Mr. Benefits aka Mr. Hot and Cold

uber.jpgSamantha – This post is going to be rather short as not much has changed besides the way in which I will refer to this individual.

Henceforth, Mr. Hot and Cold will be known as Mr. Benefits, to reflect my view on our current”relationship”status. Very quickly, he went from being someone I had a real connection with, to a complete ass who disappeared without a trace, to nothing more than a semi-convenient booty call.  I originally thought about changing his name to Mr. Friends with Benefits but really, we’re not even friends ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Let me explain. Mr. Benefits and I have fallen into a pretty comfortable pattern that goes as follows:

  1. One of us messages the other to see what they’re doing that night
  2. I head to his place after our respective plans end
  3. We hook up
  4. I go home

The whole “let’s grab drinks and get to know each other” thing that we were doing has gone completely out the window. Which is really weird when you think about how infatuated I was after our first date. Like I wanted to legit date the guy….Well, infatuation is defined as intense but short-lived passion for a reason, as now I couldn’t care less if he messaged me with something as forward as “let’s bang”. Funny how things change.

There is actually one other development to our story line. This past weekend he invited me to over after quite a drunken night at the bar – on my part. I was waaaay too tired to go home after shenanigans ensued and ended up sleeping over…a cardinal booty call sin, I know.

As previously mentioned, Mr. Benefits has a loft bed, making getting up and down a huge mission. The morning after I was way too hungover/lazy/socially inept to climb up and hit my head on the roof AGAIN just to say goodbye. So, with him still half-asleep a couple feet overhead, I grabbed my things, called my trusty uber and headed for the door. He seemed completely taken aback by my quick departure (sorry babe, I’ve got things to do other than you) and even more surprised when I reached up for a quick high-five on my way out….A very classy move on my part if I do say so myself.

Honestly, I’m not all that down for whatever “this” is anymore, the random hook up is really just not worth the mission. But, I have a feeling that Drunk Samantha would probably disagree and  end up messaging him if I’ve got nothing else on the go…damn that horny betch.

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Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckgirl: Part Five – Mr. Blind Spot

Carrie – Have you ever been so bored at work that you get horny? Like an uncomfortable-in-your-ergonomic-desk-chair, drinking-more-water-as-if-that-will-satiate-your-thirst type of horny? Well that’s what I was feeling on this particular Tuesday and when Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many was unavailable, I decided I’d toss Mr. Blind Spot a bone(r).

I invite Mr. Blind Spot to come over to my apartment. I thought his text about “seeing each other a few more times, taking things slow and see where they go” was just a formality, especially since he asked for casual relationship. So he arrives on a rainy evening, we end up making out on my bed and five minutes in, he pulls out a condom. It was a little fast for my taste, in terms of our relationship overall but also in foreplay tbh. However, I did really like him and my animalistic urges took over. I made him promise not to turn into an asshole after sex, he asked for clarification and then agreed, and I let him take control of the situation. As someone with a strong personality, he was one of the first guys I’ve been with that was the more dominant one in bed and I have to say it was a fun time. We went multiple rounds, even when my sister got home. At that point, he asked to do it in my apartment stairwell and I was slightly freaked out by his experience and kinkiness. However, all those worries were quieted when we lying together in my bed and he asked me to “netflix now that we’ve chilled.” I began setting up my laptop for a makeshift TV but he asked to go hang out on my living room couch, which is in a lot of ways the more intimate setting. He met my sister while we cuddled, kissed and joked around quoting Superbad together. He even gave me a foot massage with my fuzzy socks on.

At this point, I was just going to see Mr. 3 Chances because I have a tendency to run when I got scared and I was really into Mr. Blind Spot. So when Mr. Blind Spot texted me on Friday and Mr. 3 Chances was late again that night, I decided to meet up with the guy I actually liked instead. Mr. Blind Spot ended up going to the Maddy when I was near the Drake Hotel at a party, so I gave up on us meeting up and began scarfing down King’s Slice (biggest and great pizza in Toronto). It was around 2:30 a.m. when he started texting me consecutively. I should have listened to How I Met Your Mother when they said “nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” because he invites me over as I’m getting home. I guess my decision to go was partially because I am a human being with sexual needs and because I really liked this guy and wanted to spend more time with him before he left to London for the next couple of days. So yolo.

