it was dawning on me that there was significantly more to him that I had initially anticipated. Somehow he was better looking than he had been the day before. He was very complementary. I don’t get a lot of complements, and I handled these with definite grace and aplomb. I said things like “uh huh” and “okay…”. It was stellar. I’m pretty sure he was wondering what mental institution I had managed to escape from.
We went out for lunch. I went back to his place for a cup of tea. We had some really interesting conversation. I felt challenged (and I don’t mean pushing the “pull” door challenged): he asked some difficult questions and I realized that the answers weren’t as readily available as they ought to have been. Then he did two things that set the tone for the rest of the weekend. He put his hand out to me and, because I am totally keen on handshakes, I thought that he meant to shake my hand so I put mine hand in his. I was mistaken: he wanted to hold my hand. For some reason this wigged me out entirely. Yes. I am a grown, thirty year old woman with some modicum of intelligence and confidence (or so I thought), who was engaged in some deep conversation with an intellectually and physically attractive man and I could not leave my hand in his. I pulled away, mumbling something utterly unintelligible and embarrassing myself totally. What the hell was wrong with me? And then he asked me to do something that at first blush seemed easy. It wasn’t easy and I would like to take this opportunity to pass along the challenge to you. He asked me when the last time was that I was inorexably happy. I opened my mouth before I even thought about it. Surely there were countless times when I had been giddy with happiness… but wait… when was the last time? I was mildly disturbed. He seemed to understand this and told me to go away and think about it, and when I came across that moment to write it down and I could show it to him, or I could keep it to myself. I left shortly thereafter and thus began a totally unexpected and introspective journey.
I honestly didn’t give it much thought at first. I figured that something would come to me. I went about my business, picked up some movies from Rogers, returned some phone calls. I was feeling a bit under the weather so I thought I would watch Casablanca and turn in at like 10pm on a Saturday night. Being single is hot. And yet I ended up sitting in my goddamn chair in my living room and staring into space as I tried to define happiness, remember the times in my life when I had been the most happy and figure out what in the hell was keeping me from being more happy more often. I had managed to write some things down by 10 at night and I thought I had the situation sussed, but I didn’t. I slept fitfully and woke up early the next day. I lay in bed pondering the situation. I was amazed that B’s challenge was taking up so much of my emotional energy. I got up. Sat in the chair some more and then it came to me. I had my epiphany moment. A myriad of things fell into place and I saw clearly what B must have caught a glimpse of. I’m reserved. I withdraw. I thought I had my shit together, I thought I was doing well on my path to self-actualization and I’m actually still hanging out on the bottom rung. I don’t put myself out there because I don’t want to get hurt or feel pain. I don’t live in the moment because I’m too busy lamenting about the past and obsessing about the future. I have to fill silences. I never simply am. When I start to feel happy I convince myself that, for whatever reason, I don’t deserve it. If you never feel extraordinary happiness you never have to deal with that happiness being taken away from you.
And that was it. I had a breakthrough. I felt a little bit like crying, but this was likely due to the fact that I’d had two nights of lackluster and unsatisfactory sleep. I was keyed up. I called my mom and explained it all. She agreed. I wanted to shout it to people passing by on the sidewalk. And the day was brilliant. Why? I don’t know! The birdsong was beautific. The world was my oyster. Things were good. Why didn’t I allow myself to feel this way more often? I allowed myself to feel excited about a number of things. I decided the glass was half full. Holy crap.
I started to write it down. I felt an amazing sense of thanks to B for putting this challenge to me. How often do we sit down and try and answer hard questions about ourselves? It took me hours to sort this one out. I was writing and I was talking to my mom and I had this renewed zest for life and I got another call on the line: it was B and he wanted to check in to see how my morning was going. He seemed bemused my ecstatic state of being. I was brimming with exuberance which, as those who know me can attest, is not the norm. He said he was glad to be able to turn me on to it. And that’s what it was, it was the ultimate intellectual turn on.
The key now will to remember this, to hold on to it, and to incorporate it into my life. I want to feel more highs. I know that there will be the obligatory and associated lows, but I don’t want to go through life feeling mediocre anymore. I’m excited. I’m happy that there are people like B out there, regardless of what transpires between us.
You might say that, this morning at 11:14, I was inorexably happy.

Fair hair

If there are two things I love to write about in this crazy city of ours it’s about trying to get a date, and public transit. Sometimes I combine the two by trying to get a date while on public transit. It’s very challenging with all the lurching and stopping and the ebb and flow of people.
After flailing down Arbutus to hop on the bus this morning (which I hate because you just know that everyone on the bus is staring at you, all red faced and frenetic as you try to run in such a manner as to minimize the jostling of the unnecessarily large backpack strapped to you, while dodging puddles and trying to look elegant), I grabbed a seat next to a lady that I see almost daily. I would put her in her late forties or early fifties. I would perhaps use the terms prim, reserved and demure to describe her. She has aged well, is not overweight and I’m sure she was a knock out when she was twenty. Her vanity is her hair, I think. Whenever I see her she has a kerchief on over her hair, tied under her chin. With her belted coat, gloves and boots she looks very 1950s, which I think is both classic and classy. I think she has two, possibly three kerchiefs, which are always clean and neatly creased. Her hair is shoulder length and ash-blonde, obviously not naturally, but the color job is excellent and I’m sure she spends a pretty penny on it. She gets off the bus at Robson and it kind of got me thinking about what she did for a living. Likely she has an office job, maybe an accountant or an executive assistant. She could also be a sales person at an upscale clothing store, I’m not sure. And I wonder: do the people with whom she works understand the lengths to which she goes to ensure her hair remains undampened by the rain, snow and mist and unruffled by the wind. It is her pride, it looks very nice and simple and I found myself hoping that people complement her on it. Let’s say her name is Margaret. I hope from time to time some of the young hot shots that she works with - who Margaret secretly looks down on with just a little disdain when she takes in their (in her mind) too-tight slacks, garish makeup and slang talk – stop and tell her that her hair is regal and flowing, and that they admire the way that it is always perfectly coiffed, rain or shine, when she arrives to work.
I bet she thinks my nose piercing is slatternly.
Ah Margaret, my fair-haired Margaret.

