Confessions of a Redhead

Po' Boy

2012-05-13T22:03:00.000-04:00

I’m going to interrupt the story of Asshole (again), to tell you about a date I had recently. Better to tell you people about these things while they are fresh in my mind, and believe me, a break from Asshole is a good thing. That’s what she said!

Sorry, I’ll be good. Ish.

After a long hiatus from online dating, I began talking with a few guys on POF about two weeks ago. I immediately hit it off with a tall wannabe-cop (currently working as a police dispatcher), who looked really cute in his pictures. We e-mailed back and forth a bunch, and then switched to iMessage. It didn’t take long before he sent me this:

WC: Just getting a read on your wit. I believe it’s a finely honed defense mechanism as well?

Well, shit.

Redhead: Why do you think that?

WC: So nobody fucks with you.

Fair enough.

The Wannabe Cop and I had already discussed meeting the following week when my work schedule would be a little less hectic, but out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, he asked if I would consider meeting him for a coffee that night. Against my better judgment (and my hatred for all things last-minute), I agreed.

A few hours before meeting, I made the mistake of asking him the million dollar question:

Redhead: So, you seem like a decent guy. Why are you single?

WC: I had my heart ripped out. My fiancée got hired by a police service and decided that she didn’t want to get married and it freefell from there. Eventually I had enough of her antics and told her how I felt, so she dumped me.

Fuck. Why do I ask these things?

WC: I played misogynist for about a year then signed up for POF as a way to socialize myself and then said to myself that I’d had enough and wanted to date again.

WC: It had to happen eventually. To be fair, you ask yourself, why is this guy 35 and single.

WC: For the most part ive come to terms with it, just need my cat.

Overshare alert.

Redhead: She has your cat?

WC: My roommate is allergic to cats.

WC: Yeah that’s right. I have a roommate.

WC: I owe him a wookie life debt.

Oh good, a Star Wars reference.

My enthusiasm about our coffee date was beginning to wane.

Walking into a Tim Horton’s in my neighbourhood, I realized why all his pictures were taken from a distance; he had large, distracting moles on his face.

He had a large cup of coffee in front of him, and since he knew I didn’t like coffee, I spotted a large container of chocolate milk on the opposite side of the table for me. Not what I would have picked at 7:30pm, but I certainly appreciated the gesture.

Over the course of the next hour and a half, I discovered a lot about the Wannabe Cop, like the fact that he was allergic to beer (hops, specifically), and for years he had considered becoming a cop.

“So why don’t you?” I asked.

He pointed at his wrist, and I looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m white. It’s a lot harder if you’re white,” he said.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” was all I could think to say in response.

He told me that he had taken some online courses about human behaviour, and as I was in the middle of telling him a story, he suddenly cut me off and said, “See, what you just did there? That was memory recollection!”

“Excuse me?”

“First you looked up and to the right, because you were recalling the memory, then down, because you were drawing from emotion. If you had looked up and to the left, you would have been lying,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I really shouldn’t do that, but I couldn’t help myself. Please go on!”

Talk about a conversation killer, and I was incredibly self-conscious about everything I did and every direction I looked from that moment on.

“Are you ready for another chocolate milk?” he asked me.

“No, it’s okay, I haven’t finished this one.”

He snickered.

“What?” I asked.

“That’s what she said!”

Uhm, not really, and there is nothing worse than a “that’s what she said” abuser.

The topic of his roommate came up again, and he told me he had very little disposable income, as he was saving up for his own place.

“I’m po’,” he told me.

“I’m sorry, po’?”

“There’s poor and then there’s po’. I’m po’.”

Right. I was born and raised in the ghetto, and even I don’t use ridiculous terms like “po’”. Time to pull the chute! I looked at the clock and said, “Wow, nine o’clock already? I should get going.”

“Sure. I’ll walk down the street with you.”

We gathered up our things, threw out our cups, and headed out the door. At the corner of my street, he stopped and said, “So, can I see you again? Or did I totally screw this up?”

Avoiding eye contact, I shifted awkwardly and replied, “Uhm, sure. We can…hang out again.”

He smiled and leaned in for a hug, then I turned and walked away.

Not ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Text message.

WC: It was really nice putting a face to the personality. I’m impressed.

An hour later, my phone buzzed again.

WC: So my roommate has his gf over. If you’re around…help!

After brushing my teeth, washing my face, and changing into my pyjamas, I put my phone into airplane mode and went to bed.

The next morning, I was boarding a bus when I received another text message.

WC: There’s a story on CP24 about rock climbing. Made me think of you. Morning.

Slightly annoyed, I made the decision to nip this one in the bud, and sent him a response.

Redhead: Morning. Hey, I have to be upfront about something. I think you’re a great guy, but I just had a friendship vibe last night…not sure if a friend is what you’re looking for.

He was silent for a few hours, and then:

WC: Now that you mention it, and that I think about it, you’re right. You’re still seven and a half shades of awesome though.

Hahaha. Whatever you need to tell yourself, dude.

I thanked him, and he proceeded to send me a bunch of chats and “funny” pictures from the internet throughout the course of the day.

Eventually, I just stopped responding. I’m not looking for friends online, so I’d rather devote my energies to someone with greater potential.

Next up? When good dates go bad.

Misogynistic Much?

2012-04-22T14:54:00.003-04:00

I interrupt the tale of Asshole to bring you a rather disturbing conversation.

Yesterday, 9 a.m.

Buzz buzz.

I rolled over in bed and opened one eye, cursing the fact that I’d been too drunk to remember to put my phone in airplane mode when I went to bed. Head pounding, I picked it up and looked at the screen.

POF
You have a new message!

I selected the POF app, and opened it:

1010
4/21/2012 8:57AM
By what age do you suppose you’ll be having kids?

Something about this rather personal question rubbed me the wrong way, but I wanted to know where this guy was going with it, so I responded:

Redhead
4/21/2012 9:14AM
I'm not going to put time limits on myself; girls make themselves crazy by doing that. If it happens, it happens. Why do you ask?

1010
4/21/2012 9:17AM
Not putting time limits on yourself just allows you to go on having a good time and not getting things done before you get old. I've talked to a lot of women in their 30's that missed the marriage boat because they were busy having sex with a series of guys and whiled away their youth having fun and thinking that when they were done, there would be an amazing man waiting to marry them when all of their previous good times guys wouldn'tr marry them. Most woman are busy lying to themselves.

"IT" will only happen if you choose to make it happen! So far, the only thing you have chosen to make happen is practicing having babies with a number of guys.

Redhead
4/21/2012 9:25AM
I have not found the right person to marry yet, and I would rather be single than settle (and most of the women I know who jumped on that marriage boat you speak of are now in the process of a divorce.) I have, however, been in a number of long-term relationships, not "busy having sex with a series of guys", as you put it. You don't know me or my history, so don't assume.

How are the judgmental tactics working out for you?

1010
4/21/2012 9:37AM
Every guy that you chose to have sex with was the right person. You've settled ever time you had sex with a guy...I don't know why you won't admit to yourself that you settled for the guys you've been with.

Most woman are in the process of divorce because they chose poorly...like they did in a ll otheir previous relationships and they tend to not have the commitment to see anything though these days

You've been with a number of men sexually. Because so, you'll never be able to commit or be satisfied with one man for 50 years. At your age, you've ruined yourself for anything lasting. And, you've also done things that a man just doesn't want to marry a woman because of.(i.e., you've been many other men's commonlaw wife and given the milk away for free) But, you had a good time.,..and that is what women value most these days.

If you were in "NUMBER" of long term relationships...then all failed and you were inded bouncing from one man to the next. You number of sexual partner is 8-24. That is being very busy being promiscuous. I do know your history...you said yourself you have been in a "number (5,6,7,8 etc of juts longterm relationship...no t mention short term of one night stsnad or FWB.

My Judgment is working great! : ) It's kept me from ending up with sloppy seconds...it's kept me from marrying other men's play things...woman that are loose and gave it away to other guys. I don't want that kind of woman..I prefer to never have a woman again rather than have a sullied morally corrupt woman.

Redhead
4/21/2012 9:48AM
I'm not even going to dignify your nonsense with an argument, but I'm curious as to why you would bother messaging me? You've already decided who I am, so why waste our time?

1010
4/21/2012 9:52AM
You're just too lazy to do so.

Don't ask me to "dignify" any question of your's when you don't have the deceny to do the same. I don't see you ever marrying or having kids...but, that's just my extensive experience as a sociology major at play.

8-24! No doubt about it...that's why you won't "dignify" with a reply! ; )

Redhead
4/21/2012 9:56AM
You've taken up enough of my time. Goodbye and good luck; I hope you find your virgin! ;)

1010
4/21/2012 10:01AM
I do too! Because I won't be having what is left of a girl like you after she has shagged one guy after another with no thought of the man she hoped to marry on day. You've lived to satisfy your desires...and have been with one man after another. What is left of you after where you have been isn't worth marrying.

Adios!

WTF? Does this guy just go around POF, picking fights with women? I don’t understand it, but I thank him for the blog material.

Now back to our regularly scheduled story…

Meet the Asshole

2012-03-07T21:51:00.002-05:00

My sincere apologies for the delay in this post. I kept putting it off, and suddenly, I realized why: when I write these stories out, I use my excellent memory for small details, and I review old e-mails and MSN conversations. I essentially have to re-live what happened all over again, and in some cases, it can be very difficult and very sad. So bear with me as I tell this story, as it won’t be easy for me (and unfortunately, it will be followed up with a story about “Scooter” that I absolutely dread writing.) However, putting these stories on paper (okay, not really, but you get what I mean), is also closure and therapy for me, so let’s do this…

Oh, the ex. He is known to everyone as “Asshole”. Seriously. Even my mom and dad call him Asshole. People have actually asked me, “What was Asshole’s real name again?”

This will take a few posts.

Flashback: late summer 2006. I was lying in bed with a terrible sunburn on my legs (wear sunscreen always, kids!), thinking about dating, and how completely sick of it I was. For two years, it had been nothing but assholes (ha, the irony), clingers, and idiots. Not to mention expensive, since the majority of guys these days don’t like to pay for a first date, even if THEY asked ME out.

As I surfed through a bunch of random profiles, I told myself that someone would have to REALLY grab my attention in order for me to go on a date with them. Enter: Asshole. In his profile picture, he was tall, blond, drinking a beer, and wearing a wide leather Nixon watch at a concert. His write-up wasn’t half bad either:

Every song has meaning to someone. I love music, but can only play my stereo and iPod, and I DJ too. I'm trying to learn guitar, but sadly lack the discipline to practice every day until my fingers hurt. I really LOVE checking out all of the live music venues Toronto has to offer. Many of my friends are in local bands, so I get constant recommendations of shows to go see.

Currently listening to Stars, Deadboy & the Elephantmen, Magnetic Fields, She Wants Revenge, Inward Eye, the Walkmen, Bloc Party, Death From Above 1979, the Russian Futurists, TV on the Radio, and too many more to list.

I can't stand television in general and do not have cable, but I'll rent entire seasons of shows from Queen Video, and movies too. Zombie movies are the ultimate - slow zombies are preferred, but damn the fast ones are scary!

I live with my dog, or rather, with his bad habits, which are easy to overlook due to his charm and personality - dare I say two traits he learned from me. I think loyalty is on that list too. Oh yeah, and love of cookies. I don't drool (as much) though.

I've been teaching elementary school this year, so I'm good with kids, and have a valid police record check to boot. So, yeah, I'm a decent guy I think. I can also provide reference letters from several 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders, but I must confess, they were bribed with no homework and extra art lessons.

Want to know more? Drop me a line or smile.

I sent him a smile, and he sent one back. This posed a problem, as online dating etiquette meant that it was my turn to send him an e-mail, and I had exactly zero Lavalife credits. I debated for a day and then, for the first time in my online dating history, I sucked it up and spent $14.99 for 50 credits.

After a bunch of e-mails back and forth, I knew that Asshole was a divorcé (no kids), DJ’d at a bar in his neighbourhood, had two brothers and a sister, and following his divorce, quit a good job and went back to school to fulfill his dream of becoming a teacher.

For our first date, Asshole and I decided to meet up at Scallywags at Yonge and St. Clair on a Tuesday night. Choosing a seat facing the door on the patio, I ordered a drink and waited for my date to arrive. When he finally appeared at the door, his ear-to-ear grin made me forget that he was really late.

Asshole sat in the chair across from me and we spent the next few hours talking about anything and everything. It was a comfortable and fun date, like we’d known each other forever.

After paying our respective shares of the bill (ugh, why didn’t I just run then?), Asshole walked me to the subway station, where he leaned in to kiss me goodbye. I’ll admit, it was a very good kiss and for a moment, the world around us paused briefly.

He pulled back and said, “You’re a really good kisser.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I like you,” he smiled.

“I like you back.”

I hopped on the subway and headed home, happy and excited about someone new for the first time in a very long time.

The next day, Asshole asked me if I wanted to go out with him the following Saturday, and we decided to make it an afternoon date and go for a walk in Kensington Market.

Asshole’s apartment was in the Annex area of Toronto, and I arrived just before lunch. He asked me to come up, and after climbing two sets of very steep stairs (he lived above a Japanese restaurant), I knocked on the door and could hear loud scrambling inside. Asshole opened the door while holding onto his VERY large (half Labrador Retriever, half Rhodesian Ridgeback) and very excited dog, Cooper.

Once Cooper calmed down, he was let go and allowed to check me out. Admittedly, I’ve never been much of a dog person, but Cooper seemed happy and lovable.

Asshole and I left his apartment and headed for Kensington Market. It was a cool autumn day, and I remember a number of awkward silences in our conversation.

He pointed out a thrift clothing store he wanted to check out, and we headed inside. After perusing the men’s band t-shirts, we hunted for the strangest things we could find, and held them up for a laugh. I saw him reaching for leather pants, and it was too late for me to stop him—they were assless chaps. He dropped them like a hot potato with a horrified look on his face, and I had to hold onto a rack because I was laughing so hard.

“Why didn’t you warn me?!” he asked.

“Because,” I gasped, holding my stomach, “I didn’t realize until it was too late!”

“They were USED!”

“I know!”

He started to laugh too, and as we left the store, he grabbed my hand. Apparently, used assless chaps had shifted us into a more comfortable place.

Asshole and I found a pub and sat on the patio. He ordered a beer and I ordered a vodka cranberry. I was in the middle of telling a story when I noticed something that would bother me throughout the course of our relationship; he had a terrible wandering eye, and when that happened, he stopped listening to what I was saying.

“Huh?” he said, bringing his attention back to me, after staring at a couple of hot blondes who walked past our table.

“Nothing. Forget it,” I replied.

“No, what were you saying?”

Sigh.

After ordering some food and checking out a few more stores, we headed back to Asshole’s apartment to grab Cooper and go for a walk.

“I had fun,” I said.

“Me too. Hey, are you free Tuesday night?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m free.”

“Then I’m going to make you dinner at my place,” he smiled, and gave me a kiss goodbye at the subway station.

Even though we had just seen each other, Asshole and I spent time talking on MSN and then the phone later that night; we never seemed to run out of things to say to each other, and it had been a very long time since I’d had that with someone.

Tuesday night, I arrived at his apartment after work. He threw the door open and wrapped his arms around me in a giant hug while Cooper ran around us excitedly. It was a warm night and the balcony door was open. His kitchen smelled amazing.

“Wow!” I said, “What are we having?”

“Spaghetti,” he said, opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses.

“Uhm, I’m not a huge fan of wine,” I wrinkled my nose.

“Oh, you will be!” he said, handing me a glass, “Have a seat and relax while I finish cooking.”

I will admit, the more wine I drank, the more I liked it. I sat on the stairs and we chatted about our days until dinner was ready.

“Wait here,” he said, stepping past me onto the balcony, and then called me out a minute later.

I stepped onto the balcony and my jaw dropped. He had set a picnic table with a red and white checkered tablecloth and cutlery, and lit up the space with Christmas lights. It was really sweet and really romantic. I took a seat and he brought out our heaping plates of spaghetti.

We laughed and talked while we ate our dinners, and sunset turned to dusk. I realized that I really liked this guy. He was cute, funny, sweet, and making a really big effort with me.

As I stood up to take our dishes in, he came around to my side of the table and wrapped his arms around me again.

“I have to say something,” he said.

“Okay?” I replied.

“You…you’re not like any girl I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful and you’re funny and you’re smart. Falling for you is like a drop-kick to the stomach; it happens fast and it happens hard. I know this is soon. Way too soon. And I don’t want to scare you away, but I need to say it because it’s the truth. I love you.”

For a second, cold fear dripped down my spine and I couldn’t breathe, and then I said what I felt I HAD to say, because how do you NOT lie in a moment like that to a guy you really like?

“I…love you too.”

To be continued…

…when I get back from Thailand in a month ;)

Cat Daddy

2011-08-08T20:42:00.002-04:00

OkCupid has a ‘Quickmatch’ feature, where you rate people on a scale of one to five stars. If you both rate each other high, OkCupid e-mails you both to let you know. Such was the case with Cat Guy and I.

Through a number of lengthy e-mails, I discovered that Cat Guy was 33, originally from Oakville, Ontario, athletic (training for a triathlon), worked as a consulting engineer in the construction industry, had two half-brothers…and two cats.