After a sketchy 4 a.m. uber ride, he walks me in and I get to see his room with nerdy airplane and robot models, a rubix cube with instructions on how to complete it, a huge TV, mismatched birch furniture that looks like it’s from a childhood room and a guitar. We are naked together, cuddling with my head resting on his shoulder when he gives me a forehead kiss. At that point, I’m a goner. The next morning (really only a couple hours later), I wake up with an abundance of energy considering how little sleep we got, and I get to see a boyish messy haired version of this very composed guy. When he wakes up a little more, he plays me a beautiful melody on the guitar with the sun beating down on him, barefoot in jeans, leaning against the wall. I’m resting my head on his duvet enjoying the moment and he sets his guitar down, resting his head across from me so that we’re looking at each other. Sometimes you can feel when you really connect with someone and that was the shifting moment when emotions got involved – a connection between two people outside of all the cellphones and sex and hookup culture that surrounds us these days. Two people staring at one another, eye to eye, not talking but just connecting as humans do. I know it’s dorky to say but it was special.

It was also after this moment that I felt his wall go up. At first, I thought it was because we were heading into public on the subway. He started rambling about his masters’ thesis, something about wing span gradient and range, then I gave him a shy kiss as we parted and he gave me a little salute in response. He texted me after the weekend and we were chatting when midway, he said “he feels weird about all that’s happened last week.” Knowing the end was impending, I asked him if he’d rather stop talking or meet in person. We decide to meet at Queen’s Park Station where we sat at a booth and he proceeds with small talk. I tell him to cut to the chase, why is he feeling “weird” and he tells me a relationship shouldn’t start off with so much sex. I immediately think of this as an insult against me and my womanhood –that I am the culprit of seduction when it was an act between the two of us. He realized he couldn’t do casual because he was a ‘boyfriend type guy’ but he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship yet since he just broke up with his ex in August. I was shocked: at the double standard he was using against me, especially since he initiated sex between us; at the fact that he confessed he’s only had sex three times before me because he was amazing in bed; at the fact that it was ending and it wasn’t my choice; but mostly at the fact that he made my biggest fears of another meaningless two night stand come true. I forgot to check my blind spot with this guy and I ended up crashing. When I got home, I sobbed uncontrollably at the rejection, replaying every moment between us where I could have flubbed up things. The bargaining stage of “maybe if I hadn’t done this or that, then…” I was disappointed and I was blaming myself.

But as I’m writing this, I’m thinking of the number of people I’ve been with this past year and a half of being single and how many unpursued connections that could have been romantic options, temporarily or otherwise. Things worked out after one of my biggest heartbreaks to date, I reminded myself. And as I travelled by Queen’s Park Station, I was reading Mindy Kaling’s latest book, thinking how she’s still writing about these disappointments with love interests at 34. The next breath I took wasn’t as jagged, it didn’t hurt quite so much anymore, and I felt hopeful for the first time. I realized how I still have years to be as successful as Mindy and an infinite amount of time to find the love(s) of my life. Hell, I’ve already been in love and that’s a lot more than other people can say. Reflecting on that Tim Horton’s booth where things ended before they started between me and Mr. Blind Spot, I had just had an epiphany.

Since failed romances are supposed to be about learnings, I’ll impart mine upon those of you who have stuck around to read this:

It’s not about your looks. It’s not about your personality. Essentially, it’s not about you. It’s not even necessarily about the way you guys mesh together. It’s truly about what you and your interest are looking for at the moment. These guys may want the same vision as me down the line, but when we’re all out here in the 6ix in our early 20s, it’s our time to be selfish. Don’t take it personally.

I failed as a Toronto F*ckgirl. Instead of dating multiple people and not caring about anyone other than me, I ended up being monogamous and getting hurt. But that’s because I care about people and most importantly, I love myself enough to think I deserve the best rather than settle. At the end of the day, I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I know I’ll find someone out there someday who will want the same things as I do at that moment. It’s gonna happen for me again when it happens. In fact, I’m sure I’ll find many somebodies. It just takes time to get over the somebodies that you think might be someone to you. So be patient, be strong, and keep sifting through the f*ckboys.

May the force be with you this holiday season, my friends. Merry Christmas!

Mr. Hot and Cold…and hot again

Samantha – This past week I was out for drinks with some co-workers and having a great time. Much to my dismay, people began leaving surprisingly early and the night was winding down just as I was turning up. Obviously then, the logical next step was to find a way to keep the good times rolling. And how did I do that, you may ask? By texting good ole Mr. Hot and Cold. Who, for those of you not following my dating life religiously, disappeared a little over a month ago after I attempted to reschedule a date.

But Samantha, why did you message him? Well my loyal followers, he’s probably one of the only people I know who’d be 100% down for drinks at any hour of any day and I was looking for a sure thing. There was also the added benefit that we had left a couple lose ends untied that I was hoping to resolve, so I said YOLO and did it for the story, or the blog ;).

We met up within ten minutes of my message and immediately fell into a comfortable catch up of what we’d been up to since last hanging out…by last hanging out I mean running into each other at a bar and totally ignoring the other’s existence. Ya, that needed to be addressed. I very politely, but bluntly, asked why he had gone AWOL after what he’d described as two great dates. Well according to Mr. H&C, rescheduling our date made it seem like I was disinterested, so he wanted to “protect himself” from getting too invested. I’m not entirely sure that I buy this excuse as he did once reschedule on me because the Jays lost a baseball game…But hey, I was essentially booty calling him so who am I to condemn f**kboi tendencies.

