Mr. Arborist

To the man I ghosted

Dear Mr. Arborist,

This is the message I wish I could say directly to you. But, to preserve my dignity and refrain from getting further hurt, I’ll opt to share my thoughts in this way instead.

I’m not normally a ghoster, If anything, I’m usually on the receiving end of ghosting situations. It sucks, and it leaves you with so many unanswered questions and thoughts. I don’t know if this will help me in terms of closure, but it seems like a better alternative than the long, drawn out closure of time. So, yes let’s say this is my way of gaining closure from my experience with you.

Essentially, I’m choosing to not respond to your last messages due to both mistakes you’ve made and mistakes I’ve made.

Mistakes you’ve made:

You breadcrumbed me. You did not value or respect my time and made minimal efforts to contact and set up plans to see me. I see that now in hindsight. I told you that I’d like you to communicate more clearly and you said you would, but it only got worse from there. I wouldn’t hear from you for days, and your response time was every 12-24 hours. I don’t know if it was you playing it cool or you just didn’t care enough. While our time together was fun, as soon as I left I was felt with anxiety and insecurity because your attention to me was negligible.

You bailed on me. Again, I was the one to push the plan but you shouldn’t have said yes if you were never going to come, and on a Saturday night no less. You didn’t even text me that you were too tired, you just never showed. I had a creeping feeling that I wouldn’t’ see you that night, but that just shows how little I trusted you to follow through. Furthermore, your inability to apologize or make amends just showed me how little it mattered to you.

Mistakes I’ve made:

I fell too fast. And therefore I liked you before really getting to know you. This isn’t the first time it’s happened but I’ll try my damnest to not let it happen again. I projected my feelings onto you and was naïve in believing you had a high level of interest in me. If I’m reading between the lines now (or lack of lines, because you’re an absolute shit texter), I should have understood that your inability to communicate and pursue me was reflective of how little you liked me at the time.

I pursued you. I gave into my emotions and was not patient enough for you to ask me out again. I made the move, made the plans, and made it evident how much I liked you based on my persistence. When you didn’t answer my texts, I called you. And when you agreed to meet me, I foolishly interpreted that as you showing a strong interest. Of course, this was early days, and like anything good, it needs to build over time but I never let your feelings grow. I suffocated them with my desires, demands and wishes.

The reason why you’re not hearing this from me in person or in text is not because I don’t think you deserve to hear it, but because I don’t have the strength to deal with whatever response you have. I like you still, and you will tell me that you’ll change or be better but it’s too late. I’m done going through these cycle of emotions and it’s not fair for me to ask from you to change, especially if you don’t like me as I do you.

Keep climbing them trees, Mr. Arborist.

Miranda


Now, I know that this was quite a dramatic post and read. Especially for a fling that didn’t even last a month but this experience really impacted me in terms of becoming aware of my dating style and vicious cycle of mistakes. I’m really starting to see that these trends of meeting “bad guys” is not on them, but on me. I don’t believe Mr. Arborist was a bad guy – I don’t even think “bad guys” really exist in the sense that girls make them out to be. But I made decisions that caused him to take advantage of and act in a selfish way that would unknowingly hurt me. It’s like they say “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” Let’s hope there’s not a third.

 

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How I went from a 1 to a 9 in less than a year…

Oh hey there people of the interwebs. Miss me much? I think according to my last blog post “6ixin like a Vixen” it’s been just over a year since we’ve last spoken.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s not like my life hasn’t been eventful or lacking of stories to share, in fact it’s been quite the opposite, I’ve just been lazy AF to write them down. In fact, Sam constantly berates me on getting my shit together but meh, I’ve just been doing my thing.

So, instead of going over every individual encounter I’ve had with a man in the last year, I’ll do a broader overview with some key highlights and explain to you how I went from a 1 to a 9 in record time.

Now now, I’m not saying I’m a hideous person that’s somehow blossomed into a beautiful, exotic flower. Even though I’d like to think I age like fine wine. This is not the kind of number I’m talking about here. These numbers represent the amount of men I’ve slept with. I know, sounds a bit ridiculous right? Why the sudden surge? What changed in me that triggered this intense frequency of sexual encounters?

