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.




Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckGirl: Part One – The Intros

Carrie – I guess I’m not like everyone. I am always the vulnerable one. I am always the one who tries everything possible. It really seems like I am always the one to get hurt. Frankly, I was tired of it.

Let’s restart: So like every other single 20-something year old female in this city, I have Tinder. Am I proud? Let’s just say there have been plenty of deletes and sheepish reinstallations throughout my year and a half of being single.

At first I thought I was above Tinder. I’ve always met people organically and thought romantic prospects would be no different. Meeting new people and sometimes cute guys has been relatively easy at school. Furthermore, as a server and also a social-floater, I tend to be that random loud person at social events who ends up becoming an integral squad member, if only for a night. I meet a ton of people that I shamelessly flirt with and excel at picking up their best-girl friends. (I think I would kill it if I were into women. Now this may be just speculative, grass-is-greener-on-the-other side, but I feel I connect with a female brain way more than their complex, confused male counterparts.) My problem is that I always seem to have trouble taking potential cuties to the next level past a platonic friendship. I am too much of a bro I suppose. Tinder helps mediate this problem of mine by immediately placing me as a ‘romantic interest’ in guys’ minds (although admittedly more often than not, I am treated more like a sexual object instead).

This one is going to be a multiple-parter because it runs about four weeks, maybe about two times as long as most of my Tinder flings. Reeling from a mind-fuckboi incident and a Tinder fuckboi rebound (both who will most likely appear in later archive pieces some day), I decided enough was enough and it is my turn to be a Toronto f*ckgirl. Inspired by this article, (, I decided I matched most qualifications anyhow as a basic Insta-bitty (#2) and a hardcore Jays fan (#20). So one night in late October, fueled by $12 Rogers Centre tallboy beers during the Jays American League Championship Series, I was feeling 100 times chattier than I had been since I had long given up on dating-app boys. I found myself actually responding to two of the “hey, what’s up cute stuff? ;)” messages I got.

One of my matches, let’s call him Mr. Blind Spot, had interestingly matched with me in September but only messaged me about a month later – perhaps as a last ditch effort? I decide to talk consecutively to another guy, Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many, at the same time. Now for a girl who has “loyalty” tattooed on her back, I have never tried casual dating and don’t really understand the concept of not being monogamous. It takes too much work trying to figure out one guy’s hidden intentions, much less juggle multiple people. But I am young, it was October (a month known for partying before it gets cold), I was finishing off my law school apps, and why the heck not? And so begins my attempt to venture into Chronicles of Being a Toronto F*ckGirl.

It started off with some flirty bantering with the two but since I hate overusing my data plan to wheel and getting notifications from Tinder on my phone screen for the world to see, it quickly progressed to me giving my number out to these two prospective suitors.

They were both in school. Mr. 3 Chances was younger so that was definitely on the cons list. (Most girls have deal breakers of the guy being shorter than them. For me, at 5 foot 2 inches, everyone is taller than me so my deal breaker is if they’re a lot younger than me.) I let it slide because I’m an early baby (April) and this guy looked like a slightly less attractive version of Ryan Gosling. And he was taking biochem engineering at Ryerson so I was like ‘he could potentially be intelligent enough to keep up a conversation.’ But he would ask me how my day was and then never respond… so I focused my efforts on myself and found myself turning to Mr. Blind Spot.

Mr. Blind Spot disclosed that he was in his Master’s at U of T. I was definitely more into the appearance of Mr. 3 Chances (much more photogenic) but Mr. Blind Spot was older by a year and definitely was intelligent enough to keep up a conversation if he was in his Master’s. I just felt a little iffy about him, like something was off. He would consistently respond to my messages so that was a plus since I am used to assholes who screen my texts (ahem Mr. 3 Chances). However, all of the texts were just a tad too much you know? Like a little too flirty, a little too sexual, a little too try-hard; I couldn’t get a read on whether he was a real person or a douchebag. For instance, having gone to Queen’s, the school that’s our archnemesis is Western University. When I found out Mr. Blind Spot had gone to Western before, I said: “Ooo this feels so dangerous yet so good” to which he responded “we can make a Queen’s-Western alliance… or better yet a Carrie-Mr. Blind Spot alliance ;)” That was neither funny nor romantic and it was just a little weird tbh.

I told Mr. Blind Spot I’d message him when I was back from Homecoming Weekend. That was a Thursday. He messaged me again on a Saturday to chat (#keener) and then said some douchey things like “My weekend would have been better if I was in Kingston.” Ever the sassy one, I responded “That’s sweet! (I think)” He answered later saying “Oh yeah, I’m the sweetest.” So when I asked him what the sweetest thing he’d ever done for a girl was, he never replied and I wrote him off in my head.

Surprise surprise, Tuesday he messages me “So I’m assuming you came back from Queen’s.” I promptly responded “I’m assuming that the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for a girl was ignore her so I wasn’t gonna go chasing you.” He said some other questionable things so I ignored his last message. Over the span of a week, I ignored Mr. Blind Spot three times while Mr. 3 Chances ignored me. However, Mr. Blind Spot kept trying and like I’ve said before, perseverance goes a long way in my books.

I guess it stems from my biggest relationship fear: I know I can be difficult, but I also know that I am worth it. (FYI We all are worth it as human beings.) Personally, as a stubborn Taurus, I will always try and in return, I don’t want my partner to give up on me when the going gets tough. So yeah, perseverance means a lot to me and Mr. Blind Spot’s efforts were growing on me.

I began messaging him on a daily basis. He would always reply relatively quickly and being iffy about him, I would take my time. He always surprised me and soon enough, I found myself getting excited to see his name pop on my phone. Mr. 3 Chances would make a rare appearance and I found myself getting committed to the other. It’s the monogamous in me.

I had arranged to meet Mr. 3 Chances on Monday and Mr. Blind Spot on Tuesday. Law school applications submitted, Halloween festivities cleaned up, and Monday/November rolled around. I looked at myself in the mirror, putting on foundation with a cotton sponge for the first time in my life, and I thought “who have I become?” Putting on foundation felt like a mask and dating two guys in one week was completely unlike me. Lo and behold, Mr. 3 Chances disappointed and cancelled on me an hour before our date (which I had texted earlier to confirm). He had midterms so I understood but I was already all made up and psychologically prepared to date.

Luckily, Mr. Blind Spot and I had been texting. And I figured, why waste some perfectly good makeup? I messaged him that he should “turn around and meet me tonight” and he agreed that he would be there in an hour. I looked myself in the mirror one more time, foundation applied, two guys waiting for me to respond, and I called my best friend just to make sure this was the person she knew all her life. It wasn’t, but then again, I was trying to be someone different, someone experimental: A Toronto FuckGirl.

More about my chronicles next week…