Mr. Fast Food

They say that things happen when you’re not looking, and that’s exactly what happened to Mr. Fast food and I.

Flashback to the spring: work was busy, my social life was crowded, and I was counting down until my summer vaca, which was filled with travel. Needless to say my dating life was at a standstill and I had sworn off dating – “I’ll look for a boyfriend in September” is what I told my pestering friends and family and once they agreed to believe that, my life was in balance.

Until one day I came to work and my co-worker, giddy as ever, ran up to me announcing “I have a boy” with excitement I was ready to listen to her recent boy story, until she finished her thought and said “for you”. Before hearing anything about him I quickly told her thanks but no thanks that I was sticking with it and like I just said, I had sworn off dating and was not about to change my mind. Well this didn’t stop her and she continued with it, telling me about this guy: cute, smart and most importantly funny. Though my interest was peaked I stood my ground and told her I was not interested. She asked if she could give him my number to which I said (surprisingly) no, to which she proceeded with “okay I’ll message it to him” before I could even respond.

Before I knew it, Mr. Fast Food started messaging me and just as quickly my heart started fluttering. Some creeping confirmed he was cute, and his texts made me LOL (for real) on more than one occasion, that when he asked to hang out I was already hooked and I broke my own promise and said yes.

I met him for Sunday afternoon coffee, at which we both ordered hot chocolate (can you say match made in heaven), and maybe it was all the sugar but our energy was undeniable with a date lasting 3 hours and I still didn’t want it to end. He was confident, unfiltered and hilarious, he’s not an awkward person but the first date awkwardness vanished basically before the date began. He messaged me by the time I got home, and the chatting continued until he secured himself a second date and I made it very clear that I was very into him.

Our next few dates exploring the six consisted of dinners, ice cream dates, Jays games and patio drinks. Each one was more fun than the last and I was hooked. The best part about Mr fast food was that he loved to cook and he was great at it too. He really understood that the way to my heart was through my stomach and always cooked the best meals and treats – it might have been part of the reason I was always so excited to hang with him (just kidding…).

It was the most comfortable I’ve ever been so quickly with anyone that the sleepovers, hook ups and ~deep~ convos came earlier than I could have ever expected. I was so into him, and was so comfortable with him that he became my number 2 (meaning the second guy I’ve ever slept with) and it was great. Not only did I get to break my year-long dry spell (I know) but I overcame the idea that sex with someone new would be awkward and weird – but that it was fun and just as great as I remembered 😉

However, Mr. Fast Food became less available as he traded his job at the vet with cute dogs for a cook at a new burgers and fries joint (not complaining because I love both), but the change of hours made him less available which sucked because I was leaving the six for the summer. Our ‘pre me leaving’ hangouts were becoming less and less and also began consisting of more movies, and Netflix and chills without as much of the chill. I chalked it up to our post-work hangouts that left us tired and didn’t worry about it at all. I left for the Pacific Northwest not thinking much of it and speaking to Mr. fast food everyday – whether it be talk or FaceTime and even referred to him with the “boyfriend” term on the trip because that’s where I thought it was heading.

Once I came home after a month – I couldn’t find the excitement to see him. After a month apart I went over to see him (mostly out of obligation) and was not impressed when his idea for our date day was to “watch a movie and nap”. And by watch a movie I don’t mean “watch a movie ;)” but actually finish the film. Huh. I could tell the vibe was off and it felt like I was hanging with an old pal rather than a new flame and that wasn’t going to work for me. I did the cowardish thing and blamed a headache for the reason of my quick depart, frantically sped dialling my best friend that I didn’t like him anymore and didn’t know what to do. I successfully avoided his texts for an entire weekend until I had to face it on Monday – I needed to break up with Mr. fast food. He took it well and we parted ways – still on good terms talking about the CNE and tossing each other the occasional Instagram like (I mean what says “friendship” more than that?!)

Like fast food, I was addicted for a bit until I realized that this thing with Mr. Fast Food wasn’t sustainable. Though Mr. Fast Food was funny and nice, he lacked the ambition and drive that I needed for this to go “next level”. Needless to say my motto is still fries over guys, even if the guys come with fries.

Until next time!

 

 

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The Unluck of the Irish

It was the vacation we were highly anticipating – Sam and I were off  to South America for three weeks to hike, relax and of course find some blog stories. In typical Pam fashion, this story is very me (so basically rated PG) it still has some giggles and fun in it, and sorts of selective irresponsibility – at least more than I’m used to.