Before I continue, let me back track a little to give you some context. This might be a little TMI but hey, that’s what this blog’s for isn’t it? Before this year, I had only had sex with one partner – and that was over 3 fucking years ago. I know, just imagine at this point my vagina is full of cobwebs and skeletons of non-existent partners past. It was with my first (and only) boyfriend and it was painful AF. He was patient and slow with me but the pain would not cease even after multiple sessions. Unfortunately (as is everything in my life), shortly after we got together I left for an international exchange, therefore halting any possibility of regular sex and practice. Ever since, I have not dated anyone long enough to feel comfortable trying the whole sex thing over again. The fear of the potential pain has stopped me from casual hook ups as well because I fully knew it would not end well for either of us. I wanted to meet someone that I trusted and would be patient for me, and that never happened.

So, for my 2017 New Year’s Resolutions, I wanted to take matter into my own hands. I vowed to myself that sometime this year, I would put myself out there to try having sex once again. I did not want to play victim to the pain as I felt it was limiting me from potential encounters and opportunities. I’m not saying this is the best of right way to go about it for anyone who has had my issue, but it was my own personal mission.

Fast forward to February this year, I go on a date with a guy from OkCupid – hot but not much more than that. However, I was attracted to him and he was quick to make a move for a first kiss in the middle of our date. Our second date quickly escalated to me going back to his place. This wasn’t the guy I was planning to break my born-again virginity with, as my plan was to only do max 3rd base type activities, but one thing led to another and I found myself having sex for the first time in years. It was painful but manageable compared to how I last remembered. In fact, we engaged in a second round and I actually started to find myself enjoying it. I left with a smile on my face. I was so proud that I could check it off my resolution list – and so early in February no less! It wasn’t how I planned on it going down but it worked for me.

Without going into much more detail, let me provide a high-level description of guys number 2-9 (I keep a laundry list of them because my memory is terrible, also note this list does not include other types of hookups):

  1. Mr. Hockey. Hot white guy – typical small town hockey buff, quick to enter my life and quick to leave it. Forever grateful to him for re-initiating me into the “penis in vagina” world.
  2. Mr. Nigerian Cunnilingus. Torontonion working in Nigeria visiting the 6ix for vacation. It was a two week fling with the pretense of a faux-lationship (read: fake relationship). But man he loved going down and damn was he good at it – I rarely even saw him come up for air. When he left for Nigeria, I did not feel the need to continue talking to him. Random update: saw him a few days ago in my neighbourhood with a new chick on his arm. My social media stalking abilities determine he has quit his job and moved back to Toronto with her. Which is fine by me, just stay out of my hood please.
  3. Mr. Superman. Impromptu night out with my best friend after a failed Tinder date earlier that day turned into meeting a cute guy with a Superman ringlet curl. Shameless dancing and obnoxious making out turned into exchanging numbers. Drinks later that week followed by a few renditions of rough sex. What I learned from that: hair pulling? Yes. Choking? No thanks.
  4. Mr. Slide into his DMs. Tried messaging the guy on OkCupid but his inbox was full (too popular I guess) so I did the creepy thing and found his Instagram and DM’d him there. Started up a conversation and we met up. 2nd date we hooked up after a drunken night out but my cooch was dried out and it was a bit sandpaper-y. Learnings: girls can also get whiskey dick.
  5. Mr. Vegan-not-so-vegan. First of two Costa Rican hookups on my first solo adventure (another resolution of mine for this year that I checked off). Cue me: girl standing outside of the bar by herself at 3am gorging fried chicken as if my life depended on it. Cue him: Venezuelan dude with a scooter who convinces me to hop on it where he takes me to his vegan restaurant and feeds me a peanut butter cookie and kombucha before plowing me roughly in his random bedroom apartment upstairs. Also found out he wasn’t vegan but opened it solely for the business opportunity. 10/10 would eat the cookie again. 0/10 would hookup with him again.
  6. Mr. Sex-ish On the Beach. Costa Rican hookup number two. Matched on Tinder and after meeting a guy just before (who I was not down for), I quickly arranged to meet this other one at the bar. We quickly found ourselves both very attracted to each other (alcohol and other substances may have been a factor) and left the bar together shortly after. However, this was not before stopping at my hostel and dropping off my stuff where I then made out and was fingered by a hot Australian in the hostel bed next to mine, while the other guy was waiting for me patiently in the lobby unknowingly. Then we went to the beach to have failed sex (I’m 5’3 and he’s 6’3 so it did not work) before he took me back to his Airbnb and we had a great night (and morning) of steamy shindigs.
  7. Mr. Gaydar. Received a random message from a guy that was my roommate’s then boyfriend (they are no longer together) while I was on my international exchange. He was visiting the 6ix and wanted to catchup 3 years later and have me show him around. There was no interest or chemistry when I first met him so I thought it would just be a random fun thing to do. What surprised me was how much more attractive he’s become, especially with his charming British accent. We did a gym session together where my gay friend hit on him thinking he was gay. Took him out with some friends who then all abandoned us by the time we reached the bar. At this point the only left for us to do was makeup and for me to take him back home. Fun fact: later found out he didn’t make a move on me earlier because he thought previous gay friend was hitting on me. Oh, if only he knew it was the other way around.
  8. Mr. Arborist – After a 4 month dry spell from Mr. Gaydar, finally got my feet (read: nether region) wet with this guy I met from Tinder. He is also my current thing and biggest torture/stress of life and reminds me why I decided to stay single for a few months after Costa Rica. He’s different from anyone that I’ve ever met before in terms of looks and demeanor, but I’m finding myself very attracted to him. And he climbs trees for a living, so I guess that’s cool too.

