When I moved to the Toronto suburbs in January of 2009 I had some very high hopes for myself as far as dating goes. I figured that I was gonna roll into town and every woman was going to want a piece of the bald American. I was the suave guy doing the morning show on a brand new rock/alternative radio station and I figured that the chicks would be all over me. I was to be “J.R. in the Morning” and when the ladies said that they wanted their J.R in the morning, I would reply with, “you can have J.R. in the morning, in the afternoon AND in the evening!”
I thought a lot of things. It doesn’t mean it all happened. Or any of it for that matter.
As I mention in a previous post (Oh Canada), the station never even went on the air, but for the first six months we thought we were only getting delayed, so I still had my hope of one day owning the province of Ontario—at least my little part of it.
Before I left California I already had my lines planned out. I remember hanging out at a New Years Eve party with Bone and his wife Mama. Mama’s dad, The Carpenter, was there too, as was her sister, The Artist. I was laying out my game plan to them and telling them how it was going to be. In all fairness, I was drinking a bit that night. But I still believed most of what I said.
My new favorite pick-up line was to be, “do you have some American in you? No? Would you like some?” I was also going to go with, “Hi. I’m J.R. in the Morning, but you can have me anytime you want…”
I was boning up on my Canadian. I made sure to say “touque” instead of beanie. I threw the word “eh” into as many sentences as I could. I remembered that when I went to the Beer Store I should order a two-four. You have to say “a two-four”, because as I learned, if you order a case (24 beers), they look at you like you just spoke Russian.
BTW…The Beer Store is the name of the province owned outlet where you have to buy your beer. You can’t go into a regular store and purchase beer (or wine or liquor). It’s a very communistic society and alcohol is expensive as hell. A 12-pack of Molson Canadian is around $20. I can buy a 30-pack of the same stuff in New York for $20! To get your beer you walk up to a counter, order what you want and they shoot it out to you on a conveyor belt. That part is kind of cool, but the rest of it sucks. Back to the dating…
I was looking forward to being the local rock star. I was hip. I was single. And I was more than ready to mingle! “Look out Canada,” I exclaimed. “J.R. is coming!” I landed at Pearson in Toronto, cleared customs and soon enough got smacked in the face with a huge dose of reality.
First off, the Canadian chicks that I met were for the most part, NOT the hot puck bunnies that I imagined them to be. A diet consisting mainly of poutine (French fries with gravy and cheese curd), pizza, wings and beer kept a large percentage of Canadian ladies warm for the winter, if you know what I mean!
Second, they were not as enamored with Americans as I thought they would be. I guess it’s because I was just outside a major cosmopolitan city like Toronto. That and the fact that they can drive into the U.S. in 90 minutes, probably makes it less of a novelty than I hoped it would be.
Finally, I know that it’s hard to believe, but maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t as “all that” as I thought I was. “What the hell, eh?” I asked my friend Sam the Canadian. I figured that I would be pulling chicks left and right and that my iPhone would be filled with phone numbers and e-mails from hot chicks. Not so much the case.
I did have a few sporadic dates before I met Teacher, a woman that I went out with for a few months and one that you will begin hearing about soon enough. The first woman I met online was a preschool teacher and she lived about 40 minutes from me. She didn’t have a car or a license and said that she never had one since she lived and worked in the same neighborhood and that the subway ran right past where she was. I thought it was a bit odd, but whatever…
I picked her up for the first date and we went to a local pub for some food and a couple of drinks. There were two things about me that she said really impressed her. Three actually. First was that it was a Saturday night, the Leafs were on TV and I paid attention to her and not to the game.
The second was that I was paying attention to her and not to the other women in the bar. I told her that I was out on a date with her and I wanted to get to know her so why would I not pay attention? She pointed out that there were women in the bar way hotter than her and I told her that there was nothing wrong with the way she looked. She was right though, there were way hotter women in the place. But I was on a date with her, not with them and the reality was that my best chance at any physical contact that night was with my date and not with the hotter ones.
The third thing that impressed her were my eyes. She said I had really nice, really blue eyes. Sweet.
The night was more or less physically uneventful and we decided to go out again the next weekend. During the week she and I spoke on the phone a few times and as Friday approached, her conversations became more and more, uh, colorful. I asked her what she wanted to do and she said that she would like to come see my house and that we could hang out and watch a movie. I assumed that “hang out and watch a movie” was code for something else and I was getting excited.
I picked her up and the first thing she said upon entering my car was that I should not be expecting anything to happen tonight because she was not that kind of girl and that she was not going to give it up on the second date. I looked at her for a second and asked, “what about the third date?” She looked at me and playfully said, “Maybe. Why?”
I told her that if it was just a matter of playing by the rules that I thought we should go to Tim Horton’s for coffee and after coffee that I could take her home, circle the block and come back and pick her up. Since I dropped her off and was picking her up, technically that would be the third date. She was less than impressed with my logic and said just to drive to my house and we would watch the movie.
We got to my place, opened a bottle of wine and hit the couch. We started talking about our family heritages and she mentioned that she was mainly Portuguese. I paused for a second, took a deep breath and asked the question I had been waiting to ask. “Do you have some American in you?”