Lessons Learned Over 40 Dates

Beginning Is the Hardest Part

Yup.

As with anything massive or bold or different, the hardest part is that first tentative step. After that, there is momentum to take you forward, keep you going. The first message to a guy online, the first text to set up a blind date, that’s where the real challenge lies. After that, you just keep rolling until Good Friday dawns like a glorious curtain coming down. Show’s over and I survived.

Just Keep Swimming

The last paragraph made it sound like it was all sunshine and rainbows and playful kittens. It was not. There were plenty of storm clouds and blizzards and evil fully-grown cats who do not like me. But, to further my earlier point, the momentum built up by taking that first crazy plunge helped a lot.

Not remotely my goal

Other things helped too.

Helpful Thing Number 1.          Deadlines help. And a finish line to strive toward. Because a girl’s gotta have goals.

Helpful Thing Number 2.          My super amazing friends were an incredible support system and a great source of dates. You know who you are, and I love you.

Helpful Thing Number 3.          A big, old-fashioned day timer and coloured pens to schedule all my dates (in purple to make it fun), volleyball games (in green because green is my favourite), and all of my other commitments (in blue and black, mostly).

Not a goal, either

Helpful Thing Number 4.          My super-human stubbornness. So very helpful.   

Helpful Thing Number 5.          When motivation wanes, it helps to have an audience. I grew up playing team sports and my parents did their best to instill team values in me, and I think it worked. When things get tough, it helps to have a team that I can’t let down. That has been you, so thank you for that.

Between the momentum and those helpful things, I made it through just fine. One date at a time. I actually met my goal a few days early and I even managed to have some fun along the way. So it all worked out. 

Personal Grooming

Ok, so this one seems obvious to most of you. Not to me.

I’m a tomboy, I like to sleep in and mostly I don’t give a damn about makeup and hair and the accoutrements of pretty. My philosophy is that I look the way I look, for better or for worse. When I do get gussied up, you know it’s for a special occasion and you’d bloody-well better be impressed.

But in my foray into dating, I discovered that feeling confident is actually better for calming nerves than a bracing shot of whiskey (especially if you’re driving). And if a bit of makeup, or a great haircut (Thanks, Liz!) will give me that little shot of confidence that I need to sit down and introduce myself to a total stranger, then so be it. Groom away.

I will allow it. This time.

Boys Are People Too

"Oh my god! Great shield!"
"I know, right? You don't think
it's too much?"
"Dude, it totally suits you."

One of the things that I tried to do was to maintain a level of respect and discretion through all of this nonsense. I wanted to treat all of my dates the way that I would like to be treated. It is weird that I had to keep reminding myself that these dates were real, living people with thoughts and feelings. Sometimes you forget. Especially online. It’s easy to write people off when they’re just a profile picture and a disembodied line of text on a computer screen. I think that depersonalizing people while looking for somebody to date is a very slippery slope and can result in some pretty ugly behaviour. I’m happy to say that I didn’t get many “Fuck you ugly bitch!” responses when talking to guys online (and zero in person, which was a relief). But I was also very careful not to demean or disparage anybody. Ok, maybe Geoffrey (the guy I am pretty certain is a serial killer), but seriously, that dude was legit frightening, and I didn’t use his real name, though I’ve been told that my sketch was pretty spot-on.

Also, with the exception of the speed dating guys, everyone knew about the 40 Date Challenge going in. I’m pretty sure they all knew that I have been blogging about it (and them). Oddly, none of them expressed an interest in reading it. I think I would be overcome by curiosity. But maybe that’s just me. Or maybe boys aren’t really people after all? No. They’re people. Be nice.

Advice



Simply put, I can never get too much advice. No such thing. My girl friends sharing horror stories of dates gone embarrassingly or morbidly or hilariously wrong and offering those up in the form of advice made for some of the best stories I’ve ever heard. I got to commiserate, cackle and learn. It was one of the highlights of the 40 date adventure, for sure.

I'm that girl.



Other, less amusing advice has come my way as well, and it was all wonderful. Friends offering me guidance on how to cope with rejection, how to navigate the scary world of online dating (because apparently I am a total luddite), how to fend off dick picks, where to go on dates, what to talk about, what not to talk about. Most of the advice came with a story, which made it even better.

