And Then I Moved To Vancouver. I Think.
Episode One: The Silver Fox
I flew over on Harbour Air. The water-landing five-seater delivered me from the harbour of my adulthood hometown to the harbour of downtown Vancouver. Forty minutes and 25 pounds of luggage, and I'm in the "big city."
The intention was to stay at a girl friend's place while she is away to see if I like the city. Her place is near the Seawall—a pedestrian/bicycle path that meanders along the oceanfront and around Stanley Park—and within a few blocks of the hub of downtown Vancouver. Like!
By the end of the first day, when asked where I live, I say, "I'm from Comox, but I'm thinking of moving here." By the end of the second day, it becomes "... from Comox, but I think I just moved here."
Day three: I bought a bicycle.
Barn Goddess flies over for a visit. We hit the town hard. That is if hitting the town means a lot of second-hand clothing stores and going to the movie Trainwreck (recommend) followed by a night of watching Game of Thrones on my iPad mini because I don't know how to work the TV. Hashtag: cozy.
But we did drag our chicly clad and high-heeled butts to a popular Oyster Bar one evening.
We hobble the few blocks between my new crash pad and the infamous clam bar in our highest heels even though our feet are still sore from jaunting all over town to thrift shop.
I tell her, It's kind of loud, but the servers are hotties, and it's got a great vibe. Plus, it's close.
We arrive and sit at the bar. The all-male cast of sea-life servers wear t-shirts with slogans that read Suck me raw and Still in bed.
Caesars are ordered. We scope the room. I see a handsome salt-n-pepper haired man sitting at the table directly behind us. The table is situated so Silver Fox and his friend (and two young boys) face each other, which provides us with their complete side profile.
The delish drinks arrive, and we cheers. To new adventures! And ventures!
I glance back at Silver Fox and nudge Barn Goddess. Total hot dad right behind us!
I'm speaking in my outdoor voice, but the 70s rock is so loud Barn Goddess asks me to repeat myself. I take another sip and nod toward Silver Fox.
Barn Goddess sees him and lights up, her extra-long lashes fluttering inadvertently: Oh my.
We turn back around in our bar seats and face the window to the street. We giggle like schoolgirls.
Shortly thereafter, Silver Fox is on the server side of the bar in front of us but off to the side. He's plugging in his cell phone or maybe unplugging it; it doesn't matter because, at this point, we know he must be allowed to be there, which somehow makes me think I have automatic permission to flirt with him. Wait, do I need permission? So I do flirt, because even though he's clearly taken with Barn Goddess, she's pulled the shy card (which I didn't even know she had!)
Excuse me, Sir, we're going to need to see some ID, I quip in my cheekiest (cheesiest?) tone.
GHe looks over grinning: Oh, yeah? Why is that?
I blink a few times not thinking of a comeback: Um, I don't know. Never mind!
Barn Goddess is laughing because clearly I'm an idiot. But it is kind of funny.
He comes over to where we are, leans on the bar and gazes at Barn Goddess with a Marlon Brando smirk that leaves me sliding off my seat. Are you ladies eating tonight?
Barn Goddess smiles coolly: What do you recommend?
Silver Fox: Do like mussels or clams? Both are good.
I interject with, Well, we're ladies so we like muscles. Men like clams.
(Insert lots of laughies here. Yes, he laughed, too.)
He grins: As long as they're not bearded clams.
Well, that leaves me out of the running at the moment. Hashtag: lazy single lady.
One of the youngsters appears behind the bar next to Silver Fox. The little cutie has an apron on.
I note, The servers are getting younger all the time.
The quick Silver Fox jumps on the opportunity, glancing at Barn Goddess, who averts her gaze. He has no choice but to talk to me. My boys. They've been with me for a week. I won't get them again until Christmas. Their mom lives ... blah blah blah ...
What a smarty-pants man! He's just revealed that he's single and with a low baggage weight.
He wanders off to schmooze other customers. We order the mussels that are nummy but do look like little miniature vaginas in a shell, which I mention to Barn Goddess.
Ewww, don't say that! I won't be able to eat them!
I'm about to jest "that's not what I heard," but Silver Fox has now come around behind us to ask how our food is. We turn around and see a cake complete with birthday candles on his table. Apparently, Silver Fox is one year foxier.
I ask him how old he is and he says, How old do you think I am?
I say, This game never ends well, but okay, fifty.
Fifty?! He laughs. Apparently, he's a few years younger than my estimate. Whoops.
The three of us get to chatting about what we do for a living and Barn Goddess asks, Do you likes horses?
I love them. But I'm scared of them.
We're not sure if he's serious or joking, but this may have been the game changer for Barn Goddess. She mentions that I'm a writer, which I appreciate, but also the title makes me feel like a bit of a fraudster—not actually having a "writing job" and all—but I roll with it.
I help men write better dating-site bios to get... dates.
How long have you been doing that? Maybe you can help me. (Cheeky grin.)
I just started today and I don't think you need any help in that department.
This is true. He's been working the room like Matthew McConaughey in, well, anything.
I decide to do some research and ask the trio of ladies beside us if they are single or dating and go into an unrehearsed and seemingly intoxicated (but not) verbal presentation of my new business venture: turning duds into date-worthy dudes.
I'm a hit! They love me! They beg for my card! (Slight, ok, total exaggeration, I kind of forced it on them.) They invite me to a business brunch! I give them my card with this website on it! I never hear from them again. Blink blink.
Anyway, back to Silver Fox. To be fair, we did find out he's one of the restaurant's partners, and he has been chatting up the male customers and goofing off with his boys, who are sporting shucking aprons and carrying water jugs. Fox's friend tells us "he's a really good guy." We believe him.
Hmm, maybe I need to reconsider dating a guy with kids. Several restrictions apply! On second thought, What am I thinking? Refer to blog mentioning kids are noisy, needy little fuckers. (Yes, I realize I may need some dating advice myself, but I'm the one running this comedy show, people!)
The clock strikes midnight, and we realize we've over-stayed the golden hour. Kind of like when you're in the bar and the lights go on, and all that remain are the toothless Lucky drinkers and ladies wearing too many animal prints. Yeah, like that.
Silver Fox leaves with his fox cubs, and Barn Goddess and I depart shortly after hobbling down the street behind them and trying not to look like stumbling stalkers. As soon as we're out of his sight, I take my heels off and put on the flop-flips I've got stashed in my hobo bag. City chic? Not so much. A practical Pollyanna, well, I am that. Hashtag: city smart.
What have I (re)learned? You don't have to be the (stereotypically) prettiest-young-thing in the room if you've got charisma, baby! (And dirty jokes.)
Homework: Work on new business plan: Master Dater, Man Educator! Writing the right partner into your life. That's right, bitches! Who's your (sugar) daddy! Er, Candy Momma? Ah, fack, who's your Best Wing-Woman Everrr! (Um, me.) (goofy grin)