Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckgirl: Part Five – Mr. Blind Spot

Carrie – Have you ever been so bored at work that you get horny? Like an uncomfortable-in-your-ergonomic-desk-chair, drinking-more-water-as-if-that-will-satiate-your-thirst type of horny? Well that’s what I was feeling on this particular Tuesday and when Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many was unavailable, I decided I’d toss Mr. Blind Spot a bone(r).

I invite Mr. Blind Spot to come over to my apartment. I thought his text about “seeing each other a few more times, taking things slow and see where they go” was just a formality, especially since he asked for casual relationship. So he arrives on a rainy evening, we end up making out on my bed and five minutes in, he pulls out a condom. It was a little fast for my taste, in terms of our relationship overall but also in foreplay tbh. However, I did really like him and my animalistic urges took over. I made him promise not to turn into an asshole after sex, he asked for clarification and then agreed, and I let him take control of the situation. As someone with a strong personality, he was one of the first guys I’ve been with that was the more dominant one in bed and I have to say it was a fun time. We went multiple rounds, even when my sister got home. At that point, he asked to do it in my apartment stairwell and I was slightly freaked out by his experience and kinkiness. However, all those worries were quieted when we lying together in my bed and he asked me to “netflix now that we’ve chilled.” I began setting up my laptop for a makeshift TV but he asked to go hang out on my living room couch, which is in a lot of ways the more intimate setting. He met my sister while we cuddled, kissed and joked around quoting Superbad together. He even gave me a foot massage with my fuzzy socks on.

At this point, I was just going to see Mr. 3 Chances because I have a tendency to run when I got scared and I was really into Mr. Blind Spot. So when Mr. Blind Spot texted me on Friday and Mr. 3 Chances was late again that night, I decided to meet up with the guy I actually liked instead. Mr. Blind Spot ended up going to the Maddy when I was near the Drake Hotel at a party, so I gave up on us meeting up and began scarfing down King’s Slice (biggest and great pizza in Toronto). It was around 2:30 a.m. when he started texting me consecutively. I should have listened to How I Met Your Mother when they said “nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” because he invites me over as I’m getting home. I guess my decision to go was partially because I am a human being with sexual needs and because I really liked this guy and wanted to spend more time with him before he left to London for the next couple of days. So yolo.

After a sketchy 4 a.m. uber ride, he walks me in and I get to see his room with nerdy airplane and robot models, a rubix cube with instructions on how to complete it, a huge TV, mismatched birch furniture that looks like it’s from a childhood room and a guitar. We are naked together, cuddling with my head resting on his shoulder when he gives me a forehead kiss. At that point, I’m a goner. The next morning (really only a couple hours later), I wake up with an abundance of energy considering how little sleep we got, and I get to see a boyish messy haired version of this very composed guy. When he wakes up a little more, he plays me a beautiful melody on the guitar with the sun beating down on him, barefoot in jeans, leaning against the wall. I’m resting my head on his duvet enjoying the moment and he sets his guitar down, resting his head across from me so that we’re looking at each other. Sometimes you can feel when you really connect with someone and that was the shifting moment when emotions got involved – a connection between two people outside of all the cellphones and sex and hookup culture that surrounds us these days. Two people staring at one another, eye to eye, not talking but just connecting as humans do. I know it’s dorky to say but it was special.

It was also after this moment that I felt his wall go up. At first, I thought it was because we were heading into public on the subway. He started rambling about his masters’ thesis, something about wing span gradient and range, then I gave him a shy kiss as we parted and he gave me a little salute in response. He texted me after the weekend and we were chatting when midway, he said “he feels weird about all that’s happened last week.” Knowing the end was impending, I asked him if he’d rather stop talking or meet in person. We decide to meet at Queen’s Park Station where we sat at a booth and he proceeds with small talk. I tell him to cut to the chase, why is he feeling “weird” and he tells me a relationship shouldn’t start off with so much sex. I immediately think of this as an insult against me and my womanhood –that I am the culprit of seduction when it was an act between the two of us. He realized he couldn’t do casual because he was a ‘boyfriend type guy’ but he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship yet since he just broke up with his ex in August. I was shocked: at the double standard he was using against me, especially since he initiated sex between us; at the fact that he confessed he’s only had sex three times before me because he was amazing in bed; at the fact that it was ending and it wasn’t my choice; but mostly at the fact that he made my biggest fears of another meaningless two night stand come true. I forgot to check my blind spot with this guy and I ended up crashing. When I got home, I sobbed uncontrollably at the rejection, replaying every moment between us where I could have flubbed up things. The bargaining stage of “maybe if I hadn’t done this or that, then…” I was disappointed and I was blaming myself.

But as I’m writing this, I’m thinking of the number of people I’ve been with this past year and a half of being single and how many unpursued connections that could have been romantic options, temporarily or otherwise. Things worked out after one of my biggest heartbreaks to date, I reminded myself. And as I travelled by Queen’s Park Station, I was reading Mindy Kaling’s latest book, thinking how she’s still writing about these disappointments with love interests at 34. The next breath I took wasn’t as jagged, it didn’t hurt quite so much anymore, and I felt hopeful for the first time. I realized how I still have years to be as successful as Mindy and an infinite amount of time to find the love(s) of my life. Hell, I’ve already been in love and that’s a lot more than other people can say. Reflecting on that Tim Horton’s booth where things ended before they started between me and Mr. Blind Spot, I had just had an epiphany.

