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
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...
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
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.
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?"
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
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?
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
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!
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)
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.
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
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).
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).
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