Hey, I think we're going the
right way, Stevie! Stevie?

A friend asked me for advice about dating, and I joked that it would be like Ray Charles leading Stevie Wonder across the street. But even if it ends in disaster, it’s nice to have another clueless friend to laugh with and remind one another that we’re not alone. So I’ve been doing my best to offer advice in return and help others as I’ve been helped.

Admittedly, I did not, will not, cannot follow all of the advice I receive. But it is great to hear about, great to share. “Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.” (Mary Schmich)

Routine Chaos

So long as I can tell myself it’s a routine, I can handle utter chaos.

So long as I write them all down in my calendar, it’s totally doable to take on 40 dates, 56 volleyball games, two tournaments, three road trips, blogging (almost) daily, regularly scheduled brunches and tea dates and a 9-5 job. Sure it hectic, but at least it was scheduled.

Needing Someone

There is an old saying that makes me laugh. “Men are like blenders: you need one, but you’re not sure why.”

I am a fairly independent person. I’ve lived alone, travelled alone, I like going to movies alone, I’m not big on public displays of affection and (though I like plenty of sentimental romantic comedies) I’ve never been into sappy love crap. I hate Valentine’s Day on principle. I am basically, peaceably, utterly okay on my own. So long as I have hot chocolate and toast.

But everything and nearly everyone tells me that I need someone. I think that lesson is one of the reasons my friend challenged me to this.

I am not sure I learned it. My independent streak is still totally intact. And I am not sure that I really need someone else in my life to make it complete. But I am a little more open to the possibility that having someone else around wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. So there’s that. Baby steps.

Talking to Strangers

One of the cool things about the 40 Date Challenge is that I learned how to talk to strangers. It helped that my first date was with Constantine, and we pretty much talked for two and a half hours without pause. Over the course of Lent I rarely had to sit in awkward silence. Even with Geoffrey  I wasn’t grasping at straws conversationally. And the fact that I was deeply uncomfortable had more to do with his creepy demeanor and bizarre gambits than any defect in conversation.

Not that there isn’t room for improvement here. I think, especially with Constantine, that I could have done better. We talked about how cultures that do not have a word for the colour blue also cannot distinguish it on a colour scale until they develop a word for it (How freaking cool is that!?). But we never talked about our expectations, or what exactly we wanted and needed from one another. He sort of stopped texting me, stopped reaching out, and I had no idea of whether that meant anything or not. I think that was probably a failure of communication.

A Recipe for Illness

Exhaustion looks
kinda like this

I managed to (sort of) keep it together until Lent ended, but stress takes its toll. I’m not just being dramatic here, dating is stressful. Even the good bits are an energy drain, and planning it all, struggling to keep my life on track in the meantime and trying give each date the fullest of my attention (and not always succeeding) may be the surest test of my endurance that I’ve ever managed.

I’m paying that toll now with a crazy head cold and a thorough inability to focus. Trying to sort through the labyrinthian mire of my life as I left it is not made much easier by having a head full of ooze.

Reason suggests, and science confirms that stress weakens your immune system. So my gung-ho, all-in, no-holds-barred survival mode kept me going for 40 dates, but the moment it was over, my body pretty much shut down. I drove back home to see my family for Easter and my pathetic defenses were easily overcome by the head cold that had been making its rounds amongst my kin. And a vicious little bastard he is, too.

I’ve been chugging orange juice, popping decongestants, and trying to rest while getting my life back on track. Just might take a little longer to achieve normalcy than I had hoped.

No Going Back

Oh yeah, also, normalcy might not happen...Because I’m not certain that I’m single anymore. It's that tricky difference between plans and reality rearing its ugly head once again.

Plans

Reality?
Not sure

Date 40 - Making the Best of Last

Captain Horatio Longbottom and I arranged to go on a date on the last Monday of Lent. We usually spend Monday nights hanging out, so this wouldn’t exactly be special…Unless we decide to make it special. So to make it date-worthy, Horatio told me to get gussied up and he would plan something exquisite.


Unfortunately plans and reality live in two entirely different worlds. 

Plans

Reality

I mean, they're both nice worlds. You've just got to make the most of them.

I later learned that he’d gone through a few plans before finding one that worked.

"Dufresne, party of three!"

