Why I gave up dating apps and I’m happier

Carrie – I was watching an episode of Chelsea Handler’s new Netflix Series, Chelsea Does Marriage, where she features testimonials from her friends, family and complete strangers (ie. BDSM threesomes) on marriage, love, and relationships. One of the couples says, “We met online like everyone these days.”

I looked over at my sister, who recently met her boyfriend on Bumble (you’re welcome for forcing you to get it one drunken night). I thought of all the couples getting together and it was one of three things: a) work/school, b) mutual friends, or c) online. When you live in a city as isolating as Toronto can be, dating apps might be your best option.
Continue reading “Why I gave up dating apps and I’m happier”

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Our Two Cents- Workplace Dating: the good, the bad and the just plain awkward

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So this installment of “Our Two Sense” is a little different in that we’re not using a base post but instead decided to write our own from scratch. Actually, we wrote it on our internal work messaging system since we no longer work in the same building. We’re not too sure how it’ll turn out but stick with us, we’re hoping for the best!

Our Two Sense – Workplace Dating: the good, the bad and the just plain awkward

OurTwoSense

Samantha
Miranda

OK, so I really want to talk about office relationships because well, for starters, Miranda and I are co-workers so it seemed like a natural fit. Second, as we spend the majority of our lives in an office building (how depressing is that), it seems likely that this topic would come up once or twice between the start of our careers and the eventual day we retire.

Definitely. it’s inevitable and not a matter of if, but when it’ll happen. The work relationships that we refer to can be a myriad of things. It could be as simple as a work hubby, a full-fledged relationship or even an affair. 

Let’s start with the idea of a work hubby, because I am totally into this idea and can see this as the easiest work place relationship trope to fall into. What do you define as a work husband?

In my eyes, the work hubby is a crush or flirtation you have at work, but only at work. You have a good time talking or fantasizing about what could be but when you go home they’re outta sight outta mind. 

Fantasizing eh, that goes even further than what I think of it. For me, it’s someone you get along with really well who’s fun to flirt with, but that’s it.

Hahaha you know me. I have a tendancy to dramatize situations. Even people in relationships joke about work hubbies/work wifies. It doesn’t mean anything but it helps keep you a bit entertained. 

Yup, I mean something’s gotta get you through dreadful Tuesday afternoons.

Hmmm so what else is there? What about the classic work crush. This can be a dangerous area to delve into, especially when the crush is only one way.

Omg we have totally seen that in our office haven’t we…

Yes we have. I have had the unfortunate experience of being on the receiving end of this form of a crush. It was a very distinct variation of it, but a crush nonetheless. 

HOLD ON. I was thinking of Mark* and Jen*! Are you talking about your other thing?

Ya…

Haha my god this is perfect. Just look at how common work place crushes can be. We bring up the topic and already were thinking of two completely different examples. In fact, if you count the random guy who always asks me to do crosswords with him or to go for lunch then that is three examples right off the bat!! Whew, ok….hilarious. Moving on.

Ok, basically this guy on my team, Ben*, was pursuing me for the better half of a year. It has gone way beyond work hubby and has continued outside of work as a texting relationship. The only problem with this whole thing is that he actually has a fiancé that he’s planning on marrying this year. 

Absolutely mental…Yep, I definitely remember this story. Go on.

Ya, not sure how I got myself in this one. Anyway, I had just joined the company and Ben was the youngest person on my team (other than me) and I guess we struck up some kind of friendship. It was nice having him to talk to but I think he saw it differently. One night we were texting and I may have been a bit drunk lamenting over my love life and said something along the lines of “duck i’m horny” (autocorrect, am I right?). Ben took the opportunity to ask me if I needed any help with that, and it all went downhill from there. 

So, ya that’s another type of work relationship that you really DON’T want to have. 

I totally agree. Mixing business with pleasure, especially with that close proximity is a recipe for disaster. 

Totally. I would recommend avoiding it as much as possible. 

But as you were saying Samantha, we do have two friends that have their own sort of work relationship. Care to explain to our lovely readers?

Hold up honey, you think I’m letting you off the hook. How did this unfortunate incident end?

Haha fine. You got me. After I freaked out for a bit, try a lot, I probed him more and found out that he and his fiancé have an open relationship that allows him to pursue other women on the side. I think eventually he would bring them in for a threesome but apparently she is fine with him sleeping around even though she has no desire to do it herself. He seemed to think that I was a good candidate for all of this and even after my repeated NO’s he was still quite persistent. Now we’re in a good position as just friends, but it took a long while for him to finally get the clue. 

Let’s be real, this could’ve been at least a couple posts on its own.

Yes it could. And maybe it will! Once I sit down and have the patience to write it.

So let’s talk about the one-sided relationship that we unintentionally became involved with, Mark and Jen. Now, although Jen rarely admits it, she fully has a “thing” for Mark where she thinks he’s cute or whatever and he definitely knows it. Hell, we all know it. Mark kind of takes advantage of this and flirts right back, toying with her. But you can’t really blame him all that much. Who doesn’t like attention right? Well, after a couple work socials involving a lot of intoxication and some really inappropriate comments, a HUGE game of “he said, she said” ensued where both sides had a completely different story of how it all went down. Eventually they pretended like it never happened and even tried to form a friendship, but it was super awkward for us. We saw how lopsided the whole thing was and we knew it would be a bad idea to get wrapped up in the whole mess. 

Ya…That was a scenario and a half. In fact, I don’t think it’s over quite yet. They still have their little comments made here and there and at this point, they don’t even try to hide it. It’s pretty entertaining to watch from the sidelines.

Uch you say entertaining, I say obnoxious.

