Sexual Healing

A couple of weeks ago I got a killer headache that lasted for days. I tried Advil, sleeping more, sleeping less, cold packs, heat packs, yoga, but nothing would shake it. I would go to bed with it and wake up with it for days on end... this was one stubborn headache! Finally, when my cranial pressure became unbearable, I started to wonder if maybe there was some connection between my wound up brain and my wound up vajayjay from a recent lack of sex. (The blog title doesn't lie people!)


With that conclusion in mind I decided action must be taken. I mean, this is my health were talking about. But having no boyfriend up for duty, and a one stand with a random being rather unappealing, I decided to call up a friend. 


Troy and I have been friends for a few years, we always have fun together, and we had one hook up a while back that was particularly enjoyable. So in search of some sexual healing I called Troy up and asked him point blank for a "favour". I explained that my health was in jeopardy and as a friend I would appreciate if he would help me out by having sex with me. That's what friends are for, right?


Troy first complimented me on my forthrightness and explained that he had a commitment that evening that he would try to get out of. After we hung up, he called back about 30 seconds later and said he was in. And so, a therapeutic evening of romping began. We managed to get a couple rounds in that night, and though the headache had magically disappeared by then, we squeezed one more round in the morning for good luck.  I know self-diagnosing is frowned upon, but in my case, playing doctor cured me right up.


It's been a week now and I have remained headache free, but Troy assured me if that call of duty was required again, he was my man. So if you have a nasty headache that won't shake, why pop a pill when there's a much more pleasurable way to release that tension? Worked for me...

-Dr. Crystal Quinn, Medicine Woman.

The Doppelgänger

After getting lazy with my dating life for a couple of months, I decided to step up my game and go on a date again. I had been chatting with Michael for a couple of weeks and we set up a coffee date right in my neighbourhood. Michael's profile gave little away about himself, but he seem liked a really genuinely nice guy, even if his pictures looked a bit dorky. Since all the handsome men in my life have turned out to be assholes, I thought dorky might be good.

So I can't even describe my surprise when we met and I realized that Michael was not dorky in the least. In fact, he was smoking hot. It is pretty rare to find someone that good looking who could simultaneously be that unphotogenic, but there he was. Now, his surprise handsome features would have been a really good thing if it wasn't for one small detail: he was my asshole, cheated on me for three years, lying, manipulative ex's doppelgänger. (For those of you who don't watch How I Met Your Mother or have just never heard of the term, a doppelgänger is a person's body double- sort of like a long, lost twin.) And as far as my evil ex and Michael went, they were IDENTICAL... from the creases on his forehead, to his two crooked bottom teeth, and even his perfect crystal blue eyes. It was uncanny.


Anyway, I found myself on the world's most bizarre date as this very sweet, very handsome guy began to tell me about himself and I did a mixture of gawking at him and giving him the stink eye. Part of me wanted to just tell him the reason I was acting like such a weirdo was because he was my ex's twin, but I didn't really think the first words out of my mouth should be about an ex.


By the end of the night I had convinced myself that this was my evil ex's saintly twin and maybe I should give him a shot. But apparently my lack of interesting conversation and continual stink eye didn't make Michael feel the same way. Truth be told, I really don't know what to make of the whole date. Maybe it was God playing a practical joke on me, maybe it was closure for a relationship that turned sour. But it certainly chalked up to be one of my strangest dates yet.


So the question is... do I dare put myself out there again?

Betty vs. Veronica

I recently got bored and decided to dye my Barbie blonde hair almost jet black. I know most people usually change their colour gradually, but I figured go big or go home. If I was becoming a brunette I was going all the way.


It's only been a week of brunette-dom but I have already noticed a few things about being a Betty (blonde) versus a Veronica (brunette). If you didn't read Archie comics as a kid, sorry for the analogy, but I believe all females can be divided into either a B or a V.

Betty Me
-Guys noticed me... ALWAYS. Something about blonde makes guys turn their heads. Even if they don't want to, blonde is like kryptonite for men. They need to look. They have no choice.
-Girls gave me A LOT of dirty looks. And strangely enough I now find brunette me giving other blondes dirty looks. Maybe were just angry that they are getting all the male attention.
-No one took me seriously. EVER. As a blonde I always had to prove my smarts. Stupid until proven otherwise.
-I acted more.... innocent. Not that I was pretending to be something I was not, but I found that the cute, coy version of me tended to emerge without me wanting it to.