The fall of Plan A: Eons ago, when we lived together, Horatio, a friend and I tried to go to a Nepalese restaurant, but there was an hour long wait time for a table. Obviously, we went elsewhere. But it was there, in the back of our minds as a place to try. It got simply rave reviews, and he figured that maybe with a reservation, we could finally see what all the fuss is about. When he called to reserve us a table, he learned to his dismay that it is not open on Mondays.

The tricky part of Plan B: His back-up plan French restaurant was also closed. The woman on the phone told him, “We are never open Mondays.” The subtext said, “Only impoverished plebs and reprobates eat on Mondays.” Le sigh.

Plan C: There is an amazing new all you can eat sushi place that…Oh yeah, Emily hates sushi. Buggar.

Plan D: How about a new-ish fried chicken place that is supposed to be amazing? That will have to do, because I’m plum out of ideas.

There is no Plan E, so pretty glad that Plan D worked out.

I got a text letting me know that I no longer had to get gussied up. So I hung up my ball gown and gratefully stepped out of my heels.

I met Horatio on the corner near my house. We walked to the restaurant as he regaled me with stories of his plans and how they all spectacularly fell through. I laughed at him and told him it would all turn out okay in the end.

The restaurant was kitschy to the max. We ordered some fried chicken, a salad and some cookies. I grabbed a root beer out of the cooler and we stood around waiting for our food. There were no tables, and the only seat was taken up with the poster child for “hipster” who was self-consciously combing his fingers through his beard and trying to look unconcerned.



That is one fancy chicken!

The bill was insane. I guess that’s how you know that your takeout fried chicken is hip. It costs more than a three course meal at the French restaurant. I know, because I looked up their menu, and also fact-checked that they really are closed on Mondays. Not that I don’t trust Horatio, I was just weirded about by this trend and wanted to know if they advertised it. They do; says so right on their website, go figure. Apparently the fried chicken place missed the memo of being closed on Mondays, which all of the better-class places seem to have taken to heart. Horatio paid without comment, and I made a note to spring for phō next time, because this meal definitely blew his budget for the month. It’s fried chicken, not filet-fricken-mignon!

When the food was ready (It was only wings and other upper body pieces, because they were out of drumsticks and thighs.) we took our food and walked back to Horatio’s apartment. We joked and laughed and told stories, just like any other Monday Funday. We made the most of our ridiculously expensive fast food (to be fair, the cookies were delicious) and watched a mindless and silly comedy on Netflix.

When the movie was over, we talked about The 40 Date Challenge and what it has meant for me. We talked about the people I’ve met, the insane schedule, and the unexpected amount of effort. Horatio told me he was proud of me. It has been a long haul, and I was so happy to wrap it up with my friend who helped me through it all.

I sent out a meme to my friends and dates.

Thanks everybody for helping me through it!

Horatio sang me our goodbye song and I walked home.

Date 39 - Runaway Brunch

Since Adam was too sick for mini-golf, I needed one additional date to end my Lent challenge in a blaze of glory. Luckily for me, Dick McStuffinsnatch was home from his vacation and free to be my back-up date once again. We decided to go for brunch with his friend Marvin.

"Honey, what's the point of being
in the suburbs if you're not going
to f*!# a gardener?"

I was the first to arrive at the pub. I ordered water, a tea and a breakfast cider. Not sure why I was so thirsty, but one can never be too hydrated. The server’s name was Alice, and she was a real stitch. She and I had a laugh about breakfast ciders and we compared my choice to the classier table of twenty-something girls nearby all drinking mimosas and attempting their own version of Sex and the City-esque girly brunch. Alice agreed that although I was inarguably less stylish, it was like comparing apples and oranges.

Marvin arrived and joined me with a smile. He mentioned he’d passed Dick in the parking lot on his phone. We chatted awhile. I’ve met Marvin a few times, most usually when at least one of us was quite drunk. He is witty, slightly self-deprecating and very willing to laugh. Dick joined us shortly, and flirted mercilessly with Alice when she came to get our orders. The boys got coffees and beers; we ordered food and settled in for practically non-stop chatter and laughs.

