Am I Welcome At Your Place?

Dear Men in Bars,

Just because you buy a woman a drink, and she accepts, does not mean she wants to have you come home with her.

Please understand that.

Sincerely,

The Woman Who's Pants You Want Into

The Best ATTEMPT at a One Night Stand

I wrote this blog back in July, when the event occured. I have decided now to post it:

The reason I am writing this post is because the man I've called France has come back to town. We've been keeping in touch and he's been trying to come back to see me since the day he left. He's finally come back!

The thing about one night stands that makes the next "date" the hardest is that you never know what to expect, or what you SHOULD expect. I'll be honest that I'm writing this part of the blog previous to seeing him again. I got a text this morning at 7am saying that he would text me when he lands in Toronto. I have a nervous disposition today because I'm not sure what to expect tonight. Obviously some things are to be expected, but how does one behave towards the man who is flying across the planet for her? I still don't know this man very well, as most of our messages back and forth have been short text messages about where on the planet he is, or what I'm up to that weekend. There hasn't been anything more than small talk since the night we met. I'm excited to see him again, but I'm also extremely nervous.

...

Well, my 20 hour interlude with France is over and I'm back home again to think about every minute and write about him. My friend Caroline (the one who was with me the first time I met him) and I met him in the same bar as last time at exactly 8pm. I suppose I could mention that this was probably the first time in a year I've actually been nervous when going to meet up with someone. The moment we walked in, I saw him standing by the bar. He kissed me on the cheek, as the French do, and I completely relaxed. We got a table and sat to eat and drink. A few more friends joined us and it wasn't until France got up to use the restroom that he leaned over and kissed me. He had held my hand across the table for a few minutes, but the kiss was delightful. The evening continued with more drinks and chatting about everything and anything. At 10 p.m. our time, France had been awake for 24 hours, but he didnt complain. He must have known that I wanted to be out with my friends and that if he wanted to see me, that's where he would see me.

At 1 a.m. I asked France if he'd like to go. He said he would and so we said our goodbyes to my friends and left together. Caroline and I had already decided that she would hold my key in case such an event were to happen that I would not be coming home with her (which clearly we had already admitted that I would not be coming home with her). France and I left the bar and crossed the street and entered his hotel in the same cool manner in which we had done three months ago. It was really quite easy, which may sound strange, but seeing as how I'm still not "one of those girls", admitting to myself that I was going back to someone's hotel room whom I had only met once before (even given the outcome of that chance encounter) is a completely foreign concept to me. I would never do this otherwise. The first time, I had not even known if I woud ever see him again. This time, I am certain that I will.

Again, I will kiss and tell, but details are not necessary. I will say that we enjoyed each other's company and fell asleep beside one another. When we woke up in the morning, we talked and talked. Eventually, we fell back asleep for a little while and then it was time to get up and go have breakfast. I went home to shower, change and pick up Caroline. She and I went back to the hotel to pick up France and we all went for breakfast. It was lovely out, and very hot. After breakfast, Caroline left to go back home and France and I decided to take a walk down to the lake. We walked along the boardwalk holding hands and talking about everything we could think of. It was very... couply. I found myself wanting to run into someone I knew. I'm still not sure why, and I have no idea how I would have explained who France is and how I really know him, but I think I just wanted to be seen with him. I have nothing left of him at this moment other than the memories in my head; nothing to awknowledge that he was really here. We both kept pinching ourselves to make sure it wasn't a dream!

When I left him at his hotel this afternoon at 4 p.m. it was not because I wanted to go, but because I hate goodbyes. I couldn't bear to drag it out. He was getting ready to leave and I didn't want to watch him pack. It's not that I've fallen for him or anything, it's only that I really enjoyed spending time with him (much more time than last time) and he is such an affectionate person that I could really get used to that. Watching him go is like waiting for a slap in the face to remind me that most North American men are not affectionate, and are really rather more raging sexual creatures than they are sensual romantics.

I know that in my future, I will see him again, and I look forward to that day.

