That’s about to be over though, not the listening to Florence/Adele, that’ll never end. The feelings however, all 70 000 of them need to be stowed away in a pretty little box somewhere in the far back. It’s time to pull up my invisible bootstraps and put the pieces of whatever is broken back together. Even if I maybe want to leave some of them strewn on the ground like Hansel and Gretel hoping to find their way back home. It’s time for Britney Spears and the dancing, definitely the dancing.

I’m not giving up, I’m moving forward. There’s a very distinct difference.

When it comes to relationships, men, boys, et al. I make a lot of mistakes, and they tend to be quite extreme–not necessarily the mistakes, but the certainly the risks that lead to those mistakes. The irony of it all is I’m not a person who lives by extremes, in fact I tend to veer away from them in all other aspects of my life. That’s not to say I don’t take risks, I do, just calculated and well-thought out ones; I’m not the ‘fly by the seat of my pants’ type. When it comes to men, it seems I throw logic right out the window and the baby with the bathwater.

I believe there are lessons to be learned, and that every failure is an opportunity to grow but the past year of my life have been a whirlwind of unnecessary lessons learned and damage done. It’s like I’m trying to catch up (to what I have no idea), or tick items off a checklist I didn’t know I was keeping. So, just a few short weeks ago I decided in a moment of clarity that it was time for  a break. I needed to take time away from dating to sort out my mind. Time I could now refocus back onto me, my friends, my goals, and my career. (ME ME ME) But first, I’d have one last hoorah, go out with a bang!

Before meeting him I’d decided nothing would ever come of it. The distance between us was too great, one week was nowhere near enough time to really get to know someone, and let’s face it, it takes me about ten times longer than most other people to get emotionally involved–Decision made.

Perhaps because I wasn’t seeking his validation (it didn’t matter what he thought of me because in my mind I’d already placed him in the temporary box) I was candid in ways I’ve never before been (not with a man, and much less this early on in any kind of relationship). I was me. I wasn’t the dating version of me: perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect makeup, the right words, the soft laugh, the right outfit. I was just me, the same girl who doesn’t always think before she speaks, the girl who snorts when something is really funny, the girl who is sometimes incredibly vulnerable, who makes ridiculous faces in the middle of a conversation just cause, the me  I am with my friends, and it was good.

It was very good, and as soon as I realized how good it could be, I realized how much I’ve shortchanged myself over the past year, or actually, over the past several years. Here I was feeling all these things I’d started to believe that I wasn’t capable of feeling–because I was broken, because I was never enough, because I never felt loved, because this and that and all the negative things that run through your mind when you’re at your lowest. And in that moment, when my head was so full I felt it would burst, he just held me and told me it was ok, and I exhaled. Allowing myself the opportunity, if only for a moment, to let go.

Then he left like I knew he would and no promises were made.

I’m not sad, how could I ever be sad about meeting someone who held on long enough to let me exhale. You share a very special place in my heart with a  select group of extraordinary people. I needed this, this was a lesson I needed to learn.

In my life, in 25 years, you are the best one. Now you’re gone and everything just hurts, and I know that it’s not the end because I don’t believe for a second that this could be it, but that doesn’t change this feeling.

The post-first date period of time where I have no idea where I stand, this is the worst. Even more so when you’re plagued with the thought that maybe the other person was just being nice and not in fact enjoying your company*.

I wish this was easier, but then it probably wouldn’t be as entertaining for my friends.

I know I can be a little much, maybe even a bit over the top (dramatic – ha!), but that’s part of the fun isn’t it? and it’s kind of what makes me me.

*it doesn’t help that I’m an obsessive compulsive texter so I worry when I’m not receiving the same level of attention I give. But this is all me, in my head, and I know it.

Kelly Clarkson, Taylor Swift....

These conversations have actually happened.  I couldn’t make this shit up even if I wanted to.

• Taylor Swift – I realize you don’t have the most entertaining job in the world, however I’m not particularly interested in discussing whether or not I feel Taylor Swift is deserving of the many accolades she receives.

• Trying to guess whether or not I’ve had children – seriously?!? Because I’m not in a compromising enough situation…

• Singing – I don’t care how much you like this song, you’re not in an industry where singing while you work is appropriate.

• The previous client’s landscaping choice – umm, yeah, no.  Not interested.  Are you taking a poll?

• Anything.  – Can we just get this done with? Really. A mutually agreed upon silence is what I’m looking for here.

