The Hobbit: And His Vast Fortune

If you're just tuning in, you're late, go back and read part one. I'm not doing a "previously on" section.

I was recovering from the flu. It's integral to the next part of this date; the best part of this date; the end of it.

I reluctantly set out from his lobby, into the frozen tundra because the bar is in "walking distance". So, let's just clarify somethings. For those of you who might not be aware, the actual distance of "walking distance" differs depending on the season. What was walking distance on a nice summer day is no longer walking distance in the winter. While walking distance in the summer can be a long meandering stroll that takes like 10 minutes. Walking distance in the winter is the length of a large parking lot. On this particular day, and in this particular outfit, it was the distance from the driver's side of my car to the passenger's side of the car in the next parking spot.

This bar was not even in regular, winter walking distance.

But again, I'm Canadian and I was wearing my good winter coat, scarf and gloves. He, was not. Buddy didn't even have on a hat. Good luck with that.

I don't like beer. Never have. Probably never will, but people keep thinking that the beer they like is going to be THEE one for me. Much like the people they try to set me up with, it doesn't work out that way. I've mentioned this much to the Hobbit in our conversations, but of course he has THEE beer at this pub that I have to like because it taste like dark chocolate... which I am equally not fond of.

We get into the pub and it's empty, because hell has frozen over outside. I walk in looking to the 9s with a fellow who is dressed as my sloppy assistant. We garner some quizzical looks on our way to a table and order some drinks. He gets his chocolate fantastic beer, me: vodka cranberry aka sweet juice with booze.

Long story, slightly short, the beer tasted like beer and I still don't like beer. You probably think you can change my mind, just gonna leave this here.

Back on track. We start to talk about the work week and well, ya know, life, and somehow the conversation regresses into a discussion about how much money he makes. It branches off into regular date talk and then diverts back to his earning power. On multiple occasions I was reminded of his six-figure salary, the fact that he drives some kind of fancy car, works from home and... how much taxes he paid last year (wtf?!?). Like, who shares that kind of stuff, not just on a first date but in life, as a whole. I don't even know how much my bestfriend paid in taxes, ever. At one point, he even deigned to ask me how much I made! Which I admitted was not as much as him, and left it at that. But he didn't like golddiggers! Don't be mistaken, he did everything in his power to attract them, but he didn't want them. Maybe that's why he dressed so shabbily; because he was using his attire as golddigger repellent. Like all of those rom-coms, where the rich prince wants to find the girl-next-door, so he throws off all of his princely belongings for a Led Zepplin t-shirt and some "pants". Like, Coming to America! I don't think the Hobbit got the gist of the movie, because Prince Akeem doesn't walk around NYC telling the girls about the size of his castle back in Zamunda.

I know his intention was probably to over-compensate for something, can't quite put my finger on it... maybe if I kneel down, it might be easier to reach. Low blow, I know. But it just made me feel like I wasn't accomplishing anything with my life. He was 3 years younger than me and I didn't have a six-figure salary, or even a semi-nice car. My car was a 10 year old Civic, that I still drive now. So, a word to the fellas that may happen across this blog: Bragging will normally produce the opposite effect of what you're aiming for; unless you're aiming to make the person feel bad about themselves, which would make you a douche and I can't help you with that.

With that being said though, he still rented his apartment, for a whopping $2000/month!! Which led me to believe his money, was new money. Paying $2000 in rent, when you could have a $1500 mortgage, just seems ridiculous to me.

After an hour or so of feeling bad for myself, I was ready to go. The high point of the date had been watching some drunk girl on her way home from the club, try to make her way across the Queensway. She fell, repeatedly, almost got hit by a car and some pervy-looking man tried "help her" by getting her to go "somewhere" with him. I'm guessing he was trying to get her into an early grave. But I'm paranoid and jaded, so I made close note of the man's description, in case I had to be the lead witness in her murder trial. Thankfully, she was still sober enough to know that wasn't a good idea, but not sober enough to know that she couldn't make it over that snowbank and across 6 lanes of traffic without falling out of her stilettos.