But what if you work in a massive company? Does that still count? Sure, maybe you bump into each other once in a while, but if you don’t work with them directly, I could definitely see it as a feasible possibility.

No no, don’t get me wrong it is still a huge possibility, especially if there is distance. It just seems like adding another complication to an over-complicated issue.

I wouldn’t be opposed to a relationship with someone at work if it was done in that way, I think. It’s still not ideal but a lot of the prime male real estate is in the financial district of the 6ix, aka where we work.

You’re 110% right about that girlfriend. The PATH is filled with hotties, there is really no point of swiping anywhere other than the Starbucks in First Canadian Place.

And hey, it does sometimes work. The girl who sits at the desk beside mine met her boyfriend of 4 years while working together. So I guess it is possible, I’m probably just too much of a spaz to make it work…at work.

ON THE OTHER HAND, it is totally a fantasy of mine to bang at the office. 

Ok, a straight up hookup is what I think is super dangerous. That’s where rumours spread and bad things can happen immediately. But yes, that’s totally hot in concept. Up against the executive table or facing the floor to ceiling windows of the 6ix…similar to your saucy story about “Mr. Views” if I recall. 

You know me well. If he added a boardroom table to his apartment I’d be sold. Till then I’ll try find an executive at a DIFFERENT companies, so I can screw without getting screwed.

I see what you did there, you cheeky girl. That’s a definite strategy. Well, this discussion was totally all over the place…

Seriously, there is clearly just so much to talk about, but we tried to at least touch upon a bunch of different topics.

It’s true, so let’s turn now to our trusty audience. Would you guys want to see more posts like this? Did you like the old format more? What would you like us to give our two sense about…let us know in the comment section below and we’ll be sure to incorporate your feedback.

Later days, I’m out to bag a business man :*

 

 

*names changed to protect identites because…duh. 

Mr. Lawyer

This story comes 4 days after Mr. Heteroflexible happened. I know- it was a bit of an extraordinarily busy week.

It was a Saturday and I was visiting my dad’s place outside the 6ix. My older sisters came to visit as well and I told them about some of my struggles as a single yuppie trying to find a man (hookup descriptions were excluded from this story to preserve a bit of my integrity). I showed them my profiles on OkC and Tinder and swiped a couple times to show them how it worked since they were both in their thirties and have never tried it. Later that day, one of my matches messaged and we talked for a bit before meeting for coffee that same day. I wouldn’t normally rush into things like that but one of the key pieces of advice from my sisters was to just act on things while they’re fresh. According to them it’s best not to wait, stall or talk over a period of days because it can waste time and cause unnecessary disappointment (story of my life right there).

Upon first impression, Mr. Lawyer was cocky, smart and a touch strange. He spoke softly and opened our intros with a rant as to why Toronto is not as great a city as we think. I might admit I got a bit defensive at this point because really, how dare he talk about the 6ix in that way? However, over the course of our talking, his personality started to grow on me. He was currently finishing up an MBA/Law degree and heading to Calgary in a few months to work for a top law firm in the gas and oil industry. Impressive, right? Overall, it was an okay date which essentially means I wasn’t repulsed by him by the end of it. I wasn’t particularly attracted to him so I didn’t plan to see him again or turn this into something. Except somehow I did…

Later that night I was out in Toronto with a friend and just as we were heading back from the club, Mr. Lawyer messages me. Turns out he too was in the city and needed a place to crash for the night. Me being the generous and thoughtful person I am (and also pretty drunk at this point), I kindly offered my sofa to him. When I got home with my friend, Mr. Lawyer was waiting by my door. We all stumbled in and he lit a joint for us to share. Thankfully, I was smart enough to only take one hit but even that was enough to make me officially crunk. My friend wasn’t so wise and shortly after, I found her lying on my sofa throwing up quite violently – it wasn’t a pretty sight. Note that this is the same sofa Mr. Lawyer was originally supposed to crash on.

Of course at this point the only logical thing to do after taking care of my friend is to invite Mr. Lawyer to my bed where there is plenty of room for him to rest his head on my queen bed. I’m sure you can see where this is going. Like a bad rom com, we started hooking up. My head was spinning and I’m pretty sure I was barely coherent but we ended up having a pretty good time. The next day he got up and left and we went on our merry way. I was not expecting for that night to happen, but in hindsight, I guess it all just fell into place. I didn’t plan on seeing him again after that, but he continued to text (rather, sext) me for a couple weeks trying to meetup again.

He was persistent and I guess it worked because fast forward about 3 weeks later to yesterday, we finally managed to coordinate for him to come over for some late night fun. We smoked up and I probably took one hit too many because soon after I was talking in circles and his body parts somehow became my body parts. I was delirious to say the least, holding in my laughter and continuously licking my lips as my mouth had suddenly become the Sahara desert. At one point I had to get up and get a bottle of water and laid it next to me. As we continued to hookup, I would take water breaks every couple of minutes to replenish my parched throat. Everything was going relatively well, at least from what I could ascertain in my particular state, until we moved to the part where sex actually happens. Just as we were about to begin, the weed kicked in full force. My head was spinning and I was numb yet somehow alert. Then I said the be all to end all of sexual encounters. You know, the kind of sentence that makes the universal penis wilt and soften. I’ll share it with you and see if you agree. “Is that your finger or dick inside me?” Yup, I said that. My brain was in lalaland and could not compute what was actually entering me. I didn’t mean it in an offensive way but I was so lost and confused. Unfortunately, Mr. Lawyer certainly took it offensively. I think he said something to the effect of “how can you not tell the difference?” It wasn’t even a size matter that I was commenting on but it was too late, I shot the mood and it was only a matter of time before he got dressed and left. My bad.

