The Last Supper - Memories of Grandma Donison

Today is my grandma's funeral in rural Saskatchewan, Canada. I live in Australia so I’m unable to attend. I feel like I should be there for the family. Although geography has kept us physically a part, I feel my contribution is to let people in on a few snippets of my experiences with this amazing woman, and reflect on how Vera Donison was such a shining star to all those who met her. 

On first meeting, you might believe my grandma eccentric, if not a tad weird. Like her big personality, she had a penchant for big bright hats that matched her big bright dresses. She was a farmer first, so the bright attire only came out at social events like church gatherings, and later in life, the procession of funerals she used to attend. Even though she had long, beautiful, flowing hair, you would never see her, unless you were family, without her trademark wig.  I never understood her need to wear it but never really asked. It was her thing. It made her grandma. 

The last photo I have with my grandma

She even gave me one of her ‘old’ wigs. I remember wearing it in my early twenties on a spontaneous ’crazy hat/wig’ theme night with some friends where we crashed, and got kicked out of, two weddings and a Christmas party at the Regina Inn hotel. It’s hard to blend in when you’re wearing a brown, curly wig with a bandana wrapped around it, and another friend is wearing a ‘coon skin hat. That wig helped make for one memorable night though. 

Grandma came from a generation of farmers that was insulated from city life and city views. Trust me, you don't even want to ride in her, police-car-looking, Crown Victoria in the “big” city. (The big city of course is Regina, Saskatchewan Canada. Population: 180k. But to a farmer who's nearest neighbour is about 5km away, it's a big city). 

The one time I can remember riding with her through the city, she was straddling two lanes and driving 40kmh. Even though her average speed on a country gravel (grid) road was a brisk 80 to 100. I remember, at about the age of 11, her picking my friend Larry and I up the day before Easter to drive the 60km to the farm. We were laughing and goofing in the back seat when PLONK!  she hit a rabbit. That's right, my grandma hit the Easter Bunny a day before the big day. And what do you think she did? She pulled the car over, threw the dead bunny in the trunk (boot in Australia) and exclaimed that it would be "fed to the cats and dogs". We were a mix of horrified and in stitches at the same time. Life is definitely viewed differently on the farm.

The only time my grandma cared what people thought of her was when she was going to church or attending some kind of church function. It was a way to socialise and a place to belong. As a young kid, I used to attend the Romanian Orthodox services with her on Sundays. My grandpa would stay home and listen to records on his favourite chair, and I'd head out to church with my grandma, who sang in the choir. You are probably familiar with those choirs that make you want to get up and dance, or at least clap your hands, to the beautiful sounds emanating from the loft. Well, this wasn't that choir. Not even close. How do I put this politely? These little old ‘Bettys’ each had their individual harmonies that didn’t quite blend. But, grandma loved it. She would record that Sunday's choir on a tape recorder, and listen to it back on the farm. That would be the hour I would choose to go play with the dogs and cats, or sneak onto the “dangerous” hail stacks, jumping from bail to bail, feeling like a ninja. I would return a couple hours later to the safety, and silence, of the house. 

She never pushed religion on me. Instead let me decide my beliefs for myself. Grandma definitely believed in God, serving for the betterment of the community. But, unfortunately it was the community who tested her belief many a time. From what I remember from my youth, some of the folk in the local town of Avonlea, and many of those church parishioners seemed to  be friendly in front of my grandma’s face, but talk about her behind her back. But, she always took the high road. For a small, country, community it was like a soap opera. I remember walking into my grandma’s upstairs living room, and asking where all the church paraphernalia came from. Crosses, candles, priest’s robes…etc. Things that only belong in a church. My grandma told me, after one of the priests passed away, the ‘friendly’ folks on the church board decided to throw his belongings and church artifacts into the local dump. My grandma saw this, picked up every item, and brought it back to her house. She never called anyone on their misdeeds, but she held onto those items because it was the right thing to do. She didn’t know where to take them, or who to give them to so she kept them safe. I believe my grandma was the heart and conscience in that tainted church community. I’m not religious. But I believe your religion, and your god, should be a reflection of those around you. She later found those people after leaving the politics of the Romanian Orthodox church and joining a United church. 