We learned about pub gossip. There was a surprising amount of it. Alice is dating the bartender Duncan, who we jokingly raved about, though we privately agreed that she could do much better. The regular Sunday server Amber is married with two children (the news of which broke poor Dick’s heart), and Jim the busboy has a new girlfriend. To our great relief, Joey the cook was in a much better mood than usual today. Last time Marvin had been to brunch here, Joey had been in such a foul mood that Amber had been too afraid to ask him why Marvin’s beef dip was taking so long. This morning, however he’d thrown beets at Alice and told her to “Beat it, kid!” Which was not only hilarious, but also boded well for getting our food in reasonable time.

We got and enjoyed our food, had another round of drinks and told all kinds of stories. We were starting to feel a bit restless when the music stopped and every television in the pub was suddenly switched to golf. It took us a moment and a great deal of confused muttering to realize that Duncan had actually turned the music off so that we could listen to the announcers for the Masters. I shit you not. We were watching and listening to golf at the pub. It was so disturbing.



Can you feel the excitement?

We paid our tab, chatted some more with Alice (who agreed with us that golf is stupid and awful), and just as we were getting ready to leave, Captain Horatio Longbottom texted me to say that he had just arrived back in town and would join us, if we were still at the pub having brunch. So we stayed and Alice changed the channel on a couple of the screens to other sports highlights, but the sound stayed on. Duncan was standing his ground.

Horatio arrived and we ordered more drinks. I was actually still nursing my second cider, but the boys made the executive decision to forfeit their driving privileges for the day when they ordered their (I think) fifth beers.

Not my first rodeo as the token chick.

Marvin looked at the table and apologized to me. He said if he had known it would turn out this way, he would have invited me a girl to talk to. I laughed at him. No damn way. I was perfectly comfortable hanging out with the boys. I told some crude jokes, and horrible puns just to prove my point.

Horatio had never met Marvin, and the two of them hit it off pretty well. They were both able to make fun of Dick, they both believed that Meat Loaf and Rita McNeil are the same person (probably solely to piss me off, as the whole thing is preposterous), and they both knew some of the same (incorrect) words to K-Ci & JoJo’s “All My Life.” What more does friendship require?

Somehow the golf had actually generated interest in the (now) busy pub. People were cheering and groaning and losing their minds over it. The notable exception was our corner table, which was blithely serenading the bar with bad 90s R&B. As you do.

I realized that Dick had become very drunk indeed when he failed to flirt with Alice as she came by to clear our tabs at the end of her shift. It was 5pm, and he had been drinking for over six hours now, so it makes sense. With Alice leaving, our new server would be Claudia. She was also dating the next shift's bartender, whose name was Raul. He was better looking than Duncan, but Claudia was definitely a step down from Alice, who we had hall grown rather fond of. When Claudia came by, we told her we weren’t sure what our plan was yet, and did not order drinks. Dick made a phone call and we discussed what the rest of Sunday would have in store for us.

I'll give you a hint

I knew my plan. I had to get groceries, find a clean t-shirt and go play volleyball. The boys, who were in the midst of an epic runaway drunk afternoon didn’t need to hear about my plans, so I kept them to myself.

Bertie arrived shortly after. He had also been out of town, and when he got Dick’s drunk call, he decided to join in on runaway Sunday with the boys. I said “Hi” to him, paid my tab, and helped the boys stumble out into the street. I left Bertie and Horatio in charge and said “Goodbye.” A territorially aggressive homeless man had taken an interest in our group, which was making a lot of noise. Horatio took my arm and asked me how much I’d had to drink. Over the past six hours I had partaken in three ciders, six glasses of water, a pot of tea and a hearty breakfast. He nodded his approval and walked me to my car.

Later that evening, Horatio regaled me with stories of the boys nearly getting into a scrap with the homeless gentleman, hitting on girls in the bar, and everyone getting home safely through various means. (A drunkard drop-off service, walking, and a ride share, respectively.) So overall, a successful runaway brunch.

Date 38 - Raspberry Gelato for Dessert

Here we go! The homestretch. Nearly 40 dates down and just less than a week left. I double-booked my Saturday in anticipation of wrapping up my dating experience early. The first date was a lunch and afternoon hangout with Kevin at his house. 

I stopped for groceries on the way over. We were making tacos, and I was responsible for the cheese and Italian sausages. I had some in my freezer, except they were labeled Extra Hot (specially from the butcher shop back home) and I remembered from our date at Masala Mantra that he does not like very spicy food.