He Called Me Fat

The smoothness of Caribbean men can only be described as that: smooth. Yesterday I was sitting with a new friend of mine who I happen to be interested in, and he in me. We were having a beer at a local pub when the conversation turned to age. He is 29 and I am younger than that. He told me that when he first met me, he would have guessed me at 21, but seeing my eyes, he could see the years on me.

What?

Did he just call me old??

He of course didn’t mean it that way. He only meant that he could tell that I was not the fresh-faced 21-year-old that I once was, and that I have more years and knowledge (and probably stress) and that I don’t actually look 21 when you look closer. He appreciates that I’m not 21 and don’t have the mind-set of a 21-year-old girl anymore. (If you are 21, or still behave 21, that comment was not meant to offend you. Be who you are and live every moment at whatever age you want to!)

It pains me to say that I agree with him, I don’t look 21, but how he managed to tell me I look my age, and still keep me wanting to see him the next day by the time the glasses emptied, is beyond me. No, I was not drunk. I only had one, and while some people in my life would tell me that sniffing a bottle cap gets me drunk, it really doesn’t.

Later on we were BBMing when he made the remark that he likes girls who have a little flesh on them. My response was “Are you calling me fat? LOL. Don’t answer that”.

Let me just say for the record that I am not fat. Not remotely. I have curves, and I’m not a skinny little thing, but I certainly can’t be described as fat. We laughed off both comments and he told me that he doesn’t like really skinny girls, which somewhat makes me feel better and re-affirms my belief that while guys might fantasize about being with a model, in the end, they all want a woman with a normal woman body, cellulite and all.

So ladies, while your man might not be a as smooth as Mr. Caribbean to be able to call you old and fat in one day, and still have you thinking about them and wanting to see them the next day, if they tell you its what they like, believe them. Men appreciate a woman with a head on her shoulders and little something to grab onto around the waist (or booty).

And gents, please, please don’t try to tell your woman you like how old she looks or that she’s got a little junk in the trunk. Many women are not nearly as secure with themselves as I am and might get offended if you tell them they’ve aged and things don’t look the way they did at 21!

No Bueno

As I said in my last blog, I am in Spain. I have been here for a few months now, so I feel the need to make a little comparison between the approaches of men on the street in Southern Ontario, and those here on the streets of Barcelona.

The men in Toronto, where I’ve spent most of my serious man-noticing time, either avoid eye-contact all together, or they say something under their breath at you like “hey, gorgeous” or “you’re looking good” or the like. It’s pretty much something that you can turn, say “thank you” to and then keep walking on your way to whatever you’re going to (hopefully a date with a man who is much better looking than the one complimenting you at Queen and Victoria or a streetcar stop).

The men here in Barca are very different however. I can’t always understand everything that they say, but they certainly do ask questions. I’m pretty sure I’ve been asked where I’m going, and if I have plans. These are things that I just walk on past and pretend that I think they’re talking to other people. I know I’d get sucked into a conversation if I even looked over at them. Spanish men are just that smooth. I can’t let on that I can’t understand them because that would just encourage them and their gang of friends to be even more crude, or worse, to come try to talk to me in English. That would be their in. You can’t show any weakness in this country, or you’ll end up talking to someone on the street for 15 minutes. They just don’t let you get away! I once had a guy walk all the way to the metro with me, asking for my phone number in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish. And he didn’t speak English. How would we talk on the phone if we can’t get through something in person?!

The other thing that Spanish men do here, and I can’t say it’s the young men, because it’s mostly older men that do this, but they growl and hiss. And grunt. The grunting is the worst. You’ll just be walking along, to class or to the market, and you walk past a man and all you hear is “uuuHH”… ew. It’s just plain creepy, and someone should tell them that. It’s not just me that gets these sounds either. Every girl I know in this town has told a similar story of being on their way somewhere, by themselves or with a few friends, and they pass a man and hear “ssssssssssssssss”. Even if you’re walking with a man, or a couple of friends of both genders, “rarrrrh”. Gross!

