Mr. Heartbreak Breakup

Carrie – The curse of having a great memory is having to disassociate every moment you’ve ever shared with him. 

The latest memory that sent me into tears was mini donuts. Yes my friends mentioned mini donuts, a great joy in people’s lives and diets, but a bitter sweet reminder of our first date when we lined up in front of the “hot and fresh” carnival donut stand.

Image result for hot and fresh mini donuts stand
yes, this made me cry recently

The saddest part of having a formal relationship is knowing that the transition never really involves after-the-fact friendship. Maybe ex-sex or the occasional run-in. But rare to have true friendship if you didn’t start off with it. Continue reading “Mr. Heartbreak Breakup”

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Mr. Handball

Miranda – In September of this year, I went on an epic solo vacation to Israel and Cyprus. To sum up my trip, think beaches, booze, partying, falafel, and orthodox Jews. Although meeting boys wasn’t a large aspect of my trip, I did walk away with one experience that is impossible not to share.

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This story is probably as close as I’m going to get to a Disney fairytale love story minus the G rating and the happily ever after ending. Picture this: an exhausted and gross looking me carrying a massive backpack, standing outside the Tel Aviv airport trying to figure out how to get to my hostel. I have just been informed that since it was Shabbat, the whole country, including trains and transportation, had been shut down. Lucky me. There must have been a look of panic and stress on my face because a man with a suitcase approached me asking if I needed help. Turns out he was an undercover security guard posing as a tourist. He guided me to the taxis as that was now my only option to get to the city, but not before asking me for my number. Still frazzled and confused, I gave it to him – not out of interest but more out of not wanting to reject him after helping me, and who knows what type of heat he was packing under his fake tourist clothes.

I head over to the taxi stand and try to call one through a machine. Beside me I hear someone say “don’t do that – it’s a waste of time. Just order it from the person over there.” I turn around and there’s this tall, hot guy, later to be known as Mr. Handball, walking past me. I yell thank you and start talking to the taxi coordinator, only to be in shock at the price to get to Tel Aviv. Still carrying my backpack, the hot guy is now in a taxi and motions for me to come over. I guess he too, noticed my anxiety, because he asked if I want to split the taxi with him since we’re headed in the same direction. His dad was seated in the front of the taxi, so it made me feel comfortable enough to say yes and literally get in a car with a stranger. We talk in the backseat throughout the drive and the driver drops them off first, but not before Mr. Handball asks for my number. Surprised yet again, this time however, I willingly gave my number. After he left, I couldn’t help but thinking: I’ve been in Israel for less than an hour, and have already been picked up twice. This is definitely something I could get used to.

Fast forward to the next day, Mr. Handball messages me and offers to take me out and show me around. I’m totally game and he picks me up Saturday night at 11pm from my hostel. He’s hotter than I remember and I’m already looking forward to my first Israeli hookup. Only in the car does he tell me that he’s a professional handball player and his first game of the season is the next day. Because of this, we can’t go to bars or clubs in Tel Aviv as we had originally planned because he can’t be seen out drinking the night before a game and Tel Aviv is relatively small, so he would definitely run into people he knew. Instead, we drive to a quiet street and sit on a closed restaurant’s patio drinking from my little Smirnoff mickey I brought (I always like to be prepared). He then pulls out some cigarettes, tells me he shouldn’t be smoking before the game either, but we go ahead and share a few anyways. I’m getting drunk at this point and he pulls me over to his lap and brings me in for a kiss. At this point we’ve run out of alcohol, so he offers going back to his place to grab some more alcohol before we go out to a club. Ignorant little me thought we’d just swing by his place first to quickly to down some shots and then head out but of course, we ended up having sex (which would seem obvious, in hindsight). Mr. Handball mentions that having sex before a game is also not good for performance but it’s not like it stopped his advances on me nor did I give a shit of how he played tomorrow as long as he was playing me well now.  By now it’s past 2am and all the clubs are near closing but we try driving around to find a nearby spot anyways. With no luck finding anything open at this time, he takes me to the beach and picks up some Israeli snacks for me to try (side note – they have the most amazing Cheetos type things made out of peanuts, it’s divine). It was a mixture of chilled out talking and cheeky high school fooling around until 5am before he dropped me back off at my hostel.

