Tuesday, March 19, 2013
It's been... er... two years just about.
Sorry for the absence.
Things got a little dicey out there in the dating world. And more than a little lacklustre and boring. So I too a little break from both dating and blogging.
But ever the optimist (with way too many opinions) I've ventured out looking for the right man once again.
It's still not much prettier out there than I remember.
My return to dating was marked by an internet date with a nice guy... with whom I had zero chemistry. Followed by a couple friend-of-friend hook ups... neither advisable or particularly worth the trouble.
And then there came the Stealth Date.
This is the date where an old co-worker/acquaintance sends you a message wondering if you're free to catch up over drinks next week. I'm sure you've experienced something like it. You're not sure if it's friendly or if it's a proper date. You convince yourself that it's not a date... after all this time you're surprised he even knows who you are much less has any romantic designs on you.
This makes dressing easier... sort of.
So you meet at a quiet local resto, sit at bar, order some wine.
In the first five minutes you're shocked you didn't know what a good conversationalist he is.
After the first glass, you're glad he orders a second, because he gets your jokes and likes your use of the word "sycophantic".
When you look up after the fourth glass of wine and realize the establishment is empty save for the three staff members at the far end of the bar who are trying not to look on encouragingly, you're sorry it looks like the evening is at an end.
So you don't disagree when he walks you up the street and suggests stopping at a bar for bourbon.
But the best part is, just when you're thinking to yourself, "hey maybe this IS a date!" he takes a shot and plants a flawless kiss on you outside the bar.
Yep. That one snuck up on me.
If you haven't tried it yet, I highly recommend a Stealth Date.
I'm still working out where this is all going (one of the drawbacks of the Stealth Date is it sometimes comes with some Cryptic Communications) but I'll keep you posted, good or bad.
It's good to be back in the saddle, folks.
Enjoy the ride.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
(crediting Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros here...)
"Home... home is where ever I'm with you."
I've been over this concept before. Sometimes I feel a fool for it, but I can't let it go. It's got to do with the somewhat cliche'd idea of "home is where the heart is". I think it's true.
The ex used to talk about home... about me going home... wondering why I wasn't attached to the place I lived. I tried to tell him... home is a flexible thing to me. Home is where my heart craves to be. No this isn't always tied to a man. Sometimes, when I'm over worked, or overwhelmed Home is where my family is, mom, and the annoying sisters and the universality of family. When I'm there for a few days, and they start driving me nuts, Home is the sanctity of my own apartment in the city, where their crazy can't touch me.
And sometime, Home is the place where my love lies. A city, a thought, an island, a moment. Home is the crook of an arm, the light across my face as I press next to that warm body, the moment you realize a connection, the light in his eyes when you share a joke. Home.
And I, once again, am Homeless.
I've often been accused of such travesties as being a "bad traveller" or a "social animal" or even on rare occasions a "homebody". Can you imagine the trama, if these monikers hold true, of being Homeless? Sure, I've got an apartment that is... mine... if not perfect. I have four walls and a set of keys, a parking spot, a mailbox, and a place for all my junk. But do I have a home?
Ten months. Ten months I have lived in this... house. And yet there is nothing on the walls, save paint. Not a picture, not a shelf, not a mirror. I am yet a transient. I've honestly been trying to figure out why I can't seem to ever unpack, hang pictures, and settle in.
Could it be, I have not found my Home?
I am fluid but solid, I will fit myself to my place. But where is my place? Whom? When will I find my Home?
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Now I'm aware that locking myself in my house is counter productive to meeting new and interesting people. The thing is that "interesting" has become my code word for undesirable these days. Even the internet won't throw me anything even remotely worth considering. January is bringing out the weird, the lost, the desperate. My online profiles are garnering messages from truly deluded and occasionally agressive and stubborn people. And old guys... from other cities... seriously. It's like the snow has frozen their logic centres and they're just randomly flinging themselves at profiles hoping some girl out there will be driven stir crazy by winter cabin fever and agree to a date, please god any date, just to get out of the house.
In the past, my tactics have been to hide and ride it out.
Not this year.
Okay, yeah, I've spent seven of the last eight days with my backside magnetically attracted to the couch... but I'm vowing a change. I will go out of the house every day. Maybe on an errand, just a walk, or even to the newly joined gym. (Yes this year I became a cliche and joined a gym in January... it was a really good deal!) Now I don't have any illusions that this methodology will present me with the perfect man. If anything it will prove that January is for hibernation and that only weirdos actually venture outside for anything but work. But the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. So in the spirit of not proving my own insanity, I am willing to try January from a new perspective. I will attempt to be a positive if not entirely productive member of society for the month of January. No more moping, hiding from the weather. Long Johns were invented for a reason... that reason is Canadian winters... and I will embrace the layers, the puffy coat, the furry mittens.
And I will drink warm drinks with Bailey's in when I return to the welcoming embrace of my sofa.
Wish me luck