After that spectacle, I don’t really feel the need to see Mr. Lawyer again. It was fun while it lasted but I can’t imagine him being too excited to see me again either. I even have second embarrassment reliving this experience. Boys and girls I have a lesson for you: do not smoke to excess before hooking up or else you will come off as a belligerent idiot who makes fun of someone’s manhood. Jesus, I hope he doesn’t sue me.

Mr. Views of the 6ix

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I go to meet him at the subway stop close to his place and all I’m thinking is please don’t let him be short. Please don’t let him be short. Because if he’s short, I’m screwed. I can’t very well turn around and be like “Naw I’m good, ttyl”. Here I am, it’s Saturday night, 1:30 in the morning, and I’m waiting on a street corner for some guy from j-swipe. I know…how in the fuck am I actually here again.

Luckily, he wasn’t short. Not tall per say, but a good two inches more than me so I’ll count this one as a win. He also looked just like his online profile which was a refreshing change and I’m thinking “Great, all signs point to go so far”. So we go to his apartment and this place was GORGEOUS. Like, well-furnished, floor to ceiling windows and the most incredible view of the city I’ve ever seen. He lives in Yorkville, so you’ve got the CN tower to the left and uptown to the right. I couldn’t help but feel fancy af in a place like this, and as a young professional LIVING AT HOME, it was totally my fantasy apartment. Literally, this place was the “come-to-life” version of fantasy locations I’ve had in the past. Needless to say, the mood was set the moment I walked through the door.

We end the “apartment tour” in his bedroom where things heated up pretty quickly. While we didn’t have the most amazing conversational chemistry, our physical connection was undeniable. We had a fantastic time together and to put it plainly I’ll say I barely slept all night.

I could probably end the post here, but have decided to include some of racy details instead because (I think) they’re too hilarious not to share. However, this is definitely a little TMI for a public site, so if you’re not into that kind of thing I’d suggest skipping to the last paragraph now.

We get right to it and I quickly notice he has a full-length, mirrored closet right next to his bed. My first thought is “Omg you can see everything, this is my nightmare.” I mean, who wants to see what they look like bumping uglies? Clearly not Ross and Rachel in  “The One with the Videotape”, when they realize how horrifyingly awkward sex can look. The quotes “Ew” and “Oh, that’s not pretty” are particularly memorable. Well, after a few minutes I realize “Omg you can see everything, but this is really hot!” Unlike the episode of Friends we were both really into seeing it all play out and I warmly welcomed the mirror as a prop in my love life.

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The face you make when the sex looks awkward af

Anyway, end of round 1 I am on top (of the pyramid…hello*) and Mr. Views hoists me up to place me on the bed beside him. Unfortunately, he misjudges the edge of the mattress and much to my surprise, tosses me directly onto the floor. I was so thrown off (literally and figuratively) that I burst out laughing at the thought of what I looked like sprawled naked on his floor next to my new best friend, the mirror.

Alright, so I’m trying not to harp on the intimate details of my sex life because that has never really been what this blog is about. I do, however, want to take this opportunity to highlight the topic of butts.

I am a butt virgin. I have never ventured to the nether region and have no current interest in doing so. In fact, the whole idea freaks me out. Generally speaking, I am a sexually open person, I just have legit 0 interest in something being stuck in my butt when I’m not bored of having it stuck in my front just yet. Funnily enough, this is what led to LOL moment numero dos from my night with Mr. Views, self-proclaimed ‘butt guy’. About five minutes after the “tossed-off-the-bed” incident, we’re cuddling  when out of nowhere he whispers: “Should I get the lube”.

Honestly, I had to do my very best not to burst out laughing (again!) because the comment was just so out of place and soooo unsexy in that moment. While I’m all for a slap or a little roughness, I was not interested in losing my be-hymen that night and politely declined his offer. I’m not forever opposed to the idea, but was not looking to make my first time with a hyper-active, butt-obsessed random, whose most redeeming quality was his taste in décor.

And finally, the piece de resistance, my crowning achievement and most Sex and the City-esque moment of all time. We’re hooking up for umpteenth that night and had decided to take our sexual relations into new territory: the kitchen.

Sidebar for Mr. Views’ roommate: I deeply apologize for defouling your oven, but it provided great leverage and I can safely say that the oven wasn’t the only thing cooking with gas that night, buh dum tsssss.

 Bad jokes aside, my spot on the oven provided a perfect vantage point of that fan-fucking-tastic view of Toronto and I may have actually gotten turned on by how beautiful it was. I know this sounds pretty absurd but I was so into that apartment, the view, and this mental idea of having “made it” that I don’t even think Mr. Views had to have been there for me to be having a good time.

Yup, I’m a freak in all definitions of the word.

So props to you Mr. Views of the 6ix! Good sex is hard to have the first time around but we really figured it out. I doubt we’ll be more than fuck buddies but I can almost guarantee we’ll see each other again. It is a little weird acting this way when at the end of the day I know I want a relationship. I mean, the whole reason I have been using j-swipe exclusively is because I want to meet people I could actually end up with. But the fact remains that I will not be in love with every single guy – or likely any single guy – that I meet on these dating apps. So, if I happen to find a cute, nice guy, with an AMAZING apartment who satisfies some of my needs, would I be me if I said no?

 

*John Tucker Must Die reference. If you didn’t get it, then why are you even reading this blog?BiTqpH2IQAANyPq.jpg

Mr. Namaste

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Carrie – I had a rough week. One of my coworkers from my job in September passed away at 22. We had hit it off right off the bat when she would force me to stop working and eat with her in her office while we jammed to old school R&B. She even invited me to go with her friends to a cottage for a weekend after only a week of working together. She always offered to get me coffees and lunches, often bringing something back for me when I said no, because that’s how generous and caring of a person she was. Hearing of her passing, it took me for an emotional rollercoaster to say in the least. True, I hadn’t known her for long. True, I hadn’t hung out with her more than twice outside of work. But the shock of knowing a peer your age, someone so beautiful and kind and good, can be snapchatting you one day and gone the next… still gives me shivers.

