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).

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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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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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Mr. Namaste

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste betches.