Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckgirl: Part Five – Mr. Blind Spot

Carrie – Have you ever been so bored at work that you get horny? Like an uncomfortable-in-your-ergonomic-desk-chair, drinking-more-water-as-if-that-will-satiate-your-thirst type of horny? Well that’s what I was feeling on this particular Tuesday and when Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many was unavailable, I decided I’d toss Mr. Blind Spot a bone(r).

I invite Mr. Blind Spot to come over to my apartment. I thought his text about “seeing each other a few more times, taking things slow and see where they go” was just a formality, especially since he asked for casual relationship. So he arrives on a rainy evening, we end up making out on my bed and five minutes in, he pulls out a condom. It was a little fast for my taste, in terms of our relationship overall but also in foreplay tbh. However, I did really like him and my animalistic urges took over. I made him promise not to turn into an asshole after sex, he asked for clarification and then agreed, and I let him take control of the situation. As someone with a strong personality, he was one of the first guys I’ve been with that was the more dominant one in bed and I have to say it was a fun time. We went multiple rounds, even when my sister got home. At that point, he asked to do it in my apartment stairwell and I was slightly freaked out by his experience and kinkiness. However, all those worries were quieted when we lying together in my bed and he asked me to “netflix now that we’ve chilled.” I began setting up my laptop for a makeshift TV but he asked to go hang out on my living room couch, which is in a lot of ways the more intimate setting. He met my sister while we cuddled, kissed and joked around quoting Superbad together. He even gave me a foot massage with my fuzzy socks on.

At this point, I was just going to see Mr. 3 Chances because I have a tendency to run when I got scared and I was really into Mr. Blind Spot. So when Mr. Blind Spot texted me on Friday and Mr. 3 Chances was late again that night, I decided to meet up with the guy I actually liked instead. Mr. Blind Spot ended up going to the Maddy when I was near the Drake Hotel at a party, so I gave up on us meeting up and began scarfing down King’s Slice (biggest and great pizza in Toronto). It was around 2:30 a.m. when he started texting me consecutively. I should have listened to How I Met Your Mother when they said “nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” because he invites me over as I’m getting home. I guess my decision to go was partially because I am a human being with sexual needs and because I really liked this guy and wanted to spend more time with him before he left to London for the next couple of days. So yolo.

After a sketchy 4 a.m. uber ride, he walks me in and I get to see his room with nerdy airplane and robot models, a rubix cube with instructions on how to complete it, a huge TV, mismatched birch furniture that looks like it’s from a childhood room and a guitar. We are naked together, cuddling with my head resting on his shoulder when he gives me a forehead kiss. At that point, I’m a goner. The next morning (really only a couple hours later), I wake up with an abundance of energy considering how little sleep we got, and I get to see a boyish messy haired version of this very composed guy. When he wakes up a little more, he plays me a beautiful melody on the guitar with the sun beating down on him, barefoot in jeans, leaning against the wall. I’m resting my head on his duvet enjoying the moment and he sets his guitar down, resting his head across from me so that we’re looking at each other. Sometimes you can feel when you really connect with someone and that was the shifting moment when emotions got involved – a connection between two people outside of all the cellphones and sex and hookup culture that surrounds us these days. Two people staring at one another, eye to eye, not talking but just connecting as humans do. I know it’s dorky to say but it was special.

It was also after this moment that I felt his wall go up. At first, I thought it was because we were heading into public on the subway. He started rambling about his masters’ thesis, something about wing span gradient and range, then I gave him a shy kiss as we parted and he gave me a little salute in response. He texted me after the weekend and we were chatting when midway, he said “he feels weird about all that’s happened last week.” Knowing the end was impending, I asked him if he’d rather stop talking or meet in person. We decide to meet at Queen’s Park Station where we sat at a booth and he proceeds with small talk. I tell him to cut to the chase, why is he feeling “weird” and he tells me a relationship shouldn’t start off with so much sex. I immediately think of this as an insult against me and my womanhood –that I am the culprit of seduction when it was an act between the two of us. He realized he couldn’t do casual because he was a ‘boyfriend type guy’ but he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship yet since he just broke up with his ex in August. I was shocked: at the double standard he was using against me, especially since he initiated sex between us; at the fact that he confessed he’s only had sex three times before me because he was amazing in bed; at the fact that it was ending and it wasn’t my choice; but mostly at the fact that he made my biggest fears of another meaningless two night stand come true. I forgot to check my blind spot with this guy and I ended up crashing. When I got home, I sobbed uncontrollably at the rejection, replaying every moment between us where I could have flubbed up things. The bargaining stage of “maybe if I hadn’t done this or that, then…” I was disappointed and I was blaming myself.

