Mr. Heart Emoji – Part II

[Hey, if you haven’t read Part One, you might get confused. Click the link here!]

Carrie – In true blackout fashion, I remember saying “cheers” with my gal pal and Mr. Heart Emoji on our third round of tequila shots. Then not much more.

I am blackout at the pre but in cruel, cruel fashion, my brain can recall one interaction. Profusely flirting with Mr. Grilled Cheese, we end up as the only two people in the one of two rooms, probably because I was making everyone uncomfortable with my aggressive flirtation. (I was told later I was doing this IN FRONT OF Mr. Heart Emoji because I am a fuckgirl). I drunkenly confess to Mr. Grilled Cheese, “Well like you’re the last person I’ve slept with! Aren’t I the last person you’ve slept with?”


I still cringe at how much of an embarrassment I like to make my life. Then he stutters “uhhhh” for approximately a minute. I save him by telling him I know I’m not, call him a manwhore, and top it off with a, “But I know you’re into me.” To my dismay, he answers, “A little bit.” Me: “A little bit?” “Yeah, a little bit.” I swear I probably would have mounted him right there if we weren’t in public cause I am such a horny little drunk.

I end up at a bar. How I got there, not too sure. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Grilled Cheese was not there. I remember snippets of sitting in a booth with my gal pals and Mr. Heart Emoji, and also snippets of drinking water out of the bathroom faucet, just to prove that 23 is still not a classy age. I think I had fun and my Visa bill proves that.

Accurate depiction of me receiving my visa bill.

Now the next bit is where it gets interesting. There is a 24 hour diner near the bars in Ottawa. At that point, I was not aware of this. (Now that I am, that Visa bill will only continue to grow.)

Mr. Heart Emoji and I wind up there. Alone. I deduce he must have asked me to go at 2 AM because I’m confused why we’re in a booth alone and none of our friends join us. But I happily order a $16 burger (one that I later proceed not to eat a single bite of) when a classmate shows up. Now let’s call him Tree cause he is ridiculously tall and dresses like a lumberjack. Tree starts by asking if he’s interrupting me and Mr. Heart Emoji. We say no, then he sits beside me and Tree asks, “but you guys are gonna bang tonight, right?”

Continue reading “Mr. Heart Emoji – Part II”


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. Brazil


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.

Continue reading “Mr. Brazil”

From the Archives: Mr. Mind-F*ckboy

Carrie – How do I begin to summarize the most complicated and confusing relationship that encompassed eight months of my life? Although it’s been a while since we last talked and nothing in particular brought him up, I still think of him in late hours of insomniac nights.

Let’s go back to January 2015. Mr. Mind-F*ckboy was essentially a one-night stand of a wild weekend gone awry. Newly single Carrie had just had her first overnighter with a stranger who departed with a “thanks but you know I’ll never see you again.” I suppose that’s what I wanted at the time, that’s why I chose this random out-of-town guy who was visiting the first week of my last semester of undergrad.

Flash forward to the next night and I felt a little confused and off-kilter from my first one night stand. My friend, Mr. Stanford Blach in fact, was going out and told me to join so I put on my glasses and granny panties in a preventative form of birth control. We get to the bar and I’m waiting with my friend’s boyfriend from Ottawa who sees his friend from high school. And he was HOT. We get introduced and I’ve never been so attracted to someone (other than Zac Efron) right off the bat. Later, sipping on my G&T, I spot Mr. MFB brooding in the corner as we make eye contact. He starts moving through a crowd in my direction and I frantically chug my drink in preparation. We hit it off with a surprisingly deep conversation that flowed from classic rock to hook up culture to volun-tourism to neoliberalism and I hadn’t felt that strong of a connection with anyone before. He asked to come home with me and I agreed, silently cursing myself for the granny panties.
Continue reading “From the Archives: Mr. Mind-F*ckboy”

Mr. Namaste

mr. namaste.png

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.

