Monday, June 30, 2014

The beard

So, the last story I posted about not being able to get into the door to get to the date I was has more to it.

Again, lets set the stage. I'm the idiot who can't find the door, he's the guy responding with "lol" (I fucking hate the term 'lol' by the way. Why? Because people like to text it to you in a sentence instead of a period. 'How are you?" "good lol" Are you laughing that you're good or are you laughing because I asked??)

I get there, and see him come in, immediately think "Heck ya. He's cute." Nice big white smile, maybe a bit loud, kind of over dressed for meeting at a pub, but hey. Nice smile. That and he's very tall, and very bearded. We laugh a bit over drinks, and by drinks I mean pop, because he doesn't drink, but I'm okay with that.

He asks if I want to hear him play guitar or maybe go catch a movie, being ever the ginger I opt for both. So first he serenades me in a park (He was actually good), then we go make out in his mini van and miss the movie. We eventually got wings and then went to bed.

We text a lot after that stuff happened, and I admit, I think I may have been a bit lonley because I was into him, and there were several reasons that he wasn't really the guy for me.

1.)  He was SO SO SO LOUD.
What? Loud's not bad you say? I'm a fairly quiet person. I enjoy debates which revolve around disputing the other's point and not shouting over them. He did not. Also, it hurt my ears sometimes.

2.) He was very opinionated.
Some people are ok with having their clothes critiqued. I am not one of those people. Putting pants on is enough of a struggle without having to worry if they match my bra..or however people match that shit. Also, who says "I thought it was weird you wore a blazer"? It was a cotton blazer, and it goes with jeans fuckface.

3.) He was a little too upfront.
Hint for the men: If you're not well endowed, don't be bragging that up. It's weird. Men are the one's with penis size obsession, women look at the giant penises of the porn world and go "NO ENTRY. WHAT IS THAT, AN ARM?". Know how to work with what you got.

4.) He was touchy feely.
There's a joke with my friends about me in that "I don't like to be touched" except it's not a joke. Don't touch me. Unless we're at home, then paw away. But walking in the mall and he's getting all grabby, or having to constantly push his hands out of my shirt. No, stop it. Some people like PDA, I don't happen to be one of those people.

And finally...oh dear Jesus, that beard.

As lovely as the beard was to peer upon, one day I noticed something about it. It was subtle at first, like the first smell of a gas leak. "What is that?" you ask yourself. sniff again. Nope, nothing.

but then the next time I'd see him, there was that smell again. Like someone left old cheese in their sock and then wore 70 year old sneakers in 100 degree weather. It was honestly the worst, knowing he was going to come in for a kiss and it was going to take all I could do to not gag.

I'm not sure why it got continually worse. Maybe my senses had picked it up and couldn't let it go? Maybe his beard just smelt like old fucking cheese. Either way, trying to sexily make him wash it actually made the smell worse.

At the end of the day though, I didn't feel so bad about breaking it off with him. Besides the terrible smell, and the loud, and the rest of it, he was kind of an ass. I guess that's what happens when you're all alone in a new end up dating cheese beardo because you get a little desperate.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Getting old bitches do it

And I mean "old" as a relative term, obviously.

So, I was getting ready for a date the other night and it got me thinking...I'm a shit ton more calm about this than I was in my early twenties. Maybe that's a direct result of being on literally 9000 dates in the past five years (And lets be honest, I'm probably grossly under estimating that number), but I like to think of it more as an age related affliction.

In my early twenties I would have some pretty epic freak outs before a date. I mean like almost to the point of a panic attach. Suddenly all my clothes were ugly, frayed and made me feel like a spice girl, and my weight had blustered to blue whale size (now, I'd like to go back then and punch that girl in the face. I miss my gym butt.)
What do you mean you don't want to go out again? I wore my best tiger print pants you bitch!

Now a days I tend to be pretty relaxed. So much so that it's causing some issues.

The thing is, I no longer worry about what outfit I'm going to wear. I kind of know what looks super hot by trial and error. Silver jeans (most recently skinnies, but more on that later), a nice laid back boyfriend blazer which tucks in my waist and a pop of colour under that blazer, usually blue because it makes my eyes go BANG.

Even makeup is no longer an issue. I can honestly remember going for dates with BAR makeup. Sexy right. Everyone likes a girl that looks like a raccoon who just got punched in the face with a disco ball...and I did that in the day time.
It would have looked fine if I would have accessorized with that feather necklace like this nice young lady.

 Now I have it down to a science, although now I'm also dodging wrinkles. Sometimes those wise grooves come in handy though, the cat eye look is WAY easier to pull off when your eyeliner brush is such in a canyon.

