Posts Tagged ‘dating

18
Nov
10

Girlfriends and comic books

Vancouver Comicon at Heritage Hall, Nov 14 2010. Robyn Hanson photo

There are certain things you don’t immediately let on to someone you’ve just started dating. Unless, that is, you’re totally clueless (something I can definitely lay claim to in the past… and probably again sometime in the near future as well. Maybe even in this blog post).

These include (off the top of my head): your negative opinion of your mother’s cooking; the fact that most of your wardrobe comes from indie-rock shows; and that your comic book collection could fill a regular-size closet.

Each long (and semi-long) term girlfriend I’ve had has had to come to terms with the fact that yes, their boyfriend is a comic book loser. Not that I have tried to hide it, though maybe I should have. But it’s one of those male things women seem to accept in guys, like hockey jerseys, Rush albums and a crush on actress Paz de la Huerta.

I recall a number of years ago when I was going through a geeky process of filing all my comics away in special protective bags (with special cardboard backing, of course). There I was, a grown man (in his late thirties!) in the middle of the living room of his tiny one-bedroom East Van apartment, surrounded by copies of The Invisibles and The Uncanny X-Men and who knows what else, when my cousin came in and said, “Wow. If ___ is still dating you after seeing this, she must really like you.”

One of my exes actually drew her own comics on a semi-regular basis. They were pretty good, too, even if they didn’t have the Hulk or Spider-Man in them.

Comic-book nerd selling off his comics. Robyn Hanson photo

The reason I bring all this up is that R., my girlfriend, got a first-hand taste of comic-book geekdom this weekend. With another move, the second in three months, coming up I had decided that it was time to sell of my collection, or at least a major portion of it. So I rented a dealer’s table and hauled six boxes over to a local Sunday afternoon comic convention. This is not something you want to do alone, plus I figured the presence of comely lass at my side couldn’t hurt sales, especially in the comely-lass deficient (except for the odd Emma Watson type) environment of a comics convention. Hence, I recruited R.

To her credit, she stuck it out ’til the very end as collector after collect (almost all male) pawed through my boxes of comics, most selling for 50 cents or a buck. Fortunately, it turned out that she knew the people at the table next to us. They were selling T-shirts, not comics, so they were even more out of place than we were.

So this blog post is going out to R., for sticking it out and being a good sport (as well as my gopher). And to any ex that I ever dragged to an X-Men movie: I’m sorry.

Read more about my experience selling off my collection here.

 

19
Jun
09

Boys are confusing

I thought that I had finally met someone worthwhile in Halifax, but I very quickly discovered that I was wrong. Thankfully nothing had really happened and I wasn’t too heavily invested in this thing, so I got over it pretty fast. This new boy, lets call him ‘Sailor’ because he owns a boat, was someone I met last Friday night at a party. In all honestly, when I met him I didn’t think much of him because he acted like a bit of a doofus, thought he was much funnier than he was and was was leering at me. But, the drunker I got (and the more time I spent in his company) the more I liked him.

I ended up spending all night on his boat, because I was too drunk to leave, and the next morning we spent a few pleasant hours together. He seemed quite interested, and as I got in the cab to leave he asked me to email him when I got back from Finland (I was flying there later that day). Although in the cold light of day he was quite cute, and had a pretty tattoo, I still wasn’t convinced I was interested. So I told him I didn’t have his email address. “Facebook me,” Sailor called over his shoulder. “I don’t know your full name, I’ll never be able to find you,” I said, closing the taxi door. I impressed myself at how cool I was being. But then I wasn’t expecting to start liking him.

I get on the plane to Helsinki and look through the photos on my camera, and there were all these fantastic pictures of me and Sailor together. He looked very cute, and extremely happy with his arms wrapped around me, I was grinning ear to ear. I started to think that maybe I should cut the guy a break, perhaps he wasn’t such a doofus and just acted like one to cover up his loneliness or fears or whatever. He had said some lovely things to me that night….

At this point I started acting like a girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So I find him on Facebook pretty easily, and we become friends. I see that he has posted that he had “The Best Weekend Ever” and smile. I see that another chick says “Thanks for a great night Sailor” the day after I saw him but I think, whatever, its okay, doesn’t mean he screwed her. We communicate back and forth and talk about getting together when I get home.

