Love At A Pub

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Let’s go back in time. Not necessarily a better time, just another time of days gone by in my dating journey. Let’s talk about ‘Wayne’. Not his real name. Obviously.

Wayne, Wayne, Wayne. Sigh. Where shall I begin? At the beginning? Yes. Alrighty then. Let’s do that shall we?

I’ve made mention of him on a previous post which you can see here. He was the first guy I actually had a relationship with after my marriage. I had plenty of meet and greets and dates with other men before him. But Wayne was the first guy that I ended up being in an exclusive long term relationship with. Not just once but twice. Yes, two different times during 6 years. First time we dated for a couple of years (on and off-should’ve been off) and the second time for a year. Apparently I never learnt any lessons the first time. Our relationship the first time around consisted of excessive partying, too much alcohol (way too often) and the eventual admittance of cocaine use on his part. No, I’m not perfect either. Looking back I was just a tad bit, shall we say, desperate?  Let’s not forget needy and clingy. Sounds like a perfect match doesn’t it? A real dream team.

I was out with my only single girlfriend at the time. She took me to a pub she had previously been to and she thought I’d like it and feel comfortable there. I did really enjoy it. We had been out numerous times before and I immediately noticed a problem. We found it rather tricky finding an establishment for our age group. At that time we were both in our late 30’s. I might as well of been in my late 90’s because that’s how old I felt. Completely out of place being single after spending 20 years being part of a duo.  I was so inexperienced, so green. I’m sure it was mostly in my head but it didn’t help matters when some places had patrons that were maybe a whole 21 years old or others had the complete opposite, 60+ year olds.

On this night I wasn’t particularly in the mood to go out. But, unlike what my fore mentioned friend likes to do all too often, I did not bail on her. We got to the pub a little late so it was already pretty packed and barely any seats available. We managed to find a couple stools at the end of the bar (not my preference) but close to the dance floor. However, this location was perfect because there’s nothing better then watching drunk people dance. This specific night I was grateful I had the dance crowd to keep myself entertained. My friend had gone MIA. Was off on her merry way dancing with some guy who finally got up enough liquid courage to saunter over and ask her to dance. Yea, don’t think I didn’t notice. I’m kinda like a hawk when it comes to people watching. I can usually figure out who’s fighting with who, who’s eyeing someone, who shouldn’t be eyeing someone and who gets caught by their significant other eyeing someone. Oh yea. I rock at that shit. I can read relationship dynamics just by peoples body language, mannerisms and actions. Don’t even have to be in ear’s distance to hear what they’re saying and I know what’s going on. That alone could’ve kept me quite content all night long. Well that and the various hopeful suitors who would come and ask me to dance, to which I politely declined. I know, I know!  What a big party pooper. Whatever. I just wasn’t feeling it that particular night. Trust me, this girl has no problem shaking her boot-ay when the mood strikes my fancy. Yea, I still got it.

I just wasn’t into it. That is until Wayne made his way over to me. ‘You know what they say about sitting at the edge of the bar?’ he says to me out of the blue. Hmmmm? I glance over and decide, okay, he’s attractive and his aura isn’t that of being a dick so, alright, I’ll bite. ‘I don’t know. What do they say?’ I coyly respond. He smiles and extends his hand and introduces himself. ‘What? You don’t know what it means when someone sits at the edge of the bar?’ Ahhh, no I don’t. I’ve been hibrinating for the past 20 years I silently think to myself. Any new dating rules that have occurred during the past 20 years, well, I’m totally not up to date to say the least. He proceeds to tell me it’s code for letting others know you are available. Oh, well then, I’ve picked the right spot haven’t I? I still don’t even know if that’s true. I’m so gullible at times. Anyone know if that’s true or not? Please share!

