Skinny Dip

Things That Are True at 32

At 32 you do things that your 20-year old self  would have scoffed at. You spend time creating inspiration boards, setting goals, taking life coaching classes and getting excited about the book club you joined. You do these things because they make you happy. When a 25-year old Hipster calls you lame, you just laugh because they haven’t figured out that being your authentic self is way more important than being someone’s definition of “cool”

After a very brief flirtation with the couch potato lifestyle, you wake up one night – on the sofa with your hand inside a bag of rice crackers – and realize that something has to change. You’ve been athletic your whole life. As a kid you swam, ran track and danced ballet 4 times a week. Your body and mind runs best when it’s getting intense, sweaty exercise and not just of the amorous variety. When you cut out the gluten, lower your carb intake & start hitting the gym again, you feel awesome. Pushing your body and being active isn’t just something you need to do, it’s part of who you are.

You’ve always been petite and your body didn’t change much throughout your twenties. However, when you try on the size 0 cocktail dress you wore to your 28th birthday and you can no longer zip it up, you frantically run into the other room and ask your Mom:

“Is it possible that my rib cage expanded over the past year?”

Yes, yes it is.

Your body changes at 32. Your rib cage expands and your hips widen. Your bust increases, you go up 2 bra sizes and your boobs become a force to be reckoned with. You go from 105lbs to 120lbs in just over a year. Although it’s a bit weird adjusting to these new curves, for the first time in your life you no longer feel like you’re going to float away, you feel grounded. When you see one of your best friends in Toronto she says, “Are you sure you’re not pregnant? I’m not trying to be mean, it’s just that your boobs are huge and you’re positively glowing.”  You just laugh and smile.

You start understand what Audrey Hepburn meant when she said “happy girls are the prettiest.”

At 32, Divorced is the new Single. Half of your friends who got married in their twenties are now split from their original spouses and are exploring relationships with new partners who are a much better match. Some of your friends start to get married for the second time – which, you’ll admit feels a bit weird & deja-vu-ish, but also kind of awesome because you’ve never seen them this happy before.

When it comes to sex, you and your friends start to see the effect exposure to porn has had on the male population. For example:  Gents, if you want to have anal sex with a woman, do not spit on her ass-crack while having sex with her doggy-style and just hope she takes the hint. It’s likely she won’t want to have any kind of sex with you after that move. To be safe, just don’t spit on women… ever. Unless she asks you to do it. If she’s in her 30’s, she likely knows what she wants in bed and whoa, hormones be crazy at this age. Just roll with it. Unless it’s anal sex – you should always talk about that first.

At 32, if a man has a full head of hair, it’s an asset. Furthermore, you never thought you’d reach the point in your dating career where you become attracted to men with grey hair. Around 31-32 you start to appreciate a little salt and pepper action. It’s to the point where you don’t even notice the grey hair and you just think “that man is fucking hot.”

You realize the importance of pheromones – those invisible love chemicals that lead to sexual attraction. A man who smells good for no apparent reason makes you weak in the knees. It’s this very powerful sensation that leads you to have a steamy two night fling with a guy that you meet while you’re on vacation.

The chemistry is great and you just want more, more, more. However, when he drops you off in the morning, and you kiss goodbye, making vague plans to see each other again (that you both know probably won’t work out because of geography), you suddenly feel this aching sense of loss in your gut. This leads to the realization that maybe you’re not as thick skinned as you once thought. That maybe casual sex isn’t for you. That although you’d like to deny it, your heart lives in your vagina.

27 years of friendship, and your best-friend is still the person who always makes you feel better.

“I did something last night that I’m afraid to tell you about”

“Oh god, did you have an orgy?!”

“What?! No! Although I’m kind of impressed that you actually think I’m the kind of person who would do that.”

“Well, I dunno. You never know”

“I just slept with someone I barely knew and now I feel weird about it.”

She laughs and says, “Oh, Simone. That’s OK! Did you have fun?”

“Yes, very much so! But now I have all these weird feelings that I don’t know what to do with”

“It’s Ok, it’s just a shock to your system. You went from living with your mom, not dating, to being in another city and…..”

“Full out sex, drugs and rock-and-roll?”

“Pretty much.”