We enjoyed a couple beers and some food before heading out toward his ‘hood. I had reapplied some lip balm in the bathroom before we left, leading to the undoubtedly greatest ‘Mean Girls’ moment of my life: While walking hand in hand under the twinkling Christmas lights, he stops, lays a big kiss on me, smiles and says: “Your lips taste like peppermint”…to which I burst out laughing, ruining the quasi-romantic moment because all I could picture was Aaron Samuels kissing Regina’s foot cream face.

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Upon arrival I met his roommates, which I always find awkward because it’s like “Hey I’m Sam, you know why I’m here and are probably mentally high-fiving your buddy for getting it in”. Nonetheless, I’ve accepted these semi-awkward moments as the trials and tribulations that I must bear, and we head up to his room to get down to business.

Other than smoking my head on the roof of his loft-style bed in one of my greatest displays of grace and poise, the evening was a success. We had a really fun time and he even called me an Uber to get back to the subway, who says chivalry is dead?

However, this is Mr. Hot and Cold we’re talking about, and as such, I’, expecting that our hot hook up will lead to a much colder front in the near future…stay tuned to see how it all shakes out.

 

Mr. New York – Part 1

Miranda – My heart is pounding. My thoughts are erratic. I can’t sleep and when I finally do, I only dream of him.

Mr. New York. A fitting name, not only because he is from New York but, like the city itself, he makes me feel like anything’s possible. The world’s my oyster and someone incredible is out there for me, even if they live in a different country.

Let’s rewind to about 3 weeks ago when I decided to try my luck on OkCupid again. As you can tell from my previous posts, I haven’t exactly been successful on Tinder so I’m giving OkCupid another shot. After spending a week on there, I have become inundated with messages from slimy men and I’m left feeling quite unenthused with this alternate form of dating. Yes, maybe the messages themselves aren’t as sexually charged but the greasy moustached men aren’t particularly doing it for me either. I was losing hope fast until I received a message from an adorably dimpled guy from New York.

Oddly enough, earlier that day I met up with my ex-boyfriend for lunch, a year after from our breakup (a story for another time), and I finally got the closure I needed from that brief but intense relationship. I was ready to start again, turn the page, wipe the chalkboard clean, and whatever other kitschy line there is to depict a new beginning. So, Mr. New York popped into my life at the perfect moment. You might be wondering why I would even consider responding to someone so far away but my logic was “fuck it – YOLO, he’s cute and I don’t have much to lose at this point.”

2 days later, my phone had become glued to my hands. Our messages are fast and furious and I’m finding myself quickly gaining feelings for Mr. New York. He’s sweet, genuine, and so much fun to talk to. Our conversation flows so smoothly and it quickly has become second nature to wake up and go to sleep thinking about him. I can’t say I’ve ever felt like this with anyone else in such a short period of time too. Mr. New York is what I like to call perfectly imperfect. I’m not delusional and I realize he, like everyone else, has flaws but I choose to embrace them wholly.

By the third day, a Skype “date” session had become inevitable. I remember being nervous but he quickly settled my nerves and we talked for 2 hours before I forced myself to go to the gym. Mr. New York over Skype was what I pictured -dimply smile and all- and I felt extremely comfortable. Upon my return, we decided to Skype for the second time that day and I was relieved to see that he did not cower in fear of my post-gym look: sweaty, hair up, and no makeup. From there, we discussed the topic of visiting each other, and we resolved that it would make most sense for me to come to him in New York due to work schedules.

The next day, after a lot of back and forth deliberation and a healthy dose of persuasion from Mr. New York, I bought my round trip plane ticket (crazy, I know). Doing something so impromptu is very unlike me. For anyone that knows me, I like structure, plans, and thinking things through. But, it feels right and I’m at the prime moment in my life where I can afford to take chances like this.

Today marks 3 weeks since we started talking. Since then, we’ve been messaging 24/7 and Skyping every day, counting down the days till our eventual meet up. With every moment that passes, there is an electric combination of excitement and anxiousness. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and possibilities but this is a chance that I must take or else I know I’ll regret it. My bag is packed and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I leave tomorrow.

How far would you go for the possibility of love?

Well, seems like I’m about to find out. Peace out 6ix, hello New York City.

Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckGirl: Part Four – Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many

Carrie – Being a f*ckgirl is hard. Being a Toronto Tinder f*ckgirl is even harder. People are fickle but people online are even shittier, myself included. For example, 99% of the time, I have read your message and I just choose not to respond to you. 1% of the time, I have read your message but I am thinking of something witty to respond to you and don’t want to seem too eager. For a chick that doesn’t like games, I sure have learned the rules quick.

