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.

Continue reading “Mr. 10(A) High School Musical”

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Bachelorette in Hell

 

Carrie – Move over Bachelor in Paradise, there’s a new show called Bachelorette in Hell and it is my love life. (That was cheesy, I apologize.)

Throughout the first few weeks of January, in order to get over my obsession with Mr. Heart Emoji, I distract myself with an app called Bumble where the girl has to talk to the guy first. Now, I’m pretty good with alluring men with one liners. In fact, I arrange three dates in one weekend.

Keeping em? That’s a different story (aka this blog post).

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Mr. Heart Emoji – Part I

Carrie – I’ve gotten to a point in my romantic experience, or perhaps my confidence level, where I can tell where I stand socially when I walk into a party of new people. I can tell the girls that want to be my friend and those that are wary cause I’m new meat and they’re not sure if I’m a threat or not. I can tell which guys are not interested and which guys want to take up some of my time to see if they are. The latter are the guys that stand by you at the party in a social group they know, just to put less space between you two. They’ll accidentally bump into you if you’re at a party when someone passes by or they’ll do a turn on the dance floor at an opportune beat to start dancing with you. Sometimes I’ll entertain the conversations by the food table while I munch on the free chips, mainly so I don’t look like that big of an antisocial fatty. However, I’m a firm believer in not leading a guy on that I have no interest in and I’m an expert at being straight-up with a guy to say no. Actually, I’m quite rude. But I’d rather be alone than feel lonelier trying to feel something for someone who it’s just not there with.

All this confidence is lost when it comes to a guy that I actually like.

Continue reading “Mr. Heart Emoji – Part I”

Mr. Grilled Cheese

Carrie – I am no longer a young professional living in the 6ix. As much as I loved shitting around in what my father termed my “sabbatical” year in a great city, I’ve decided to move to a sleepier town. I’ve immerse myself back into an academic environment filled with intelligent, like-minded individuals, and a ton of… general douchebags. Welcome to the world of law school.

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Since I began two months ago, I have projectile vomited on a bus in front of my friends, peed behind a school building on campus, fallen on my face on a boat cruise, woken up with a leg full of bruises, developed viral conjunctivitis (aka a case of the pink eye), gotten a cold twice, and just generally killed it at life it seems. Maybe it’s the fierce female squad I’ve made (our group chat is the “Pro Boners”) and their bad influence on me but realistically, it’s probably just me.

One Saturday, after 12 hours in the library, my friend and I took one break to stop for linner at around 3. With that having been my only meal of the day, my mind being exhausted, and my overall track record of making bad life choices, I am fucked by 8:30 p.m. when we head over to this bro’s house for a pre.

I show up and I am the most ‘lit-lit’ out of all of us. I was hoping one of my crushes would be there – he’s a year younger but we went to the same alma mater, he’s well-spoken, tall, with these cerulean eyes that are alarmingly entrancing. He had been messaging me a couple of weeks earlier, even sending me heart emojis that the Pro Boners collectively freaked out over, so I had this pent up sexual tension I was hoping to explore with Mr. Heart Emoji.

Naturally, I sleep with his best friend.

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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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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!

50 First Interviews

 

interviewsThe way I see it, a job interview is pretty much like a first date. It’s  a little awkward at first and you never know how it will turn out, but the main goal is to impress whoever is on the other side of the table. Will you be compatible with what they’re looking for, or be left with the bitter disappointment of never being called back?

To ensure you’re not a first-date disaster, follow one simple rule: Always Be Prepared. This means looking your best and making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. Appearance is reality, and a clean shirt and combed hair go a long way with making a good first impression. This also means knowing how to present yourself in any given situation. By now, you probably have automated answers to questions like “Where do you see yourself in five years” or “Tell me about yourself”, but sometimes you’ll get the perfect question to throw you off. For example, “If you were a flavour of ice cream, which one would you be?” To which the smart person would answer “I’d be vanilla, because it’s fantastic on its own, but even better when paired with any other flavour!” This person would have spent the entire time they were getting ready thinking up ridiculous questions so as not to be stunned and speechless when put on the spot. Don’t worry, the point of these questions is not necessarily to give the perfect answer but to see how your mind works under pressure, so just be yourself!

However, sometimes even the smoothest of talkers make some serious mistakes. I remember once when asked if I had any questions about the company, I wasn’t even fazed. I had done my research, was properly prepared and ended up asking a pretty great question…about another company I was interviewing with later that week! REMEMBER, If you’re going to play the field, make sure you get the names right!