Veronica Me
-Guys rarely notice me. I blend in amongst a sea of other brunettes. I'm finding myself wearing a lot of bright colours in order to try to stand out. If you see a girl plastered in pink sequence and sparkle you may have just found me.
-Girls tend to be taking more of a liking to me. I'm no longer the platinum princess ready to steal the men away. I'm just another brunette.
-People take me way more seriously. I look serious. I look business. I look BAD ASS.
-People treating me more bad ass is affecting my personality. Whether concious or subconcious I have been transforming into a bolder, sexier, dominating vixen version of myself... and I like it. Innocent is a thing of the past.


So basically the pros and cons of being a Betty seem to match those of being a Veronica. With one very important exception. I was getting onto a city bus the other day when I realized I was standing right next to a date-gone-wrong from last year. I'm not joking, he was only a few steps away. But he looked me right in the eye, and without a glint of recognition, he walked on by. I realized that because I was a blonde for so many years, my new 'do is proving to be a disguise for all my ex-lovers.


So after much consideration about changing my hair back, I have decided that I will stay as Veronica a little longer. I can now confidently walk down the streets without any worry of an awkward run-in with an ex. So all the single Betty's out there, watch out. Cause Veronica is here to stay.

Foul Ball

So after another round of particularly disappointing dates, with particularly disappointing men, I thought I would rant in a different way today. Brace yourselves... it's a poem.

"Foul Ball"


Ninety-nine dates
And you'd think that I'd learn
Guys don't want you passive,
But don't want you stern.


No all that they want
Is a piece of eye candy,
Who can also tell jokes
And with a hammer be handy.


But even those things
Won't please every man -
In bed they want to hold you down,
But in public they won't hold your hand.


I've tried distant but in an instant
They decide I'm a bitch.
I've tried open and being hopin'
They won't decide I've got a glitch.


Cause a man only wants
What a man cannot have,
All the men always crave
A girl who's treating them bad.


So I'm done with this game
And I'm throwing in the towel.
Cause this thing we call 'dating'
Is a game that's just foul.


----------------------------------


I think this whole dating process has started making me a tad jaded, no?


Next post back to prose. Promise!

The Princess & The Pea-nis

We're all familiar with the old fairy-tale story of the Princess and the Pea. In order to discover if the girl was truly a princess, a pea was hidden in her bed to see if she would feel it. Well, she did, and she bitched and moaned about how the teeny pea hurt her poor back. Well I'd like to tell that little princess: at least it wasn't a big, hard penis poking into her backside.


A few weeks ago I met a cute boy at the bar. Yes, I know, the bar isn't where I am going to meet Mr. Right, but it was a good place to meet Mr. Right Now. So Tyson and I got to chatting and he invited me home. When we got back to his apartment I was not only impressed by how immaculately clean his place was, but by his lovely king-sized, duvet-covered bed. I instantly fell in love with Tyson's bed and was even more delighted by his black-out blinds. The fact that there was no construction happening outside his window at 7am, like there was on my street for the previous week, was an added bonus. So even though the fooling around was only mediocre, I decided he had earned himself another date.

Unfortunately, the second date make-out was no better. The intended movie we rented was left unseen as Tyson sloppily kissed me and pried at my jeans, eager to get me into his bed. I was equally eager to get into his bed, but for a very different reason. I had not had a decent night's sleep with the damn construction on my street. While I thought I could dismiss Ty's attempts to seduce me, he was ever persistent and was literally spooning me with his hard penis jamming into my back all night. I don't know if this guy popped a Viagra before I arrived, but I swear to God it did not go flaccid for 8 hours straight.

The next morning, instead of feeling restful and happy to awake to quiet darkness, I awoke to a pain in my backside... literally. So maybe I was a princess for trying to use a guy for his bed, but I endured a hell of a lot more than a teeny pea as my punishment.

The Bold & The Beautiful

For my sixteenth birthday my parents sent me to stay with a French family in Marseilles for two weeks. On the flight over there was a delay in Paris and I ended up chatting with a lady from California sitting beside me. As we were talking I noticed a cute teenage boy who kept staring at me. Even when I caught him in the act, he held my gaze. So I told the lady beside me that I was going to go over to say hi. She smiled at me and said "My, aren't we the bold and the beautiful..."

I strolled across the Paris airport, said hello in some broken French and sat down. His name was Yoanne and we ended up switching seats to sit together on the plane, and he kissed me and whispered "Je t'aime" in my ear the whole flight to Marseilles. We wrote love letters back and forth for a while until, eventually, things fizzled out.