Kevin told me the door would be unlocked and that I should come on in. I rang the doorbell anyway, and walked in afterward. I went downstairs and kissed Kevin hello. It was sunny and lovely outside, which did not jive with our established preference of walking in the rain, so we stayed in.

I got a message from Adam. He and I had plans to go mini-golfing in the evening, but he was feeling very sick. He apologized and I told him to get well soon.

With date number two cancelled, Kevin and I settled in for the long haul. He was leaving that night for Costa Rica, and when he asked me to stay and continue our visit, I offered to give him a ride to the airport later.

We watched The Princess Bride and he gave it the proper degree of appreciation. Or at least, he pretended to with enough fervor so as to be mistaken for honesty. All good.

We went upstairs to make dinner. His roommate’s parents were there, and they had ingredients for their dinner spread out everywhere. Kevin commandeered a burner on the stove and set about cooking turkey breast and mild Italian sausages in a frying pan. I grated up some cheese, because I’m super helpful like that. I chatted with Kevin’s roommate’s mom a bit, but mostly just tried to stay out of the way. Kevin’s roommate’s dad smiled at me and told me we’d already met last time. Uh no. But thanks for making me wonder who else has been here before me, always a comforting thought. Good thing I’m not highly competitive or prone to perseverating.

To distract myself, I asked Kevin some more random ‘get to know you’ questions. I learned a few interesting tidbits, like if he could do a foodie vacation anywhere, it would be France. I learned that his roommate would prefer to not go back to Spain, as she disliked the food there (weirdo). This segued seamlessly into a question I had been dreading ever since Monday Funday.

“So, Horatio said that you were picky.” Yes he did, that traitor.

“I think his exact words were ‘batshit crazy’ but yeah, I see where you’re going with this.” I laughed.

“I haven’t noticed that you don’t like anything.”

“That’s because I’m on my best behaviour when you’re around.” In fact, I’ve been downright angelic.

“So are there any foods you don’t like?”

I gave him a frank look. “There are quite literally hundreds of foods I don’t like.”

“Wow. Are you going to tell me what they are?”

“I might let you guess.”

A smile. “Oh. Ok, I like this.”

When we loaded up our tacos, his back was turned to me so I skipped the tomatoes and wrapped up my food so he couldn’t see. I wasn’t so lucky when we had seconds. He was watching me, so I put a few pieces of tomato in my taco and swallowed them. Better them than my pride, it seems. Sigh.

I made tea. Since my last visit, Kevin bought some loose leaf Earl Grey. He somehow guessed my favourite.

Kevin hadn’t started packing yet for his Costa Rican vacation. I played Solitaire while he packed. This sounds boring, but I actually love to play Solitaire and I know a whole bunch of different kinds. And for some reason I kept winning at it, which was great.

Once he was packed and ready to go, we had dessert. It was raspberry gelato (another favourite of mine) with raspberries on top. So lovely.

I apologized for the weird assemblage of shit in my car. To his credit, he didn’t immediately “remember” that he promised a particular taxi driver that he would never get rides to the airport from strangers. He just made a joke about what he guessed I needed an empty oxygen tank for. I also apologized for the fact that my stereo was blaring out Bat Out of Hell at an ear-splitting volume. He laughed at me.

I kissed him goodbye on the sidewalk near the unloading zone at the international departures terminal of the airport. Luckily the usual parking minions weren’t making their rounds, yelling at people, so I was able to enjoy it.

And then he flew away.

Date 37 - Lunch with Kevin

Swamp Rat offered to take me to lunch. He picked me up, because he knows I prefer to walk to work and this way we wouldn’t both have to find parking downtown. Clever move, Kevin.

He texted me when he was parked outside my office. I ran down the stairs and out into the drizzling rain. We kissed hello.

I started telling him about my day at work. One of the interns told a story about a misunderstanding he had in University when he was asked to participate in a psych experiment. I was really into the story, and Kevin was laughing so hard that we missed our corner, and had to circle around downtown for a while.

We eventually parked, the spot we found was still dry (the former occupant must have only just left) and so it all worked out for the best. We walked to the restaurant in the rain. Kevin held my hand and I pointed out that we always seem to go for walks in the rain. I looked around, we were in a neighbourhood where I used to work, and a few of the businesses along the avenue had been converted into something else. The Thai place that we were heading to had been there for years, though I had never noticed it before.