After a couple weeks of e-mails, one very long phone conversation, and a bunch of text messages (even one night while he was at UFC), Cat Guy and I decided to meet up on a Tuesday night after work for drinks. I let him know ahead of time that I’d eat dinner before our meeting, as I prefer to keep a first date simple (get in, get out; neither party needs to suffer if there isn’t any chemistry.)

As I headed down the street to catch a westbound streetcar, I noticed that they were extremely packed with people, and decided to start walking.

Redhead: You there yet? Streetcars are packed. Walking.
Cat Guy: I sure am. I’m nothing if not punctual (was that a dig?) How far away are you?
Redhead: 5-10. I walk fast.
Cat Guy: No doubt. Let me know when you’re close. I’ll be walking around getting some fresh air. It’s nice out!

I put my phone in my pocket and picked up my pace. Buzz! Text message.

Cat Guy: Ooo, the place across the street has pizza and a pint for $12 lol.
Redhead: Someone’s hungry.
Cat Guy: Haha, I went for a run instead of dinner. I’m not going to ruin your drinks plan though, don’t worry!
Redhead: You can eat.

Did I mention that I HATE walking and texting?

Buzz!

Cat Guy: No I’m good!
Cat Guy: You could be some super weirdo and I’d have to run away :P
Cat Guy: Lots of places for lease here. Is this a bad area?
Redhead: No, not that I’m aware of.

Buzz!

Cat Guy: Mmm, outdoor flowers! Smells nice :).

WTF? Why was he telling me this?

Redhead: I’ll be there in a minute. Dufferin is the next major.
Cat Guy: I’ll take your word for it lol.
Cat Guy: Hey, my google maps agrees with you!
Cat Guy: Aesthetics places, laundromats…

I reached the bar just then, and thankfully put an end to his texting nonsense. He gave me a big hug and asked where we should go.

“I thought we were going to The Fox?” I asked, confused.

“Sure! Yeah, we can do that!” he replied.

“Is there somewhere else you wanted to go?”

“Nonono, this is fine,” he said, and grinned at me. Weird.

We chose a seat beside the window, and the waitress brought us menus.

“Just drinks for me, thanks,” I said, and handed mine back. I noticed Cat Guy looked at the menu longingly as he did the same. “Jesus. Cat Guy, order some food.”

“No, it’s okay!” he replied.

“Seriously. If you’re hungry, just eat. I really don’t mind.”

“I shouldn’t spend the money anyways. Drinks are fine!”

Uh oh. After what I went through with my ex (story soon to come), mention of money (especially lack thereof) tends to freak me out a little. Okay, a lot.

Cat Guy and I each ordered a beer and chatted while we waited for the waitress to return. He talked about not knowing the city very well, which confused me, as he was originally from Oakville (which is just west of the city and part of the Greater Toronto Area, for those who aren’t from around here.)

I asked him about his experience at UFC, and realized why he had had the time to text me most of that night: he had gone to the event ALONE.

Our beers arrived and I made the mistake of mentioning his cats. His face softened and he said, “I don’t go out much because money is tight, and my babies are used to me being at home. After my run I was sooooo tired, but I had to get ready to meet up with you.” His voice went up a few octaves so he was speaking in a baby voice, and he quite literally pawed at me across the table while saying, “My baby was like, no daddy, don’t go!”

All I could think was, that. just. happened.

He told me what his cats looked like. About their habits, personalities, and what their favourite toys were. How he became their "daddy", and their entire medical history. On and on and ON about his cats. I'm a cat person, but this guy put me to shame!

As if things weren’t awkward enough, Cat Guy informed me that his mother was a huge slut (his words, not mine). She left him when he was just a baby, and his father and grandparents had raised him. He found out about one half-brother at the age of 15, and the other at 29. “So may times I’ve asked my dad, WHY did you sleep with her? You knew she was a giant whore!” Cat Guy said.

This was a lot of information to process on a first date.

“Sometimes I just get in the car and drive,” he said, changing the subject.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Last summer I drove up to Thunder Bay twice, for no reason. Every once in awhile I would get out and have a look around. Stretch my legs. Enjoy the quiet.”

Did this guy have any friends? UFC alone, long road trips alone…

This was the point in the night when a homeless man parked himself right outside the window beside us, singing and swaying. To be honest, I found this way more entertaining than my date.

“See this scar on my head?” Cat Guy said, pointing at a jagged white line across the back of his scalp, and I raised my eyebrows. “I got it in a fight!”

I couldn’t help myself and said, “Like UFC?”

He laughed. “No. I was on a camping trip and really early in the morning, some guys started playing their music REALLY loud. Well, I didn’t like that, so I went over there and told them so.”

“Uh oh,” I said, feigning interest.

“Yeah! Only THEY didn’t like that, so one of them smashed a beer bottle and came at me! That’s how I ended up with this scar. I was bleeding everywhere and had to go to the hospital and get stitches. When my girlfriend came home, I was asleep and there was blood all over the pillow and she freaked out,” he laughed.

This guy was the king of too much information, especially on a first date. “You lived together?” I asked.

“Yes, I was engaged once and I’ve lived with three girlfriends.”

Miracles do happen, I suppose?

The bill arrived and Cat Guy grabbed it and said, “Well, we can do this one of two ways.”

Ugh. I spared him the bullshit I knew was coming, said, “Forget it, this is for my share,” and handed him a twenty (later, Stef was frustrated that I didn’t allow him to continue, as she wanted to know what the two ways were.)

We gathered up our things and stepped outside the bar. “I know you don’t like to take rides on the first date, but it’s late and I would really like to drive you home,” he said.

Bottom line: I knew this dude wasn’t a psycho. A little weird? Yes, but completely harmless. He would make the perfect boyfriend for some geeky, cat-loving, UFC fan chick, but not for me. I accepted his offer of a ride home.

As we were walking to the car, he again mentioned that he didn’t go out much, in order to save money. My curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but say, “If you don’t mind me asking, why is money so tight, Cat Guy?”

“Well, I’m making payments on my car, so I’ll have more money when that’s done in about a year.”

I directed him to my building, thanked him for a nice night and just smiled when he said he’d like to do it again as I hopped out of the car.

As I was getting ready for bed, he texted me to let me know he found the street he was looking for, was going home to make some dinner, and that he’d had a fun night with me.

The next evening, my phone buzzed.

Cat Guy: Hey Redhead! How was your Thursday :) ?

I never replied and I never heard from him again. I love it when they get the hint immediately and just walk away. Makes my job a lot easier!

And that, my friends, was the last date I’ve been on (it was early May.) It’s been a sad state of affairs online lately; over the last few months, nobody has caught my interest in the least (except a guy I’ve nicknamed “California”, but he lives too damn far away and thinks us Canadians are weird with our bags of milk, two-fours of beer, and loonies and toonies, eh?)

I digress. Guess what? It’s time to tell you about my ex…

Sex, Drugs & Movies

2011-05-18T19:47:00.003-04:00

Completely random text message on a Tuesday night in November:

Mr. Ego: What's new and exciting miss stranger?

Wait. What? Mr. Ego? I hadn't heard from him since I was forced to make him breakfast in my undies (June), followed by poke-a-palooza (Facebook pokes, not THAT kind of poke! God, you guys are so perverted.)

When I didn't respond right away, I received another text:

Mr. Ego: So what, you don't respond to my txts anymore? Pffffft.
Redhead: Calm down. I was busy last night. Not a whole lot new and exciting. Work. Exercise. Prep for Mexico. Oooh, I fell off a rock climbing wall! Does that count?
Mr. Ego: Yes! Still clumsy, I see. When do you go to Mexico? Wanna bring me? I can be your private cabana boy!!!!
Redhead: Mid Jan. And you wish.
Mr. Ego: Maybe I do! What are you up to this wknd?

I know a booty call (text?) when I see one; I am many things, but stupid is not one of them. Lonely, on the other hand…

Here's the thing: I've always been 100% sure that Mr. Ego is NOT my person. We can hang out, we can flirt like mad, and we can have sex, but he's not my #onetruelove (shout out to California. Ha.)

I invited Mr. Ego over to hang out and watch movies, and unfortunately, had to make it clear that it was a no-sex deal, due to shark week and the hangover from hell (I had been very drunk in Alliston the night before.) I fully expected him to bail due to those stipulations, but surprisingly, he arrived on my doorstep a few hours later, begging me to order food because he was starving.

"So," I asked him, "Where the hell have you been the last few months?"

"I met someone and we dated for awhile. It didn't work out."

Ouch. Even though I knew he wasn't "my person", I had to admit, it still hurt a little that he never wanted anything serious from me.

Mr. Ego and I spent the night curled up together on my couch, watching movies, eating panzerottos (deep fried, of course!) and drinking wine. It was fun and comfortable, as if I were hanging out with an old friend. I'll be completely honest here and say that he made a great replacement for someone that took my heart, stomped all over it, and is no longer in my life. This will make much more sense in the near future, but some of you know exactly who I'm talking about.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Buzz! Text message:

Mr. Ego: Whatcha doing this weekend?
Redhead: Yoga and errands. Are you inviting yourself over?
Mr. Ego: Hahaha. Yes.
Redhead: Bring alcohol.

And so he did. Once again, we spent a cozy Saturday night on my couch, watching movies and drinking wine. Suddenly, he looked at me with an evil grin.

"Soooooo, I brought something, and I think you should partake."

"Oh God. What?" I asked him, and he reached over and pulled a very small bag of pot out of his jacket, dangling it like a carrot in front of my nose.

I groaned. "Mr. Ego, you KNOW I don't smoke. It makes me sleepy, stupid, and anti-social."

"I'll just make a pinner. You'll be fine, and it's just us. Live a little!" he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him and said, "Fine," even though he was already rolling a very small joint.

When it was ready, he grabbed my hand and dragged me into the bathroom. We shoved towels under the door and opened the window.

"This is SO high school," I muttered, and he laughed at me. We passed the joint back and forth, and I emptied a can of air freshener into the bathroom when we were done.

Back on the couch, he put on Inception, and it wasn't five minutes before I started to giggle.

Mr. Ego smirked at me, "You okay over there?"

This caused me to laugh even harder, and he grabbed me and pulled me over to him.

"What?" I giggled.

"You," he said.

"Me what?" I asked, but we were making out before he could answer. There were hands pulling off clothes and then he was dragging me into my bedroom for some hot sex, which happened a couple times that night…and once in the morning.

Let me just say, there's nothing like having an itch scratched…with a really cute, muscular guy.

In the morning, we made french toast together, and watched the most fucked-up movie I have ever seen in my entire life: The Human Centipede. If you choose to watch it, you will need a strong stomach. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Early in the afternoon, Mr. Ego gave me a hug and kiss and left.

We texted back and forth over the next few days, and then I was off to London to spend Christmas with my family. We texted each other on Christmas Day. We wished each other a Happy New Year. He wanted to know when I was coming back to Toronto.

When I returned, I did not hear from him. In typical Mr. Ego fashion, he poked me ad nauseam on Facebook, but he made no effort to meet up with me.

I grew frustrated with the Facebook pokes from time to time, and ignored them. Not that he would ever take the hint or anything:

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

FML.

I can't explain why, but I decided to creep his profile last week, and that's when I noticed this: ♥ In a relationship.

Ugh. This really bothered me. Not because I changed my mind about Mr. Ego being "my person", but because it's become apparent that he can't even be my friend when he's dating someone else. Save for his obnoxious Facebook pokes, I only hear from him if he's single and horny, and he is obviously just making sure that I'm still around as a back-up plan.

I'm so over it...and in need of a new fuck buddy.

Le Dumbass

2011-05-03T21:08:00.003-04:00

Following Polish Dude, it took a good month before I came across a guy who really caught my attention, and although he wasn't the most attractive guy in the world, I was immediately impressed with his intelligence and great sense of humour.

We e-mailed back and forth a bunch of times on Lavalife, and I discovered that he was an elementary school French teacher who was originally from Montréal (I shall call him "Le Habitant"). He had two brothers, both of whom lived in Boston, and his parents lived in Florida.

Le Habitant and I made plans to meet up at a local bar on a Tuesday night, and unfortunately, it was absolutely pouring rain. My stomach churning nervously (as always), I ran from the subway station to the pub entrance. I shook out my umbrella and turned to see him standing at the top of the stairs.

"Hey!" I said.

"Hey!" he replied, "Who's stupid idea was it to meet on such a miserable night?"

"Ha! That was all you. Let's go inside."

We sat at a small table by the window, and each ordered a beer, then talked about our respective days. The waiter returned with our drinks, and laughed as he placed a huge mug with a handle in front of me (Spaten), and a very small glass in front of him (Red Stripe).

"Wow," Le Habitant said, "That is a BIG beer."

"I had it the last time I was here. I need two hands to lift it!"

"Is that a SHOVEL on the label? That's pretty serious."

"Your little beer, on the other hand…" I said, and made my best unimpressed face.

"Hey! I'm comfortable with my manhood!" he said, and we both cracked up.

Unfortunately, it was trivia night at the pub, and soon the tables around us were filled with loud people arguing over correct answers. Le Habitant knew the answer to a question about a British actor, and helped out the guys at the table next to us.

As the night went on, I remember thinking that Le Habitant was seriously growing on me. He was not hot, but cute, smart and really funny. I liked him, and I wanted to see him again.

We finally decided to call it a night, and when the bill came, I reached for my purse.

"No, absolutely not," he said.

"But—"

"Your money is no good here."

Score one for the Hab.

Leaving the pub, we paused just inside the entrance, and I pulled out my umbrella.

"Wait right here," he said.

"What? Why?"

"I'm going to get you a cab, and pay for your ride home."

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" I replied, shocked.

"Redhead, it's pouring rain and late."

"No! Seriously, I'm absolutely fine. I have a Metropass, and I live ten minutes from here. No cab. PLEASE."

He saw the look of resolve on my face, and sighed. I smiled and gave him a quick hug, thanking him for a great night.

"Can you at LEAST send me an e-mail when you get home?" he asked.

"I'll do one better. Here's my business card. Text me your number and I'll let you know when I get home."

He smiled, and put my card in his pocket.

"Thanks again!" I said, as I stepped out of the doorway and dashed across the street to catch the coming streetcar. We exchanged a bunch of text messages during my ride home, and I let him know when I arrived at my apartment.

The next morning, I received a text message:

LeHab: Just a friendly reminder: I had a great time last night :)

Le Habitant and I texted back and forth for a couple of weeks, and I was honestly not sure if he was ever going to ask me out again, until finally:

LeHab: So when are you free this week/weekend? I was hoping we could meet up.
Redhead: I'm free the rest of this week. Busy this weekend.
LeHab: How's Thursday then?
Redhead: Works for me. What do you want to do? Drink more baby beers?
LeHab: Was thinking we could do a nice dinner, actually :) Is Yonge and Davisville too far?
Redhead: Not at all.
LeHab: The Firkin there is really cozy and there shouldn't be any trivia nights :P. Let's meet outside the subway station at 7?

Wait, the FIRKIN? I'm sorry, but when someone suggests a "nice dinner", the last place I would think of is the Firkin, which is just an English-style pub. Weird.

Redhead: I know it well. Sounds like a plan.
LeHab: Looking forward to it.

Thursday night, I met him outside Davisville subway station, and we crossed the street to the Bull & Firkin. Taking a seat in an upstairs booth, I immediately noticed some strange sounds coming from the front of the bar.

Le Habitant noticed the confused look on my face and said, "Oh great, Tourret's dude is here."

"WHO?"

"There's this guy who comes in here all the time, and he has Tourette's syndrome. He just yells out random shit."

Do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to have a conversation while some guy yells (often obscenities) every two to three minutes? Don't get me wrong, I feel horrible for anyone dealing with such a disorder, but it does make for an awkward date.

Le Habitant and I each ordered a beer while we perused the dinner menu. I opted for a simple grilled cheese sandwich with tomato and sweet potato fries. He, on the other hand, ordered "The Big Poutine" AND Irish Nachos.

When the food arrived, I was slightly horrified at his massive portions. Each bowl was as big as my head, and he held his fork like a shovel and began to scoop heaps of the greasy food into his mouth quickly, as if he were a competitive eater. He barely said a word while we ate, as he would have had to do so with his mouth full. At one point, he offered to let me try his food, I politely declined, and the next time I looked up, it was all gone.

I let him talk while I finished the other half of my sandwich and picked at my fries, and then I noticed him looking at his watch.

"Do you have to be somewhere?" I asked.

"Well…I just realized if I leave now, I have time to pick up my car at the shop before it closes! That would save me a trip tomorrow."

"Right. Well, don't let me keep you," I said (with an admittedly sarcastic edge to my voice, which he completely missed), and he signaled for the bill.

A few minutes later, the waitress placed it on the table, and he grabbed it.

"How much do I owe?" I asked.

"Just give me $20 and I'll cover the rest," he replied, and took the twenty dollar bill from my extended hand (Stef pointed out later that there's no way my sandwich and beer even came to $20, so he wasn't doing me any favours).

"Thanks," I said, and realized he was already standing outside the booth with his coat and scarf on.

Jesus. Was this guy serious?