Monday evening, recounting my weekend to a friend at a vegan restaurant, I’m feeling uber chic and hipster in my new black toque and plum lipstick (yeah, I’m one of those Asians) when I get a text from Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many and Mr. Blind Spot. Balancing guys ain’t easy but as the title of this post might indicate, I’m gonna focus on the Mr. 3 Chances for this one. To be frank, his text had popped up as a number because I had deleted his number in a trigger-finger move when he essentially stood me up the day before.

6:27 p.m.: Hey what’s up?

I scoffed and put my phone away.

8:23 p.m.: you prob don’t wanna talk to me now eh

I decide to be a decent human being and rather than ghost this guy, at least just tell him I took his hint by him bailing two times and I’m no longer interested. He sends a text in protest right away and it honestly was the longest consecutive conversation we’ve had. Then he asks me what I’m doing that night.

Listen guys – it doesn’t work like that. If you don’t make the effort to fit me into your schedule, especially when we’ve taken the time to confirm the plans, I don’t drop everything when it suits you. So I tell him that he should feel bad for bailing and it’s a shitty thing to do to someone. I’m sure he doesn’t need a stranger to lecture him but I thought I’d be respectful and respond to him to let him know I’m over it. No response back from him, I figure he really didn’t want a stranger to be lecturing him and that’s that.

Boarding the subway a half hour later, Mr. 3 Chances says “you’re right. Third times a charm tho? :)” I applauded his cajones cause I probably would have just ignored him and he says he agrees with me that he’s really messed it up with me and he’s really trying to make an effort to hang out cause he feels bad and wants to.

I’ve said time and time again, I’m a sucker for persistence. I may be a tough cookie but my hard shell can be as cracked as easily as a Cadbury Mini Egg. And as much as I would like to change myself in a lot of ways, I think the ability to give people the benefit of the doubt and forgive is one of my best qualities. Even though it might seem naïve and I always end up vulnerable, shouldn’t we be vulnerable as humans actively trying to make a connection? So I tell him I’m considering.

After some prodding throughout the week, we go through our schedules and out of three dates, Friday night later in the evening seems to work. I joke that he has a Tinder date before me, but he tells me he’s going to the aquarium with his parents who are visiting from Barrie.

Friday rolls around, I get a text at 10 that he’s heading back from the aquarium so I freak out and start my f*ckgirl ritual of foundation, a smoky eye and some dark lipstick. I decide on some jeans and booties while my friend and I dance to Damian Marley, releasing our inner reggae gurus. I debate wearing the same outfit as I did with Mr. Blind Spot for our first date and to be honest, I was thinking of him a lot after the events that happened earlier that week. He had messaged me earlier that day and we were chatting a bit. I just didn’t want to put all my eggs in that basket and I’ve never dated multiple guys at the same time so I wanted to try something that felt unnatural to me.

But it’s the date that never happens because at 11, when we’re supposed to meet, he tells me he just got home and will be another 40 minutes. 11:40 p.m. on a Friday night for a first date sounds more like a booty call to me. I tell him it’s too late for me, I’ll text him tomorrow, he apologizes. Reading the message and feeling rejected, I also feel more resolved that I am perhaps not as good as a polyamorous dater as I suspected and shoot off a text to Mr. Blind Spot asking what he was up to that night…

Yay for Thought Catalog!

Shutterstock / Stokkete

Samantha – Something pretty cool happened recently that I wanted to share with you guys. A few weeks ago I sent in my post, “Mr. Disappearing Act” to Thought Catalog on a whim.  I’m pretty proud of the piece and think it’s quite relateable, which is why I took a chance and submitted it for review. This seemed excessively scary at the time, but as one of the first “emotional” pieces I’d written, I was worried about how it would be judged.

Well, much to my surprise, I received an email two days ago that my submission was posted….YAY!!!

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I know this isn’t that big a deal, but I’ve never submitted a piece of my writing to be published before, and was also very excited that  – aside from the title – little to no changes were made to the original piece.

Snaps and claps for Samantha, professional blogger-in-training!

Check it out here 🙂

Mr. Ego Boost

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Samantha – This post is going to make me look like an asshole. I know it, I accept it, and am just going to own it because I promised myself to be honest on this blog. Ok, disclaimer over. Here is my date with Mr. Ego Boost.

It started on J-Swipe – because which of my stories don’t begin on a dating app these days – when I came across this guy that had gone to my elementary school. I know I know, why do I keep revisiting guys from my childhood? Not really sure, but it’s a good convo starter and he remembered me too, so we set up a time to meet for drinks after work.

