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.

 

swagger.

Swagger. You know, the charm, the wit, the moves. You can’t fake genuine swagger. And to be quite honest you should not be with someone who thinks they have it, but they just do not.

X was a simpleton. He thought he had swagger. You know the type those that laugh at their own jokes, assume they are God’s gift. Those who fake it, and just don’t make it. Those that alas, they just don’t quite have it. The Swagger.

The educated woman can spot false swagger almost immediately, even just walking past someone on the street, faux swagger just oozes sleaze. However, you almost get so accustom to this, the faux swagger, so much so, that when you come across genuine swagger you can’t help but question it, doubt it.

That is until you realise it is in fact the real thing.

Beau has swagger. And in his line of work it is necessary, you will succeed in sales if you have genuine swagger. You will also succeed personally. As example, one night after a rather unmemorable hockey game, Beau, somehow talked his way behind the bar at the Royal York, like for real, all of a sudden I’m sitting with our new best friends from New Hampshire and Beau appears behind the bar, ‘all good? everyone all good, anyone need a drink?’ And the staff? Well they let it all happen. Because of the swagger.

Beau is also able to get away with this in the client space as well. For instance, in a client meeting he proceeded to stand up and start to undo his belt after the client yelled at him to take a certain feature off  or more specifically to ‘just take it all off’.

Swagger is not location specific, though of course it does help, Bubba Lee lives in a much smaller locale than Toronto, one night while visiting Vancouver, during Happy Hour at Cardero’s, Bubba starts hand talking (man after my own heart). He hand talks so much that a wine glass goes flying and breaks in front of our table. He briefly glances over at it, resumes conversation without missing a beat, while also motioning for wait staff to clean it up so he doesn’t get glassed by a gang member. Keep in mind when dining at Carderos one would normally wear something on trend. Not Bubba, he was in Sorel boots and a novelty t shirt (something along the Nike ‘Just do it’ variety).

Swagger, some have it,  others, have none. It was Sam’s 20 something birthday the other night, her and Jac-Attack having moved into some killer beach digs in White Rock, had the girls over for some pre drinks and gossip before heading to the Hemingway.

Jac-Attack had been doing her own research via the mobile dating vortex, and had connected with someone that in the first few online exchanges seemed like a fine chap. Then the crazy started to show, FaceTime calls at 3am, to see what she looked like at that time of night (guys we are not laying around in lingerie, trust us, 3am on a school night is a no makeup, hair in a scrunchie, pyjama zone), constant text messages, what was she doing, he just needed to talk to her.

So this brings up the point, can swagger be taught? And more importantly can swagger be learned?

 

take the last bridge to goalville.

Goalville. You know the place, or rather the never never land you have entertained. And with that, you’ve stood on the edge, looking at the the bridge to Goalville. The bridge, well this is scary, because this is potentially how you might in fact cross to the place where you will be bigger and better. This in itself should raise discomfort, and quite frankly terrify you. Both the destination and the journey. The how you end up crossing may become irrelevant, the point is that you, yes you, you orchestrated this, you did it, you crossed the bridge to Goalville. The sometimes rocky, potentially against code bridge, you were brave enough to cross the bridge.

I struggled after I completed by MBA, with what was next? What was my next achievement? What would feed my soul, my need to make a difference as much as what I had felt coming out of my MBA?  So what did I do, I got married.

Nice one.

it was not until a flight (yes most of my epiphany’s occur in the air) that I realized, 8 years onward, post divorce, that what I really needed to give myself was was a swift kick, a shift in goal setting.

Changing up your goal setting, is a challenge, as a perpetual academic, and also scary, when you think about what you are used to.  Thinking about how we have until this point measured achievement, academic ones specifically, it is very cut and dry. You either do well, or you do not.

In the real world, benchmarks are more fluid and subjective. This is frightening.

So, for over achieving academics, options you reach a point where your options are to pursue more academia (I can literally feel my dad grimacing), take a random course, which likely won’t do much to get you excited, or finally to shake the snow globe, see where it all would land.

I say  shake the snowglobe, because we all deserve to do more than just exist.

 

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.

 

sex parties, midgets, butt stuff.

Oh JD, and you thought frosted tips was the getting too much street credit? You’re a firework don’t you forget it.

JD messaged me the other day and made a prediction that eventually all blogs end up in the same manner, full of juicy flings (work in progress) and wild sex parties (nope not yet) or at the very least, you know the freaky stuff.

This lead us to conversations of setting up this alleged sex party and trying to agree on an appropriate male to female ratio.

JD said 5:1 female to male (yes he also went to UVic)  I said 3:1 male to female.

He finally agreed, he heard from his ‘friend’ some guys are out in 2 seconds and women last longer. Always good when friends do research on your behalf isn’t it JD?

Next topic was size, if JD hosts the party, no guests can have bigger members than him. Fine. Laura Lee, you have to leave your dong at home.

JD said the male guest list was now limited to midgets.

This party is getting better by the minute.

JD and his wife Mrs.D  are notorious for hosting amazing parties, my invite tally to date: whisky tasting, St. Paddys travelling road show, where I left their house and somehow ended up on a bus alone with Fuhrman…. I thought this was a team event? And we ended up at the rowing club. I think there were drinks involved…. Then there was a stag/stagette, pantless waiters, yelling out of a limo, a wedding in Ireland (I was there in spirit), Juniors birthday that turned into a hybrid Halloween party/dance off/mime show and now these peaches are hosting a midget sex party, all in the name of my year of research. Selfless, selfless, friends.