We walked out into the cold and across the street to the subway station. He gave me a quick hug and ran to catch the bus.

I was home before nine and sat down, stunned. It was as if the first and second dates were with two completely different people.

Buzz. Text message.

LeHab: Did you get home ok?
Redhead: Yes. Did you get your car?
LeHab: Yes I did. Double win! We're awesome.

Yeah, not so much. I never replied to that text message, and I never heard from him again.

Next up: I get lonely and do dumb things. At this point, are you really surprised?

Man Up

2011-04-27T21:05:00.003-04:00

Mar 11, 2011 – 9:54am

wow.. your up early ...

are you watching the sunami news?

hopefully you don't have any family/friends affected...

on a more cheerful note... what about getting together this weekend?

i would love to get to know you better...

give me a shout... jacob

Mar 16, 2011 – 4:59pm

Tick tock, tick tock…
Time comes and goes… but never returns…
Every moment we have not connected is lost…
I would rather spend it getting to know you better…
Hopefully you feel the same…

We all eat and drink…
Let’s break some bread and wine together…
Reaching out through time and space to you…
Blinded by the light…
I’ll turn you on to something strong…

Jacob

Mar 21, 2011 – 5:24am

your not making this easy... but, i suppose you don't have to make it easy for me...

all I am saying... i would love for us to get to know each other better.

all I am saying... make a step... i've been running head first towards you.

all I am saying....this shouldn't be so complicated.

all I am saying... you also want to meet someone to share with.

all I am saying... let's make it real.

all I am saying... man up... let's do this.

Jacob

Mar 29, 2011 – 12:31pm

 Here… let me try and make this easier for you… I was shocked to see someone as good as you on an online web thingy… normally you would only meet someone like yourself through a friend or something… but here we are….

You know by now that I like you and I think we would be good together… you know little about me, so I put a list together below… things I think are some of my “better” qualities…

Bottom line… let’s get together… tell me what you are looking for… I’m confident I found what I am looking for…

• accepts you as you are
• adventurous in bed and out
• allows you your own space
• am a positive person and has a positive outlook most of the time
• amazes you
• builds you up and helps you to be a better woman
• can more than satisfy sexually
• compassionate
• does not play video games obsessively
• doesn’t complain about everything
• doesn’t do drugs
• doesn’t hold grudges
• doesn’t make you worry or fearful
• emotionally stable
• encourages you
• faithful
• family oriented
• financially secure
• fun
• funny
• handles conflict with maturity
• has a positive outlook on life
• has a sense of humour
• has ambition
• has morals
• has patience
• has self-respect
• helpful
• hold your hand, just because
• honest
• intelligent
• is not a follower
• is patient with you
• is there for you
• is your best friend
• is your hero
• isn’t a slob
• is kind
• knows how to cook
• likes animals (but allergic to cats)
• likes to cook on the grill
• likes to hold you just because
• likes to just hold you
• likes to just sit on the deck and chill
• loves to go out and have a drink and chill
• loves you unconditionally
• makes you a priority in my life
• makes you feel secure and loved
• makes you smile
• makes you smile / laugh
• mild jealously
• means what I say
• not an alcoholic / only moderate social drinking
• not Lazy.. still to be determined
• not clingy
• respects you
• romantic
• secure in a relationship
• someone you can confide in
• someone you can talk to
• stands up for you
• surprises you every once in a while
• thinks you are all that (in my eyes)
• understanding
• willing to help
• willing to hire someone to do yard work
• your best friend

He finally gave up after I messaged him and told him I have a cat, so it would never work. I really expected him to put up more of a fight, but I'm sure the next crazy person will be along shortly.

Stay tuned...

The Kiss of Death

2011-04-17T19:31:00.002-04:00

"So," my office buddy asked me on Monday, "how did your date go?"

"Good. He was nice," I replied, in reference to Polish Dude, and she raised an eyebrow. I've come to realize that coming from me, "nice" is the kiss of death. It's only a matter of time.

The second I signed on to Gmail, Polish Dude was right on top of me, wanting to know why I had not returned his text message right away, because he'd had a really great time, I was the "highlight of his night", and when could he see me again?

Whoa. He was zooming (as in, ahead of me); I could tell. I hate it when they zoom, and I'm left behind, trying to find my footing and sort out my feelings.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my dating history lately, and I've come to realize that all of the guys I have dated seriously (save for my most recent ex), I was friends with for a long time first. Jumping into a relationship with someone I just met is very unnatural to me, so I like to take things slow and let the progression happen organically. I don't like to jump in with both feet, as I might have done in the past. I want to be SURE.

Polish Dude and I would often talk on Google Chat, but our conversations tended to be rather mundane and boring. He often took me too seriously, and didn't quite get my sarcastic sense of humour. He was already making plans for us in the future and needed constant reassurance, which often became awkward:

polishDude: So, are you coming with me to the Food and Wine Expo? :D
redhead: Well, it's still early. It will depend on how the second date goes.
polishDude: Please don't hate me!!!!!!! :'(:'(
redhead: Whoa. What? Why would I hate you?
polishDude: I was kidding! It was my own response to my previous statement.
redhead: Okay, crazy person.
polishDude: Oh no :-/ Explain. Crazy in a good or bad way????
redhead: I'm just kidding!

Online dating newbies are the WORST. Oh, and then there was this:

polishDude: Will someone take care of your cat while you're away? (I was headed to London for the weekend)
redhead: No, she's fine for a weekend. I just dump a bunch of dry cat food in a couple bowls and she has one of those water dispensers with the jug thing on top.
polishDude: If I left my cat alone for a weekend, she would finish all the food in an hour and starve for the rest of the weekend.
redhead: Haha, she might very well do that, but she's fat. She won't die. Huh. I just realized I'm probably going to make a terrible mother.
polishDude: That's not something you should be openly telling to a boyfriend applicant.
redhead: Probably not.
polishDude: Don't worry, my maternal instincts have already kicked in. I'm ready to be a mommy
redhead: Uh…what?
polishDude: Other than the breast feeding situation, I can handle the rest.
redhead: ...
polishDude: Have I managed to disturb you?
redhead: Very much so.
polishDude: Nice, I can tick that off my list.
redhead: I'm afraid to ask what else is on the list.
polishDude: Wouldn't you like to know
polishDude: Ok I'll tell you one thing but only because you'll be gone for the weekend so it will give you something to think about.
redhead: Still kind of afraid.
polishDude: there's also "to kiss you" on the list :-o
polishDude: How's that for making you feel akward :P
redhead: Completely awkward. You win.

He talked about spending entire weekends together. Preparing meals together. Watching tv together. Everything together. A flag was waving…the one that signals a smotherer.

And did I mention he still lived at home? Ugh.

We made plans for dinner and a movie the following Friday night. Unfortunately, I got home from work late, so we had to skip dinner in order to make it to the movie in time. He picked me up in front of my building around nine, and as I was getting in the car, he thrust a bouquet of flowers at me.

"I, uh, wow!" I said, "What are these for?"

"Just because."

"Oh. Well, thank you. That's very sweet of you."

We headed downtown to the big Scotiabank Theatre, and grabbed a couple slices of pizza on our way into the movie.

"What is this movie about?" I asked, as I had forgotten to look it up online beforehand.

"I'm not going to tell you. It's better if it's a surprise," he replied.

"I hate surprises," I muttered, and went back to eating my pizza.

The movie was called Let Me In. Have any of you seen it? Talk about disturbing. A creepy and socially inept kid makes friends with a VAMPIRE CHILD, for God's sakes. Blood and guts and biting and no shoes in the snow. It was so completely bizarre that I burst out laughing a number of times (I wasn't the only one.)

After the movie, Polish Dude asked me what I thought, and I told him that the vampire thing caught me completely off-guard, and I had found it odd, gory and quite ridiculous.*

"Fair enough," was his reply.

Driving back to my neck of the woods, he asked if I would be up for a coffee, and although I was tired and just wanted to go home, I agreed. We reached St. Clair Avenue, and I told him to take a left, which he did, RIGHT ONTO THE DEDICATED STREETCAR TRACKS!

Thankfully, it was late and there weren't any streetcars, because he continued to drive along until he found an opening, and then launched the car off the ledge, which was a good six inches high, and we landed on the road with a thud.

"Ooops," he said, and chuckled (he doesn't laugh, remember?)

I. was. MORTIFIED.

We parked just down the street from my building and I told him I was going to run inside and put the flowers in water. I thought he would wait for me outside, as I didn't invite him in, but when I went to unlock the front door, he was right behind me, and followed me into the building. Not cool.

Not only did he follow me into the building, but right into my apartment. This made me very uncomfortable, as my apartment was a bit of a mess, and I'm really weird about people coming into my space uninvited.

I went into the kitchen and hurriedly filled a glass with water so we could get the hell out of there, while he stood in the entryway. Willow came to investigate and he bent down to pet her.

Still uncomfortable, I shoved the flowers in the glass of water and said, "Okay, let's go," and ushered him out the door.

"She's cute," he said, referring to Willow.

"Yeah, she's fucking adorable. Also, hungry, expensive, bipolar, and a lemon."

We walked to the Tim Hortons around the corner, as it was the only thing open at such a late hour, grabbed a couple of hot chocolates, and sat down.

I don't remember what we talked about, but I do remember that conversation had no flow, and there were lots of uncomfortable silences.

Suddenly, we felt a presence looming over us, and we looked up to see this obviously high and possibly homeless chick standing beside our table.

"Do you have the time?" she asked Polish Dude.

He checked his watch and told her, then turned back to me.

"Sorry, what was the time again?" she asked, and he repeated it to her.

She continued to stand there, wobbling slightly. I gave Polish Dude my best WTF? look.

"I like your hair," she said to me.

"Thank you," I replied.

"It's red."

"Yes, it is."

"Do you guys have any change?"

Polish Dude told her no, sorry, we didn't have any change.

"Okay," she replied, and FINALLY headed out the door.

"Wow. What the hell was THAT?" I said, shaking my head, and he mustered a small chuckle.

Suddenly I felt a looming presence again, and realized that she was now standing right outside the window, still staring at us.

We ignored her and she finally went away, but it was time for me to go home. We threw our empty cups in the garbage and began to walk toward my building.

"Cold?" he asked, as he noticed me rubbing my hands together, and before I could say anything, he grabbed my hand and held it.

"I can't wait for Mexico. Only two months away!" I said, as a distraction from the awkward hand-holding.

He sighed. "What will I do?"

"Huh?"

"What will I do while you're gone for a whole week in Mexico? I'll be so sad and lost without you."

Uh, what the fuck? This was date number two, and he was worried about me leaving for a week two months down the road?

In front of my building, he leaned it for a kiss. I gave it to him quick, all grandma-like, and bolted for the door (checking behind me to make sure he wasn't following me again!)

The next morning, a text message:

Sorry for keeping you up so late last night. I owe you $10 (I covered parking because he had no cash on him) so you'll need to see me at least once more. Ps. You're amazing

Little brother (#2) came to visit me the next day, as he was leaving for basic training in Québec a week later, and we sat down to discuss my latest date. By the end of my story, he was laughing, and shaking his head at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You! Why are you even hesitating to dump this guy? You're SO not into him. And he would suffocate you. You wouldn't be able to do anything without him."

I sighed. "You're absolutely right."

We were both quiet for a minute, and then he said, "P.S. You're amazing!" and we both burst out laughing. For the rest of the weekend, my brother and I would say that to each other, for absolutely no reason. We still do it now.

The following Monday, I sent Polish Dude this e-mail:

Hi,

I'm sorry I wasn't able to get back to you sooner, but I've had a very busy couple of days.

That said, I'm just going to cut to the chase. You're a great guy and I've had a lot of fun with you, but I'm just not feeling enough chemistry for us to continue seeing each other. You did nothing wrong and I really wanted it to be there, but it is what it is. I know it's not what you wanted to hear, and the last thing I ever wanted to do is hurt your feelings.

I'm happy to be friends if that's what you'd like, but I understand if you're not interested in that. Thank you for everything, and I wish you the very best of luck in finding what you're looking for.

Redhead.

A couple days later, his response:

Good luck to you too.

Polish Dude

And that was that.

Up next? Do I have some great e-mails for you!

*Surprisingly, the reviews are very favourable, so if you dig young vampire/human relations, go get your weird on.

Fruit Pie Poetry

2011-03-11T10:57:00.004-05:00

I'm working on the follow-up to the last post, so I thought I'd give you something to read in the meantime.

For some reason, I allowed little brother (#2) to talk me into signing up with ANOTHER dating site. It actually wasn't that hard, as Lava and POF have been teeming with idiots and assholes as of late, and I was beyond frustrated.

The new site is well designed (yay!), and free, with lots of compatibility questions to answer. I think it's likely a combination of Plenty of Fish and eHarmony?

Right off the bat, I got an e-mail from this super cute guy. Outdoorsy, tattooed, great smile—my type exactly. He sent me an IM and we were chatting about travel and extreme sports, when he suddenly cut me off to ask me what I was looking for on the site. I informed him that I'm hoping to eventually find something long-term, but I begin with dating and go from there. He seemed happy with that, and then told me he had to be honest, so as not to waste my time.

Those are always scary words in the online dating world.

cuteguy: i'm in an open relationship!
redhead: Yeah, that's not going to work for me. Appreciate the honesty.
cuteguy: no problem…too bad, but understandable

SERIOUSLY? Does that actually work for people?

So, not a great first impression of the site.

Since then I've received a few e-mails, mostly from guys that I rejected on Lava and POF. I think they are hoping I don't remember them, and that they have another shot. The answer is still no.

And then I received the following e-mail, which I can't seem to wrap my head around:

When I got up this morning, I saw you looking at my profile so I pulled up yours. The first words I saw were, in order, "independent, unpredictable, stubborn and ambitious, alternative and passionate". This made me stop reading your profile and get a coffee. When I came back I noticed that a woman had sent me an email saying that she had read my profile and loved the ideas in it but was concerned I might be dangerous. I couldn’t help but think that this was a strange way for a woman to try to meet a man.

In my Old Country, women display their willingness to mate with men by baking them fruit pies. As the men eat the pies with women recite love poetry they have written comparing the torment inherent in being separated from the man in question with the slaughter of our indigenous peoples. While there is no requirement for these poems to be in quatrain iambic pentameter, there is an expectation that the rhyme scheme and structure of the poem follow a set form much like a sonnet in an effort to make the poem a suitable length to cover the time period an average man takes to eat an average pie. I know things are different in Canada yet having a women suggest to me that I might be dangerous seemed better suited to Klingon mating than something between humans.

In any case, I did eventually return to your profile and read it in sentence form rather than just snatching word fragments from the page. I liked the artistic side of you and I appreciate that you like men with a sense of humour although I don’t have one myself.

Anyway, I thought maybe you could read my profile and take from it and from this email what you will. I guess the most important thing I have to say to you concerns the issues raised by my earlier interlocutor - I am a little crazy I guess but I am really enjoying it. I don’t think of myself as dangerous and some how I get the idea I might just be a flavour of crazy you would like.

N

P.S. When I first started to write this I knew full well that it was going to have a copy and paste feel to it that I know women don’t really like. The simple reality is that these things really did happen today and that i really did right this to you – take that for what you will.

Dangerous? Old Country? Fruit pies? WTF?

This is what I'm dealing with, people.

Long Nuit

2011-02-27T22:54:00.005-05:00

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep up a blog when you're working eleven + hours AND commuting for three hours each day? I feel tired. And let's not even talk about how much weight I've put on via stress eating. Ugh.

After Camera Guy and his busy hands/vacuum mouth, I knew I was growing tired of the online dating scene again. It's time consuming, exhausting, and I have to take breaks to keep myself from going crazy. I knew someone would really have to grab my attention in order for me to meet up with them. Enter: Polish Dude.

Polish Dude looked "excellent on paper", as my friend Gyn would say (hi Gyn, love you!). A fellow graphic designer, full head of hair (sorry, Frank), 5'8", average build, cute pictures, good sense of humour. Win! After chatting on MSN, we decided it was time to meet up, and he suggested we attend Nuit Blanche. For those of you who don't live in Toronto, Nuit Blanche is a free all-night (sunset to sunrise) contemporary art event.

I had never been, but I'd heard great things, so I agreed to meet up with him, and found myself waiting nervously at the Eaton Centre on a very cold night in October. He called my cell phone and told me he was waiting just outside the doors, so I took a deep breath, stepped outside, and…5'8" my ass.

We shared an awkward hug, then decided to start wandering down Queen Street West.

There were people EVERYWHERE. I was careful not to lose Polish Dude in the crowds as we walked to Nathan Phillips Square to see a drive-in inspired multimedia installation. Slowly, I took in all the people hanging around giant screens displaying strange shapes and colours, along with sound I could barely hear above the crowd.

"I don't get it," I said to Polish Dude, and he smiled.

We headed back out to the street and continued west, chatting as we walked. I babble when I'm nervous, and he didn't seem to mind, or have much to say.

Another art project: crazy hippies balancing rocks.

"Uh, what the fuck?" I said, as we stopped to watch. One of the hippies started preaching new-age nonsense, and I began to wonder if they were actually part of Nuit Blanche, or had just found a perfect venue for crazy town.