The ache in your gut eventually goes away, however it leads to another important realization:

You love sex but you also need to feel safe and protected. You want someone who will rip your clothes off, throw you down on the bed, say and do dirty things to you, but who will also hold you afterwards because they think you’re lovely & special. Someone who smells good, holds doors open, and loves it when you read stories you’ve written outloud because they love it when you do all of the different voices.

After a year of being happily single, of not wanting to be attached to anyone, you come to the conclusion don’t want to date and/or sleep with a bunch of different people, you just want to just spend time and sleep with one special person. Oh wait, there’s a name for this kind of person! It’s called a boyfriend. 

Does this mean…. you want to be in a relationship?! I think it does.

And at 32 1/2, you decide this isn’t such a bad thing.

Do You Suffer from Sexually Transmitted Awkwardness?

Because, apparently I do.

In most situations I act like the confident, well-adjusted, well-spoken adult that I know I am. I get excited by the prospect of meeting & getting to know new people, I can network and elevator pitch like a pro, and after almost two full months of trying this online dating thing, I can confidently say that I’m a good date. With the exception of that time I blurted out that I used to ghost-write erotic fiction and called a guy out for dressing like Patrick Bateman, I generally don’t get nervous talking to guys or going on dates. I’ve been single for a year and between my various (brief) romances with guys like Handsome Guy, LA Guy, The Chef, The Sexy Russian and several dates from Plenty of Fish – I’ve been able to ease myself back into the single life and get some practice dating.

With the guys I mentioned above, it was easy to keep my composure. I liked them, but also felt like I had nothing to lose therefore, I could just go with the flow. However, as soon as I start to really like someone it’s like I catch a incurable case of Sexually Transmitted Awkwardness. I turn into a bundle of nerves and do stuff that’s so awkward it probably leaves people wondering,

“Is this really the smart and sassy girl I went out with the other night?!”

When I like you, my dating skills become about as smooth as my job interview skills – in other words, not very.

True Love: when you can be weird & awkward together.

For example, the other day when my date came to pick me up, I went over to his car to open the passenger side. I was tugging on the door handle with no avail. That’s when I heard him call out to me from across the street.

“Um, Simone, I’m over here. That’s not my car”

Sure enough, I was trying break into my neighbour’s SUV. In my defence the cars do look similar, however I should have known the difference considering I walk by my neighbour’s car every day and I’ve been out with this guy 4 times already. My response:

“Oh sorry! I’m really bad with cars. I’m always trying to get into ones I’m not supposed to. I once tried to get into the side of a van even though it didn’t have any doors”

(REALLY SIMONE?! REALLY?!)

I also might have told him that I really liked watching Pretty Little Liars, “Mostly as a guilty pleasure but also for the haircuts. Those girls have really good hair. So yeah, I watch it for hair inspiration. Not that I want my hair to look like a teenager’s or anything”

Mindy Kaling, one of my lady heroes who makes awkward sexy.

I’m sure at this point he was thinking “OMG, HOW DOES THIS WOMAN FUNCTION?” and wondering whether I lied about graduating from one of the country’s top universities.

In situations like these I always want to blurt out in total Wayne’s World style,

“I’m not Mental, really! I swear!”

Or just something totally random and unrelated like: “I really like Bartlett Pears!”

Then I spend the rest of the date just praying that they find my awkwardness charming. After all, with the likes of Mindy Kaling and Tina Fey taking the entertainment world by storm, awkwardness is kind of hot these days. Right?! I hope?

The truth is, when I’m hanging out with someone I like, it often feels like I’m just one awkward moment away from going on a full on rant where I blurt out every revealing and embarrassing fact about myself. In my head it sounds a bit like Liz Lemon’s famous confessional from 30 Rock, only with more inappropriate sexual references.