As you can see, I’ve had a variety of encounters with guys over the last 8 months. While not all of them were positive experiences, I’ve learned a lot about myself and my sexuality. However, none of these were relationship-driven encounters so I’m still looking to really understand my body with a more consistent partner. But I think in terms of accomplishing my resolutions, I did that, and then some.

And that brings us back to where we are today…just fresh into the dating scene and about to subject myself to a whole other round of blog-worthy stories. Hopefully you’ll hear from me soon, but I wouldn’t count on it.

 

6’ixin like a Vixen

Miranda here. Remember me? I’ve been MIA for a solid 8 months on this blog and I apologize profusely for that. Long story short- I took a 6 month hiatus from dating in general to focus on myself. There aren’t many stories to share other than a random hookup or two from a night out. However, just over a month ago I finally decided it was time to get back into the game the only way I really know how: Tinder.

I went on a couple dates and met a guy who I really liked but that ended just as quickly as it came (in typical Miranda fashion). Though, that can be a story for another time as the focal point of this post is what happened after and how I dealt with it. I was feeling pretty shitty and was trying to figure out the best way to recover. Cue the following weekend where for once in my life I had no solid evening plan which, if you know me personally, is a rarity as a self-proclaimed planning queen. I contemplated forcing plans onto friends to keep myself busy but then I was hit with a brilliant yet very un-Miranda-like plan. I decided this weekend would be for myself, by myself.

I was going to go out on my own Saturday night.

Yep, you read that right. A 20-something year old single girl going out in the 6ix alone. Sounds like a recipe for disaster? Probably but thank god those fears didn’t stop me.

I downed 2.5 drinks before I left for the night just to get a subtle buzz going and for liquid courage purposes. I then headed over to a neighbourhood dive bar where I was sure to meet interesting people. I walked in and it was disappointingly empty but I took a deep breath and sat at the empty bar and ordered myself a drink. 10 minutes in I had struck up casual conversation with the bartender/owner and the seats on other side of me were filled by two older men that seemed to be regulars of the establishment. I mustered up the courage and started speaking to both of them (neither of which I was actually interested in). You see, the goal of the night wasn’t necessarily to meet a guy to hook up with, but to learn to socialize with others without the social reliance of friends. I had some interesting conversations and learned that as my drunkenness progressed, it was time to get out of the dive bar and into an environment where I could dance.