Hair is a snap. I have found my best look is with some soft touchable waves (and suddnly I'm a pantene commercial, wait for it...wait for it...I'm going to do the hair shake next.). Back in the day I would try out all sorts of thing before a date. The ill fated side bun? Looked awesome, and then as I was leaving I discovered the freaking thing had fallen out and I just looked crazy (surprisingly that guy never called me again. What, a gradual rats nest appearing at the nape of my neck is no longer considered attractive? Whatever bro.). Or how about that braid that doubles as a hair band? Yeah. My hair is slightly unruly, I think that bitch unwound herself before I even had the first sip of coffee.

Yep, these days it's easy. It takes me a solid hour to look like a god damn VS model (plus some ass...minus some boob, add some wrinkles and minus a tan, plus some cellulite...okay you get the idea.). The problem here lies in the fact that I know it doesn't take long.

So the last date I went on, I had three hours until I had to meet the guy. The place was five minutes from my place, so I figured I had lots of time. Might as well take a nap.

minus 40 mins.

Then I started getting my face ready. I'd get an eye done, then get distracted and start painting my toe nails just in case I decide to wear sandals in September in Canada (Always a wise idea for evening dates). I then would start to cook supper, and change my mind half way through.

Minus an hour.

Well shit. Time is ticking down. Better throw my clothes on and start on my hair. I'd get halfway through my clothes, then pop a couple waves into my hair before wandering off to play with the cat. Finally, with 30 minutes until I had to leave I'm READY. I gobble down some food, and relax.

10 minutes to go, do a spot check on my face.

Well shit. I only did one eye. Okay hang on, lets not go all clockwork orange up in this shit.
I'm pretty sure Ke-dollar sign-ha copied my look. 

8 minutes to go. Fucking hell. How did I only manage to get half my freaking hair done too?!?? Better fire up the ol' curling iron and fix that.

1 minute behind schedule: Where the hell did I put those blue leopard print flats?
3 minutes behind schedule: OKAY NOW SERIOUSLY?? WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY KEYS.

3 minutes late: Come on phone, google map this shit. You said this place was only five minutes from my house? Where the hell is it??

10 minutes late: Why is there no door on this building.
11 minutes late: Text date and ask why there isn't a door on this building.
15 minutes late: Text date and inform him you found the door.
15 and a half minutes late: Text date and inform him that you found the door.
16 minutes late: Text date and inform him that the door you found is in fact a fake door, and you will continue the door search and inform him when you find a door.

16 and a half minutes late: Text date and inform him you found the door, and brace self for your first impression being both stupid and crazy.

I think next time I'm going to give myself a bit of extra time.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

It's Safe to Say I'm not 15 Anymore

Remember being 15? No? Okay, me neither really. But I have been told I was a shit. I had blue hair, I kind of had to have been some sort of shit, even if it did just involve staining the bathroom sink blue, and wrecking every towel in the house.

But seriously, most of us spent that time trying to do what we thought was cool, and ended up looking completely fucking stupid for it. And it really didn't matter where you fit on the social food chain, be it popular cheerleader type (Which, in my school involved walking like you had one leg replaced with a metal peg-leg, because that how sexy girls walked), the angsty art kid (The thicker and darker the eye liner the more serious you should be taken. Hell, sharpie that shit right up to the brow bone.) or the big dumb kid who sat at the back of the class making bad jokes and laughing at your own farts (I don't really feel like an example is necessary here.)

But recently, I've discovered that no matter how much I say "I am 15 on the inside." I'm actually not. I'm actually almost-30, and yes, that's a real age.

So, on to story time.
"Fire men go down the pole, kids!"
So, since moving to the city I've discovered two things. 
1.) Everywhere I go, people ask me out. No joke. It's getting a little ridiculous, I'm at best a 6.5.
2.) I still fucking hate buses.

Now, when I lived in Vancouver I hated buses because everyone who talked to me on them was crazy. And not just like "I can see the future in tea leaves" crazy, but "I'm the King of Norway!" crazy (I did actually ride the bus every day with the King of Norway when I rode the bus in Van. He had a remarkable Canadian accent for foreign royalty.)

So, I happened to be riding the bus home one night, later than I normally do as I had gone out for pints with a friend to bitch about all the shit that happens with moving. I'm sitting there, doing my best not to make eye contact with anyone when I notice a very sexy, very heavily tattooed, very manly, man. 
Anyone that knows me knows men + tattoos = OMG. I mean not to get too graphic, but in the three seconds I saw him I envisioned straddling him right there in the bus and just licking his face. Have I mentioned I don't have sex anymore? Yeah, I should re-mention the fact because what that means is my imagination has taken one seriously fucked up and twisted turn for the worse. 

And then the weirdest thing happened, he got up and sat closer to me. Da fuck? Then, check this shit out, he said "Hi."

I KNOW RIGHT. SINCE WHEN? So I say hi back, we get to chatting about my foot tattoo and then it's my stop and I ding the little yellow dinger. Before we come to a stop he says "I'd like to take you out for a drink on Friday." and, get ready for it, get ready for it..HE HANDS ME HIS NUMBER.

Well shit. Colour me flustered (No seriously, I was magenta.) 