Whenever I hear a story about a guy who swears his secret to keeping his cool on dates is to masturbate beforehand, I always think “That’s gross, but I totally get it!” Although I’m no stranger to DIY orgasms, I think what would actually help me more is a pre-date “verbal purge” which I’m sure would sound something like this:

“Wizards scare me! I collect sock monkeys and I totally hide them whenever you come over!  I’m terrible with cars and directions and I’m pretty sure I have a mild case of spatial dyslexia. I’ve been known to come home after a night out and eat a whole package of salami in one sitting. This is why I no longer buy salami. I grew up in a really politically conscious left-wing household, however part of the reason I voted for my city counsellor was because I thought he was hot. When I was 13 I had a crush on Warren Beatty, which I now realize is totally creepy. I once had a sex dream about George Michael that I didn’t want to wake up from. And by George Michael, I mean the openly homosexual singer, not the awkward teenage boy from Arrested Development – because that would just be weird. I’ve never been camping because the idea of peeing outside weirds me out. When I was 16 I accidentally set my hand on fire, not because I was doing something cool and rebellious, but because I was burning the edges of maps with a candle, trying to make them look antique. The most horrible thing I’ve ever done is stand idly by while a Mean Girl made a boy who lived on our street drink a glass of homemade “ice tea” which I’m pretty sure was a mix of apple juice and her own urine. I also have a phobia of fountains that shoot out murky water, boy bands, corporate team-building events, apple juice, and Richard Simmons’ hair. I write about my vagina on the internet, I hope that’s OK.”

Here’s to hoping that someone will find it charming if any of that ever slips out.

 Does anyone suffer from awkwardness while dating? Please share so we can group hug or something.

A Week of Long Journeys and Listening to Your “Buddy” Voice.

Last week, I stepped outside after an early morning doctor’s appointment and a seagull promptly pooped all over my $400 parka. I think my avian friend was aiming for my shoulders but by the time I noticed what I had happened the mess had already migrated to my sleeve and started to drip down all over the front of my jacket. Random seagull blitzkriegs are one of the few tradeoffs of living in such a beautiful coastal place. I came to the conclusion that there is no journey longer and more agonizing than the crowded cross-town bus trip you take covered seagull poop. However, a few days later I learned that there is something much worse: the silent car ride you take after you’ve broken up with someone at 2 am.

Since December I’ve been hanging out with “The Chef” one of the guys I’ve met through my recent initiation into  online dating. The Chef is a good guy. He’s the kind of guy you only hope you’ll meet through online dating. He’s kind, generous and does not own a kayak or a rotating tie-rack. He’s an adventurous, fun loving guy who shares my intense passion for food and eating, and enjoyed cooking for me. When we weren’t out sampling restaurants or cooking up a storm, we’d indulge in marathon viewing sessions of the Food Network. Sounds perfect right?

We look nothing like this of course.

A few weeks ago, while watching “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” we started to make-out. When I opened my eyes and glanced towards the TV screen I saw Guy Fieri biting into a massive, oozing, Philly Cheesesteak and was suddenly filled with panic. Was it possible that food was the only thing we had in common??

Sometimes I think dating would be so much easier if I’d never been in love. If I didn’t know what it felt like to curl up in someone’s arms and know that this person is your person. I’ve only experienced this a few times in my life, but I know the feeling very well. If it’s not there, I can still enjoy being with the person for awhile but eventually I just start to feel sad and my instinct to run kicks in. That’s generally when things start to get messy. Maybe ignorance is bliss?

Flash forward to last week when I was laying the the Chef’s bed. He was curled up next to me when the panic started again and I said the words that no one wants to hear, let alone at 2 in the morning.

“I don’t think I can do this”

Recently I wrote about overcoming sexual shyness. In case you hadn’t already guessed from reading this blog, sexual shyness is not one of my issues. I kind of have the opposite problem. In the past, I’ve found myself in situations (both romantic and sexual) where I decided to just go with the flow, because it just felt easier to say “yes” than to say “no.” However, that was then and this is now. I made a pact with myself after my big breakup, that I would look after myself – both physically and emotionally – and not do things that were self-destructive. My good friend Lindsay says that this means “listening to your Buddy voice” at all times. In other words, listening to your instincts, showing yourself some love and only doing things that feel right and authentic to you. So, last week that’s exactly what I did.

Be your own BFF and listen to your buddy voice. She's a peach.

He drove me home in stony silence, the 15 minute drive feeling like 50.

I thanked him for being good to me and asked him whether we could stay friends.

His response, “I don’t think so”

Can you blame him?