I walked down the street to my favourite resto-bar and headed straight to the bar. Here, the men were much more attentive to me and I quickly received a few offers to do shots with them, which I happily obliged. But the night was young and I still wanted to dance and not get tied down to any guy so early on in the night, so I said my goodbyes and headed to the dance floor. Dancing on your own is a peculiar thing. It’s exhilarating and freeing, and I highly recommend more people to do it outside of the confines of their bedroom. Later on, I met a few more people and remained talking and dancing with them for the rest of the night. It was awesome witnessing so many strangers coming together and engaging like they had been friends forever when in fact their only commonality was the love of booze and conversation.  I left the bar with free drinks in my stomach and two slices of pizza in my hands – which in my drunken eyes is always the sign of a good night.

I know it might seem a bit strange and erratic for any young woman to do something like this. Typically you hear of older lonely men hitting up bars on their own and being complete creeps. But it’s time to recognize that this is definitely an option for us. Trust me, I was a bit nervous going into it but I knew I had to do it for me. I was surprised how open people were to talking to me, and although some thought it was unusual it didn’t stop them from being friendly. It didn’t hurt that I was wearing a conversation inducing outfit either ;).

Key takeaway: if you’ve ever craved to go out alone and do your own thing go for it! Screw social norms and what’s expected of us – if you want to have fun and be the best version of you, there’s no one stopping you but yourself.  It was an amazing and enlightening experience for me and definitely not the last time I’ll do this. It pushed me to socialize on a whole other level and to be content just being on my own. My only advice is to walk into the night with an open mind, be careful and tell some friends where you’ll be, and drink in moderation.

Make the 6ix your oyster!

If you try this out, please share your experience with us in the comments below!

Mr. Lucky Charms

You know when you’re in a situation and there’s no possibility of any hookup happening? Like when you’re vacationing at a cabin in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere-Quebec with your family. Ya, that was me over new years. I left two days after Mr. Lawyer happened and had already mentally prepped myself for a good week of family bonding and copious amounts of food, with no boys to distract me or qualm my ever rising sexual needs. But when does a plan ever work out how you imagined?

Turns out, one of my sisters invited her best friend, who then invited her boyfriend, who then invited his nephew. So, yes, there was a young Irish man that was unrelated to me (hence Mr. Lucky Charms) staying in the cabin. All of a sudden my new year’s resolution plans of being a good girl were squandered.

Mr. Lucky Charms was cute and dorky, glasses and all, and a charming Irish accent with which I only understood about 60% of his words. He was tall and had a lean build, but I was surprised to find out that he was pretty fit (more like discovered while we were in the hot tub).  Even though he was on my radar, I never truly intended for anything to happen. I was surrounded by family after all and in a way, he’s a family friend. It was fun just thinking about hooking up with said foreign man while on vacation. The notion of it was exciting and risqué.

It wasn’t until the second half of the vacation, when I was given the task of giving every single family member one of my infamous massages that a story worthy of this blog began. Eventually, it was Mr. Lucky Charm’s turn. I lathered his back in a healthy dose of massage oil and dove in. Feeling a bit frisky (maybe from the spiked eggnog), I may have added a little bit extra to his massage experience and I’m pretty sure he got the hint. Later that evening, my family decided to make a small trip to Montreal to explore the city and check out the Christmas markets. On cue, both Mr. Lucky Charms and I both decided to stay in the cabin along with my sister’s boyfriend. I feigned tiredness but mostly I just wanted to see how far I could take it with the Irish guy and see if luck really was on my side.

After everyone had left, Mr. Lucky Charms and I hung out and gravitated to the hot tub where things really started getting hot and steamy. It was the first time I had done anything like that but I gotta say, there is something extremely hot about hooking up while it is -20 degrees Celsius in the middle of a pitch black forest with the stars twinkling above. I guess I can check that off my bucket list now. In fact, it was so cold that my hair had froze into icicles coming out of my head. On top of this, there was the added bonus and adrenaline rush with the risk of getting caught by my sister’s boyfriend who was just chilling a few feet from us inside. At one point we were so close to getting caught but somehow (at least to our knowledge) we managed to survive that. My family returned later that night and although they made some suspicious comments, we held our ground and their questions stopped.