Now it is ten years later and I've sometimes wondered where that bold and beautiful young girl went. A few long term relationships and I feel like I have somehow lost that ability to approach strangers with confidence. Maybe I've gotten jaded or maybe just more insecure. But I have been feeling like I need to return to my previously bold ways.

The other day I was working a marketing gig and getting random people to answer questions for a TV show. I had the perfect opportunity to start conversations with complete strangers. So when an extremely cute guy came towards me I jumped on the chance to talk to him. I got him to sign his waiver and sent him to the cameras. I told the on set make-up artist that I wished there was a way for me to go on a date with him. She told me to just go for it. So in the spirit of turning 26 and bringing my bold back, I made my move.

When he was done his short interview I awkwardly approached him and asked if he was single. He said yes. So I told him I thought he was very handsome and seemed really sweet and how I don't come across that many handsome, sweet guys. I asked if he would want to go on a date sometime, and once again he said yes. We exchanged numbers and he left me standing there bewildered but proud for doing what so many of us 20-somethings always think about doing, but we talk ourselves out of.

Maybe he and I will never go on a date. Maybe we will but it will fizzle out. But I know that I am putting myself out there. I am once again the bold and beautiful girl I was before. It only took me ten years to get it back, but damn does it feel good.

The O-Word

Everyone knows it's a no-no to say the n-word. 
It's also frowned upon to say the f-word in most scenarios.
But, have you ever had a date flee from you because you spoke the "o-word"? I'm not talking about orgies or oral sex. I'm talking about the word "orgasm".


Let me bring this into context for you. Over the past few months I began attending a bible study. At the bible study I became instantly attracted to a tall, dark, and handsome regular named Darin. Darin and I started chatting, went out a couple times in group settings, and eventually decided to meet up for a drink on our own.


I had a few friends questioning my choice of date. Was he a bible-thumper? Was he a prude? Was he a virgin? I assured them that he was very normal and that they need not worry. At least for once I was going on a date that hadn't being initiated online! The evening started out well enough, with some beers on a patio, surrounded by twinkle lights and a warm summer breeze. The conversation was good and there was plenty of laughter, so when the night ended with an ass-out hug (you know the awkward kind that I'm referring too) I didn't even mind.

The second date I decided to make more intimate though. I invited Darin over for a drink at my place, as my parents thankfully had gone up to our cottage for the weekend. Another evening of laughter passed by, though I noticed that he made sure to leave two cushion lengths between us on the couch. And then something remarkable happened. I began telling a story, that I assure you was PG rated, and in the story I said the word "orgasm" (okay maybe PG-13) when Darin turned the colour of a ripe tomato, coughed a little and said: "Oh. You just said the o-word so I'm going to change the subject now." And then he did.



I sat there bewildered at what had just happened. Did my twenty-six year old date just find himself incapable of saying the word "orgasm"? To me the n-word or f-word are generally words too despicable to speak because they are so offensive. But, orgasm?? Offensive?? If I had wanted to be vulgar I have a list of words more inappropriate. It's an actual medical term! My only explanation for his repulsion of the word is that he, unfortunately, has never had one.


Darin quickly excused himself shortly after my supposed dirty outburst. He has conveniently been absent from bible study, likely to avoid me and my profanity. And, I have been on the hunt for a man who is manly enough to say the God-forsaken "o-word". 


(As found in the dictionary) Orgasm [awr-gaz-uhm] the physical and emotional sensation experienced at the peak of sexual excitation, usually resulting from stimulation of the sexual organ and usually accompanied in the male by ejaculation.

Danny Downer

Every time that I think I have seen it all in the dating world I am thrust into a date more unusual than the last. I suppose that is a good thing, because so far it has meant I continue to have an ample supply of writing material.


So far I've dated a leprechaun, a porcupine, a hyena, and even Zoolander himself, but all of those guys at least had one redeeming quality in common: they were happy. NEVER have I been on a date as depressing as the last one I went on. I encountered my very first Danny Downer. 


Danny and I chatted online for weeks before being able to find a night to actually meet. He told me he was a police officer in training and had to work night shifts, so finding an evening to meet was challenging to say the least. We met up at a Moxies restaurant in between our two homes. The first thing I noticed was that Danny only slightly resembled the picture he had posted. He looked more like the cousin or the older brother of the guy I had been looking at online. This doesn't surprise me anymore, but I still don't understand why you wouldn't just post a picture that looked like yourself. The moment I lay eyes on you, the jig is up.