So right off the bat I got a good feeling about him. No alter ego at play, no cheesy stories, no feelings that this guy was a big time player. So, I allowed him to continue conversation with me. When I’m not interested I tend to be short with conversation. Maybe even a little rude I’ve been told, but I don’t see the point in making small talk when there is zero interest. Wayne was very witty and humorous. I like that alot. The live band that was playing went on their 2nd intermission and the DJ started his show with a dance mix of the biggest hit song of that summer, Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back. Well the crowd piled onto the dance floor and everyone was totally into the party mode by this point.  Wayne takes my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. It’s weird that I even remember the exact song, because I barely even remember the band that night. Isn’t it strange when our brain just remembers certain details and specific facts? Now even after 5 years, every single time I hear that song, I think about Wayne, and that night. Music is like the sound track to our lives. A specific song can bring you right back in time instantly. Music and fragrance do the same for me. I can remember every single perfume I used to wear at different times in life. Who I was with, what was going on, specific feelings. Good and bad. Some songs I can’t even bare to listen to and some perfumes I refuse to wear. Some really great songs and fragrances have completely been ruined for me. Damn them jerks!

Song after song, we continued on the dance floor dancing, having the best time. As the night was coming to an end my girlfriend, aka lame-o wing woman, finally made her way over to me. Ahhh, how very sweet of you to remember me, I’m thinking. We make introductions to each others uh, new…’guys’ and make some small talk. ‘Do you guys want to come over for a few drinks? Some friends are all coming back to my place.’ Wayne says. Extending the invitation to my girlfriend and her new friend…guy…friend. I was actually into the invitation, especially being in a group setting, why not? Continue the laughs and good times. Until my girlfriend excuses us and grabs my arm, basically pulls me aside and says we shouldn’t go. Ah, what? Why the hell not? I haven’t been to a party, well, other then my kids birthday parties in literally aeons. And we all know that’s the truth. That night I was feeling flirty and 21 29 again! Up for some fun. My girlfriend continued telling me all of the reasons why we shouldn’t go. We don’t know them, never been to his house, what if they’re psychos? All very valid, but really? That’s why women have instinct, and mine was saying Wayne was totally fine. Her’s must’ve been telling her something different because she just wasn’t into his invite at all.  So of course, being the good friend I am, I obliged and told Wayne I unfortunately had to decline tonight but he had my number and could use it.

Turns out my girlfriend really wasn’t into her ‘friend/guy/one night only dance partner’ hence why the desperate attempt to keep us from further hanging out with them. Interesting how she vanishes to appease herself and dance the night away when it’s to her benefit. Ironic there’s no reciprocation for me when the situation arises? Pffft. Isn’t there some girlfriend being a good wing woman code of ethics thing? I’m pretty sure there was one when I used to go out way, long ago…back in the day. Oh, what do I know. I’m 38 now, ancient.

In any event, Wayne and I went our separate ways that night. I was barely home when I received a text from him. He said how great it was meeting me and if he could call me this week so we could set up a date. Why yes, I am completely into that. In fact, I am looking forward to it.

Sounds pretty promising doesn’t it? Funny how things start so great and then as time carries on shit happens. Before you know it you’ve found yourself in love (or was it love? Jury’s still out on that one) and messed up with a man who’s life includes parties, excessive drinking, an eventual admittance to a cocaine problem, head games, jealousy, co-dependancy, and just plain effed up-ness. But I knew he loved me like crazy, and me being just out of a 20 year relationship, well, I had my own issues. I just added to that craziness. Yeah, it only got worse as we went along.

Hopefully as I write through these experiences with the jumbled up mess that’s crammed in my head, I will make some sort of sense of it all. It’s all about the journey and hopefully taking lessons away from them.

This chapter (the story of Wayne) has just begun.

Laura xo

Vancouver General Hospital {VGH}: Real Life Edition (Renal Failure)

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After thinking it over, I figured maybe sharing a little bit of background about myself would be good. I sometimes find it difficult to open up and speak completely free of myself. Which is ironic since that’s one of the main reasons I wanted to start a blog. An outlet for feelings, sharing my life experiences good and bad in hopes of some self discovery and connecting with others who may relate in some way. Our life journey is all about self discovery and sharing. Answering all of those questions in life as we go along. With me being the classic Virgo type A personality, I am forever trying to figure things out and put answers to all of those ‘why’ questions. Quite the big feat. I know. Wish me luck with that.