Just then, one of the balancing rocks fell, and I burst out laughing, garnering dirty looks from the hippie and a few people around us. "Oh, come on!" I said loudly, and Polish Dude chuckled beside me. We decided it was time to move on.

More walking. An art project in the form of an awards ceremony, which had been taken over by a bunch of giggling teenage girls requesting awards for each other "for being so cool!"

"Polish Dude, do you have a smoke?" I finally asked.

"Yes. Wait, I thought you cut back?" he replied.

"I did. And now this weird art is making me want one."

He smiled and handed me a cigarette from a black case.

"What brand are these?" I asked.

"Native," he replied, and I made a face.

For the record, Native cigarettes are GROSS. They are über strong, burn fast, and taste like ass. Sigh. Beggars can't be choosers. We stood and smoked, watching a band play on the back of a flatbed truck.

Walking. Rocky Horror Picture Show theatrical production in a window.

Walking. Giant playground in a park. Closed to those who wanted to play monkey for an hour (why? I don't know.)

Walking. Group of strangers sitting at a table. Woman reading poetry, dressed in white.

I was getting tired. We had been walking quite some time, it was late, and my feet were starting to hurt. Polish Dude suggested we stop for food at The Drake Hotel, and I agreed.

We both ordered burgers and fries from the special 'Nuit Blanche' menu, and he asked me questions about my dating history. My first story didn't get much of a reaction out of him, so I switched gears and told him some of my VERY BEST material to get him to loosen up and laugh, but he would simply chuckle and shake his head. It was beyond frustrating, and I had no idea if he even liked me or not.

"Where do you want to go next?" he asked, and I realized it was going to be a very long night with Captain Stoic.

"I dunno," I said, and he handed me the book to look through. I flipped it open and my eyes grew wide. "Omigod!" I squealed, "Lower Bay is OPEN?! We HAVE to go!"

"Okay, but what's Lower Bay?" he asked.

Good question.

Lower Bay is an abandoned subway station in Toronto, situated under Bay Station (Upper Bay). It was used for only six months in 1966, when trains ran along three routes instead of two as part of an 'interlining' experiment. Due to confusion and problems, the experiment was deemed a failure, and Lower Bay was closed to the public.

For years, many Torontonians believed Lower Bay Station was an urban legend, until some urban explorers happened upon it, and then the TTC used it to bypass Upper Bay Station during repairs, and opened it for a number of events, such as Doors Open Toronto, and now, Nuit Blanche. It has also been used to film many commercials and movies. Abandoned buildings and urban exploration have always fascinated me for some reason, and I'd always wanted a chance to see Lower Bay.

"Okay then, let's go," he said.

"It's far. Really far. Like 6 km far," I replied.

"So? We've got all night."

Right. All night. First date. With Mr. Humourless. Awesome.

We left The Drake and headed back east, taking a few shortcuts to avoid the crowds. I asked about his dating history and he informed me that he was just out of a long distance relationship with a 21-year-old. By just, he meant a couple of weeks, and by long distance, he meant ENGLAND.

Sad and confused, he sounded like he was still processing the break-up. Red flag.

When we finally reached Bay Station, it was one o'clock in the morning, and I was TIRED. So much walking, and it was way past my bedtime (stfu, I'm old now). We found the start of the lineup and followed it around the corner onto Cumberland Street. It kept going…and going…and going. We passed a sign that marked a 30 minute wait, and continued walking. We got into line, quite sure that the wait would be at least an hour.

We were running out of things to say and I was getting very cold. My teeth began to chatter, and I rubbed my hands together.

"Give me your hand," he said.

"What?"

"Give me your hand," he repeated, and took my left hand into his. And we stood there. Not talking. Just facing forward and holding hands. SO awkward.

About an hour later, we descended the stairs into Lower Bay Station, which had been transformed into an interactive light show. The platform was crowded with people, and the artist was running around in the dark, yelling at people to clap their hands so the weird fiber light sticks would flicker. For the first time ever on this blog, I'm including a short video (isn't technology grand?) I took that night! You can hear everybody clapping, see me poking at the lights, and listen to our awkward conversation as we tried to figure it out. And then I laugh, because it's all so ridiculous.

Unfortunately, my only glimpses of the subway station came with flash photography, and I left frustrated and unsatisfied.*

Outside, we had a smoke and watched more art: a live performance with sound and light of a 650-tonne billion-year-old chunk of rock glowing red and pulsing like a heart. People, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

I began to shiver again, and Polish Dude suggested we head to the Starbucks across the street for some hot chocolate to warm up. He refused to let me pay, and we had to sit on the patio outside, as it was crazy crowded inside.

I yawned.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Yes." It was three in the morning, and I was very ready to go home.

"I know you don't accept a ride home on the first date, but I'm hoping you'll make an exception. It's really late, the weirdos are out, and I'd like to make sure you get home okay," he said.

Seven hours later, I was quite sure he wasn't a serial killer, so I accepted his offer. We had a few laughs (okay, I laughed and he chuckled), as we tried to drive through the throngs of people still wandering the downtown core.

At my apartment, I gave him a quick hug, thanked him for a fun night, and got out of the car.

I was completely exhausted as I pulled my Converse sneakers off my aching feet and left a trail of clothes behind me on the way to my bed. In hindsight, Nuit Blanche had been kind of a bad idea. It was simply way too long to spend with someone on a first date. I wasn't sure how I felt about Polish Dude, and I had no clue how he felt about me. I just wanted to sleep.

I managed to sleep off and on until about one in the afternoon, when I moved my ass to the couch to watch some television. My phone buzzed with a text message notification:

Polish Dude: Hope you got lots of sleep and you're not going to get sick from the cold weather last night. I just wanted to say that I had a great time with you and think that you're a cute, funny and smart lady. This was honestly the most enjoyable and easy going date i've ever been on and hope we can do this again soon :)

Well, there was the answer to one of my questions. How did I feel about him? It would take another date to figure it out...

*My family and I have since attended a TTC tour of Lower Bay Station, so now I've seen it with the lights on and I'm satisfied. That's what she said.

Hola, Bitches!

2011-01-30T16:07:00.002-05:00

Yeah, I just got back from Mexico, so I speak Spanglish now. I promise it won't last.

Anyways, I'm not dead! Things got pretty bad in December: insane amounts of overtime (followed by a "bend over and take it" 2% raise, which I am in the process of fighting at the moment), a few more dates that went absolutely nowhere (stories to come), more bouts of insomnia, and then Christmas, New Years, and the trip to Mexico followed closely behind. Unfortunately, this blog had to take a back seat.

To be honest, I've been rather unhappy, but I'm working on making some changes in my life. Wish me luck, and I hope you'll all see me through this.

I'm also giving this Twitter business a try (so far, I'm just confused and use Facebook words like "wall" and "status". And can someone explain the hashtags to me?) In an attempt to avoid a lawsuit, I created an anonymous account just for you! Yaay! @confessionsred, if you're interested.

I will do my best to have a good story for you guys in the next few days. Oh, and did I mention I'm turning THIRTY-ONE this week? Gah. How did this happen?!

Thanks for sticking around!

Love,

Redhead.

Holla!

2010-11-14T14:17:00.000-05:00

This e-mail made me laugh out loud, so I just had to share:

hi redhead,
jus stopped by coz i loved yo profile.
hope yo feeling as fine as you look.
yah ma name is jon and i wanna get to know you.
is tht alright?
holla

Hope you're all having a lovely weekend. Word.

The Hoover® Maneuver

2010-11-01T12:08:00.001-04:00

Buzz. Text message:

Camera guy: What apartment?

I buzzed him in, and met him at the door. With a grin, he held up a large bottle of red wine to accompany the pizza and salad I was preparing. We chatted about our days as I slid the pizza into the oven, and suddenly he was in my face, wanting a kiss. Awkward.

We sat down at my coffee table with our dinner, and he poured us each a large glass of wine. Conversation was easy and comfortable as we ate (that is, until I discovered that he does a lot of filming for a fanatically religious tv show, which developed into a rather uncomfortable conversation about religion), and he gathered up our dishes when we were finished.

Camera Guy poured me another glass of wine, and asked me how work was going. I talked about how miserable I'd been lately, and that the job hunt continued. He cut me off mid-sentence, leaned in and said, "You worry too much. Shut up and kiss me," and planted his lips on mine.

I really expected him to be a good kisser, since the last kiss had been decent. WRONG. I'm not sure if he was trying to be passionate, but he began by pressing his mouth softly against mine, without tongue, and then proceeded to suck on my lips really hard. It was as if I applied a Hoover® vacuum extension to my bottom lip, and turned the machine on. To make matters worse, it HURT, and I could feel my lips beginning to swell.

I pushed him back gently, giving him the cue that I needed a break.

"You're so cute," he said, leaning in again. Fuck. My. Life.

This time, Camera Guy grew a little bolder, sliding his hand deftly up the back of my shirt, attempting to get my bra undone.

"Hey, whoa," I said, releasing the vacuum suction and pushing his hand away.

Camera Guy chuckled, then leaned across me and turned on the television. He found a classic rock music channel and turned the volume up. I made an attempt to discuss the song with him, but he was moving in for the kill again, and my poor, terribly swollen lips were aching in protest. He once again applied suction (this time with biting action!) as he groped insistently at my boobs. Then he tried to get his hand down my pants, and I grabbed his wrist.

"No. Not ready," I said, firmly.

He smiled and kissed me in return, and it was mere minutes before he was forcefully rubbing his hand against my crotch.

"Hey, NO. Camera Guy, look, I'm not ready to jump into anything with you," I said.

He evil grinned and said, "I have busy hands."

"Yeah, I noticed," I said and rolled over, so my poor lips could get a break. I grabbed the remote and began flipping channels, then yawned, in an effort to get him to leave.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Long day."

"I should go soon."

"Yeah, I have to get up really early tomorrow," I said. Hint, HINT.

"I want to kiss you again," he mumbled, pulling me toward him and pressing his open mouth to my horrified lips.

I'm being punished for something, right?

It wasn't long before I pushed him away again, yawning emphatically. Finally, he said he should get going, but needed to use my washroom first. While he was gone, I checked my appearance in a mirror; my lips were so swollen I looked like I'd had some bad collagen injections, and they hurt at the slightest touch.

Camera Guy came out of the bathroom and wrapped his arms around me. "I hope we can get together again before I leave for the shoot in Haiti," he said.

What I thought? No fucking way. What I said? "Work is so crazy. I'll see what I can do." I ducked my head and managed to avoid another Hoover® session before closing the door behind him, with a sigh of relief. I would have been willing to bet very good money that he had a condom in his pocket, and expected to use it.

Over the next few days I received a bunch of text messages, all of which I ignored.

Camera Guy: Want to go to a concert at the Horseshoe tomorrow?

Camera Guy: What are you doing Sunday?

Camera Guy: Hey stranger, where are you hiding these days?

Thanks to Facebook, I knew exactly when he left for Haiti (and that his long hair was hiding a very large pair of ears), and I wouldn't have to worry about him for a while. I assumed by this point, he MUST have realized that I wasn't interested. Apparently, I assumed wrong, as I received a rather lengthy e-mail from him while he was in Haiti. He asked me how I was doing since he didn't get a chance to talk to me before he left, and where had I been hiding? Then he went on about how hot it was, and that he had crap on his boots, and the power kept going out, and he had to get up early…

You cannot imagine the immensity of the fuck I did not give.

Weeks went by and I did not hear another word from him, until this weekend when he commented on my Facebook status. Idiot. It's obviously time to delete him from my friends list, which I hope will send a very. clear. message.

I do have a question for the guys who read my blog: do guys always assume they will get laid on the third date?

On The Fence

2010-10-19T11:54:00.000-04:00

Just before Labour Day weekend, I had date number two with Camera Guy. The plan was to meet at Queen & Spadina so we could go shoot some pool at The Rivoli. It was a very hot and humid night in Toronto, and I made the mistake of walking all the way from the subway station to our meeting spot. By the time I got there, I was a disgusting, sweaty mess.

Camera Guy was sitting on a newspaper box, and I bumped his knee to get his attention.

"Hey!" he said, and hopped down.

"Okay, it's like a million degrees out here. I'm all gross. Sorry about that," I said, tugging at my light sweater.

He laughed, "Not at all. Pool?"

"Prepare to have your ass handed to you."

"Oh, you're on," he replied.

We walked to The Rivoli and he directed me up the stairs to the pool tables. Unfortunately, we discovered a very large crowd of people watching a show in the pool area. So much for that.

We headed back down the stairs and stood on the sidewalk. I couldn't take the heat a second longer, peeled off my sweater and stuffed it into my purse.

"Sooo, what's the back-up plan?" he asked.

"You expect ME to have a back-up plan?"

"Fair enough. Well, we could walk around for a bit, then maybe have a couple drinks somewhere?"

"Deal," I replied.

So we walked. And walked. And walked some more. I actually had a blister the next day from all the walking. It was a good walk though, as we got to know each other better. I discovered that he had never been in a relationship longer than six months, which I thought was a little odd for someone in their mid-thirties. Commitment issues?

Finally, we both agreed that we couldn't walk any further, and found a patio where we could give our feet a rest and have a couple drinks. I was still trying to determine if I was feeling a friendship vibe or a more than friendship vibe, but I knew I really liked him. He was funny, positive, and incredibly chill.

Before we knew it, it was after eleven, and both of us had to be up at the crack of dawn. We walked to the subway (I was slightly inebriated), and rode together for a couple stops. Suddenly, I started to giggle.

"What's so funny, Redhead?"

"Your jeans have holes in them!"

He laughed, "Yes, yes they do. Air conditioning. You just noticed?"

I nodded. And then I saw the pair of super geeks sitting on the opposite side of the subway car. One of them was wearing a pair of shorts straight out of the 80's; all neon and shit. They looked just like something I had worn in the fifth grade. This made me laugh harder, and Camera Guy shook his head and laughed at me.

"This is my stop. See you when you get back from London?"

I nodded, and suddenly his lips were on mine. It was completely unexpected, but also one of the sweetest first kisses I've ever had. He didn't try to jam his tongue down my throat, just kissed me softly three times, stood up, and left the subway car.

I sat there stunned for a minute, and I think I may have had that goofy teenage girl smile on my face for a couple stops.

"Hey! HEY! Cute girl!"

My thoughts were interrupted by Team Nerd, standing at the doors in front of me, waving.

"Hi?" I replied.

They boy-giggled (I don't think they could have been more than 20-years-old), and the subway doors opened. "Bye, cute girl! Have a good night!"

I smiled and replied, "You too," waiting until they had left the car and were out of earshot before I mumbled, "And nice shorts."

After I got back from a weekend in London that consisted of hill drinking/stumbling home/fetching a construction pylon/eating a ton of pizza/passing out on my parents' living room floor in fetal position/watching Stef take out small children for the sake of my new Lululemon bag/drinking way too many El Niños at a martini bar/eating more pizza/passing out on my brother's couch in his too-small pants/waking up with a pinched nerve in my shoulder/Advil, heating pad & pie remedy/late night Chicken McNuggets on the way home/calling in sick to work (because I'm 30 going on 17, apparently), Camera Guy and I made plans to see a movie the following weekend.

After a yoga class and a pretty hardcore nap, I woke up feeling not so hot (I'd been fighting off a cold/flu or suffering from some serious hay fever), but jumped in the shower so I wouldn't be running late when he called.

Only, he didn't call. By nine-thirty I was super unimpressed, and called my mom to vent. The other line beeped, and I checked my phone. Camera Guy. "I'm not answering!" I told her.

When I got off the phone, I checked my voicemail, and felt like an ass when he said that he had texted me, but hadn't received a reply, so were we still on? Turns out that Telus' messaging system had been down for hours. By this point, it was after ten, and I was feeling worse. I signed on to MSN and he offered to come and pick me up, but I didn't want him to get sick, so we made plans to go bowling a few days later.

Bowling was a blast, probably because I was drinking beer at the same time. I was competitive and a major shit talker, but he kicked my ass.

Knowing that I had to be up early for work the next morning, Camera Guy took me home after bowling, and leaned in for a kiss, which wasn't horrible, but didn't stop time or anything.

Inside, I gave Willow a pat, sighed and said, "I'm not sure how I feel about this one, Will. I'm on the fence."

Yes, I talk to my cat.

Camera Guy wanted to meet up again, and I agreed. Since my budget is a little tight right now (we'd been splitting the cost of everything), I invited him over to my place for some homemade pizza.

And that's when things went horribly wrong…

How I Roll

2010-09-01T12:30:00.000-04:00

Last week I had two dates with two different guys. That's just how I roll, haha. It had been quite some time since I'd been on a date, and it seems that with online dating, there are always a bunch of guys I'm talking to at once, and then there will be no one I'm interested in for weeks…sometimes months. I'm completely fine with that, as it gives me time to focus on my healthy living. I've lost a little more weight, I'm running on a regular basis (although I'm slow as hell and my mileage sucks) and going to yoga once a week. I find that these things are helping me manage the über stress that follows me home from work (yes, I'm still job hunting.) Oh, and beer. Beer also helps :)

A couple weeks ago, I began talking to a new guy on POF. We hit it off really well, and I thought he was cute and had a great sense of humour. After a bunch of e-mails, we made plans to meet up last Monday. As he lives outside the city and takes a GO Train home each night, he could only meet up for a drink very early in the evening. I left work early, ran home and changed into jeans, and headed downtown to meet him at the Irish Embassy (nice bar, very "Bay Street"—being Toronto's equivalent to Wall Street, for my American friends.)