Our story starts with Sam and I sitting in a café enjoying lake views a few days into our travels. As we finished, we noticed these two adorable boys walk in and sit at the table beside us. Sam and I eyed each other, having not really met any cool and cute English speaking friends yet we saw this as our perfect opportunity. We mustered up the courage and played dumb asking them about their accents (though they were unmistakably Irish), our small talk opener landed them a seat at our table and we began chatting. The boys were cute and fun, maybe a little young for us but we rolled with it because they were the most entertaining people that we had met. A bit of chatting later, and they asked our plans for the night. Since we were in a pretty low pro city with very minimal nightlife, their offer to watch the sunset with a joint sounded like a perfect night.

We had planned to watch the sunset from our hotel, but once we arrived we saw that a big hill was blocking our view. Our one Irish friend had a wonderful idea (I say with sarcasm) to run up and watch it from the top of the hill mountain. Sam was super into the idea and ran ahead, leaving me and my Irish boy at the bottom. This is where I curse Sam – being not dressed and ready for the hike and also not yet acclimatized to the 3800 masl altitude and now I had to “hike cute” with this boy. My hiking cute thing didn’t last long, but as I walked my Irish friend stayed sweet, even holding my hand parts of the way up and chatting with me. Eventually, feeling too focused to just make it up, I sent the Irish boy up and slowly made it up after them, just making it in time for the sunset. We enjoyed the chill vibes and sunset and had a lot of fun chatting these new Irish friends – Sam and I both wondering if we’d make it a blog post even though they were a few years younger. Once we finally made it down (try hiking an uneven path down a mountain in the dark), we discussed what to do next. Maybe it was everyone’s own confusion, or the fact we were making plans with young Irish boys but we couldn’t manage to make solidified plans with our new friends – meaning that our night was over.

We did manage to say bye to our new friends the next day – hearing that they proceeded to stay in their room and get “fucked up” for the duration of the night, while Sam and I opted for some Netflix and sleep. Maybe better off we didn’t end up hanging out with them, but still gave us a fun/cute adventure and set the tone for our love of Irish friends.

Which leads me to our next eventful evening at a hostel bar. Sam and I were expecting (and I was surprisingly ready for) a fun and wild night, so we were hoping that the hostel would deliver. After sitting with a few friends we made, Sam and I started scoping the bar for hot boys – hopefully a duo. Sam pointed out the hot guy in the pink shirt, and my eyes immediately darted to his friend and it was a go. We jumped in at the opportunity to comment about the glitter on their faces, and found ourselves Irish boys 2.0. Sam again went for the tall brunette, as I chatted up the shorter blonde guy. Looked like we found our pots of gold, and stayed with them at the bar. Let me say, wheeling boys at the bar is definitely not my forte, so as Sam quickly and naturally chatted up her boy I was still awkward and very sober. Luckily (maybe?) for me, my Irish boy was nice and forward making it easy for me and I can say I was proud of myself for flirting back better than I usually ever do. Apparently, he got a good read on it too because without notice mid conversation he leaned in and began making out with me.

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I can’t remember my last bar make-out and for good reason – because I hated it. I could tell Sam had seen, and thought it was hilarious, as I tried to steer away from him before he could make out with me again. I did think he was cute, and maybe now wasn’t the opportune time to tell him that I don’t make out with boys in public bars. He went for it again and I kissed back a bit, but as Sam describes I basically stood there and let him make out with me. He then proceeded to ask if I wanted to go to the corridor. I don’t know what the hell he wanted to do there, but I saw it as my perfect out and proceeded to say “No thank you, I’m going to dance on the bar with Sam” and ran away.

So maybe all that glittered wasn’t gold that night, but it was one of my more scandalous evenings that now warrants a blog post. Shortly after finding Sam, we proceeded to leave but Sam’s Irish man wanted her to stay. After a quick dilemma, I sent her back to the bar to find her pot of gold, but he had taken it as a sign of disinterest and went along back to the end of the rainbow. Though Sam may describe it as an unsuccessful evening (or two), I figured it would be good content for a blog post – and also highlight our apparent interest in Irish boys (don’t be surprised when our next stories come from our vacation to Ireland…just kidding). But in typical Pam fashion, I had to share my “wild” nights abroad!

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.

