so far, my coping strategy includes whisky

The main obstacle in my course to true love and happily ever after is the fact that I lose interest in men the minute I’m positive they’re into me. It’s unhealthy and emotionally masochistic, and it’s why only the guys who blow hot and cold can sustain my interest for longer than a month or two. I bet with some intensive therapy, I could dig out the roots of this particular flaw, but being a babe on a budget means that I get to look forward to more years of ditching the nice ones and pining over the ones who only text when they’re drunk.

My grandmother claims that my wayward ways will change once I lock eyes with the right man. By wayward, she means resolutely single; my grandmother is anxious for great-grandchildren, since all her friends are showing her up in that department.

There is something beguiling in the notion of love at first sight, but I’m just too cynical for that one. Besides, if it does exist, I’m terrified that it’s my kismet to fall for someone who loves camping, dogs, and large families. I don’t like starting awkward conversations to begin with, and explaining to my one true love that having ten children and a golden retriever (and then taking them into the wilderness for recreational purposes) is anathema to me and all I stand for would certainly edge into uncomfortable territory.

But then, I’m in no rush to find real love, kids and nature notwithstanding. I only bring up my masochist relationship tendencies because I recently got my feelings bruised, and my penchant for emotionally unavailable men means it’s going to happen again–so I’d best learn to deal until I can either afford that therapy or Grandma introduces me to Mr. Outdoorsy.

I mean funny ha-ha, not funny strange

I’ve been thinking lately about a conversation I had some months ago. A friend of mine had just broken up with his girlfriend because she wasn’t as into sex as he was. He worried for awhile about whether or not their emotional connection should be enough, and if he was a bad person for ending it over sex. I said, you’re not a bad person: it was a deal-breaker!

Everyone has them–and not just one, but many. I pass my shallower ones off as “type.” (Example: height. I’m sorry, I just like a tall man. I DID recently drop my minimum height a few inches, if that helps me sound more sympathetic.) I’ve dated outside my type before, but often they turn out to be deal-breakers in the end anyway.

My two closest friends and I all agreed on the following three necessary qualities for a man. If he didn’t have any of the three, he was automatically out. And if he only had one or two, they’d better be in such abundance that they cancelled out the missing one(s):

good-looking
intelligent
funny

It’s not really the best set of criteria, but it’ll do. The best out of three rule kind of breaks down in practice. It’d be nice to go out with someone really, really, ridiculously good-looking, but if he can’t sustain a conversation at a high school level, the relationship is just not going to progress. Also, going out with a Nobel Laureate would be fantastic (also intimidating), but if he doesn’t crack a grin at my knock-knock jokes, my A-game would be totally wasted.

Guys luck out on funny, though. A genuinely funny guy gets forgiven for a lot.

not ALL the produce has melted

Well, Dr. Vanilla called. Twice. I was at work, though, and unable to pick up. Which means, of course, that I have an awkward phone call in my future. Fun-tastic! I’m not saying I haven’t been a perpetrator of the old, stop-returning-phone-calls-until-he-gets-the-hint-and-stops-calling trick. I AM, however, trying to grow as a person, and face up to unpleasant tasks. Like gently hinting that our date lacked the fireworks I’m seeking, and that therefore we should both light other people’s fuses instead. And like cleaning out my fridge. That’s a very unpleasant task.

I’m not knocking vanilla as a flavour–just as a date

I had coffee tonight with someone I shall henceforth refer to as Dr. Vanilla. It isn’t that he was boring, exactly (alright, it IS a little), but just… not as flavourful as one might have hoped. I mean, the man has travelled, lived abroad, and studied extensively, and yet none of those things seem to have added any spice. I want a little kick in my men. Something to savour.

When we met last week, I thought hey, there’s got to be something interesting under the vanilla frosting. Like a fun chocolate swirl. Or a surprising jelly centre. Am I pushing this metaphor too far? It’s entirely possible that I need to eat something before I continue writing this post.

I guess I should have known things weren’t going to work out when my beverage was manlier than his. Speaking of which, I’m trying to train myself to drink whisky straight up (the process requires some slow weaning off of mixers). Do you think I’m subconsciously avoiding love by learning to drink stronger and harder drinks, so that fewer and fewer men can measure up? Discuss!

