Here in Halifax

When I was younger dating was a bit easier, or at least it seemed to be.  If a guy was interested in you, he asked you out on a date.  Either you hit it off, or you didn’t, there really wasn’t a lot of grey area, or at least none that mattered too much.

In these last few years of singlehood though, it seems to have gotten a lot more complicated.

Guys still ask you out, but you are left to wonder if the ask of “coffee” or “dinner” or “concert tickets” or whatever is them showing a sign of interest, or if it’s just a hang out?

If a second “ask” doesn’t happen right away, does this mean that it wasn’t actually a date, or does it mean that you failed the audition?  Do we women think like this because it’s true, or are we just overly sensitive since we are still single at a “certain age”?

A group of us singletons were discussing this recently and as always, we drank far much more wine, than answered any of the questions we sat down with.

One thing that quieted us when it did come to mind though; could we actually just be placeholders for certain men?

We all agreed that there were a number of men in the peripheries of our lives that every once in a while creep up and ask us out – most of the time we figure it’s just to maintain a friendship, but the second one of those guys actually meets someone else, and enters into the realm of “real dating” we are left with this uneasy feeling that we were used in some way.  Do the guys stop calling after they have committed to someone else because it is too complicated to maintain a friendship once the other friend is in a serious relationship, or were they only calling to begin with because they were trying to fill some void in their life that a girlfriend or wife now fills?

Worse yet, were they just keeping us in check on the off-chance that the real “one” didn’t come around for them and wanted to keep us waiting in the wings just in case she never did?

Or maybe we all just over-analyze things too much.

Something that I pointed out to the group though, was the fact that we are always there when these guys call.

Maybe we too are using them as placeholders until the “one” comes along? Maybe we are just as guilty and only feel bitter because some of them have moved on from us first?

Do any of you out there fall into this category of quasi friendship?  Are there girls, or guys in your lives you think may be using you as a placeholder until the real deal comes along?  We know it’s been a while since any one has posted to the site, but if you’re still out there reading, as always we’d love to hear from you.

By Kate

I texted Nick Saturday morning, just to touch base and see if we were still going out that night.  Hours later he replied, saying “for sure” and no other details.  I waited for another text, but it was another few hours before it came.

Dinner, drinks, then back to his luxury condo in one of the swanky high end buildings downtown.  I did not say yes to going to his place with the intention of sleeping with him.  I went to check it out, maybe make out a bit, then go home to my walk up in the less fancy part of town.

I don’t have sex on the first date, ever, but it was really warm on Saturday night, strangely warm, and honestly, Nick was kinda doing it for me.  But here was my first mistake.  I went into the sex with high expectations.

Nick was funnier then I originally thought, a lot more respectful then on that original coffee date.  A lot less douchey then he came off at the gym.  We had a really good night together, so when he asked me back to his place, I was going home with someone whose personality was starting to measure up to their looks (plus I was really looking forward to seeing him without his shirt on – the down side to dating in the winter is not having any opportunities to see the goods without getting “intimate”)

We started out in front of  his picture window overlooking downtown, he was a great kisser and sort of scooped me up under his arm and almost lifted me into his bedroom and onto his bed.  Clothes came off pretty quickly (I was really happy not to have to wait until summer to see his chest).  And above the waist, he knew exactly what he was doing…it was once he ventured down below that things were not as enjoyable.  My gorgeous Nick was an expert at 1st base, but the second we rounded on to 2nd it was a complete disaster.

There comes a point though, when even though you aren’t into the hook up any more, you really can’t stop it from happening.  I tried to get his hands and his face up back around mine, and hoped that the actual sex would be better then the fumbling fore play he was providing.    It really wasn’t.

So now I am faced with a dilemma.  I am “dating” a nice guy, who just happens to be bad in bed.  What the hell do I do? (you two commenters from last week, feel free to give some advice)

By Kate

I met a guy at the gym the other day.  I hate meeting guys at the gym.  Guys at the gym always just seem like you should be so proud of them because they’re there.  Like “look at me, I’m a fucking big deal because I weight train” and guys at the gym take a look at me and just assume that I’m like them.  What they don’t know is that I’ve never had a weight problem, despite being completely unhealthy and the only reason I’m toned at all is because I surf which I only started doing to impress that grade 8 boyfriend I mentioned in my last post, before he became my grade 8 boyfriend.

It’s kind of fucking depressing that some of the greatest things in my life started out because of a “guy” how freaking cliche is that.

I’m doing my generation a great service here.