When my grandfather was alive, he would be the hard working, soft spoken one. My grandma definitely wore the pants. “GEORGE! “ ‘Do this or Do that’ I would hear from a kilometre away. 

I wouldn’t get disciplined often by her, but I do remember a time when I was having some kind of tantrum, she picked me up with one arm, gave me a shake and said “calm down!’. I guess that’s farmer strength. I respected her even more than I already did from that moment on. 

After my grandpa passed away, through her words and actions I could see that my tough, pant wearing, grandma had a definitive soft spot for my grandpa. Which left a big, gaping, hole in her heart for years after. 

photo courtesy: C. Donison

For those people who visited 'the farm’, and would later tell stories of her six deep freezes and four fridges, would be witness to her generosity from the moment they walked through her door. “You want pie?” She probably had about 5 different kinds in one of the freezers.

What about chicken? 

Yes. 

Cabbage rolls? 

Yes. 

Perogies? 

Yes. 

Chickens feet? 

Dear god, no thank you!!

photo courtesy: C Donison

If you had a dinner, lunch or were lucky enough to spend the night, snuggled into one of the goose down quilts, you know that meals and socialising took place in the basement. The upstairs was more for show, where she kept her fine china, boxes of family photos and multiple snaps of flowers from her yard. The upstairs living room had an organ and a piano which she loved to play and sing a little, and one of three bedrooms where her wig room was located. Otherwise everyone stayed downstairs. 

She had what I call “The Last Supper” table. There were two, 6 person tables, laid out in a row. Above those tables, adorned on the wall, where dozens of framed Jesus and Mary paintings packed millimetres apart from one another. She would spread the dishes from one end of the table to the other. After the mega-meal, guests, which sometimes included Bishops and Arch Bishops, would stretch out in the adjoining living room and enter food comas. The kids (my aunts, cousin, and myself…) would do the dishes, and prepare ourselves for a “light snack” of leftovers and dessert a couple hours later. 

From the age of ten or eleven, my grandma would let me drive the truck from the farm, ten of the twelve kilometres to the nearest town of Avonlea (couldn’t let the local police see me driving). She was fine with me driving on slippery gravel roads, barely able to see over the dashboard, But for some reason would dress me up in the thickest snow suit and mitts that were three sizes too big, a motorcycle helmet, and repeatedly tell me to “make big circles” when taking the snow mobile out into the snow fields. I'm kind of glad she did, there were some close calls. I never did make big circles. Sorry grandma. 

She loved animals. But hated them in her yard (definition: the fenced area of her house). This included cats and dogs. If she spied a cat sneaking into the yard she would grab her whip located near the door and “shew” them away. Or for those cats who were repeat offenders, she would grab the BB rifle and charge onto her footpath screaming “Get! Get! Get You’s Cats!” while firing off a couple rounds. I would have been sad if she ever hit anything, but her aim was terrible. Or a least she had us believe it was. 

There was only one cat, we called Mama Cat, who was allowed  in the yard. Not sure why this particular cat had a pass. But, I blame Mama Cat to this day for snatching away the gopher I thought I could tame with a leash of twine, walking it around the yard. About then minutes into the walk, Mama Cat ran out of the bush and snatched the little gopher, ripping the twine from my hand. My first, and last gopher pet was never to be seen again. Damn you Mama Cat! Damn You!!! 

Later in life, the cats and dogs got closer, her love for them grew stronger, and It would’t be a surprise to see a cat, or dog, strolling around the house. It was probably in part due to my cousin Tyler’s love for dogs and her tremendous love for grandma. She eventually won the right to bring her dog Hexe (sp?) into the inner sanctum. At first grandma would pretend to complain, but would eventually give in and admit to enjoying the company of her furry friends. 

The funeral is over by now, the family gathered back on the farm, left to dig through the six deep freezes, scrounging up a few items for "The Last Supper” to serve guests. It’s eleven in the morning here on an Australian Sunday, which means it’s seven in the evening on a Saturday in Regina, Canada. I’m hoping, along with the tears shed and food shared on this sad day, those who loved Vera Donison will remember her kind heart, good deeds, and giggle at all the laughs she gave us. 

