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.

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Continue reading “Mr. 10(B) Unibrow”

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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…