What happens when two hopeless romantics meet? Well, they fall hopelessly in love, of course! So says my tall, dark Indian – the very one who gave me exclusivity rights only a few days ago. There is only so long two people can continue seeing each other, one sworn to being exclusive the other not, before the scale tips and a more equitable arrangement is needed. Last night, over yet another deliciously fantastic meal of roti, prawns and chickpea masala, he asked me. He asked me to give up all the others I’ve been seeing to give him a chance, to give us a chance to really get to know one another. Having fallen into step with this bloke so quickly and comfortably (last night was only our 4th date), I had to hesitate. Giving up spontaneous world travel with Gold Miner Greg or Vespa rides and fancy dinners with Marriot Mike or any other suitor ready and willing to sweep me off of my feet simply by thrill of the new and promising is a tantalizing cargo to leave behind. On the other hand, having one so sincere as to offer his trust, ask me to do the same, and jump into an adventure to see where our paths might lead is essentially the endgame of dating – the whole raison d’etre. Both possibilities are real and both are incredibly exciting; but they are mutually exclusive. I cannot have it two ways. As he gave me butterfly kisses on the back of my shoulder, I knew the answer. It was the only decision that could be the right one for a hopeless romantic. Yes! If only for the chance to swim in those warm brown eyes for a while. Lead on, Romantic Heart!
Sweating in any form or location, especially on the second date, is most definitely not desirable! Invited out for a what I thought would be a civilized (and easy!) game of mid-morning badminton, I had quite obviously underestimated the cardiovascular integrity of this sport! Not ten minutes into the set, I began to achieve what my tactful badminton partner, Tobs, termed as a “healthy glow”. What might of looked like a glow to him from across the net was in fact a full on sweat! I wasn’t that out of shape, was I? Five more minutes in, my face is red and rivulets are streaming down my cleavage. Absolutely, undeniably unsexy! And on the second date! I cringed to think of the size of the pit stains I was leaving on my shirt! My partner, of course, hadn’t even broken one bead and was looking particularly perky. After 30 minutes, we begin to pack up as the gym is slated for a 7 year old hockey camp. Thank god! I need a water break! Heading for the fountain, Tobs gets a close up of my sweaty, red face and pit-stained shirt. “Hey, you wanna towel?” O God! How embarrassing! I don’t really know this guy and I’m sweating like a 300 pound Aussie Rules Footballer! So much for the nice, relaxing way to spend the mid-morning. I’m ready to have a coronary! Olympic sport nothing – this one should be part of a triathalon series! Tobs looks at me and smiles, “The squash courts are free. You wanna have a go?” I wipe down my face, roll up my already short sleeves and take a long swig of water – why, not I’ve already broken that rule of the second date!
I’ve been out with a lovely chap only three times. Tall (6′2″), dark (Indian) and handsome (incredible smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes). Our first date we met at a pub and chatted for five hours, could’ve gone longer but it was past midnight and we both had to get up in the morning. Our second date, he invited me out to the park for a walk, then, if I was comfortable with it, back to his place for a home cooked Indian meal to be followed by a film at the theatres. We didn’t make it to the park that day, or out to the theaters for that matter, but he did cook me a fantastic dinner in which, before my very own eyes, he made roti (from scratch!) and an okra curry. Whoever said cooking is the way to a mans heart obviously wasn’t a woman! After dinner and a yummy bottle of wine, we watched a DVD curled up on the sofa. I’m not sure what we were trying to watch and it really didn’t matter as we spent most of the film joined at the mouth. Too comfortable, too soon? Fools rush in be damned, it was amazing! Our third date and a rainy Sunday brought us back to his rooftop apartment for another wonderful meal (major points for cooking!). It was then, over our glass of red, that he told me he doesn’t want to date anyone else and that I have exclusivity rights on him. I was shocked. Pleased, of course, but more than a little taken aback. He told me I didn’t have to declare the same, just yet, but only when I was ready. A lot of wow and little yikes! I’m not sure if I am ready to be exclusive so soon. He is a wonderful guy and an awesome kisser…. but I’ve been enjoying the dating game. Becoming exclusive at this point is certainly the most complex meal he’s cooked up yet – it’s both something to chew and and food for thought. Perhaps I’ll let it simmer.