I get off the plane in Halifax and see that he’d messaged to ask when my flight got in because he might be able to see me there (he works at the airport so its not that big a deal), I message back to say I’ll just see him another day (I’d been flying all day and looked like shit, the last thing I wanted to do was see anyone). I walk through customs and there he is waiting for me. That’s showing an interest, right? I was impressed.

So, my ride had forgotten to pick me up so I was sat there for ages talking to Sailor, and it was fun, flirty and we talked about when we’d see each other again. I went home with a smile on my face thinking that I might have finally met someone cute in Halifax.

We emailed a couple of times that night, he said he was looking forward to hanging out and that he was off work on Thursday. Last night when I emailed to ask when we’d be getting together he totally brushed me off, said “I already have plans Thursday night, but if things change I’ll give you a holler”.

WTF?

Seriously, WTF?

After a day of questioning myself (was it because I looked like shit getting off the plane? Because I have a kid? Because there is another girl? Did I say something? Because I mentioned on my blog that I’d met someone?) and feeling like crap, I snapped back to reality. This guy is totally not worth my time. I didn’t think he was worth my time until I saw pictures of us looking happy, until I projected something that wasn’t there on to an entirely inappropriate person.

Sailor is hot, sure, but he is a 40 year old man living like a teenager, on his boat, getting drunk and high. Very fun, but that’s not my life. It might have been fifteen years ago (without the boat), but not now. I took him off my Facebook, because he isn’t a friend (my friends treat me better than that) and even if he suddenly regained interest there is no way I will ever go there again.

17
Jun
09

boys are like buses

When I was offered this blogging gig, I was a little concerned that I might not have enough material to write about. My dating life wasn’t that exciting and I hoped that the fact that I was going to have to write about it would mean that I’d put more effort in to actually searching for a man. For whatever reason, suddenly my dating life has got a bit exciting and I’m really not sure how to handle things.

I am not good at this whole dating a few people at once thing. I feel like that kind of dating has a whole different set of rules of engagement, and I don’t have the playbook in my possession. Suddenly, there are a couple of interested parties in my life and it worries me. Thrills me and excites me as well of course, but is a tad stressful. I met someone last week that made my heart flutter, and he is totally interested, but I’m flying out to BC to spend time with Bali Boy on Monday.

I’m also worried because obviously whatever I write about my love life is fairly easy to find online, so I’m forced in to a position of being totally honest and upfront with people. But then, that’s kind of how I am anyway.

This is a rambling post, with no real point so I should probably end it. But I have a really awesome post I want to write about what happened with this new interest, I just have to work out if I’ll shoot myself in the foot by doing so.

On another unrelated note, I just spent 24 hours in Finland on assignment and feel compelled to mention that the Finnish men almost knocked the Montreal men out of the water looks wise. If you are attracted to 6’5 blonde Nordic God types. Which, I kinda float my boat. I came close to getting intimate one with a very hot Finn this week, but decided that two boys messing with my mind was enough. Sigh. My love life feels just like waiting for a bus, none in sight for ages and then three come along at once.

12
Jun
09

montreal boys

I know that I already confessed my adoration of the French-Canadian male, but I feel that this is a topic that deserves

No, really, I was just taking a picture of my daughter.

No, really, I was just taking a picture of my daughter.

further attention, especially as I actually took a few pictures to use as evidence of how gorgeous Montreal boys are (you will notice that my toddler is in some pictures, as I didn’t actually want to be caught taking pictures of hot strange men).

In Montreal, it really did seem like there was a disproportionate number of attractive men. They were everywhere. My friend joked that it didn’t matter where we were, in the Metro, a restaurant, any store, there were at least three attractive men in our sight. The young men were gorgeous, as were the old men and everything in between. It wasn’t just that they were just naturally attractive, it was also that they took good care of themselves. Montreal men dress well, even if they were wearing a Ramones T-shirt and jeans, dressed like a hippy or in a suit, they could carry off their look better than other Canadian men can.

The sexual confidence that Montreal men display is dead sexy. They are not afraid to flirt, hold your gaze and even talk to you. Then of course the accent drives me wild too. I am a sucker for that sexy French accent and could have someone read me the news with that purr and get turned on.

Doesn't my daughter look cute? Oh and look, there's a hot boy!

Doesn't my daughter look cute? Oh and look, there's a hot boy!

