Mr. Slide Into My DMs

Carrie – For the first time in a really long time, when I stepped out of the shower that morning, an overwhelming sensation of gratitude washed over me. Perhaps I had been in a particularly good mood having finished my summer courses and finally enjoying what was left of my summer. Maybe it was the reminiscent effect of some weed I’d had the night before. Whatever the case, I was appreciative of the simple things: the sweet aroma of my shampoo, the soft towel grazing against freshly cleaned skin, and the sensation of my plush memory-foam bath mat under my foot as I gingerly step out of the shower.

Then in some weird sort of memory association, I remembered the history of said bath-mat. It wasn’t particularly sentimental, being a cheap Costco purchase two years ago. However, I recall enthusiastically snapping videos of the memory foam in action to Mr. Puppy Love who often experienced my obsession with all-things-fuzzy. The mat has also gotten me through darker moments: supporting me (and friends) as we hung around the toilet the morning after a night of binge drinking and comforting me when I pathetically cried after Mr. Mindfuckboy left my house that fateful winter night.

If you haven’t read up on my saga with Mr. Mindfuckboy, I’ll spare you your life and give you the Sparks notes here: this guy’s favourite movie is The Notebook. If that wasn’t indication enough (as I was too infatuated to see at the time), it is exactly the type of tortured romance he’s looking for in his life. He wanted me to be his Allie, the girl he couldn’t be with right away, but she was his soul mate and they’d eventually end up together when the time was ‘right’. Too bad the ‘right’ time in the movie was also the most-complicated scenario/worst-timing right when she was happy and about to get married. But that was the love he wanted. Mr. Mindfuckboy made everything fifteen times more complicated than it should have been. When I gave him the opportunity to be with me, he chose to cower, ignoring my phone calls but writing me a fucking poem about how I’m better off without him. Later that evening, I sent him a ‘break-up’ text telling him to never contact me again and delete me from his life.

So lo and behold my dismay when, I kid you not, TWELVE MONTHS LATER (that’s a whole year later ladies and gents) I get hit up with a follow on Instagram from Mr. Mindfuckboy, who I will now term Mr. (Slide Into My) DM.

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Mr. Somebody That I Used To Know

Carrie – Okay Mr. Somebody might not be the story you’re expecting. It definitely wasn’t what I was expecting when I boarded the subway at Finch Station on a Thursday morning at the crack of dawn. I had been staying uptown at my parents’ house, the area where I had done (most of) my growing up. Disoriented from taking the southbound train to work, I got in on one of the cars in the middle. And out of all the ways I changed my normal routine that morning; it was either fate or chance that led me to stand in the same car right across from Mr. Somebody.

So who is Mr. Somebody That I Used To Know? Well, he is the older brother of my ex, aka the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, aka Mr. High-School-Sweetheart Puppy Love. Mr. Somebody was the quiet eldest brother of three, equally as mild-mannered as my ex, but definitely the most difficult to get a reaction out of compared to the rest of the family. Going from playing board games with him once a week to deleting him off Facebook when I found out my ex was sleeping with someone else, it surely was an odd feeling to see him again and I wasn’t sure how the interaction was gonna go.

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Mr. Brazil

brazil

Carrie – So after three months off of the dating app game, I found that my dating game had gone seriously downhill as well. There were a couple of guys here and there, but nothing that panned out and nothing I was excited about. I downloaded Happn because I thought it was the closest dating app that paralleled meeting someone in real life and in fact, I’ve had many an awkward run in with people on the app that I subway home with on the daily. Added bonus: I knew that Mr. Namaste was on it and things were either gonna “Happn” between us or not but I really needed to get over my little yoga crush. We matched. I messaged him “hey stranger, see you in class” (He didn’t respond. I haven’t seen him in class. I’m sure it’ll be awkward when we do. Nothing happened. I’m over it.)

