vicariousass

Remember when I used to write about dating and not just lament bureaucratic rituals and implore behavioural fixes? Those were the days, dudes. Here to satisfy that glaring sensual gap comes a guest blogger: my trusty Nothern Correspondent. (What? You thought I would do that myself?)

Ah! but before we get to her post, let me just tell you that she visited me in Parkdale at the end of December for a brief reunion. Tucked into the basement of Parts & Labour as I slowly plotted my escape from a symphony of screams, she used our fellow attendees as a litmus for me. “See these people, Vass?” “Yes.” (I was mostly wondering how it was possible that they were voluntarily there and so alert). “This is the exact same number as the amount of cool people my age <where I live>.” Wow. She knew the exact number? B*tch is precise. Curious, I once asked her where those in <her town> shop (just in case something happens and I wind up there). Mark’s Work Warehouse. No beats were skipped.

No matter where in the world she is, we talk about the same things: boys we are currently dating, boys we want to date, and our professional lives (conversation is not necessarily in that order nor equitably distributed).”There just aren’t as many people to date here” she sighed into the phone. I reminded her that she made a pro-fess-ion-al decision to move. We both paused.  A professional choice without considering the dating pool? Rookie mistake, man.

Without further ado:

Seven Pieces of Dating Advice I Received Upon Moving to The North that Turned Out to Be True

1. Beware of the September Scramble

My friend recently congratulated me on surviving the September Scramble. “Winter is halfway through and you haven’t shacked up with anyone!” she proclaimed. “Yay?” See, people start to pair off in the fall in preparation for the looming cold, dark, and long winter. Month by month singletons are slowly picked off until you start to think that you’re the only single 20-something in the territory. On the plus side, surviving the September scramble means I get to avoid Spring Breakup. The term once described the breakup of the ice on the river but now, thanks to climate change, is solely used for the inevitable moment where, inspired by influx of daylight and beautiful visiting Cheechakos (outsiders), you turn to your partner and say “What the hell were we thinking?”

2. Your standards will change

Are you a sensitive, skinny-jean wearing artist? That’s great. But what I really need these days is someone who can buck me a cord of wood, gut a fish, and bag me a moose.

3.  Go to Alaska

See: Anne Heche’s 2006 rom-com series “Men in Trees.”

4.  Import from Outside

My boss, no stranger to this practice herself, regularly encourages me to try online dating. I dreamed of meeting someone during my time down South for the holidays that was so taken by my Northern life that he would move Up Here (Note: “Up Here” is as ubiquitous as “T.O.”) and we would ride off into the 3pm sunset on a snow machine. The trick is to find someone who idealizes the beauty of the North and Robert Service enough to move up here for some lady he hardly knows. (*Ed. note: Any takers?)

5. Your standards will really change by January.

I don’t even care if you have a criminal record or are missing some teeth. Let’s go.

6.   Everyone has already dated everyone already.  Get over it.

One universal truth of small town life is that everyone is connected in one way or another.  We’re all up in each other’s business. He was in a serious relationship with your roommate last year? No big deal.

 7.  Some people find their Yukon dream and move into a rustic cabin with the love of their life months after arriving and never leave the North again.

Don’t be jealous.