the exit strategy.

Up here in Canada, it is officially training season. That coveted time of year where there seems to be one run after another, and for us westcoasters the circuit tends to start in early spring with the Sun Run, then the 10km series, which of course leads into the BMO half and of course the mother beast the full marathon. This of course also results in injuries, and to mitigate these, runners alike find solstice in gentler activities, such as yoga, pilates and Sunday Netflix binging.

I had decided that as part of my cross training, I should take advantage of two of the three activities (yoga and Sunday Netflix binging). In true epiphany form which of course leads to blog material, I found myself in between full locust, a posture that most of us can’t wait to get out of once we are in it, we enter into in with gusto, sometimes forced, but once we are in it, it can be hell and we want out. Out of hell, and we really don’t care how we escape. In this particular class it was a double whammy, an Esther class.  So when Esther (everyone needs an Esther class) citied as we were all in between second set, that she had read a quote ‘relationships, yoga poses and jobs, should all be exited thoughtfully and carefully’ I perked up. So much truth in this.

Confronting because sometimes, we blow the exit. We’ve done everything right up until that point, and then we suck. We are so focused on making first impressions, leaving a mark, being the best, or an illusion of perfection.  You should always exit exactly how you entered, preferably swagger (if you have it) graceful, well dressed, present in the moment.

And if  not?

The exit might fall flat, be unmemorable, you end up with an injury, a dodgy knee, or even worse, you break a heart. And then this becomes cause for gossip, an urban legend that refuses to die, and you are the star player. Urban legends rule here, especially in relationships and workplaces, those who pulled the ultimate Houdini, or those who set up their desk for the day for a standard 9-5, and then left, like as in disappeared, never to be seen again, laptop, suit jacket and all left in the office, Months later to resurface in an office across the country. These are exits that are memorable for all the wrong reasons.

The other piece of the exit is how the receiving party responds. After my announcement last week, the white knight said he was held hostage after he had announced his exit at his past employer, to move over to a competitor. Held hostage for a whole two weeks. Painful, and unnecessary.

There are countless anecdotes online that an organisation will never be as good to you as they are in the beginning when they start to court you. Just like the beginning of a new relationship. When you are both on your best behaviour, in the honeymoon phase.

A good relationship, well no, a great relationship will, if it ends also have a lovely exit. And in the work world, with my exit, the respect, love and support was overwhelming. Further proving what a fantastic company they are and what an amazing bunch of coconuts the folks are.

Sometimes exits are inevitable, so if this is the case, what is harder, a poorly planned exit, or missing the exit all together? And staying on course, whether it be in a relationship, a job or a yoga pose,  on cruise control when in reality that is the last place you should be. So, you have to ask yourself if you’re willing to risk fumbling through an exit, or locking yourself into a long term something or other that isn’t serving you, or someone else, anymore.

We are continuously told to look forward, to keep our head up, to become uninterested in looking backwards because, as goal setters, we are in fact actually not heading that way. Don’t miss the exit, it is in front of you for a reason.  Exit with care, think of how  you want to be remembered. First impressions mean the world, but exits are even more significant.  The solution? Dress the part, be graceful, be deliberate, do not rush,  but do not linger, as they say, what is for you will never pass you by. And if that is the case, don’t pass it by either.

the break up.

One beautiful west coast spring evening, I sat stunned on my bed. Stunned, with a  glass of chewy red in hand. I was for the record, a living, breathing trifecta. I was stunned, buzzed, and struggling to say out loud five words.

I tried uttering the sentence with different intonations, like Lady J has advised, that one time at band camp (kidding) no that one time when my mum had given us ladies of the family, tiara’s for Christmas, and we were all introducing each other with our regal names ‘Duchess of Silveridge’ etc. and working on our royal entrances up and down my staircase, hand wave and all, I think we also took formal portraits, sans Corgies. We had consumed copious amounts of wine ok? No judgement.

Five words. No matter where I placed the emphasis in the sentence,  I couldn’t get it to resonate. The concept was live, it was happening. But it was taking all my might to grasp it.