I did the awkward lap around the bar to see if he was there when I arrived, then parked myself inside the front door when I couldn't find him. He walked up, smiled, and I deflated a little. He was incredibly tall (almost 6'6"), but didn't carry it well, as he hunched over slightly in an effort, I assume, to appear shorter. He had very large buck teeth, which (I would soon discover) made him talk with a slight lisp. There was a significant double chin, and unfortunately, a resemblance to my ex-boyfriend. Booo, fail.

Buck and I made our way to a table and ordered a couple of beers. He asked me to tell him some of my dating horror stories, and before long, I had him in stitches.

"You should write a book, Redhead. Seriously. I would buy it!" he said.

I laughed and took a sip of my beer. It had been just short of an hour, and I caught him checking his watch.

"Sorry, I don't mean to rush you…" he said, trailing off.

"No, it's okay, I know you have a train to catch."

He signaled the waitress for the cheque and refused to take money for my share of the bill. We walked to Union Station in the rain, and he made fun of my incredibly tiny umbrella (what? It fits in my purse, was rather expensive and is wind resistant and bullet proof or some shit) and I thanked him and gave him a quick hug (please note: unless a guy has slopped food down his shirt or reeks of B.O., I will hug him. I come from a family who hugs. Hm. I should maybe stop doing that.)

I called my brother, my mom, and Stef, a little buzzy from the beer (I'm a lightweight and I hadn't had time for dinner), and told them Buck was a thumbs down. Nice guy, but I wasn't attracted to him in the least. I even told my mom it was a shame that I wore my "cute underwear" and then yelled, "for confidence, not because I'm a slut, mother!" when she paused awkwardly. I should note here that my grandmother told my mom to tell me that she read an article about how women should wear red underwear when they go for job interviews, as it boosts your confidence and positivity or something. I get so damn nervous about these dates that I figured my cute underwear couldn't hurt. Yes, it has come to that.

The next morning at work, I received an e-mail from Buck. I made a scrunchy face and waited awhile before writing back. He had suggested at one point before our meeting that there was to be "no pressure" and, worst case scenario, we would probably make good friends. I convinced myself that yes indeed, we could be friends! So I wrote him back, all friendly-like. And then it got weird.

Buck: You're very funny and entertaining. What did you think?
Redhead: Why thank you. You're pretty funny too!
Buck: Thanks! I'm just funny? Nothing more? lol

Crap. He was fishing, and backing me into a corner while he was at it.

Redhead: It was an hour? I barely know you.
Buck: I can tell within the first fifteen minutes if I'm attracted to someone. You're very pretty and you have beautiful eyes!

Fuck. Friendship fail. ABORT!

Of course I resorted to doing what I do best: avoid. I told him I was very busy at work (always true) and backed away slowly. A day later, I received an e-mail from Buck on POF, asking if I'd lost interest. Why he would go back to POF to send me an e-mail when we had been communicating via other means is beyond me. I never understand it when they do that, and truth be told, it annoys me. It makes me feel like they are trying to keep tabs on my POF activity.

So my little brother and I had a conversation about the best way to handle the brush-off with these guys, because it seems like I can't win no matter what I do. If I ignore them, I'm an asshole, if I reply, I'm leading them on, and telling them directly makes me feel like a soul-crushing bitch. Little brother asked me how I prefer guys handle the situation with me, and I told him that if I don't hear from a guy within 2-3 days after a date, I know he's not interested and that's just fine with me. There is no awkward conversation involved, and I simply move on. He told me that I'm perfectly justified in handling it the same way then, so that's exactly what I'm going to do! If I'm not interested in seeing a guy again, I'm not going to communicate with him. Also, no more of this "friendship" trickery. I'm an asshole/problem solved! Oh little brother, whatever will I do when you're off fighting crime on the high seas? That's code for he joined the Canadian Navy :) and also :(

But I digress. Since date number one didn't go so well, I decided to line up date number two with a guy I had talked to a long time ago (basically when I first signed back up on Lava/POF), but had never met, due to conflicting schedules (he's a camera operator who often works odd hours) and bed bug madness.

Last Thursday night, I found myself sitting at the corner of Bathurst and College, waiting for my date. He had just texted me that he was running about fifteen minutes late, so I called my brother (the other one. I have two. I'm the oldest. This is getting confusing, so I'm going to start calling them 1 and 2. Haha, they'll love that!) So 1 and I chatted for a few minutes, then I watched a chick on a bike almost get smoked by a taxi, and then some crazy dude started singing to me. Never a dull moment in Toronto.

I noticed a guy waiting on the south side of the street with a bike, and I realized it was my date, Camera Guy. I stood up and headed toward him. He was cute in a longish, rumpled red hair and freckles kinda way, and he looked as if he should be living a relaxed life somewhere on a beach in Vancouver.

We chatted as we walked west on College St., until we found a cute little Italian restaurant where we could chill on the patio and order some drinks. I tried Stella Artois, and I am not a fan. It tasted burnt to me, for some reason? I followed that up with a couple of Coronas.

We talked for a few hours, and I had a good time, but I wasn't sure if we had a romantic spark or a friendship spark. I did know that I would definitely go out with Camera Guy again to figure it out.

Our second date is tonight, and we plan to shoot some pool and drink some beer. Wish me luck!

Updates!

1. Cutie tried to call me yesterday, and I was having none of that. The voicemail was just a hang up.
2. Stinky McBad Breath keeps chatting me up on MSN (often a little flirty), as if I would give him another shot. Foolish boy. As long as I still have my sense of smell, that won't be happening.
3. Mr Ego's Facebook pokes (yes, still) have become obnoxious. I'm nobody's back-up plan, so if he calls/texts me to "hang out" after all this time, I'm telling him to sit and spin.

Spanking the Monkey

2010-08-16T00:39:00.001-04:00

I know, I know, I've been a bad blogger. What can I say? Life just gets in the way sometimes. So much to tell you…

Just before I went on vacation for a week with my family, I had a date that was so boring, I'm not even going to waste your time with a play-by-play. Nice guy, but there was absolutely no spark between us. He was also a newbie to online dating. What's wrong with newbies, you may ask? Well, I avoid newbies as much as possible, due to the fact that the online dating world seems so bright and shiny to them at first. So many women! Smiles! E-mails! IMs! They are excited by their sudden popularity (read: fresh meat), and visions of an entourage of women dancing in their heads. Newbies aren't interested in anything serious; they want to play the field and explore their options. Whenever I find out I'm on a date with a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed newbie, I want to pat them sympathetically on the head and tell them I'll see them in about six months. Six months gives them plenty of time to go on a bunch of dates and realize there's a whole lot of bullshit that comes with online dating. The number one thing women lie about on online profiles? Weight (for men, it's height). I have heard that a VAST majority of women online do not resemble the picture(s) they have posted, and most are desperate and clingy. When I meet up with a guy who has been doing the online dating thing long enough to know better, I can almost hear them sigh with relief when they meet me, as I'm told that not only do I resemble my pictures, but I'm better looking in person (which I will admit is a bit of an ego-boost, especially for someone who has major self-esteem issues from time to time. Did I mention that three years ago, I was 40lbs heavier? I will get to that in upcoming posts), and they find out rather quickly that I'm not going to stalk them the next day.

Just as I expected, I have not heard from the boring guy since that date. I'm hoping that he also felt the lack of sparkage, and that's that.

As for Mr. Ego, I haven't seen him since the last post about him. Yes, he is still poking me on Facebook.

Cutie and I had it out awhile ago, when he invited himself over to see me and my "huge boobies" (I so wish I was joking about that), and then told me he "kinda" had a girlfriend via MSN.

Redhead: What? Define "kinda".
Cutie: She's in Vancouver.
Redhead: Look, you can come over, but we're not making out like last time if you have a girlfriend.
Cutie: But boobies are okay!
Redhead: Um, no.
Cutie: You're a mean person.
Redhead: What are you, twelve? You have a girlfriend. Don't be a cheating asshole. In fact, forget this. Don't come over.
Cutie: But I don't. I was just testing you.
Redhead: Huh? Testing me about what?
Cutie: You only said I could come over so you could have your way with me.
Redhead: What the FUCK are you talking about?
Cutie: Slut.
Redhead: I have no patience for your stupid head games today. I invited you over to hang out and watch tv. You obviously have other ideas, and may or may not have a girlfriend, so fuck this.

We didn't speak to each other for weeks, and then he sent me this:

your beauty is like the glinting reflection of the sun in the face of a broad tree saw while its being bowed back and forth distorting the beams of light

your boobs are like sweet coconut melons having fallen through the burst of a matter deformatron 5000 giving the nuts a jelly warbling texture and resulting in fifty foot bounces off pavement they would otherwise have smashed to smithereens upon

your bum is like the bum of a woman fighting the aging process with affordable solutions for plastic surgery

i'm a poet of poetry.

I laughed my ass off. What a strange boy.

Redhead: Yes, you certainly are a poet.
Cutie: I'm coming over to hang out tonight. I miss you.
Redhead: I fucked up my back, so I'm spending the night doped up on muscle relaxants and watching tv. If you don't mind the drooling, you're welcome to join me.
Cutie: Deal!

By the time I got home that night, my back was feeling better, so I began to make pizza from scratch. My iPhone buzzed.

Cutie: Well?
Redhead: I'm making pizza for dinner. Do you want pizza?
Cutie: YES!

I finished making the pizza and waited....and waited...and waited.

Redhead: Are you coming over sometime this year?
Cutie: Yes.
Redhead: Hurry up, I'm hungry.
Cutie: K. Leaving now.

I put the pizza in the oven, figuring it would be done by the time Cutie arrived. An hour later, the pizza was getting cold and there was still no sign of him. I couldn't wait any longer (I'm mildly hypoglycemic, and get shaky and weak if I don't eat), and scarfed down two slices. By this point, I was pretty sure I was being stood up.

Crack!

What the fuck was that?

Crack! Crack!

I got up and walked to my kitchen window. There was Cutie, sitting on the fence, throwing pennies at the glass. I gave him a look and held my hand up to my ear as if to say 'ever heard of a phone, dumbass?', then motioned for him to meet me at the front of the building.

I let Cutie in and he told me his phone had died, then made himself comfortable on my couch. I offered him cold pizza, and after whining about the lack of meat topping (I've been eating semi-vegetarian lately), he devoured two slices and deemed it "gourmet".

I hooked up my computer to my television, and Cutie put on one of the weird You Tube animations that he loves so much. As the film progressed, I noticed him moving closer and closer to me, until his head was in my lap, and he grabbed my arm and put it around him. Then he tried to put his hand up my shirt.

"Cutie," I said, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he replied, his hand slowly moving higher.

"I thought you came over to watch tv."

He ignored me, and attempted to get his hand into my bra. I grabbed his wrist, and forcefully removed his hand from my shirt. That sure as hell didn't stop him, and he groped at me until I found myself wedged against the back of the couch, fending off octopus hands that were coming at me from every direction. When I pushed him away from my shirt, he would try to get my pants undone, and vice-versa. It was like a high school flashback.

"Cutie, stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP!" I said.

That's when he changed tactics, and started fiddling with his own pants.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I just wanna rub it against you," he mumbled, pulling out his penis and tugging at the back of my jeans. Holy fucking shit. How do I get myself into these situations?!

Cutie climbed on top of me, and when I opened my eyes, there was a penis in face.

"Oh, what the fuck?" I said.

He shoved it towards my mouth, and attempted one of those subtle tugs on the back of my head.

"I am NOT sucking your dick. Stop it!"

"Please," he mumbled, "Just for a minute."

"Cutie, my back hurts. GET OFF ME!" I yelled.

He finally sat back, and began jerking off. Of course.

"Can I finish on your boobs?" he asked.

"NO."

"You're so mean," he said, and continued to jack off.

I sighed. "Yeah, I fed you dinner and allowed you to rub your penis against me. I'm a real bitch. Finish spanking the monkey and then you can leave."

He did, and I brought him some Kleenex.

After cleaning up, instead of leaving, he ate another slice of pizza and talked about how he sneaks into movies by running up the down escalator (he's 29 going on 14, apparently), because he was recently laid off and money was tight. He also mentioned that a friend of his in Vancouver (his hometown) had become a recluse schizophrenic, and Cutie was dating his ex-girlfriend.

So he did have a girlfriend. Lovely.

"What time do you usually go to bed?" he asked me.

"About now," I replied.

"Well, I should get going," he said, stood up, and walked to the door. He told me he owed me dinner, gave me a quick hug, and left.

I immediately sat down at my computer and blocked Cutie on MSN, as I was feeling a little violated by the whole encounter and had no interest in talking to him. In fact, I have not talked to him since. Sigh. Cutie to Creepy, just like that.

In other news, I have a date this Thursday, and it's been awhile, so wish me luck! Also, The Plumber is back and texting me a LOT (yes, and flirting). This could get interesting...

The Beast Gets Fed

2010-07-07T14:26:00.000-04:00

Hey people, I'm going to begin this post by saying: if you expect me to go on dates with guys who turn out to be losers/weirdos/assholes and be all rainbows and kittens about it, then you really need to move on. That is not me. I'm blunt, sarcastic, and make absolutely no apologies for who I am and the use of this blog (which would not exist if I wasn't dating) as my outlet.

End rant.

Attention little brothers: graphic information to follow. Stop reading or I don't want to hear about it later!

Remember the womanizing egotist I mentioned in the Stinky McBad Breath post? Well, we finally met up...

Date #1

At an uptown Toronto pub, I stood outside in the rain, waiting for Mr. Ego to arrive. As he walked up and gave me a big smile, I melted a little inside. Dude was hot, and unfortunately, he knew it.

We went inside and sat down at a table. Mr. Ego began to tease me, as I was obviously nervous (no matter how many times I do this, I'm always SO nervous. I keep my hands under the table until they stop shaking, and I have trouble making eye contact for awhile.) He threw his coaster at me and I threw it back. Before I knew it, we had settled into easy, if flirtatious, conversation that lasted for HOURS, and many drinks later, we closed the bar.

It was very late, and Mr. Ego walked me down the street, pushing for me to take a cab home instead of the streetcar. I finally agreed and he asked if he was coming with me (subtle).

I laughed and said, "No, I'm dropping you off at your place and I'm going home. ALONE."

He gave me a sly smile as if he didn't believe me, which came back to bite him in the ass as I directed the cabbie to pull over and let him out at the end of his street. He saw my look of resolve, gave me a hug, hopped out, and I continued home.

The next day, he poked me a couple times on Facebook, and then my phone rang. I'll admit to being surprised to hear from him at all, nevermind so soon. We talked for a good hour, and then he texted me the following day to see if I wanted to go for a run with him. Unfortunately, I was very late getting home from work, and was unable to join him. After that, I didn't hear from him very much, save for the constant pokes on Facebook (I didn't even know those still existed!), which grew tiresome, and he was constantly on POF, which told me he was likely playing the trade-up game. I finally ignored his poke and didn't hear a word from him for two weeks, so I assumed it was done.

My iPhone buzzed to inform me of a text message.

Mr. Ego: Hey stranger! What are you doing Tuesday night? Let's go for drinks!

Okay, I guess not done?

Date #2

Mr. Ego and I met up at the same pub, sat at the same table, and ordered the same drinks. He looked so hot in his button-down shirt and jeans, it was almost annoying. I had chosen to wear a one-shoulder number, and he gave my boobs an appreciative smile as I took my jacket off. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him and he laughed.

We talked and flirted until it was late and we were both yawning, so we called it a night. He walked me outside, gave me a hug, and headed home. I turned back once to watch him walk away, and for the life of me, I could not figure him out.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Fuck this.

Not long after I ignored his last Facebook poke, my phone rang. Mr. Ego.

"Hello?"

"You're going to kill me," he laughed.

"Why?"

"I did something really bad," he said, laughing harder.

"Mr. Ego, what did you do?" I asked, apprehensive.

"Check your POF profile," he snickered.

"Oh God. Hang on," I told him, and sat down at my Mac.

"There's this new feature where you can send a gift," he said, "For all of POF to see."

"YOU GAVE ME PANTIES AND A BANANA?!"

He laughed so hard, he couldn't even speak.

"Well done," I said.

He was still laughing, "You're not mad?"

"Fuck no, that's hilarious! Although, the weirdos are going to be all over this like a fat kid on a Smartie."

More laughing.

A couple weeks later, some friends and I spent a night partying in Niagara Falls. I got severely shitfaced and made the mistake of sexting Mr. Ego. We flirted a lot, and I may or may not have used the term, "Giddy-up", to which he may or may not have replied, "Who's your daddy?" . The next morning, he texted me to make plans to meet up later that night, which I had to postpone due to severe hangover.

Date #3

To make up for postponing on him, I agreed to make dinner for Mr. Ego at my apartment. In order to guarantee myself some action, I put my much improved culinary skills to good use, making Hawaiian meatballs and a mixed baby greens salad with toasted walnuts, cherry tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and an expensive balsamic vinaigrette dressing that I had won in the divorce from my ex-boyfriend. Just before Mr. Ego's arrival, I ran to the LCBO and bought a bottle of my favourite Australian red wine.

