And Now???

Anyone who knows me will agree on one thing. Well, probably a couple of things… my love of stamps being a little odd, one of them, but for sure one of my more negative characteristics is fairly obvious to most.

I am most impatient.

I hate waiting for things, anything. Oddly enough this seems like an illogical characteristic when coupled with one of my other negative characteristics… the penchant for being late for things, anything. I am trying so hard to not do this and in all fairness to me, I truly do try and leave early so that I will get somewhere at the appropriate time, say… work, but I swear to the good goddess above, whenever I leave early, something always happens to make me later than if I had only left at my originally planned time. The something that usually happens is usually the subway, or back when living on Slumington, the bus… or the fact that my parents seem to know exactly when I am running late for something and choose that particular moment to call. At any rate, I can’t actually think of one person who has not been at the receiving end of this particular attribute… and I really am very sorry. Of course it goes without saying that I hate it when I have the wait around for people, even 5 minutes… hence the dichotomy of my personality and people are just generally confused and annoyed because of it.

Oh, and I do apologize that you’ll be hearing about the same topic until who knows when. I figured it would be a nice change to hear about my love life as opposed to incessant ramblings about soccer, which in its absence (TFC excluded) has now been replaced with rugby, which I am slowly becoming entirely engrossed in… I love it. I can’t get enough. Continue to be miffed that I wasted the goodly portion of my younger years trying to like hockey because there was nothing else… I digress.

At any rate, Bea is in new territory here. Very new territory. That means that Bea is confused as she is apt to be when something new and unknown occurs. And of course Bea confused means that Bea will continue to work it out until she is no longer so. Except as this has to do with the testosteroned gender, the chances that she will never not be confused are slim to none. With more weight on the latter.

So my conundrum is thus. The Scotsman is into me. I think. I’m pretty sure. Mostly. At least by the way he talks it very much seems that way. He is very open and honest. Talks about his feelings like no one I have ever encountered. He also pays attention to everything that I say. And I mean literally everything. It freaks me out. We discussed this last night and in doing so I came to the conclusion that ever single guy I have ever talked to in Toronto has not given two sh*ts about anything I had to say. Ever. It took this man to make me realize this… and sadly, he is fully aware of this …

He’s the guy who puts faith in men back into women. Apparently. Women who then go on to marry the next guy they come across. Why? Because he teaches them that there are non-game playing and genuine men out there who truly care about women and see them more than just receptacles for the penis. And these women go on to hold out for that kind of guy. And to be honest, I have been wondering for some time whether they did exist or whether it was just some stupid urban myth that some sick and twisted individual cooked up to mess with our minds. At any rate, supposedly they do exist and I rather think I may have found one.

Now here’s the problem. He is an excruciatingly patient fella. Very patient. And despite being 40, is in no hurry to rush into anything. And by “anything”, of course I am referring to a sexual relationship. Because having a casual sexual relationship just ain’t his thang. Well imagine my surprise… Because my past history would have seemed to dictate that a casual sexual relationship was all that any man was interested in. Who knew such a man existed that did not want to jump into my giant king size bed on the first date? Well I surely did not. The problem? In a nutshell? Well, the old girl is still suffering from a bout of ye olde spring fever. And while I get that the best way of dealing with this fella is to not rip his clothes off when I see him again… Let’s just say I am not sure just how LONG I can wait for him. And this, my friends, is my dilemma. I shall attempt to deal with it as best I can …

This guy is going to be a challenge for me. And not a “let’s see how quickly I can get him into the sack” challenge. A challenge in a very different way. An emotionally-challenging challenge... sorry to sound redundant. A challenge in patience. An adult-like challenge I dare say. So, used to going out with guys who seemed only too keen on going ‘there’ very soon, and then of course not being interesting in any way shape or form after, it’s going to be difficult to break that bad habit that up until now I had been a willing participant in. To get used to a man who might be interested in me but who does not want to go down that path, like yesterday. To undo the emotional damage that I have experienced, although did not know it at the time and am still working on finding out how deep it runs, at the hands of guys who I thought cared about me but really didn’t. It sounds so pathetic. I sound so pathetic. But it is the truth. Sex is not an emotion. Nor does having it equate having emotions or feelings towards someone. In the past it hasn’t bothered me so much. But now, faced with, in the words of Monty Python, something completely different, kind of puts a different perspective on things. I am ready for my faith to be restored.

And I both fear and hope that he is right… I HOPE that having met him, whatever happens in the future I know now that men like him exist. But I FEAR that I will become another statistic for him… That he will undo all the bad habits and bad taste deeply rooted by my misadventures in dating land…years and years of meeting guys wholly inappropriate for me… only for me to go on and meet the man of my dreams and leave him, once again… the returner of faith in men.

Interesting non?


Why MSN Sucks

I had a moment last night where I almost cursed Molly to live a life eternally damned in the lowest pits of hell. After my date on Saturday she had spent the better part of the week telling me that in her humble opinion the Scotsman was into me but that clearly he was just shy. And that it would be up to me to encourage him, tell him I wanted to see him again, to make that first move. I fought her advice, even though it was really the most adult thing to do. After all, for once I had met someone who was not about playing the ‘game’ and so what did I have to lose?