So JD are we imposing other limits on this party? We got talking about the butt stuff, or just any sex act you’re going at for the first time, or getting surprised at for the first time by your midget, I mean partner. But is this really the environment to be pushing boundaries? The name of the game is safety and comfort no? No, apparently not if I’m trying to expand my horizons. I did commit to this blog detailing my year of firsts.

What about a theme? Do we involve costumes, mimes? Do we make it a hybrid of all the great parties you have thrown to date? Ugh. I so should have gotten the wedding dress shortened after all. Mom’s are always right.

JD, I feel like we need to work this through, and really nail the guest list, on second thought let that lovely wife of yours and I work the kinks out, your birthday is only a few months away. You just show up.

Mrs. D can we please get the name of that pantless butler service as a starting point?

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.

dsl, double sided dildo, having a dong.

Ok so let’s just say that this next post is not a personal experience, but that I have incredible interesting, dynamic amazing women in my life that get propositioned with crazy shit.

My girl 604 P, the party girl has a long standing complaint that men seek her out as a potential mistress. Cue the eye roll right? #cutegirlproblems. So one night 604 P is trying to figure out why the mistress thing keeps following her around, her guy friends unanimously say “its probably because you have DSL”, ‘Pardon’? “You know, DSL: dick sucking lips” She tells me this Monday morning over coffee. And asks me, ‘so do you think I have DSL?’ She has great lips, no lie, but DSL, I’m probably not her target audience. We shake it off until a couple of weeks ago, she turns to me and says ‘Dude, the mistress thing is back, but now its with his wife and a double sided dildo’.

First of all I had no idea that they came double sided, I guess i’m a bit vanilla or something. But, hey everyone has their vice, right? And for those of us getting back into the game after years of monogamy/prison maybe it seems a bit extreme, but for you veterans out there trying new stuff, good on ya, I salute you, be yourself, be brave, ask the questions, if you don’t the answer will always be no. For 604 P, I fear this is her journey for now.

Parallel to this my girl Laura Lee, who has been a constant in my life for 10 years is also a magnet for the bizarre. Also post divorce, she has since met a lovely gent, but his parents are ‘challeging’. Forward to Thanksgiving and I get this text verbatim:

Girl, I gotta tell someone and think you might appreciate this story most! W’s parents were in town last night and I felt like a rapper dropping beats- I was able to shut down everything wack they suggested, then at the end of the night his dad said “make me some grandchildren- TONIGHT!” Before I could stop myself I just blurted “that’s impossible, I don’t have a vagina!!”  

You could tell they were looking at me quizzically trying to figure out if I was pre or post surgical. They think I have a weiner. A WEINER.  For a split second I saw the power possessing a weiner might have (for one thing, they respected my right to agency when it came to my own reproduction!!). Madonna wasn’t kidding!!

I think I’ll keep my dong for a while, at least with them.

Anyhoo hope you had a good bird day and talk to you soon!! xoxo

Can I get an AMEN? Its really a constant in your 30’s, if you are single, married, divorced, and childless you’re either a mistress, baron, or post op depending on the circle you swim in. What about just choosing to be free?

Shout out to 604 P and Laura Lee for the added material on this one, you ladies remind me everyday why it is important to colour outside the lines xoxo

Bieber, bowling, the border guard.

One of the advantages of living on the lower mainland is the proximity to the US border. Cheap gas, Trader Joes $5.99 sparkling pinot gris, outlet shopping, and very cute men. I now understand  how ‘American the beautiful’ has stuck so well as a motto. One dull Saturday night my girlfriend SS and I decided to get a bunch of the old university dance crew together and head down south for bowling. Why not? Cheap, innocent fun on a Saturday night, beers and bowling? Sign me up.

Nexus pass in hand, we make our way down to the Port of Bellingham for a couple of games of ten pin. Once we arrive and change into the very fashionable shoes (which apparently no longer come in half sizes), we get our lane, and can’t but notice America the beautiful, all 6 of them next to us: it was like Magic Mike, but the G rated version.

We start some witty (well we think we are funny) banter up with our neighbours, I detect a hint of a Texan drawl on one of them, which accompanies a Colgate smile, killer eyes and nice arms….kryptonite. Turns out he and the rest of the eye candy are all Federal officers, protecting our fine borders. The Texan served in Afghanistan, and is now making sure us Canadian’s don’t cheat at bowling in Bellingham. Oh and is on a mission to deport Bieber.

We exchange numbers and make dinner plans for the next night. Yes thats right ladies, I am now officially crossing borders to meet men. What do I declare exactly when I cross? Its been a slow autumn? It is in the name of research?

Dinner happens, and my gosh there is something to that whole Southern gentleman thing,  lost on some of these west coast boys. I’m talking chair pulled out, dinner on him, car doors opened, the works.

I get a text a couple nights later that he is working, I text back that i am making dinner, I get a cheeky response if I plan on bringing him down a plate. Don’t get cheeky with this girl, I am a do-er.

Next thing I know I am driving down to the border, turkey dinner in tow. I get to the border and say i have clearance to go to secondary (exactly as he text). The guard informs me I can park in the no parking zone and that my Texan is in stall 2,so i can run the dinner up to the stall. Are you kidding?? Talk about clearance indeed! Something about a man in uniform, and getting a wink from the Texan, maybe i should start cooking dinner more often? Regardless I think I’ll be giving Texan clearance to go to secondary…..