I know I don’t only speak for myself when I say that hearing someone growl at me is not going to make me want to turn and strike up a conversation. I know that’s not generally the purpose of the grunt or growl, but it’s the most bizarre way to compliment someone. Half the time I don’t even look all that great either. A t-shirt and jeans isn’t dressed up for me (I know it is for some people, but track pants aren’t my everyday wear anymore, and I’ve worked in an office; jeans are casual) So when I am going to meet a friend for coffee or to pick up some fruit at the market, and I hear a hiss coming from the man I just passed, I just feel even more self-conscious about the way I look and actually feel less attractive when they’ve done it, or like I want to ugly it up even more just so the next man doesn’t do the same thing!

Don’t get me wrong, if I’m looking good and feeling good, I definitely eat up the compliment like bravas in a tapas bar. I am still a woman who likes to know my effect on men.

My suspicion is that it’s not just men here in Barca that behave this way, and that many of the men in romance language countries do this (besides possibly France, they’re pretty posh up there). My warning for any woman travelling to a country where sexuality is not taboo: be careful, and be fair-warned that you will have a sound track that isn’t on your iPod no matter where you go. Enjoy!

Roger That

This may make me sound like I’ve started to hunt down a certain type of man in my hometown of Toronto, but it’s really not true.

I met a Brit. He’s a pilot. I met him while travelling and we ended up hanging out a couple of times.

What he taught me is something I already knew, and something people need to learn about themselves. I learned that I like attention, and I like to be around the person I’m seeing. I want to accidently find myself in a relationship, because I just can’t stop wanting to call and talk to this person, or see them. This knowledge of me was first introduced to me a few years ago when I refused to admit that I was in a relationship with someone until my best friend told me I was in fact dating him. I finally admitted to myself that I was dating him. I couldn’t stop calling him, seeing him, having dinners, picking him up from work… kissing him. I fell into that relationship. But the best part was, he was my best friend at that time. I could tell him anything and I could be myself around him all the time.

Needless to say, things didn’t work out with him. It was a question of our lives going in different directions, and he’s still one of my very good friends, but being together just wasn’t going to work out.

So this little tidbit about me has come to light once again. This pilot is great, and we have a great time together. We make fun of each other’s accents and phrases. We laugh a lot together and he makes me tea. But he’s always leaving. He leaves five times a week. And when he’s not leaving, he is usually at home, visiting his family. (Oh yes, let me explain, I’m not in Canada right now. I’m in Spain). He pretty well hates Spain, and anywhere that isn’t England, so he’s always trying to get out.

I have a feeling that there’s more to it than just that he hates Spain, but that’s the other thing: I can’t ask him why he really leaves. We aren’t at a place yet that I could actually ask him why he leaves, and not sound like a crazy, possessive woman. I’m not that person, believe me, but I do think that when two people are spending time together, and one of them suddenly has to leave, that they should give a little more of an explanation than “something happened, I have to go”, before they jump on a plane.

I think it’s important not to ask too much from the person you’ve just started seeing. You don’t want to seem clingy or needy or desperate. It becomes tricky though when you actually DO care what’s happening in someone else’s life, especially when you know its something that is taking them away from you. You kind of start to wonder what it is. Is it a sick family member, or is he just a mamma’s boy? Did his ex-girlfriend just have his baby, or does he just want a drinking night with his brother? Depending on the circumstances, it could be very understandable why he’s leaving so often, and going off to take care of his bits and bobs, but that circumstance could also be a big warning sign to you. It could be why he’s being so secretive.

So here is my advice to men and women alike who are in the beginning phases of a relationship: don’t hold back the things that you might think are a big deal, or things that you think give too much away. If you want to hang on to the person you’re with, be honest with them and don’t keep them in the dark.

From the other perspective, be patient. The other person will open up to you when the time is right. Don’t force them to tell you anything before they are ready or they will feel smothered and exposed. It’s tough to be patient sometimes, but it’s usually worth it. It’s like cooking a good meal: “5 minutes could be the difference between a good meal and a gourmet meal.”

Last Chance

I've lived in my building for 3 years now, and this little tale spans that entire time. This tale is about the man who cleans my building. We'll call him Mexico.