On paper, we had the makings of a great date. Grabbed a beer, went on a walk and had sushi for dinner. He was very sweet and said all the right things, including claiming to be an incredibly honest guy. This turned out to be true almost to a fault, where he may have disclosed more to me than he probably should have.

For starters, I have never seen anyone so nervous for a first date. From the beginning of the night I knew I wouldn’t have to maneuver the awkward end-of-night kiss as it was clear from all the face-rubbing, lack of eye contact and visible forehead sweat that he wouldn’t be making the move.

Surprisingly no, this is not why I said this post would make me come off as an asshole.

Further, as a dating blogger and self-appointed subject matter expert, I have read quite a bit of literature pertaining to the world of online dating. One of the things included in almost every “How-to” post about first dates is to not talk about previous people you’ve dated. Though never having done this myself, I didn’t really understand why it was such a faux pas…I mean, what’s so bad about connecting over some of the undoubtedly horrible dates we’ve all had whilst navigating the modern dating pool? Well, let me share something the dating sites never properly articulated but are certainly right about:

You should NEVER talk about your past on a first date, because when you spend so much time talking about what you guys used to do and how badly your ex effed you up, it shows that you are probably not entirely over it.

Around this point was when we left datesville and Samantha the therapist stepped in. He kept harping on how ‘together’ I was in comparison to him, to the point where I felt obliged to stroke his ego and talk him up…to HIMSELF. This is not the best first date move either, because while I am by no means suggesting acting like someone you’re not, a little confidence is sexy! And telling your date that they can do better than you is probably putting the wrong idea in their head. Personally, I’m not looking to start off a relationship with someone who needs me to constantly validate their self-esteem and be reassured as to why I am with them. I have been down that road and found that you have to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else.

See? Told you I’d sound like a jerk.

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.  I had a pretty good time hanging out with this guy that I had not seen for almost 15 years. When we got onto a topic he felt comfortable about, eye contact was made and we could actually joke around, making me wonder if I should go on a second date knowing it wouldn’t go further than that. At the same time, is it really fair of me to go out with someone again because I like hearing how awesome I am for two straight hours?

This is another indicator that I am a total asshole.

In a weird turn of events, his badly needed ego boost turned out to be a huge boost to mine. It was really nice spending time with someone so genuine and I would have loved for this one to have worked out. It’s really a shame that all the sweet things he did do, like giving our leftovers to a homeless guy and making me feel pretty damn special, were overshadowed by crippling self-doubt that turned me into his shrink instead of his date. I mean, he did pay for dinner and I did provide some solid advice, so maybe I should be looking into a career change…

 

Our Two Cents- 11 Thoughts EVERY Woman Has Before a First Date

pic.jpgInstallment three, courtesy of Women’s Health Mag, outlines the 11 thoughts that every woman has on a first date. As first date aficionados, commenting on this post was almost a requirement. Enjoy the good, the bad, and the totally irrational!OurTwoSenseWomen’s Health mag
Samantha
Miranda

“Should I wear the sexy underwear?” If you wear it, it’s a little presumptuous. But if you don’t wear it, you might be totally unprepared. Is that third date rule still a thing? Ugh, better safe than sorry.

Since when is being over-prepared a bad thing? Always opt for the sexy underwear in my opinion, even if he doesn’t see it, knowing I look good makes me feel good, which equals the most important first date factor: C.O.N.F.I.D.E.N.C.E.

For me it’s more of a balance. I agree with Samantha, feeling good with what you wear can contribute a lot to confidence and success during the date. However, I like to make a careful selection between sexy and comfortable. I really don’t want to have to continuously un-wedgie myself throughout the night. I’m sure we can all collectively agree that’s not an attractive sight.

“I haven’t even shaved my legs yet, there is no way I’m going to be on time.” How did it get so late already? Oh, right, you spent 20 minutes on Google. That’s OK, everyone hates awkwardly standing outside of the bar fake-scrolling through their phone anyway. Still, if you don’t hustle it’ll be the difference between “casual late” and “rude late.”

If it’s winter there’s no way I’m shaving for a date. But if it’s summer and I’m wearing a dress or shorts, that’s a different story. Stubble with frills ain’t a cute match. 

Oh for me this struggle is far worse than the sexy underwear one…My constant debate is whether to just wear pants, not shave and risk that the pants MAY come off, or show up to the date with wet hair because I ended up jumping in the shower at the very last minute.

I’m a bit anal in terms of being on time, so if it’s in my control I will likely be on time no matter how much I want to be that girl who casually strolls in fashionably late. 