10 dates in 10 days. It’s been an interesting experience. Not only have I gained insight into the process of “the first date” but I have also become acutely aware of lurking deal breakers and red flags that have the ability to end a date immediately, mid-sentence, “Check please! Thanks for coming. Good luck and have a nice life!” Strangely enough, one of those deal breakers happens to be the inability to use chopsticks! Growing up in Vancouver, the veritable birth place of sushi and many other things Asian, it is inexcusable to be maladroit with regards to chopsticks and their use! This deal breaker came screaming into existence on my date with Realtor Rick. After a cocktail at the ever pretentious Opus Lounge in Yaletown, we took a wonder up the street and found a late night Japanese restaurant. More hungary than I originally thought, I order a big bowl of yakisoba noodles. Realtor Rick orders dry-fry chicken bits. Our food arrives, I pick up my chopsticks and he digs in….with his fingers. I have no problem with finger foods and in fact, some Japanese food does lend itself to be consumed this way. However, my curiosity is peaked. I asked him if he could use chopsticks. He told me he has used them once in the past (like 12 years ago) but finds the fork a much more efficient food proffering device. What about rolls? How do you, Realtor Rick, eat for example a BC Roll? A Dynamite Roll? A Soft Shelled Crab Roll? With his fingers of course! In my mind, I’m seeing the reel of subsequent dates with this guy, his fingers covered up to the third knuckle with black soy sauce and green wasabi paste. O dear! I console myself with the fact that I could eat Japanese alone, we could always stick to pasta. I try and drown the thought by focussing solely on my delicious bowl of noodles. The conversation continues along the vein of foods, cultures and dating. He asked me if I date other “races” and I ask him to clarify. “You know, do you like people who aren’t white?” I pause, chopsticks half way to my mouth; I can feel a red flag just beyond the horizon of this conversation. He doesn’t yet know of my past and the beautiful Chinese love I’ve just left behind. Yes, I tell him, I am attracted to all different kinds and colours for the simple reason that we are all humans and chemistry, for me anyway, is beyond skin deep. Then, out of his mouth falls the most atrocious admission I have heard in a long, long time, “I think that Asians look like monkeys and Blacks look like apes.” I am stunned. The red flag is full mast and the wind is blowing strong. I put my chopsticks down, having lost my appetite. Realtor Rick is done. With a deal breaker and a red flag on the very first date, it’s clear this one will not make it for a second round. Although the bill has yet to be paid and the goodbyes have yet to be said, the date has officially ended. ”Check please! Thanks for coming. Good luck and have a nice life!”
Run it like a business, I thought to myself. And why not? I’ve got the next couple of weeks free and it would be fun to meet as many guys as possible during this time to really end summer with a bang (no pun intended, of course!) So, over the run of the next week, I will have had no less than 10 first dates. Similar to reality shows like The Bachelor, where the bloke starts with 10 girls and whittles them away by giving his preferred choices roses, I too have been doling out the metaphorical flora. It goes like this: We meet, if we click then it’s on to a second date. If not they are out. By the third date, I’m fairly sure they’ll be competent enough to make it to the fall. Unless of course they are bumped by one who particularly stands out from the rest of the lot. Come September I plan cull the crew to a handful of handsome hopefuls – a girl doesn’t need to be greedy, after all! Those of whom remain should be able to take me through the long dark winter of Vancouver’s wet coast. By the time New Year’s comes about, I hope to be making some major headway with at least 1 or 2 of the survivors. That’s my six month plan. I’ve come this far in life and relationships without much foresight into what I really want. This time, it’s about meeting certain criteria, not settling for anything less than fantastic and, as Melanie Griffith so aptly put it, having “a head for business and a body for sin”.
I’ve had four dates with Marriot Mike and things are going well. He’s witty, charming, intelligent and he has been wining and dining me like the traditional suitors of yore. And he is a gentleman. Until last night, we hadn’t even kissed. Our date began with an impromptu bbq lunch, followed by an inline skate round False Creek only to stop at 2nd beach in Stanley Park for a swim. Back at his place we get ready for our dinner at Chambar. He plies me with drinks and appies while I do my hair. We head off on his very cool Vespa for our uber urban dining experience downtown. Dinner is fantastic! The fois gras completely to die for with the pomegranite reduction and little bits of crust “for texture”. Next Afterglow and Opus lounge for drinks. A Vespa tour around the downtown neighbourhoods tops the surprisingly sultry and warm evening. It is in the elevator on the way up to his apartment that he kisses me. Light, sexy, moist and the unofficial start to the rest of the date. In through the door we tumble, fumbling our way to the bedroom. Clothes are coming off at an alarming rate. His hands and mouth on me are incredible …. and then I reach down. Oh my, is that it? He is fully ready to go but when I wrap my hand around it, it’s almost no bigger than my closed fist! We kiss and tumble a little while longer before I excuse myself to the washroom. When I come back I’m so regretful to inform him that I’ve just got my period (a tiny white lie). We snuggle, we fall asleep in each other’s arms and for a moment I have to time to reflect. Marriot Mike is a wonderful guy, we get on well and have chemistry. But does size really matter? Should it? Am I being so shallow as to be turned off by the size of his penis? And if so, what does that say about me? I’ve dated a variety of men for a plethora of attractions and this has never been an issue. I’m not entirely sure to where we should go from here but it feels as if it might be a long walk off a short pier!
