The question "what is a relationship?" rivals the timeless of question of "what came first the chicken or the egg?" We've all found ourselves asking this question at one time or another. We wonder whether we are in one. Whether we want to be in one. Whether our partner would fit into one. And what it means to have one.
Here's what I don't think a relationship is: I don't think a relationship blossoms out of one date, followed by one way non-stop phone calls (ten in one day), calling their place of work to figure out their work schedule, leaving three messages on facebook and five voicemails in a twenty-four hour period.
What I would call that: stalking.
A few weeks later when the calls persist and my friends decide to intervene with advice, it becomes apparent that I have no choice but to make contact to end it. After a long, tedious conversation I finally make it clear that it's over - I clearly lack the will and desire to give him the attention he needs. His parting advice: "Maybe you don't know what's going to happen in the future, but I think I do." - Hmmm. But that wasn't the most puzzling thing he said.
Apparently, "you don't need to talk to be in a relationship." WHAT? I missed that memo.
Luckily, I was grounded in reality by a message from my knight in shining whatever. He said he'll miss me while he's away tomorrow. And even though we aren't in a relationship, we are on the same page. I'll miss him too.
Showing posts with label The DJ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The DJ. Show all posts
Saturday
Wednesday
Sinking in the perilous seas of dating
The title of this post is a bit deceiving, the entire weekend wasn't perilous but overall I got the feeling that I was slowing sinking in a ship I had built myself. Which in case (like myself) you've never been in that situation, I imagine to be quite unpleasant. Let me explain what I mean by that and why it's time to bail out the boat and patch it up, jump and swim the raging ocean, or like a good captain go down with the ship.
Friday. I had a perfectly lovely date with my IT guy. Let's call that date 2.0. It was perfect. He continued his gentlemanly behaviour by opening any and all doors in my path and conceding to my every whim and desire. And I re-payed him by cheekily almost beating him in air hockey. The venue, a kind of Chucky Cheese for adults, the overall atmosphere of the date: fun; really fun. Despite our inability to conquer the Jurassic Park game and my inability to shoot hoops (It was a shot in hell, I know) we ended up laughing quite a bit and enjoying each others company. The night ended with the same continuity as the first, with a perfectly sweet kiss at my front door. The thing about this suitor is that he is always leaving me wanting more, to kiss a little longer, to have an arm wrapped around me, less sweet more sultry. But that said, I know if he actually lingered longer at my front door, or knit his hand in mine as we walked to the car I'd feel crowded. How contrary I am!
Saturday rolls around and despite another potential set up, I'm exhausted and cancel. Adding another man to the mix might mix me up to the point of nausea, plus I was mid-contrary-awareness after date 2.0. So I put on my finest and head to work. Mid-afternoon, my confession-inclined, unstable ex appears. He says I don't look happy to see him (I'm not). He's disheveled and his eyes are almost yellow and as uneasy as it makes me I can't help but look into them for a thread of sincerity. He says he misses me, he says he needs me and he knows I still need him. Then he grapples for anything that could bind us together. "What's wrong?" he says. "You look sad," he notes (and I am). I'm sad because it is too late, because when I look into his hazel eyes I no longer melt, I'm no longer weak at the way he looks at me and his desperation and his timing sadden me. As I look into his eyes, I see that in my heart there is nothing there for him. It's clear and it hurts because I want to want him. But I'm done with his uncertainy. I'm done chasing someone who wants me one day but not the next. He leaves the store shaking his head.
Sunday night I have a date with chatty bachelor. I'm not sure if its the barrage of phone calls and messages, or my prevailing mood from the day before, or my comparison to date 2.0 or the date itself, but I really wasn't there. By that I mean, I was there with a slight sniffle but as harsh as it sounds, I think my date was on this date by himself. It feels wrong to say this because I know he put so much thought into planning this date, but he had clear ideas about what would happen. For example, when it came time to order the wine, he asked my opinion for which I suggested a modest but wonderful, red (Beaujolais), he rebuffed with Pinot Noir and despite my lack of persistence, we almost got into a fight over the wine choice. At one point, he told me I was "pulling the France card" which I'm not sure what that means, but I assume it means I was talking about France, which one would do if they were asked about their travels to Europe.