“Maybe I should cancel…” This is nerve-wracking. Now you have a headache and your makeup isn’t cooperating and you totally forgot your favorite instructor is teaching boot camp class tonight. How horrible would it be if you bailed? (Answer: pretty horrible)

From my personal experience and from seeing it happen to friends enough times, there are two options in this scenario. 1) The date goes incredibly well and you’re glad you forced yourself out 2) the date goes incredibly badly and you crawl into your bed never to leave the safety of your sanctuary again. You won’t know until you go on the date so ya, don’t bail last minute. That’s just shitty.

Ya, unless your reason for bailing is legit or comes from a place of concern for your safety and well being, it’s best not to bail. As you can see, Samantha and I have had our fair share of strange, fucked up dates. I don’t regret going on them though, because now I can share it with the rest of the world and we all get a bit of a laugh out of it. It’s an experience and often a necessary evil if you want to actually find someone decent.

“Should I hit the ATM?” Most men still try to pay for the first date, right? Clearly you’re going to do the wallet reach, and then it would be REALLY embarrassing if he took you up on it and there was zilch in there. But going to the bank would also make you even later…

K for real…it’s called plastic. This is not a 21st century problem babe…

Preach Sister Sam! LOL, enter Sister Sam, the world’s worst nun…

This thought has never occurred to me while getting ready for a date nor will it ever in the future unless the entire credit card infrastructure collapses and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll think about going to an ATM.

“Of COURSE there is rainforest-level humidity right now.” So glad you showered and did your hair, right? Real talk: You’ll probably look like a labradoodle by the time you get there, but at least then you’ll look even MORE beautiful on the second date.

Hah. As a female with extremely curly hair this is the biggest first date challenge of them all. I have this weird inner dialogue between the hair-down angel on my right shoulder and hair-up angel on my left. Righty constantly says that men like long hair, it’s sexy, and is more attractive (woo feminism…) while lefty is there to remind me that frizz is not sexy. It’s better to go with a ponytail and risk coming off looking austere than looking like a pompom.

Oddly enough, this thought does not really occur to me either (haters gonna hate, potatoes gonna potate). Contrary to Samantha, I have naturally straight hair and I can never be bothered to do anything with it. You’d be lucky if I even brush my hair before seeing you. -_- I’m a hater who’s hating and a potato who’s potatoeing

“I should probably prepare something witty to say.” You know, just in case there’s a lull in the conversation—you don’t want to nervously rattle on about your gynecologist appointment this morning.

No way could I do this. The second I try to map out how to say something, I fixate on it and inherently stumble over the words. Something clever about current events would probably come out sounding like a 4th grader reading the paper over her dad’s shoulder.

I definitely don’t prepare things to say. However, over the years, I have developed a few go to topics and tactics for when the conversation lulls. It’s useful to have as a backup plan, and can help the conversation along if the other person is lacking in things to say (which is often the case).

“Wait. What if he’s THE ONE?” This could be the first day of the rest of your life. You never know. Shhh, do you hear that? Are those wedding bells?

Well, I’m not going to lie. I have definitely thought about this more than a few times. I’m an over thinker and most likely even before I’ve met you, I’ve thought about all 3928109 scenarios that this date could result in. It’s probably not the healthiest approach but I’m not sure how to stop being like that.

Pro tip: Mitigate this issue by being cynical and not at all optimistic about any romantic encounter.

“Relax. It’s just one date.” OK stop, you’re psyching yourself out. Sure, he could be amazing, and you could be telling your kids about this someday. But he could also be horrible and chew with his mouth open. Or he could be a serial killer! Well, that escalated quickly.

This is the most accurate series of thoughts on the internet.

Pretty sure every single girl has considered this. Also, to have a backup plan is standard – like telling one friend where you are and if they don’t hear from you in a few hours, call the popo immediately. AHEM, excuse me, except for when this actually happened and it turned out you were on a 7 hour long date (Mr. Starry Night)

“Yep, you look amazing.” One last hair flip and smile in the mirror. Oh yeah, you would date you. You’re ready to go, girl. As a wise woman once said: YOLO.

Pretty sure a wise man once said YOLO but maybe the author of this post just wasn’t born in the 6ix. Nonetheless, I’m a huge proponent of self-love (IN A NON-SEXUAL WAY YOU PERVERTS) and it is crucial to rocking a first date like I know I can! *Hair flip*

Yup that saying definitely originated from our boy, Drake. Samantha, who you kidding, that nighttime self-loving is part of the picture too. At least we know if that date doesn’t work out, there’s also someone else you can rely on to have a good time: yourself.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Well, she ain’t wrong.

 

Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckGirl: Part Three – The Most Emotionally Draining Weekend Ever

Carrie – So Friday night, I finish dinner earlier with the girls back in my old neighbourhood and head back downtown Friday night to prepare myself for my date with Mr. Blind Spot. I am having a minor freakout which I don’t normally get like but I liked this guy and could see it going past a potential hookup.