About six months after I moved in, and six months of saying good morning to this man (and any other of the maintenance staff in my building when I saw them), Mexico pulls me aside and tells me that he really likes me. Please understand that I have never talked with this person for longer than 30 seconds. He gave me a CD. A mix CD. Of love songs. (So cute!) I told him that I had a boyfriend, which was true at the time, even though we actually broke up about 3 days later.

I've continued to smile politely at him and say hi on my way to work every morning. Me, being apparently naive, thought he would get over it and move on.

Last summer I was moving (within the building) and he saw me hauling boxes. He stopped me and asked me if I was moving:

"Are you moving?!"
"Yeah"
"No, you can't move!"
"... I'm moving upstairs."
"Oh! You can't ever move. I like you so much. You're my light. You're my light!" (gesturing at the light in the hallway)

I reassured him that I'm not leaving the building and went on to my new apartment. I still see him every day, though now I wonder what stories he's made up in his mind about me. I don't think it's arogant of me to think that he's dreampt up something in his mind about me, I think it must be true.

The other day, I was again carrying boxes and he came running down the hall to towards me, yelling my name.

"Hi"
"Are you moving?!"
"Yeah.. I am."
"Oh no, I'm never going to see you again!"
"Ummm..."
"Where are you moving to?"
"I'm actually moving out of Canada for a while"
"What? No! I'm never going to see you again!"
"I'm not moving until the end of August"
"I'm going back to Mexico for 3 months to get another visa. I'm never going to see you again."

He must have said "I'm never going to see you again" 5 times in our short conversation.

He kept inching closer to me. I could tell he wasn't going to leave unless I a) gave him a hug or b) told him to leave me the f*ck alone. I'm too nice. WAY too nice. I gave him a hug and he squeezed me until I really thought he'd never let me go, and then when he did release his grip on me, he grabbed my face and kissed me squarely on the mouth. WOAH! It was quick, so quick I didn't have time to react, and then it was over and he said goodbye and walked away. I ran into my apartment to re-evaluate what just happened. He just kissed me! Not okay!!

Later, when talking to my roommate about it, she cleverly pointed out that he's probably been thinking about doing that for 3 years. He finally got up the courage, and just did it! I'm really sort of proud of him. Don't get me wrong, I am not okay with people just walking up and kissing other people. For all he knows, I'm taken. But I am proud that he seized his moment, took a chance and went for it with everything he could!

I think courage is a very important part of relationships. It's important to take a chance and talk to the person you like, or ask them out or declare feelings. It's important to stand up for your relationships, to your family and friends or whoever else might think they should have an opinion. It's important to have the courge to talk openly with your partner. Thank you Mexico for reminding me to seize the day! (But don't ever do that again).

This Is What It Should Look Like After 38 Years...

This isn’t really a story about a date I was on, but I’m going to tell you this anyway, just because I think it’s important and probably the most adorable conversation I’ve ever accidentally eavesdropped on.

I was camping. (That’s not the story, it’s just context) On the first night I was camping with my parents and my niece, my aunt and uncle were also there. In the morning, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when I tell you what I heard, you’ll understand why I just couldn’t help but listen and smile. It was first thing in the morning and everyone was still in bed (except my mother, she gets up at the crack of dawn) and what I heard from the next bed over was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. My uncle whispered to his wife of 38 years the following:

“I am so lucky” *kiss* “I don’t deserve you.” *kiss* “I’d do anything to keep you.” *kiss* “I’ll buy you ice cream.”

This was, I think, the most amazing statement I’ve ever heard a man say to a woman. I think it should be in a movie, except that that might cheapen it, because it wouldn’t be real or sincere anymore.

I think that people rush into marriage too much. I think there isn’t enough of this genuine, true, deep love anymore. I want to remind my readers that no matter how old you are (or think you are) you should never be desperate enough to marry someone that you don’t feel this way for. Believe me, I’m 27 and not married (when I thought I’d be married at 26 and was far from that, turning 27 as a single woman was like a kick in the vagina) and even though I’m not married, I’m not settling. I have a friend who is in her early 30’s and though I know she sometimes wishes she was married, she’ll never settle either. The good ones are out there, both men and women, and we just have to be patient.