But I digress. Danny's misrepresentation of himself was not the cause of this disaster date. It was once we sat down and ordered drinks that I was overcome with the gloom and doom that surrounded my date. Danny quickly launched the conversation into war. From there we moved to his failed attempt to get into the police academy (I found out that he was actually working as a night shift security guard, not a policeman). It's hard to remember where the conversation veered from there but topics also covered included: his grandmother's recent passing, his sister's ovarian cancer, his parents divorce, and his dog that had gone missing a few weeks prior.


Now, I'm not a cold, heartless bitch. Clearly this dude had some serious issues or some incredibly bad luck. But, really?! To talk about all of this on a first date?!? Whatever happened to good old-fashioned small talk with a dash of work woes and a sprinkle of family life? No, no. I was unleashed into Danny's depressing vortex of doom. And if this date hadn't been uncomfortable enough, I was trying to play psychiatrist to Danny while simultaneously trying avoid Zoolander (see Zoolander post if you haven't yet) because I forgot that he worked the bar at this particular Moxies. So between playing Dr. Quinn and also trying to be Houdini hiding my face behind my hair, I was completely spent by the end of the night.


Danny and I have not spoken since the date. I think after he was done venting he realized what a downer he really had been. I do hope that things work out for his family and that his dog returns home to him soon. Because nobody wants to go on a blind date with Danny Downer. Especially, yours truly.

Lizard Lips

I think that one of the most shocking things I have discovered through this dating process is how many fully grown, attractive, intelligent men are completely clueless with the very simple concept of kissing. 


Up until the age of 20 I was forgiving if a guy kissed me and it felt like a vacuum, a probing device, a slobbery dog, or a mouthful of teeth. But I'm mid-twenties now and the guys I'm dating are sometimes mid-thirties and still most of them are in the dark about kissing. I've started to wonder: did they miss the high school parties with Spin The Bottle and Seven Minutes In Heaven? Is it a lack of practice? OR maybe, just maybe, is the problem that they have never been told that they suck (pun intended) at kissing? I have a hunch that many women feel too uncomfortable to address their goobery guys, thus perpetuating the bad kissing cycle. So I have decided to take one for the team and break the cycle myself.


Fred is a 30 year old business teacher. He has his own condo, is attractive, has a good sense of humour, and usually picks up the cheque. Fred is also a horrific kisser. I learned this at the end of our first date. He began the kiss soft and gentle but after a few moments pried my mouth open with his tongue and then thrust it practically down my throat. I have no problem with french kissing, but I can assure you this is not what we were doing. I felt like an alien was probing me. Now, while I usually would have bolted as quickly as possible, I decided to make it my mission to cure him once and for all.

I began with a subtle approach. On the second date when he kissed me and used his lizard technique, I pulled back gently. Then I leaned back in. When he didn't take a hint I decided to be less subtle. Each time I pulled back I also shuddered and winced (this was not completely staged).


The following date I thought we may have made progress, but sure enough Fred's lizard lips were back in action. I decided subtlety was not working so I would have to take it to more extreme measures. As his tongue slid back down my throat, almost hitting my gag reflex I pulled back. "You are a terrible kisser,"  I announced. When he looked at me shocked, I continued, "I mean really, really terrible."  The following five minutes included some hurt feelings, more confusion, but finally acceptance. I began giving Fred a kissing tutorial. 


Over the course of a few more dates, I came to realize that Fred was not right for me after all, even though his kissing had improved drastically. We said goodbye and I felt proud, like I had done a small something to better the world. And, I recently found out that a friend just dated him and she brought up what a great kisser he is. I couldn't help but smile with satisfaction because, thanks to me, the dating pool now contains one less lizard lips. Who says honesty isn't the best policy?

Mr. Right

Every post so far has been about my encounters with crazies within the dating realm. However, after my last date it occurred to me that I may have in fact been the crazy this time round.


Let me explain...


For the most part I go on these dates with the best of intentions. To find love and romance and ultimately a relationship. But since that so seldom seems to happen, I sometimes have to go on other dates to continue having writing material for you, my trusty readers. This is exactly what happened last Wednesday night. I was feeling tired and sluggish, annoyed by the summer humidity, and the only thing I wanted to do was curl up in front of the TV with a fan blowing on me and a tub of ice cream in hand.


However, this was not an option as I had already committed to a date with a guy named Cam at a local pub. I considered messaging him to cancel, but then realized that I was really in need of some new material. So, I went for you. I mustered up the energy to pull on a summer dress, make myself up, and I headed into the sticky summer heat.