I resorted to my emotional salvation: yoga. More specifically, 42 degree heated room of 40 people who are all sweating-to-the-max bikram yoga. Practicing silence and clearing the mind of the outside world, even for an hour, was exactly what I needed.

In walks Mr. Namaste. (Feels kind of insensitive to be still checking out guys when you’re emotionally all-over the place, but hey, we all got our own coping mechanisms right?) Since October, he has been in all of my classes (probably because he practices every day). Surprisingly, he’s very hockey-bro manly with a deep voice and broad shoulders, not your stereotypical yogi. If I were to compare him to a celebrity, it would definitely be Chris Hemsworth since they have practically the same hairstyle and matching eyes. Nevertheless, I have been checking him out for a while now but never did we exchange more than a glance, an “excuse me,” or “thanks” to one another. (One time, he held the door open for me and let me go ahead of him. ISN’T MY LIFE RIVETING?) On this particular class, we happen to have our mats right next to each other and I spend the 90 minutes more distracted than focused tbh, thinking of how sweaty our sex sessions would be (#nofilter). I vow to talk to him at the end of the class, but he was gone by the time I changed as he always is. I remember thinking “maybe he’s one of those crushes that will forever stay a fantasy and that’s okay.”

Thoughts of him aside, I go out on Friday evening. Instead of heading to my normal King Street party district, my childhood best friend Hillary* and I head to hipster haven, aka Queen-West, to a bar called Brooklynn. I’m macking on this hot accountant and things are headed in the right direction… until I find out he’s from Vancouver and only in for a conference. I find myself putting up a wall and heading to the bar to relocate my gal pal. Hill* is saying things like “what?!? yaaas girl, just go and fuck him, who cares” while she’s been with her boyfriend for three years and another ex for three years before that. IMHO, when you’re getting a regular fuck for six years, you don’t know the strugs of one night stands.

Then, out of the yoga gods’ hands: Mr. Namaste is right beside me on the dance floor. Incredulous, I ask,“Hey, are you- do you go to BeHot Yoga?” He smiles and we talk for a bit but I leave to find Hill*. She, on the other hand, is OUT TO GET ME (laid). She walks to Mr. Namaste’s friend, telling him to give me Mr. Namaste’s number. The friend misinterprets the sitch and starts trying to makeout with her and then I’m awkwardly coming out of the bathroom trying to figure out what’s going on. That’s when Mr. Namaste comes up to me and I’m embarrassed, realizing the situation Hill* was trying to get going and I end up putting my number in his phone. Hill* tiptoes away, giving me a thumbs up. Mr. Namaste and I begin to flirt when I see his friend beside us aggressively trying to makeout with a girl who is blatantly pushing him away. I point out the situation and laugh, to which Mr. Namaste replies, “yeah that’s my roommate and my ex girlfriend. I told him to go for her.” #AWKWARD.

I figure out they dated for five years, long distance from Dalhousie (Halifax) to Waterloo (Waterloo). Probably a little TMI… Beyond that, why would you ever tell your roommate to fuck your ex, especially when he’s presumably going to be going to YOUR PLACE? Regardless, we head to the dance floor and when he does this hair swoop thing, I call him out on it. “I think you like it actually,” and it sucks cause I did, then he leans in and we make out.

It’s probably 2:45 a.m. at this point so it’s decision time. Do I make my yoga fantasies a reality? Mr. Namaste turns to talk to his roommate and when he turns back around, the dance floor has cleared out save for me (texting alone like a loser) and this group of girls beside me. Mr. Namaste returns and I smile at him, pretty much prepared to go home with him. But he turns to talk to the group of people beside me, touching one of the girl’s arms. In a drunken rational of “fuck this guy,” I dip without saying bye and even resist the urge to get King’s Slice as I taxi home.

As it always does, Monday rolls around and I head to yoga class after work. I made sure that I wore my new Pink push up sports bra, just in the more-than-likely chance I see Mr. Namaste. Sure enough, we make eye contact from the door window but I quickly glance away (because I am a very awkward person). He jokes with the yoga teachers, smiling before heading in. I glance at him but he breezes by me without the slightest eye contact. Even if it was just a d-floor makeout, I think we could at least say hello now that we’ve swapped some saliva but maybe that’s just me.

Of course I don’t see him after class but I figure he has my number. Loyal followers, should I follow up and pursue this guy or move onto the next one? These next few weeks of yoga could be potentially tip-toeingly awkward if we keep pretending the other doesn’t exist. But at least it’s yoga and we don’t have to talk.

Namaste betches.

Guest Post: Mr. High School Crush

Everyone please give a warm welcome to Stanford Blatch, the newest segment of DTT6. Stanford will be made up of the wonderful friends of our daters who’ll be writing in the occasional guest post about the happenings in their love lives.

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Please enjoy the first guest post from a very good friend of DTT6. We love her, we know you’ll love her, and we hope to hear from her again very soon!! 

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Mr. High School Crush had my heart from grade nine. He was the cute, rebellious and mysterious grade 12 that made me swoon, and I never for a second thought that I had a chance of even being on his radar. Fast-forward a few years later to a story that would have grade nine me screaming from excitement.