We went through a non-descript door and up some stairs. Kevin held the door and signaled for me to precede him. His hand rested on the small of my back for a moment in a gesture that was delicate and strangely familiar. I blushed and cleaned rain off my glasses as I climbed the stairs. The ceiling was a dangling mass of dried roses, and the place smelled of incense and spices.

We were shown to a table and settled in. He had tea, and I was happy with water. We chatted for a little while before heading over to the buffet. In keeping with my precedent of pretending not to be the pickiest eater alive, I took a variety of food, and managed to eat it all. There were tofu salad rolls, curries and veggies, calamari and pad thai. I used my amazing retractable chopsticks and Kevin was suitably impressed. We talked about work and life and food. When our plates were cleared, I presented him with a selection of notebooks so that he could choose one to use for his writing.

A few days ago he had mentioned that he used to keep a notebook full of ideas on hand. I told him that I had a number of empty notebooks kicking around and that he could have one of mine. I asked him a number of highly specific questions (size, hardcover or soft, lined or unlined, binding preferences, etc.) and decided that the ones I had weren’t quite good enough. So I stopped at a stationery store and picked out a couple that I thought he’d like. And then, because I couldn’t convince myself that I’d made the exactly right call, I brought all of them (at least 7) to the restaurant at lunch, and let him pick. He chose the one I bought for him.

Kevin told me he had a present for me also. I looked around expectantly. He said he hadn’t brought it into the restaurant because he wasn’t sure they’d appreciate it. I made a joke, “Aw, you got me Ebola? You shouldn’t have!”

We went for seconds. I took smaller portions this time, and less rice. So good.

Defensive instincts
in action.

This time, I was the one who was paying attention to the time. I mentioned that Kevin’s parking meter would be up soon, and so he paid the bill and we stepped back out into the rain. I reached out for his hand, and we walked back to his car together. He put his notebook on the seat, and I noticed that it needed a pen. I found one floating in my purse and hooked it onto the cover. He gave me my surprise (which was a bottle of wine), and we made our way back to my office.

I was paying better attention this time, and giving him directions without the distraction of a ridiculous story. I directed us right to a train crossing, where we sat for ages waiting for a train to go by. He seemed perfectly at ease and mentioned that he didn’t mind waiting because he could spend time with me. In self-defense, I called him a cheeseball – because a girl’s got to defend herself from wanton compliments like that.

He dropped me off at work and gave me an awkward kiss goodbye. It’s always weird kissing when you’re both seatbelted. I do not recommend it. I will be sure to take my seatbelt off next time. I got out of the car and stepped into a massive puddle, said something unladylike and squelched back to the office.

Date 36 - Pre-Game Waffles with Jer-Bear

Jeremy offered to take me on a date before our volleyball game. The team that we play on together is called Waffles, and it is made up of some of the loveliest, funniest and kindest people I’ve met. Don’t get me wrong, we have a sassier side, but the Waffles are generally sweethearts. Jer Bear is no exception.

Love my Waffles

We met while playing volleyball. Jeremy is supremely easygoing, very smiley and a naturally gifted athlete. He works at the local University doing something awfully clever and is probably amazing at it. He and my friend Liz have been seeing each other for a while, so when he asked me on a date, I assumed it was with her permission (pretty much my only correct assumption, as you will see) but double-checked anyway. She asked me not to allow him to fall in love with me (Easiest favour ever!) and told me to have a great evening.

Yay, Waffles gear!

Because Jer Bear enjoys a good theme (a man after my own heart), he suggested we go for a pre-Waffles dinner at a local restaurant that specializes in waffles. He told me to wear my “finest waffles attire.” I wondered about this for a while, but concluded that it meant that I was supposed to wear my Team Waffles uniform, which meant that I would not have to navigate my massive pile of unfolded clean laundry, and that I could wear sweatpants and a sports bra. (Best date ever!) A couple of days before our date, Jer Bear texted me to let me know that we’d have to alter our plans. The waffle restaurant (for whatever incomprehensible reason) closes at 3pm. He proposed that we go to a restaurant on campus instead. He assured me that they serve waffles there, and I was psyched.

