Night before last, I was talking to my friend Eboni:

Me: Remember how glamorous you thought you’d be in your 20s? I thought I’d be so fly and instead I feel like a rusty tricycle.
Her: Haha. I don’t know, I think it happens at a different time for everyone. Maybe for you it’s Canada.
Me: I really think it is, which I try not to think about because it just reinforces how sad I am to not be there. The fact that I went on more dates in my time there than in the 27 years preceding it here is just…
Her: Means you should be Canada. I get it. I don’t want to go anywhere, for fear it would mean I belong there…for my love. When in fact…this is the only place I want to be.

So of course that night I had a dream that I was in Vancouver.

Last night at work, I ended up meeting a guy.
Canadian
From Ontario
Went to a small college there
Has lived in Van for 4 years
34
Shaves his head
6′ something
Athletic
Loves Portland
Has been to Italy

Sort of like last summer when I met a guy who was
Canadian
From Ontario
Went to a small college there
Has lived in Van for 4 years
34
Shaves his head
6′ something
Athletic
Loves Portland
Has been to Italy

Basically this,

but with facial hair and access to universal healthcare.

I guess this means I have a type? (Or the universe thinks this is super hilarious.) They grew up 226 miles apart but given how small Van is, the idea that they might know each other did run across my mind a couple times on the way home.

Only this time, it was him leaving, not me.

In this case, he’s a dual citizen though who wants to possibly move here when he’s done with grad school so, who knows.

We did talk about getting married in Stanley Park with gluten-free cupcakes and coconut milk ice cream (because he is to dairy as I am to wheat).

What is my life?