The summer going into third year, the hype of Tinder times, I decided to jump on the band wagon and start swiping. Lucky me, Mr. High school crush popped up in my pool of eligible bachelors, and without hesitation I swiped right, I mean obviously. To my awe and surprise – we matched! Mr. High school crush liked lil old me?! Wow, the story could have stopped there and I would have been living on cloud 9. But it didn’t. Mr. High school crush proceeded to friend me on Facebook, not only message me first, and get my number, but also ask me out for drinks!! Mr. High school crush picked me up (late, but what did I care) and we went for drinks. Before he dropped me off, he secured himself a spot for date number two (and whatever other dates he wanted after that). Perfect – a summer fling with Mr. High School crush and then I’ll go back to school out of town and that’s that, because who wants to start a relationship that’s long distance? Apparently we thought that starting a relationship was a good call because that’s exactly what we did. We said our goodbyes come September, and two weeks later Mr. High School crush came to visit me at school.

Mr. High School Crush became my best friend and we did everything together. I was so infatuated with how fairy tale this was, that in the whole process I was blinded to the red flags and warning signs. I know that everyone has their flaws, and maybe I expected perfection because it was of course Mr. High School crush, what could be wrong. Lots. Whether it be the lack of communication, his demotivation or his relationship with weed, it was clear that we didn’t fit but I just looked past it and kept trying to find (sometimes reach) for the silver lining.

That being said, Mr. High School Crush made some great strides: he decided to stop smoking everyday and begin school, get an amazing part time job (even bumping into my next love, Justin Bieber, on the job), attempted to change his group of friends and be more attentive. It seemed for a while things were going really well and they were. There were times that I’ve never been happier or more supported, and having Mr. High School crush in my life really did feel like a dream come true.

Well, two and a half years later and sometimes it just so happens that people grow apart. I noticed it when the fighting became the norm, and going to sleep upset or disappointed was just the expectation. I always say, and still believe that a relationship only works when two people bring out the best in each other and at this point, we weren’t, so I had to let go and say goodbye to Mr. High School Crush.

The best part of this whole experience is that I’m not bitter or resentful and as cliché as it sounds, I really do want the best for him and for him to be happy. I am ready to be done with him and that relationship and I’m excited that I get to start dating through the six with my woes.

Why deciding if I’m going to shave my legs is one of the hardest parts of dating

During my shower this morning I came to the conclusion that dealing with leg hair is without a doubt one of the most difficult part of dating in 2016. You may be asking yourself why I think that this to be true. “Samantha”, you may ask, “are you crazy? There are waaaay harder parts of dat single life…think about tinder fkbois, think about unwanted dick pics, think about GHOSTING”. Yes dear reader, you are correct, those are all very trying aspects of the dating game and I do not particularly enjoy any of them. However, they are not the hardest part for one simple reason: the decision to shave my legs (or not) is directly related to the outcome of the date.

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Now hear me out for I have not completely lost my marbles. I happen to be one of those people who likes to always be prepared. Subsequently, I have a couple things I make sure to do when getting ready for a date. I wear something that makes me feel confident (including cute underwear to match), I brush my teeth no matter the time of day and I always carry a contact case for any unanticipated sleepovers. No one wants to wake up as a red-eyed monster.

These are the things that I do to feel prepared no matter the date’s outcome, and are also pretty indicative of why I would stress over something as banal as leg hair. Shaving is an all-or-nothing choice in which I need to make a definitive decision, while I prefer to keep my options open.  So, while we can all agree that I may have problems with control (or specifically not having any), let me run you through a few of the reasons why this decision-making process is so very hard.

 1) To wax or not to wax, that is the (first) question

I hate leg hair. Not an abnormal amount or anything, but my problem with leg hair is much like my problem with overly-emotional people: both require too much attention. As such, I am an advocate for waxing over shaving, because a good wax allows me to pretend leg hair doesn’t exist at least for a few days. So, during an epic shaving debate – much like the one I had this morning – I have to decide if the date is worth ruining the progress of the “growing out” stage required by waxing. Because realistically I will, if…

 2) I want to hook up with the guy

Circumstances in which I am looking to play a game of Mr. Wobbly hides his helmet (this is a legit euphemism for having sex, I checked) often lead to their own line of questioning:

  1. Do I anticipate hooking up with this guy?
  2. Is this a first date?
  3. What does he think this is?
  4. Is this going to be just a hook up if I give it up on our first interaction?
  5. Does he care about those things?
  6. If we do hook up, would he care about my leg hair?
  7. How have I already been in the shower for over ten minutes?

At this point, my hands are getting pruney, I have lathered, rinsed AND repeated, and have nothing left to do but continue wasting water.

The act of shaving, or not, forces me to evaluate what I want from the guy, our upcoming interaction and the whole friggen relationship potential before I even find out his last name. And yes, I recognize that this is me being a little cray cray, but it is also very practical thinking! If I just want him for a hookup then I either have to shave in anticipation of that happening or not because do I really need to impress ‘just a hook up’ anyway? On the flip side, if I am hoping for more than just one date, maybe I don’t want to put all my cards on the table and leave my hand totally exposed. It is usually at this point where I come across the third factor that makes this decision so hard.

3) Expectations.

Whether or not I shave my legs is directly correlated with my expectations for the evening. It’s true! I’m serious, it’s been scientifically tested and the results are statistically significant.

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Let me run you through a quick scenario: I decide to shave my legs (ruining my next waxing opportunity) because the guy I am meeting tonight is really cute and seems super nice. I don’t necessarily want to hook up with him on the first date because, as he is really cute and seems nice, I would like the option to potentially date this person. However, for those very same reasons I don’t want to be some hairy beast if I do end up going home with him, so I shave my legs. Well, now I have put so much thought and time into this trivial decision that I am expecting to have a super awesome time and super un-hairy sex with this poor sucker who has no idea that he is going on a date with a proven psychopath. Thus, when he cancels 5 hours prior because he has appendicitis (this has actually happened to me), I am v. disappointed because I have beautifully smooth legs and no one to show them off to!