I’m proud of myself for listening to my “Buddy voice”. It just really sucks that I ended up hurting someone’s feelings in the process. Given the option between how I felt stepping out of the car that night and what happened earlier in the week, I’d choose the bird poop – hands down.

Greetings From the Man Buffet

After Christmas I spent a few days visiting my best friend and her daughter who live a few hours North of Sleepytown. When I woke up groggy eyed last Saturday morning, my best friend asked me:

“How did you sleep?”

“Not that great. I had this dream that I was going on all these weird dates with people I had met on Plenty of Fish”

“Simone, that’s not a dream. That’s actually been happening.”

I had to laugh because she is right.

Online dating. It's weird.

After a year of very little male contact in this town, trying online dating for the first time was like being escorted to a giant all you can eat Man Buffet and being told “dig in!” For example, when you find yourself at any buffet there are always a few things you know to avoid based purely on instinct (the mystery jello pudding) There are also items that you wouldn’t put on your plate even if someone paid you (the devilled eggs.) However, beyond the obviously questionable “fare” there’s whole lot of middle ground of stuff that’s OK to indulge in.

Before you know it you’re digging into roast beef and Yorkshire pudding even though you know in your heart you’re way more of a tuna tataki kind of girl. The food is there, it’s warm and and gosh darnit you paid $10.95 just like everyone else, so it’s yours for the taking. Besides, every buffet has at least one thing that’s awesome, right? Maybe if you keep sampling you’ll eventually stumble across your figurative golden pot of baked brie & smoked bacon mac and cheese in the sky. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do at a buffet?

Of course, it’s all good until you catch yourself taking a spoonful of the mystery jello pudding and cracking open your 20th crab leg of the evening. That’s when you have this moment where you’re like, “OMG I JUST ATE TWENTY CRAB LEGS AND I’M NOT EVEN HUNGRY. WHY DID I TRY THE PUDDING? WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?”

Yes, online dating is totally like this.

Also, in case it wasn’t clear – watching me eat at a buffet is kind of gross.

I think I was so relieved that my first online dating experiences weren’t total disasters, that I ignored some initial red flags. I mistook “not terrible” for “awesome”. Although I steered clear of the “devilled eggs” (which there are many on Plenty of Fish – just read this post), I came dangerously close to the “mystery pudding” table, dating a few people that I probably wouldn’t have given a chance had I met them under different circumstances.

A month into this online dating experiment, I’ve had to add some new items to my red flag & deal-breaker list.

It’s not going to work if…

1. He doesn’t have any friends or an active social life (I enjoy an active social life & love hanging out with my friends. If you don’t – this isn’t going to work. It’s all about balance.)

2. He doesn’t have close ties with his family (Although not a complete deal breaker – after all, we can’t choose our families – if a guy can’t understand that I enjoy spending time with my family, it’s not going to work.)

3. He doesn’t own a phone. Not even a landline. (Question: HOW DO YOU LIVE?)

4. He does own a rotating tie rack. (Oh hi, Patrick Bateman)

4. He had one friend but he hasn’t heard from him in a few weeks since said friend was admitted to the local mental hospital.

5. When you go over to their house to watch a movie, they take the whole sofa and make you sit in the weird puffy chair on the other side of the room.

6. You have conversations that sound like this:

“Have you heard of ______ band?”

“No, have you heard of ______ band?”

“No, but I like _____ have you heard of them?”

“No, have you seen _____ movie?”

“No, sorry. Have you seen______?”

“No, sorry I’ve never heard of it.”

Eventually you end up agreeing on some movie/band/book that you both kind of liked. Sort of like that song by Deep Blue Something except the thing that you both kind of liked isn’t anywhere as cool as Breakfast at Tiffany’s and you leave the date thinking, “WHY THE HELL DID I TELL THAT GUY I THOUGHT HOUSE BUNNY WAS A GREAT MOVIE?”

7. He used to manage an adult video store.

8. The first thing you see when you walk into their apartment is a box labelled “COSTUMES.”

9. Their best friend’s nickname is “Rape-y” because “he’s always making jokes about raping his female co-workers” but don’t worry, “He’s a hilarious guy and you’re totally going to love him!”

*This friend may or may not be currently residing in local psych ward.