My buzzer went off, I pushed the button to let him in, and he stepped inside my apartment just as I bent over to take the meatballs out of the oven. He eyed me up and down with that sly smile of his and said, "Sexy."

I rolled my eyes at him and said, "Easy there, smooth talker."

He chuckled and snuck grape tomatoes from the container as I prepared the salad.

Sadly, I don't have a kitchen table (which had been on my list of things to get before the bed bug madness), so we sat down at my coffee table in the living room to eat. My dinner was really good, and Mr. Ego had seconds.

We drank glass after glass of wine, and then went outside for a smoke, sharing the little concrete stoop and laughing at all the weirdos that live in my neighborhood. We were out of wine, so he started pouring us very tall and very strong glasses of vodka cran. I noticed that Mr. Ego was sitting closer and closer to me, and then his arm was around me. We were pretty drunk and he put on some porn, which made me laugh (I'm sorry, it's hard for me to take porn seriously; it's SO cheesy!), and suddenly he was kissing me and it was like finding an oasis in the desert. With a frantic, almost fevered pitch, there were hands undoing zippers, belts, and pulling clothing off (I guess this is what happens when you don't have sex for almost a year). Before I knew it, we were in my room and I was FINALLY getting laid…I can't even begin to explain how awesome it was after so long. Did I mention that he's pretty built? He lifts weights and runs almost every day of the week, so his arms and legs were incredibly muscular. I'm used to sex with fat pudge-balls, where the beer belly slaps against me in a horrific and un-sexy assault against my hearing.

Then, a slight hitch: whiskey dick. No, he didn't have a problem getting it up, but the poor guy couldn't finish. After a good hour, he collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of me and mumbled that he drank too much and needed a break. I couldn't help but giggle a little. He pulled me in close, and before long, we were both fast asleep.

A few hours later, I awoke to groping. Startled, it took me a minute to remember that Mr. Ego had spent the night, as I hadn't shared a bed with a guy in forever. Mr. Ego climbed on top of me for round two (apparently, Mr. Ego is also Mr. Dominant), which went on for quite some time, until he ran into the same problem, groaned, rolled over, and said, "I would REALLY like to try this sober sometime."

We slept for awhile longer, and then, to my surprise, he didn't bolt, but suggested we watch a movie.

After the movie, he had to get going, hugged me goodbye, and as per usual, I didn't hear from him for a few weeks, save for a few random texts and constant Facebook pokes. By this point, I had no idea what game he was playing. He had told me in previous conversations that if he wasn't into a girl, we would simply cease all communication with her. The texts and pokes led me to believe that he was at least semi- into me. However, he was often on POF, which made me assume he was keeping me around until something better came along. Either way, I doubted he was looking for anything serious, so I kept my options open and started talking to a few other guys.

Out with some people from work a couple Fridays ago, you can imagine my surprise when I received a text from Mr. Ego, asking if I wanted to meet up with him for drinks. As things were winding down with the boring office bunch, I agreed, and headed home to change and freshen up.

Date #4

We met up at the same pub as before, as it was convenient for both of us, and had a nice patio. I had recently decided that I was going to drink beer and like it, dammit, so we ordered a couple of Rickards White, and he laughed at the faces I made after taking my first few sips.

"Redhead, you don't like beer," he laughed, shaking his head at me.

"I'm going to force myself to like it. It's like there's this big club of people who drink beer, and I'm on the outside looking in. I want in!"

"Oh, I bet you want in," he smirked.

"Dirty," I said, and shook my head at him.

We spent the next few hours flirting, drinking and smoking. Five beers later, I was pretty proud of myself, and also pretty drunk. It was after last call, so we paid our bill and stepped out into the chilly night.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"We?" I replied, with raised eyebrow.

"Yes, we."

"FINE. You can come back to my place," I said, and we hopped into a cab.

At my apartment, he stripped down and climbed into my bed. I took my contacts out, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and stepped into my bedroom for some…snoring? FUCK! Mr. Ego didn't even stir as I laid down beside him, pulling the blankets over us. I was so tired, I closed my eyes for just a second…and woke up a few hours later with Mr. Ego spooning me. My head was pounding like an angry drum and I was pretty sure I had swamp breath, so I carefully extracted myself from his arms and snuck to the bathroom for some Advil, water, and a good teeth brushing.

As I crawled back into bed beside him, he pulled me in close, felt me up a little, and then began to snore again. So mean! You can't feed The Beast very delicious food and then starve it! Still tired, I drifted off for awhile before waking to the sound of rain pounding on the windows.

"I'm so hungover," he mumbled into a pillow.

"I was, but I took Advil and drank water," I said.

"Oh, and you didn't bring me any?"

"You were SNORING."

He chuckled, "Sorry, Muffin."

"That's okay, Cupcake."

"Make me breakfast, woman!" he yelled, and slapped me on the ass.

"You did NOT just do that."

He laughed and began to grope me, then stopped and started moaning like a child about his hangover again. Frustrated, I rolled over and told him to go make his own damn breakfast. More whining. Ugh. Boys are such stupid babies.

"FINE," I said, and made a move to pull some pants on.

"No, make me breakfast in your underwear," he said with a dirty grin, and yanked my pyjama pants away from me.

"What? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Redhead, you have a nice body, stop being a retard. Now go make me breakfast in your underwear so I can admire you."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" I said, and headed for the kitchen.

I pulled some eggs, peppers, tomatoes, onion, cheese and milk from the fridge, and started making a toasted western-ish thing. Mr. Ego finally dragged his ass out of bed and leaned against the door frame in his boxer-briefs, all smug and triumphant.

Upon realization that I had been dead serious about not having any coffee in my apartment (I don't drink coffee at all, ever), he threw on his clothes and walked to the Tim Hortons around the corner. I had breakfast waiting for him by the time he returned, and we sat down at my coffee table to eat. His Blackberry beeped, and he made plans to go see a movie with one of his buddies. As it was pouring rain outside, I gave him my men's size small rain jacket (what? It was $12 at Old Navy!) to borrow. It was too small for him, and we had a good laugh.

I walked him outside and he gave me a big hug before heading down the street to catch the streetcar.

The next day:

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Seriously?

Later that week, I sent Mr. Ego a text, as it was his birthday:

Redhead: Happy birthday, Muffin!

Mr. Ego: Thanks! Where's my b-day blow job??

Redhead: I'm out of town for the weekend, so too bad for you!

Mr. Ego: Lol. That's ok, it can be a belated one.

Redhead: Ha. Maybe if you're good.

Mr. Ego: Lol. I'm always good!

That was last week. We haven't communicated since then, except for:

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

Poke back.

Mr. Ego has poked you.

I'm going to smash my head against the keyboard now.

Tightwad

2010-06-04T16:01:00.000-04:00

Wednesday night last week, I was standing outside a pub on Bloor St., waiting for my date, who said he was running about fifteen minutes late. It was crazy hot and humid and I was sweating like a pig, which is a horrifying situation for a first date. He had postponed our meeting twice already (strikes one and two), and his lack of punctuality was doing him no favours.

I talked to Stef. I checked my e-mail. I glanced up and down the street. I checked Facebook. I updated my calendar. I checked the weather. I considered playing my iPhone airplane game. Fifteen minutes my ass.

Finally, my phone rang. He was out of breath and asked me if I was outside.

"Yes. I said I would wait out front?" I replied.

"Shit. Okay, I'm upstairs. I walked right past you."

"Oh."

"Be there in a minute," he said, and hung up.

He came flying out the door, tall and bearded, and gave me an awkward hug.

"Sorry about that! I didn't think it was you. I thought your hair was different. It looked different in your pictures."

"Oh. Okay?" I said, not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.

"Wanna head up to the patio?"

"Sure."

He took the lead through the door and up the stairs. Isn't it proper etiquette to let a girl go first? Anyways, I was a hot mess (literally) after the forever winding staircase up to the patio, and plunked myself down at a table, winded and slightly worried that my mascara was sliding down my face.

I ordered a vodka cran and he ordered a beer. I found out he works in loss prevention for a shoe company (and is underpaid. Ha, join the club!), was originally from Ottawa, just obtained his G1, has one sister, and likes photography.

As usual, I was analyzing him to death in my head. He was kinda geeky and awkward, hadn't dressed up at all (cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals), and reminded me a little of Seth Rogen. He admitted to having a slight case of A.D.D., and would jump from story to story without any warning, ie. he gets attacked by birds on a regular basis and ran security for a Sex and the City event at a shoe store.

Around eleven o'clock, he suddenly announced that he had to get going, as his side of the subway line was shutting down at midnight.

"That's cool," I said, "it's late and I have to get up really early tomorrow morning."

"I hate to go. I'm having a great time," he said, and I just smiled back at him.

He asked the waitress for our bill, and when it came, I asked how much my share was.

"About fourteen dollars," he replied.

I handed him a twenty and he walked over to the bar to pay our tab. He returned and said, "Shall we go?"

No change? I was already unimpressed that he didn't cover my drinks, but if there was no change, I guess he had used my money to cover the tip as well? I found that so incredibly rude.

I hopped off the bench and down the winding staircase we went. He walked me to the subway station, and waited with me for my bus, which only took a couple minutes to arrive. He gave me a hug and headed down the stairs to the subway.

Exiting the bus at my stop, I called Stef.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"Ummm…" I trailed off and she began to laugh. Apparently when I start with um, she knows the date was only mediocre at best.

I turned the air conditioning up, put on shorts and a big t-shirt, washed my face and brushed my teeth. I climbed into bed, Willow curled up with me, and I turned the light out.

buzz buzz

I turned the light back on and grabbed my iPhone out of my night table. The Cheapster had sent a text:

How many texts am I allowed before you block me? Lol (we had discussed the multitudes of internet crazies, including the Stage 8er's text-a-palooza).

Me: Haha, you're good so far.

Cheapster: Nice to hear, you are also good. Good night ttys.

Me: Night

I was confused…he liked me enough to tell me he had a great time and text me the same night, but not enough to be a little chivalrous and pay for at least one of my drinks?

My dad and brothers were horrified to find out he hadn't paid for me on the first date. Dad said, "You paid for the tip too?! You are NOT going out with that loser again!"

Haha, I love my dad.

According to the men in my life, a guy should ALWAYS pay on the first date. I informed them that 95% of the guys I went out with did NOT pay, and I am always surprised when a guy tells me to put my wallet away. I read an article on the Men's Health website the other day about how a woman automatically assumes a guy is in financial trouble or cheap if he doesn't pay on the first date, and I will admit, that's what comes to my mind as I'm forking over cash for my share of the bill.

What do you guys think? Should I expect a guy to pay or cut him some slack? And I'm only talking a few drinks here, not a five course meal, as I don't do dinner on the first date.

To my surprise, I haven't heard from the Cheapster since, which is also nice, as it saves me from the brush-off. Maybe it was my hair?

Grow a Pair

2010-05-31T11:09:00.000-04:00

Last week, I received the following message from Wilderness Man in my POF inbox:

Back online and looking, eh?

I must admit, I was surprised that you ended things via text/MSN. I really expected more from you.

Well, good luck to you.

This message REALLY pissed me off, for a number of reasons:

a) WHY do these guys feel it necessary to send a bitter message? What do they think it's going to accomplish? I wish they would save themselves the embarrassment and just let it go.
b) I'm sorry, did he think I deleted my account because I went on a few dates with him? Hahahahahaha. Yeah, he wasn't looking for anything serious at all.
c) Spare me the hypocritical moral high ground.
d) Don't try to have the last word with me. You will lose.

I know I should have said nothing, but my anger got the best of me, and I sent a quick message back to Wilderness Man:

Whoa.

Back and looking? My account was never deleted. Like I said, I don't have much free time right now, and although you deny it, I'm quite sure you were looking for something more serious.

And for the record, YOU initiated conversation via text/MSN, so don't pin that on me.

Good luck to you as well.

What I really wanted to say? 95% of the reason I ended things with you is due to your foul breath and horrendous kissing skills. You might want to work on those before you date anyone else.

And, because my life can ALWAYS get worse, I also received this e-mail from the Stage 8 Clinger:

From: Marathon Guy
Subject: So…6 months later‏

I wonder if Redhead will let me know what's up.

I haven't met anyone I've liked nearly as much as you. No one I liked to kiss as much either.

What happened dude?

Have these people no shame?! Grow a pair, suck it up, and walk away!

Jack Rabbit (Art Boy, Part II)

2010-05-09T13:59:00.000-04:00

Following my rather difficult breakup with the Troll, I would be living on my own for the first time in my life. Once my family moved the last box into my new apartment, gave me a hug and closed the door behind them, the silence was overwhelming. My new bed wouldn't be delivered for two days, Bell was on strike, so I didn't have a home phone or internet, and it would be a few days before Rogers connected my cable. I turned on some music and busied myself with unpacking, which I managed to complete in record time.

When my cable was finally hooked up, I happily ate giant bowls of ice cream while flipping channels in my purple cat pajamas. My new bed was delivered and—ecstatic to have a double to myself for the first time in my life—I threw myself on top of it, arms and legs spread like a starfish as soon as the delivery guys were gone. Willow batted her toys up and down the long hallway and watched the birds through the big glass doors.

I ordered pizzas with my favourite toppings (pepperoni, mushrooms, green olives, yum!) and loads of greasy chinese food so I would have leftovers for a couple days (I had never been much of a cook, save for a few recipes my mother had passed on to me).

However, at the end of the day, I was alone. My family lived two hours away, Angie was busy with her own life, Stef was working out west for the summer, Scooter was dating a girl who hated me (and vice versa), and Big Sis lived in Scarborough. This gave me WAY too much time to think and reflect and make reckless decisions, like signing up for online dating…and e-mailing Art Boy.

I had wondered about Art Boy a number of times over the years, and had always been sad about how things had ended, as it would have been nice to have at least one friend in London. Our parents were still friends, and I would occasionally hear bits of information about him through my mom.

I sent him a simple 'Hi, how are you? It's been forever. Do you still use this e-mail?' message, and he replied right away in one big run-on sentence with no grammar or punctuation…some things never change. He said it was good to hear from me, gave me the Coles notes version of the past eight years, and said he would like to see me the next time I was in town, which, coincidentally, was only a couple weeks later for the August long weekend.

After spending the day shopping with my mom, I gave Art Boy a call and he invited me to come across the street and hang out in his parents' backyard. Upon my arrival, he opened the gate and gave me a big hug. Art Boy hadn't changed a whole lot in eight years; he still wore squarish glasses, striped sport socks, and clothes that looked like they had been purchased at Value Village. However, his hair was now a dark brown, and he wore it longer. His ears were stretched and he had gained a substantial beer belly.

We sat down on some patio chairs and spent hours catching up. He had gone to college for photography, but had been working retail since graduating, as he did not want to waste his time photographing weddings, engagements, and families. Then he took me inside and showed me his work (old, rusty cars, artsy landscapes, etc.), some of which were pretty cool. He began to poke and pinch me a lot, which was exactly what he did when we dated eight years earlier. At 4am I called it a night (morning?), and he gave me a hug and told me to call him if I wasn't busy on Sunday night.

Sunday night rolled around. My parents were already snoring on the couches and both of my brothers were out, so I gave Art Boy a call. We went for a walk to the store and then hung out in his parents' basement, which he had turned into his own little bachelor pad. I was making fun of his music (just like I used to) when he grabbed me and hugged me and wouldn't let me go.

"Uh, Art Boy?" I said.

"Yeah?"

"You're hugging me."

"I know. It's just…I didn't realize this until now, but every girl I've dated after you has resembled you in some way. I tried to find someone with the same sense of humour as you…you know, a little sarcastic and mean. I've always wondered how you were doing, and now you're here," he said.

It was strangely comfortable, and we spent the rest of the night talking about how we were at exactly the same point in our lives, where we didn't do the bar scene anymore, and it was hard because most of our friends were in serious relationships/married/getting married, and we felt very alone. Both of us were looking for the right person and wanted to get married and have kids someday, but were focusing on our careers at that point in time.

It was very late, and Art Boy had become a pothead since the last time I'd seen him, so I sat outside with him while he smoked his joint. He walked me to the end of his driveway, gave me a big hug, and suddenly he was kissing me. Surprised, I pulled away, and started to walk across the street.

"Wait! Come back here!" he whispered loudly.

I turned around and gave him a quizzical look.

"Shit, we didn't even talk about anything! What do we do now?" he asked.

"I have no idea?" I replied.

He said that he would come to Toronto to visit me soon, and we would e-mail each other as often as possible.

I headed home, a little confused and a little excited.

Back in Toronto, I gushed to my friends about Art Boy, who were a little concerned that it was too soon and too difficult, due to the distance. I promised them I wouldn't jump into anything too quickly, and kept my options open by talking to some new guys on Lavalife.

I bought a phone card (Bell was still on strike) so I could call Art Boy with my cell phone, and one night he randomly mentioned that his mother wanted to know where I would sleep.

"Where will I sleep?" I asked.

"When you come to London. Where will you sleep?"

"Still not following."

