Category Archives: Dating

This is the story of: My Online Dates

I began to dabble in online dating again when I moved to Victoria and realized I wasn’t going to meet many people outside of my social circle, since I did nothing but work and hangout with the same thirteen people. So, I made an online dating profile. Although I was full of shame and possessed a feeling that everyone knew I had done this, just by looking at me, I have to admit my profile was  pretty awesome. I laughed as I wrote it. Then I picked some decent pictures and let it all sort itself out. As much as a control freak can, anyways.

I’m pretty particular about how I go about online dating. I look at the main picture prior to even reading the message (shallow, yes; necessary when you get 50+ messages a day, also yes). Once I look at the picture, I open the message, if it’s a “hey” or a “you’re gorgeous”, I ignore it. If the message is fourteen chapters and has a clear beginning, middle and end, I delete it immediately. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Should the message be just the right size and have a little bit of personality, I read it and respond accordingly. So as you read these stories, remember, these were the cream of the online dating crop, so to speak.

A)     Lies About Everything and I planned to meet at a coffee shop after a couple weeks of texting. He seemed cool, collected and a hard worker. All pluses in my books. On the day of said encounter, I walked into the local coffee shop to meet him. Scanning the crowd for a six foot tall, broad shouldered, scruffy faced, toned,  tanned, Brazilian, Soccer playing, stud of a man (as his profile pictures depicted) I was unpleasantly surprised when a stranger walked up to me and said hello. I assumed he was just a rando trying to vie for my attention. Nope. This was my date. A 5’4, wobbly looking, weak jawed, bad face, Mexican man.  I was actually taken aback and probably gasped a laugh, as is my style when shocked I said “you’re not who I’m meeting” and he said “yeah, I am. I look a little different from my pictures, but we get along so well, let’s grab a coffee”. Nope. If you think it’s ok to start a relationship off on lies as big as your face, then you’re doomed to eternity of online dating.

B)      Lispy and I bonded over a mutual love of a canceled tv show. He seemed sensitive and lovely. He picked me up at my house for our first date (yes, I know, it’s a bad idea to let a stranger in your home). It was 5pm on a Saturday though, so still light out, should I need to high tail it up the road, screaming for help. Lispy knocked on the door and I opened it to find a slightly older version of the picture on his dating profile. Not a deal breaker. Then he walked in my house and TOOK OFF HIS SHOES! Umm, hello? I didn’t invite you in for tea. I asked if we were planning on going out and thankfully he got the hint. He took me to… Boston Pizza. At 5pm. On a Saturday. For a first date. I hadn’t really paid attention to much about his voice, except to recognize a very pronounced lisp. I like to think this wouldn’t have been a deal breaker either, that maybe I’m not that shallow. But then he exclaimed “you know the differnth between your houth and my houth ith that you have tho many pictureth and I don’t have anything. I gueth you will have to put thome up for me”. No. Nope. Nope. No. Then when I blank stared at him, he giggled. GIGGLED. For the entire rest of the date, he just giggled. I was home by 6:30 and had enough time to go out with friends for real Saturday night fun. Lispy messaged me the next day asking if he should shave his beard or if I liked the beard. I politely told him I didn’t think it was going to work out between us and I wished him luck in his future endeavours and beard decisions.

C)      The Engineer and I shared messages back and forth online for a VERY long time in the online dating world (three and a half weeks). And these messages were long. It would take me half a day to respond to all the questions and statements. It was going really well, on paper. Engineer was handsome in person and taller than a WNBA players dream. We decided to meet for coffee and upon first sight I was pleasantly surprised… until he spoke. The first thing Engineer said to me was “you changed your hair”. Umm, hi to you too. Yes, I did change my hair. It was about two inches shorter and a tad darker, not a deal breaker when you have an awesome personality like mine. Anyways, the date lasted 45 minutes and then I left and never heard from him again. Until a friend of a friend tried to set me up with him and I guessed who it was within hearing “engineer”. Needless to say, I didn’t meet him, again.

D)     You know those dates that seem to go on forever and you are so excited because they’re just so awesome and you start to imagine more dates that are just as awesome. That’s how Saskatchewan and I were. We started out meeting for coffee and progressed to beers and dinner. It was a solid first date. He wasn’t exactly my style but he was sweet and ambitious. After  a five hour stint of laughing and story sharing, we parted ways. We never talked again. The end.