Cam was much cuter than his picture. But, since I had no intention of actually liking him, I chose to ignore it. I also chose not to put my usual effort in. Instead of actively listening and engaging him in interesting conversation, I sat there spewing unimpressive stories of how I used to be addicted to nasal spray (something I would NEVER normally share on a first date) and I went into lengthy detail about my past failed relationships (which I also know never to do).


It wasn't until the night started to come to an end, and he sweetly picked up the cheque and walked me back to my place, that I realized I might have blown my chances with a really great guy. A date gone right usually means a potential relationship, but a date gone wrong usually means some writing material. But, this time, I realized I hadn't gotten ANY material because this was a really genuinely great guy. And since I had acted like a complete and utter knob all evening I knew I had not earned a relationship with this keeper. So, I began to wonder if this time I had become the material instead.


As Cam left me without a goodnight kiss, I started to wonder if I had met my match. Perhaps my crazy rantings of snorting nasal spray in high school would inspire him to write his own blog about the loony girls he was meeting from online dating. So, for the past week I've been trying to find a blog post about some ditz called "The Addict". If I do, I'll know it's about me and it's well-deserved. 


Lesson learned: If I'm going to make the effort to go on the date, I might as well make the effort to give the guy a shot. Dating solely for material might mean missing out on Mr. Right... again.

Pick Up Trick #2

Braids.


I don't know what it is about them, but they seem to get men going. I don't know if it's because every man secretly has some school-girl fetish, but braids have been attracting guys for me, therefore I've made them my newest summer go-to 'do. 


Here's a few other reasons why they are awesome:


1) There are million ways to do them. A casual, loose braid if you're going to the beach, a couple tighter french braids if you're working out, a few smaller braids that can be gathered up into a bun. Seriously the options are endless.


2) Braids always somehow look sexier and more feminine than a plain old ponytail. 


3) Once you take your braid out (especially if you put it in when your hair was wet) you have the most incredible beachy waves that you just cannot create with a curling iron or hot rollers.

I have been braiding my hair right when I come out of the shower, I sleep on it, wear it for the next day and then I'll take it out right before I head out on a date. A little spritz of hairspray and I'm good to go.


If you don't believe me yet, here is my most recent braid success story. I met up for sushi with an ex. I began casually telling him about the dating I've been up to (just to remind him I'm not pining for him anymore) and mid-sentence he stopped me to admire my hair. "Oh, this mess?" I replied, flipping it casually out of my eyes. "Does it look alright?" He assured me that YES, whatever I was doing, was working wonders. So I continued my dating memoirs with a small smile of satisfaction. Because you always want to look your very best in front of an ex, but you never, ever want it to looked like you tried.


So.... thanks to my trusty braid: Mission Accomplished.


Video showing how to do a french braid yourself

The Hyena

If you had asked me a month ago, a week ago even, whether a laugh could be a deal-breaker for me, I would have absolutely said 'no'. Because, someone would have to be really shallow to judge a person on their laugh. Let me repeat : I would have said 'no'... before I met "The Hyena".


John and I met from my favourite site, Plenty Of Freaks. And I foolishly went into our date hopeful that my Prince Charming would be waiting for me. Instead, I ended up waiting for him because he showed up 30 minutes late. I might have left if he hadn't been incredibly handsome and super apologetic. The conversation was pretty good, and I was impressed, when halfway through the date, John asked me if I was free later in week to meet up again. Obviously this was a no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point kind of guy. So, I agreed.


Date number two took place at his condo, despite my father's protests when he cornered me before leaving. "A real man wouldn't invite you over for a second date," he warned. "He's no man of integrity!" So, maybe I should have listened to my over-protective father. It would have saved me from the wretched date that followed. But, I suppose, I would have nothing to type for you all today.

John's condo was beautiful. A two-story loft, spacious, modernly decorated. He even had a coffee table with an open flame swirling fire pit in the middle. I was very impressed. So we drove to the movie store and rented the film 'Get Him To The Greek'. I'm a big fan of comedies and I assumed it would be good for a laugh or two. I was wrong.


We got back to John's mind-blowing loft, snuggled up on the couch with some hot cocoa and some cheesecake. I was priding myself in going on date two, despite my dad's protests. But then the movie started, and so the funny started.... and so the laughing started.