I spoke to a few Montreal guys about the sexiness they had and they were both surprised, they thought that it was very hard to be a man in Montreal because the women were snooty and did not appreciate them. “It is hard to be a single man in Montreal,” said one young hottie, “there are not enough women here and it is hard to meet someone special.” I felt so bad for him, I wanted to move straight to Montreal and address the imbalance!B1IMG_0510

02
Jun
09

Dealbreakers

I was downtown today with my daughter and decided on a whim to take her over to Dartmouth on the ferry, because that’s the kind of thing that two-year-olds get a kick out of. As we were waiting to board the ferry, this guy I went on a few dates with about six months ago comes over and says hello. I always feel a bit awkward at meeting up with men when I’m in mommy mode, but this guy (lets call him Danny) has a kid himself so I felt okay about it. Danny was cute, funny, charming and I had really liked him. When we started dating I could see myself being with him, but three dates in I realized that he didn’t have a job, lived with his parents and was really not over his ex. So, I ended things.

Chatting with Danny today, I found out that he now has a decent job, and although I didn’t know if he was out of his mom’s basement or over the ex, I presumed that at least one of those things might have happened since I saw him. Danny is a good looking guy – he is tall, blond, built and dresses well, so I couldn’t help thinking I might have made a mistake in finishing things. Anyway, despite the residual chemistry, but I said goodbye and took my daughter up on the deck to look at the water while he went to sit inside. For all of the fifteen minutes it took to get from Halifax to Dartmouth, I wondered whether I should say anything about going out again some time.

I didn’t get a chance, because he was gone by the time we got off the ferry, but as we walked past the liquor store out he came. We chatted again and he walked us to a nearby playground. It got awkward when he told me that he thought he ex was getting married today (RED FLAG RED FLAG!), but he seemed okayish about it. We both said that we should meet up sometime and then he left. I watched him walk away, lighting up a cigarette as he turned the corner, then I remembered what the ultimate dealbreaker had been.

It wasn’t that he smoked, although I hate smoking, it was that he told me he smoked in front of his eight-year-old kid because he didn’t want to hide anything from him. This repulsed me, because for one that meant he was exposing his son to second-hand smoke, but also that he was modeling a behavior that I thought was wrong. Now I’m not a super judgmental parent, truly I’m not, but that just struck me as so incredibly dumb that there was no way I could see the guy again.

So, I’m glad I saw him sparking up that cigarette, because otherwise I would probably emailed him and suggested we meet, which would have just been a complete waste of time.

25
May
09

Game on!

The chatting with Bali Boy has continued on an almost daily basis over the past few months. I like him, he is sexy, smart and gorgeous. He makes me laugh hard, so much so I snorted Cheerios out my nose and all over my iMac last week. Our chats are intense, fun, sexually charged and leave me wanting more. I have been trying desperately hard to sell stories on BC in order to justify a trip out west to visit him but it didn’t look like I was going to be able to do it.

Just when I was about to give up, I managed to score an assignment for a national magazine that requires me testing out romantic resorts (yeah!) so at the end of June, me and kiddo will fly to BC, I’ll drop my daughter off with her father for 10 days and spend some quality time with Bali Boy.

This seems like it will be the perfect way to consummate our “relationship”. He’ll drive us to the resort in his convertible, we’ll spend two days holed up in a luxurious suite that has a jacuzzi tub made for two, ocean views and everything you could possibly ever want for a dirty weekend. Hopefully the connection I felt that night back in Vancouver so long ago will still be there, we’ll make each other laugh, and enjoy each others company enough that the rest of my time in BC will also be spent with him.

I’m so happy that I’ll at least get to have a bit of fun, because it has been so long since I’ve spent time with someone I really like. Like I said before, this can’t go anywhere and I’m okay with that. I’m not looking to fall in love with someone who lives in the city I am so happy to have left, and this guy isn’t looking for a long-term thing.

This will be a fling, with a start and an end.

For 10 days I will exist outside of the realities of being a mom, where I get to be someone else. An all the time sexy and fun version of me, where I am not responsible for anyone and seeking only my happiness. Kind of like me ten years ago, but more jaded, less desperate to please and much more concerned about my own joy!

22
May
09

For a good time in Zurich…

It was some kind of holiday yesterday, though national or just city-wide I’m not sure. Also, no one seemed to be able to tell us what the holiday was about, outside of “some Christian thing.” Anyway, the upshot of all this being, the Texas Twister lost her key.

