Tag Archives: love problems

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

Way Back Whenesday

I’ve had a few requests for “throwback” dating stories. By throwback, I mean long before D and the googling incident. These stories consist of my dating scaries and stories from before my “long term” boyfriend. These ones are old, like my unfertilized eggs.

Fat Not Fat and I worked together. Kind of. I worked  for an electronics company and as such, you would imagine there would be no attractive people. But there were. Myself and a couple girl friends of mine were the exceptions to the ‘no hot girls work in electronics’ hype and there were even some good looking male specimens (the really odd ducks were my favorite though, I learned so much about shit I don’t care about there). I’d worked at this establishment for a while when Fat Not Fat got hired. He was a nice looking fellow. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, he was funny and quick witted (if not a little dim in other areas of life), just my style at the time.

Fat Not Fat was friends with someone who I worked with. I actually have no idea who this person was, as the memory is that old. I think it was a dude, may have been a girl, or talking dog… but the  memory of Fat Not Fat, and the conversation that follows is as clear as breakfast this morning (coffee and a vitamin B supplement). One day said unknown coworker said “hey, Fat Not Fat thinks you’re hot and wants to ask you out” and I replied (in front of the entire staff room full of lunch eaters) “eww, no he’s fat”. Tact was not a strong suit of mine and I was really shallow then (shut up). Everyone stopped eating and stared at me. One of my good friends was in the room at the time and can attest to this… the response I got was “he’s not fat, he’s got huge muscles.” Turns out, that was a fact. And Fat Not Fat heard about what I said and still wanted to hang out with me. So we hung out. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t terrible. We hung out mainly in a group of other coworkers, drinking and dancing. It was a typical 19 year old style of dating.  The moral of the story is, not everyone who looks fat, is fat. The shirt may be unflattering and hiding large biceps. The end.

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This is the story of: Mix CD Guy

Since I was fed up with online dating after my seven seconds online, and wanted to try the trend of offline dating, I told my friends (all two of them in Vancouver) that I wanted to meet new people (aka get a boyfriend) and they actually heard me. I got set up on a blind date by a coworker, we will call this man, Mix CD Guy. First of all, blind dates are always a bad idea, you never know who you’re looking for and there isn’t a carbon copy “tall, blonde, athletic” guy that you can just point out, especially not in a Starbucks.

Mix Cd Guy and I met at a Starbucks in downtown Vancouver. The minute he walked in I new it was going to be horrible. Was he bad looking, you ask? Nope, he was decent enough and had a nice smile. He was wearing an old man jacket and old man jeans. Judgemental, I am.

After we got our coffee, we sat in said coffee shop and chatted. I should have trusted the jacket, and it’s implications, the date was terrible. To begin with, he was SHOCKED and a little too disappointed to find out I was in my mid twenties (“You look so much younger, I would have thought you were 22, but I guess being older isn’t so bad, I can deal with that”, umm ok, you pervy 34 year old, you); he made it very clear that he was “super popular” with the pre-teen kids he teaches (oh yeah, he’s a teacher and soccer instructor, and I wouldn’t let my hypothetical kids around him if he himself was offering up millions of dollars in diamonds and cash); he laughed like a banshee (which I just learned is not a gorilla); and he talked about himself for what seemed like hours, upon hours (in reality it was two hours).

At the end of two hours, when it was clear he was never going to stop talking, ever, I made up an excuse about meeting my roommate. Let me mention that Mix CD Guy kept trying to touch my leg. This is always both awkward and inappropriate, unless I think you’re attractive. Anyways, as I’m getting up and putting on my age appropriate jacket, he puts on his old man jacket and leans forward and goes… “so I assume you like music, so I made you a mix cd” and PULLS A MIX CD OUT OF A HIDDEN POCKET IN HIS OLD MAN JACKET! I legiterally had no idea what to do, so I stuttered a thank you and tried not to laugh directly in his face. He walked me out of the store and pointed South, saying that was his direction, so I said I had to go North and no it would not be necessary to walk me to my fake meeting my roommate. As I turned away, I sent a mass text out to many of my female friends that said “Oh my god, blind date guy made me a mix cd, who the fuck gives a girl a mix cd on a first date. My life”. Sharing is caring after all.

I still have that cd somewhere, it was pretty decent actually. Too bad he turned out to be a weirdo, who found me on facebook and wouldn’t stop poking me. I despise being poked, figuratively and literally. He became one of three people I’ve blocked on that site. The 90’s called, Mix CD Guy, and they want their idea back.

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Online Dating Anyone?

As a single member of the 21st century, I’ve dabbled in online dating. By dabble, I mean, I make a profile and keep it for two-four weeks before deleting it… and then re-make a profile a few months later. It’s a vicious cycle.

For the seven people out there who haven’t tried online dating, it’s weird. It’s a phenomenon that confuses me. I get the concept, you write what you think people want to hear, post pictures of yourself doing fun things and looking fabulous while doing said things and hope to catch a mate. Don’t get me wrong, some people find true love on dating websites at least four times a year. However, I’ve had no such luck. Hence, this blog.