And dare you ask why? Oh go on, be brazen. You know what I’m like, a word vomitter.

The answer?  Well it really came down to a situation I had let happen, a happenstance.

It in the most dramatic fashion was leaving one great love for the one. Breaking up with the great love, and in my case, well it was actually going to be quite amicable, the love being left, was almost in a sense ushering me out. The love knew it was time, our love affair was over, I needed to move on to bigger things, and the love in question? Well they would stay put, that was their fate, they were not moveable. Potentially, one day, in the future, I would come back to them, but it was too soon to say, as they motioned, you are going to take over the world, we will see you.

And the break up? Everyone always wants to know when and where. Well for us, this great love and I, when we broke up, we were in the throws of our standard ‘nooner’. It was sunny, a gorgeous day, and then we were interrupted by a phone call.  Beau.  His and I’s plans for our west coast cocoon had been unexpectedly kiboshed, so in a moment of an epiphany, on my noon hour date with Stanley, (of the Park variety) running in the sun around the whatever its called gun, I stared up at the Coastals, gazed in awe at the Lions, and in one moment uttered 5 words to Beau over the phone.

Up until this point, these 5 words,   Vancouver was to me, my love affair, the great love I needed to move out of and on from a personal relationship that just couldn’t sustain. And after the fact, and into present here I was with an opportunity of a lifetime, thus far of course, let us never count on something being the be all end all, right? So if Beau is the one, what was Vancouver? If every relationship  has a purpose, what was Vancouver to me?

Well, Vancouver, my great love, proved to be my core shaker, shoulder to cry on, home base,  foundation, trust, entertainment, love,and in the end everything you should come to expect in a partner.

In my moment of reflection, after I had uttered my 5 words, a core shaking statement of my own, all were silent, and then agreement, yes, this was it.

And finally after all that, the 5 words stood strong, they resonated, they gave me goosebumps, the fire was lit.

I was moving to Toronto.

 

sex in the 604P.

I had a dream the other night, after being plagued by the flu for two weeks, and I assume my fever was breaking, that I was on vacation in Samoa, with a bunch of Mexicans, on a yoga retreat. It was bizarre, but Samoa itself was beautiful, I must add this to the bucket list. The photos I had taken on my phone in my dream are sadly nowhere to be found in my photo folders.  Anyway, maybe it was hot, maybe I was having wardrobe issues, but for some reason I felt compelled in my dream to change tops outside in the middle of the day.

Apparently acts of public nudity are not permitted in Samoa, or not in the Samoan land of nod anyway.  I was approached by a Samoan police officer with a ticket, a fine for $6.00, but he was also holding $6.00 in his hand, he was going to pay my fine for me because he was so grateful to sneak a peek. We just had to walk over to the station together to pay it.

And then I woke up.

Dreaming the bizarre is common, living the bizarre not so much, unless you are 604P.

Just when I think only the bizarre happens to me, I am humbled to learn from my people, especially 604P, that actually my bizarre is cotton candy compared to their stories.

604P had recently been looked up by an old friend, NYC guy, who desperately wanted to take her out for a west coast date while he was in town.While she admitted she wasn’t overly keen with this prospect, it would be good to catch up and hear about his life in the big apple. And there is just something so special about a date out in Vancouver, no shortage of waterfront establishments, the lights from Grouse mountain and the Lions Gate bridge, if you’re down in the vicinity of Canada place. Or if English Bay is more your scene, you are a hop skip and a swagger away from the buzz of Davie St, and you can always finish the night, all things going well, with a smooch, sitting on a park bench, looking out at the sea.

604P is a glass is always full to the rim, kind of girl, so she opts to give NYC guy a go. Well the date started out as most do, a bit of back and forth, run down of what each other had been up to blah blah blah. Then NYC guy went a bit ary, and 604P realised that the only place this date was headed, was dudsville.

So in the interest of keeping the night going, after all they were at Coast, 604P proceeds to announce to everyone sitting at the bar, that by the end of the evening they are all going to be best friends. Now this is why I love this girl, she takes a date night dud, a bust of a night and turns it into a party, all very Lily Pulitzer of her, only without the pastels and flamingo prints.