"My mom wanted to know if you would sleep at my house with me, or at your parents' house," he said.

I remember thinking that it was really too soon for him to be asking me that, and talking to his mom about us, which freaked me out a little. "Oh. Uh…I hadn't thought that far ahead. Look, I'm not going to be running back and forth across the street in my pajamas and be labeled the neighbourhood whore," I told him, laughing to cover up my discomfort.

The next day, Art Boy e-mailed me:

ya so my mom was stumped by the whole where will you sleep in london thing too but she does not want it known that she dosent care if you sleep over or not although im sure you woulodent say to your mom "but artboys mom dosent care they let him stay up later to and he gets more allowence..." and so on it would be funny to try that though it might work. its kind of funny hat my mom dosent want anyone to know that she dosent care if im a whore and girls sleep over. heres a question if you tell your mom that i visited will you tell her that i slept there and if not are you asamed of me you can tell me the truth i promise not to cry too much not like when you made fun of me when you were 18 and cruel. o and im totaly going to bring you a small gift when i come to toronto because as you pointed out i am much sweeter now and the more you think that the sooner i get to see you naked i think thats how it works i have a graph at home that seems to prove it. (does it make me stupid if i can touch type but i have to look at the key board to do it , is that still called touch typing?) the gift will be small and inexpensive dont worry you dont have to get me anything just seeing you is all the gifts i will ever need see totaly sweeter, this shits gold i better get laid now this is all my A material if i rememberd the colour off your eyes i would say somthing about them right now too, and it would totaly seal the deal but other than the fact that they are the prettiest eyes of whatever colour they are that i have ever seen other than that bullshit iv got nothing but a "girlfriend" with the prettiest eys ever ok maby i have goten a little slicker or your just got stupider either way i think it means ill score . design something for me you little monkey i just dont think relationships can last with out nausiating pet names monkeys just an idea to be truly objectionable you should probably think of one your self remember its not a good one if it doeent make evryone around us sick well the balls in you court pet name wise enjoy  i miss you and hopefully i will talk to you this weekend if you have time bye

artboy

See what I mean by run-on sentence?

The more we spoke to each other, the more he would reveal about his sex life; Art Boy liked it rough, and he was a big fan of anal. While I'm aware that anal appears to be the new black, my ass is not on the menu (and guys, seriously, we're not stupid. There's no such thing as 'oops').

well it looks like even when im sick and almost asleep i can email you but you dont have time in your busy work scedule for me but that is fine just think of these two things im writing this naked and i have tattos (im naked cbecause i just got out of the shower im going to the gym i dint just strip down to wwrite you) and im working out so i look good for you and you cant even try a little anal i work and work on this relationship and you do nothing ass wise for me thanks for nothing jerk, i miss you have to go now get buff and think about geting more tatoos for you ps. i thought about you in the shower last nite very hot i cant wait to see the real thing   artboy

Yes, I'm aware I should have run when I had the chance. Instead, I headed down to the Greyhound bus station to meet him the following Friday night. We took the subway back to my place and his intentions became obvious when he stopped at the local pharmacy to buy condoms. So awkward.

That night was the first time I had shared a bed with anyone since my breakup with the Troll, and it was a little weird. We began to fool around and I realized that Art Boy had an uncircumcised penis. I had NO idea what I was doing, and although he tried to direct me, I felt rather clumsy and uncomfortable. Things went from bad to worse when he tried to put the condom on and had a reaction to the spermicidal lubricant, which resulted in limp dick. Ugh.

The next night, we headed out to meet up with Angie and some of her friends. He held my hand all the way to the subway (I've never been much of a hand-holder), and I began to feel smothered, as I had when I dated him in high school. Hanging out at Angie's apartment, she caught me alone on the balcony.

"Dude, how's it going?" she asked.

"Um. Okay..." I trailed off

"But?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I'm ready for this," I said. "I feel a bit like I can't breathe."

"I'm not sure if he's the right person for you. Honestly? He seems a little...gay," she said.

I laughed, "He's not, he's just artistic and a little weird. I guess I'll see how it goes."

We went to a local bar, and had a pretty good time, although Art Boy didn't like to let me out of his sight. He would hold my hand across the table (Angie would catch my eye and give me a look, as she knew I was uncomfortable) and would come looking for me if I went out for a smoke and didn't come back quickly enough.

Back at my apartment, we were both drunk and started making out. Art Boy was very pushy in the bedroom, trying to force me into positions I was not comfortable with so quickly. He had picked up different condoms, and I quickly found myself having the worst sex of my entire life. Just like in that episode of Sex and the City, he was highly aggressive, as if he were a teenager having sex for the first time ever. Pound-pound-pound, I had to brace myself against the wall at the head of my bed to prevent a concussion, squeezing my eyes shut and praying for it to be over quickly. Once he was snoring, I lay there in the dark, staring at the dark ceiling in horror. What the FUCK had I gotten myself into?!

The next morning, I felt like I'd been punched in the crotch, which I guess technically, I had been. Art Boy began to grope at me, so I slid out of bed and walked, cringing, to the washroom, trying not to limp. Instead of returning to the bedroom, I sat down to watch some TV in the living room. Art Boy eventually got up and decided to cook us spaghetti for lunch. He handed me my plate, sat down beside me, and I started to cry. I cried so hard that I began to hyperventilate, and then he tried to hug me, which just made it worse. I pushed him away from me, wrapped myself into a ball, and shook my head when he kept asking me what was wrong. I think it was a panic attack.

When I finally calmed down enough to string coherent sentences together, I told him that it had all been too much, too soon. I was still recovering from my last relationship and it was too early to have someone in my space for any length of time. I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I couldn't breathe.

He kept trying to hug me and I would pull back and wrap my arms around myself in defense.

I got up and went out for a smoke. When I came back in, he was rolling a joint, for about the fifth time in two days. I refused to let him smoke it in my apartment, so he went for a walk to the park down the street. For the record, I never smoke up. I've had some really bad experiences with pot, and it makes me sleepy, stupid, and anti-social, so I don't touch the stuff. I can tolerate the occasional pot smoker, but I cannot relate to those who need it to get through the day.

Late that afternoon, we headed downtown so Art Boy could catch his bus back to London. He held my hand all the way there, and while we waited for his bus to arrive, which didn't help my feelings of suffocation.

I watched his bus pull away, breathed a big sigh of relief, and called Scooter, to see if he could come by and talk.

When Scooter arrived and asked what was going on, I babbled the entire story to him with tears rolling down my face. He pulled me in for a big hug and just held me while I cried it out. Afterwards, he took me out for coffee and cigarettes, and I felt ten times better. I knew what I had to do.

The next morning, Art Boy e-mailed me as if nothing were wrong. He said he missed me and wanted to see me again soon. I took a deep breath and wrote a reply:

   Art Boy,  

As I told you, I have a hard time expressing emotion, so I've decided to try writing everything out. I told you I was going to be honest and up-front with where I'm at, so I'm going to do just that.   

After you left, I had a very long talk with a close friend to work out my thoughts and feelings. I believe that because of what happened with my ex, I have a hard time dealing with people—anyone—in my space. Like I said, I have walls up and I've gotten used to my solitude, so suddenly having you in my little apartment for a whole weekend was kinda crazy. In a normal situation (for me, anyways), we would have had many dates before you came to stay at my place for any length of time and I think it was a mistake to throw ourselves into that situation after seeing each other only once after eight years. It probably would have been better if you had stayed with a friend and we had spent some time getting to know each other better.

You are a MUCH more touchy-feely person than I am, and that was also uncomfortable for me. I've never been much of a hand-holder or one for constant public displays of affection. I just felt a bit suffocated.

Basically what I need to tell you is that this has been too much too soon. I had said many times that I wanted things to go slow, and I should have stuck to that, knowing that you were used to very intense relationships in a short period of time and I wasn't ready for that. I'm just not ready for a serious relationship right now. After everything I've been through, I need to put myself first and consider what is best for me at this point. I need to figure out who I am and what I want out of life, and I need to do that alone.  

I hope you don't hate me for this and can understand where I'm coming from.

Redhead

He tried to call me a bunch of times, but it was never a good time for me to talk, as I was either at work or out with friends. He left a few mushy messages, where he talked about trying a long distance dating thing, and sounded very stoned, so I was in no hurry to call him back. Finally, I received this e-mail:

well sorry to hound you on your phone but i guess i will write what i was going to say. nothing i am about to write is designed to make you feel bad or guilty it is simply how i feel about the situation and i have no hard feelings.  

i felt like when we started this i could trust how you felt and trust that you knew what you wanted i unfortunately no longer feel that for obvious reasons this has taken me right back to how i felt after my most recent break up which by the way when we started dating i was just getting over. this is a very bad place for me to be as i don't really want to feel like shit all the time. this is unfortunately where my head is and i can not function like this and for that reason i will also not want to go over anything that was said as far as i am concerned i have no interest in anything other than friendship as well.  

the ball is really in your court as far as communicating goes i will not call and i will send an occasional email updating you on my life and that is all i do not want to discuss what happened and i do not want to discuss what might happen as far as i am concerned it is a dead issue i wish now that i had not started this it has clearly been too much for both of us and was much to soon after both of our disappointing relationships. i was glad to hear from you 3 weeks ago and will continue to wish you well in the future and would like to hear how things are going for you but i do realize that emails will be few and far between and right now i cant say i have a problem with that this has unfortunately been an unwelcome reminder of how easy it is to be hurt in these situations as i say i have no hard feelings and i wish you all the best.

i am sorry if this email has sounded cold or angry i am now in the position where i have to protect my feelings and i am not happy to be in that situation i hope that you understand how i feel and give me the space and time that i need as well to get over the sudden decision that you have made.  

good bye artboy   

That was the last time I ever spoke to Art Boy. He added me to Facebook, but we have not bothered to communicate with each other. Our parents often get together for dinner (which is very weird for me), and his parents attended my grandfather's funeral last summer. I had not seen them in eleven years, and his mother hugged me and remarked about how I was "all grown up". I found out afterwards that she had taken my mother aside and asked if I was single again, as she noticed I was there alone. Seriously, who does that at a funeral?

As for Art Boy, his parents bought him a car, and his grandparents willed their house to him, so he really lucked out, considering he was going nowhere with his life. Recently, he got engaged to a girl who seems equally as odd (yes, I Facebook snooped), and all I can think is that she must enjoy concussions and sex sprains. Ha.

Goodbye, Stinky McBad Breath

2010-04-14T14:10:00.000-04:00

Well, it's over...sort of.

Wilderness Man wanted to get together with me before I went away for Easter weekend, but as usual, I was crazy busy at work, and had to cancel a dinner & mini golf date with him. Honestly, I probably could have made the time for him, but I just wasn't feeling it. I think I knew a long time ago that he wasn't the guy for me; I just felt I should give the nice guy a shot.

As I waited for my train at Union Station on Thursday night, Wilderness Man and I had a boring text conversation about my mission to obtain a window seat. I told him to have a good weekend and left it at that.

It was nice to get away and have some time to breathe and to think. I talked out my situation with my mom, and it became very clear that things weren't going to work out with Wilderness Man. Mom said she already knew he wasn't the guy for me, because I never talked about him, and I have a tendency to ramble on about a new guy I'm excited about.

Back in Toronto, my work schedule continued to be super busy. I didn't hear from Wilderness Man for a week, which was unusual, as he had always been the one to initiate conversation via MSN, e-mail, or text (we rarely spoke on the phone, and he always called me, I never called him). Finally, I received a text message on Friday night:

So did you survive the week

I had taken a sick day, spent it working, and was half asleep, so I didn't answer.

Early the next morning, another text:

So is that it then?

My brother has been arguing that I didn't handle this the right way, but I don't care. This is online dating, and we were never serious, nor naked, so I don't owe him anything. He could have called, but he texted, and that's how I finished it:

Hey, I'm sick with a terrible head cold. Have been since Thursday night. Was sleeping when you texted yesterday. That said, I like you, but it's become obvious that I just don't have the time for a serious relationship right now. It sucks, but it is what it is and that's not fair to you. If you want to be friends, I can do that, but I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore.

A few minutes later, his reply:

That sucks that you are sick. I did not say I wanted to get into a serious relationship just something more than seeing one another once a month. I get that you can't. It is too bad though i thought we got along great.

I HATE hurting people's feelings, but it also felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Even without the severe halitosis, there had never been a spark between us; at least, not on my end.

Wilderness Man has been online a few times, and I have a feeling he has more to say to me, so I don't think it's quite over yet. And how awkward will it be when he moves around the corner and we run into each other at the grocery store? Can't wait.

Update: after getting lectured by my brother about being "avoidy", I unblocked Wilderness Man on MSN. He messaged me and wants to talk more when I'm not so busy. Frustrated, I went and ate a Big Mac. FML.

The new guy that I was supposed to go on a date with last Friday had to bail because he was sick. He called me last night and for the second time, we talked until two in the morning. Our first conversation went really well, but last night, some of my flags went up when he talked mostly about sex, made fun of me at every opportunity for my eight month dry spell (yes, it's been that long, and no, I don't want to talk about it), and mentioned how picky he is about women. I think he may be a womanizing egotist just looking to add another notch on his rather extensive belt. If that's what he is expecting from me, he's in for a big surprise, because eight months later, The Beast has given up, packed up its shit, and taken a leave of absence. I'm not sleeping with someone just to get laid, and it certainly won't be with some internet douche I just met.

Seriously, are there any decent guys left? I just want a cute, smart, funny, tall(er than me), nice, employed dude with decent breath that I connect with. Is that too much to ask?!

I'm so frustrated, I need to run this out (and off the Big Mac).

Freak Magnet

2010-04-07T12:27:00.000-04:00

Just before I met Wilderness Man, this other dude and I talked on MSN. He told me he was busy talking to other chicks, and I don't do well with head games, so I moved on.

A few weeks later, he messaged me, asking for my phone number so we could talk. I refused to give it to him, as it didn't seem right while I was seeing Wilderness Man and trying to figure out where things were headed.

Dude pushed me for my number every day, and every day, I refused. After what happened with the stage 8er, I was a little hesitant to give it out, and there was something about him that didn't seem quite right.

He gave me his number and tried to ultimatum me (if you don't call me I'm NEVER speaking to you again!), which backfired on him twice.

One evening I got home from work to discover messages from him in my inbox:

Sent: March 16, 2010 3:58PM
Subject: Is that tit?
Tits?

Sent: March 16, 2010 4:33PM
Subject: Re: Is that tit?
Cunts?

Sent: March 16, 2010 4:34PM
Subject: Re: Is that tit?
I'm fucked up don't call me

Sent: March 16, 2010 4:34PM
Subject: Re: Is that tit?
My balls smell like cheese

Sent: March 16, 2010 6:04PM
Subject: Re: Is that tit?
Ok I'm free now you can call

I didn't call (obviously). It appears my dad is justified in calling me a freak magnet.

Oh, and remember this guy? I signed onto POF the other day, and there was a message from a name that sounded so familiar to me. One click later, his picture appeared on my screen, and I realized it was Band Boy! The message was a simple hi, how are you? :), so I don't know if he remembers me or not? Judging by the poem on his profile about the soul mate he hasn't met yet, dude is still rocking the emo.

The problem with round two of POF is that the freaks I dated round one are still single (or single again) and still freaks, with some deluded idea that I'd give them another shot.

Date with a new guy on Friday. His breath better be decent, that's all I'm saying.

A Stinky Situation

2010-04-05T13:36:00.000-04:00

I've been keeping a secret (from most of you), but I can't suppress my frustrations any longer!

On my first date with Wilderness Man, toward the end of the evening, he laughed and I caught a whiff of his breath, which was not great. I gave him a hug at the end of the night, and didn't notice it again, so I just assumed it was a one time deal (who hasn't had bad breath at some point?), and an easy fix with gum or mints.

During our second date at the Leafs game, he leaned in to say something to me, and to my horror, there was that breath again. At the end of the night, he kissed me, and it tasted like dirty old socks. And then there was the kissing...he would open his mouth wide and then open and close it slightly over my mouth, with no tongue involved, as if he were attempting to swallow my face whole. I tried corrective measures, but he was determined to kiss like a sucker fish.

Each date that followed, the problem would hit me in the face (along with my gag reflexes). I began to watch his breath freshening habits. Gum (good), chewing (good), removing gum only a couple minutes later (what? No! What was he doing?!), throwing gum away (FML). I, on the other hand, am so paranoid about bad breath on a date that I chew gum constantly. I'm sure some people consider that rude, but I'd rather be minty fresh than stinky sock. How could he not know?! He lived with his sister, her husband and very young niece. Kids have no filters! Why didn't she tell uncle Wilderness Man that his breath stunk? Or even his sister? I would hope to god that my brothers would tell me if I had such a problem; that's what family is for.

I tried my best to ignore the breath. He was attentive and sweet and always super excited to see me. He invited himself over to my place to watch the Olympic opening ceremonies, and unfortunately, I ended up downwind. I had to twist myself into a very uncomfortable position to keep him from breathing on me. Ugh. Then he eventually leaned in and kissed me. I managed to hang in there for about a minute before pulling away.