It was a lot of fun and we decided to push our luck and try one more time the last night in the cabin. Unfortunately, the layout of this house was open concept and neither of us had a room to ourselves. At this point the only logical option was to wake up at 3am and hookup in the living room. The risk factor was off the charts as my dad was just sleeping down the hall but we managed to keep quiet and once again Mr. Lucky Charms lived up to his name.

The next day we all hopped into our cars and made the trek back to the 6ix. Mr. Lucky Charms was staying in Toronto for one more night before he flew back to Vancouver where he was working. Interestingly, he asked me to hang out for his last night. I agreed and we ended up having an enjoyable time doing the most stereotypical first date shenanigans you can think of: dinner, movie and playing pool.  We held hands throughout even though we were both well-aware nothing would come out of it. I really do think he is a sweet guy and someone I would be open to dating but alas this will just remain an epic story about some vacation I had one time.

One thing is for sure though. The luck of the Irish is a real thing. I gotta get this shit bottled up.

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. Heteroflexible

Miranda- I did it! My first official one! I can now safely call myself a certified ho after having completed my first booty call.

Why is this so exciting, you may ask? Well, at the ripe old age of 22, I have not yet experienced a sexual session with no other intention other than hooking up. You see, before this, sex and emotions have always come hand in hand (unless there were severe amounts of alcohol involved). So, after the dismal ending of the story that is Mr. New York, I decided to challenge myself. I needed a rebound, to get out there, and honestly to just stop giving a fuck.

I’m now back on online dating with a vengeance. Within a day, I found my prey. He’s cute, fit, and seems to be on the same page, except for one interesting characteristic. He’s self-labelled as heteroflexible. Now this is the first time I’ve heard this term but from what I gather from him, he’s mostly straight (about 70%) but does enjoy the occasional company of men. This definitely piqued my interest. I talked to Mr. Heteroflexible for a couple more days before we set a time to do the deed.

It is the day of my debut and a couple hours before I was supposed to come over, he messages me saying that we’ll have to reschedule. What’s the reason? His dad’s boss’s son just hung himself that afternoon and his dad needs him while he’s under such emotional duress. I know, yikes. 3 days before Christmas too. I can’t even make this shit up if I tried. And this small, horrible, evil part of me couldn’t help but think: I just got cockblocked by a dead guy. Yeah, I know, I’m going to hell – probably first in line too.

We rescheduled for the next day and I Uber-ed to his condo at an extremely classy time: 12:30am. In fact, the Uber ride itself was extremely awkward. I had a talkative driver that was interrogating me on the purpose of my visit to a man on a Wednesday night. It’s like I was already doing the walk of shame. Except for I wasn’t walking, I was being driven and it was before anything even happened. An Uber drive of shame, more like.  As soon as I arrived, I was greeted by Mr. Heteroflexible with a hug. I then made a rookie mistake. I went up to hug him and said out loud “nice to meet you” for the concierge and other patrons of the lobby to hear. I definitely need more practice to be smoother about this process.

Mr. Heteroflexible on first impression was more of a Mr. Homosexual. I was surprised to hear a strong gay accent since he identified more straight than gay, but other than that he was pretty much what I expected. We went up and had some lighthearted talk with wine, but no moves have been made by either side. Half an hour later I went to the washroom and once I came back he tackled me. And so the booty call began. Afterwards, we cuddled and fell asleep. Wait, actually only he did. Never have I heard such a loud and obnoxious snore. Let’s just say I got no sleep that night and was tormented by his snores for the entirety of it.

Other than that though, I would say it was an overall positive experience. I’m proud of myself for trying it and I’m amazed to find that I can hookup just because I want to. I don’t need for there to be emotion attached to enjoy myself and have fun. I don’t need to leave these situations an emotional wreck and lament on every detail for the next few weeks. It’s kind of empowering in a way and I have gained a bit of confidence through this. I’m not sure if I’ll continue to do this in the future but at least I know I can. You see, I too can be a shameless ho.

#newyear #newresolutions

Mr. New York – Part 2

Miranda- If you haven’t read Part 1 yet STOP and read it here first.