“But I am a f*ckgirl, I’m not looking to date just one guy, so I got this” I repeated to myself as a mantra. Apparently, in my mind, to be a f*ckgirl is to wear foundation so I was patting the stuff on, listening to a chill playlist and constantly calling my friend to make sure I wasn’t yoloing too hard. Mr. Blind Spot texts me that I should invite my friends but as you are all aware, I have no friends, and especially not any that would meet up downtown without two hours’ notice. So I rally and walk over to the club. I know I’m doing okay because I get hit on walking over alone at 8 p.m. by two guys who tell me to “Live Long and Prosper” and proceed to grab my hand as I flash them a Spock sign of peace and try to run away.

I meet Mr. Blind Spot at the door and we exchange an awkward hug/cheek-kiss. We head to the bar and I notice Mr. Blind Spot squinting at me. Then we head to the dance floor, watching the local band, and I look up at him blatantly staring at me again and doing this hard blink. With me at 5’2” (5’5” with my booties) and with him at 6 feet, it was like a creepy hovering gaze. I tell him to stop staring at me (cause I’m gutsy AF) and he tells me he’s allowed to admire me for my beauty. I roll my eyes and he laughs and confesses that he’s also kinda blind (-1.75 in each eye, same prescription as me!) but can’t wear contacts. “So you walk around blind?” I ask. “From far away, essentially.” That explains why he would constantly squint when he was focusing. I just thought he had a twitch.

I meet his friends and we’re yelling at each other from across the dance floor. He tells them we met on the subway and I laugh. He pulls me aside when I was talking to one of his friends from out of town and asked in a cute inquisitive way “What were you talking to __(I forgot his name)__ about?” I for the life of me can’t remember but I DO remember feeling like I was the ultimate male manipulator when it came to the make-boys-jealous game. We end up dancing to Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” like nobody was around us, twirling each other around before making out on the dance floor. Now I’m not one for PDA, especially not a D-floor makeout (shout out to my DTT6 mate Samantha who is the MASTER of this), but I remember looking around and seeing groups of girls and guys looking at us kind of admiringly, kind of like “get a room” and I finally felt like the girl you were jealous of. And you know what? It felt nice to be the centre of attention – the girl who had it all. He was good looking, surprisingly a great dancer and not just like a “grind on me all night” type, and we were having a blast… until he killed the mood by dropping his gum into my mouth mid-kiss.

I put him in his place and we take a break to talk at the side of the bar. He asks me about the best part of my week and seemed to genuinely listen. We talk for a bit and start making out and next thing I know, he’s got a ‘visitor’ down south and he’s telling me “we should find our secret hiding spot.” I, in a drunken panic, start to freak out that all he wants to do with me is have sex.

Now I know a lot of people use this as an excuse but I was ACTUALLY on my period. When I tell him this, he tells me I’m lying. Next thing I know, we’re having a conversation about what we want from this and I express that I am not looking for a one-night stand. I am sick of strings of guys and I just wanted a stable hookup with a small connection. It doesn’t have to last a year but not a night either. But all I am able to articulate in the club is that I’m not looking for a one night stand. He tells me he’s not looking for a serious relationship. And this is a bit of a shock to me because every bit of the way he was acting is how a boyfriend would. I guess he was just well-bred. It was clear we both didn’t know what we wanted and this conversation was way too premature.

So I do what I do normally and I ran. He said “let’s just dance and have fun” and I said “but we clearly don’t want the same things here so what’s the point?” I end up grabbing my coat and he walks me to the door, tries to make out with me one more time, and I said “I’m not changing my mind” and he said “I know.” And that was it.

The total opposite way I imagined the night to go, I am walking down King Street alone at 1:30 a.m in the clubbing district on a Friday night. There are tons of people still on the street and I hear “hey sexy ass, hey sexy ass.” I ignore the person, thinking it could have been directed to anyone. Then, I feel my ass getting smacked. I will NEVER stand for this and in my state of already fuming anger, I push this guy away. “Don’t touch a girl without her permission.” This random loner walks ahead, screaming fuck you and making obscene gestures, turns the corner, and has to turn around realizing he’s going the wrong way. The best bit: he pretends that it wasn’t him, hands in his pocket and suddenly silent. I say “real smooth” as I walk by and he looks me in the eye and says “fuck you whore.” I wish I could say I kept my cool but I wound up my arm, smacked him on his non-existent ass, and said “how do you like being touched without your permission” and stormed off.