But as I’m writing this, I’m thinking of the number of people I’ve been with this past year and a half of being single and how many unpursued connections that could have been romantic options, temporarily or otherwise. Things worked out after one of my biggest heartbreaks to date, I reminded myself. And as I travelled by Queen’s Park Station, I was reading Mindy Kaling’s latest book, thinking how she’s still writing about these disappointments with love interests at 34. The next breath I took wasn’t as jagged, it didn’t hurt quite so much anymore, and I felt hopeful for the first time. I realized how I still have years to be as successful as Mindy and an infinite amount of time to find the love(s) of my life. Hell, I’ve already been in love and that’s a lot more than other people can say. Reflecting on that Tim Horton’s booth where things ended before they started between me and Mr. Blind Spot, I had just had an epiphany.

Since failed romances are supposed to be about learnings, I’ll impart mine upon those of you who have stuck around to read this:

It’s not about your looks. It’s not about your personality. Essentially, it’s not about you. It’s not even necessarily about the way you guys mesh together. It’s truly about what you and your interest are looking for at the moment. These guys may want the same vision as me down the line, but when we’re all out here in the 6ix in our early 20s, it’s our time to be selfish. Don’t take it personally.

I failed as a Toronto F*ckgirl. Instead of dating multiple people and not caring about anyone other than me, I ended up being monogamous and getting hurt. But that’s because I care about people and most importantly, I love myself enough to think I deserve the best rather than settle. At the end of the day, I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I know I’ll find someone out there someday who will want the same things as I do at that moment. It’s gonna happen for me again when it happens. In fact, I’m sure I’ll find many somebodies. It just takes time to get over the somebodies that you think might be someone to you. So be patient, be strong, and keep sifting through the f*ckboys.

May the force be with you this holiday season, my friends. Merry Christmas!

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Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckGirl: Part Three – The Most Emotionally Draining Weekend Ever

Carrie – So Friday night, I finish dinner earlier with the girls back in my old neighbourhood and head back downtown Friday night to prepare myself for my date with Mr. Blind Spot. I am having a minor freakout which I don’t normally get like but I liked this guy and could see it going past a potential hookup.

“But I am a f*ckgirl, I’m not looking to date just one guy, so I got this” I repeated to myself as a mantra. Apparently, in my mind, to be a f*ckgirl is to wear foundation so I was patting the stuff on, listening to a chill playlist and constantly calling my friend to make sure I wasn’t yoloing too hard. Mr. Blind Spot texts me that I should invite my friends but as you are all aware, I have no friends, and especially not any that would meet up downtown without two hours’ notice. So I rally and walk over to the club. I know I’m doing okay because I get hit on walking over alone at 8 p.m. by two guys who tell me to “Live Long and Prosper” and proceed to grab my hand as I flash them a Spock sign of peace and try to run away.

I meet Mr. Blind Spot at the door and we exchange an awkward hug/cheek-kiss. We head to the bar and I notice Mr. Blind Spot squinting at me. Then we head to the dance floor, watching the local band, and I look up at him blatantly staring at me again and doing this hard blink. With me at 5’2” (5’5” with my booties) and with him at 6 feet, it was like a creepy hovering gaze. I tell him to stop staring at me (cause I’m gutsy AF) and he tells me he’s allowed to admire me for my beauty. I roll my eyes and he laughs and confesses that he’s also kinda blind (-1.75 in each eye, same prescription as me!) but can’t wear contacts. “So you walk around blind?” I ask. “From far away, essentially.” That explains why he would constantly squint when he was focusing. I just thought he had a twitch.