Mr. Crushed

heartforblogSamantha – I matched with this guy on tinder a little while back that used to go to my high school. He’s a couple years older than me and I kind of had a crush on him back then (probably because he’s very tall), so I was pretty stoked to see the little matched animation pop up on my phone. However, in spite of us professing our love with the swipe of a thumb, I didn’t hear from him and quickly forgot about the whole thing.

Fast forward about a week to me riding the subway home pretty late. While sitting there minding my own business, a group of guys come breezing past me with Mr. Crushed leading the pack. I casually glanced in his direction, then turned away with a nonchalant flip of my hair like the bad bitch I am.

The next morning I awoke to a message from him asking if I wanted to come over. Yes! I thought. The hair thing totally worked. Unfortunately, I already had plans, and declined his offer by suggesting that we hook up some other time. I mean, how often do you get the chance to fulfill a high school crush that lives only 3 km away??

Turns out, poor timing was to be an ongoing trend, and I’d consistently get messages from him just as I got home or while out with friends. After a while, the weekly hook up invites started getting a little strange. Example:

Samantha – What are you doing tonight?

Mr. C – I don’t know maybe go out into the weird

Samantha  – What do you mean? (I was a little drunk and did not interpret that weird probably meant world)

Mr. C – What do you mean (…)

Mr. C – Q and A

Samantha – I’m out, maybe later 😉

Mr. C – turtleemoji.png

Is this normal courting behavior?

There was the added irritant that he’d constantly send a follow up “o rly” or “ok no response” whenever I didn’t reply in under 5 minutes. Keep in mind, Tinder no longer shows when someone was last active so this dude clearly had NO CHILL. Anyway, this lil dance of ours continued for a couple weeks until this past weekend when I got a simple “Hi” at 1:30 am, while happily curled up in bed like a bug in a rug.

We chatted like normal people for about two minutes until he suggested that my decline of his invite was only a “soft no”. I hate when guys do this because if I say no, there is not some softness or hardness to it, I just mean no.   He said some other things that were throwing me off, but you know what? I’ll just type out some of our convo for you.

Mr. C – I don’t know what is scaring you

S – Not scared, more so lazy

Mr. C – I would treat you royally. Don’t be tempting me. I’m here now

S – Whaaat (WHAAAAAT????? *fearing he is outside my house though I have provided no address*)

Luckily he was not outside my window but instead implying how “ready and close” he was in terms of *ahem* hooking up…I’m doing you all a favour by paraphrasing here. He eventually accepted that I wasn’t coming over, but told me that pushing him away only made him want to try harder and make the end result more fun. Yes I know how that sounds, so I just ignored the message and went to bed.

The next day marked our very last convo, which I will type verbatim with time stamps so that you can decide for yourself whether or not this guy is actually a lunatic.

Mr. C (12:39 pm): Hahah

Mr. C (12:49 pm): No answer

S – (1:00 pm): Lol I was at the gym…sorry (This is true, and I do not often tinder while squatting)

Mr. C (1:05 pm): hahah whatever, do you want to hook up?

Mr. C (1:27 pm): Ok have a nice day (Please take in that I was no longer at the gym and was now in the shower…)

Mr. (1:42 pm): So now there’s no answer.

Upon exiting the shower and realizing that this dude was both the most shameless and impatient person I’d ever met, I screenshotted the convo for the purpose of this blog, unmatched, and filed that crushed crush away in the “Do Not Open” files in the dark crevices of my mind.



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.



Mr. Chace Crawford

Carrie – Alongside my full-time position as an administrative assistant for a small private investment company, I decided I needed a fun job because how blah does that first title sound? I was hired at an organic burger shop as a ~*~Bartender-/Slash/-Server~*~.

Starting a new job is always a little overwhelming, especially at a restaurant gig. There are so many new names, new menu items to learn, and as a bartender and server, I had to learn double the number of duties. It makes it three times as hard when three out of four of your male co-workers on bar are SO FREAKING HOT.

