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).

i-can-be-your-hero-baby-thumb

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”

8a68b209f132d0fb4bfb3d7d4f5d1581e6a3810926b47d4948c5e16b6a0f14d5

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?”

captain-picard-facepalm

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.

900
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

screen-shot-2017-01-20-at-6-03-49-pm

…at my office

screen-shot-2017-01-20-at-6-03-59-pm

…the office next to mine

screen-shot-2017-01-20-at-6-04-05-pm

…on an airplane

screen-shot-2017-01-20-at-6-04-12-pm

…or again on the FRIGGEN SUBWAY!!!

screen-shot-2017-01-20-at-6-04-18-pm

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?

02-mindy-tinder-2-w245-h368

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.

Screen Shot 2017-01-20 at 6.07.04 PM.png

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:

bv_3tthcyaao57u

and…

unknown

or

anigif_enhanced-3038-1410891148-3_preview

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.

kane

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.

enhanced-buzz-17123-1379451593-24

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…

chicken-wins

 

 

Recycled Love

s9QMrKB.jpg

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”

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.

douchebag-jar-how-quickly-would-this-fill-up-from-contributions-from-people-in-your-life_1338542678_epiclolcom

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. Slide Into My DMs

Carrie – For the first time in a really long time, when I stepped out of the shower that morning, an overwhelming sensation of gratitude washed over me. Perhaps I had been in a particularly good mood having finished my summer courses and finally enjoying what was left of my summer. Maybe it was the reminiscent effect of some weed I’d had the night before. Whatever the case, I was appreciative of the simple things: the sweet aroma of my shampoo, the soft towel grazing against freshly cleaned skin, and the sensation of my plush memory-foam bath mat under my foot as I gingerly step out of the shower.

Then in some weird sort of memory association, I remembered the history of said bath-mat. It wasn’t particularly sentimental, being a cheap Costco purchase two years ago. However, I recall enthusiastically snapping videos of the memory foam in action to Mr. Puppy Love who often experienced my obsession with all-things-fuzzy. The mat has also gotten me through darker moments: supporting me (and friends) as we hung around the toilet the morning after a night of binge drinking and comforting me when I pathetically cried after Mr. Mindfuckboy left my house that fateful winter night.

If you haven’t read up on my saga with Mr. Mindfuckboy, I’ll spare you your life and give you the Sparks notes here: this guy’s favourite movie is The Notebook. If that wasn’t indication enough (as I was too infatuated to see at the time), it is exactly the type of tortured romance he’s looking for in his life. He wanted me to be his Allie, the girl he couldn’t be with right away, but she was his soul mate and they’d eventually end up together when the time was ‘right’. Too bad the ‘right’ time in the movie was also the most-complicated scenario/worst-timing right when she was happy and about to get married. But that was the love he wanted. Mr. Mindfuckboy made everything fifteen times more complicated than it should have been. When I gave him the opportunity to be with me, he chose to cower, ignoring my phone calls but writing me a fucking poem about how I’m better off without him. Later that evening, I sent him a ‘break-up’ text telling him to never contact me again and delete me from his life.

So lo and behold my dismay when, I kid you not, TWELVE MONTHS LATER (that’s a whole year later ladies and gents) I get hit up with a follow on Instagram from Mr. Mindfuckboy, who I will now term Mr. (Slide Into My) DM.

Continue reading “Mr. Slide Into My DMs”