There were points in this date where I found myself biting my tongue (which wasn't nearly as tasty as the chocolate mouse he insisted we order despite the fact that I was too stuffed to finish half my meal). Why would I of all people nibble on my tongue, that doesn't sound like me? Well for two reasons, I suspect. First, it was hard to get a word in, edge wise. The rustic voice and elaborate stories that enchanted me into agree to this date entrapped me within it. Second, I became acutely aware of my experience, my education, my background and not wanting to put on a holier-than-thou performance decided to say mum.
There were parts of this date that were quite lovely, if they hadn't been cast over by a feeling of discomfort. Our walk down Yonge Street would have been romantic if I hadn't been shivering along unnoticed. Our talk in the park would have been romantic if it hadn't been slightly spitting rain. Our conversation would have been engaging if I didn't feel like I was trying to convinced that I like many things that I clearly don't. Some examples: wine from California, camping, sitting on a park bench while it almost rains. I feel terribly now because despite how he tried to convince me to catch on to how romantic the evening was, despite all his good intentions and a poem about a first kiss, all I caught from the night was a death of a cold.
And so with a cloudy head cold, I find myself on a ship I built that is slowly sinking. Do I bail out the water and patch it up? Do I forgo everything and jump? Or like a good captain, do I go down with the ship?
Friday. I had a perfectly lovely date with my IT guy. Let's call that date 2.0. It was perfect. He continued his gentlemanly behaviour by opening any and all doors in my path and conceding to my every whim and desire. And I re-payed him by cheekily almost beating him in air hockey. The venue, a kind of Chucky Cheese for adults, the overall atmosphere of the date: fun; really fun. Despite our inability to conquer the Jurassic Park game and my inability to shoot hoops (It was a shot in hell, I know) we ended up laughing quite a bit and enjoying each others company. The night ended with the same continuity as the first, with a perfectly sweet kiss at my front door. The thing about this suitor is that he is always leaving me wanting more, to kiss a little longer, to have an arm wrapped around me, less sweet more sultry. But that said, I know if he actually lingered longer at my front door, or knit his hand in mine as we walked to the car I'd feel crowded. How contrary I am!
Saturday rolls around and despite another potential set up, I'm exhausted and cancel. Adding another man to the mix might mix me up to the point of nausea, plus I was mid-contrary-awareness after date 2.0. So I put on my finest and head to work. Mid-afternoon, my confession-inclined, unstable ex appears. He says I don't look happy to see him (I'm not). He's disheveled and his eyes are almost yellow and as uneasy as it makes me I can't help but look into them for a thread of sincerity. He says he misses me, he says he needs me and he knows I still need him. Then he grapples for anything that could bind us together. "What's wrong?" he says. "You look sad," he notes (and I am). I'm sad because it is too late, because when I look into his hazel eyes I no longer melt, I'm no longer weak at the way he looks at me and his desperation and his timing sadden me. As I look into his eyes, I see that in my heart there is nothing there for him. It's clear and it hurts because I want to want him. But I'm done with his uncertainy. I'm done chasing someone who wants me one day but not the next. He leaves the store shaking his head.
Sunday night I have a date with chatty bachelor. I'm not sure if its the barrage of phone calls and messages, or my prevailing mood from the day before, or my comparison to date 2.0 or the date itself, but I really wasn't there. By that I mean, I was there with a slight sniffle but as harsh as it sounds, I think my date was on this date by himself. It feels wrong to say this because I know he put so much thought into planning this date, but he had clear ideas about what would happen. For example, when it came time to order the wine, he asked my opinion for which I suggested a modest but wonderful, red (Beaujolais), he rebuffed with Pinot Noir and despite my lack of persistence, we almost got into a fight over the wine choice. At one point, he told me I was "pulling the France card" which I'm not sure what that means, but I assume it means I was talking about France, which one would do if they were asked about their travels to Europe.
There were points in this date where I found myself biting my tongue (which wasn't nearly as tasty as the chocolate mouse he insisted we order despite the fact that I was too stuffed to finish half my meal). Why would I of all people nibble on my tongue, that doesn't sound like me? Well for two reasons, I suspect. First, it was hard to get a word in, edge wise. The rustic voice and elaborate stories that enchanted me into agree to this date entrapped me within it. Second, I became acutely aware of my experience, my education, my background and not wanting to put on a holier-than-thou performance decided to say mum.