As you may recall I said my grandma was eccentric, and a tad weird. That’s not a negative description at all. In our family we like to call it the “Donison Charm”. My dad, aunts, two of my sisters, cousin Tyler, and myself, all share these traits (My mom is zany as well, so I never stood a chance.) And each one of us is thankful those traits got passed down to us. We’ll make you laugh, shake your head in disbelief, and be there for you in a pinch. We just want the best for others. And that’s all my grandma ever wanted. I wish I would have thanked her for some of the best experiences, and lessons, of my life. Thank you grandma for leading by example. Educating me in strength, integrity, and showing me it’s okay to be an individual, to keep an open mind, and to hold onto my beliefs as long as they contribute positively to those around me.

I would pay good money to walk through her farmhouse door, and hear her singing along ‘ in harmony’ with her choir recordings one last time. 

Rest well grandma. Thank you for the memories. I’ll miss you.

photo courtesy - D Donison (19/03/2016)

Love,

James Donison

March 20 (March 19 in Canada), 2016

Jimmy Down Under: Gone in 30 Seconds

For those of you who still subscribe, or have wondered "What the hell happened to Jimmy Down Under?", well, the longer story short is I'm no longer feeling sorry for myself, I have life figured out (not really), and met a beautiful, intelligent, Australian woman that I'm madly in love with (this part is true).

I don't want to delete this blog, but it definitely needs a transformation. The good news is I've started a new blog and YouTube channel called 30SecondReviews. 
Where, I review awesome stuff and horrible things in 30 Seconds. But, unless you're a speed reader, the blog will take you slightly longer.

The description:

30SecondReviews.net is an in-depth companion blog for the YouTube channel 30SecondReviewsVideo. Entertaining and informative reviews on... pretty much anything. About the writer: Jimmy D is a former media professional from Canada. Now living in Australia he continues his passion for writing, coffee and all things awesome


So, embark on a new journey with me. Explore innovative technologies with my review on the Pebble Smart Watch, or my disdain for Australia's beloved yeast extract spread, Vegemite.

Click to watch Video

Blog: http://www.30secondreviews.net
YouTube Channel: (search - 30SecondReviewsVideo) http://youtu.be/lCYsvegaS7Y


Thanks for sticking with me,

Jimmy

CHANGING LIVES. Attention: Richard Branson

Today I wrote a letter to Virgin Founder, Richard Branson. Since he doesn't seem to have a contact that isn't in the public forum, I had to post on the Virgin: Ask Richard 16 site. Since it's now out there, for all to see,  I thought I would ask for your advice. Feel free to leave a proactive comment. Thanks.


sent: 11:45am, 14/08/14

Good morning from Australia,

I am probably at least the 527th person to ask you for advice today, but I thought I'd throw my chips on the table and make a bet that you'd reply.

I have a gift that I'm not quite sure what to do with. A gift for changing people's perceptions, and improving company culture. I have recently turned forty one and am just now realizing it's potential. Let me explain:

Upon leaving a company, whether it be thirteen years Editing and Producing in Canadian Television, selling Apple products, or working the Front Desk at a hotel, employers and employees still tell me how much they miss me, how the workplace isn't the same now that I've left, and how I've made a positive impact on the culture and workflow.

As of three years ago, I picked up and left my home country of Canada, walked away from a secure job in the media, and moved down under with my Aussie wife to help her overcome her depression. As I wrote in my blog, jimmydownunder:

"Due to life's cruel sense of humor we ended up separating. Ha, Ha, very funny life! I had to decide to return to Canada or stay down under. The way I see things, a person doesn't move across an ocean, spend a crap load of money, and experience a life changing event and then run back to mama. So, I am going with the thought that I'm destined to be here. This is my journey…"

I now have significantly less money, but I live in paradise, steps away from the azure Coral Sea, and have recently met a beautiful lady who I'm truly destined to be with. I did the bucket list thing and am now employed as a Gold Coast tram driver/Regulator (think Fat Controller).

