Here We Go Again …

Last night, while at my friend’s “Bye Bye Bush” dinner party (’cause if THIS isn’t an excuse to throw a party, I don’t know what WOULD be), a friend of mine asked me what my New Year’s resolution was.

I told her I didn’t really make any, because I’d be liable to break them.

Later on, when I asked her what hers was, she replied:

“To spend more time with men.”

Her rationale behind this: She’s a very girly-girl; thus, most of her friends are female. By hanging out more with guys, not only might she expand her cache of comrades of the opposite sex and gain some really good friends, eventually she might meet someone who’s boyfriend material. Why not?

I thought it was a great idea, and said good for her.

Then she said to me, “I have a dating site for you.”

I blinked.

“You do?” I said (and I’m pretty sure I was wrinkling my forehead and turning up my nose ever so slightly).

Apparently it’s high-time for me to get myself on a dating Web site – if only for the “dating practice”. AND she’s going to bug me everytime she sees me until I’m on it. Because really – what do I have to lose?

*sigh* Yep. Ten days AHEAD of schedule from last year.

I have to admit when I bedgrudgingly said I’d try and do it, my eyes were flitting from my friend’s face to the splotch on the ceiling above the kitchen tape.

Honestly, I’d love to oblige. And I like boys, really. But I’m so disinterested right now. The weeks following Christmas usually mean my hormones are in hibernation. And the weather we’ve been having lately? NOT helping.

I dunno. I’m not feeling the whole idea right now.

But I guess when she talks to me, she’d rather hear me talk about some guy I went on a date with, rather than me saying, “Not much. I’ve just been working.” Ha.

We’ll see.

Le Sigh 2.0

In a recent post on her blog, a friend of mine lamented, “Why am I attracted to all the wrong guys?”

I commiserate with her. Not because I think I have the same problem. Oh, no, no. My issue is that I seem to be attracted to the guys whom, for some reason, I cannot have.

Ladies (and maybe gents), prepare to be dismayed. 

Today, I gotta rant. About a boy. And it’s gonna get neurotic.

I have this recurring (or ongoing?) crush on this guy, and it’s driving me nuts. I’ve mentioned him before, but I’m not going to go into the backstory here. I already did that last year. And it progressed into the summer. (Yes, I’m la-aaame.)

I thought I stopped liking him a while back. But I guess I was lying to myself. Again.

Before last Friday, I last saw him in March, at a friend’s birthday party. But then he went travelling for a while, so I didn’t really hear from him until mid-April, when I decided to e-mail him.

In my mind, I’m telling myself, snap out of it, because he’s typical of every guy I ever had a crush on – The Guy I Cannot Have – so why pine away over someone who is Just Another Friend? Especially someone I see only every two months on average, anyway?

But something in me can’t help but hang on to the threads of possibility. Even if I don’t see him for long periods of time, every time I do, it’s like it starts up all over again.

For instance: I went to meet him for dinner on Friday – purely as friends – and in my head I thought, It’s no big deal. It’s just dinner. Catching up. Shooting the shit.

But as I got closer to the restaurant, I started having this jittery feeling in my stomach – the one I’d get if I was going for a big test or a job interview.

And then my throat just suddenly went dry. My throat almost never does that.

It’s that ludicrous.

And then the other thing – not that I’m decent at being able to decipher people at all – is, I am absolutely no good at figuring him out. I can’t read him.

Like, in the past, sometimes the way he’ll sometimes squeeze my arm or wink at me, I’d be thinking, Is he winking at me? I – I think he did. Did he just squeeze my arm? I don’t see him do that with anyone else

So then I’m convinced – or, at least, the 16-year-old inhabiting my body is convinced – it’s somehow this thing.

For me the big part of this thing is our greetings and goodbyes. Usually it’s a hug accompanied with a peck on the cheek. I don’t just dole that shit out to anyone. If you get any sugar from me, it’s either ’cause you’re (a) a friend or (b) other – and I don’t think I need explain what I mean by “other”. 

Until last Friday. When we parted ways, we just gave each other a hug. Period.

Walking to the subway station, while I was numbing part of my brain by blasting music through my iPod (and thereby further damaging my hearing), the other part was like, What the fu- ? Wha? That’s it? Huh. I guess he was just being overly friendly that one time … or maybe he liked me way back, but he’s over it … Or maybe he’s just tired and has to get up early in the morning …

And on it went, to the point where the neurotic part of my brain has presently resigned itself to the belief that nothing will happen between us.