So, I’m back. I’ve returned to the 6ix from my 4 day weekend of bliss in NYC.

Except it wasn’t bliss. It was more like a 4 day arranged marriage mixed with mild forms of social torture.

Let me just preface this by saying that regardless of how it turned out, I do not regret buying my ticket to visit Mr. New York. If I hadn’t, I would have never known the outcome and that would not be a feeling I could cope with. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve and all that jazz.

Friday evening I arrived at LaGuardia airport only to meet a man that I barely even recognized. Who was he? Could this really be Mr. New York? I would think after talking to the same person constantly for 3 weeks straight, I should have an idea of what he’d be like in person. Nope. Nada. Negative. He was a stranger. Even after a couple minutes meeting him, an uncomfortable feeling started to set in as I realized that I would be spending the next 4 days with this man.

I wasn’t catfished – at least not intentionally. His face and voice were the same, two things I grew to really enjoy. But his mannerisms and physicality was not something I expected. He was truly awkward and dressed as if he were homeless with ill-fitting, holey clothes (not the stylish hipster kind either).

Even though we connected so well through messages, in person, we could not be more different. In retrospect, I realize that I idealized him too much and that even though I received some warning signs about him, I brushed them aside, minimizing the truth in my perception of him. Our ambition, social life, diet, and sense of humour were on opposite spectrums. I say diet like it’s a joke but his was legit insane. Not once during my trip did I see him drink water (you know, like, the liquid of life). Instead, his fluid of choice was APPLE JUICE – gulping straight from the 2L jug. I also don’t think he’d know what to do with a vegetable if you put it in front of him and directed him to a fork. All in all, he was a boy in a man’s body, and viewed life in that self-centric way that most people eventually grow out of.

The strangest thing though, was even though I was slightly heartbroken by the reality that was crashing down on me, I felt myself starting to like the real Mr. New York by the end of my visit. His odd mannerisms and ticks became endearing. I even hooked up with him a few times while together. I don’t know if it was just me forcing myself to make the best of the situation or if given enough time, I could truly be attracted to him. Either way, it was an insane rollercoaster of emotions.

So, how do I feel now knowing what I know? Sad and disappointed. I am still in complete shock how wrong I could have been about a person. I miss my idealized image of Mr. New York; the fantastical person I created in my head. But, that’s not a realistic or healthy way to think. This was an experience, and one definitely for the books (or the blog), and even though Mr. New York was far from my Mr. Perfect, I’m still glad it happened.

#noragrets

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.

Mr. Belt

Miranda – This is the story that started it all for me: online dating, random meetups and an exploration of the Toronto dating pool. Although after hearing it, you’ll probably wonder why it wasn’t my last.

Let’s go back about 4 years ago. I’m young, I’m naïve, and I’m craving love and attention. Not so much has changed since then but that’s beside the point. This is before Tinder came into play so the only options really out there were the standard OkCupid and Plenty of Fish type sites. After a few days on the site and countless creepy messages, I receive a message from a refreshingly decent looking dude. I take a chance and we begin talking for the span of about 3 days before we decide to meet up for drinks. However, I’m ashamed to admit I made a rookie mistake. He was an English major, and boy did it show. I allowed myself to sext with him (NEVER AGAIN!) and things turned heated pretty quick. I’ll give him this: he definitely had a way with words that got you going, a cunning linguist if you get my drift. The reason I say this is a rookie mistake is because if you haven’t yet met the guy, by sexting, you set up all these weird expectations before you even get to decide if you actually like him. Which, judging by the tone of this post so far, it’s pretty clear to see that I later found out that I did not.

I met Mr. Belt at a subway station and my first instinct as a business student was to introduce myself with a handshake. First impression: HOLY SHIT LEAVE BEFORE ITS TOO LATE. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was tall and awkward. Mr. Belt’s handshake was the definition of a soft, limp, fish aka a complete turn off. In fact, the memory of that hand exchange still gives me shivers to this day. I panicked at the idea of spending the next couple hours with him but I pushed the thought away and our date continued.