So I get home and text him, and we decide I'll text him again Friday to set it up. So then I text him Friday, and he asks if I want to take a walk down a popular street in my city, or go for a walk with his dog on some trails by the river and get a drink there. 

How awesome right? Go for a walk with a dog by the river with a hot tattoo guy? Get a drink on a patio? Lick his, wait, DAMNIT stop it brain! Back to being sexually repressed for you! So, I agree to go dog walking and river walking and he says "Cool, I'll call a cab."

I find it a bit odd that he's going to pack his dog into a cab to go for a walk, but hey, I'm from a place where if you don't own a car you'll actually just be shot and set on fire, so cool! Cab it up bro!...and then it gets odder. He says "I'm going to stop at the liquor store, can I get you anything." Wha? 

So I say "Wha? I thought we were going down by the river for a walk." and he replies with "Yeah, I know a great place where we can get our drink on." 
He asks me again what I want. Now here I'm trying to figure out how to tell this guy who's in a cab and en route, nicely, that there's no way in hell I'm meeting up with him in a public place to get smashed. 
"Well, I'm driving, so nothing." I reply. He then says "Well whatever, as long as you know I'm leaving for a two week shift away on Sunday so I need to let loose."
Okay, fucking seriously? SERIOUSLY??
"I'm feeling incredibly uncomfortable with this." I text back, while hucking my car keys at the couch cuz I won't be needing those anymore. "Maybe you should call up your buddies and see if they'll drink with you." I offer, and silently add and not in a fucking park d-bag
"All my friends are away working this week." he said "But whatever, have a good night."
I did my fucking hair for that. And you know what, I have like 800 lbs of hair. Fucking bullshit. 

So I figured that was the last of the frat boy. But no, he text me again on Sunday evening. "Hey, sup?" 
Unaware how to text out all the emotions in "AAAHHHH!" I replied "What's up?" Notice my distinctive lack of answering the ever pressing question of "sup?". 
"Just bored and lonley :(" he writes back. 

Needless to say, I didn't answer. So, later that night he text again "So I'm guessing this thing between you and me isn't going to happen?"
....Does that even need a comment. Here's a rarity for me, I thought "You know, I'll be nice to this guy because I'm getting the feeling he maybe just hasn't bothered trying to get past the fifth grade yet."

So what I said was "I just don't think your and my lifestyles are compatible." Yeah! Go me! Bein' nice and shit!
"Why? What did I do?" he said. For a moment I felt bad for him. 
"I'm just not much of a drinker." LIE "And I feel like you just need to find a girl who has the same hobbies as you." HILARIOUS

"Wow." He replies "So I'm getting judged on wanting to let lose before starting work. You're pretty shallow but whatever I guess. Have a good life."

I am NO---.....riiight, the face-licking-oh-he's-so-hot-thing.

Fine, I'm shallow, he's a drunk that likes to party in playgrounds (Wait....)


Monday, September 16, 2013

Awweeee yeaaah, look who's back!

Hey! I'm back. I guess it's been awhile. I was sitting here trying to figure what all happened in my life since my rapid departure from blog land and I realized "Oh, everything." So yes ladies (and gents?) I have some stories. Most of them probably a lot tamer then before...I mean, some things have changed.

The first being I no longer sleep with anyone, ever. Not drunk. Not sober. And you have to do a hell of a lot more than buy me dinner to get me to flew that rule.

For that matter, I'm a lot pickier about who I actually go out with. All your girl-friends (guy friends?) who say "OoooOOooooh just give him a chance! What if he's your Prince and you passed him by." tell them to go ahead and go eff themselves. First, the whole "He's my Prince/knight in shining armor/BARFPUKEGAG" shit is overdone. STOP LOOKING FOR THAT GUY FROM THE LITTLE MERMAID WHO ALMOST DUMPED ARIEL CUZ SOME BRUNET BITCH COULD SING BETTER (true story), look for your god damn mofo'ing EQUAL. And I'm sorry, if your head doesn't snap the shit to the side after spending sometime with him, on a biological basis, you're just not that into him. I get it, some girls don't notice this really nice guy who's been hanging around forever until one day he buys her a porche, or buys a jet pack and face-first slams into her ex to show his love, them BLAMMO, she notices him. Awe, hearts and stuff right? NO. The majority of the time, when I see this happening she's settling. I don't settle. Why? Because I have a cat. No, wait, that's not what I was going to say...right, because when you settle you're not going for what you want, and what happens when what you want is walking right by you and you're with Mr. Well-he's-pretty-much-good-enough-I-guess. Hmmmm. Yeah.

Wow, that was a rant and a half. I liked how I included Ariel. Even if she is a jellyfish. (Don't give me that look, first non-fishbutted man she meets and she marries him? Silly, silly little girl.)

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the return of my banterings. blatherings and otherwise stupid boobery. I enjoy writing it, and it gives me an excuse not to study calculus. Although if I fail, or worse, get a B, I'm coming after each and every one of you.

The single girl.