So yeah the guy from the gym.  Nick.  Good enough guy.  Nice body, nice face, typical job – a bank.  Why is it that guys in this city do only one of three general things; work in development/real estate, work in finance/banking or classify themselves as being self-employed – what does that mean exactly?  You work for your dad, or you sell drugs?

Ok.

Nick.

Asks me if I want to hang out, sends a text the next day “coffee?”  like he couldn’t even bother to type out the whole question.  And because he has a nice body and a good face, and no one else was asking, I typed back “Sure!”  with the exclamation point and a smiley face, because really, on the outside, I am THAT girl.

We met up at Just Us Barrington.  Which was my suggestion and perfect cause it’s not far from where I was when he texted.  We said we’d meet at 5, he didn’t show up until 6:15 (yeah I waited for over an hour) he came in complaining about the parking downtown.  After about 15 minutes of complaining, then he got to the “yeah, well any way, sorry I’m late”

Here’s my rant for the day;  why IS parking so horrible downtown?  There is none, and the public transportation system

here in Halifax is a joke.  Can we stop wasting time on bike lanes and fast ferries and actually put in a fast train system or figure out how to have a subway system?  And why aren’t the hipster environmentalists getting on board for a better and realistic method of public transport?  I’ll tell you why, it’s because they really don’t want a solution, they want to be able to keep on complaining about shit.

Whatever.  Nick may have been a crap au lait kind of date, but at least he gave me something interesting to talk about on here.  We’ll see what kind of inspiration he’ll give me when we go out this weekend.

Of course I’m going out with him again.

Did you have something better for me to do?

Kate and her board at Martinique Beach July 2012

By Kate

I just watched the first season of HBO’s “Girls”  and I didn’t love it.

After all the hype I really felt I was going to be finally witnessing the start of something amazing for my generation.  Our own “Sex and the City”  what I found instead was just crap.  Ok so maybe it wasn’t THAT terrible.  There were a lot of funny moments.  I just found it hard to relate and aren’t I the one it’s supposed to be relating to?

Alright, here’s the deal with me.  I’m a 23 year old graduate of a local university here in Halifax.  I have a pretty decent job, I can’t really call it a career, because my Bachelor of Arts didn’t quite prepare me for any sort of a career.  I have a pretty nice face, I have a pretty decent body (I surf  and I dance so that makes up for the amount of McDonalds and junk food I eat on a regular basis).  I had the most amazing boyfriend, when I  was in grade 8, and since we broke up (three months after we started dating) I have been looking for a relationship to match it.

I haven’t found one.

I can’t even find a guy I’m remotely interested in sleeping with.

I’m not saying there isn’t a lot of guys out there.  There are.  It’s just they all suck.

The guys my age (at least the ones I’ve come across) are immature, spoiled, and generally annoying.  The older guys (married and unmarried) are completely fucked.

If there are normal guys between the ages of 25-40 out there in this city, they are completely well hidden and are definitely not going to G Lounge or Taboo.

On the Northwest Arm

I want to meet a guy at the beach, not the gym or at a bar.  I want him to know who Gene Kelly and Cary Grant are, but not in a hipster bullshit way.  I want him to be able to fuck me like a man, but not come with all of the baggage that most older guys come with.  I want to be treated with respect, and valued, but not put into a box and coddled.  I’d like a guy who knows what the word “coddled” means.

Tr!sh, my friend and creator of this site thinks that us 20 somethings are dark and bitter and have a negative view on relationships.  Clearly my first post for her site hasn’t proven that theory wrong.  I will say though, that I don’t think it’s about being negative.  I think it’s more about being very clear about what we are looking for and not willing to settle for anything less.

I spend a lot of time with teenagers given the nature of my job, but in the last year or so I’ve had the opportunity to hang out with a lot of early 20 somethings as well.

What could I possibly have in common with 20 year old girls you may ask?  It’s a good question.  On paper, not much, and in fact has the potential to just be an extension of work and who wants to spend their weekends like that?!

The interesting fact though, is that most of these early 20 somethings are nothing like I was when I was their age.  They aren’t like me, or any of my friends were and it kind of makes me a little bit sad.

This group of young adults coming up into the world are a lot darker, a lot more pessimistic and a lot more disillusioned.  Feeling and expressing those feelings in ways that I’m still not sure I believe to be true despite my advanced years.