Since we were meeting at 7, I figured it was to be a dessert date. My cupboards are on the bare side these days (groceries are another thing I’ve been neglecting in the hectic-ness of Lent) so I made myself some Kraft Dinner, put on my Waffles attire and got ready for my date.
 



How I ought to
have dressed

We met up in the parking lot. Jer Bear rolled up in his adorably quirky van. I was giggling at it when he stepped out and I realized that I had made a mistake. He wore a collared shirt, dress pants and snazzy shoes. He was not dressed for volleyball; he was dressed for a date. His idea of “finest waffles attire” and mine were entirely different. (The importance of capitalization cannot be overstressed. I should have known!) I looked like an idiot, and a slob. We laughed about it, but he didn’t seem to mind so I eventually stopped berating myself (Biggest twit ever!) and just relaxed.  

It’s been a while since I was on campus. I’d been to a concert, but hadn’t walked through the area in daylight since 2010 when I took some additional open studies courses there. The place had changed a lot, and yet hardly at all. There was a massive new building that I was pretty sure hadn’t been there seven years ago. The students milling around had gotten more baby-faced, paler and spottier. But the essentials were all the same.

When I’d first gone to school at the University, there was a lounge in the main student area that was reserved for graduate students. I’d always thought of it as The Forbidden Lounge. Jer Bear assures me that back in the days when I didn’t have the academic standing to get in, the place was a dive (not in a good way, like the total dive karaoke bar that Kirk and I went to on St Patrick’s Day) and not worth going to. In the years since, it’s been redone and is now open to the public, even lowly undergrads, or sad schmucks who only have Bachelor of Arts degrees. Yay!
 

What I imagine the lounge looked like in the 'good old days'

Jer Bear walked me confidently past the invisible velvet rope, and into a lounge with pool tables and a friendly atmosphere. I think the fact that I looked like an underdressed slattern may have even accentuated the experience for me. We continued chatting (oh yeah, storytelling glitch, we’d been chatting amicably the entire time so far) about live sports and our jobs and jobs we’d like to have. It took ages for an overworked, insanely young-looking server to approach our table. We were perched at a tall table near the windows and the pool tables. A guy asked me to move so that he could take a shot, and it he made it worth it when he sunk the 14 ball corner pocket.

We ordered drinks (Yay, cider!) and nachos. We talked about volleyball and dating and storytelling and books. For dessert, we got a Belgian waffle with ice cream and whipped cream and several different kinds of syrup drizzled on top. It was crispy and delicious. I was now officially overstuffed with waffley goodness. Although it was a misunderstanding and thus embarrassing, I was now happy to be wearing sweatpants that had room for my tummy full of food.
 

We walked over to the parking lot and got our volleyball gear. Games that night were super fun (as always), although I am not sure if Jer Bear and I were jumping quite as high as usual.

Date 35 - Briefly Johnny then Monday Funday

The old “one last thing to do and then I’ll wrap it up for the day” trick caught me again and I was running late for my after work coffee date with Johnny. I chanted “Buggar! Buggar! Sonofawhore!” As I jogged up the massive hill between the office and home. My phone bleeped. Johnny was at the coffee shop on the corner and asked if I wanted an Earl Grey tea. Champion of life. I replied in the affirmative and picked up the pace.
 

The Starbucks is just up the hill,
on your right

I met Johnny playing volleyball a couple of years ago. He is a dynamic player and a decent guy. We occasionally meet up for coffee and to catch up on each other’s adventures. He has a girlfriend currently, and she has been keeping him busy so we haven't hung out in ages.

Once I crested the hill, I slowed down so as not to show up panting and sweating too grossly. I had a smug moment when I thought about how a scant few years ago I would have had to stop to catch my breath. Constant volleyball has its dividends (or whatever financial term applies best here – I won’t pretend I know what any of those words actually mean).

I saw Johnny’s silhouette through the glass; he was on his phone and had 2 coffee cups at his elbow. I walked in and grinned at him. I was in date mode, I suppose, because I went in for a hug. This took him aback, because he knows and respects my intense need for personal space.

Are we even doing this right?

“Woah, I get a hug?!”

“Thanks for the tea!” I sat down and the energy from my jaunt up the hill escaped in a series of nervous gestures and too much smiling.