It’s also the most overwhelming dating app for someone who is just getting back in the game. Your options are presented to you all at once, it tells you how many times you two have “crossed paths” and even narrows it down to the exact location. It’s tough to make a splash because unlike Tinder or Bumble or other swiping apps, the spotlight isn’t on your profile and guys don’t need to decide via swipe one way or another. Instead, your profile (aka your main picture) has to be attracting enough for someone to notice you out of the four options available on the screen. As a chick who is often picked somewhere in the middle of the pack when captains are choosing their sports teams, it seemed daunting to get anyone to match me.

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How To Be Single : Not a Movie Review

Carrie – You would think that around Valentine’s Day would be when we dating bloggers are most inspired, but at the risk of being presumptuous, I think it’s a fairly safe consensus to say that we here at DTT6 are in a funk. I have yet to miss a deadline for my weekly posts but I’ve been finding it really hard to blog about something – anything – when I really have no desire to be in any type of romantic relationship.

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An Ethical Question: Flirting for Free Food & Drink

Carrie – There are many perks to being single. Guilt-free fantasizing about that cute guy in your elevator or the Adonis of a delivery man who comes by your office for starters. Who knows, either of these options could become a possible love interest. Another pro is being courted. While I may turn down guys, I will never turn down an opportunity of free drink and food. In fact, I flirt for food.

My question is: Is flirting for free food and drink ethical? 
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From the Archives: Mr. Mind-F*ckboy

Carrie – How do I begin to summarize the most complicated and confusing relationship that encompassed eight months of my life? Although it’s been a while since we last talked and nothing in particular brought him up, I still think of him in late hours of insomniac nights.

Let’s go back to January 2015. Mr. Mind-F*ckboy was essentially a one-night stand of a wild weekend gone awry. Newly single Carrie had just had her first overnighter with a stranger who departed with a “thanks but you know I’ll never see you again.” I suppose that’s what I wanted at the time, that’s why I chose this random out-of-town guy who was visiting the first week of my last semester of undergrad.

Flash forward to the next night and I felt a little confused and off-kilter from my first one night stand. My friend, Mr. Stanford Blach in fact, was going out and told me to join so I put on my glasses and granny panties in a preventative form of birth control. We get to the bar and I’m waiting with my friend’s boyfriend from Ottawa who sees his friend from high school. And he was HOT. We get introduced and I’ve never been so attracted to someone (other than Zac Efron) right off the bat. Later, sipping on my G&T, I spot Mr. MFB brooding in the corner as we make eye contact. He starts moving through a crowd in my direction and I frantically chug my drink in preparation. We hit it off with a surprisingly deep conversation that flowed from classic rock to hook up culture to volun-tourism to neoliberalism and I hadn’t felt that strong of a connection with anyone before. He asked to come home with me and I agreed, silently cursing myself for the granny panties.
Continue reading “From the Archives: Mr. Mind-F*ckboy”

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.
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Mr. Namaste

mr. namaste.png

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.

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.

Mr. Cardigan

Carrie – After my brief stint of being a very unsuccessful Toronto ‘f*ckgirl’, I diagnosed myself with “the boy crazies” and decided it would be best for my mental health, self-worth, and the sanity of my closest friends (who listened to me vent from one boy to the next) to take a break from boys. I deleted my dating apps and started wearing big sweaters to prep for my lonely cuffing season.

“But what about the blog?” I protested (to myself). Well the blog would have to wait.

It’s kind of funny what happens when you decide to stop chasing something. In my case at least, I found that I was being chased instead. Suddenly, I’m no longer swiping on my phone, not looking for guys and over the course of three weeks, I get asked out four times. Four!

One guy went to my high school and was a cool senior with dreads in some of the drama productions. Some of the girls said he was cute, but I could never get past his constant dank scent. I work with the three other guys at the restaurant and there must be a pool going on or something because they’re all making moves on me. One bartender, a stand-up comedian standing at 6’4″, asked me out but is constantly texting other girls in front of me #fukboi; one sk8er kitchen guy who is… not the brightest bulb?; and the last bearded guy who is biologically a girl. Don’t get me wrong – I’m very open minded but this guy wouldn’t even be my type had there not been an added issue that I am strictly-dickly and he is… not.