The next day he messaged me saying his team lost the game. I guess at this point I shouldn’t even be surprised, he did warn me. But – I was clear from the get-go that he couldn’t put the blame on me for making the decision to drink, smoke and have sex before a big game.

All in all, it is one of my personal favourite hookup stories. It’s just too bad it started from the moment I landed and began my vacation, as nothing after that lived up to the hype and excitement of my meeting Mr. Handball.

Mr. Lucky Charms

You know when you’re in a situation and there’s no possibility of any hookup happening? Like when you’re vacationing at a cabin in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere-Quebec with your family. Ya, that was me over new years. I left two days after Mr. Lawyer happened and had already mentally prepped myself for a good week of family bonding and copious amounts of food, with no boys to distract me or qualm my ever rising sexual needs. But when does a plan ever work out how you imagined?

Turns out, one of my sisters invited her best friend, who then invited her boyfriend, who then invited his nephew. So, yes, there was a young Irish man that was unrelated to me (hence Mr. Lucky Charms) staying in the cabin. All of a sudden my new year’s resolution plans of being a good girl were squandered.

Mr. Lucky Charms was cute and dorky, glasses and all, and a charming Irish accent with which I only understood about 60% of his words. He was tall and had a lean build, but I was surprised to find out that he was pretty fit (more like discovered while we were in the hot tub).  Even though he was on my radar, I never truly intended for anything to happen. I was surrounded by family after all and in a way, he’s a family friend. It was fun just thinking about hooking up with said foreign man while on vacation. The notion of it was exciting and risqué.

It wasn’t until the second half of the vacation, when I was given the task of giving every single family member one of my infamous massages that a story worthy of this blog began. Eventually, it was Mr. Lucky Charm’s turn. I lathered his back in a healthy dose of massage oil and dove in. Feeling a bit frisky (maybe from the spiked eggnog), I may have added a little bit extra to his massage experience and I’m pretty sure he got the hint. Later that evening, my family decided to make a small trip to Montreal to explore the city and check out the Christmas markets. On cue, both Mr. Lucky Charms and I both decided to stay in the cabin along with my sister’s boyfriend. I feigned tiredness but mostly I just wanted to see how far I could take it with the Irish guy and see if luck really was on my side.

After everyone had left, Mr. Lucky Charms and I hung out and gravitated to the hot tub where things really started getting hot and steamy. It was the first time I had done anything like that but I gotta say, there is something extremely hot about hooking up while it is -20 degrees Celsius in the middle of a pitch black forest with the stars twinkling above. I guess I can check that off my bucket list now. In fact, it was so cold that my hair had froze into icicles coming out of my head. On top of this, there was the added bonus and adrenaline rush with the risk of getting caught by my sister’s boyfriend who was just chilling a few feet from us inside. At one point we were so close to getting caught but somehow (at least to our knowledge) we managed to survive that. My family returned later that night and although they made some suspicious comments, we held our ground and their questions stopped.

It was a lot of fun and we decided to push our luck and try one more time the last night in the cabin. Unfortunately, the layout of this house was open concept and neither of us had a room to ourselves. At this point the only logical option was to wake up at 3am and hookup in the living room. The risk factor was off the charts as my dad was just sleeping down the hall but we managed to keep quiet and once again Mr. Lucky Charms lived up to his name.

The next day we all hopped into our cars and made the trek back to the 6ix. Mr. Lucky Charms was staying in Toronto for one more night before he flew back to Vancouver where he was working. Interestingly, he asked me to hang out for his last night. I agreed and we ended up having an enjoyable time doing the most stereotypical first date shenanigans you can think of: dinner, movie and playing pool.  We held hands throughout even though we were both well-aware nothing would come out of it. I really do think he is a sweet guy and someone I would be open to dating but alas this will just remain an epic story about some vacation I had one time.

One thing is for sure though. The luck of the Irish is a real thing. I gotta get this shit bottled up.