I’ve mentioned a bizillion times already that I’m divorced. I make no secret about that.
So that automatically places me in the ever popular ‘dating after divorce‘ category which is oh so fun. To make things just a tad more fun, I’m also in the over 40 category. Awesome.
Anddd, for good measure I should throw in the fact that I also have health issues. Chronic serious health issues.
Well, doesn’t that sound just peachy?

So today I thought I’d share a bit about my life changing medical journey. If my sharing helps even one person out there in even the tiniest way, to know they’re not alone in their experience, then I am a happy girl. No one should feel like they’re the only one going through a challenging time.

I had renal failure aka kidney failure (kidney disease) at the young age of 27. I was completely healthy and it was completely unexpected (aren’t most diseases unexpected?)
Even after I had been to my doctor 3xs in a 10 day span, had also seen a kidney nephrologist regularly for a year straight for kidney stones, neither of them found a thing wrong with me.  What’s ironic is when I finally couldn’t take one more day feeling as awful as I was, I had zero strength left, my urine was pure red and I was now vomiting blood, the Dr’s still never diagnosed me. Instead they sent me on my way with a smile and a prescription for iron pills. Said I was anemic.
I don’t know, is it only me that finds that weird?
But…you know … Doctor knows best right?
Okay, allow me to just insert here… always, always, always get a 2nd (or in my case a 3rd) opinion when you feel somethings not right. Always trust your gut. You know you like nobody’s business.

At that point just the thought of walking just a few feet and thinking about the energy it would require made my eyes well up with tears. I knew something was terribly wrong. With my husband working out of town I called my parents to come and care for my kids and had my sister take me to the Emergency.
The first ER Doctor that night told my sister she could pick me up in the morning saying, ‘She’s only anemic, we’ll give her some iron and fluids and she’ll be good as new in the morning and you can pick her up and take her home.
Alrighty then, I thought. Give me the damn iron and fluids and let’s get this show on the road already. He made it sound so simple and easy that I almost felt guilty for taking up a bed.

Well, for some reason during shift change in the middle of the night, one of the new Dr’s went over my file and decided to run a few more tests. That’s when he discovered it wasn’t a simple case of lack of iron and fluids, instead it was a complicated case of barely being alive, my kidneys had 5% function left.
Doctors said at that time I was the youngest and the sickest they’ve seen come into the hospital in that condition. Repeatedly the doctors commented on how rare that was. Being told I was rare sorta became a commonality. I learnt pretty fast that if my doctors were stumped by a medical complication they would be like, ‘Well, this doesn’t happen very often, its extremely rare.’ Oh yes, I am a lucky one.

I think when they finally diagnosed me accurately in the ER that night the Dr. said something like, ‘In approximately 4 more days undiagnosed you would’ve dropped dead.’
Well, I don’t think he used the words ‘dropped dead‘ exactly, instead he muddled out long multi syllable medical terms.  I’m sorry but at some point I went into shock and wasn’t able to make sense of a bloody word he was saying.

Doesn’t matter how it’s worded to you, the only thought you have running wild in your head in that moment is ‘Am I going to die?’ On continuous rotation in my brain. ‘Am I going to die?’ Over and over.
He ordered me a valium stat.
He must’ve observed I was looking at him but my mind had already checked into crazy town.

I was immediately transported to a better equipped hospital 30 minutes away. I was admitted and then settled in for an unpredicted 4 month stay. I actually thought I’d only be in for a couple of days, get some medicine, feel better, get cured and be on my merry way. I should’ve known I was going to be in for the long haul when they flew my husband home that day and said he better make plans to be close to home and the hospital.

My kidneys had been failing for some time (undiagnosed) and we had to start planning our course of action. First they tried consistently to reach the Nephrologist that was caring for me for the past year to get my medical charts forwarded.
A few days go by and what happens..? Nothing! The Nephrologist has gone MIA and my file is no where to be found? Uhhh, yes, that is rare.  Although I prefer to call it suspicious and odd. Can you say ‘law suit?’ Apparently we didn’t and it really didn’t cross our minds at all admist all of the chaos. In hindsight we were told constantly that we should’ve, could’ve, perhaps we would’ve under different circumstances. But we didn’t have the time to waste and frankly I was too damn ill and fighting for my life to even realize the implications of any of it.