Yes. I am, without a doubt, socially STUNTED when it comes to this sort of thing. Sigh.

Maybe I should get out more, with different people. But it seems like so much work. And really? What good will unleashing me onto the general populace do?

Besides, if he actually liked me as much as I like him (as part of my brain would like me to keep hoping), he would have done something about it already, right? Something would’ve happened.


The older I get, the worse I get at this stuff.

I should just fill out my application for the nunnery and submit it. Like, first thing Monday morning. 


Le Sigh, Part Deux

Yes there’s more, if you’ve read the post below.

If you haven’t read it, scroll down one first.

Okay. So, I got invited to Real Nice Guy’s party and The Twinge came back. Hoo, boy. What awkward timing.

So my friend (Birthday Girl #1, Real Nice Guy’s close friend … not Birthday Girl # 2, who went out with him) and I went to the party. It was good, but kinda weird. I didn’t really know anyone there – there’s an age gap – and I tried my best to talk to people here and there where I could.

We did talk here and there, though not very long. I was just trying NOT to act like a complete goof.

Then Birthday Girl # 1′ s boyfriend came over, and they hung out for a bit.

Then it was time to go. I thought it would be a bit like the last time.

I went to say goodbye, and then he decided he wanted to try and dance with me. I’m horrible with dancing that involves another person’s hands, feet and coordinated steps. I tried, awkwardly, and laughed, a bit embarrassed.

After we hugged and said our goodbyes.

And that’s where things stand. He’s right now somewhere in southern Africa, and by the time he returns, I’ll be over in Spain. So I probably won’t see him until September.

And by then, it could be a completely new ballgame.

I just hope when I return I get a chance to play the field, instead of riding the bench like I normally do.

Le Sigh.

I’m sure it’s the dog days of summer really setting in, but I’ve been feeling restless all week. It’s like my brain, amid all this self-inflicted panic and worry, has decided it can’t wait three weeks for my vacation and decided to take a bit of a mini-vacay for the time being.

But I know that’s not the only reason.

Remember Real Nice Guy? I’m sure he has something to do with it, and I’m hoping it’ll pass soon. In case you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, read this first to refresh your memory.

Here’s what’s happened – or not happened – since that last post:

A week after the night my friend – Birthday Girl # 2 – and Real Nice Guy hit it off, a small group of us, including them, went out one night back in June (for North by Northeast) ’cause his roommate and their band was playing.

Even though I knew what the score was, I was dying to hear it from the horse’s mouth. She hadn’t said a word about it since that weekend.

So a bit later on in the evening, when she and I went to the restroom, she gave me the Coles Notes version. They went out a few days after the “magical” night (which apparently involved them talking until the wee hours of the morning). She says she liked him and vice versa. But …


Apparently the confidence he’d had with a few drinks evaporated a bit when the two of them were sober. And so she got the sense that she’d intimidated him a bit, so she was playing it cool for the time being.

So, there I had it. Or so I thought.

We listened to the band in the packed room. “We” being myself, and Real Nice Guy. Birthday Girl # 2 and our other friend retreated to the bar to sit and chat. That was pretty much where they stayed the rest of the entire set.

The plan after that was to go en masse to his place and hang out there. But my friends were still talking, and they said to me, “Oh, you can go ahead. We’ll catch up.” My face was like, “are you sure?” and I said as much, but I then I thought, okay, whatever. So off I went with the rest of them.

Back at his place, a group of us were just hanging out, drinking and talking. Soon a couple of African drums came out, and away they went. I tried to learn how to play, but I was embarrassed at the lack of coordination and stopped after awhile.

Sometime later, my friend called Real Nice Guy and talked to him for a couple minutes.

Then he passed his cell to me.

She told me she and our friend wasn’t coming … and that she decided that she wasn’t going to pursue anything because of what had happened earlier in the week. She added, “I think you’re more suited for each other. So you can get to know him better and chat with him until sunrise.”


I don’t think I processed what she said at first. I left a little while later (but not before getting one of the warmest hugs ever. Sigh).

The following day, I wrote her back. Eventually she responded: yep, she said what she’d said the night before.

But then I started feeling weird about the whole thing. I mean, deep down, I’d wanted a crack at him. And then when I didn’t get one, I got frustrated. So when I had that conversation with my friend (Birthday Girl # 2), it was as if I wished that things wouldn’t work out and then it actually happened. So in my mind, it almost felt like it didn’t happen fair and square.