IMG_8295

To put it into context: there is one key that works both the building door and the apartment door, and it’s basically uncopy-able. So we have the one key between us and yesterday she was doing the laundry in the basement dungeon. She took the key with her and came back upstairs and then said she was going to get some breakfast. I said I’d be along in a bit and she left. A few minutes later, having finished whatever it was I was working on, I started getting ready to leave. Then I thought, the keys. She must have them. However, I know enough never to assume such things when it comes to the Twister, so I took a quick look around the apartment, even checked some coat pockets. Nothing. Okay then…

I found her sitting outside at a nearby “cucina” (lit. “kitchen”, meaning restaurant), where she’s having a coffee and waiting on some mussels. Hi, I say. You have the key, right?

She looks in her big white bag, which she bought at the flea market last Saturday. No key. Still, I’m thinking, it’s probably in that bag somewhere—this kind of thing, where she can’t find something that she has on her, has happened before. We finish our coffee, go back to the apartment. Re-check the bag, both of us. No key. We decide to stake out the building, even though no one ever seems to come or go. She takes the first shift, and I go up the street for a glass of wine and some olives. I come back, she’s inside. (I have to call up to her second-floor suite from the cobblestone tourist bath outside, with people who are sitting at wooden tables outside the Migros Take Away watching, because, she told me when I first arrived, the doorbell doesn’t work. Last night she revealed this was a lie, that it does work, she just wants me to yell from down below like some kind of putz.) She’d rung all the bells and someone, “a little old Italian man,” had come down to let her in. “I should’ve asked him to let me into the [locked] laundry room.”

Because…

“I can’t find the keys anywhere in the apartment. I must’ve left them in the laundry room.”

So.

She’s already called the Swiss company that takes care of the building. They’re sending someone over to unlock the laundry room. She has to do some work she says so she’s going to go up the street to the bar that has wireless. Can I wait here in case they come? Oh sure, I say. What a sucker.

Dude shows up, doesn’t know a lick of English. The door to the laundry room, by the way, is unlocked—not sure if he’s just unlocked it now or if it had been unlocked the whole time. Anyway, I start looking for the key ring down there, but it’s nowhere in sight. There’s a pile of bedsheets she’s piled in a chair in the corner. I go through the pile. Nothing. Then Swiss handyman dude, mustached, 50-ish, stocky, goes through them. No keys. I’m babbling, “I don’t know where they could be, she does this all the time, the stories I could tell you, hahaha,” and he’s not understanding a word.

We go back upstairs to the apartment.

Swiss dude calls his boss. Boss gets on the phone with me, asks me what happened. Never mind that my presence here goes more or less unexplained, and I already fee like we must be breaking some weird Swiss rule by my being here (this apartment is run like a transitional hotel, with maids sent once a week), but now I have to try to explain. See, she went down to do laundry, and then came back up, and then went out, and and and… He says he’s going to get the handyman to leave me the extra key, and asks me to speak to the handyman again.

They speak in Swiss. Handyman laughs. Yeah, haha, stupid North Americans have locked themselves out of the building, yeah, no, the girl’s not here, it’s just some guy, yeah, what a sucker. Hahahahahaha…. hands me the phone back, dude on the line wants again to know what happened. Establishes that they weren’t stolen (“So you had them last night? And this morning?”) then pleads with me to let him know as soon as we find them. I hand the phone back, dude gives me the key, leaves. Five minutes later, the Twister shows up.

“Did they come?”

“Yep.” I show her the extra key. “They weren’t in the laundry room.”

“They weren’t?”

“Nope.”

She goes down to look in the laundry room herself, like there’s some secret nook or cranny she might have left it in. Comes back up, no key. “Where could it be?” she asks repeatedly, as though I’ve hidden it.

Finally I say the only thing I can think of, the one avenue we haven’t explored in depth, even though it was the first one that should have occurred because it seems so obvious but then, wouldn’t that be the first thing you’d think of, “Where else did I go?”

And so I say, “Well, did you go anywhere before the restaurant where we were at?”

“No,” she says. Pause. “Wait. There’s one other place I can look.” Leaves. Comes back five minutes later, waving the keys. Where were they, I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

“The cafe.” What cafe? “The cafe I went to before the restaurant. I put my stuff down but then they said they were closed so I went to the other place. I guess I left my keys… ”

For a good time, visit the Texas Twister in Zurich!




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