The most important thing to keep in mind when preparing for any interview is to always do a little bit of a research on that mysterious person on the other side of the table. This doesn’t mean Facebook stalking your potential employer, but understanding the background of a company, their likes and interests show that you care about the position and will prove that you’re that special someone that they’ve been looking for!

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

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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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Sick of men? Try women…

CITIZEN_VIBES_002This post, written by both Samantha and Stanford, were out and about in the 6ix on Saturday night and greatly inspired by a situation that transpired at the bar. No, it’s not about the men or the overpriced drinks (shout out to Carrie who got a $13 drink – tip: DO NOT have the bartender make a recommendation, you will definitely regret it) but rather it’s about the incredibly hilarious and candid conversation between two betches in the bathroom. We’re sure you’ve all been there and can remember similar encounters of your own, but what we heard on Saturday was too hilarious and inspiring not to share (…inspiring for our blog that is 😉 )

Let’s set the scene a little…Samantha, Carrie and Stanford head to the bathroom in a pack – as ladies often do – to freshen up. While there, Samantha and Stanford overheard a conversation and immediately looked at each other thinking the same thing: we have got to remember this for the blog. So, before discussing this wonderful convo, let’s share the notes we took verbatim from inside the bathroom. (Keep in mind, drunk note-taking is not my forte – Samantha)

Overheard in the citizen bathr
I thought my therapist was gay
You a. Switch teams, Samantha did it for a couple episodes
I’m gonna date women for a bit,,,for serious
No just for fun

This note really is a thing of poetry including metaphor, abbreviation and great liberties with sentence structure and punctuation. But for those of you not well-versed in drunk female, let’s clarify a little bit. The star of our story, a very pretty, very drunk blonde 20-something year old,  was dramatically complaining about men in a way we all so often do: I’m tired of tinder, men suck, I’m just going to give up and become a lesbian etc. etc. (Preach sista). She goes on to suggest that her therapist – reasons as to why she has a therapist remain unclear – is gay, and her friend immediately suggests making a move.

Good idea? At the time we didn’t even think about it, devoting all of our energy to this inebriated investigation and not drunkenly giggling too loudly. Let us tell you, these women were totally serious in their thinking that switching teams is 1. A choice and 2. Actually a good idea. Focusing on the latter,  these women in the Citizen bathroom were actually so turned off by men that it was a serious consideration to start browsing for women (SOS! please tell us the men in the 6ix aren’t so horrible that we’ll need to start dating each other). And they’re not just talking about any women, they’re talking about dating the woman who knows your deepest, darkest secrets and fears, your therapist. Sounds more like a nightmare than a happily ever after if you ask us.

Funnily enough, her friend ended up trying to convince her to go for the therapist by suggesting that it was a good idea because, hey, Samantha Jones did it for a couple episodes on SATC and she is clearly the epitome of an emotionally stable adult so why not copy her? Well, from the person emulating Samantha for the sake of this blog, let me tell you that her character is not the benchmark for healthy, adult relationships and shying away from love because you’re sick of getting hurt is only going to delay finding “The One” in the end. Also, maybe we should remind these women that Samantha on the show is not a real person. She is a character and while her sexual liberation is inspiring and encouraging, we wouldn’t base our life decisions off her ever erotic story line (i.e. switching teams). 

Overall the whole conversation was friggen hilarious. In keeping with my namesake, I – Samantha – must admit that I am not totally opposed to hooking up with a fellow female just for fun. In my opinion, often a hook up is just a hook up, so if there are no emotions involved I don’t see a problem with two willing parties having a good time, no matter the gender. (To each his..or her own..have fun – Stanford). HOWEVER, we agree that getting involved with YOUR THERAPIST is never a good idea, nor is becoming a “lesbian” because you’re having man troubles. Maybe instead of switching teams you can take a break from the game all together, grab a seat on the bench and rest up for the next round.

Clearly this was a very drunk conversation, we honestly couldn’t even decipher all the notes we took while in the bathroom. More than likely Blondie woke up the next day incredibly hungover but entirely straight. Nonetheless, we couldn’t help but enjoy the humour behind this conversation and also appreciate the fact that everyone in Toronto struggles with the same things that we do. Dating is hard, but it doesn’t matter if you’re a Samantha, Stanford, Carrie, Miranda or Charlotte, “no matter who broke your heart or how long it takes to heal, you’ll never get through it without your friends”. (SATC, S2:E1, Take Me Out to the Ball Game) And we’re so glad to have each other ❤