My big hang-up about it was the age gap between us. He’s not the older one of us two.

Even my other friend who was there that night out at NXNE, was telling me on other occasions that she thought that he liked me … and that I should do something about it.

Then I started feeling really weird about it … maybe I was just nervous … and I think I stopped liking him because of that. I remember him inviting me to something a few weeks later. Then I got sick, and by the time the event rolled around, I didn’t even have the strength to go.

Fast forward to last week. So Real Nice Guy decided to have another party and invited me. So I said sure, since I was feeling loads better. I didn’t think anything of it until I read the invite again.

He was going travelling for a month and wanted to hold a shindig and stay up all night so he’d sleep on the long flight over.

He’s travelling? I thought. And then I felt a twinge. I thought it was my envy at his impending adventure. But after a few moments it kinda felt like the one I felt the night of the party back in May.

The Twinge.

One-Date Quota: Filled

And way ahead of schedule, I might add!

Earlier this month, I mentioned that one of my friends sent me a proposition via e-mail: would I be interested in going on a blind date?

In the past, I would have emphatically said, “No!” outright. Nope. Not in a million years.

But considering my dating life the last decade and a half has resembled a dry desert with parched, cracked earth and the occasional tumbleweed … I agreed. ‘Cause even a desperado wants a change of scenery once in a while.

My friend fed me the odd detail. He works fairly near to where I live (and lives relatively close to me, as it turns out). And she couldn’t stress enough how hot he is. I admit, that’s where I felt a bit of uneasy pressure. I mean, meeting a complete stranger being hyped by your friends is one thing. But while I appreciate her not starting the sentence with, “He’s got a really good personality”, it kinda makes me nervous. ‘Cause everyone’s standards are different. What if I think he’s good-looking but he doesn’t consider ME attractive?

And then the other things: How to make good, witty conversation? What if I think he’s dumb? What if he thinks I’M dumb? And so on.

But then the wheels really set themselves in motion. My friend gave Mystery Man my number. He called me the day after that. I didn’t return his call until the day after that (due to work-related business). He left it in my hands to decide where to meet. I finally decided on a place to meet and then called him back.

Finally after all the to-and-fro-ing, yesterday was the big evening. As it was, I was exhausted from the night before, having only gone to bed earlier that morning. I was practically asleep for most of my hair appointment that afternoon. I managed to get home in time to eat dinner, putter around for way too long, and then had to race to get ready.

And when I opened the door, I managed to be dressed and not covered in deodorant and toothpaste stains. My make-up was minimal – I think I had enough time to smear some lip balm on. And off we went.

Looking back on it, I thought it went fairly well, a lot LESS painful than I expected. We made really good conversation (for two strangers, anyway). He seemed really nice, told me a bit about his family, what he does for a living, what he does outside of work, etc. We talked about movies, music, just stuff in general.

And I’m going to e-mail him tomorrow to thank him for the evening and say that I hope we’d maybe meet up sometime in the near future.

But I’m not going to be putting my eggs in one basket (like some of my friends, who are ALREADY asking if they’re going to meet him … a bit much!).

This was definitely a start, though. I’m hoping maybe this will give me the confidence to make this the first of many coffee dates, and other types of dates, too.

We’ll see if I actually come out of my shell and take another dip in the big pond.

UPDATE: I ended up e-mailing him Monday; he e-mailed me tonight (Tuesday) to say, although I was a nice woman, he didn’t really feel enough of a spark to carry it forward. At least he was honest. And truthfully, I didn’t feel much there, either. But hey – that’s the world of dating, right? Next.

Weird Facebook Moment # 1

Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day!

I was just updating my Facebook profile, responding to friend requests and generally writing on people’s walls when it just occurred to me:

Within the last three weeks or so – in addition to being contacted by old classmates – my friend list now includes a former boyfriend, and two previous crushes.

For all I know, they’ll probably just end up being FFiNOS (Facebook Friends in Name Only). But it’s still kinda, sorta weird, making my world that much smaller.

Why I’m A Loser, Reason # 59

I now officially have no willpower for anything.

Okay, know how you can go to if you wanted to look up information on pretty much any movie or actor you want, for useless trivia, quotes, actor stats to settle bets, etc.?