But there is a piece of my life puzzle missing.

The question you ask? How do I take this gift of changing people's perceptions and developing company culture, and train employees and employers the notion of "'Working for a company', shouldn't be of selfish pursuit (a pay cheque or promotion), but be of common interest"? And turn that notion into a business or career?
Changing the way we see our job, and do that job using the "think like a customer approach", can bring satisfaction in ways unimaginable. 'Working for' the company's growth benefits everyone.

I want to change lives on a larger scale. I need someone, or somewhere, that will point out the pathway to success. From your articles, blurbs, and video clips, you are the most accessible, and genuine businessman I can think of. Virgin seems to have a comparable culture to the one I subscribe to, one which comes naturally to me.

Everyone has a gift. I want to show them how they can apply that gift 'working for' their company. Let's change lives together.

Thank you for your time.

Regards,
James

Get Your Own Stool!

I know a great man. Handsome, charismatic, and highly intelligent. Years ago he met a beautiful, charismatic, highly intelligent woman and they married. They were as close to being the perfect couple as I could imagine.

Now, I am smart enough to know that you should never put people on a pedestal. Everyone has flaws and weaknesses. But when I saw how this couple interacted, I couldn't help but put them on the smallest of pedestals. I'd like to think of it as more of a stepping stool. You know, the kind you buy at those big box stores that you use to get the special occasion plates off the top cupboard shelf. See, not a pedestal, a 'stepping stool'.

I used to say to my wife, perhaps a little more subtle than this: "Why can't we agree to disagree like them", or "They are always so supportive of each other, we should try to be more like them". My wife would respond in an 'unsupportive manner', and definitely 'agreed to disagree', stating "they are not perfect, stop putting them on a pedestal". I would smile and succumb to her common sense. She was right of course.

But I still secretly wondered what their secret was.

At the end of 2011 my flawed marriage to the woman, who still takes part in many of my dreams, came to an end. My 'highly intelligent' friend wrote me some wonderful words of wisdom and encouragement that help me get over the humps of sadness I sometimes still feel today. Those words, further solidified my respect and our lifelong friendship.

I received an email from him the other day. The first paragraph was
penned with positivity and good humour. I smiled as I always do when I speak to, or read an email from him.
Moving onto the second paragraph I welled with tears, felt my heart stop, and struggled to catch my breath.
The great, handsome, charismatic, and highly intelligent man and his beautiful, charismatic, highly intelligent wife had separated. I read the email once over, but the tears in my eyes and the confusion in my soul kept me from focussing on the words. So I took a minute, a breath, and shook away the disbelief. I read the email over once more.
My friend, who I had placed on a 'stepping stool' was separated. The couple who could do no wrong in my eyes was no more. My hopes for finding a relationship like theirs was dashed. I lost faith in love.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, I'm smart enough to know better. These thoughts lasted all about ninety seconds before I reined myself back to reality. Through the fourteen months I've been separated I've spoken to, got emails from, and had other well respected friends experience this type of loss. I know all too well that, most of the time, theses circumstances are not personal. And not caused by one particular person. Life happens. People move on. Some move forward. Some keep trying to hold to the past. The spark extinguishes. The flame of passion recedes. But life always moves forward. As hard as it is to explain why we fall in love with one particular person, it's just as difficult to comprehend why we fall out of love with that same person.

My 'great' friend will still be great and his attributes won't falter. If he chooses to love again, he will only attract the best and brightest. Perhaps that spark will reignite. I certainly hope so.
But I can't predict the future. And no matter how much I want to see my friend or myself happy for that matter, life has to take its course.

That being said -

I now know to stop judging myself by other people's 'stepping stools'. It's time to get my own. Everything I have ever wanted is attainable. I just have to go into the closet, and pull out my own 'industrial strength, multi-level, kick-ass, stepping stool'. One that has been built stronger from life and love's lessons. I need to reach for items that make my life a 'special occasion' and contribute to building upon the real me.

In case you're wondering what my stepping stool looks like. Too bad. Not gonna show you. It means you haven't truly read the words on this page. Take a moment, a breath, and shake away your disbelief.

