It’s Not You, It’s Me.. Or Is It?

Yesterday, I had a conversation with one of my friends and she asked me “what’s that thing that all boys keep doing when you’re dating”. She told me about her and her friends and the patterns that they kept falling into whether it was falling for the same fuckbois, or only being asked for snapchat and instagram as forms of off app communication. As she was asking me that, I happened to be waiting, rather impatiently, for an answer from a boy I was seeing, Mr. Hockey.  My conversation with my friend got me thinking and based on my patterns of dating behaviours and experiences, made me predict what his answer was going to be “I like you a lot, but I’m just not ready for a relationship”. When it was confirmed yes that was his answer, I got to thinking: why does this keep happening and what does it mean?

My last two little flings with guys, have both ended the same way – they like me a lot, but they aren’t ready for something serious. After Mr. Hm, I thought that this might just be a really polite and respectful new version of the cliche “it’s not you it’s me”. But I accepted it for what it was, and decided I had no choice but to move on. Once it happened again, just about a month later, I’m starting to wonder if that’s true of if there’s something more behind those words.

I had swiped right on Mr. Hockey, not even 4 days after Mr. Hm and I had ended – I mean what better way to get over one person than to try to get under be respected and go on dates with someone else who was cute and presumably more emotionally available. When he asked me out I was, definitely not ready, but wanted to go out with him anyways, because TBH he was very attractive (again, I’m well aware at how shallow this is, but can you really blame me?). I thought he’d just be some great eye candy that would be a nice distraction, but after a really nice date with him, I knew there was a lot to him and I even started, to my own disappointment, to actually think I could like him. We talked everyday, and unlike Mr. Hm, he gave me that attention that I craved. He was kind, and attentive and caring and just gave me those butterflies. He would always message me first, and take a genuine interest in me and my day. Pair that with his incredible chivalry (I mean, I never even had to open my own car door when I was with him!) After a couple more dates, I could confirm that I liked him and liked where things were headed. It seemed so clear to me that he was ready and respectful.

Until Saturday night, where we had made plans. He had messaged me in the morning to confirm, and had solidified the plans with me. I was excited to get to spend more time with him, since our constant talking just left me longing to see him!  At about 6pm he last minute cancelled. WHAT!? This just left me upset, disappointed and confused. A million thoughts went through my head about what it could be, why he did that, what does that mean. If I have learned anything remotely helpful from my dating endeavours, I have learned that for me it’s best to just ask WTF is going on, so that’s exactly what I did. I crafted up a direct, but sweet message that would help me get to the bottom of it. In my head, I had a feeling something was up when he last minute cancelled, but I clung on to the response I had wanted “Of course I want to hang out again when are you free”

However, as each hour passed, it became clearer to me that something was wrong, and my feelings of anxiousness were at an all time high. Upon waiting approximately 10 dreadful hours to my message about wanting to reschedule I get the text I wasn’t waiting for. It felt like verbatim the same situation with Mr. Hm, “I’m really sorry, I’m not in the right head space and don’t want anything serious with anyone. I really like you and I really like being around you but it’s not a good time for me”.  Of course I was upset, but after waiting so long I was glad that I finally had an answer. But now what? Of course I wished him well and blamed it on the timing – to which his response was that he hopes we can reconnect when the timing is better, because he really does see something with me.

At this point, I was upset, but his words, and what I think were his genuine expressions, left me hopeful. So I continued to talk to him for the duration of the evening because I was just not ready to let go. A few more hours of normal, flirty banter later and he has invited me over. This quick 180 to this (what I’m assuming) proposed casual relationship took me by a great surprise, but also left me with quite a few wild thoughts:

  1. Anyone who knows me knows that I have never done casual. Maybe I’m a prude, maybe I’m just more guarded, but I have always steered very clear from anything casual.  Something about this guy has ignited the thought that maybe it’s something that I want. I mean, I’m busy with work, so is he, I know he respects me and I know at this moment in time I’m not interested in meeting someone new. Could I really be considering a casual relationship?! And what does this mean? Could it be that I am also in a place where I’m career focused and something less time consuming might actually fit better into my schedule? Casual dating has been a territory that has been so unexplored, and now I begin to wonder and think about why?
  2. When I think of this situation – I am brought back to Miranda’s post about her 6ix month relationship. Am I thinking that I want casual with the hopes that it will develop into something more? He made it very clear that he isn’t ready for serious, BUT he also made it very clear that he likes me and sees serious with me. If I don’t see him again soon in a more casual (or even plutonic way) does that mean my chances with him are over? Will I be upset if it stays casual? I think that I know the answers to my own questions, but I can’t help from having a little bit of a wandering mind…
  3. WTF does it mean that these boys keep telling me that they aren’t ready for serious? With Mr. Hockey especially, we had only been on a few dates. The conversation about what we are, and what do we want has hardly even come up. Do I give off such a relationship vibe that the boys I’m dating sense it before I even know it myself? I mean, after just a handful of dates, does anybody really know if they want a relationship?
  4. Should I feel respected or rejected? I have now heard this line a few times, by guys that have been so wonderful and kind and respectful – but what does this mean? Does this mean that it’s an easy way out and they want to spare my feelings? Or does it genuinely mean that they aren’t ready and don’t want to lead me on. Does it just mean that I’m not the right girl? If I was right, would they do anything to make it work, or does their current lifestyle really not leave room for a girlfriend? As I struggle with figuring out the underlying meaning, I think about how I could have avoided this happening again. How I can I gage what a guy wants before I start liking them, all while seeming cool and chill? I mean is my right move REALLY to be asking them on a first date where they see this going. I’m sorry, but thank you, next.
  5. How do I keep finding these guys that are so not ready? Is it an age thing? Most guys I date are in their mid twenties, but does that just mean they want one last hurrah of single-hood before they have to settle down? What pattern or sign am I missing that I so easily misread these situations?! 

With these questions in mind and at play, I know that I need some deserved ~me time~ and need to take myself on a dating hiatus to figure out what is going on and what I need. The apps are gone and there are zero dates on the horizon for me! So cheers to girls nights, buckling down into my job and just having fun with friends and family!

See ya (maybe – but hopefully not too) soon!



Mr. 10(B) Unibrow

Carrie – Having held my re-born again virginity for nine months in hopes for the elusive 10 to mean something more, I wasn’t going to let some non-consensual quasi-hookup with Mr. High School Musical take that title. After processing what happened (lots of alcohol + Bumble guys = bad choices), I decided to get on the Tinder train in Ottawa.

I was talking to this Naval Architect and he was checking all the boxes. He loved drinking, had a full head of hair, a daily gym goer with a stable job and I was hooked. Plus he had trendy circular-framed sunglasses in his summer pics near the water and I just envisioned us wearing matching pairs as we lounged on the beach. (Yes, you may roll your eyes at me). We had been talking every day for just short of two weeks before he finally asked me out… talk about the slow game. As fate would have it (or his poor planning), he was leaving town to visit the east coast for a week. He told me he’d message me when he got back.

In the interim, I had matched with this other guy. He messaged me a couple of times so when Naval Architect left, I answered him back but he was definitely a back-burner type of guy. An Ottawa-native with a U of T business degree, his responses were nice but boring. After Naval Architect had come back for a few days (which I deduced from frequent stalking of Tinder “km away” LOL) but failed to message me, I sheepishly accepted the date with the other guy.

I end up meeting him for a patio beer and the sunlight hit his slight unibrow and patch of four white-heads near his nose just so. I was repulsed and named him Mr. Unibrow, vowing to write a post for the blog.


Continue reading “Mr. 10(B) Unibrow”

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.

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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. 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.


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.