So onto first date bonanza…

There is a wedding in July and I refuse to go alone. It’s become a mission really; but I will find someone who meets the following criteria:

1. Is taller than me when I’m in heels
2. Makes me laugh
3. Will put on a suit an come to this wedding with me

These six are the best of the worst that I have met in my quest:

1. PhD Guy – Blew his nose into the cloth napkin at dinner. I don’t care how smart you are, I just checked out of this date. Gross.
2. Late-night texter – I like a little bit of crazy, but not so much that I’m actually concerned you might be lurking outside my bedroom window.
3. The Frenchman* – “I took ze photo of you while you slept” nuff said.
4. Small Town Giant – I like to argue with the best of them, but at some point you need to stop. That point is usually before I,  your date, say: “do you really think it’s necessary that we keep discussing this?”
5. Distance makes the heart grow fonder – “This video of leaves and rain reminds me of you”, umm ok.
6. Soldier Boy – “I’m a straightforward guy, like no bullshit, I will tell you if I dont see this going anywhere” …..umm, were you planning on conveying this message telepathically?

*he wasn’t a first date, he was a delusional socialist frenchman who slept across from me in a hostel, and who I (with good-natured intents listened to blab about the book he wrote that was going to change the world — which only lead him to believe I was interested in “having ze sex avec him”). He was crazy enough that I felt he needed to be included. Mainly because within 4 hours of last seeing him I’d stowed the memory of him into that dark secret place at the back of my mind where all the bad things sit and stew together only to resurface when the straw breaks the camel’s back.

Word to the wise gentlemen, men, boys, and even douchebags, if you want to guarantee at least a decent date follow these 5 simple rules:

1. If you do the asking, then you do the planning. Do not ask me out and then tell me to pick the location, day, and time. WTF?
2. Ask me something about myself. I don’t begrudge you being interested in my breasts, but please at least pretend to be interested in my mind as well.
3. Look presentable. This doesn’t mean wear a suit, it means don’t show up looking like you’ve slept a week in that outfit.
4. Shower within 24 hours of the date – this is self-explanatory but I’ll elaborate. I like a man’s musk as much as the next girl, but if it’s overwhelming the exhaust fumes on a crowded Toronto street, then we (but really YOU) have a problem.
5. Do not misrepresent yourself. Be who you are, who ever that may be, and let me draw my own conclusions. LET ME DRAW MY OWN CONCLUSIONS – I don’t care how awesome your friends think you are, if you are, then I’ll figure it out, I dont need to be told repeatedly.
6. Bonus advice – stop expecting me to stroke your ego, if it deserves stroking, then it will be stroked. Double entendre intended.

I never once thought that I could love him, isn’t that bad? There’s something terribly wrong with that picture in my mind. I just needed so badly to feel someone love me, to have that attention just for a fraction of a moment, that I was willing to make concessions on all the other things I wanted from a significant other.

That isn’t to say that it was all terrible, hardly. It started quite lovely and sweet; he said all the right things and looked at me like I was the only girl in the room. It just devolved. And I started to make excuses. It’s a pattern I’ve repeated time and time again.

Isn’t it alarming that we do this to ourselves? I could spend days, weeks, and months thinking this over. Breaking it down, piece by piece, but I wont. I’m not to blame here, and quite frankly I’ve wasted enough time. Now, well, now I’m going to try something new. Live, learn, then move the fuck on.

We could have had it all
Rolling in the deep
You had my heart inside of your hands
And you played it
To the beat
-Rolling in the deep, Adele

Que perfeito coração
Morreria no meu peito,
Meu amor na tua mão,
Nessa mão onde perfeito
Bateu o meu coração
-Gaivota, Amalia Rodrigues/Hoje

‘Cause you can grow flowers
From where dirt used to be (…)
I can be alone, yeah
I can watch a sunset on my own
-Merry Happy, Kate Nash

It was lovely while it lasted, but turns out I can’t really handle too much douche in my life. I have a yearly douche qouta and quite frankly you’ve met it. Really, when all is said and done you should congratulate yourself you’ve probably broken some sort of record. Contact the people at Guiness, I’m sure there’s a prize you can claim.

As for me, I’m great. (Tony certainly agrees)

Sometimes, maybe. I give people more credit than they deserve.
Sometimes, maybe. I let them get away with things i know I shouldn’t.
I want to believe that I’m not being taken for a fool, but you’re making it very hard.

What does my gut tell me? what’s my instinct? what do I do? I don’t know. At least not at this moment, but give me time and don’t give me a reason to hold on and I’m sure I can think of something.

Recently (this past Sunday) I got a new bed, a much higher bed. My dog sleeps  in bed with me, but now he can no longer jump onto the bed, as it is far too high, so I’ve decided  to be strong and try to wean him off. Day 1 went fairly well, aside from some wimpers at bed time, there was very little resistance from him. (I was a little offended). However this morning I was awoken at 4am to him wimpering like he’d just lost a limb and looking up at me with the saddest eyes from the  pity blanket I placed for him at the foot of my bed.

Is it wrong that I find joy in his sadness? He needs me, and I, well I need to seek treatment.

On the bright side, at least I don’t share corn with him.