Continue reading “Mr. 10(A) High School Musical”

Mr. Special Ops

Carrie – When my friend offered me her place to stay in Seoul and my credit card supplied me with free flights, I impulsively booked my four Asian-metropolis trip for May: Tokyo, Shanghai, Busan and Seoul.

We met interesting people along the way, that’s for sure. One night in Tokyo, we ended up at as the only two girls at this karaoke bar, where I proceeded to get serenaded and dipped by the big, burly bartender to Enrique Iglesias’ “Hero” (song is forever ruined).

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Cue to my last weekend Seoul, where I develop what I will term “Seoul Goggles” which is essentially a “do it for the blog” mentality.

Continue reading “Mr. Special Ops”

Mr. “Oh Yeah”

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Making noise in the bedroom is usually gratifying for both parties. When you hear a moan escape from your partner’s lips, you know you’re doing something right.

Unfortunately, some people take it out of hand. I’ve categorized these people into:

(1) Screamers
(2) Chatter-boxes
(3) Excessive moaners

The screamer is someone who sounds like they’re being ripped apart when they orgasm. They’re not just loud when they’re close to climaxing but rather release a shrill like yell, the type you hear in horror movies when someone just got caught by the murderer.

I lived with a screamer once. I thought I was home alone until I heard someone yell at the top of their lungs. I lunged for a kitchen knife because I thought someone broke into my apartment and killed my roommate. NOPE, just an orgasm.

The chatter-box can take one of two forms. The first is the overly-concerned chatter-box. This is the person who will repeatedly ask “do you like that?”. It’s important to be courteous to your partner but if I’m enjoying myself, shut up. The second is the dirty-talk chatter box. Some people may enjoy dirty talk, but everything has its limits. I’m comfortable with a few comments here and there but if you keep talking you’re going to ruin the mood. Like sir, we’re banging you’re not reading me erotica.

Recently, I encountered my favourite moaner. I have labeled this type the “oh no’s”.

I bumped into a guy I knew from undergrad a few weeks ago. We started chatting about a project we worked on together in school and how I was kind of a bitch because I was super keen. After reminiscing for a while we swapped numbers and said we’d catch up over drinks later that week.

Going for drinks, I had no idea whether this was a date or just two friends catching up. My plan was to go grab a couple drinks then go to a friend’s birthday party and have an early night.

Things didn’t quite play out as planned.

We met up for drinks at a really low-key place. We ended up really hitting it off. After a few hours of hanging out a couple of his friends came to join us at the bar. I mentioned my friend’s birthday and they took it as an invitation to join. So we all made our way to the next bar and continued to drink. Four beers and a gin-and-tonic later, this guy and I are making out on the dance floor like we’re first years at a frat-party.

Everything was going well and I was having a lot of fun with him. When he asked me to come back to his place, it only seemed natural to accept this invitation.

When we started fooling around I immediately had a flash back to that scene in Trainwreck where Amy Schumer is having sex with that really jacked guy and is just so not into it. At that moment I empathised with Amy.

This guy used to play football so he was pretty muscular. Unfortunately, while having sex there were points where he’d put all his weight on me. Having 180lbs crushing you isn’t really “sexy”. Not ideal but at this point I’m thinking it could only get better from there, right?

Wrong.

As I’m finally kind of getting into to it, I hear the words “oh yeah” escape his lips.

I’m thinking, okay… cool… guess I’m doing something right. Then I heard it again… and again… and again. This man was repeating the words “oh yeah” the entire fucking time.

There was a massive human being on top of me, closed eyes, and just repeating the phrase “oh yeah” while I lay silent and stunned. Was this man for real? Once the shock washed away the next step was not letting laughter escape me.

Like I was a participant in these activities. I could say from first-hand experience that it was not “oh yeah” worthy, much closer to “mmmm kay”. You’re not a god bud, you are a mere mortal with an average dong.

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).

Continue reading “Bachelorette in Hell”

Mr. Heart Emoji – Part Two

[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?”

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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.

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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 Two”

Mindy Lahiri is a Lying Betch

You may be thinking: “Gasp! Oh no you di’int…How dare you desecrate the good name of Mindy Lahiri: OB-GYN, Sass Queen and spirit animal to millennial women everywhere!”

Well dear followers, I certainly di’id and someone had to say it. Now I know that Mindy is #goals, she’s smart, sassy, and hero to us all. (Clearly I’m girl crushing. Hard.)