I have three in particular that came to mind when sitting down to write this post.  N, A and Z are all the same age and although I know them each separately, I think they all may be friends as well.  I originally wanted to sit down and interview them for a proper post, or maybe an article for PALM, but after just a few brief conversations I realized that these girls were way too disillusioned, so much so that it kind of depressed me.  I mean if these gorgeous, smart, kind 20 year olds felt this negatively about love – where the hell did that leave the rest of us mucking about in the dating scene?

I guess the bigger and more serious question though, is where did all of this negativity come from?  How can girls so young already feel so strongly against the possibility of love?

Why in general is this generation below me and the ones below them, growing up so quickly?  Has this always been the case, but now suddenly I’ve become an age where I’ve actually forgotten what it was like.  Is this just my own “kids these days” moment that is unavoidable for us all, or are these “kids” actually strikingly different that the 10 year younger version of myself?

Maybe I should have actually done the interviews, and they could have shown me that I’ve gotten it all wrong, maybe the bitterness was just actually catching them on a bad day, and in reality they don’t feel that all is lost.  Perhaps.  I really didn’t want to take that chance though.

My 20 year old friends pay close attention to what I’m about to say next; all hope is not lost.  Sure, I’m a 30 something mucking about in the stupid dating single scene, but love comes in all forms, and it is out there for all of us.  Stop being so serious and surround yourselves with people who love, appreciate and respect you.  If the guys you are meeting and dating aren’t doing this, then move on quickly.

Don’t waste your 20s on any person who doesn’t appreciate how wonderful you truly are.

Have you ever wondered where you should go on a date that happens to fall at this time of year?

Thankfully if you live here in Halifax you have pretty unlimited options especially if you like to be scared (and hopefully get some lingering hugs and hand holding as well)

The first on my most  date list is the Halifax Ghost Walk. Starting at dusk at the town clock on Citadel Hill your tour guides you through the scariest parts of downtown Halifax.  Our city has survived colonization, and the Halifax Explosion, but there are many spirits who still linger.

If you’re able to venture out of the city another fun night out at this time of year is the Haunted Hollow in Hammonds Plains.  At the Haunted Hollow you are left to your own devises for a night time hike through a Haunted wood.  It is totally creepy, tons of fun, and all proceeds go to different charities each year which makes it worth it for even the biggest scared- y-cat!

New to me this year is the Haunted House at Noggins Farm in Wolfville, NS – if you were every afraid of things that go bump in the night, this is the activity for you.  Wandering alone through an abandoned farm house late at night, will give you the fright of your life – and maybe even your last one?!

They say a farmers corn field is filled with hope and dreams, but this corn field is filled with corpses and screams.  The Riverbreeze Haunted Corn Maze in Onlsow, NS – I can’t even look at their website without peeing my pants a little.  I mean, there is nothing that I can ever tell you that could express how scarry this place actually is.  Wandering through a corn field in the middle of nowhere (I mean Onslow is actually OUTSIDE of Truro, you’re really in the middle of nowhere) how is that not an amazing night out in October?

I don’t want to say too much about any of these activities because in my experience the least you know the more fun it will be, but this is the last weekend for each of these attractions, so take advantage of the gorgeous weather and get out there – really won’t regret it!

The Atlantic Film Festival is happening here in Halifax this week.  On Sunday night, I had the opportunity to go watch a series of short films at Empire Theatres Park Lane.

The shorts were enjoyable for the most part, specifically “The Chase” a short film by Mary Alice Corton & Joe Zanetti (my top pick of the night).

However it was a different short that really took me aback;  this one was called “Gamers: A Love Story”.

Gamers may not have been my favourite film of the evening, however it was the one that hit closest to home.  It told the story of five teenage gamers who get caught up in the fantasy of Dungeons & Dragons with a female lead who wants her romance inside of the D&D world to spill out into reality.  I kind of fibbed to those present with me, and pushed off the similarities between characters in the movie, to those of my students.  When in actuality, the D&D role playing misfits in this movie were almost identical to my teenage self and a few friends that I had at the time (you know who you are).

DW had been a childhood friend and we had basically grown up in each others houses.  It was his older brother Andrew that got us into Dungeons and Dragons one year.

Andrew, DW, myself and two of Andrew’s friends; would meet once, sometimes twice a week to play the role playing game.

In D&D a whole universe was created, where me and this group of friends took center stage.  Our imaginations were allowed to roam as freely as we decided, the sky was the limit.

I loved my character, she was an elfin wizard, named Theriries who although was limited in battle, made up for it in game progression.  Very quickly though, I realized that my character was only as good as the people playing with me and from day one, I relied on Andrew’s character, the Fighter, Adotlin to save me at every turn, which he always did.  Happily.

