Where Dates Go When They’re With Me aka When I Killed The Sandbar

                                                                                  Granville fucking Island taken my first POF summer o' love.

                                                                                  Granville fucking Island taken my first POF summer o' love.

Once again, I travel back in time to my first POF summer when I was popular and having fun. I know #what By now, it’s like it happened to someone else tbh because I am sooo not that girl anymore.

Every year since it’s been like pulling teeth to get one decent date let alone be out every week in a tiny dress and flip flops = my summer dating uniform. Criminal. This summer I met Danny 3.0 in June who was gone by July but not before taking a small piece of my heart with him. Fuck. Then I had 3 dates in 24 hours SIX WEEKS AGO. Literally. From that day on, I’ve been solo wine and giant TVing it while avoiding guys you'd recognize from my Twitter feed– name check Fable and Keanu – I don’t want to get naked with. Climbing Boy was briefly back in the pic as a FWB but he’s still his random workaholic self so that went nowhere fast. #shocker

But. Way back in the day, after the first six months of POF hell but before the first Sahara hit late that fall, I had a few sunshiny halcyon weeks in which I had my option of suitors and the most difficult decision was where to go with them ( almost as challenging as picking something on Netflix ) I do live in Vancouver, one of the most beautiful cities in the world fyi so you’d think I’d be spoiled for choice but really, we’re all creatures of habit aren’t we? And so it was with me.

With a desire to be somewhere easy to get to and from by transit and yet also picturesque – to share and revel in or to stare at, bored to fucking tears – I had three go to spots that I use even now, oc:

                                                                                                     Granville Island again last fall #nofuckingfilter

                                                                                                     Granville Island again last fall #nofuckingfilter

Granville Island: adorable and village like under the Granville Street bridge, it’s surrounded by water and views to die for. There’s a handful of patios to choose from and a variety of foods to nosh, all within a very stroll worthy environment while getting to know one’s companion for the evening. You can get a coffee from the market and sit by the pier or you can watch the sunset with a couple bottles of wine and by you I mean I’ll be skipping the caffeine and going straight for the vino, TY v much. I’ve had more dates than I can recall on the island. Go, me!

                                                                                                             Water St. winter this year.

                                                                                                             Water St. winter this year.

Gastown: quaint cobblestones and historic buildings, all gentrified in the past decade, Gastown is GORGEOUS at night with these fancy ass lights all down Water St., the main strip. Crazytown romantic and where I went with BMX, albeit in fucking January. Also a shitload of groovy restaurants and lots to look at together or alone. ALSO more dates than I can shake a stick at down and around the Gassy Jack statue. Jesus. Pattern much?

However, I don’t recommend you walk back UP Water St. with your date if you don’t plan on seeing him again because THAT’S been fucking awkward x2 for me…

                                                                               The entrance to my beloved Kits promenade taken two summers ago.

                                                                               The entrance to my beloved Kits promenade taken two summers ago.

Kits Promenade: finally and probably my favourite bang for the buck because oc it’s absolutely gratis – and def in the summer where it’s an unparalleled vision of mountains, ocean and sand – the walk of all walks. We usually meet at the Kits Beach end and walk toward – wait for it, wait for it – GRANVILLE ISLAND then back though with Danny 3.0, we met at the Kid’s Market and walked towards Kits, had iced tea on a log with the volleyball players to our right, then walked back, talking and laughing the whole time #sigh Epic first date, kids.

However, I’ve also had crap meets there. Recently, I watched a guy drink his coffee and drone on about other women he’d dated – seriously, dude? I struggled to make conversation for 30 minutes with someone else that I knew at first glance wasn’t for me; then he opened his mouth and sealed the non deal. And I had a beach date with a CL guy that was as inspiring as watching paint dry. On sand.

So, no matter how gorgeous the locale, if you’re with a non starter, it feels like Alcatraz #obvs But if it’s going to be a terrible date, it may as well be with romantic lighting or an instagramable vista, amiright? One guy was so oblivious to social cues that I took my phone out and was taking pics while he was monologuing on because I literally had nothing better to do. What can I say? I’m a multitasking motherfucker.

But I’ve saved my very best location location location story for last:

Now, if you’ve read about my first meet with Daniel, you’ll know he took me to The Sandbar, on Granville Island! It’s been there forfuckingever and is also known as a famous cougar bar – HA! – but I’d never been before. We went up to the patio level and scored an amazing seat to watch the sunset; it was crazy beautiful and romantic and yes, I took a pic for posterity.

                                                                   The view from my first date with Daniel from the patio of Sandbar. Looks fake #sonot

                                                                   The view from my first date with Daniel from the patio of Sandbar. Looks fake #sonot

That was mid July and Daniel was gone by August. Cheez Louise. I spent a few weeks alone feeling mighty sorry for myself then my 50th birthday came along and B., who’d wavered back and forth about staying friends, decided he was in and took me out for drinks to celebrate. At The Sandbar.

This time, we got a table on the second floor right by the fucking piano player butchering easy listening tunes. Gack. I know I’m over fifty but I’m not THAT fucking old, dude. It’s actually a huge ass restaurant so I barely felt funny showing up a few weeks later with another man but I did hope we wouldn’t have the same server, not that I’d ever fucking remember.

But two weeks after THAT, with date #3 aka Bill Nye the science guy with no chin, I definitely slunk through the front door furtively and sidled up to the table, again by that damn piano! Even though I’m almost 100% sure no one recognized me, I still felt distinctly loose woman/ escort ish with my third man there in six weeks. It’s like I’d fallen into a Twilight dating Zone and everywhere I went with whomever I went, it turned into The Sandbar. It’s like a fictional pitch for a horror rom com culled straight from the non fictional archives of Date with Lucy. Welcome to my fucking world, folks.

The Sandbar became a punchline to all my gfs too as in: “Omg, don’t go to The Sandbar! It’s cursed!” Because oc, none of the guys I went with stuck. Mind you, it’s not like all the other dozens and DOZENS of dates that didn’t take me there stuck either but if we go down that road, it’ll just get pathetic. ER.

Where do you date, girlies? You’ve gotta have your go tos, right? I’ve killed a LOT more places than just The Sandbar but then I’ve been on a LOT of fucking dates. Where’s the place you’ve killed and lived to tell about it? Google map me.

xo Lucy