And this is also what is so great about Vancouver, in one evening, you can become friends with strangers. It is the west coast, everyone has a story, and when you are here, your shoulders come down, you loosen up, you embrace the left coast, you become besties with the bar patrons.

So 604P does a scan, and a meet and greet, the players at the bar comprise of the following:

Dodger, an international man of leisure, Instahot, a very prominent Vancouver based investor, a flight attendant, Miss Montreal, and of course the one and only 604P. Now she like most women, have a weakness for accents, so when Dodger starts speaking and she realises he is a Brit, she starts swooning. I commend her for not stripping down on the bar and throwing herself at him, the girl has the self control of a nun. Throughout the course of the evening, Dodger and 604P realize they have a connection, and as things evolve, he has a proposal for 604P, they jive, he’s lonely, he wants someone to travel the world with. And would 604P be so kind as to join him. Thinking this might be all talk, she figures, what the worst that could happen, lets stick out the night, if we can last the night, we can travel the world.

So post Coast, the gang decide to end up at the Keefer, famous for their cocktails, and also where it happens to be burlesque night. 604P said on approach to the Keefer, there were girls walking around outside with thongs and nipple tassels. And Dodger, he only has eyes for 604P. Again, these are things that happen during a Thursday night out in Vancity. Do you now see why we love our little west coast metropolis?

Now of course in true 604P style, the party was not going to stop at the Keefer, after numerous cocktails and becoming groupies for the burlesque tour,  the new squad proceeded to get invited to a very vague but enticing house party that kind of sounded like it was an orgy. Now even though she was still keen on exploring this international travel companion offer, with Dodger, at 4am, 604P was done, after all she had work the next day.

As for a hook up, well did they or didn’t they? Now 604P is discreet, a girl who doesn’t kiss and tell, to this day, no one can actually put their finger on who she may have hooked up with, and if she does take Dodger up on his offer, it will be a very quiet ride off into the sunset. But I will say the girl has been smiling and giggling quite a bit more at her phone these days…

And NYC guy? Well 604P would rather spend a shitty weekend in Spuzzum then try for a do over with that dud.

 

red rover, red rover, don’t be left over.

Valentine’s Day.

Ugh.

I could probably just leave the post at those two words and be done with it. But I won’t, because as per usual this girl has something to say.

If you’re single, you are probably already jumping ahead to Monday, and into pretending that this whole weekend never happened. Did you know they are having a free marriage ceremony in Robson Square this weekend? Seriously? Tacky. So like any good single cynic you’ve likely gotten strategic, you’ve booked your self solid with every single commitment you can think of, including staying clear of Robson Square, or maybe you are staying at home, in your sweats, drinking wine from the bottle and eating chocolate chip cookie dough from the package while watching lifetime. No judgement.

Remember that school yard game that really should have been banned, red rover? As in red rover, red rover, we call you, yes you on over! The ultimate way to intentionally make anyone feel like they were left out. Well this has gone beyond the school yard, red rover still exists in less obvious forms in the adulting day to day, and of course in the dating vortex.

Having been on the road or in hiding in my office, I had been out of the friend loop for quite awhile. Attempting to reconnect with the usual suspects, through thorough discovery a trend was starting to emerge, everyone was busy getting frisky with each other, you know friend-cesting in the friend group. So no solo mates to head to the pub with and bitch about happily coupled up crazies. Was a result, I found myself suddenly wondering, what do you do when the friends pairings starts and you’re left over.

PTSD flashbacks to dorm living at UVic, when everyone was hooking up and I took a strong, nope I don’t ‘do’ that stance. I wanted to keep my friends as friends, not go into the whole dorm-cest abyss. Hmmm, come to think of it, maybe this is where my older man complex began? I wanted to date outside the friend circle, keep things clean. So therefore I committed to a strong line between dating and friends. But now had this just made me an outcast?