And so late last night, after close to an hour of chatting via the internet about this that and the other thing, Bea was getting sleepy and really needed to go to bed… t was then that decided to do it. Enough alluding to future get-togethers, I wanted to hear something a little more convincing…

Bea says “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Scotsman says “Of course you can, anything”

Bea says “Well, I was just wondering if you ever fancied meeting up again at all?”

And then nothing… for SEVERAL minutes. Several minutes. Please refer to the opening line of this posting if you would like a hint as to what was going through my mind at the time.

Bea says “It’s ok if you don’t”

Bea says “I think I would just rather know now than later”

Bea says “I really enjoy talking to you and I thought you did with me so if you just want to be friends at a distance that’s OK”

Bea says “Like I said, I’d rather just get that out into the open now”

Bea says “Or not”

Bea says “It’s up to you”

Bea says ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot”

Bea says “Forget I said anything”

Bea says “It’s fine, let’s not even worry about it”

Scotsman says “LMAO”

Bea says “ :( “

Scotsman says “Me Mum came into the room right as you typed that”

So, um… yeah. It’s all good… of course he wants to see me again… for him it was a non-issue. Being confident and self-assured, it didn’t occur to him that I might need that. In hindsight of course, all signs pointed to yes anyway, but we all know I am hindsight blind as a bat… btw... Scotsman moved back home a couple of years ago when his mom got cancer... sweetness no?

Sorry Molly. Rest assured, if you end up damned for all time in hell, it will not be because of me.


A Tour of the British Isles

Well I’m crushing… and hard.

After my recent experience of the 40-year old Welshman who, as I may remind you, has since gone back to the country from whence he came, I thought to myself… What next?

Well. How about a 40-year old Scotsman? Sounds like a good a plan as any.

Actually the Scot came about more as a product of coming home tipsy one night about a month and a half ago from who knows where and doing a search on my favorite free dating site to look for someone, anyone who had soccer listed as an interest. I took off all the usual search criteria… 5’10’ or taller, 30-37 years old, non-smoker, lives in the same city as me etc… you know, the usual. I just wanted to talk footie with someone dammitt… Is that so wrong? As luck would have it, there was someone who fit my high expectations of nothing other than he was alive, lived in the same hemisphere and liked soccer. True, I didn’t actually look any further than the picture of him in his kilt when I wrote… but hey… a Scotsman in a kilt who likes soccer is my kind of people. So write I did… something that seemed cheeky at the time given my state, but was more than likely not. But he responded anyway and we began a very sporadic dialogue of sorts.

As I never had any intention of meeting this fella I’d be lying if I said that I had actually paid any attention to his profile. In fact Girl was the one who pointed out to me as we started getting more chatty that he was listed as a heavy smoker… something that usually would prevent me from contacting someone in the first place. Of course I had NOT noticed that until she pointed it out but told her just as promptly “of course I know that… it’s written right there”. It was then that I kind of figured that having a go at the rest of the profile couldn’t hurt… 5’8”, 40, living in a city outside of T-dot that may or may not being with a B and yes… the smoking. But in a weird twist of fate, at that point none of that bothered me. We still weren’t any closer than meeting up and at that point, he was just a fun guy with which to discuss my favorite sport.

And then things took a turn. I’m not entirely sure when it happened, or what was said initially to turn it… but it was something along the lines of “hey, you are really great… we should meet”. And I guess we kind of never looked back from that point. It kind of sucked because I enjoyed talking to this man… and yes, for once I can say ‘man’ as opposed to ‘guy’ or ‘boy’… and I was going to be really quite sad to lose that once we met and things did not go so well… as they are apt to do for me most of the time. But there was no sense putting off the inevitable. We met on Saturday.

I am not sure what I was expecting but lord was I nervous. It had been a very long time since I have gone out on a date with any sort of expectation over and above meeting someone as a possible friend. So I was nervous but looking forward to it more than I would have admitted to anyone I think. My first impression was that he was definitely not even 5’8”… something that in the past that has always miffed me. This time it didn’t. It didn’t at all.

I wish I had some juicy details but I don’t. The date lasted for close to 8 hours, during which time we talked about pretty much everything. Of course Bea was Bea and spent probably a bit too much time espousing her love for William Shatner and other various Star Trek actors… but I have since heard that is was endearing so I’m over it. But no juicy tidbits to share because it was quite possibly the most adult date I had ever been on with… a perfect gentleman who was raised to respect women. He didn’t jump me, we didn’t get hammered out of our tree and do something that we’d both regret… We just talked and laughed and generally had a nice time. It was an odd feeling spending time with someone like that. I hardly knew what to make of it.

And now? Not entirely sure. We’ve been in pretty much constant contact ever since but I think we’re both too chickensh*t to throw ourselves out there… to make the first move to ask to see the other again. We’ve danced around it enough though… so much so that my feet are getting tired from it.

Will keep you posted as further details arise.