Breath aside, he was a great guy, and I really wanted it to be there. I felt like it SHOULD be there. I grew frustrated that when I was with him, I always had a great time, but when I got home, I always felt very "meh" about him. When things start progressing with someone, I always get butterflies in my stomach, but it never happened with him, no matter how badly I wanted it to. Knowing me better than just about anyone, Stef knew this pretty early on. She hinted that I wasn't that into him, that I couldn't force feelings, and that I talked about him like he was just a friend.

Wilderness Man began to make comments alluding to sex, and I knew I couldn't sleep with him, no matter how ravenous The Beast was. If he fucked like he kissed (which is generally a good indicator), I was in for a really horrible experience. The thought of being pinned underneath him while he breathed heavy was enough to make me gag. I also knew that he wanted our relationship to progress, and sleeping with him would equal girlfriend, in his eyes. Maybe it would be different if I REALLY liked the guy, but I'm just not willing to put everything on the line again, especially for someone I feel zero passion about.

Both a blessing and a curse, my intense work schedule has not afforded me much spare time lately, and the spare time I do have has been devoted to running and sleeping. He would complain that he didn't see me enough, and I would feel bad and make time to go out with him, convinced that the horrendous breath would disappear any day now. Yes, I often vacation in the Land of Denial.

Two Fridays ago, we were supposed to meet up for some dinner and mini golf, but he canceled at the very last minute, as his sister had an extra ticket to some spoken word performance (which turned me on about as much as his affinity for James Brown). We made plans to spend Sunday afternoon at Mountain Equipment Co-Op instead, as I hadn't been there in years and was looking for a small backpack for traveling.

As usual, Wilderness Man was making me laugh and I was having a great time until he turned to say something and I was faced with the Breath of Eternal Stench. Walking along, I took out a stick of gum and stuck it in my mouth. I held the pack out to him.

"No, I'm good," he said.

I wanted to scream, no, you're not! You are NOT good. Take the gum! TAKE THE FUCKING GUM!!! Instead, I sighed inwardly and avoided getting too close to him.

After wandering around the store for a bit, we went for burgers and stopped at a record shop on Queen St. I think he wanted me to invite him in when he pulled up in front of my building, but I just couldn't deal with it. He leaned in and sucked my face briefly before I pulled away and got out of the car.

I was talking to my always intuitive mother later that night, and she asked me how things were going with Wilderness Man.

"Okay, I guess," I replied.

"You guess?"

"Mom, he has BAD BREATH!" I blurted out.

"Eew. That's a deal breaker!"

"I feel better now that I got that out," I sighed.

"I knew it was something. You were never excited about him. I figured it would come out eventually. How on earth do you kiss him?" she asked.

"It's...difficult," I grumbled.

"Does he brush his teeth?"

"Mom!"

"Well, he's gotta be doing SOMETHING wrong!"

"And he blinks weird, and he keeps sending me crappy emo songs that all sound the same, and on the phone it sounds like he was a lisp, but not in person, and he's an uptalker, and he hates sour cream and mayonnaise. Who hates sour cream and mayonnaise?" I ranted.

She laughed.

I really don't want to hurt his really nice guy feelings, but I so need to end this.

Short and Fat and Hairy

2010-03-22T22:39:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time I knew a troll. The troll was short and fat and hairy, but I had known the troll for twelve years, so the trollish features were overlooked. Unfortunately, the troll was friends with Tom, whom I discovered had spread lies after we broke up that I had been a dead fuck, which was complete bullshit. Until then, I hadn't mentioned to anyone that Tom had been a two pump chump, so I sent that message back through the grapevine, also known as his friends. Payback's a bitch.

Though it had been two years since Tom and I had severed communication, the troll and I had managed to maintain a good friendship. We talked on the phone, saw movies, and met up for dinner from time to time.

It was one of those times, having a late dinner at a bistro on Yonge Street, when the troll dropped a bomb: he had feelings for me. It was a good thing I wasn't taking a drink of my Coke, as I would have shot it out my nose.

"WHAT?" I nearly shouted, my voice cracking. People turned to look at me, and my face turned bright red.

"Redhead, I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Hell, I had a crush on you in middle school," he told me quietly.

I buried my face in my hands and sighed heavily, which I do when I'm stressed. "I don't know what to say. I didn't see this coming," I told him.

"I want to see where this goes," he said.

"Fuck. I need a smoke. And time to think," I replied.

We finished our meals in relative silence, the troll sending worried glances my way, as if he thought I would bolt (it did cross my mind). I walked home, and instead of going inside, I sat in the backyard and chain smoked. Eventually, Angie came out to join me and I told her what had happened. She was shocked too, voiced her concerns about his group of friends, which included my ex-boyfriend, and asked me what I was going to do. I didn't have an answer for her.

The troll and I continued to hang out, and I acted as if nothing had happened, essentially ignoring the elephant in the room.

Long before the troll admitted feelings, we had planned a camping weekend with some friends. Upon arrival at the provincial park, we set up our tents and had a couple drinks while chilling around a bonfire. I'm a fucking idiot, so I drank too much and found myself making out with him in a dark tent a few hours later.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of his snoring, weighed down by one of his tattooed arms draped across me. I slowly moved his arm off me, cursing my stupidity, and crawled out of the tent in my pyjamas, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Ignoring my friends' raised eyebrows, I sat down at the picnic table, swallowed some Advil, and ate breakfast in hungover silence. When the troll woke up and joined me at the table, things between us were surprisingly un-weird, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Since I don't do anything stupid halfway, I got shitfaced that night and slept with the troll. I regretted it immediately, until we had a talk the next day; he was happy, excited, and wanted to take a stab at a serious relationship with me.

Back in the city, after contemplating our situation, I was withdrawn and hesitant. I voiced my concerns to him on a constant basis, which included my ex-boyfriend, his ex-wife (he had married an American girl he met over the internet, who dumped him after she returned to the States and got knocked up by another guy. I didn't trust that the troll was—or would ever be—over it, and would he want to get married again and have kids?), and the possibility of losing our friendship. Even though the troll assured me that everything would be fine with my ex, that he was over what his ex had done to him, and that he wanted to get married again and have kids, I worried constantly. I stressed about it so much that I nearly drove him away, until I realized that I could be fucking up a really good thing, and decided to jump in with both feet.

We spent most weekends together, and although my ex had told the troll that it didn't matter to him if we dated, I never saw any of his friends, apart from his roomate. If there was a party or get-together, the troll would not take me with him, to prevent things from getting hostile and awkward. His friends aside, things were going well and I was happy, to the surprise of most people.

Just short of a year after we started dating, the troll's roomate had to move back home for financial reasons, so I helped him find a new apartment and move in. I was sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging my legs and drinking water between loads when he walked up to me, put his hands on my waist and said, "You should move in."

I laughed.

"Redhead, I'm serious. You spend almost every weekend with me. You live out of a bag. We've known each other forever. I love you, and you should move in."

I opened and closed my mouth, not sure of what to say. "I can't leave Angie," I told him, "and this apartment isn't big enough for two people."

"You and Angie will have to split up sometime, and we could live here while we save money for a condo downtown."

I told him I would think about it, but I wasn't sure if I was ready. I had never lived with a boyfriend, and the thought was a little scary. However, it wasn't long before the decision was made for me: Angie informed me that she was moving out.

"Still want a roomate?" I asked the troll, who was ecstatic, and I began to make preparations. I packed up all my stuff and bought some new things for our apartment. Before I knew it, moving day came, and ironically, I was headed back to the very street I grew up on. Unfortunately, the neighbourhood was rather ghetto, and I wasn't exactly thrilled to return to a very rough area of the city.

The troll's apartment was a small, dark, wood-paneled and spider-infested basement of a house—decorated with Kevin Smith movie action figures and a Klingon blade thingy—that I wasn't very fond of, but I figured it would be a temporary living situation.

It became apparent quite quickly that the troll wouldn't be doing any of the cooking or cleaning, so these chores fell to me. He lived like a slob, ate takeout on a daily basis, and smoked like a chimney. He wouldn't open the blinds to let any light in, and spent hours playing video games and watching movies. He was more involved in my life than I was with his, due to his asinine, grudge-holding friends who refused to be in the same room as me. The troll took all orders from his former roomate and obeyed without question, regardless of my opinion. All this wore thin quickly and we began to fight only weeks after I moved in.

The troll liked to spew nonsense about how weird and fucked-up he was, how people didn't "get" him because he was so different. I grew tired of the sermons, and I would tell him that I wasn't buying his attention-seeking bullshit. Everybody had issues, and he needed to get over himself. He often didn't like what I had to say, and would lose his temper, yell at me, and say horrible things that he couldn't take back. I began to wonder if I had made a HUGE mistake by moving in with him.

He would go out with his friends who were into drugs, and out of nowhere, he casually admitted that he had snorted coke at a party only weeks before. If there is one thing I can't tolerate, it's drugs. I have little patience for potheads, but cocaine? I lost my shit. He promised that it was a one time deal that wouldn't happen again, but I didn't believe him, nor did I feel as if I could trust him. I couldn't help but wonder what else he had been hiding from me.

The ghetto began to take its toll, as thug douchebags called out to me as I got off the bus at the end of the day. One evening a guy followed me up a street, whistling and shouting, "Hey, baby! I got what you need! Where you running off to?" until I ducked into a convenience store and waited for him to give up and leave, so he wouldn't find out where I lived. The troll came home to find me shaken, and instead of showing concern, said, "I know other girls who live in this neighbourhood and they don't have a problem. What makes you so special?" He didn't care that I was unhappy, felt unsafe and wanted to discuss moving to a different area of the city. He worked two jobs, didn't drive, and got a ride right to the door late at night, while I had to take a very expensive cab ride from my night school class downtown, as I didn't want to take the bus and walk home in the dark.

For the first time, the troll joined a couple friends and I on our annual trip to Huntsville for the Victoria Day weekend. Friday night, sitting at the bonfire, the troll made the mistake of bringing up the big fights we had gotten into recently, thus sparking another one. He told me that he had let me move in with him "as a favour" and "to be nice". Naturally, I lost it on him, disgusted by his lies and selfishness. I told him how frustrated and hurt I was by his unwillingness to compromise.

"I don't feel that compromise means I should have to give anything up!" he yelled, "I've worked hard for everything I have, and now that everything is perfect for me, why should I have to give any of it up?!"

"Because it's not just YOU!" I retaliated, "Why am I the one making all the sacrifices? Why can't I have ONE THING that's perfect? You have everything and I have nothing!"

He wouldn't listen and he didn't care. My friend, who had been listening to this embarrassing clash of tempers (did I mention I'm Irish?), told him he was being a bit ridiculous and selfish, although she could see his side too (what?). She suggested that we move to her area, which actually made my commute to work FURTHER. By this point I was crying very hard, and looked at her incredulously. Backtracking, she suggested that maybe I should get my license, as a compromise (WHAT?).

I turned to the troll and said, "If you're not willing to meet me halfway and move at the end of the year, tell me now and I'm gone. And don't tell me you will just to shut me up for now and then hurt me later, because I deserve better than that."

"You're such a bitch, you know that?" he said, "I'm going to bed. The least you can do is give me some time to think about it," and he got up and walked away.

I sat there and cried, while my friend tried to come up with ways for me to compromise. She told me I shouldn't back him into a corner and sometimes you need to feed a man's ego and let him have his way.

I told her that he didn't love me enough, because he had been willing to move to the United States for his ex-wife, but wouldn't move within the city for me. I was tired, frustrated, and convinced that I was setting myself up to get hurt, no matter what I did.

When I finally went to bed, I tried to talk to him, but he rolled away from me.

In the morning, we made peace, and everything was fine, if a little tense, for the rest of the weekend.

Back in the city, I took some time to think and I didn't know what to do. I doubted he would ever compromise, and maybe staying was just setting myself up to get hurt. Maybe all the troubles that came with our relationship were just too much, as they seemed to swallow us whole sometimes. I was tired of walking on eggshells, and tired of fighting. I had little left to fight with. Maybe it wasn't going to work out and I was too scared to admit it.

Frustrated, I gave the apartment a good cleaning. That was when I found a large stack of photos of his ex-wife in a drawer, which was bad timing and felt like a slap in the face.

Behind the troll's back, I started to look for apartments.

One night I was peeling potatoes for dinner when he came into the kitchen and told me he had decided he didn't want to get married again or have kids. My face turned red and I stabbed the potato HARD with the knife, whipping around to look at him.

"You. Fucking. Asshole," I said.

He eyed the knife and said, "What?"

"You knew what I wanted when we started dating, and I told you that if you didn't want the same things, then you shouldn't waste my time."

He didn't have an answer for that, and walked away. We ate our dinner in silence that night, and barely spoke to each other over the next few weeks. Our relationship was a ticking time bomb, and we both knew it.

I was out with friends one Saturday afternoon when he called me to tell me that we needed to talk.

I snorted sarcastically, "Yes, we do."

At the apartment, sitting across from each other uncomfortably, he said, "This isn't working."

"No shit this isn't working."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't love you anymore. I don't want to hurt you, but I think it's best that I end this. I know you were hoping that this would work out, but we just don't want the same things, and I think we make better friends—"

I cut off his self-righteous diatribe to say, "I don't love you either. I've been looking for an apartment for a few weeks now."

That took some wind out of his sails, and he looked up, shocked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Oh. You have? Oh. Well. Okay."

"And I don't take steps backwards."

"What?"

"You and I will NOT be friends."

"But—"

"Spare me."

It was the second week of June; we had lived together for less than three months. He told me I was welcome to stay until I found a place, so I started a frantic search for an apartment, with the help of my mom and dad.

Living with the troll after breaking up was one of the most miserable experiences of my life: sometimes we were civil, sometimes we hardly spoke, and sometimes we would yell. I began to feel depressed and hardly ate or slept. We shared a bed (he wasn't even courteous enough to sleep on the couch), and if his arm or leg grazed mine, I would jump out of bed like it was on fire. He disappeared for days at a time, and then acted as if everything was normal. More often than not, I would start crying and screaming at him; it was horrifying to go through the motions in front of him. He constantly apologized for not loving me anymore, but that's what happened and I would just have to deal with it. I told him that dating him was my biggest regret, because I didn't know who he was anymore and I had lost one of my best friends. Things between us would never be the same. I so wanted to punch him in his stupid trollish face. I'm all angry again just writing about it.

At the very last minute, my parents and I found a cute little basement apartment in the midtown area of the city, and I moved within a week.

Returning to pick up a couple things I had forgotten, the troll stopped me on my way out, hugged me and said, "I miss my friend."

I pulled away and replied, "The person I dated is not the person I was friends with for twelve years, so you can see my dilemma," before walking out the door.

That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to the troll. He has tried to contact me a number of times over the years, but I have never replied.

I made a promise to myself that I would never date a friend again.

I broke it.

Apologies and Damages

2010-03-22T15:57:00.000-04:00

Please accept my humble apologies for being very absent as of late. To be honest, life has been really shitty for me. I hate/despise/LOATHE my job. I've been working ridiculous amounts of uncompensated overtime, which doesn't exactly inspire my writing. All of my spare time has been dedicated to updating my portfolio so I can start looking for something that doesn't make me want to use my X-ACTO® knife for the powers of evil, ie. stabbing a Fashionista in the eye.

I'm still not sleeping very well, but I'm hoping a return to running, yoga, and healthy eating will fix that. Goodbye Big Macs; it was fun while it lasted!

Emotionally, I've been very down, and all will make sense once I catch up with my stories. It will take time before I'm ready, but writing it out is very therapeutic for me, as I have a tendency to be an emotional volcano; keeping everything inside until the point of explosion.

Updates!

Cutie: is not speaking to me, after I had to cancel plans with him a couple times due to work, and then ignored his phone calls at 3:30am a week ago. He was drunk, in the neighbourhood, and wanted to "crash on my couch". I'm not stupid. I know what "crash on your couch" means. And while The Beast is starving to death (dudes, it's been almost eight MONTHS), The Beast is also sleeping at 3:30am.

The next morning I asked Cutie if he had taken leave of his senses when he called me six times at that hour of the morning. He was mad at me for not answering, called me the most "unspontaneous" person he had ever met, and I may or may not have told him to go fuck himself. Good times.

Marathon Guy: tried to call me two weekends ago. I didn't answer. He didn't leave a message. He has graduated to Stage 9 Clinger.

Wilderness Man: seems to be the proverbial nice guy. He got me a small birthday gift and a really sweet card. During the Olympics, I told him I couldn't find a Canada t-shirt in my size, so he went out and found me one. He remembered that I love the show Mantracker, so he took me to the Outdoor Adventure Show to meet him in person (we met up with Stef and she gave him the thumbs-up).

Unfortunately, with the hours I've been working, I haven't had much spare time to see Wilderness Man since I got back from vacation. He's been getting a little frustrated with me, and I've been feeling guilty.

I like him, but I'm not in a rush to be his (or anyone's) girlfriend, so I'm taking things incredibly slow. Sometimes I feel like all my experiences have left me damaged; I'm more cynical and glass-half-empty than I've ever been, and I have a very hard time with the idea of putting my heart out there and trusting a guy again.

I'm just so tired after years and years of bullshit, and I haven't felt this down in a long time. I'm not really sure what to do or where to go from here?

Questions? Comments? Advice?

P.S. New post tonight — promise!