Getting used to singledom, or life as an outcast, especially as a recovering serial monogamer can be excruciating, or maybe never-ending growth spurt is more of an appropriate term. I had a glimmer of grimace, when I had received an invite to my Aunt A’s 80th birthday circa summer 2016,  and I was was of few solo’s on the invite list. I called her, to RSVP, and she said well don’t worry, if you’re dating someone you can bring them.  And if I’m not?  Well I am bringing 604P. She will turn it from a party to a Parrrttaayy. Isn’t that right sugar lips?

Bottom line was, the fear was evident, God forbid I be alone. Because how tragic is that? Unfathomable. Send in the clowns.

The reality is, for most choosy singles, we are happy in our state of alone. So please, don’t feel sorry for us. Personally,  I enjoy the solitude, because this is where I recharge, especially when as part of my day job I am required to be on all the time. The fear, from those un-single, is not alone, but loneliness; which they assume stems from being alone.

I argue that alone is a state of being, lonely is a state of feeling. You can be in a state of alone, and feel absolute bliss. The quiet, the realisation that this time is all about you. And of course you can be on the flip side, you can not be alone, whether you are in a couple or in a crowd, and feel complete loneliness. And what would you argue is worse? Well, I would much prefer to relish in my alone time, and certainly not be lonely.

So outside the alone/lonely query, the other question, singles encounter, I can’t understand why you are single?

Well, aside from being crazy cakes, I have responded from time to time, I was married, and then comes the oh ok well that explains it. Explains what exactly? I guess that you’re good enough to have been part of a duo, but also that maybe you’re wasting time being a single? And if you say you enjoy singledom, well careful, again comes the fear that you wait to long and then you will, yes you guessed it, be left over. Alone. So then, this is where some single people start to panic, and this is where the tragedy comes. The tragedy is not in fact that you are single, it is the other S word (settle), to settle. Settle because they feel its the right thing to do, to avoid being made to feel like they are in the wrong, or peer pressure, they succumb to the red rover.

So, Red rover, red rover, and what if you find yourself left over?  You, yes you, you single, you are on the other side, you are alone. So, what do you do?  Do you conform, cross the field, join hands, or do you walk the other way, be solo, enjoy the bliss. Wait for something worth while, beyond the pressure of red rover. There is no harm in either, and really there should be no stigma, follow your heart, whether to solitude or companionship, but make sure it isn’t peer pressure, not just taking the easy way out. Otherwise enroute to join in red rover, you run the risk of being close lined. At that point, jokes on you.

don’t date the help…

My dad, gets a kick every time we go on holidays (as we are now) he says to the bell boy or similar ‘careful, she married the last guy that carried her bags’

Cut to said bellboy or similiar getting red faced, likely stepping away from my bags while I cringe, and dad laughs.

On a side note, Frosted tips and JD will be loving this right now #thecoug.

My ex was not a bell boy, (and older than me- take that frosted tips and JD), but as my girls 604P, Sana and Dirk have since pointed, out ‘girl he married up, you married the help’.

Flash forward 9 months, Friday drinks at our local watering hole, the work girls, 604 P etc.

We are fan favourites at this place, at Christmas last year, 604P and I actually got a standing ovation from the servers, 604P…I can’t remember why? Was it your DSL?

It is also common occurrence that these servers say things to us like ‘just bend over and stick your face in it’ (referring to an overfilled glass of wine) Super.wicked.awesome.

Now these guys obviously rely on tips from slightly buzzed girls who are flattered by the male attention, but one Friday night, there was a super.wicked.awesome server that was especially friendly.

I said to P, ‘dude that guy is totally hitting on you’, she rolled her eyes,  ‘um no dude, he is into you.’

So we asked him point blank, and P was right, shots for everybody.

So we flirt, we flirt that night, we flirt the following week, we flirt the week after. Ok fine, we flirt every Monday (half price bottles of Tinto Negro) and every Friday ($5 bubbly) He put his number in my phone, we text/flirt during the day, and late night.  He texts me to find out why I am not with the work crew one Tuesday night. I guess someone actually had work to do. No finger pointing, P, Nic, slackers.