Sooooo….we forge ahead and the plan becomes:
a) first and foremost…keep me alive (obvious yes)
b) get me healthy and stable
c) start me on dialysis when strong enough
d) get me on the transplant waiting list asap, but can’t be put on list until health is stable…so back to (a) and repeat.

Each week that passed I’d be hoping that would be my last.
Staying in the hospital 4 months is a long damn time. That’s like 16 weeks. Just imagine that in hours. In hospital time thats like a zillion hours. I’m not even kidding.
This was no club med. And you have to remember that’s back when there were no laptops, ipods, or internet. Nothing. I had books, crosswords and magazines for the times I was well enough to even open my eyes long enough to read. My parents paid top dollar to rent a barely there television with cable to help aid in me not going completely stir crazy whilst fighting for my life. God I love my parents to the moon and back for so, so, so many reasons, and having that wee little tv was at times a life saver. Well, let’s not get crazy with words here, no tv was gonna save my life.

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So began the actual process of saving my life. They needed to start dialysis which involved a tube injected through my neck/chest. This was a temporary system to do the job that my kidneys were no longer doing until I became healthy and stable enough to choose my preferred dialysis method. This was basically a choice of tubes in my arm or in my abdomen. Neither sounded appealing to me but apparently neither wasn’t an option when the main goal is to survive.
This temporary IV in the neck method would always get infected and was extremely sensitive while I was hooked up to the dialysis machine causing the machine to beep. A nurse had to constantly come and adjust the tube or the way I was laying which in turn created more stress on me which made the damn machine continue to beep even more. I can’t tell you how much I dreaded getting wheeled down to the dialysis ward every two days and dealing with that whole process.

If dealing with that wasn’t quite enough I was also struggling with extreme uncontrollable hypertension and unexplained fevers. Dr’s were constantly experimenting with numerous meds to stabilize both with little to no luck. They would say how ‘rare’ it was that I wasn’t responding to any of the med cocktails they tried. So as they struggled to find the ‘rare girl‘ something that worked I continued to get excruciating migraines caused by  it. The kind where you think your head might possibly explode. It was like health dominos, one thing lead to another.

I lost count of how many times they had to shoot me up with heavy doses of morphine or demoral. Went from excruciating head pain to amazing instant relief.  Can you say awesomeness!  I was immediately transported and floating way up high onto a big, soft, dreamy, fluffy, heavenly cloud. Sa-weeet-ness. Now I don’t want to promote drug use here, but let me just say, drugs were awwwe-some.

To add to my growing list of health mysteries and weirdness that seemed to surround me while I was trapped living in the hospital, I also experienced strange random undiagnosed viruses. Sure why not? Bring it on.
A couple of times my hospital room had to be quarantined off and only Dr’s of Rare Infectious Diseases were allowed in. They entered my room wearing heavy duty masks and protective suits which in itself is very, very  odd to see. At times I was heavily drugged up from procedures and it was the strangest thing seeing them standing there talking to me all dressed in their gear. Felt like I was in a movie or maybe an episode of Breaking Bad. Don’t you think our lives are like movies and we’ve got starring roles in them? I guess we do, don’t we? Each of us are living our own reality television show. My brain somehow always includes some version of fantasy into reality. Complete in my mind with wicked soundtrack music. 

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I was onto them doctors and their terms for me… ‘Special one’= Rare = Virus = No explanation = Got nothin. Yes, my doctors started referring to me as ‘the special one’. I knew it was because I was a difficult medical mystery but to make myself feel better, I decided to take it as flattery. Like I am special. Ha. Hey, if it helps to get me through some of my most challenging days, then a girl’s gotta do what girl’s gotta do.
Of course any kind of flattery will get me every time.  Even in my darkest days. It could be the reason I had some motivation during some of my best bad days to at least put some mascara on. You just never know when Dr. McDreamy might stroll into my room, our eyes meet, the world stops, birds sing and we fall madly, deeply in love. Run away and live happily ever after. The end.