And -

Build your own goddam stepping stool!



Keep reaching, but always stay true to the 'great' in you your own life.

All the best,

Jimmy


I wrote this a few days ago and for whatever reason have just posted it now. Many life impacting events have happened in that time. With that being said, I must say that it's all about perspective:

Over the weekend a friend's father was hit by a car while on vacation in the Cayman Islands. He was medivac'd to the US in serious condition.

This terrible event has given me clarity in regards to my views on love/marriage/life.
The loss of a relationship is incomparable to the loss of a life.
Take stock of those that have an impact in your life, and increase your value to those people who you should be impacting.

Twelve Months of Separation

And so it is. 

Today marks one year since my wife and I separated. Twelve months, three hundred and sixty five days. 

That's a lot of time to contemplate and heal. 

I've lost a lot in the past year 

(a wife, shitloads of money, my cat Sebastian...)

But I've also gained a new perspective on life. I now have the ability to appreciate the little things, the day by day things. 

I've shed my share of tears, and at times when discussing or thinking about my past relationship, I have to catch my breath and bite my cheek in attempt not to shed more.

I miss her daily. But more for the little things now. Those things I fell in love with that made all the bad things happening toward the end seem worth the pain. But sadly, a relationship isn't made up of just little things. Somewhere she lost respect, unconditional love, and patience with me. I could blame it on the depression or her being bipolar, but in the end it doesn't really matter. I lost my wife, the person I fell in love with. All I can hope in the future is that , perhaps, she will feel that I was the one she let get away. 

Selfish, I know. That's what I get for being a romantic, and watching the movie Love Actually once a year. (I blame my upbringing without a father figure until I got older). 

I definitely have baggage. And although my suitcase is a little worn and torn, the contents are intact. Thanks to my last journey I now know how to pack. So the next time I take a trip down the road of love, the baggage will contain enough content for vacation, business and emergency. And perhaps a bottle of Clamato. I so miss drinking Caesars. 

I honestly don't know what I want at the moment. Love, sex, more money, sex on top of a bed of money... But I'm okay with not having any of those things. I have great friends in two countries, family I've never felt closer to, a stress free job, and residence in what I believe is a little bit of paradise. 

Of all the wonderful words of support and advice I received from friends and total strangers, one stood out from the rest, because it sums up my emotional state and optimistic outlook, and I'm hoping my journey leads to a comparable, wonderful, life that this person now lives:

"I thought my life was over in terms of finding love again. I had heard divorced men talk of finding love again, and it always came across like they were fooling themselves, that they had settled for a moderated form of happiness that they would think back on ruefully at their death bed.

But I had an irrational faith in myself (thank god!) and my gifts and had this feeling that I'd find love again. I didn't know how, but I did know it would involve NOT SETTLING EVER.

Since the divorce, I've dated several women, making mistakes with all of them, being a douche and receiving douchiness. But even at the time, I knew it was all preparation and training for THE ONE who would come (if I was lucky enough to be available when we would meet). You know how before you were a black belt, a part of you was wondering how different would it be from your purple belt? (Yes, this is a stupid analogy, but bear with me.) But once you got it, all that hard work and dedication to ONE VISION suddenly coalesced into a strong sense of who you had become.

I've found relationships with women to be that way. I kept dating, dating, while working on myself and putting one thing ahead of everything else: my own happiness, for that is the only thing under my own control.

Then, one day five years ago, my best friend introduced me to (*****). The rest is history. Not guaranteeing it will last, since there are no guarantees, but we're both pretty confident that it will. It took patience and work and dedication to our vision, but we've never been happier. And this is true when I say this is way better than I had ever envisioned for myself. I've done nothing to deserve it, yet here it is: happiness.

You have so many gifts and so many options and so many people who love you. You know all this. I'm sure of it. But from what I recall, there will be several nights when sadness and regret will come raining down on you like a sack of bricks and you'll cry like a baby. Many nights. And it's necessary.

You're going to thank your lucky stars for all of this suffering many years from now.

And, if the case is that you and ****** are, indeed, working this all out to keep trying, well, fuck me."