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So there you have it. My argument for why deciding to shave my legs is one of the most difficult part of the dating game. I am forced to attend to something I’d prefer to ignore entirely, decide what I want the relationship to be before I’ve met the guy and set myself up for disappointment if it doesn’t work out. I hope I have been able to shed some light on another one of the countless annoying #justgirlythings that I’m sure men never even think to consider. Looking forward to the day I finally have enough cash to laser it all away for good.

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Mr. MusicMan

For the last half year I have tried to make sex meaningless. I felt as though if I could overcome the emotional aspect I wouldn’t get hurt anymore. But I did, in every sense of the word.

My first date with Mr. MusicMan was okay at best. He started off really negative but I thought it was just because he was tired from working all day. All he did was talk about hating his job, wanting to be a rock star and dreaming about winning the lottery. He was stupidly good-looking so I cut him some slack. At the end of the night he drove me home and kissed me. It’s been a while since a kiss has actually made my heart drop but it happened. Best of all, he messaged me the next morning saying he wanted to see me again!

Our second date took place at his apartment. He wanted to make me dinner – which I basically took as being a booty-call. At first I was hesitant but then I came back to this recurring notion of “why should I care, it’s just sex”. So I went over. The entire night was kind of awkward but I just blamed in on the sexual tension.

After dinner we were hanging out and although I was promised a movie he never turned one on. This just confirmed my belief that this was a booty-call. We ended up making out and it got steamy really quick. Mr. MusicMan was significantly bigger than me and was picking me up with ease. He did all the right moves as picking me up and tossing me on a bed is a sure way into my heart and usually my pants.

Things got intimate VERY quickly and the next thing I knew he was on top of me. This is where things got uncomfortable and quickly made me challenge this perception of sex that I’ve been trying to adopt. Almost immediately he went from being someone who I was super into to someone I was kind of afraid of. I’ve always had problems with intercourse and it’s a huge hit or miss whether or not it will hurt me. Unfortunately, this time it did. But it also didn’t help that he was incredibly rough.

He wanted to change positions every 10 seconds, to the point where I felt like a fucking acrobat. The entire process hurt me immensely and although he asked if I was okay or whether I wanted to stop he never actually slowed down even after I asked him to. The worst part was that I wanted it to stop but felt too uncomfortable to tell him. Here I was having sex with a guy I barely knew – how was I supposed to explain to him that I have a medical condition that clearly had gotten worse and was causing me an excruciating amount of pain? What if he won’t like me or won’t want to see me again?

After the torture was over I went to the washroom. I came back to find him in bed playing guitar – almost like I wasn’t there. I was uncomfortable and unsure as to what to do so I kind of just chilled for a while. We had some very uncomfortable pillow talk where he basically told me I was shallow and cracked a joke about me being a virgin. He also made a comment that he didn’t think I was the “type of girl” to have sex so quickly – leaving me confused and embarrassed feeling like I misread the incredibly clear signs.

At that point I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I felt disgusting, degraded and worst of all in so much pain I thought I was going to struggle to walk. After asking me to stay the night and rejecting his offer in the kindest way I could (which probably came off really rude) he drove me home and we went our separate ways.

He messaged me that night but then, as it always does, the conversation died and that was the last I heard from him.

This post isn’t about saying he was a shit guy and it’s not about saying sex can’t be casual. All I’m getting at is I think casual sex isn’t my thing. Everything that happened that night was consensual but I didn’t leave his apartment feeling giddy or even satisfied. I left feeling used and abused. Worst of all he had given me indication that we would hang out again, that he wasn’t the type of guy to just sleep with a girl and then throw her to the curb. Although I’m usually careful of these types of comments, I really wanted to believe him. I guess he was at least nice enough to drop me off on my own curb.

 

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  .   .  .

 

Progress report:

At the point of writing this post (originally) I honestly thought we would never speak again. But the following evening, I was feeling weird about how things were left off  so I thought I’d try and ease the weirdness by making a joke. The night before he was convinced he was going to win the Power Ball, so I thought it would be appropriate to open up the conversation by reminding him that he lost:

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Maybe I have a shit sense of humour but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t tell a girl that you don’t intend to see her again the evening after you had sex. Not only was the sex awful but now it was clear this guy was a MAJOR D-BAG.

A few days later I have the good fortune of hearing from him again:

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At first I thought introducing a conversation with an emoticon at 12:30am meant I was being booty called. But then I remembered he was in Montreal all weekend so that wouldn’t make sense. As you can see from my side of the conversation I’m hilarious (or at least I think so). Even after receiving a message saying “Missing our horrible sex…” I still tried to crack a joke. Like, sir, do you really have to remind me of how bad the sex was? I was there; I’m well aware you sucked.

That was clearly not the response he was looking for. I’m not sure if he wanted me to comfort him or something but that’s not really the way I normally react to an insult. Try to bring me down and I’m taking you with me.

Dear followers, please feel free to share your thoughts. (1) WTF was the point of this conversation? (2) Did I seem stressed at all in order to warrant being told to “relax”?

I’m starting to think I just attract crazy. I’ll keep you guys posted if I hear anything else from this guy, it’s bound to be post worthy.

“I’m Abnormally Petrified Of Being Ghosted…And Ghosting Anyone”

Dear Readers,

I wanted to share an awesome article that a friend forwarded to me a couple days ago . It’s just a relevant, succinct, and relatable post from elite daily that requires no further introduction because it totally speaks for itself. Enjoy!

xoxo, Samantha

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A few months ago, I had a revelation. I realized that I’m FINALLY fully, truly, 100 percent over my ex-boyfriend from college. This process took years of having to stop myself from stalking him on social media and fantasizing about all the what if’s from our tumultuous, three-year, on-again-off-again relationship, so I’m damn proud of how far I’ve come.