Anyway, to get back on topic, Dr. Vanilla and I had an unobjectionable, but completely unexciting coffee date, and I’ll probably only see him again if he calls and tells me something hilarious. Intentionally.

with a little help from my friends

Spent most of the weekend hanging around with my best girl friends, eating junk food and talking about boys. It is absolutely essential to do this from time to time–particularly for a post speed dating round-up and an in-depth confab about relationships. Otherwise, you’d never get the reassurance that comes with knowing that your friends are just as mixed-up and crazy as you are, and that they love you anyway. And, naturally, to get an outsider’s view on your latest insane guy problem.

I also hit up Nuit Blanche, but we crapped out around three because of total exhaustion. I need to work out a better strategy for all nighters–probably involving coffee and/or illegal stimulants. There were a lot of cute guys out, but I felt slightly cougar-esque, seeing as most of them looked like they were still undergrads. Not that I’ve accomplished much in the way of growing up since I graduated, but it still feels like an age ago.

A third speed date from last week called me! So I’ve got to set up three dates for the coming weeks, plus, I’ve signed up for another event for next week. Forget Nuit Blanche: I’ve got to find the energy for all this dating!

heading on out there

Two of my matches from my first night of speed dating have called me, and I’m heading out for coffees this week. I suppose I should dive on in there and email the other ones–no point putting all my eggs in one (well, two) basket, after all. And what am I here for, but to put aside my maidenly shyness and dragoon men into dates for your entertainment?

I am, however, going to reserve the clever nicknames and descriptors until after coffee has been achieved. Otherwise, I’d probably come up with something that just doesn’t suit, and then you and I would be stuck with it for the duration. I’d hate to have to dump a guy just because I gave him an alias that I just couldn’t live with later.

there was no “maybe” box, so I went with yes

Well, folks, my speed dating cherry has been popped. It was a mild clam bake (I’m trying to make it happen, Peter!), in that there were ten ladies to the eight gents, but it was actually kind of nice to get a little time to break and breathe. I’m terrible with faces, but instead of wisely taking notes to remind me of what each guy looked like, I jotted down reminders of what we talked about. So it’s going to be a crapshoot when I meet any of these guys next.

At the beginning, we all stood around grouped like a middle school dance, but once most people got to their second drink, there was some mixing between the sexes. I wondered vaguely if we were cheating on the eight minutes by speaking outside our designated time period, but since Dan, our gregarious host, did not swoop down and separate, I guess it was kosher.

I only summarily rejected two of them (I’m not the heartless bitch I pretend to be, you see). One because not only did I have to work too hard to sustain a conversation for eight minutes, but since he speaks English as a second language, most of my jokes would be utterly lost on him. The second because he was short. Alright, so I am a heartless bitch. But my New Year’s resolution was to become an expert at strutting in heels, and I’m not about to restrict myself to wearing flats on dates when I didn’t have anything in common with him to begin with.

I did take to heart Dan’s advice, though: if you’re on the fence, choose “yes.” What’s the harm in following up, after all? First impressions are important, but I have completely changed my mind about people after getting to know them better. So, dear readers, I will keep you posted!

lying to small children since 1999

In my job, I sometimes have to deal with children. Like today, for example. I am better with kids than I am with pets, but that might not necessarily be saying much. Now, I assume that I would be pretty okay with my OWN children (unlike the heinous brats raised by others), but I just don’t know if I actually want them. It seems like an awful lot of responsibility for someone who hates cooking and loves sharp edges on her furniture.

Anyway, just a random thought I had while I lied outrageously to the kids all day. I’m not sure how much they believed (there’s just no TRUST in the world anymore!), but one certainly started shrieking when I threatened to throw him in a dumpster.

And on an unrelated topic, here’s a link to peruse in your copious spare time. The new rule of dating is that there are no rules. And don’t talk about fight club.

I think you’re crazy

I’m getting pumped and nervous for my first speed dating experience. I always wonder what kind of first impression I give off, especially since one of my best friends has told me she thought I was crazy when we met. Granted, I was hopped up on the general excitement of the first day of frosh week, but it’s still not the ideal aura to give off. Particularly when meeting men, since I’m told it’s the kind of thing they don’t like.

check yes, no, or maybe

You know what I miss? Crushes. I haven’t had one in a long time. I miss the stomach flutters, the heart palpitations… the various other symptoms of illness that signify chemistry. High school was full of crushes–generally of the unattainable variety, as my social stock was hardly booming back then, but still, what happened?