Mr. 10(A) High School Musical

Carrie –  For the past nine months, I have withheld my re-born again virginity from potential suitors in hopes that the next guy that I slept with would amount to something more. Not necessarily as in a boyfriend and not even necessarily more than one night (although ideal) – I’m talking about someone that I felt a connection with.

What was this weird self-imposed pressure to make it meaningful? Well, you see, the next guy I would sleep with would be my tenth. For someone who lost her virginity to someone she loved for five years after, I hadn’t ever envisioned myself having sex with more than one partner, much less eight others after that. Sex should be something more than lust, right? I started losing what sex had meant to me so I became infactuated with this idea that hitting double digits – the big 10 – should be something. Maybe 10 would even be my next One + Nothing (1 + 0) because everyone else before that didn’t really mean much.

Yet alas, the spell has been broken…

10(a) : Mr. High School Musical

            Upon heading back into the cesspool that is Ottawa from my May abroad, I felt hopeful my first few days of June. “Summer is the best season in Ottawa,” everyone boasted. With a best friend from the 6ix moving in with me for the summer and a good drinking crew, I was looking forward to Canada’s 150th anniversary in the capital.

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Mr. Special Ops

Carrie – When my friend offered me her place to stay in Seoul and my credit card supplied me with free flights, I impulsively booked my four Asian-metropolis trip for May: Tokyo, Shanghai, Busan and Seoul.

We met interesting people along the way, that’s for sure. One night in Tokyo, we ended up at as the only two girls at this karaoke bar, where I proceeded to get serenaded and dipped by the big, burly bartender to Enrique Iglesias’ “Hero” (song is forever ruined).

i-can-be-your-hero-baby-thumb

Cue to my last weekend Seoul, where I develop what I will term “Seoul Goggles” which is essentially a “do it for the blog” mentality.

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Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckGirl: Part Two – The Dates (Kinda)

Carrie – I meet with Mr. Blind Spot at a local pub nearby my place. I had been to the place a couple of times – in fact, in April before I had become a 6ix chick, it was the first pub I had met my sister in. It’s in the centre of the party district so I met Mr. Blind Spot at the subway and we walked over together. But there’s this thing I do before the first meet up where I call the guy to make plans of where exactly to meet and see if he has a sexy voice (because that’s the best indication whether or not he’ll be a psycho murderer, duh!).

I’m surprised when I meet him that he’s the most normal internet random I’ve met (two others before so not the greatest sample but comparatively the best). Tall, dark haired with a controlled beard, decent full head of hair, and these great green-brown-blue eyes, he had a cute little gap in his front two teeth that I didn’t actually mind to my surprise. Mr. Blind Spot and I spend two and a half wonderful hours chatting over new beer tastings, from the Blue Jays to the best pick-up lines (including the ones he’s used on other Tinder girls) to family to PAST RELATIONSHIPS (!) to what we study/studied and being Italian (him) and Chinese (me). And get this everyone – he’s in aerospace engineering and I was immediately like ‘shit I should keep this one around.’ And this is especially because he mentioned how he deleted his Tinder around the Wednesday that he started talking to me on the regs. Undoubtedly, this tidbit made me a little hopeful about this guy.

I mention his nonni and how I love to collect Italian grandparents’ gnocchi recipes and then he goes a little silent. I recognized I hit a sensitive spot right away. He shared that his nonno had just passed away a couple of weeks before (the day before his birthday actually). If I had any reservations of Mr. Blind Spot being a player because of his previous “I feel like we connect very well #lovemesomeAsian” and his 2:30 a.m. drunk text saying “you’re a cutie”, his vulnerability at that moment really made my walls come down. This version seemed more like the authentic him and a real human being. In true Carrie fashion, I had even called him out on it when he said he was generally a very quiet guy and I responded with “you know, you can come off a little douchey via text but I like this side of you better.” He seemed a little startled that I told him that but had even apologized for seeming like a d-bag.

We leave around 11:30 p.m., it being a Monday night. Very gentlemanly-like, he pays and walks me toward the subway closest to my place. On the walk home though, a door to this wooden construction alcove swings open from the wind as we walk by. I giggle and push him through cause it was just weird timing and then shit hits the fan. Next thing I know, he pulls me in with him and this place is completely hidden out of sight and covered, the only light coming from the frosted glass windows of an apartment lobbyway. So we’re making out against the wooden boards and he picks me up with my back against the wall. I think he says something that was off-putting to me like “I wanna do dirty things to you” but I was so into it I didn’t even care. I did care when he started to make me grind against him and then he tries to finger me, his hand down the waistband of my tight high-waisted jeans and it just wasn’t feeling good or sexy or classy. I said “not now, not like this” and we simmered down for a bit before he walked me the rest of the way, trying to convince me to let him up into my condo. However, we were walking up University Avenue and he held my hand for a bit and when I said something along the lines of “is that [a hookup] all you want?” he had responded “no, I want it all” and it was strangely comforting rather than alarming for a first date. I kissed him by the subway in what I thought was a sexy fashion, breaking away mid-kiss and whispering “goodnight” against his protests to stay the night.

I wish I could say I was a player and was chill. I am not that type of girl. I am a go-getter and I had it bad. I wait a day and no text. Anxiety ensues where I think over every possibility that I might have messed up that date. Was it cause I walked away without following up? Was it cause he was just looking for a hookup? Was it cause – fuck it, I’mma text him. So two days later, “You win this time. When can I see you next?” and he couldn’t when I was free and we weren’t texting like we were leading up to the date.

So I think “WWTFGD” (What Would a Toronto Fuckgirl Do?) and I respond to Mr. 3 Chances to reschedule for Sunday afternoon since he had apologized profusely for bailing Monday. My DTT6 Galpal Samantha had advised no second chances for Tinder boys but I like to see the best in people, sometimes to the point of recklessness. I agreed to the date since things with Mr. Blind Spot were seeming a little fickle.

Mr. Blind Spot texts me that night “so I might not have gotten to hang out with you tonight but I did score… in the soccer game.” We chat briefly and he invites me out Friday night of the same week to go out with his friends… This seems premature to me but it pointed toward the fact that this could blossom to a relationship. I mean, you don’t introduce a random Tinder hookup to your friends your second time hanging out do you? I had plans for dinner but then reluctantly agreed.

At dinner on Friday, my girlfriends and I charted out a game plan for my weekend of Friday night Mr. Blind Spot and Sunday brunch Mr. 3 Chances. Over dinner, this third backup texted me to meet up with him that weekend. I blew him off cause even I knew that three guys was really two too many for this relationship type of gal.

Update: I walked by the area again one time last week and found the featured sketchy spot. Thought I’d share if you ever needed a somewhat secluded makeout spot in the 6ix.