We fell to visiting about familiar subjects like cars and trips and volleyball. We talked about relationships and friendships and the trials and tribulations of each. It was a fast catch-up and generally a good one. Before the conversation even slowed down, Johnny looked at his phone and announced that he had to run off to family dinner. I told him it had been great seeing him, and waved goodbye as I walked home.

I had just enough time to go home and get Errol before meeting Captain Horatio Longbottom* for Monday Funday. Horatio is my long-suffering best friend. He has endured over 17 years of my affectionate harassment, crude humour, stubbornness, and puns. He was the friend who offered to chaperone my first date with Constantine, who put together a rolodex full of questions to ask should any of my dates be going too badly, and who has talked me through every rejection, every bad date and every silly mistake so far this Lent. He is my rock. But before you get all: “Oooooh! She’s in love with her best friend, and they’ll get together in the end because that’s how every cheeseball 90s movie ended!” I assure you, it doesn’t end that way. Horatio’s boyfriend Linus would bitch-slap the bajeezus out of me. Plus, Linus has shoulders for days, and I just can't compete with that.
 

Anyway, Horatio had been out of town recently, and I’d missed our weekly dinners/hangouts. I arrived at his house and he fed me curry with coconut rice and pork tenderloin. We opened a bottle of wine and turned on some music.


Besties

I was texting Kevin, because that’s pretty much just a constant thing. We'd been talking about best friends earlier that day, which was apropos. He asked what I was up to, and I told him I was hanging out with Horatio. I then invited Kevin to join us and he said he’d shower and come over. Then I paused, felt like a douche, asked Horatio if he minded that I had just invited Kevin aka Swamp Rat to crash Monday Funday. He didn’t mind, because he’s a sweetheart. And he even went and put pants on. Respect.

Horatio and I were playing the music drawing game that I’d taught to Constantine on Saturday, and laughing at each other when Kevin arrived. I let him into Horatio’s apartment and commented that he had brought two bottles of wine and Captain Horatio Longbottom’s favourite board game. I was babbling fluently about whatever nonsense was sifting through my head while Kevin took off his shoes and it took me a moment to realize that he was lingering in the doorway, waiting for something.

When I figured it out, I felt my face turn red. He was waiting for a “Hello” kiss. Oh! Right. Ok.

I kissed him and said “Hello.” I turned and Horatio was grinning at me devilishly, like the shithead kid in your grade 5 class who just found out that your legal name is Fanny Asserson.

I introduced Kevin to the Captain. Horatio bid him welcome. Kevin sat down at the bar next to me and pulled out his dinner (he’d brought a salad for himself). I had also managed to restrain myself and left a tiny sliver of tenderloin for him. I will be making myself a Generosity Trophy later this week. The boys fell to talking; each knew tidbits about the other, and it didn’t take much time to establish common ground. It was pretty much instant chemistry. They talked about farming and whiskey and making wine and purifying water and being amazing cooks. I made bad puns throughout and sipped my wine.
 

Captain Horatio Longbottom's proud collection
of Generosity Trophies

When Kevin told Horatio about the food we’d made for dinner the other night, Horatio realized that I have been hiding (or, to give me the benefit of the doubt here, trying to get over) my insane pickiness when I am on a date. This made Horatio deviously happy and he proceeded to mess with me all night, and even considered offering me saskatoon berries for dessert (the cunning bastard)!

We talked for hours and played a Cyanide and Happiness board game that was truly delightful. There was lots of laughter, food, wine and chatter. Kevin sat close to me and held my hand. Horatio made me tell some of his favourite jokes and stories. It was well after midnight when I finally convinced myself that it was time to go home. Kevin and I left together, Horatio sang me his amazing, endearing and slightly creepy goodbye song once Kevin was in the hall and couldn’t really hear it.

We walked outside and parted with a “Goodbye” kiss on the street corner.

I texted both Kevin and Horatio when I got home. Kevin replied when he arrived home as well. I’d expected to receive some message from Captain Horatio Longbottom pronouncing his verdict on Kevin, but did not hear a thing. I did some pacing, drank some water, folded a few socks. Did not get much sleep.

 

*Editor’s note: Didn’t learn the lesson about letting people choose their own pseudonyms, but it does have a certain ring to it.