And that my friends is a little glimpse into my online dating life. There are more stories. Some turned into stories that will span many pages. Some I don’t remember because they were that unimportant. Either way, I learned a lot. I learned that I hate online dating. I learned that the spark and unexplainable, unspoken connection you feel when you meet someone is really important to me, and you can’t find that on a piece of paper or a computer screen. I learned that liking a man’s voice is extremely important. I learned a good first date doesn’t necessarily mean there will be more dates. I learned that I’m not everyone’s type. I learned not to take rejection so hard. I learned that getting along on paper is easy, getting along in person, not so much. #lifelessons

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January 12, 2014 · 11:56 PM

Why Bitches Be Crazy

We’ve all heard or used the saying “bitches be crazy” and it’s true. Females can be extremely “crazy”. Now, now before you flip out and tell me I’m a bitch for saying females get crazy (which would be a ‘crazy bitch’ thing to do, btw), lets think about this rationally. I will use myself as an example. I have a good family. I have good friends. I have a University degree. I have a happening social life. I’m fortunate enough to be decent looking. I have a good job. I have hobbies. I have a uterus. Therefore, I am crazy and can be a bitch. I don’t know why. I just am.

Merriam-Webster defines crazy as “full of cracks or flaws; crooked, askew, mad, insane; being out of the ordinary; erratic, impractical; unusual; distracted with desire or excitement; infatuated; absurdly fond” and bitch is described as “the female of the dog or some other mammals; a lewd or immoral woman; a malicious, spiteful, or overbearing woman —sometimes used as a generalized term of abuse; something that is extremely difficult, objectionable, or unpleasant”.

Combining any of those terms together is slightly terrifying and doesn’t really encompass what a “crazy bitch” is. So in an attempt for an accurate discription of a “crazy bitch” you can log onto urbandictionary.com and read away. I will make it easy, here’s the link: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=crazy%20bitch

Now that the technical shit is out of the way, lets examine some situations in my life where I was a crazy bitch. Hold on tight for this wild ride people.

A) I once made a fake email address and emailed a bitch my boyfriend slept with, when we were on a ‘break’ (watch Friends and you’ll get it) and pretended to have had met her at a party just to try to get more info on this chick. I did this because I found naked pictures of her on his phone and didn’t believe that they weren’t in contact anymore. I was right. He asked me if I had done this because said stupid hoe chick got a weird email. I played dumb, obviously, and freaked out like a crazy bitch on him for lying to me.

B) I often creep my ex’s ex’s to see what they look like/talk like/do with their spare time. I mean creeeeeep, hard. No necessary reason for this. I don’t tell anyone I do this. I just do it. That’s crazy and stupid and probably severely damaging. I like to see if my ex’s refriend/follow them. Why? I don’t know. I am not crazy enough to do anything about it, except maybe text my ex after a few too many redneck margaritas.

C) I went through a guys phone when he was passed out because I didn’t believe that he wasn’t talking to other girls. He was and it wasn’t platonic. I took the high road and didn’t confront him, as we hadnt had the ‘exclusive’ talk. A week later he then went through my phone and was mad that I had dudes in my phone and asked me to not see anyone else. Shortly after this, he proceeded to sleep with a rando. Is your mind blown by the fuckery of the situation yet? Just wait. How did I find out he slept with said girl? Oh, yes, I saw the text convo he left open on his phone, as he handed it to me, saying he felt like a hooker because she kicked him out. I freaked out like a crazy bitch.

D) I got a late night text from an ex and went there, drunk, and started a ‘serious’ conversation asking him questions that had been on my mind and when I felt he was being shady about the answers lost it and got myself kicked out. Turns out he was lying (a big one) and I found out via creeping and confronted him, like a crazy bitch.

Do we see any patterns here people? Bitches be crazy because dudes be lying fools. If a girl asks you a question, there’s a very good chance she knows the answer or her ‘woman’s intuition’ has kicked in and she’s grasping at straws to justify your behavior. Also, all you men say you hate crazy bitches but why then do you hit me up more when I go straight certifiable on your ass but ignore me when I’m a sweetheart? Riddle me that fellas.

Moral of the post is to continue being your crazy bitch self,  in private. In public smile and nod and then take a crowbar to his shit.

