The Barfing Date

Since last Spring I've been back in the dating pool. I've met a variety of guys - one at a party, one in a lineup outside of a nightclub, one at Starbucks, a few from Lavalife internet dating.

I've had a couple of disasters - one of them was about three weeks ago. I met this guy at a Persian restaurant with some friends. He got my number and he made dinner for me a few days afterward. I shouldn't have gone over to his place, that was my first stupid mistake. We watched a couple of videos and I noticed he was drinking a lot of wine. Suddenly he was lunging onto me, mouth gaping open, pinning me down and trying to woo me with disgusting passionate kisses that tasted like cashews and salt. I shoved him off me and sent him back to his couch, but he came at me again twenty minutes later and soon afterward I was hurrying for the door. He kept whining in a high-pitched voice, "I didn't do anything wrong..."

There is one other date that really stands out - I call it The Barfing Date. It was my first meeting with a guy named Paul from Lavalife. We had lunch together at a comfy Commercial Drive restaurant on a Saturday during the summer. We enjoyed our meeting and agreed to go out that evening as well. We each went back home and the plan was that he would pick me up in his van and we would go to the fireworks competition at English Bay.

During that afternoon, I started to feel sick to my stomach and wondered if I should call Paul and tell him I was suddenly sick...then I realized he would think I was making up a dumb excuse to brush him off. I kept telling myself I really wasn't that sick, even though my room-mate's cooking was nauseating. I escaped outside to wait for Paul on my front steps.

He picked me up and we drove to Granville Island to park, and then we took a passenger ferry to English Bay. I was becoming increasingly sicker and he was concerned, asking me repeatedly if I wanted to go back home. I hardly ever get sick and I just couldn't imagine that it would get worse, and I kept saying I could make it.

Well, I never did make it all the way to 10:00, which was when the fireworks were to start. I remember lying on the blanket with crowds of people around us while Paul took out his picnic spread and started to eat pate on crackers. At the best of times, pate reminds me of wet cat food and at this point I knew it was only a matter of time before I was going to hurl. I told him I couldn't make it, and I was so sorry, and he was very kind and understanding. We left right away but I could only lie on a park bench with the blanket around me, so Paul went to get his van.

As I lay huddled on the park bench, I must have looked like a homeless woman, and people passing by were jeering at me. One guy nudged me and said, "Wake up, the fireworks are starting!" Another guy poured his drink over my ankles and laughed. I was absolutely miserable and I started to cry. When Paul's van arrived through the street barricades, I sank back thankfully into the passenger seat.

At one point on the way home, I sat up and yelled, "Pull over, I'm going to puke!!" I was unbelievably sick on the sidewalk and I had no idea where Paul had gone. But he came up to me and led me away onto a little stone wall in the alley and gave me a breath mint. Somewhere inside of me I found this hysterically funny, that a breath mint would suddenly materialize from his hand at this precise moment, but I was too ill to laugh. Later when he dropped me off at home, I whispered, "I'll call you tomorrow," and I ran inside like a shot.

I actually saw Paul a few more times after that unfortunate night, and we had a good laugh about it. I don't really think our disastrous first date was a foreshadowing for failure, but in the long run he wasn't the right guy for me, either.

I've created a few private nicknames for some of the guys who didn't work out: the Gaping Cashew Mouth, The-Guy-I-Barfed-In-Front-Of, Mr. Needy-Hands, The Jerk, The Paddler, Parsley Guy, and Mr. Don't Want A Relationship. I've given up on Mr. Right, I really don't think he's just around the next corner. (You're wondering about the Paddler, aren't you? Haha, not going to tell.)