And how, dare you ask, have I celebrated my triumphant achievement? By going on Tinder, of course.

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Does my default picture look like a headshot for a porno?

I think Tinder gets a really bad rap. People are so quick to blame the actual app for all the sh*tty dates they’ve gone on, but it’s probably just the pool of people they’re dealing with who are sh*tty.

Because if you think of Tinder like a bar, it becomes a slightly more desirable place to meet people who you can form actual connections with. Some weekends, this particular bar might be filled with unappealing jerks who are just looking to get laid. Other weekends, it might be filled with some decent people who are looking to date. And one night, when you least expect it, you just might meet the love of your life.

Still, my expectations for Tinder were low. Because it’s Tinder. To my surprise, however, my experience has actually been…quite rewarding.

I only swipe right on guys whose photos I’m physically attracted to, and I haven’t entertained any of the weird, gross messages I’ve gotten. Lots of conversations that did start out promising ended up fizzling into nothing because, well, truthfully, it’s easy to get bored of someone you haven’t met in real life yet, especially if the conversation turns into a tedious series of interview questions like “where are you from” or “where do you work” and other monotonous sh*t like that.

But if a guy says something clever that isn’t “sit on my face, and let me eat my way to your heart” (actual quote) and doesn’t ultimately tire me with one word-answer questions, I’m interested. At which point I give him a 24- to- 48-hour window to ask me on a legitimate date, be it drinks or dinner or basically anything that starts before 9 PM and promises actual conversation. If he doesn’t ask me out within that window, I just move on.

(By the way, I know you’re wondering why I don’t just ask him out myself because I’m a feminist and stuff. Well, I’m a pretty dominant person already, so it’s more attractive to me if a guy can demonstrate hisdominance by taking control of the situation and doing the asking first. But anyway.)

The guys who have bitten the bullet and asked me out have been awesome. I’ve met some great dudes of all ages and occupations (just kidding, I live in New York so most of them have worked in finance), and I’ve learned a hell of a lot more about myself in the past few months than I have in a really long time.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned is I am absolutely petrified of ghosting. Cripplingly, all-consumingly petrified of it.

If you’re a 20-something with access to the Internet, you know what ghosting is. It’s when you’ve been talking and hanging out with someone when all of a sudden, he disappears from your life without a trace. He just stops answering your texts and calls. It can happen after three dates or three months (yes, I’ve heard horror stories), but once it happens, that’s it. You are dead to him. You are a literal ghost.

So far in my Tinder adventures, no guy has ghosted me. But the possibility of it happening to me has made me more cynical than any real life heartbreak ever has. I develop feelings for guys embarrassingly easily, sometimes even after one or two dates, so the thought of a dude simply dropping off the face of the planet after I open up to him is terrifying. It’s one thing to confront me and actually break it off (I can respect that, for sure), but it’s another thing entirely to leave whatever I thought we had in perpetual limbo.

The peril of being a professional writer is I picture everything in my life like a story, and no story is complete without a conclusion. I need a neat, shiny bow tacked onto everything I do, including and especially my romantic endeavors. So the lack of closure from being ghosted would drive me insane.

I never worried about being ghosted in college. Ghosting isn’t really a thing on a college campus, which is where I was just several months ago, before this whole real-adult-living-in-NYC thing happened to me.

If a guy in college ghosted me, odds were I would have run into him, either because we had mutual friends or because there were so few people in such an enclosed space. I would have caught him walking across the quad or drunk at a house party, where I could have then called him out for being a total piece of sh*t assh*le and walked away feeling wonderfully satisfied.

In a huge city, though, there’s nothing I can do if a guy ghosts me. I can’t track him through mutual friends or casually run into him at a frat party. I just have to pretend he doesn’t exist anymore. Like he is doing to me.

I’m a hopeless romantic by nature. And the more I use Tinder in this scary postgrad world, the more paranoid I feel about being ghosted and the more my hopeless romanticism decreases. It’s devastating. I feel myself spiraling into hard, cold cynicism, and it’s all because of a hypothetical situation that I haven’t even experienced. Lord knows what would happen if someone actually ghosted me.

I’m so beyond petrified of being ghosted that I actually tried to ghost someoneelse before he (or any other guy, for that matter) could ghost me first. But after several of his attempts to contact me, I felt so guilty for ghosting him that I sent him this long ass text message in which I apologized for it AND gave him advice about why I didn’t see us working out and what he should do with the next girl he dates. Am I the worst or am I the worst?

I blurred out the details of my advice to protect his identity (and integrity, probably), but I kept the lines in so you could see the length of this motherf*cking text message pity party I threw for myself.

It was so long that I literally had to piece three screenshots together.

It was so long that I literally had to piece three screenshots together.

Despite how petrified I am of being ghosted, I do see the appeal of it. If you choose to ghost someone, you know you’re probably hurting that person, but the consequences of your actions don’t fully register with you because you can’t witness them unfolding in front of you. You don’t see the tears in the person’s eyes or hear the sadness in his or her voice. Ghosting is a nearly consequence-free way to avoid dealing with confrontation, which most people despise on a visceral level. I get it.

Still, if you’ve ever ghosted someone, f*ck you. Seriously! It’s f*cked up, and I wish you hadn’t done it! I don’t care how convenient it is or how much it feels like your get out of jail (read: relationship) free card; you aren’t allowed to experience the euphoria of love unless you experience the uncomfortable sadness of a breakup, which includes watching other people experience that uncomfortable sadness as a result of YOU breaking up with THEM.