Of the initial 3 dates I’ve been on, I’ve had to cut two loose, leaving only one man standing. I won’t say too much about this man except that he’s kind, considerate and no rotating tie racks have materialized during our courtship thus far.

To be continued…

PS. The second image was found here and yes, that’s my new dating mantra.

And a Merry Pants Party To You Too!

Happy Christmas Eve Day!

For as long as I can remember I have always loved December 24th. I typically begin every Christmas Eve Day by meeting up with my best friend. We exchange gifts, then head downtown to have lunch and visit the beautiful Empress Hotel. Every year the landmark hotel hosts a city wide Christmas tree decorating competition where local businesses compete for charity. Part of our Christmas Eve Day tradition is to walk around the hotel coffee in hand and take photos of the best (and worst) trees. Since my BFF can’t be with me today, this post is for her.

As you guys know, since initiating myself into the world of online dating, I’ve been going on a lot of dates lately. A few weeks ago I was hanging out with a new guy. After a nice dinner, we decided to go grab some ice cream at a place near the Empress hotel. He’s relatively new to this city, so when I told him about the Christmas tree competition and the tradition I have with my best friend, he suggested we go to check it out.

I should probably mention that since I live in a town that is heavily occupied by the elderly, stoners and hippies, sometimes the trees get a little “interesting.” For example, the tree I saw last year that was inexplicably decorated in half-naked Ken dolls. When it comes to expressing holiday cheer in this town, I’ve come to expect the bizarre. However, this year I think the citizens of Victoria really out did themselves.

Behold, Exhibit A: Sponsored by a local medical clinic, this tree is decorated with a bag of (what we can only hope) is cranberry juice, bandages and fake hypodermic needles. And yes, that’s “cranberry juice” circulating through plastic tubes amongst blinking lights. Who thought this was a good idea? And what exactly were they smoking?

Exhibit B: At first I kind of liked this tree decorated by a local Medical Laboratory. The garlands made of letters from the Periodic Table of Elements give it a distinct Breaking Bad vibe. However, that was until I laid my eyes upon this. It’s like someone got Christmas and Halloween mixed up and decided to create a hybrid creature that is a terrifying blend of Elf, High School Science Teacher and Garth Algar’s hair. Garth Elf says he’s making  “Christmas Cheer” in those beakers but we all know it’s really Meth. How else do we explain the mullet and orange industrial strength gloves?

It’s Christmas. Not even Walter White would wish this thing upon his worst enemies.

Exhibit C: “Because nothing says Christmas like a pair of disembodied legs in Dad Jeans” As soon as I saw this tree I let out an audible “WTF.” I mean, what’s up with the legs? And the packages of ramen noodles pooled around the legs? Then my date pointed out the fine print. Apparently this is supposed to be a “Pantry”  (PANT TREE. Get it?) Well, that clears up a few things….not really.

I like how the decorators went rogue and decided to adorn the top of the tree with a empty juice box. Yes, this area of the world is known for our “star quality” apple juice but COME ON PEOPLE.

FYI. The lack of salmon featured in this “Pant Tree” seems like a huge oversight.

Exhibit D: Oh hey! Look, it’s more disembodied legs!

Since starting this whole online dating thing, I’ve decided to keep it under wraps that I’m a sex and relationship blogger – at least until I get to know the person better. I want them to get to know me first, before they meet my blog and make assumptions based on what they read. Aside from awkwardly blurting out on a coffee date “I used to ghost write erotic fiction. But don’t worry, it was pretty light, 50 Shades of Grey  kind of stuff. Oh you have no idea what 50 Shades of Grey is. Ok then. I should really stop talking!” I’ve actually been doing pretty good at hiding my online identity. That was until I came across this Christmas display and could no longer hold back my sex blogger sense of humour.

Throughout the evening my date had been nothing short of the perfect gentleman – he held open doors, paid for dinner and never once brought up anything inappropriate. However, when I doubled over in laughter I said to him “It’s OK, you can laugh too!” and he did. And we probably didn’t stop laughing for a good 10 minutes. See, “Lubricants” are good for easing tension…in more ways than one!

Of course this was hanging right below the Lubricant truck display:

( “Worry, Free, Warmth”)

Wishing you a very happy holiday full of belly laughs, goofy trees, love & joy!

xox

S.D