I meet his friends and we’re yelling at each other from across the dance floor. He tells them we met on the subway and I laugh. He pulls me aside when I was talking to one of his friends from out of town and asked in a cute inquisitive way “What were you talking to __(I forgot his name)__ about?” I for the life of me can’t remember but I DO remember feeling like I was the ultimate male manipulator when it came to the make-boys-jealous game. We end up dancing to Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” like nobody was around us, twirling each other around before making out on the dance floor. Now I’m not one for PDA, especially not a D-floor makeout (shout out to my DTT6 mate Samantha who is the MASTER of this), but I remember looking around and seeing groups of girls and guys looking at us kind of admiringly, kind of like “get a room” and I finally felt like the girl you were jealous of. And you know what? It felt nice to be the centre of attention – the girl who had it all. He was good looking, surprisingly a great dancer and not just like a “grind on me all night” type, and we were having a blast… until he killed the mood by dropping his gum into my mouth mid-kiss.

I put him in his place and we take a break to talk at the side of the bar. He asks me about the best part of my week and seemed to genuinely listen. We talk for a bit and start making out and next thing I know, he’s got a ‘visitor’ down south and he’s telling me “we should find our secret hiding spot.” I, in a drunken panic, start to freak out that all he wants to do with me is have sex.

Now I know a lot of people use this as an excuse but I was ACTUALLY on my period. When I tell him this, he tells me I’m lying. Next thing I know, we’re having a conversation about what we want from this and I express that I am not looking for a one-night stand. I am sick of strings of guys and I just wanted a stable hookup with a small connection. It doesn’t have to last a year but not a night either. But all I am able to articulate in the club is that I’m not looking for a one night stand. He tells me he’s not looking for a serious relationship. And this is a bit of a shock to me because every bit of the way he was acting is how a boyfriend would. I guess he was just well-bred. It was clear we both didn’t know what we wanted and this conversation was way too premature.

So I do what I do normally and I ran. He said “let’s just dance and have fun” and I said “but we clearly don’t want the same things here so what’s the point?” I end up grabbing my coat and he walks me to the door, tries to make out with me one more time, and I said “I’m not changing my mind” and he said “I know.” And that was it.

The total opposite way I imagined the night to go, I am walking down King Street alone at 1:30 a.m in the clubbing district on a Friday night. There are tons of people still on the street and I hear “hey sexy ass, hey sexy ass.” I ignore the person, thinking it could have been directed to anyone. Then, I feel my ass getting smacked. I will NEVER stand for this and in my state of already fuming anger, I push this guy away. “Don’t touch a girl without her permission.” This random loner walks ahead, screaming fuck you and making obscene gestures, turns the corner, and has to turn around realizing he’s going the wrong way. The best bit: he pretends that it wasn’t him, hands in his pocket and suddenly silent. I say “real smooth” as I walk by and he looks me in the eye and says “fuck you whore.” I wish I could say I kept my cool but I wound up my arm, smacked him on his non-existent ass, and said “how do you like being touched without your permission” and stormed off.

The next morning, I was in the foulest mood when I woke up. I felt so caught off-guard with what happened which left me in a mixture of regret and confusion. I had literally and figuratively been hit from behind. Furthermore, I had not expected to have invested emotions into this guy so quickly and have it end so dramatically. For a person who prides herself on her relationships (romantic or otherwise), there is very little worse than being an inconsequential person to someone else. It feels like living a life without meaning to have not been meaningful to someone else. I guess this is what motivates me to never give up on people and I resolve to send a text before work to ensure I have #noragrets

I clarify that I don’t want a one night stand but I don’t want serious either. Drunken bar talks aren’t the best for seeing a middle ground and if he was still interested, let’s hang out again. He takes hours to respond and I write him off as an asshole, but it’s okay cause it’s going to be my long-postponed date with Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many. As his name might indicate, I don’t get a response from Mr. 3 Chances until three minutes after we’re supposed to meet that “he really wants to see me but he overslept at a friend’s uptown and won’t be able to get back downtown until 1 and he has tutoring at 2. I ignore him cause the guy’s a) unreliable and b) an idiot which makes for an unreliable idiot I have no time for. I find myself on autopilot, answer Mr. Blind Spot’s text: “Well I’m down to hang out a few more times if you’re up for it. We can just take it slow and see how it goes.” He also proceeds to leave my response to make plans unanswered for all of Sunday.

And just like that, I go from feeling like I’m on top of my Fuckgirl game to being right back in the first place where I started off: lonely, lost in the 6ix, and constantly being screwed over by unreliable dudes.

I try not to give so much power to allow others to influence how I feel about myself but sometimes it’s really hard to compartmentalize. So naturally I am ecstatic when Monday rolls around and I look at my phone to have responses from both guys…

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.