Since failed romances are supposed to be about learnings, I’ll impart mine upon those of you who have stuck around to read this:

It’s not about your looks. It’s not about your personality. Essentially, it’s not about you. It’s not even necessarily about the way you guys mesh together. It’s truly about what you and your interest are looking for at the moment. These guys may want the same vision as me down the line, but when we’re all out here in the 6ix in our early 20s, it’s our time to be selfish. Don’t take it personally.

I failed as a Toronto F*ckgirl. Instead of dating multiple people and not caring about anyone other than me, I ended up being monogamous and getting hurt. But that’s because I care about people and most importantly, I love myself enough to think I deserve the best rather than settle. At the end of the day, I wouldn’t give that up for anything. I know I’ll find someone out there someday who will want the same things as I do at that moment. It’s gonna happen for me again when it happens. In fact, I’m sure I’ll find many somebodies. It just takes time to get over the somebodies that you think might be someone to you. So be patient, be strong, and keep sifting through the f*ckboys.

May the force be with you this holiday season, my friends. Merry Christmas!


Chronicles of a Toronto F*ckGirl: Part Four – Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many

Carrie – Being a f*ckgirl is hard. Being a Toronto Tinder f*ckgirl is even harder. People are fickle but people online are even shittier, myself included. For example, 99% of the time, I have read your message and I just choose not to respond to you. 1% of the time, I have read your message but I am thinking of something witty to respond to you and don’t want to seem too eager. For a chick that doesn’t like games, I sure have learned the rules quick.

Monday evening, recounting my weekend to a friend at a vegan restaurant, I’m feeling uber chic and hipster in my new black toque and plum lipstick (yeah, I’m one of those Asians) when I get a text from Mr. 3 Chances 2 Many and Mr. Blind Spot. Balancing guys ain’t easy but as the title of this post might indicate, I’m gonna focus on the Mr. 3 Chances for this one. To be frank, his text had popped up as a number because I had deleted his number in a trigger-finger move when he essentially stood me up the day before.

6:27 p.m.: Hey what’s up?

I scoffed and put my phone away.

8:23 p.m.: you prob don’t wanna talk to me now eh

I decide to be a decent human being and rather than ghost this guy, at least just tell him I took his hint by him bailing two times and I’m no longer interested. He sends a text in protest right away and it honestly was the longest consecutive conversation we’ve had. Then he asks me what I’m doing that night.

Listen guys – it doesn’t work like that. If you don’t make the effort to fit me into your schedule, especially when we’ve taken the time to confirm the plans, I don’t drop everything when it suits you. So I tell him that he should feel bad for bailing and it’s a shitty thing to do to someone. I’m sure he doesn’t need a stranger to lecture him but I thought I’d be respectful and respond to him to let him know I’m over it. No response back from him, I figure he really didn’t want a stranger to be lecturing him and that’s that.

Boarding the subway a half hour later, Mr. 3 Chances says “you’re right. Third times a charm tho? :)” I applauded his cajones cause I probably would have just ignored him and he says he agrees with me that he’s really messed it up with me and he’s really trying to make an effort to hang out cause he feels bad and wants to.

I’ve said time and time again, I’m a sucker for persistence. I may be a tough cookie but my hard shell can be as cracked as easily as a Cadbury Mini Egg. And as much as I would like to change myself in a lot of ways, I think the ability to give people the benefit of the doubt and forgive is one of my best qualities. Even though it might seem naïve and I always end up vulnerable, shouldn’t we be vulnerable as humans actively trying to make a connection? So I tell him I’m considering.

After some prodding throughout the week, we go through our schedules and out of three dates, Friday night later in the evening seems to work. I joke that he has a Tinder date before me, but he tells me he’s going to the aquarium with his parents who are visiting from Barrie.

Friday rolls around, I get a text at 10 that he’s heading back from the aquarium so I freak out and start my f*ckgirl ritual of foundation, a smoky eye and some dark lipstick. I decide on some jeans and booties while my friend and I dance to Damian Marley, releasing our inner reggae gurus. I debate wearing the same outfit as I did with Mr. Blind Spot for our first date and to be honest, I was thinking of him a lot after the events that happened earlier that week. He had messaged me earlier that day and we were chatting a bit. I just didn’t want to put all my eggs in that basket and I’ve never dated multiple guys at the same time so I wanted to try something that felt unnatural to me.

But it’s the date that never happens because at 11, when we’re supposed to meet, he tells me he just got home and will be another 40 minutes. 11:40 p.m. on a Friday night for a first date sounds more like a booty call to me. I tell him it’s too late for me, I’ll text him tomorrow, he apologizes. Reading the message and feeling rejected, I also feel more resolved that I am perhaps not as good as a polyamorous dater as I suspected and shoot off a text to Mr. Blind Spot asking what he was up to that night…

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…