The next morning, I was in the foulest mood when I woke up. I felt so caught off-guard with what happened which left me in a mixture of regret and confusion. I had literally and figuratively been hit from behind. Furthermore, I had not expected to have invested emotions into this guy so quickly and have it end so dramatically. For a person who prides herself on her relationships (romantic or otherwise), there is very little worse than being an inconsequential person to someone else. It feels like living a life without meaning to have not been meaningful to someone else. I guess this is what motivates me to never give up on people and I resolve to send a text before work to ensure I have #noragrets

I clarify that I don’t want a one night stand but I don’t want serious either. Drunken bar talks aren’t the best for seeing a middle ground and if he was still interested, let’s hang out again. He takes hours to respond and I write him off as an asshole, but it’s okay cause it’s going to be my long-postponed date with Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many. As his name might indicate, I don’t get a response from Mr. 3 Chances until three minutes after we’re supposed to meet that “he really wants to see me but he overslept at a friend’s uptown and won’t be able to get back downtown until 1 and he has tutoring at 2. I ignore him cause the guy’s a) unreliable and b) an idiot which makes for an unreliable idiot I have no time for. I find myself on autopilot, answer Mr. Blind Spot’s text: “Well I’m down to hang out a few more times if you’re up for it. We can just take it slow and see how it goes.” He also proceeds to leave my response to make plans unanswered for all of Sunday.

And just like that, I go from feeling like I’m on top of my Fuckgirl game to being right back in the first place where I started off: lonely, lost in the 6ix, and constantly being screwed over by unreliable dudes.

I try not to give so much power to allow others to influence how I feel about myself but sometimes it’s really hard to compartmentalize. So naturally I am ecstatic when Monday rolls around and I look at my phone to have responses from both guys…

Mr. Crushed

heartforblogSamantha – I matched with this guy on tinder a little while back that used to go to my high school. He’s a couple years older than me and I kind of had a crush on him back then (probably because he’s very tall), so I was pretty stoked to see the little matched animation pop up on my phone. However, in spite of us professing our love with the swipe of a thumb, I didn’t hear from him and quickly forgot about the whole thing.

Fast forward about a week to me riding the subway home pretty late. While sitting there minding my own business, a group of guys come breezing past me with Mr. Crushed leading the pack. I casually glanced in his direction, then turned away with a nonchalant flip of my hair like the bad bitch I am.

The next morning I awoke to a message from him asking if I wanted to come over. Yes! I thought. The hair thing totally worked. Unfortunately, I already had plans, and declined his offer by suggesting that we hook up some other time. I mean, how often do you get the chance to fulfill a high school crush that lives only 3 km away??

Turns out, poor timing was to be an ongoing trend, and I’d consistently get messages from him just as I got home or while out with friends. After a while, the weekly hook up invites started getting a little strange. Example:

Samantha – What are you doing tonight?

Mr. C – I don’t know maybe go out into the weird

Samantha  – What do you mean? (I was a little drunk and did not interpret that weird probably meant world)

Mr. C – What do you mean (…)

Mr. C – Q and A

Samantha – I’m out, maybe later 😉

Mr. C – turtleemoji.png

Is this normal courting behavior?

There was the added irritant that he’d constantly send a follow up “o rly” or “ok no response” whenever I didn’t reply in under 5 minutes. Keep in mind, Tinder no longer shows when someone was last active so this dude clearly had NO CHILL. Anyway, this lil dance of ours continued for a couple weeks until this past weekend when I got a simple “Hi” at 1:30 am, while happily curled up in bed like a bug in a rug.

We chatted like normal people for about two minutes until he suggested that my decline of his invite was only a “soft no”. I hate when guys do this because if I say no, there is not some softness or hardness to it, I just mean no.   He said some other things that were throwing me off, but you know what? I’ll just type out some of our convo for you.

Mr. C – I don’t know what is scaring you

S – Not scared, more so lazy

Mr. C – I would treat you royally. Don’t be tempting me. I’m here now

S – Whaaat (WHAAAAAT????? *fearing he is outside my house though I have provided no address*)

Luckily he was not outside my window but instead implying how “ready and close” he was in terms of *ahem* hooking up…I’m doing you all a favour by paraphrasing here. He eventually accepted that I wasn’t coming over, but told me that pushing him away only made him want to try harder and make the end result more fun. Yes I know how that sounds, so I just ignored the message and went to bed.

The next day marked our very last convo, which I will type verbatim with time stamps so that you can decide for yourself whether or not this guy is actually a lunatic.

Mr. C (12:39 pm): Hahah

Mr. C (12:49 pm): No answer

S – (1:00 pm): Lol I was at the gym…sorry (This is true, and I do not often tinder while squatting)

Mr. C (1:05 pm): hahah whatever, do you want to hook up?

Mr. C (1:27 pm): Ok have a nice day (Please take in that I was no longer at the gym and was now in the shower…)

Mr. (1:42 pm): So now there’s no answer.

Upon exiting the shower and realizing that this dude was both the most shameless and impatient person I’d ever met, I screenshotted the convo for the purpose of this blog, unmatched, and filed that crushed crush away in the “Do Not Open” files in the dark crevices of my mind.