I am the King of my Destiny. 

And so it is.

Jimmy

Women Love a Dick

Congratulations on letting your curiosity get the better of you. I was referring to the personality trait held by some men, rather than the phallus. If you are searching for the latter perhaps try this site.

Let's continue shall we:

Perhaps I’ve been jaded by the Gold Coast, Australia culture, where even the most genuine of women tend to get caught up in the facade of superficiality, and a false impression of what a ‘man’ is.

I’ve built some amazing friendships since my move here, and am surrounded by some of the most beautiful women in the world, inside and out. (How can you not love a community that spends 80% of the year in their swimsuit or shorts and thongs - Flip-Flops in N. America – this isn’t Brazil).

 It is no secret that many women are attracted to 'dickheads'. Cocky, brash, testosterone filled 'dickheads'.

Even when I was at my most athletic and in my prime; training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu 6 days a week, taking MMA fights, pumping iron, and hitting the night clubs, I always considered myself a gentleman. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure my friends can tell you about the many times I’ve come off as a dick:

 Breaking up with a girl during the movie “Titanic’ (it surprisingly made her want me more)...

"We need to talk"

...dating the friend of a girl I was originally interested in, only to realize the ‘girl of interest’ was actually into me in the first place (hint for the guys: Don’t breakup with the friend thinking your true love interest is going to jump into your arms. There’s a girl code you might not know about. Best girl-friends don’t usually date the guy who just dumped their best friend. You will be left a sad, lonely, confused guy).

But, these are isolated incidents, exceptions to my rule. Not the the Modus Operandi of todays typical 20 and 30-something male (stereotyping). 

I’m talking about the 80/20 rule of 'dick'. 80% of the time he’s a 'dickhead'. The other 20% he's a 'dickhead' in waiting.

Ladies, here’s a hint for you:

If you date a guy JUST because he drives a nice car, has money, like his social status, or has a “sexy accent”. You’re being superficial. 

If you are constantly giving excuses for "your man" saying “he’s not like this when it’s just him and I”, or "he only gets this way when he drinks”, or “around the guys”. He’s a 'dickhead'. He’s probably not going to change.

It’s no secret from my past blogs I’m trying to figure out my mojo again.

Of course I acknowledge I’m a little bit eccentric at times. And, perhaps I’ll look back this passage in a year and say “what a dick” (see how I flipped who the real 'dickhead' is). 

But, I’m going to throw caution to the wind and lay all my chips on the table and bet that in one year I’ll be with a smart, sophisticated, funny and beautiful lady who likes my canted humour, dashes of poetry, honesty, and the ability to choke someone unconscious in 3 seconds (had to save a little tough guy persona).

If you are of the female persuasion and are considering some “dickhead’ reform, look no further than the guy reading a book sitting at your local coffee shop, or your “dickhead’s” attractive friend who doesn’t feel the need to show everyone how tough he is, but rather shows the strength of his character instead. 

The next time you talk to a guy, block out the sound of his voice, don’t focus on his physicality, and look straight into his eyes. That’s where you’ll truly see his heart. The glimmer of his soul.

And guys, the moment you realize that women are filled with insecurities, no matter how beautiful. And if you stay true and are confident in who you are; then you will find that true love of your life (I’ve left out the word ‘one’ leading into true love -  this guy deserves another shot at success). 

Endnote: Ladies, ignore the comments of 'searching for soul in the eyes' if you’re just looking to get laid. By all means, look at his muscles; get wooed by his accent. But just remember, that guy that you just walked by with the soul in his eyes, just might be the love of your life.  

Jimmy

You've Got Mail - The Toils of Online Dating

Let's face it. I'm not getting back together with my ex, it's been over seven months since our separation. It's time to jump back into the dating scene.

That's right ladies, I'm all yours!

  



Once the ladies have rinsed their mouths after throwing up a little, let's continue.

WARNING: Contents WILL be unsuitable for some readers.

As I was saying, I'm jumping - perhaps jumping is an overstatement. I'm prowling like a ninja back into the dating scene. (Ninjas are cool).