Words cannot describe the noises that came from this handsome guy's mouth. The only way I can describe it is that he must be half hyena. Short, high-pitched shrieks, echoed off the walls. It was so ear-piercing that I actually had to check if my ears were bleeding. And if you have not yet seen 'Get Him To The Greek', it is hilarious, making my date all the more painful. I sat there, with him pulling me close beside him, and desperately wished that we had rented anything else. 'Schindler's List' would have been perfect. Why, oh why, did I not pick that off the shelf?


The night ended awkwardly. Part of me wanted to help the poor, handsome hyena man by telling him about his awful laugh. But then he may never laugh again... And maybe there is some part hyena woman roaming the streets, looking for her soul mate. So I left, I ignored his texts, and I haven't looked back. And I will never, ever, take a guy's normal laugh for granted again. All future dates can thank "The Hyena" for that.

The Stalker

In the last six days I feel like I have been through a first date, a marriage, and a divorce... all with one guy. Whom I met last Thursday.


Our first date was fairly promising. He was one of those "perfect on paper" guys. An engineer, tall, could play the guitar, close with his family, etc. All those things that make your ears perk up as a single lady. So I went into our first date at a local ice cream shop more optimistic than usual. The conversation was fairly good, he was fairly handsome, and it ended with a fairly good kiss. So, I opted to go for a second date.


But before our second date could occur (4 days later) I was bombarded with texts from him every few minutes, phone calls "just to say hi" a few times a day, and basically felt like I was being smothered by an obsessive stalker.  This guy literally went from sweet to stalker in less than 24 hours. 


I got a bit concerned when he decided he was taking me on our second date to a five star restaurant. I thought from ice cream we could maybe work our way up to... I don't know, Pizza Hut? But, no he insisted upon fine dining. I don't know about anyone else, but I don't like a guy spending tons of money early on, because if I figure out that I'm NOT into him, then I feel like there is some sense of obligation because he wined and dined me. And that is exactly what happened.

I showed up, and he immediately went in for the kiss on the lips. Umm, I don't think so, buddy. Just because we shared one kiss doesn't mean that you get those privileges all the time now. Then, at the dinner table, he kept longingly gazing at me like I was his long lost lover and he had just returned from war. The night got increasingly worse as he "couplefied" everything. Leg caresses on city bus, pulling me in to nuzzle on the couch, so tightly that my neck started to cramp, oh, and an invite to his brother's wedding. That was in two weeks. I wanted to scream out "I'm not your girlfriend! It's a second date for God's sake!" But, I didn't.


Instead, I ended the night by faking a headache, and I ended all interaction with him today after he continued to bombard me with texts and phone calls like a psychopath. I'm not even kidding... he would call before bed, then text me after we talked, then text me before my alarm went off the next morning, to find out what? What I dreamed about? If I had to get up in the night to go pee? Like, seriously! Only so much can happen to one person through the middle of a Tuesday night. 


Anyway, I cut all ties this afternoon and gave him some pointers about coming on a little less strong in the future. Cause sweet is nice, but there is nothing sexy about stalker.

Pick Up Trick #1

I realize that I basically just talk about my dating horror stories on here, but I would like to think that I can offer my cyber lady friends advice in other departments too. So, today I'm talking about a colour: PINK.


For the past week I have been sporting some new Barbie pink lipstick out and about. I felt sort of silly the first time I wore it, like I was out of some cheesy 80's aerobics video, but I cannot tell you the amount of winks, smiles, and lingering gazes that I got from men of all ages. I'm telling you, my pink pouter was like a vortex for any unsuspecting male passerby.

So I've started wearing Barbie pink lipstick everywhere now. Grocery shopping, the gym, the doctors office, picking up the mail, putting out the garbage. You name it, and I've got it on.


I also added a hot pink workout shirt to my wardrobe and it was an instant smash. So my latest purchase was some hot pink nail polish which I just put on, as I type with my nails still tacky.


Anyway, maybe I just looked particularly good this past week, or maybe, just maybe men have some magnetic attraction to the colour pink. So if you're looking to pick up this coming week, pucker up and go pink.


-CQ

Lowered Expectations

The other night I came home from a mediocre date (not one worth blogging about) to find my most recent ex had changed his relationship status on Facebook from 'single' to 'in a relationship'. There is something so incredibly irritating about that little heart icon when it's beside the name of someone you used to sleep with. A little taunting heart saying you have officially been replaced.


However, I have a strategy for whenever I'm missing an ex by simply focusing on all of his little flaws that I used to overlook because I loved him. In this case, I thought about my ex's increasingly quick hair loss and the fact that when his hair was wet I could see nasty little bald spots. After focusing on my ex's thinning hair for five minutes, I realized I didn't miss him anymore, and the little heart icon didn't bother me so much.