Continue reading “Mr. Grilled Cheese”

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”

Why I need to break-up with Tinder

Once single I solemnly swore that there was no way that I would be jumping back on the Tinder bandwagon. For awhile I was doing great, but then fast forward 8 weeks, and 2 sick days later and TADA the app was back. At first it didn’t seem so bad, there were some cute nice guys in my area and I was getting a few matches. Needless to say, this distracted me from my strep throat, my “wtf, why am I suddenly really missing Mr. High School Crush” thoughts (I think it’s because I’m sick – and theory confirmed by Carrie who also expressed missing her ex sporadically as soon as she got sick post break-up), and gave me a break from binge-watching Netflix. It’s fun I thought, there’s no harm in it…tinder-logo

However, one or two (or maybe a couple hundred) swipes later, I found myself annoyed and irritated at the app, but still oddly and weirdly compulsively checking it. Now, as my friends know, I’ve been taking my dating advice from Aziz Ansari through his “Modern Romance” book (shameless promo for the book which is actually really good and surprisingly, seemingly too accurate to my life), and have been using him as my dating guide in a way. Aziz (through his book) empowered (maybe the wrong choice of words, but we’ll roll with it) me to re-download the app. How on earth can a book do this, you might ask, well let me tell you. Basically, as part of the book Aziz lets us know that we live in a strictly technological age (I mean so shit Sherlock), and that our whole life is consumed by technology – so what better way to find someone other than the platform that literally EVERYONE is on?! This technology thing starts getting weird too (ps. Sidestory: A guy in my section decided to ask me out but instead of in person where he sees me basically everyday, he proceeded to do so over instagram direct message – sorry what?) Aziz also makes it clear that now with technology, like everything else, we are so much more connected to so many people. Seems great right? Wrong. Aziz makes it clear that the  amount of options that we have is almost too overwhelming that it makes it so easy to say “next” to someone and not even bother to get to know them.

When I was swiping away, I thought about this in real time, mostly because I noticed how scarily quickly my fingers were swiping “left, left, left”, and I had barely made time to look at the guys profile. I don’t think that I’m a judgey person (for the most part), but on this app I turned into a complete and total judgey betch. I found myself swiping no for the stupidest reasons, I don’t like his name, his friend is cuter, he took a mirror selfie – and I felt totally validated and okay with doing it. Thinking like Aziz, I totally understood it and it finally clicked: we have so many options that we don’t get to know people because we don’t have to! Seems promising – what a fun time to be dating…(I hope you can pick up on my sarcasm)!

This leads me to my second problem with the app: I actually start feeling bad “ghosting” people, so even though I have zero interest in talking to them, I find myself engaging in so many conversations and giving out my number just because I feel too rude to say no (As the archived posts in this blog show me – ghosting is a new trend that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, and I think all the daters can unanimously agree that it sucks). Lucky for me, I have been using my strep throat as an excuse to push away any guys who have cut right to the chase and asked for a date, but it’s also just as annoying to engage in the same “small talk” conversations at least 20 times. It used to be flattering to get the attention of the guys who want to talk to you, but now it just seems redundant and impersonal, and maybe that’s why it’s totally un-engaging.  Kudos to the guys who start with creative lines, and some of them honestly and truly do make me laugh, but there’s only so many generic conversations you can end up in before you do it mindlessly – and that is a clear sign of a connection lost before it even started. Is it possible to find prince charming if you’re bored of him before you even meet?!

The second issue with ghosting is getting ghosted – maybe that’s why I don’t like to do it to other people, is because it’s not fun when it happens to you! For example: I was chatting a cute guy on bumble, had a clever opening line and we exchanged a few messages before HE said that he wanted to hang out. Okay I thought, I’m not bored of him, (that’s a good sign), so I went with it and agreed – and all of a sudden he was gone! So confusing to say the least, but also annoying to get “invested” in someone and them just to disappear!

So I tried as a single girl to jump back on Tinder, (and other dating apps) and as quickly as I got on – I’m jumping right back off (and hiding under a rock). I can almost guarantee that come the next time I’m bored or lonely or find myself randomly missing my ex, I’ll be downloading an app right back thinking maybe this time it will be different. I guess you can say that tinder and I (along with many other people I suspect), are in a love-hate relationship, but I think it might be time for us to break up (and hopefully for good!)