I’m not saying every Tinder relationship warrants an hour-long break up over Starbucks or an obnoxiously long text message in which you give unsolicited advice about someone’s love life (oops). But if you’re going to end things with somebody, actually end things. 

Ghosting has become this generation’s way to detach real human identities from people we meet on dating apps. We think that if we choose to not acknowledge someone as a person, he or she can just become another disposable right swipe that we can easily replace with yet another disposable right swipe the following week. Is this really what dating has become? Is this what we want it to be?

If you choose to ghost someone, know that you probably won’t be the first to do it to that person, so you’ll just be part of a long line of people who are slowly but surely chipping away at someone’s humanity and will to ever find love. Do you really want to contribute to an innocent human being’s descent into sheer hopelessness just because you want the easy and more convenient way out? Can you be any more selfish?

There’s nothing more literally dehumanizing than not acknowledging someone’s existence. So for the sake of everyone’s sanity, let’s stop the cycle. No more ghosting. Please. We’ll all be better people for it.

Mr. Card-again

Carrie – It’s been about a month since I met Mr. Cardigan. In this time, we have maybe exchanged thirty messages or so. While this may seem a lot on its own, I think I have tried to text my house landline more than Mr. C. Nevertheless, I did meet up with him again, hence his new name: Mr. Card-again (#sorrynotsorry for the bad pun).

He messaged me the Monday after we met, presumably after work around 5:30. Giddy with excitement, I messaged back instantaneously and we banter. Then I go to yoga, thinking I’m gonna leave him hanging for an hour and a half until I’m out of my class – that’s a long enough time to not seem to eager right? I exit the class, running to the lockers to check my phone to ~ nothing ~. It’s interesting talking to new people and how it sets the rules to the game that you two are gonna play. For instance, am I gonna be a prompt responder to this person or do I have to play a little more hard-to-get to keep this person chasing? I hate it, but I unknowingly play by these rules.

I spend the whole next day in anxiety. Confused by why he would message if he didn’t want to talk, annoyed by the fact I cared, bruised by it seemingly like yet another disinterested guy, I felt like absolute shit. I realize I derive a lot of my confidence and self-worth from the relationships I keep, be it friendships or romantic interests, and not all of them are worth my time. I was a little down but just shrugged it off by the end of the workday: another one for the blog, I suppose.

Then after work, Mr. C’s name pops up on my phone, continuing the conversation as if it hadn’t been 23 hours… But who’s counting? I decide to sass him: “Do you check your phone once every day at 5:30 or are you just trying to play hard to get?” It takes hours between every text response and the guy texts in a manner akin to the first time you meet your friend’s parents. He’s a cordial, polite, full-sentence-with-punctuation texter with very little flirtation. He asks me about my plans for the weekend at which point I disclose I’m dipping to Mexico but let’s stay in touch. He agrees, telling me and my family to have a happy holiday. See, he can be sweet!

We message once in Mexico and he asks me when I’m coming back. I respond but he doesn’t answer for five days. FIVE DAYS. What’s the point in answering at all? I can make excuses for him: it’s the holidays, we barely know one another, I’m away in Mexico, etc. etc. However, I find it skeptical that he couldn’t find the time to send me a simple text until the day I’m coming home.

He booty calls me on New Year’s Eve (technically New Year’s Day) at 2:30 am asking to come over. In the immortal words of How I Met Your Mother, “Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” When I tell him no, he persists and asks me when he can see me next. I tell him we can hang out later that day at a normal hour.

The next morning, I see a text from him. Shocking. 2:38 a.m.: “I’m coming over tomorrow.” We try to make plans for that evening but he bails because he has to work early. At this point, I am ready to write him off but he follows up with a “No excuses for me, can we please hang Saturday or Sunday night?” I reluctantly agree.

Sunday was great. Mr. C wasn’t wearing a cardigan this time, but he was clad in a sweater and that’s close enough to his namesake right? We went to Three Brewers for some beers, he was as cute as I remembered, the conversation flowed really easily and we even laughed a couple of times. Nothing overly memorable but it seemed like it was full of potential. He was family oriented, animatedly telling me about his siblings and parents. He paid for us, opened the door for me, and we walked back to my place. In my bed, we cuddled and he gave me forehead kisses, complimented the way I smell, and acted like a complete sweet and shy gentleman before we engaged in some non-PG-13 activities. Mother Nature was not on my side that week so we make vague plans to ‘hang out’ (probably code for bang) this weekend before he left. He gave me a kiss and departed with a “we’ll talk.”

But the thing is: we don’t talk. Since his first text, I have initiated the majority of our interactions. He blew me off this weekend again because he’s been ‘sick’. When I press the point, he apologizes, saying his family gave it to him and he doesn’t want to pass it onto me. This would all be completely fine, I can take his words at face-value and believe him… but I just have this nagging feeling it isn’t the full truth. He doesn’t try to follow up with another date or even try to continue a conversation past the day. I don’t need to sugar coat things: it is more than likely he’s not interested. I just wish it would be said in an honest conversation.

So he wasn’t free Saturday night, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t. I went out to the Maddy to go dancing with my girls and rejecting the creepy guys. But man, I love being single and ending the night with a burrito in my mouth instead of a dick.

Maybe I’ll hear from him again but my New Year’s Resolution is to stop chasing dead-ends. That’s not to say I won’t pursue anyone or put myself out there to stay open to new possibilities but why waste my time and efforts on people that aren’t worth it? And as I already broke my “eat healthy” new year, new me resolution when I scarfed down a box of 20 Timbits, this is one I’ll try to keep.

Peace & ❤ until next week.