This whole process did make me think about expectations and a "wish list" per say when it comes to guys. I realized quickly that in the past five years my wish list has changed drastically. (Come on, admit... you have the list too. We all do...) Here's what mine looks like:


AGE 20
-tall
-handsome
-full lips/ straight teeth


AGE 25 (now)
-taller than me
-still handsome in the right lighting
-full head of hair


AGE 30 (my predictions)
-not a midget
-not a complete troll
-still has a few hairs on his head and a working penis


I don't want to say that I'm starting to settle by any means. But I think as I get older, and the pool of eligible bachelors gets smaller, I'm needing to change my expectations. And by change, I mean lower...

But, for now, I can be happy that my Donald Trump-esque ex has found someone else and I can still hope to find a guy with a great mane. Because in five years I won't have a chance in hell...

The Trickster

Last summer, I worked briefly on a TV pilot and became friends with one of the production assistants. He was nice enough, and quickly became my "dinner buddy" on set. The problem was that every week he would ask me out on a date, and I had already openly told him that I was single and active in the dating scene.


And so, every Friday when he would ask me out, I would politely decline. He asked me what my "type" of guy was. So I did my very best to describe the opposite of him.


"6'4" or taller," I'd say. "Blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled, straight teeth, non-smoker, Christian..." The whole nine yards. You would think that being a short, chain smoking, Jewish guy that he would take a hint. But he was resilient and continued asking me out until the day our contracts ended.


So two months ago when he asked me to join a big group of people for Dim Sum on a Saturday afternoon, I was a bit skeptical. But since we had been dinner buddies, I thought one lunch would be harmless. NOPE. 


He picked me up and when we arrived at Dim Sum I honestly didn't know how to react. Sitting at our table was his sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew. This was the "big group of people". I was awkwardly tricked into a freakin family brunch! Worse than that, he kept acting as if I was a long-time girlfriend, so I kept reminding the family how we hadn't seen each other in months. 


Now, you would think that I would have been smart enough to cut all ties. But I always give people the benefit of the doubt, even when they don't deserve it. Maybe everyone else really had bailed last minute? So, last week when he called me up to ask me out to sushi with a "big group of people" I heard myself saying sure before I could even process it. My friends all told me to cancel, but I am a woman of my word, so I went.


When I arrived, I was relieved to discover that no family was in attendance, but then quickly learned that we were instead on a double date this time, with a married couple! Tricked AGAIN! I honestly couldn't believe that he would have the nerve to pull the same stint twice...


Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I can now promise you that I will not be fooled another time. What would come next? A picnic with his grandma? So as far as my trickster is concerned, my 2011 calender is now fully booked. And maybe this has finally taught me how to say "no". Maybe...

The Lip Biter

The other night, despite my better judgement, I allowed a girlfriend of mine to drag me along to a kegger. That's right... a house full of young, horny students, drinking cheap, flat beer, all trying to pick up the opposite sex likes it's their job. I figured I'm not getting any younger, so it might be one of the last keggers I ever attend. 


I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived, as the crowd was a bit older like myself, and the house not a typical "student house". I even spotted a couple cute guys right off the bat, so I decided to stay.


One hour later, with a stomach full of cheap beer, my friend who brought me, announced that she was ready to leave. "But the party just got staaaaarted!" I slurred. The cute boy that I was nuzzled up with on the couch, nodded like I was some wise guru, sharing a deep philosophical thought. So, my girlfriend decided to leave, and I decided to stay at the party now knowing no one, minus the eye candy on my shoulder. Hey, I was at a kegger... so why not act like it?


Another hour later, I had a great buzz on, and was just about drunk enough to make out with whats-his-face, when he got dragged along on a booze run with some friends. Because there clearly wasn't enough booze in the house already. A bit disappointed, I slumped on the couch, contemplating my next move, when something very odd happened.

A tomboyish girl came up to me and told me to quit being so glum. "Dance with me!" she called over the music. So I did.  I danced one lame techno song with her in the living room and then sat back down. She grabbed my arm and insisted on another dance. I politely declined, so she proceeded to "convince" me by initiating some creepy one-sided tickle fight. At this point I started to clue in that maybe she wasn't just interested in dancing with me. I wriggled myself free of the tickle fight, wrapped myself up in a blanket, and plunked back onto the couch.