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Island, Round #2

When I finally gave up on “big city” me and moved back to Victoria I started doing the exact same thing I did in Vancouver… Making horrible decisions. While in Vancouver I would say “Tonight I’m going to play a game called Bad Decisions”. That phrase carried across the straight, packed neatly in my luggage and tucked in my brain like a … well, bad idea.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t go out and find one night stands, start twerking on strangers, or become addicted to meth or crack cocaine, I’m just a lowly sales girl after all, not a Mayor. I just didn’t care if I was rejected, I flirted with no sense of shame, and I talked to who I wanted, when I wanted.

Before I sunk to making another online dating profile I started flirting with the idea of meeting someone in “real life”.  Well, I met an array of unimportant players in my life. Read, they don’t matter anymore and barely left a blip on my radar. A few fun facts did come from them though, please be aware, these are awesome factoids:

  • It is possible to find a dust bunny the size of an actual bunny in some men’s homes. Not pleasant. If you can’t clean your house, what else aren’t you cleaning?
  • If someone calls you a conundrum, run away. Fast.
  • Men who play guitars are 61.8% more attractive. Always.
  • Boys like nail polish on your nails, it gives them something to look at other than your cleavage as you’re telling stories.
  • Dating someone who feels they need to ask your ex-boyfriend if they can date you is never a good idea. No more drama, mamas.
  • Drama is always invited in, rarely does she just show up and make herself at home uninvited.
  • Accountants are boring. Always.
  • If someone says they are a professional athlete, google them. If they’re not on google, it’s a lie.
  • If a man has a beard he is sexier. Always.
  • Always shave your legs, this is just a life fact. No reason behind it. But y’all should know shaving legs is not optional.

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December 22, 2013 · 5:42 PM

Reason’s to Date Me

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Things I wish I could tell people about myself IMMEDIATELY when meeting them (in no particular order):

1) I’m a really good back scratcher
2) I’m sarcastic and bitchy and admit when I’m being crazy (I’m also a nice person…)
3) I smell good ALL the time
4) I am a good fake (and real) listener
5) I am better at beer pong when I’m drunk
6) I encourage out of town weekends for you and the boys (no hookers though)
7) I’ll probably be cute until I’m dead
8) I have lots of hobbies and friends, so I don’t need to be constantly entertained
9) I fuckin love cuddling
10) I can quote most funny movies (Anchorman anyone?)
11) I will do sweet things for you, just because
12) Your parents will love me, as will your friends (and they may opt to keep me instead of you should we ever part ways)
13) I laugh at my own jokes, even when other people don’t
14) I can cook and eat (like a boss)
15) I will never do anything to intentionally hurt you, the thought hurts my heart
16) I like dogs and kids
17) I like you to make the decisions
18) If you don’t work out as much as or more than me, we will have a problem
19) I have no hidden talents
20) If I like you, nothing will change that. Nothing, no one, no situation… unless you poop in a weird place, are mean to old people or animals, get violent or twitchy… you get the idea.

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Way Back Whenesday

My first real boyfriend in adulthood started out like any relationship when you’re 19… We met at a party and made out at, like, the seven following parties and then started “seeing” each other. This basically meant we started hanging out in day light hours and held hands in public and didn’t pretend to leave parties seperately. It was awesome. We did this for an entire Summer. Hanging out, making out, fishing,  camping, tubing, laughing, sexing, dates, road trips, sleepovers when we could sneak them in (we both lived with our parents), all the best things that come with the start of a relationship in Summer. When Summer finally ended and I packed up to move back to Victoria he surprised me by asking me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, after all he was 6 feet 4 inches of small town, good lookin, fun time muscle.

Sounds too idealic to be true, right! Yup, you would be right. When I left town and moved back to Victoria, he had a couple more weeks until he had to leave for his season home base, so he visited often. It was magic, as only first love can be. However, what you’re thinking is “season home base? What is that?”. Well, when you’re a semi pro hockey player, you don’t necessarily live where your girlfriend lives. First Love left and went across the country. We continued to date. Gor 2 years. On and off of course. Because he was a hockey player after all. And what they say about hockey players is true.

Not to dampen anyones spirits but here are my top 3 shitty things First Love did (and yes, I have put them in order) and yes they are terrible and devastating:

3) One dark and rainy (so I like to believe) night he would not answer his phone. At all. And I called at least a dozen times. We had fought (per usual) and he took a bottle of gin and ignored me. I do not take well to being ignores. Hence, the outrageous number of phone calls. Finally I made contact… with his roommate, only to tell me that he was “occupied”. I was naive, but now I know what occupied meant. He was not in the bathroom at 3am, or sleeping, or in a meeting, or any other logical reason that would render him incapable of answering his own phone . Its sad to say I only figured this out when I saw the naked pictures of a cheerleader on his phone. Bazinga!