He decides to walk me back, because I wasn't sure of how we got to the bar, as my face was buried in my jacket, so that my nose wouldn't get frost-bitten and my eyeball juices wouldn't freeze. He says we're going to take a different route, "don't worry, you're going to like it. It will be romantic." My mind flashes back to the drunk girl that I found so comical an hour ago, warm and cozy in her early grave. But then I remember that he can't even really reach my face with the ether soaked rag, so I could probably take him.

Just in case you were worried that the date had already reached it's lowest point, fear not. The "romantic" detour that he took me on was next to... the lake. The lake that was presently FROZEN as far as my eye could see. What I did see out on that lake was straight out of some north-of-the-wall scene from Game of Thrones. A snow tornado blew across the ice. Literally.

I knew the general coordinates of where I was, but I was not completely sure of which one of the many buildings was his. This was not the route that we had taken from his lobby. So... I was at his mercy to get me to my car...

Tomorrow people. Tomorrow.

The Long Awaited Tale of The Hobbit... Without a Ring

This unfortunate series of events is brought you in part by the good folks at OkCupid.

So this story is way past due, seeing as it happened in Feb 2014. In all fairness, it was delayed because it was pretty bad and I left all traces of dating for more than a year after that.

The beginning of this starts with the customary messages back and forth online an then moves towards texting. Nothing stuck out about the messages that set off alarms bells or my women's intuition; the intuition that is firmly rooted in the town of I-Told-You-So.

We decided to meet up at a bar/pub on a Saturday night for drinks. I went shopping with some co-workers and spent the better half of 2 hours trying to put together a nice outfit for the evening. He tells me that he loves a girl in heels. I begrudgingly remove my flat boots in the car and but on a LOW-heeled boot.  Relationships are about compromise, right?

Check my determination out. This Saturday happened to be one of the coldest nights of the year, and well ever. No hyperbole! Don't believe me? Click here. It was -25C without the windchill, -40c with on Feb 15th.

A little about my date for the evening. His profile says he's a Caucasian male, 5'8" (make note of this for later) and he's laid back, down to earth, blah blah blah.... same stuff you find on ALL of the profiles. Legit, they all say the same two things; they're laid back and down to earth. I've decided that if I find the profile where the guy says he's uptight and out in space, I'll get on my Carly Rae Jepson flex and just send him my number. Straight out of the gate. No small talk, just, "Hey, I never met you, and this is crazy..." Off topic, sorry. He lives downtown near the lake, in a condo and he tells me to park at his building, the bar is close by.

I'm running a bit late, because it's snowing out, but I'm Canadian and I will not shy away from a snow storm. So, I park at his building and tell him that I'm in the lobby. Bruh, what met me in that lobby... *twitch*

Disclaimer: I know that people come in all shapes and SIZES, but be real with yourself. I know that I'm, at best, 5'4", might even fudge it to 5'4 1/2". I would not put that I was 5'9" on my profile. Because if you, as a person with your own personal preferences, do not prefer people of my short stature, you will probably not message me/respond to me. Right? Right.

This man was never, 5'8" at any point in time in his life. He was 5'3" at best. In the heels, that he asked me to wear, I could see the top of his head. I could also see that he looked like he just rolled off his couch and put on a coat. He had on a leather jacket, with a Led Zepplin t-shirt and some jeans that had passed their best before date by a year or two.

Men, listen, as a woman, there is nothing more frustrating than going all out on your outfit and make-up, only to find that the best your date could do was put on some semblance of a pair of pants; not because he wanted to, but because the law requires it.... and pantslessness (not a word, made it up just for this) is frowned upon in dining establishments.

His shape and size, so sorely reminded me of Sam, from the Lord of the Rings; including the way that he walked. But he had a cute face and nice smile, so! This is how I began my date with... The Hobbit. Stay tuned, part 2 tomorrow.