I am one of two lady bartenders so the majority of the time, I am working with these dudes. A young female customer was chatting me up over a take-out menu, telling me she was a regular before she gushed, “you know, one thing I’ve noticed is that everyone who works here is extremely attractive.” I thanked her modestly, trying not to let it go to my head while simultaneously flipping my hair and doing a mental “Fabulous Girl with Palm Out” Emoji. Then, to burst that bubble, she finished with a… “especially the male bartenders.” While there is a sarcastic, funny one and an Australian sweetheart, the one I (along with many female customers) vie for is Mr. Chace Crawford.

Tortured and brooding, he is an artist by day and bartender by night (or sometimes the other way around). I’ll admit it: I’ve learned this by stalking him on his very private social media platforms and then casually finding out through strategic segues in my brief working conversations like “I hear that’s big in London! Oh you lived in London? I didn’t realize!”

My first training shift, dressed up in a grungy black t-shirt and too-small Vans, I walked into the shop and met this 6’2” Adonis feeling more inadequate than ever. His chiseled face and sullen demeanor look freakishly similar to Nate Archibald from Gossip Girl. He did not smile nor greet me, unlike everyone else, and this made me want him more because I am perpetually attracted to douchebags and the one I can’t have. It wasn’t until about halfway through the shift when he started to flirt with me, teaching me how to make a drink with the shaker, hands on hip and being like “you like to shake it, huh?” His eye crinkle, his smirk, his pretty-boy face: Chace Crawford man, Chace written all over it. I swooned and all I could insecurely think about was my less-than toned arms jiggling while I shook the drink up.

In contrast to my one week relationships from Tinder, this has been a turtle race for the past month that I’ve worked there. From casually walking in when he’s on shift to pick up my cheque (in my defense, he is always working when I’m not at my other job) to being sexiled at the restaurant by my sister late at night on a Sunday when not very much else is opened and he’s working, my interactions with him have been essentially non-existent.

One week, I happened to see him twice and he was like “are you mustering the courage to ask me out?” I obviously panicked and muttered, “No, just here to pick up my take-out.” I also forgot to mention that I had decided to place my pick-up order under the name Hummus. Yup, Hummus. He said, “Oh you’re the milkshake for Hummus?” – Devastation –

Another example via text:
Me: Hey Chace, I owe you $3.50 from tip-out. Don’t let me forget!
Him: Nope don’t worry.
Me: but that’s like two weeks of Netflix! Haha k thanks.

Oh, sorry, I forgot this was supposed to be a blog where shit with guys happened.

Well that’s EXACTLY the way I feel too… but I think we’re making slow progress. The most recent shift working with him, I was chatting with one of the managers about some tension between me and my parents, (you know that moment when you’re mature enough to realize how you politically differ from your parent’s values?) and he overheard. Later, when we were one-on-one (with him coming up to me, mind you), he opened up to me about his troubled past and parental drama as well. You can tell he’s kind of guarded. He volunteered the information but suddenly couldn’t make eye contact with me and was fumbling around with the cutlery. I called him out on it, saying “aw I like that you’re opening up to me right now but you can’t even fully commit to that cuz you’re distracting yourself with the take-out right now.” He actually blushed so that’s a personal victory in my books. I’ve heard from the Aussie that he’s quite the player/ladies’ man and you can definitely tell, even without a fukboi radar as good as mine. While we generally have some sassy banter and flirtation (he told me he’s eaten a girl out with honey, I told him there’s nothing more attractive to me than watching a man make coffee WHILE he was stirring his coffee), it was the first time we connected on a deeper level.

After that, he made sure to bump into me or push me or kick me in the butt every time we walked past each other after, kind of like a little schoolboy pulling the pigtails of his crush. That means we’re like married now, no? No? -Sigh- I guess I’ll always be in love with the Chace chase (see what I did there?).

Update: Getting drunk with one of the managers after work on a Saturday led to a conversation that I would totally do Chace only for me to find out he had been fired earlier that evening. Oh and he has a girlfriend. Back to [] 1.