Coffee date. First meeting. Kits Coffee House 4th Ave. He’s sitting outside on the patio drinking an iced tea. I approach and immediately recognize him from his pictures. He’s wearing sunglasses, jeans and a nice shirt. ”Marvin! Nice to meet you,” as I lean in for a hug. Nice smile, good skin, pleasant manner, but not sure about the eyes as the sunglasses have not come off. It’s sunny, I suppose. I order a smoothy (and pay) and we chat over our drinks. The conversation flows, but he has yet to make actual eye contact. Apparently, the sunnies are a permanent fixture. Then he gets a call (which he answers) and I excuse myself to the washroom. He suggests we walk down 4th and window shop. Great. At least now we are moving and I don’t have to stare blankly into his black, reflective bug eyes. We walk two blocks and then he says, “Well, I don’t want to take up too much more of your time. Should we head back?” Hold on a sec….we met just 25 minutes ago, he hasn’t taken his sunglasses off to look at me directly, he got the phone call, and now he’s suggesting that he is taking up my time? Is this an easy let down, a quick escape, an SOS, a plan B? Is he giving me the “Brush Off”? I’m shocked and a little amused. This hasn’t happened before, or rather, it’s usually the other way round! Could it really be that he is just not that into me? I’m no egotist, but I find that hard to believe! I’ve been charming, cute, outgoing, funny….what’s not to like? I’m casual, elegant, nonchalant. “Sure, I’ve got another appointment I have to get to anyway.” He gives me his card. Smiles (mouth only, I still can’t see his eyes) and turns on his heel. Urban myths surrounding dating abound, but my first encounter with the infamous brush off is for real!
It seems Vancouver is crawling with eligible bachelors! The few chaps I have met in person from the online dating site are good looking, intelligent and have done very well for themselves in this city. Maybe it’s just a coincidence or perhaps I’m just lucky but I really don’t think it comes down to fate. It’s all about geography and economy. Vancouver, in getting ready for 2010 (synonymous with the Olympics for locals) has seen a major boon in many areas – construction and real estate to name two heavy hitters that are changing the landscape, and manscape, of this growing little city. Everybody wants to be here and the draw is bringing in some fantastic prospects! Vancouver is young, hip and urban and still relatively “achievable” in terms of a great amount of success in a relatively short period of time. True to our roots of exploration and expedition, finding a man in Vancouver is almost as easy as picking up a shovel and hitting payload upon first strike! A girl just has to have a little patience, perseverance and above all – humour (which will get you through the worst of anything!) Although difficult and illusive to meet face to face (as anybody who has spent anytime in Vancouver will tell you), the exact inverse is true for meeting online. It’s no longer the bar that’s being circled with sharks but the virtual world that’s teeming with a girl’s next great catch!
It’s 2:20 am and I just got in from another first date. Him: very cute, 5′oclock shadow, full head of grey hair (my weakness) and 6′1”. Check, check and check! Drinks by the beach turned into appies, appies turned to drinks, and then dessert and then… at the invitation to a great bottle of wine that one can’t possibly buy on the shelves on any liquor store in Vancouver – back to his place for a “sampling”. Despite the posters on the walls (I think I might have had that Marilyn Monroe poster in my room when I was a teenager) he did have impeccable taste in wine. I told him quite frankly that I would only be sampling the wine and nothing else he had to offer that evening. Being the gentleman that his is, he acquiesced. But not before indulging in a bit of over the clothing, crazy dry hump grind session that I haven’t engaged in since – well, since that Marilyn poster! What a great deal of fun! No clothing came off but all the eroticism, the urgency, the wanting was there – and maybe more so because we both knew that it wouldn’t be ending in anything organic. Bringing yourself back from the point of full arousal is so hard and so sweet at the same time. It leaves much to the imagination and so much more to the anticipation of …. next time. Those 2 little words that both tease and promise. Next time. Maybe. But this time, it was all good, clean fun!