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Yes, yes I was married then, but this is my life story. I can write it the way I want.
Wouldn’t that be sweet? Change the outcome of your life depending on how you write your own story? Oh wait a second. We do write our own story with the choices we make everyday. Well then…

During my extended hospital stay I lost tons of weight, which would typically delight me any other time.
The Dr’s finally stopped trying to force me to eat that awesome hospital food and started giving me protein shakes. Don’t get excited, they tasted like complete shit for real. I vomited daily after drinking them. Eventually I couldn’t stomach one more shake. One day I sent a note along with the daily menu to the kitchen explaining that they should stop sending any shakes or heavy food to my room as I couldn’t bear it going to waste. I asked if it wouldn’t be a bother could they please send me a little bit of fruit and juice instead.
Every single day after that the kitchen would send me fruit and juices along with little notes of encouragement.
I became pen pals with the hospital kitchen staff replying daily with thank you’s and my appreciation..always signing off with my trademark smiley face.
Everyday I’d look forward to receiving their notes. It’s funny how the little things can mean so much in times of despair. I try to remember that now in everyday life. We seem to take for granted the littlest things, yet when taken away from us they are all we dream about.

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I eventually became so weak from malnutrition, medication complications, and the fact I was basically dying a little bit everyday from the kidney disease.

I ended up receiving 8 blood transfusions at different times during my stay. The craziest experience ever. I went from literally feeling like I was on my death bed (well, I guess I kinda was) to having a transfusion and feeling myself come back to life. Does that sound weird because it sounds weird to say it?
My parents were with me and at one point they said it looked like they could literally see the colour reappearing in my face and a sparkle return in my eyes. Like how fricking amazing is that?
So remember people, blood… it’s in you to give. It saves lives.

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The neck dialysis method probably gave me the most challenges and was the biggest pain in my neck.
Okay, that was lame.  But seriously, it really sucked big time. Besides the dozens of problems and complications it created it was not very efficient. At one point I almost drowned. Part of the job of doing dialysis is to take off some of the fluid that gets accumulated. Well, you guessed it, something ‘rare’ happened and my lungs filled up with an overload of fluid and I was struggling to breath. And I’m putting it mildly. Let’s just say my family was called to the hospital immediately.  I ended up in ICU for a few days for that little mishap but it all turned out okay. It seemed that my health would take one step forward and two or ten steps back.  It seemed to go on and on and on. Always the struggle. Always the fight. I remember people saying to me ‘You’re so strong! How do you do it?’  I would say you just do. Period. Anyone put in a critical situation to fight for their life, fights. There’s no magic. It’s all within.  Believe. And I’m not even religious, it’s just human spirit and will power. Funny thing was I don’t know if I was incredibly naive or infinitely positive or both but I never thought about losing this battle to live. Be here for my kids. Raise them and watch them grow. Share their lives. I stay positive. That doesn’t mean I never shed a tear or never get scared. I’ve cried buckets and I’ve been more scared then I could handle.

Having been in the hospital for that duration I witnessed plenty of pain, suffering and death. I realized people were experiencing much bigger challenges then I and people were dying from diseases. It puts you into reality mode real quick. Puts everything into perspective big time. I had hope for a future, a second chance at living. I held onto to that hope every single day. Anyone who has experienced a medical challenge knows what I’m saying, it changes your life forever. You get what’s important in life, and what’s not.

When I was finally discharged I had to go on dialysis. That is a whole other topic. But after a long 2 years everyone in my family was tested as a possible kidney donation match. The most amazing rare thing happened. My mother ended up being a match. What’s really rare is she was a good match. Typically parents don’t match well, so in this case I was thrilled to hear the word rare. My mother and I went in for our kidney transplant on September 25, 1995. So ultimately she gave life to me twice. I am here solely because of her in every way. There are no words to describe how that feels. How much love I have for her. Beyond anything verbal.