I digress. But really how well does the whole white collar/no collar thing actually work? Would we actually have anything in common? Aside from the fact that he pours a great glass of wine and he gives good hugs? I like wine. And good hugs.

Rumour has it he is getting us girls to the ‘front of the line’ next weekend at an event, sigh, I feel like a young girl of 22 again, oh and there’s a mechanical bull involved (You can take the girl out of Calgary, but you can’t take Calgary out of the girl)

Stay tuned, I’m sure as long as he doesn’t carry my bags, all should end well.

tinder strategy.

#everyonelovesfrostedtips

I know I praise my girls frequently in this blog, but I really do need to shout out to the runningwiththeboys boys, especially frosted tips.

As per the feline scale post, frosted tips and I have been each others dating sounding boards, and wingman/wingwoman for a decade. And he was there once I had officially gotten out of my divorce sweater, cooled things off with coach and ventured back out into our fair Vancity and I realised I had absolutely no idea how to go about meeting men.

“Get on Tinder” frosted tips said to me in between shots at Joey’s. ‘But when you do, you need a strategy’

Really? I am a strategy girl, I mean it was my specialty in my MBA and now I live and breathe it everyday with clients. But Tinder and strategy in the same sentence?

So, frosted tips, what is your strategy exactly?

‘Everyone gets a swipe right’

‘How is that a strategy?’

‘Well, I’m increasing my odds’ ‘everyone gets a swipe right and then you go to the next round of cuts’

If this is a strategy used by Tinder users, I ask you, why not just hold up a sign on Robson St, saying: ‘I like you, I think you’re cute and I think we should take this upstairs’?

Wait that is not as bad idea, Frosted tips, help me make the sign ok?

red flags.

Apparently the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Having a research background I get that, so it is something I am going to attempt to keep in mind on this runningwiththeboys journey.

Over drinks a couple nights ago 604 P and I started talking about our red flag list, brought on by the very married CEO who was looking for a 2 day a week girl to supplement his wife and other girlfriend and Caddy Choking guy, we decided unanimously that choking/narcism/psychopathy/lying were deal breakers.

The red flag list:

1. 6 month expiry daters – 604 P says this particular one actually should get his own blog post….he might, I’m just not sure yet. Regardless, when a guy tells you after his 7 year engagement was called off he has only been dating for 6 months tops, and then breaks up with you on the exact day of your 6 month anniversary, yep, you kinda deserved that. And my psychic even called it two days prior. Shame on me.
2. Crying, well no actually bawling after sex, during sports centre, at family dinner ‘I just really love how your mom makes chicken’
3. 10km radius – Any guy who won’t date you because he has a strict 10km radius rule – you must live in 10km proximity to him, oh and forget going to the restaurant you like, or hiking the mount, it is just too far.
4. Being asked to be called Daddy. All the time. Though according to 604P ‘Papi’ is ok, because you can say it with an accent and sound exotic ‘Ai Papi’
5. If you can’t dance but you think you can. Papi probably can dance, and instead of a red flag, there would be red shoes. See image.
6. FOP (Fear of Phone) – I’m not saying 2 hour conversations, but an outright ‘no all I do is text’, you better actually be mute
7. The Jaded – Apparently there are some women in our fair Vancity that are shallow enough to tell guys that 5’11 is too short, wearing jeans 7 days a week is not chic, and if you’re not taking her to Black and Blue or Oru every weekend after hitting Holts, then you don’t really care about her. Guys, let it go, I’m sure you’ve had your shallow moments as well. Jaded hostility is just not attractive.
8. The Dud – like the asshole, the dud should really be avoided, however there seems to be something inherent even in the most seemingly confident women that brings her in line with the.dud. Duds will drain you dry emotionally, they are leeches, they are no good for you, but you think that you might be doing them some good. Your friends are going to potentially intervene here if you end up in Dudsville, please let them.

This will likely become a running list, as I and my fellow researchers report back on our running adventures….

I feel like if Papi is allowed, he should be a dancer, and he would pair well with red shoes,

Reader feedback encouraged y’all! That is why there is a comment section.