2) First Love was fond of breaking up with me on MSN Messenger (so I wouldn’t necessarily get the messages right away – remember, texting wasn’t cool this long ago and landlines were the main form of communication) and then reconnecting with me a few days later with a sappy email/phone call/song. It only took me three breakups to realize they always fell on weekends his team was traveling.  At least he had the decency to ‘breakup’ with me before mattress dancing with puck sluts (my assumption on the morals of these girls was never proven).

And the #1 all time terrible thing First Love ever did was… drum roll please…

First Love and I took a break a few days before Christmas (he had to stay out East and all the breaking up was really getting in the way of the spirit of Christmas). We talked every couple days and always ended the conversation with “I love you”. Since he called me on Christmas, I thought I would call him on New Years Eve. Bad idea! Since he was 3 hours ahead of me I called him at 11 o’clock my time, just in time to get him before he hit the hay after the bar. Look at me being all thoughtful and shit. The conversation went like this:

Me: Happy New Years!  Did you have a blast?!
Him: Yup. I want you to talk to someone.
Me: Who?! (At this point I assumed it was a teammate, I often spoke with the boys when I calles)
Some Bitch: Who is this? (Muffled whispers to First Love, ‘who is it babe’)
Me: Umm, it’s his girlfriend (I know, we were on a break but details don’t matter to drunk people)
Some Bitch: What? I’m his girl now. *click*

Me, being naive, assumed it was a joke, so called back and the conversation continued as follows:

Him: What? Didn’t want to talk to the chick I’m gonna f*ck?
Me: Excuse me? This is a joke, right?
(In the background Some Bitch is begging First Love to take her home, I can still hear it to this day. He mumbles to her “one minute, just dealing with her”)
Him: I’ve got to go, I need to f*ck this girl
Me: You f*cking prick. Never talk to me again. *click*

I hung up my cell, started crying (at 11:30pm on New Years) and then sucked it up and partied for a bit… I ended up in pajamas with a pizza by 1am, which is kind of stellar. And only talked to First Love on two occasions after that: when he called to apologize because his cousin told him what he did to me (yup, kid was too drunk to even remember talking to me) and when I saw him randomly at a gathering. What lesson did I learn? Never call a man on a holiday.

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Good Advice…

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I’ve acted in all these ways when angry with a man (except 5; yeah, I’ve contemplated it, but I wouldn’t survive in jail. I’d be made a bitch for sure and I only like to braid my friends hair. Plus, I’ve seen Orange is the New Black, so, nooo thank you). No wonder no one actually knows when a woman is mad… so many signals.

Hint, if you feel like you may have possibly done something wrong just say you’re sorry and tell us we’re pretty. Works like a charm. Unless you KNOW you did a wrong…. then, diamonds and vacations work.

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B’s Be Like

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Story. Of. My. Life.

This happens to me all the time. And it’s not just one “ex”. It’s two. Two mofo’s who couldn’t see how eff bombin awesome I am the first go ’round and come back for seconds (or in the case of the B’s rounds 4 and 5)… I’m not good at making relationship decisions for myself. If you haven’t picked up on that yet…you’re dumber than I look.

Oh, let me tell you about the B’s… it’d be so easy to forget them if they weren’t so attractive. And buff. And charming. And… those eyes, those dimples, those biceps, those abs. The B’s (two ex’s that we [my friends and I] group together because they are such bad news for me) are just so… *droooool* and ever so current in my life.

B1 will be a reoccurring nightmare (or dream? I’ve yet to figure it out) and B2 is a hot mess of a nightmare (this one I’m 93% sure about). These two will pop up more frequently in my dating escapades as I move to current stories from Victoria. Some parts of these chapters (or paragraphs, depending on what round we are talking about) are hard to look at, so be easy on me… I’m fragile or some shit.

One of these two are my kryptonite. And I’m just beginning to realize who that is. I know you’re all curious and want details so… better keep reading! Suckas!

Moral of the blog post: dudes ain’t shit but manipulative twits 😉

Bonus Info:  astrologer confirmed ON THE NEWS (so It must be legit) that past loves/relationships will be popping up in the lives of many Cancers. Yaaay for us. Blah.