And then.... I kid you not... she sat down on top of me, and with the force of the great hulk, kissed (or should I say BIT) me. Hard. On the lips. At this point we became the highlight of the kegger. Everyone was interested in the lesbian action happening on the couch and my red face was quickly turning deep shade of purple. 


"I've been wanting to do that since the moment you walked in," she purred to me. So, I've apparently got irresistible lips- who can blame the girl? I told her I wasn't really comfortable with this, and she took that as her cue to kiss me again. But again, it was more of a bite/ sucking my lips off. It literally took all my strength to de-pry her again. "If you're not comfortable with everyone around, then we could go somewhere more private," she added. I told her, that wasn't the part that was making me uncomfortable.


I swear at this point the rest of the party stopped. Everyone should have gotten popcorn and reclined in their lazyboys. Cause this was top-drawer entertainment. Through my drunken haze, I finally snapped out of it enough to be blunt, cause this girl was not taking a hint. I told her I go one way, and one way only... and that's the penis way (Or something equally as profound). So she got in a huff and stalked away, the party resumed, and cute boy re-entered right on cue. 


I did end up getting my make out with the boy, but my real souvenir from that night was the purple bruise I woke up with the next morning, on my lip, from the ever persistent lip biter.

The Dick

Today, instead of writing about another catastrophic date, I thought I would copy and paste the most unusual message I have received so far in online dating land. It starts out witty, but quickly becomes vulgar, and I thought you could all help me to decipher what this twisted little man's intentions were. Enjoy.

-CQ

I read your profile and learned in the process that you aren’t really a fan of casual dating. I wanted to say from the outset that I am not either I am serious about finding someone for something lasting.

I also read that you are a professional writer which is a little intimidating especially within the context of composing a first contact letter because I know how important every little thing is in the beginning. So with that in mind, I’m not going to try to be witty or cleaver (I enjoy how he spelt 'clever' wrong) and instead I will just come straight to the point and tell you exactly the sort of long term relationship I am looking for.

Okay, seems fairly normal thus far. Read on...

Quite simply, I am desperately poor and I am looking for a woman to support me in style and introduce me into High Society with her Rich Writer Money. While I have no intention of actually getting a job and making a financial contribution to any relationship we may have, I am willing to help out around the around the house by physically threatening any servants you might have. Removing a prosthetic limb during dinner and waving it menacingly at your bus boy while demanding more butter can have an effect on your employees’ moral that has to be seen to be believed. 

Sort of funny, but now it starts to get weird.

Now that I have told you a little about me, I am sure you can imagine the rare find I truly am so it seems appropriate to turn to what I want out of a relationship besides your Rich Writer Money.

I am here because I want to put my penis in your vagina. I am not here because I want you to clean my house as many other women seem to believe. I am a man, I don't care if the house is clean.

I am not here because I want you to help me move to a new apartment and I'm too lazy to do the heavy lifting. It’s really so simple, the only thing I want to see you lift is my penis to your lips to make it hard and ready to be put it in your vagina.

WHAAAAAT?!!?

Money. Ok look: just because I want your Rich Writer Money doesn’t mean that I don’t want to put my penis in your vagina. One is not incompatible with the other.

Penis Penis Penis - Vagina Vagina Vagina. Penis in Vagina. Am I finally making myself clear to you?

Crystal clear, asshole.

Now when I say I want to put my penis in your vagina this isn't some metaphor referring to Bavarian Log Rolling nor do I want you to take me to Calgary so we can go on the luge. I mean it literally.

As a result of being on the internet and looking for vaginas I can put my penis in, I have become painfully aware that “Penis” has a different meaning in Kurdish and that “Vagina” has a different meaning in Swahili than they respectively do in English. First of all, I can assure you that I am using these words in their role as part of English Language. Second of all I don't do that sort of thing to a chicken and even if I did, I already have a brother so I wouldn't need you. I just want to put my penis in your vagina; there is no need to complicate this, randomly change the language you are reading in twice in the middle of the same sentence or over think things.

Okay he rambled on at this point and referenced “putting my penis in your vagina” six more times, each time becoming more explicit than than the previous.

In closing all I can say is that you should give me a chance, put my penis in your vagina and see what happens.
Your Humble and Obedient Servant
N

Really? REALLY!?!

P.S You may also want to read my profile for further background information on what a long term relationship with me would really be like.

Is this him admitting it was all a joke? So NOW I'm supposed to see the “real him” and realize how witty and unique he is ? 

I. DON'T. THINK. SO.