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Having gone through this experience has forever changed me. I still have so many unanswered questions in life that I’m trying to answer. I still have plenty of health challenges even with a kidney transplant. But one thing is for certain, I am grateful for each and everyday I have been given. So let’s not sweat the small stuff for real, and truly appreciate the little things. Life is short, all the more reason to live the life you truly desire.

Oh and guess what? Rare is a good thing.

Til next time

Laura xo

www.kidney.ca   www.transplant.bc.ca    www.kidney.org

Oh No He Didn’t! (Chapter of Wayne – Part 2)

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As promised after our first meeting at the pub that night, Wayne did call me and we planned a date. We set up a time and place and decided on sushi and a movie. Don’t even ask me what movie we went to see, I can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. However, what I do clearly remember is I definitely was no where near being ready to jump into dating, let alone a relationship. Now looking back, in hindsight, I had issues and needed time. Last thing I should’ve did was date, anyone. I should’ve believed when people said it takes time after divorce and dating complicates matters.  I definitely wasn’t over my ex husband (of 20 years) by a long shot. Even though I swore I was. Hmmmm… let’s call my ex husband, Damian. Yes, Damian. It’s a very ‘Harlequin Romance‘ kinda name don’t ya think?  It’s my story, I can assign whatever name I choose. Anyways,  if you asked me at the time I’d say ‘hell ya I’m over him!’  But hell no I wasn’t! I admit it. Apparently for every 5 years you are with someone, it takes approximately 1 year to ‘get over‘ them. So I was with Damian for 20 years… well, that’s 5 LONG fricking years of waiting to get over him! I ain’t got time for that!
Of course I wasn’t over my ex husband. Hell, I’m not sure I’ll ever be completely over him

So, almost a year after separating from my husband and having gone on numerous online dating meet and greets, I naively jump in and start dating Wayne. Immediately I’m comparing every little thing Wayne does to that of my ex husband. I mean everything. The way he speaks to the server (very telling you know?)  the way he eats his food, how many drinks he consumed in such a short time frame (don’t think I didn’t notice), the way he puts way too much sushi in his mouth at once. (Hello!)
All of these teenie tiny signs combined equals one great, big Red Flag.
My girlfriends at the time would say I constantly compare, compare, compare. They’re all like, ‘You’re not being fair to Wayne. Stop comparing, everyone’s different.’ On and on. I was just simply pointing out that Damian did things a certain way. And ehm, well, Wayne doesn’t. That’s all.

I clearly remember sitting across from Wayne at the sushi restaurant and thinking, I’m not completely attracted to him in that way. I mean, he was attractive yes, but something wasn’t quite right. I remember on our first date being uncomfortable when dinner was over and the waitress brought the bill. He kinda just continued letting it sit there, between us. It got very uncomfortable. It felt like he was waiting for me to take care of it. Or maybe it was all in my mind. But no, I don’t think so. From previous posts you know I do have some issues with that. Completely out of touch with the times and rules of dating. Who pays? What’s the dating etiquette? I figure if you get asked out on a first date, the man should pay, no? Red flag #2 because ‘who pays’ later became an issue in our relationship.
An issue because guess who ended up always paying?
Yours truly.

Wayne and I had been dating for a couple of months. Like clock work, every Friday night you could guarantee a party at his place. Now this wasn’t a problem for me initially. Remember, I had been solely a wife and mother for the past 20 years, so it almost seemed like I was making up for lost party time in a sense. I was with my ex husband since I was 18 so I missed the whole partying and going out stage. Wayne and I had so much fun. I have since realized that we had the most fun when we were drinking.  It’s not like we didn’t have fun ever without alcohol, but let’s just say we had more fun with alcohol. And for me, 2 glasses of red wine is all it takes.