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Way Back Whenesday

Oh, how lovely it is to reminisce on my failures as a dater/datee. Every time I dig into my ice cold heart and bring up a story, it warms my soul just a little to remind myself that what happened is the past and I will make better decisions next time… Not. It’s probably the warm bath warming my insides.

When I went away to university I was dating my high school boyfriend. We will call him High School Boyfriend (HSB for laziness sake and for obvious reasons). He was an alright guy. I mean, I came from a small town, so it was slim pickings when it came to dating, but all said and done, he’s an alright guy. He went to a different school than I did, so we tried the long distance thing… for 17 days.

I ended things with HSB over the phone (texting wasn’t cool yet) and he lost it (I don’t blame him, I’m pretty awesome). He climbed in a friends window, kicked a garbage can and threw the ID bracelet I had given him in said garbage can. I told him the distance was too hard and I was too busy with school. Before I reveal this,  please understand, I was 18. In actuality, I met a sexy boy-man and wanted to date him. Throw tomatoes at me if you want but I will dodge them like a ninja. College guy was nice, independent, funny, sweet, attentive, and just plain awesome in this small town girls eyes.

College Guy and I began dating almost immediately after I broke up with HSB (never a good idea people). It didn’t last long, it only took me a couple weeks to see the annoying things pop up (crass, no class, and all about getting ass – and not with me). Needless to say, it was a great decision to end things with HSB because he went super-stage five snd called all my friends to check up on me and even my mother (to thank her for always being so kind to him). He ended the conversation with my Mom by saying he would win me back… so I shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up at my house three months later in the middle of the night. Right?

No wonder my dating life is so messed up. I’ve been making subpar decisions since before I even began to throw sex into the mix. Either way, HSB was out of the picture and recently stopped holding a grudge on me and added me to Facebook. Where I creeped the h-e-double hockey sticks out of his fiance and three children. I won this battle though because when I broke up with him Daddy let me use his credit card to buy a couple new outfits. Booya.

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Friday Night Fun

Fast forward to the present day and you will find me, still fabulous, still funny, and still soul wrenchingly single. The single life is great, I won’t mess with you. Doing whatever I want, whenever I want is pretty amazing. Except for when what I really want to do is lay on the couch with a man who is in lottle with me, start a new season of some crap show (I hear Orange is the New Black is pretty decent), and have my hair played with. Those are the kinds of things that you don’t get to do when you’re single. (I just pictured myself wrapped up with one of those ‘boyfriend’ pillows watching tv while playing with my own hair. Please laugh with me, not at me. Should I ever sink to this level, I will cry and someone slap me, please).

I know today’s date shows up on these posts, but just because I feel I need to be dramatic… It’s a foggy Friday night, in the middle of October. Did I go out dancing with the girls? Nope. Did I carve pumpkins with a boy and watch scary movies? HA! Did I take in comedy night at Hecklers? Nein. Did I volunteer at the SPCA and play with puppies all night? I wish! Did I drink wine and read a good book while listening to jazz music? Not even close. I ate an entire small Veggie Mediterranean pizza with two dippers to myself. While watching Law & Order: SVU. #winning. None of those three things separately bother me. Friday, awesome; Pizza, super awesome; and if you don’t like Law & Order: SVU you’re lying to yourself. But combined, they make me feel like I should rescue a cat or seven.

I’m not lonely, and rarely am I ‘alone’. I don’t get much down time, working seventy-ish hours a week, so when I do and end up watching tv (on a laptop because I don’t have cable), in flamingo print pajamas, eating 3.2 pounds of pizza (I weighed myself before and after) for six hours, a girl starts to wonder about herself.

All of us poor single folk get the “single funk” every now and again. Don’t pretend you don’t know what this is. For anyone who is lying to themselves or who has been in a relationship too long to remember: this is when we hate being single and curse the opposite sex, ourselves, our parents, our city, the weatherman, that dog that didn’t lick your hand because he clearly smelled your desperation, or basically anyone or anything that is in our way. I, thankfully, haven’t had a moment like this in a while. I hope I’m not due. They never go well and I definitely always write an ex or two. Yay me! (That was sarcasm).