For months our two D&D characters lived, loved and battled together.  And for months I waited for Andrew to cross over into the real world and make a move outside of the game.

Tired of hearing me go on and on about D&D and my hero Adotlin, my friend (another J, but not one of the “J’s”), who was in one of Andrew’s classes, decided to make a move for me and see what this fantasy romance was all about.

In classic form, she wrote Andrew a note asking if he “liked” me

To which he replied, “yes.  she is really cool”

My friend wanting to DTR (define the relationship) further, sent the note back with “are you going to ask her out?” to which Andrew replied, “why would I do that?”

High School J was very confused, so she sent the note back again, stating, “because you just said you liked her and you guys have some freaky fantasy love story in your basement going on anyway.”

Andrew’s response.  ”Well I love Theriries.”

At this point, high school J  ended her note passing and told me that I really could do better then this guy.  I would have none of it though.  If he loved Theriries then clearly he loved me.  I mean we were the same person, aside from the whole magical powers thing.

I showed up early to DW’s house and helped Andrew set up.  I asked him about the notes and explained my theory that if he loved Theriries he must “love” me.

Andrew looked up from the table with a very puzzled look.  ”You mean you model Theriries after yourself?  I always pictured her as a blonde.”

And with that my Dungeons & Dragons days were over, and my distaste for blondes begun.

I got to spend Friday night with a bunch of my friends here in Halifax, at an end of summer BBQ.  The night was full of entertaining conversation, with pretty much every topic being covered (from girls who go to Chicago for butt implants to how I secretly wish I could trade all of my brains for stupidity and beauty – I guess not so secret anymore).

Someone at one point, pointed out that I spend a lot of time talking about dating and marriage, but not a lot of time talking about those couples out there who live together.

There’s a pretty good reason for this;  I surprisingly don’t know many of you.

I come from a community where moving in together before marriage is pretty much frowned upon.  Sure people do it, but not without a lot of hassle, headache, and talk from others in the community who disapprove (my community has no problem expressing their opinions to each other – in fact, if expressing opinions on others and how they live their lives was a job, the majority of the community members would tie for consecutive “employee of the month” titles)

There were a number of people at the BBQ who feel that “we” are at a disadvantage because we “aren’t allowed” to move in with each other before marriage.  I mean, how are you going to know what a person is “really like” if you don’t get to live with them first?

I’m not sure I agree with that point of view.

As my new friend “E” pointed out when we spoke about this subject later, knowing if someone is “messy or how they fold their underwear will not break up a good relationship.”  How true that is.  Moving in with someone because you want to get to know them better isn’t the right way to get to know someone better.  The key to a healthy relationship and the key to really knowing a person isn’t close proximity, but instead communication.

Living with a person will tell you if they are a slob, or if they like to listen to their music loudly, or sing in the shower, but it won’t tell you what their long term life goals are, or what their moral compass is.

It used to be that people who lived together before getting married had a higher divorce rate.  That isn’t the case any more. It’s not that less of them are getting divorced though, it’s that less are actually getting married.

Let’s look at the other end of the spectrum; the arranged marriage.  

Although I come from a traditional culture, I do not come from one that practices arranged marriages (a fact that actually pisses me off.  I’m sure 10 years ago the practice would have infuriated me, but now – Hell, I would kill to have someone figure all of this shit out for me)

Some opponents of arranged marriages say that they lead to divorce, however there aren’t any stats to back that up.  In fact 90% of the married population in India are in arranged marriages, and the country has the lowest rate of divorce than any where in the world.  Why is that?  Well contrary to popular belief, arranged marriages are not “forced” marriages, but instead a process where the most important facets of a persons life, their background, their values, their goals are taken into consideration and matched with someone who is compatible.  That actually doesn’t sound half bad.

But there I go talking about marriage again.  I guess what it all comes down to is practicality.  There really isn’t a lot of romance in moving in together.  Girls don’t start to cry from excitement if a guy pops that particular question.  So if, in the end, you’re moving in because it’s cheaper, easier, or more fun than living apart – I’d say you’re better off getting a roommate.  Or a dog.

This week marked the first day of school for students across the country.

It’s a busy time of year no matter where you are located, but it’s particularly busy here in Halifax where five world renowned universities have campuses.

Even though I have been a teacher for a number of years now, and the first week of school has come to mean different things, the week cannot go by without me remembering my own first year of university and the awkward frosh date that went along with it.