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 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…



Mr. Frienths

Carrie – Mondays are already the worst. Having been in the workforce for about three solid months at this point, I am qualified to say this right? Well to make matters worse, it was a rainy Monday when my friend bailed on me and an eight month long mind-fukboi and I had finally broke it off earlier that weekend. Needless to say, I was reeling in a pile of self-pity when my sister and her best friend from high school were having a girls’ night at the apartment.

Now my sister is significantly older than me but living with her has worked out so far since we’re in a similar phase of our lives for the first time. We’re both twenty somethings, both working, both single, both like drinking and socializing and I am slowly becoming as liberal minded as she is when it comes to sex and men. She was not partial to Tinder so it took a while to convince her, but with a little booze and a sisterly prodding, I challenged her to get a new app that my friend had suggested called Bumble. Being somewhat competitive in nature, my sister and I began swiping, trying to match with the same people. Only problem is that her 40 year old prospects are way beyond my age scope and she is opposed to being a cougar to the likes of my early 20s dating pool.

Now on Tinder, I am used to a results-based approach, swiping and instantaneously matching (mainly because of how seldom I swipe and the fact that I’m not a robot offering sex for money). However, having just set up Bumble, I was frustrated to not have any matches for the first hour. I went on a rampage, giving myself a finger cramp as I swiped through hundreds of prospects on my screen. Imagine my shock when I woke up the next morning to over 100+ expiring connections.

Some of the guys were cute but one in particular caught my eye. I started with a Friends reference (his name may or may not have been one of the leading characters) and he called me out on being unoriginal. I did not respond because he seemed like a dick and I had 99+ suitable options otherwise.

I am a softie though. Throughout that night, he messaged me multiple times after and the fact that he was only three km away was quite appealing compared to some of my other matches in Oakville. (Go Train? No thanks.) Eventually I gave him my number because persistence in my mind equates to “you love me” which I often delude myself into thinking “since you love me already and we’re strangers, you won’t be an asshole later down the line.” Like I said, my curse is being a hopeless romantic.

He originally had asked me for drinks but seeing an opening after I finished my sports at 8 pm, he asked me to come over after my intramurals. I was like “yolo” having just started a new full-time job and wanting to celebrate with someone. I went over to the location of his nice waterfront apartment, sitting near the fountain in the foyer thinking, “this has potential.”

Then he came down to let me in and I think my face looked discernibly confused when he greeted me. Not only did he have a higher voice than me, but I would later discover that he also tragically has a lisp. I smiled politely thinking “dear God.” He led me into his dirty room in the apartment, where we sat on his bed with ripped bedsheets and tried to ignore the smell of old gym socks. (At one point, I had to pee and the toilet cover was another sight indeed…)

But as a hopeless romantic, I ignored the signs of “you and this guy are SO NOT compatible” and we chatted. He was cute enough with long, curly flow which I complimented and he said, “yeah, ever thince (since) I’ve grown it out, the ladieth (ladies) are really into it.”

And the night proceeded to be overshadowed by how cocky he was.

“I could be an actor if I wanted.”

“I know that I’m pretty good-looking.”

The best yet:

“I don’t understand why girls don’t talk to me on these apps.”

Admittedly, I fell for his next line when he told me, “I just moved here and the th-ity (city) can be lonely thometimes (sometimes).” I think it’s because I empathized and was looking for companionship in Toronto more than anything. Next thing I know, we’re making out and he reaches for my pants. I stop him but as a giver, I offer him something in return. Approximately a minute and a half later, I hear a squealed “op – I’m gonna–” and he finishes. I was not impressed and definitely made it clear I was not.

We hung out for a bit after but he told me he would only give me a ‘smooch’ on the cheek, “because, you know” and then points to his own private part. Okay, asshole alert. He invites me to sleepover, I say no but it’s getting late and leave with him walking me to the elevator.

Wish I could say “and we lived happily ever after” but I never hear from him again… and I’m fairly sure I would recognize his voice.