Well, I pretty much used it in vain today. But see, you have to understand, I was bored

So there was this guy I met a long time ago, like twice. He was an actor. And he was fiiine. And I was smitten, and probably have been ever since. (Reason #59a why I’m a loser.)

But the one thing I’d never let myself do is a Google or IMDb search. ‘Cause that’s borderline stalker-ish and I’d have to admit to myself that I have a serious problem. One that I probably haven’t had since primary school, when I seriously loved off this one guy from third- to sixth-grade … And there was that other guy during my second-year of university …

In any case, for months, no matter how great the temptation, I said, NO. IMDb to me is like Waterloo was to Napoleon. I give in, it’s ALL over.

Today, I met my Waterloo.

I was sitting there this afternoon, waiting on a phone call, trying to focus on work-related Web-surfing, and before I knew it, I veered right off track – checking e-mail, etc.

And the The Temptation hit me full blast. It’d been niggling away at me the last day or so, and I’d mentally swat it away.

Today, I was like, oh hell, I’ll just check. It’s not like he’s done enough to be on there.

I put the dude’s name in the search engine, but I didn’t even look at it right away; afraid of what I’d see, I looked at another Web page. Finally about four minutes later, I clicked on the page, scrunched up my face and prepared myself for what I might see.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.


His picture. (Forehead smack.)

His birthday. And pretty much everything he’s been in since I don’t know when. Plus a big, globbed-together bio.

And then I closed down the page.

Lesson learned, right? Nope. I went back. Again. Briefly. I couldn’t help it!

Sweet Shilpa Shetty. I think I officially became an IMDb stalker this afternoon. I’m so embarrassed.

This must be what they refer to as cyber-masturbation. Because while I felt kinda good doing it, I mostly squirmed in my seat at letting myself do it. And I then I felt dirty.

… Aw sheeit. I just did it again. Okay, this stops here.

Excuse me. I have to go do penance for this ridiculous, loser-ish thing I’ve done. Good night.

Boys and relationships, according to cabbies

So, while out for Canada Day last night, I had to take cabs at two separate points in the night – and got more than I expected.

The first ride, my friend Patty and I were at Queen and Bathurst, waiting for a streetcar so we could get to College. We gave up and flagged down a cab.

The guy driving the cab was hilarious and kept us laughing our entire trip. He asked us, “Do you know about English polyphonic a capellas?” Having a smidge of musical knowledge, I’m not entirely sure if that was really a term, but we played along, and said, “Uh no.” Then he asked us about some opus by Beethoven in B-flat. Again, we played along.

And he said, “This is something you can use to find nice boy. If he says he knows about these, than he is the boy for you.”

The second cab ride was on my way home. Having walked with my friend Heather from College down to King Street, we parted ways at King and Bathurst, and I hopped in a cab across town.

I was wide awake at this point, but the rocking motion of cabs travelling 60 kms/hr tend to have this hypnotic effect, rendering me asleep within about 15 minutes. I was wondering how to keep myself awake.

I didn’t have to wonder much, thanks to my cabbie Shafiq. The conversation started out pretty simple enough – we were just making small talk about what we both did for Canada Day.

And then he asked some question about what did my boyfriend think (I guess about going out so late) and I said, “I don’t have a boyfriend. I live with my parents; I don’t have to worry about that sort of thing.” And then he was wondering aloud why it seemed more and more girls don’t seem to find boys – or at least, why they don’t want to find boys, opting to study instead.

The conversation then took another turn onto the subject of interracial/inter-cultural dating. He relayed this one story about himself as a younger man from Pakistan, who’d dated this Polish girl, fell in love with her and told her he wanted to marry her. She said no – the difference in culture would just make things difficult. Needless to say, they probably broke up shortly after. He asked me what I thought about this.

Here’s my general philosophy on these things: As far as I’m concerned, it’s understandable if someone wants to date and/or marry someone of the same culture. It’s safe and uncomplicated. And I understand the whole need to keep the culture alive.

But with the way things are, especially in countries like ours, we shouldn’t judge if someone wants to date or marry someone else who’s different, outside their culture, outside their religion. And there’s a growing number of these relationships everywhere you look.

Sure, it’s hard, and it’s a lot of work – especially if two people plan on having children. But any relationship, whether romantic, platonic or otherwise, requires people putting in the effort for it to work. Whether two people are of the same culture or different ones, if they’re not willing to do the work, then don’t put in the time. And I think as the number of intercultural or interracial families grow, there’s a chance it might get easier (aside from people guessing what you are every five minutes).