We ventured our way to the cheapest and grungiest bar in the 6ix (his pick, obviously) and we split a pitcher of what I’m pretty sure was diluted piss. Now, I’m going to skip the rest of the date and fast forward to the end, because that’s how he earned the name Mr. Belt.

We are now waiting at a bus stop and during this time, somehow the subject of tattoos came up. So, naturally I asked him if he had any. Before I continue, keep in mind we are outside on a busy intersection at about 9pm at night and there are definitely more than a few people out and about. Instead of answering my question like a normal human being, Mr. Belt proceeded to respond by unbuckling his belt. Before I had a chance to express my horror, he quickly pulled down his pants to reveal his boxers and bare legs. Apparently, he thought a live demonstration would be the best way to show me his crappy amateur tattoo of an “X” on his right knee. At this point, I’m pretty sure I was still in shock and had not uttered a word until I looked down at his hands and noticed something that made me burst out in nervous, crazed laughter. In his slim, oddly feminine hands were the remnants of his broken belt and belt buckle; a result of his rushed attempt to reveal his ink. Hindsight is 20/20 and I’m pretty sure at that moment, he regretted everything including life itself. He hastily pulled his pants back up, oversized and sagging due to its typical dependence on a belt and I looked away to give him some privacy.

The remainder of the wait for the bus was a blur, and we stood uncomfortably next to each other in quiet torture waiting for this entire situation to end. Eventually, the bus came and we parted ways with what I can only describe as a sad excuse of a hug. Somehow, he had the balls to ask if we would see each other again. Even as I weakly nodded yes, we both knew in my eyes that that was the last thing I would ever want to do.

And so, the story of Mr. Belt was born.

Well, if there’s one lesson to be learned here: invest in quality belts, for you may never know when you need to depend on its quality stitch and superior leather hide.

Mr. Tall Man

Miranda – That tall, handsome, investment banker. The man every normal 20 young female yuppie wants (NEEDS) in her life. He exists. Is he attainable? That’s another story.

A few weeks ago I was at a popular bar with the typical Thirsty Thursday kind of crowd. You know, the suited up business folk that are looking to get batshit drunk after all the stress they were dealt earlier this week.  Although I go there mostly to hang out with my coworkers and friends, I’m not going to lie, it is also the perfect hunting ground to find Mr. Right.

While waiting in line at the bar for what was probably my 4th or 5th drink (but who’s keeping count), a guy behind me started chatting me up. I didn’t find him particularity special or entertaining but I was alone in line so what the hell. He ended up buying me a drink and I joined him and the rest of his friends. Here is where I spotted Mr. Tall Man. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this incredible being walking towards us as he worked with these other guys at a private investment firm. He’s tall (6’3 from my guesses), handsome, blond hair and blue-eyed looking some kind of fantastic in a well-tailored suit. At that moment, my entire game plan changed and all my energy has been redirected into getting to know Mr. Tall Man.

Somehow, with this plan in mind, I managed to weasel my way into a conversation with him and oh, what fun did I have. Not only was I a little tipsy at this point, I definitely felt a little star struck looking at him as well. Mr. Tall Man was charming; laughing at all the right moments in response to my corny jokes and showing enough interest to make me hopeful. After a good 15 minutes, I felt that I had done my job. I wanted to go back and join my friends but not before I left him something that he could remember me by (get your mind out of the gutter, it wasn’t like that). I wouldn’t normally make such a brazen move but I felt like this was one of my only chances to secure someone like Mr. Tall Man in my life. I quickly dashed over to my purse and grabbed one of my newly printed business cards and approached him.  We exchanged business cards and I’m pretty sure I skipped my merry way back to my friends. Lo and behold, his last name was none other than Tallman and I giggled to myself as I realized the irony of it all.

Sometime the next day I texted him, excited at the prospect of meeting him again but for the entirety of the day, there was no response. I had lost hope…until he responded about 9 hours later. Success! Perfection is still possible. I held back responding immediately to not seem clingy and desperate but only managed 20 minutes before I sent him a text that opened the possibility of meeting up. Unfortunately, from there, he was no longer mine to have and to hold. His responses stopped coming and the idealized hope of a Mr. Tall Man became just another story to post on this blog. And so the hunt continues…