While this is all true and I love The Mindy Project for so many reasons, our favourite Indian Gyno is also a Total. Lying. Betch. The woman who we look to as a guide through the treacherous waters of modern dating is really just reinforcing romantic tropes and unrealistic expectations for our relationships! What do I mean, you may ask? Well, let’s start with the ways in which Mindy meets men.

I mean, I have NEVER met a cute guy on…

…the subway

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…at my office

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…the office next to mine

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…on an airplane

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…or again on the FRIGGEN SUBWAY!!!

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Like, are there really this many single hotties hanging around waiting to be met in NYC? Because if so I have got to get out of the 6ix ASAP!

Maybe it’s just my current life stage that people aren’t looking to meet “The One”. There certainly are enough hot men walking around the financial district to satisfy one women, but how do you start talking to them as you pass by? I have eye-banged an embarrassingly large number of men as we’ve crossed paths, but starting an actual conversation in a natural and endearing way is extremely hard. I mean, COME ON, there is actually a dating app that lets you talk ONLINE to someone you’ve passed IN PERSON. Wtf is that about Happn?

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Back to the matter at hand.

If a young, fun, professional female in relatively good shape wants to meet a guy outside of the online dating world, how does she do it? Subtlety hand off a business card while walking past a hottie?  Or just say “Hi, you’re cute” and pray he doesn’t think you’re stalker? MINDY, LET ME KNOW…asking for a friend.

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I guess I don’t really hold it against her because despite seriously unrealistic ideations, I am still #TeamLahiri. Not only does she actually represent a positive body image in a world of human rakes, but she is probably one of the most relatable characters on television.

Exhibit A:

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and…

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or

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Lol been there…

Like Mindy, I am often a little too brash, a little too chaotic and a little too into wine.  And like our dramatic heroine I have not yet given up on ~love~. Sure, neither of us is a stranger to the one night stand and have had our fair share of setbacks (see any of my blog posts or seasons 1-5 of The Mindy Project)…But I honestly believe that one day all those mishaps will be fun anecdotes to share with the guy who’ll be foolish enough to love me (and Mindy) in spite of them.

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So maybe there isn’t a line of guys waiting to date me if I act entitled and obnoxious. So what? This is a TV show after all, and I’m not sooo delusional that I’d take all my life lessons from a woman who’d eat a bear claw off of the streets of NYC. The crux of the matter is Mindy is unapologetically herself and inspirational to all of us looking to find our inner Beyonce Pad Thai warrior.

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So cheers to Mindy, you’re a babe. I’ll let you sum up this post with my personal mantra for 2017. Can’t wait to see what shenaniganry we’ll both get up to this year…

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Recycled Love

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It’s Saturday night and I’ve decided to stay put in my sweats while watching Sex and the City reruns. The thing is, I’m pretty content with my night and lately I’ve found the need for solitude more and more appealing.

Recently, I found myself face to face with a thing of the past, more specificaly, a man from my past. Its your typical ex story, with the grand over the top breakup, the draining back and forths, and the endless supply of tears and drama. Unfortunately for me, this has been going on for just over a year, 14 months to be exact. Its that terrible cycle, you know, the familiar one. You cut the communication and decide it’s best to go cold turkey, and then its a text message on your birthday or a congratulations on graduating then sets this awful cycle in motion again. And every time you convince yourself it’s “different” and you’re both more mature this time around. And every time you actually believe the crap you say to justify your “connection”. But when is enough really enough? How far will we go to recycle old boyfriends? Should a relationship that ends really stay finalized, or should there be an open door for making something new out of something old?

I wish I had these answers. You can ask as many girlfriends as you choose to for these answers but you know you’ll wind up getting the same one from them all. The thing is, you can ask anyone whose opinion you value what to do, but I’ve found in my case it really doesn’t make any difference. All that matters is the way you feel and while that may seem obvious to most, how often do we really stay true to our own feelings and desires? Who is anyone else to tell you what to feel or who to talk to or who not to talk to for that matter? What I’m trying to say is that I think it’s alright not to know the right answers or which decision to make when it comes to matters of the heart. After all, isn’t the whole point of love to experience this epic highs and lows which make up our perception of the whole concept?

So how do you know when to call it quits for good or to give it another shot in the pursuit of love? Well you sure as hell shouldn’t ask me, I’m still finding that out.

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”