Now for those of you that know me, or even those people that don't, you probably have assessed that my humor and mysterious charisma are not for every woman (I'm no Tom Hanks, but you're probably no Meg Ryan). I'm certainly not socially inept, but most women, at first meeting, have trouble figuring me out. I'm a little in 'your' face. A line crosser if you will.  On the second or third meeting they tend to start getting me, or at least learn how to put up with me. 

The problem is the women I click with here in this sunburnt country are either dating someone, married, or we've crossed the threshold into friendship. Sex (yes I jumped right to sex) with any of these three groups is wrong. 

I couldn't handle the guilt of messing with someone's relationship. It might be fun for a night, our hearts might go thump thump when we're around each other, but my guilt, and I hope their's, would quickly set in.   

The third group, "Just Friends", has possibilities. But, you have to wonder why you didn't get together initially, and it would totally mess up the friendship dynamic.

Most males right now are saying "Idiot, who cares, just get some!" (but said in more of a crude manner). The females are most likely saying "Awww, isn't that sweet, he's a gentleman". (I will never figure out the mind of a woman, so this is only a guess - beautiful, intelligent, complicated creatures you are)

Believe me, part of my being (the part below the belt, that hangs above the knees) would love to do the 'Wham Bam Thank You Mam' with all three of those categories, but somewhere in my upbringing (I blame growing up in an all female, aside from myself, household).

I have been conditioned as a gentleman. Even though the words that come out of my mouth may be perverse and crude at times, a gentleman I'll stay.

To sum up my personality: 
Weird perverse guy with a good heart. 

Any takers yet?

No, then let's move on shall we.  

The JUICY Bits

I've enlisted myself in a couple online dating sites here in Australia. One I pay for, the other free. But the people on the latter are a little 'fishy' (some of you will get this reference).

Here's how the pay site works. Men and women can send Kisses (prewritten text like "I think you're hot, wanna chat" Reply: "Go fuck yourself you smelly whorebag" - that one doesn't actually exist, but it would certainly amp up the site). If the other person is open to chatting one of them can send an email which has to be paid for (around $15 per email). And let's face it, most women aren't going to be the ones paying to send the email.

- Although one lady did send me an email. But judging from the photos of her (laptop camera pics of her in various crazy poses - one was her dressed up as a cat, another had her hair sprayed straight up) and the email she sent, she might have been 'special'. Her account was disabled a couple days later.  I can only assume her caregiver found out about her love connections. - 

I get about three to five Kisses a day, and according to my roommate, that's very good for a male. The problem is many of them are well above my age range. Good on them though.

I have been out on a couple dates thus far:

Date #1

My first date was on the morning of my birthday. I met up for coffee with a lady in her late 30's (or so her profile said). I initiated contacted because her profile made her seem down to earth, cool, and her photos were very vivacious (a more attractive Reese Witherspoon with a smokin' body). She has two children, which I must admit scared me a little; although I was pretty sure she wasn't going to bring them on a first date.

We both agreed to meet at a beach side coffee shop on our bicycles at 9am. I arrived early to secure a seat. At about 9:05am I look up and saw a cute blond pedaling her pink cruiser toward the shop. I played it cool, and pretended I didn't see her immediately. 

After I purchased us coffees I sat down to what would be an hour of her talking about herself. Only interrupted by her saying "Oh, this conversation has been all about me, we should talk about you" and then she would continue her description of the last movie role she was in, the sadomasochistic Saudi friend who meets women at the casino, takes them into underground parking, and performs a range of S&M-esque acts on them with tools he keeps in his trunk (that's the boot for my Aussie readers, and for my Catholic readers: S&M is similar to what they used to do in the middle ages with prisoners:

Yikes! 

She also talked about her children who seemed sweet, but perhaps needed a few more rules. But who am I to say, I don't have children. I'd probably use techniques on them I learned watching the Dog Whisperer. 

Another, more superficial, let down was that her face did not match her dating site photos. Sure, she was the same person, but looked A LOT older. Her face was caked with coverup which didn't do a very good job of hiding her age. Which I'm assuming was the mid to late 40's. Now, that's not old, but too old for me right now.