Tonight is not the night for me to have a single person funk. I love life. I love that I get to go to bed and fall asleep in the middle of my bed; I love that I ate an entire pizza and didn’t have to share; I love that I don’t have to worry what my breath will smell like in the morning; I love that should I have an insomnia attack in a few hours, I don’t have to worry about waking anyone up with the lights on; I love that tomorrow, when I finally wake up (on my own schedule), I get to do whatever the eff bomb I want to (until my PT appointment at noon, then that meathead gets to boss me around). I think the important thing is that I love MY life… I just hate dating.

Lesson’s learned tonight: Munch retired , you will gain over three pounds from eating an entire small pizza, my pajamas are too big (in spite of said pizza eating), I can go an entire Friday without wearing a bra or drinking alcohol, there is such a thing as the ‘boyfriend’ pillow (see below), and it is completely possible to be in bed before midnight on a Friday.

 

The-boyfriend-pillow

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This is the story of: The Child

While living in Vancouver, I was traveling over to the island frequently. Not only because I missed my friends, I was seeing a guy over here for about a month, oh and was in a wedding, so had all that shit to do. Anyways, this is not a story about the guy I was seeing (you will hear about him in a Way Back Whenesday story). This is the story of The Child. I met The Child the night before Canada Day. I had come over to Victoria to hang out with friends, drink beer, eat burgers, watch the fireworks and play. That didn’t happen. Well, it did, only it was drink-a-litre-and-a half-of-wine-and-stumble-into-town-and-lie-about-your-entire-life kind of trip. I’m a real class act.

Two of my girlfriends and I headed into town (to Darcy’s of course – shameless plug, Darcy’s is the tits, the bee’s knees, the cheese to by bread, the vodka to my water, if you’re ever in Victoria check it out). I went down town all kinds of dressed up (short skirt, mesh top, long fake ass extensions cascading down my back, a real sight for sore eyes, if I do say so myself). I was super wasted. Like, white girl wasted, when said white girl was in high school and doing shots of straight Bacardi, chased by a sip from a two litre of Pepsi. That kind of night. I had a great time. Or so it seems from the photos.

The next day (Canada Day, remember) was not such a great day. I laid in my friend (and her bfs) bed allllll day, until I moved to the couch where I remained for most of the day light hours, while they drank beer, ate burgers, played games, etc.  Early on in the day, while I’m contemplating how I’m ever going to survive this hangover, my blackberry bings with a message (at 9am for fucks sake). Some random dude standing next to the Darth Vadar fiddler asks me how I am. Da Fuq? I yell out to my home girl “who the fuck did I meet last night!?”, then I barfed. According to my friend, I met a handsome, tall, 22 year old `Olympic lifter` and we really hit it off. My girl has high standards and a stronger liver than I, so I took her word for it and chatted with The Child.

I know you’re thinking it’s pretty bad that this guy is 22 and I’m 26… turns out I told him I was 24… and a teacher. I found this out when he asked me when school started and I lol’d and told him I graduated university many moons ago. This brought up a whole conversation about how I lied about my age and my occupation (and probably my name in the beginning… I always go in with a fake name, you’ve gotta earn the real name people). Anyhoo, The Child and I bbm back and forth for a couple weeks, never adding each other to Facebook (I’ve learned this is always a red flag) but Skyping when his roommates were out. Turns out… when he said roommates, he meant parents. And when he said 24 he meant 19. As in, just turned 19 a few days before I met him. By the time I found out about The Child and his situation (unable to drink in the US, or pay rent on his own, as he had no real job) we’d been talking for over a month. I thought I could maybe try to hang out with him and it would be fine. It wasn’t. It really, really, wasn’t. When we first hung out and he said “my parents are out if you’d like to come over?” I cringed. Then he admitted he rarely if at all drank. Then his 19 year old slang came out for show, and I hate slang. But what really shut the nursery door for me was when we hung out the second time (yes, I gave it more than one try… look at me being stupid and shit) I actually asked “do your parents know you’re out this late?”. We looked at each other… I cringed. He smiled. I told him I was tired. He asked if he could stay. I said I had to be up early. He drove home (in his Mom’s car). I cringed, again. He wrote me the next day. And the next. And the next. I finally told him I was ignoring him and that we were never going to happen. Then I ran into him a couple weeks later and did the awkward turn around and duck maneuver. And that was the end of The Child. I think he has graduated high school by now and is probably traveling on Mommy and Daddy’s dollar. Oh well, he had biceps for days.

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