The alcohol was a good thing and a bad thing. Good in that when both of us were intoxicated, we let many potential spats slip by. Bad because the ones that didn’t slip by were ridiculous and typically made no sense what so ever. Obviously the communication between two intoxicated people can sometimes get construed and not make any bloody sense. We would then proceed to beat that particular subject up to no avail.  That combined with my disagreeing/debating style (at the time) typically consisted of just shutting down and giving him the good ol’ silent treatment. I know how much men love that. You can imagine how well that worked out. I have to say that method was all I’d ever done in my marriage so that’s what I naturally turned to. Wayne couldn’t tolerate that at all and would insist we talk it out.  He would always say that I put up walls, and I swear to God if I heard him say one more time “Oh, there’s them walls you put up!” I’m pretty certain I was gonna lose my mind.
Looking back, I think know those walls were actually me not being completely into him. Thing is I was a confused mess, I liked him a lot, but I didn’t. I was particularily needy after being married and he wasn’t Damian. That was perfectly clear.

But some things I really liked about Wayne. He was the only guy I knew who actually wanted to dance with me, all of the time. Even when friends were around. He didn’t care. I loved that he would take my hand and lead me to the dance floor or to the middle of the living room and waltz with me. That was something I remember my parents doing plenty of times when my sister and I were growing up. They would dance and talk all night long, I loved that aspect of their marriage. I told Wayne that too. He knew how special that was to me. Those kinds of moments are so simple yet last forever in your memories. 

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There was always something that felt off with my feelings towards Wayne. Like when we would be out at friends homes, a pub, or anywhere around other people and alcohol, I would become uptight and nervous. I would be embarrassed at the things he would say, the unpredictability of what he might say. The way he would act after a number of beers. Almost confrontational with anyone he might be talking with. He was an up tight kind of guy, and I can be an uptight kind of girl. Not the greatest combo. But afterwards when we would go home and we were alone, it would all be okay.  It became obvious that he was less uptight when he was drinking and when no one else was around. I became more attracted to that guy. That’s the guy I liked best unfortunately. He’d be completely focused on me, treating me like a princess and I would forget all about any inappropriate behavior he had displayed earlier. This became a routine in our relationship. The times we were by ourselves it was different. It was better. So eventually without even realizing what I was doing I would make excuses for us to stay in, not have friends over.  Instead insisting we stay at home, alone.  He rarely disagreed. Instead we started sharing some amazing Friday nights at home alone. Clearly the makings of a very bad dysfunctional relationship. He loved to cook and was a fabulous cook, I’d sip red wine while assisting him. By assisting I mean watching. You know, keeping him company in the kitchen.
We would put the music on, have drinks, dance and talk all night long. All seemed good. That part of the relationship was the good part and was so different for me. It’s what I needed at the time and what I had lacked in my marriage.  It was what I kept hanging onto. That part was fun. Obviously not the components of a lasting relationship, but fun for the time being.

We were only seeing each other once a week, twice at most, and that would usually be Friday nights. Saturday nights he would play poker with the guys. Religiously. I didn’t mind at all except if for some reason or another we couldn’t see each other on the Friday night and he wouldn’t give up poker on Saturday night to spend it with me. You know what they say? He’s just not that into you! If he was, well, he surely would choose spending time with me over poker at least some of the time.  Well, I hadn’t read He’s Just Not That Into You yet so I was not getting it. Plus I was so damn needy then. Couldn’t stand being single, alone, lonely, always wanting to be with someone. Coincidentally he was that someone at that time.

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That was until one particular Saturday night while he was at poker and we were texting each other back and forth. I sensed something was off.  He finally tells me, via text, that his on again-off again ex girlfriend he dated before me wanted to get back together. Turns out the friends house he plays poker at was the ex girlfriend’s brother. Ahhh, perfect. She wanted to give it another try. Uhh… okay? Well, that’s very unexpected. I remember being completely shocked.  Not heart broken, just shocked. No one likes rejection.

He’s breaking up with me? pffft! Isn’t that ironic?

Laura xo

Vancity Buzz Feature – Love At Ikea

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Laura recently wrote a piece for Vancity Buzz’s ‘Single In Vancouver (Worst Dating Stories)’ column, and her piece was featured on the site today!
Click here to read Laura’s story (Love At Ikea) on Vancity Buzz!

About Vancity Buzz:
Since 2008, Vancity Buzz has been engaging readers with content that highlights the culture, people and developments of our beautiful city of Vancouver. Our content is fresh, reliable and informative. Our aim is to keep Vancouverites connected to the city’s pulse.

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