The date ended around 10:15. We decided to cycle back in the same direction, since we only lived a few blocks apart. I stopped by her place for a few minutes, and through our conversation mentioned that it was my birthday that day. I said I didn't want to bring it up earlier because I didn't want to make the date weird, or make her feel obligated.

About ten minutes after arriving home I received a text from her. It said "Happy birthday ;-) xo" and included this photo:

I've only added this photo because it doesn't identify her. That is, unless you can recognize her butt. 

She has been in movies, so you just might.

I've decided not to go on a second date with her. Although the photo tempts me daily.

Date #2

I'm attracted to women who are more intelligent than myself, that can keep me on my toes intellectually. I'm far from a genius, but I'm above hour long discussions about "how pissed they got last night".

I arranged to go on a date with a 28 year old who is currently working on her Masters in Criminology. She minored in Psych and works part time counseling felons on the verge of being locked away. It wasn't just the possibility of free counseling that prompted me to ask her out, it was her quick, dry wit, a razor edge sarcasm that cut me to the chase.

We met up for drinks and tapas at a funky restaurant near the area she lives. When she arrived we took a seat at the bar, ordered a bottle of wine (she chose Pinot Grigio - good start) and some amazing holoumi (we were both fans of cheese and the magical holoumi - that was definitely a good start). 

And it went downhill from there.

We didn't so much as converse, as much as it was a debate. It was me defending myself all night from her ridiculous assumptions and her razor tongue. She proceeded to tell me she didn't have any friends and hardly ever went out "...because most people are assholes". After realizing her approach, and comforting myself with the assumption she was just masking insecurities (which I later told her) I followed up her statement of "Most people think I'm a bitch" with "Are you?". She admitted she most likely was.

At one point after she was getting heated at me after I said I didn't care about the bartender's opinion of me (this was after she said "the bartender thinks you're a tool") "You don't care what a bartender thinks?...you're too good for him?...I used to be a bartender..." I calmly looked up at her and said "If you are too upset to continue with this date, I'm happy to pay and drive you home" (at this point I was having fun, it felt like I was in a movie). She looked at me with the 'that's just crazy talk' eyes and said she was having a good time.

The night ended, I gave her a ride home, and quickly drove away. Although I was kind of aroused by her intensity, I was much more scared of the dominatrix garb she would have dawned after I entered her apartment. I should get Date #1 to introduce Date #2 to the Saudi guy.

I don't believe in the baseball analogy, 'three strikes you're out, but at this point I kind of just want to head to the dugout and forgo my next turn at bat. 

  

Although, there is another, potentially, lovely lady who is now a Facebook friend. She has a great sense of humour, is sexy, and seems quite intelligent.
      But our conversation kind of fizzled. 
Probably because she realized I was more than ten years older than her. 

At what point do either of you Unfriend each other anyway?

I think the reason many older people have 'troubles' on the dating scene is they're too damn comfortable with themselves. Most people in their late teens to early thirties still try to mask who they are on dates, trying to impress the other. I could give a crap. Not that I go into it without a  thought of romance, or never try to act suave. I still have insecurities, I just don't mask them. 

Examples:

Date #1 is superficial and can't release the vanity that used to work so well in her youth.

Date #2 is a bitch. She may still be young, but at least she knows what she is.

Me: (as stated earlier) Weird, perverse guy with a good heart.

I may not be having the best luck with the ladies right now. But, patience will hopefully pay off (like a ninja). I scored a Home Run once, and I'm going for a Grand Slam this time (I've included links to these baseball references for my Aussie readers). 

"Tis better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all" 

                                                                   - Screw you Alfred Lord Tennyson!

Love,

Jimmy

On a side note: 

I've recently launched a website for an eBook I'm writing: www.acanadiansguide.com

  

If you've ever been to, or lived on the Gold Coast, Australia, fill out the survey and you might win an eReader and a copy of my upcoming book A Canadian's Guide to the Gold Coast. 

Or if you want to visit there as a tourist, it will be filled with humorous tips, helpful links, and local deals. 

You can also follow on Facebook, or Twitter @CanadiansGuide