There were parts of this date that were quite lovely, if they hadn't been cast over by a feeling of discomfort. Our walk down Yonge Street would have been romantic if I hadn't been shivering along unnoticed. Our talk in the park would have been romantic if it hadn't been slightly spitting rain. Our conversation would have been engaging if I didn't feel like I was trying to convinced that I like many things that I clearly don't. Some examples: wine from California, camping, sitting on a park bench while it almost rains. I feel terribly now because despite how he tried to convince me to catch on to how romantic the evening was, despite all his good intentions and a poem about a first kiss, all I caught from the night was a death of a cold.
And so with a cloudy head cold, I find myself on a ship I built that is slowly sinking. Do I bail out the water and patch it up? Do I forgo everything and jump? Or like a good captain, do I go down with the ship?
Tuesday
The set-up date
For those of you who remember Brett, it's any wonder that I agreed to let my co-worker (and good friend) set me up on blind date. It may have been a combination of timing and desperation that led me to an uptown bar on Sunday night, but from the moment I arrived I found myself swept away.
I do have to admit I was a bit of a chicken-little and persuaded my friend, the setter-upper, and her boyfriend to attend, because no one wants to find themselves smack in the middle of another blind date where her date is telling her that her naivety is what is informing her worldview (not volumes of books, articles and a stellar education, but I digress).
As for digressions, well, the conversation flowed like a river after winter's first thaw. We talked about everything: food, family, food, friends, work, food (we talked a lot about food). And we laughed, it's not often that someone catches my wit wholeheartedly. Okay, but maybe I should backtrack to what happened when I first showed up, announced, at the table. My 'date' stands, hugs me warmly and kisses me on the cheek (one cheek). The first thing I notice is that he's tall: 6'3" to be exact. He's the boy next door. He has a great smile and a dry, raspy but soothing voice I could (and did) listen to for hours.
I have a lot on my mind, so the fact that I could be engaged for so long, by so many of my date's stories, was well, shocking. And at the same time, I really did feel like he was trying to get to know me too - his poignant questions, contemplated digressions, always drew me into what he was saying. I think what I'm getting at was that there was an ease here and as rare as it is, it was complemented by an energetic chemistry.
Although I had been drinking all day (I was at a bridal shower earlier), I don't think it was the alcohol that made me come away from this 'date' knowing I liked him. His demeanor, his presence, his smile made me lose the weight I'd been carrying. I don't know how to explain this any other way except that it feels good to be around him.
On the way home, my friend calls to tell me he's 'smitten' and it's no surprise when he calls tonight, flattering me with flattery, charming me with charm, humouring me with humour. So when he tells me he'd love to take me out to dinner, just us, how could I help but say yes, because even though my feet aren't on the ground, a smile is pursed on my lips.
I do have to admit I was a bit of a chicken-little and persuaded my friend, the setter-upper, and her boyfriend to attend, because no one wants to find themselves smack in the middle of another blind date where her date is telling her that her naivety is what is informing her worldview (not volumes of books, articles and a stellar education, but I digress).
As for digressions, well, the conversation flowed like a river after winter's first thaw. We talked about everything: food, family, food, friends, work, food (we talked a lot about food). And we laughed, it's not often that someone catches my wit wholeheartedly. Okay, but maybe I should backtrack to what happened when I first showed up, announced, at the table. My 'date' stands, hugs me warmly and kisses me on the cheek (one cheek). The first thing I notice is that he's tall: 6'3" to be exact. He's the boy next door. He has a great smile and a dry, raspy but soothing voice I could (and did) listen to for hours.
I have a lot on my mind, so the fact that I could be engaged for so long, by so many of my date's stories, was well, shocking. And at the same time, I really did feel like he was trying to get to know me too - his poignant questions, contemplated digressions, always drew me into what he was saying. I think what I'm getting at was that there was an ease here and as rare as it is, it was complemented by an energetic chemistry.
Although I had been drinking all day (I was at a bridal shower earlier), I don't think it was the alcohol that made me come away from this 'date' knowing I liked him. His demeanor, his presence, his smile made me lose the weight I'd been carrying. I don't know how to explain this any other way except that it feels good to be around him.
On the way home, my friend calls to tell me he's 'smitten' and it's no surprise when he calls tonight, flattering me with flattery, charming me with charm, humouring me with humour. So when he tells me he'd love to take me out to dinner, just us, how could I help but say yes, because even though my feet aren't on the ground, a smile is pursed on my lips.
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