So there’s that. It was flattering to be asked out in person by these guys but shitty to not reciprocate any of their feelings. After Mr. Blind Spot, I thought I would never like someone again and I would lose that great feeling of having a crush.

Cue Mr. Cardigan. One mild December night in the 6ix, partying with my gurl Samantha, we headed to the Ballroom. I arrived around midnight when thirst levels were in full force and I had spent the next two hours drinking, dancing with friends, finding Samantha on the phone in a bathroom stall with Mr. Benefits (#exposed), and running away from aggressive Russian dudes who kept coming up to me even though I had made it vehemently clear I did not want his drink.

“Vhy you so lonely? All by your lonesome.” (P.S. It’s really hard to write a Russian accent.)

 “I’m not lonely. Oh look my friends are over there!” *I point to a random group of girls cause I was v drunk and moderately lost*

“Vell if you want to valk avay to see them, you can.” He tries to flirt.

I think he’s shocked when I take him up on his offer, say a “k bye!” and bail into a crowd.

Now I am essentially blackout at this point but hiding amongst the tall people near the edge of that dance-floor, I remember Mr. Cardigan walking up to me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, waffle knit navy cardigan over a white t-shirt and these beautiful brown oxford-like boots, could you be more of a generic white boy? Whatever, I was into it. I may have been blackout, but the fact that his outfit stuck in my mind meant I was sold.

Snippets of the night that I can recall:


1.

*Three of my friends find me and Mr. Cardigan at around 2:00 a.m. and say goodbye to me, all one at a time.*

Mr. C: Why are you so popular?

Me: (Basic voice) ugh, you know, it just happens.


2.

*15 min later*

Mr. C: So do you wanna get out of here?

Me: Sure. But I am NOT sleeping with you!

(This is a classic Carrie line regardless of whether I do or not.)


3. 

*Exiting the club. I start walking left.*

Mr. C: Wait, didn’t you say you lived at __ & __? That’s this way.

Me: (Pretending I’m good with directions) Yeah, but aren’t we getting burrito?

Mr. C: Are we?!

Me: (Shrugs) Guess not.


4.

Us  making out on my couch. He removes my bra and I immediately cover my breasts.

“We can’t do this here. I promised my sister!”

She was luckily away on vacation.


5.

Him picking me up and tossing me on my bed. Hot.


6.

Him going down on me. And me passing out… BUT not before saying something extremely weird like “we’re all just Pokemon/Mickey Mouse characters.” I don’t know which show was worse to bring up at that moment.


7.

Us taking things a step further but when he wanted to have sex, blackout Carrie said no. Kudos to her for that act of self restraint! He protests and asks why not? I say, “Because. Do you even know my name?”

He didn’t.


8.

Me asking him to leave. Him apologizing, seeming genuinely embarrassed, and putting on his shirt. Me letting him crash on my couch seeing as it was 4 a.m. but then changing my mind and offering him a chance to naked cuddle in my twin bed.


 

The next morning, I woke up hangry and hungover, forcing myself to get up so I could a) pee, b) sneak out and brush my teeth and c) make turkey bacon and eggs. I made him some too (cause I’m so domestic) and when he thanked me, I said “Best. Hookup. Ever.” in Comic Book Guy’s voice. Because it honestly probably was the best morning for this guy consisting of a BJ and bacon before it was even 9 a.m. The fact he laughed at my crazy instead of running away is a good sign. He even asked for my number!

Alas, as fate would have it, I was leaving to Mexico for a family vacation for two weeks and it’s always awkward to start something up to have it be interrupted. I mean, so much can change in two weeks. Hell, so much had seemed to change in one night. But I had a crush again and that was enough for the books blog.