I’ve been on and off dating websites for as long as I can remember. I met my last long term boyfriend on a site called Nexopia (I’m not even sure I knew it was a dating website at the time), but it was love at first type and we dated for awhile. So, after that relationship detoured to Breakupsville, I figured I’d give it a whirl again. Man, do I regret this decision.

I tried EHarmony, you know, where you pay a monthly fee to find love. Yeah, you’d think that if someone was willing to pay actual money to find a mate, they’d be pretty serious about it. Nope. I wasn’t, I went on exactly zero dates in three months. This was mainly because everyone I got matched with lived in a different province, or country and I don’t like airplanes, or pen pals. Plus, it’s a seven thousand step process to get to the back and forth communication part of the “courting” process. EHarmony, $134 dollars; Me, zero dates.

I tried Match.com. I actually made a decent profile and then never logged in again. Ever. Match.com, uninteresting and too green; Me, zero dates.

I tried Plenty of Fish (or as I call it, FISH OF PLENTY). I’ve created an account on this site approximately nine times in the last three years. NINE. (My love life is so bumpin). I make the same profile every time, I tweek a few words here and add some random facts there, but mainly I use the same gist (and I’ve got to say, I’m pretty honest about how weird and awkward I am). Then I post six-eight photos (always a head shot with make up on, a head shot with NO make up on, a couple photos of me doing fun activities, and a full body shot dressed up; gotta give the boys a realistic view of my many faces). Anyways, most of my dating history comes from this site. Why? I have no idea, especially when 87% of the messages I receive are “Hey” or “Your gorgeous” (yup, 9 out of 10 times messages are boring or spelled wrong). The best part of POF is that you get actual people soliciting sex from you, or straight up sending you pictures of their schlong. Yet, I always reactivate my profile… Maybe I’m the messed up one? POF, entertaining and free; Me, too many failed dates to count.

In my opinion online dating is like an addiction. You hate it, but you can’t stop. You want to be part of it, but don’t want to admit it. I sort of understand why people use online dating (heck, I’m one of them) but ultimately there is only one thing that matters, chemistry, and ain’t nobody going to find that on a computer screen.

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This is the story of: Bartender

Everyone gets a nickname. Nobody gets called by their real name until they’ve been around long enough to not run away, or have me run from them (also known as; ignoring all communication until they get the point, and if that doesn’t work, blocking their number). For the sake of not ruining lives and their privacy (and me not getting spammed on facebook) I will only refer to men/boys/man-children by their nicknames. But hey, if you know this guy and see him on the street spit on him, or kick him, or just point and laugh (because not all them deserve to get spit on).

There have been so many short term dates, I’m not even certain I could tell you their last name, or their first for that matter (I would make a vailiant effort though). BUT, don’t count me out just yet, I can tell you their nickname, and the story of how utterly terrible our first date went. Or, in some cases, how the “situation” (as I like to call my dating experiences that last past date three) crashed and burned in a firey mess of tears and vodka.

Because I’m new at this blogging thing, and you’re new to my experiences in this catastrophe we call dating, I will start with a small, simple, life altering experience.

This is the story of: Bartender

Bartender and I met, duh, in a bar that he worked at. He told me he was the manager, but also a bartender. I was drunk and dressed ghetto fabulously (we were at a reggae club after all). We flirted. He was handsome. I was coy. He touched my hand. I asked for singles. He gave me doubles. And then at the end of the night I said, and this is ballsy of me people, I said… “So you going to ask for my number or not?” he said no. True story.

This isn’t the end of the story though. He then stopped, I could actually see the wheels turning in his head, and he said “yes, actually, yes I am. I want that number”. So, I wrote my number out on a chit (that piece of paper that comes out of the machine at the bar… not important) and left the bar. TWO HOURS later he writes me, he comes over, my roommate, Bartender and I sit up for a few hours chatting, he leaves and says “I will call you tomorrow”.

People, he ACTUALLY called me. The. Very. Next. Day. I was floored. Here was this handsome, quiet, and funny man, and he actually called me back. (Remember folks, I am new to the dating scene after four years of domestic bliss, and this isn’t what Cosmo told me to expect). Anyways, he called me. We talked. We flirted. We made plans to walk his dog.

We ended up cancelling the dog walking plans because I went out of town, but Bartender and I proceeded to see each other every Wednesday (when I went to his club) and the odd other night for almost three months. It was casual, but I liked him and he liked me and even pointed out that I had freckles (something I didn’t even realize). Ladies, we all know those cute things win us over. No judging.

Long story longer, I went to his club one night and was chillin with some new “friends”, when one girl asked how I knew Bartender. I replied with “oh, we just met here and chill every so often”. (Keep in mind, I’m playing it cool, I’ve met his friends, gone for dinners, seen him outside of the club scene, text him daily, talk to him on the phone, oh so many things), That’s when this rando replies “sweet, so you must know his fiance”.

YUP. FIANCE. Being the utterly fantastic liar I am (only to strangers though, don’t fret family or friends who are reading this, you know my tell), I reply “no, I haven’t met her, she doesn’t come out very often, work or something” and continue to have a casual chat with her for a few more minutes, before changing the subject and casually sauntering off…

Yes, Bartender turned out to have a long term, live in girlfriend. Not yet engaged, but they probably are by now. I wish them years of happiness and no herpes… at least for her. She is probably a lovely woman.

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