On top of which, yeah, it does help if you have the support of the families who will be joined together. The lack of family foundation just makes things that much more difficult.

To me, it doesn’t really matter who I’d end up with, as long as I can deal with the things that transcend racial/religious/cultural boundries: the inital spark, whether feelings are mutual, the ability to communicate with the other person and whether the two of us can stick together during the rough patches.

It’s probably a pretty idealistic way of looking at things, and I’m sure I’m glossing or missing important factors other people consider daily. But to me, happiness is ultimately what matters, more than what other people may think.

‘Cause if you can’t share happiness with someone you love, no matter who or what they are, then what do you have?

Geek Magnetism

If you thought I was being overreactive and shallow with my ranting about Shakespeare last month, here’s further proof I attract plain men I don’t mutually find attractive:

Walking along Front Street yesterday afternoon to meet a friend at our office building, I was waiting for the traffic light to change, when I made the mistake of looking over to my left into the eyes of a stranger. A mousy, thin-haired, bespectacled office-type with thin hair.

I tried to look quickly away, but not before he said, “Hi,” smiling at me wanly.

“Hi,” I said to be polite, quickly looking away. But the mistake had already been made.

“How do you do that to your hair?” he asked, orthodontic elastics stretching in his mouth as he spoke.

“I don’t do it myself. Someone does it for me,” I replied. C’mon green light, I thought.

“So it must take hours, then?” he asked.

“No, three hours. Not too bad, ” I said back, reaching my limit.

The light finally changed and we crossed the street. I started to stride a little bit, but apparently Mr. Mouth-Elastics wasn’t finished talking to me.

Mr. Mouth-Elastics: So, which team are you rooting for in World Cup?

Me: Um, none, really. I don’t really watch soccer.

MME: Oh. So, you’re probably more into hockey, then?

Me: I don’t really watch sports.

MME: Ohh … Well, you’re into arts, then. You look like an artsy person.

Me: (For the LOVE of ) Um, well, I don’t really do anything artistic … I’m more appreciative of other artists.

MME: Oh.

Thank GOD we were nearing my building when I spotted my boss leaving. I did a quick, “Gotta go, bye,” and the torture was over.

Karma, if you’re reading this: I give up. No mas! Uncle!! I’m not asking to run into models on the street. But couldn’t you just give me a little more Wentworth Miller and a little less Barney Miller?

I’m good with an iota of Ryan Reynolds. Taye Diggs? Gimme somethin’ to work with here. For serious. Help a sista out. I’m open and willing to negotiations. Just make the geek parade STOP.

Shakespeare, Reconsidered (kinda)

So, I went out with Shakespeare and a friend of mine last week.

I think he may have met his match with my friend who, aside from being a co-worker, is an artist in her own right, in her spare time. It was kinda funny when Shakespeare and I went out for drinks afterwards and he said, “Your friend is pretty intense.” (This coming from someone I find overwhelming.)

I asked, “You’re not scared, are you?”

“No, ” he replied. “She’s definitely passionate about things … she’s just a bit overwhelming.” (I tried not to smirk. Do you know how HARD that is for me?)

So I softened up a bit after that. So I think things may be a bit better. Or it could’ve been because I was tired and it was late. But who knows?

I got my friend’s impression of him, later on that week. She described him as “rather cool, if a bit anal.” He’s a man of conviction, she concluded, but he’s surprisingly set in his ways, and narrow-minded.

He apparently also exudes “total bachelor” who hides behind his fusspot personality to test people. Guess he’s not someone who easily trusts people, which can be understandable. And I guess as a result of that he doesn’t have many friends, and is clinging to the ones he makes.

She added we were from completely different worlds. I definitely agree with her assessment. I don’t think he knows or understands that. I wonder how long it’ll be before he sees that, too.

So essentially, he needs to meet more people. Then he won’t rely on me so much. At least, that’s what I understand.

And I must amend slightly what I said below. If the impression I gave was that I dislike poets, that’s not what I meant. I just think I attract strange people. All the time.

I have — and will — occasionally talked to people I meet on the street. All types of people. I’m sure a lot of other people have. I’m just tired of attracting the eccentric ones who think I’m a kindred spirit. (Believe me, I’m boring. Move on elsewhere.)