Things that make you go hmmm…

I went on my first date last night, with the gentleman from POF that I had originally been scheduled to meet with on Sunday night. Yes, everyone is allowed a second chance. Throughout the day I alternated between anxiety and excitement, and forgetting that I had a date (it seemed to have to do with my coffee consumption). I grabbed a quick shower once home and tried to make myself presentable. Wardrobe was a snap: hello fabulous ass jeans. Walking back and forth in front of the mirror a few times I was amazed that that was actually my booty. Rrrrrr… come here often? And then it was time to go to the West End and jockey for parking. I hate parking in the West End and, if anything, the parking situation was more vile than I had previously remembered, but after 10 minutes I was able to find something a couple of blocks away. As usual I was early, and not just five or ten minutes, but rather a full 20. Yay. I called B and let him know that I was early and, since he lived a few blocks away (he had told me this) would he be interested in meeting up a little earlier than anticipated. Okay, unfortunately I didn’t phrase it like that, it was more like “Hey B, it’s me. Um, I’m like a block away so can you come now?”. I’m sure he was most impressed.
There was a lineup at Lolita’s when I arrived so I grabbed a seat at the bar which I really dislike. It was pretty cramped, the waitresses kept bumping my seat and I hadn’t brought anything to read so I took to studying the myriad of booze bottles splendidly displayed before me while I sipped my Muscat Ottonel (yes – cool wine!). And made inadvertent eye contact with a guy with many face piercings. Eeeeeee. B soon arrived and we recognized each other right off the bat which was good. I would’ve been cheesed if he had used some glory pic from 10 years ago to which he bore no passing resemblance. Unfortunately B seemed a little distracted and hesitated before grabbing a seat next to me. Part of the hesitation was due to the fact that it was actually a physical impossibility for him to sit down because there was no room to squeeze into the chair, short of pulling it entirely out and having someone “seat” him. He kind of moved me over and I tried what could only be some torturous yoga pose known as Upward Bending Bar Grabbing Heaving Leaning Lifting Tilting Dog, and I’m sure I pulled it off with my usual flourish and finesse. Then B told me he was horrified because went to the ATM but could not withdraw any funds, so he didn’t have any money. He seemed ready to cut and run. I was pretty taken aback: first Oscar night, now this? And he made me come to the West End? What the frick? He was very distracted and seemed quite unhappy and was also very apologetic. Given that I had taken some modicum of time with my appearance and to finagle a decent parking spot I decided to be generous. I said I would buy him a drink. He would not have it. He was mortified and embarrassed and at that point our waitress came and told us we had a table ready. He was drinking water as I drank my wine and his level of agitation was bordering on palpable. I offered to spot him again, and again he declined. After a while he seemed to become a little more comfortable and we discovered we had quite a bit in common, most notably our mutual love of the Big Lebowski. He said “the Dude abides”. I said “a lot of strands in old Duder’s head”. We both like music, though his taste is more eclectic. We both read a lot. We are both working on a novel. We both believe in marriage and are content not to have children. He likes scotch and I know what scotch is. We have similar spiritual values. He lived in San Francisco for 15 years. I like San Francisco. He works for a startup up tech company that is located on the same street as our old offices. All in all very interesting. After an hour I was done my wine so the choices remaining were: to offer to buy him a drink a final time, or to head our separate ways. I said, “So, would you like a drink?” and he said “I would love a drink”. We had a bit of a hard time flagging down a waitress, and when she came over she was so apologetic she bought us a round of drinks and brought chips and salsa. Seriously. The bill came to $9. We talked for another hour and, in my mind, we connected. It was still a little awkward and we both laughed a couple of times when the silence started to stretch on. I said, “On a scale of one to ten, how horrible are you feeling right now?” to which he responded “Nine point five”. It was kind of funny. The evening came to a close, I paid our $9 tab with B apologizing some more and promising to make it up to me. In retrospect I wonder if the “I don’t have any money ploy” is a way to rope someone into a second date. My mom said maybe it was a way to scare off women that are looking for a sugar daddy. Maybe. Maybe he’s broke. I guess I’ll find out when he takes me to McDonald’s for dinner on our second date.
Then some more good things happened: we were walking down Jervis and a couple of homeless people asked us what time it was. B stopped and politely said it was 9:50. We saw a skunk (that wasn’t one of the good things, but it was interesting). He walked me to my car like a gentleman should. He shook my hand and said he would like to see me again. I said that would be fine. He said he would call me on Friday to see how my Saturday was shaping up. I said alright.
This morning he sent a nice email saying he had a lovely time last night, confirming that he would call tomorrow to arrange something for Saturday. I replied that I was looking forward to his call.
So that is where it stands. The money thing was a little odd, but it’s been known to happen. I have friends, friends who are professional engineers, that forget their wallets with amazing frequency. It’s all good because I know I will see them again and make them pay dearly. It’s just a little odd when it’s your first date. Hopefully this was a weird one-off, or perhaps some kind of gold-digger test that I passed because secretly he’s a millionaire and he wants to make sure I’m not after his money. Time will tell. I hope he doesn’t find out that I’m a groupie.