It was near the end of Frosh Week at the University of Kings College, here in Halifax.  I was super excited about starting the Foundation Year Programme there and ready to be one of the elite intellectuals of Kings. (pretentious, I know)

In my frosh group I met a guy by the name of Christian (long before Mr. Grey made the name famous) who had moved here from Toronto, was living in Alex Hall (one of the residences), was 19 years old (older man!), a Capricorn (great love compatibility!), and a self proclaimed modern day philosopher (swoon!), who even had his own car – all things that made him completely endearing to me at the time.

The date took place on a beautiful sunny and warm Saturday afternoon.  The plan was to go for a picnic in Point Pleasant Park, then maybe to a movie at Park Lane.

Christian had taken care of everything, packed the picnic basket (he had his own apparently) and had brought a bottle of wine along with him for the occasion.  We sat close to one of the old fortresses near the top of the park, in a rather secluded area, ensuring we had the total romantic package.

As a girl who was not allowed to date in high school (and was probably not allowed to go on this date either, which was why I had told my parents I was going to spend the afternoon studying) everything about Christian, and this date, seemed perfect.  How quickly things can change.

He had no sooner opened the bottle of wine when I casually mentioned that I thought drinking in public was against the law.  This fact caused Christian to panic and down the bottle.

Not more than fifteen minutes later, my knight in hemp clothing was sprawled out over our picnic blanket, drunk as a skunk and in the mood to make-out. Flipping over to his stomach, Christian started to do a fake panther type crawl over towards me – never really attaining the look he was going for, and instead looking more like a flailing sea otter.

As he got closer to me, I started to laugh, and quite gently pushed away his hands – unfortunately causing him to smack his face on to the ground.   His body lay there motionless, eyes closed, barely breathing.  Nervous that I may have killed him, I softly called his name and poked at his shoulder with my finger.  He reacted by rolling over on to his back and began to snore – LOUDLY.

Not sure what to make of this situation, cursing the fact that even about dating my parents seemed to always be right, I took my copy of Plato’s Republic from my bag and began to read.

Apparently I would be spending the afternoon studying after all.

As we drove the 2 hours to Moncton my blood began to boil.  I mean seriously what made this guy think that adding at least 4 extra hours to our date was a good idea?

Did he not feel how horrendous that lunch was?

We arrived at the Empire Theaters in Moncton only to find out that the earliest movie wouldn’t be STARTING for another three hours.  “Well I guess we should just go back home then.” I very casually suggested.

“After coming all this way?  No lets check out Crystal Palace while we wait.”

I had to give him credit for persistence, and he was clearly trying to make the best of the situation, and besides Crystal Palace could be fun – or so I thought.

We went to play laser tag – so much fun, I love playing games like that, actually my dream date would be going bowling or to an arcade or something fun and innocent.  Did B feel the same way?  Could there be more to him than I was giving him credit for?  The game started out well, until B turned into a lunatic.

I kid you not, the guy went berserk because some 10 year old kid kept shooting at him.  I tried to calm him down, only to have him scream at me “parents today really should learn how to teach their kids manners” and storm off out of the play area.  “Um excuse me?”

I tried to diffuse the situation by making a few jokes and trying to calm him down, but B was having none of that.  He continued to sulk for the next 60 minutes, and his mood only worsened as he continuously lost at the arcade games he was playing.  When I beat him at the NASCAR game, I actually thought he was going to cry (or hit me, to this day I’m still not sure which.)

I thought that maybe at this point he would want to go back home….nope.

Determined to salvage this shipwreck of a date, B, suggested we go for a walk along Parlee Beach.

“I’m wearing heels” I said politely.

“Well take them off.” he snapped.  “They are ridiculously high and it’s not like you need shoes to walk on the sand!”

At this point I had had enough.  Scream at a 10 year old kid all you want, but diss my shoes?!  I don’t think so.

I looked at B square in the eyes,

“B” I started, “I’m very much aware that I don’t need shoes to walk on the sand.  I’m also very much aware that it is the beginning of May and only about 10 degrees outside.  I’m also aware that this date – AND YOU- have gone from being exciting, to boring, to down right rude.”  I finished with, “and frankly, I’ve had enough.” turned on my heels and stormed off.  After about a half of a minute I realized that B was my drive back to Halifax.

Not wanting to kill my triumphant moment, I continued to walk, hailed a cab and took the Acadian lines bus back to Halifax.

B called my phone numerous times, left a number of apologetic voicemails, and in time realized that I was a hopeless cause.

Maybe I overreacted?  It’s possible, and has happened before, but B was a bore and a baby and worse yet, he made fun of my shoes.

Some things are worth digging your heels on.