Scrambled Eggs

Last week I was watching Zoe Deschanel in the hilarious show New Girl, when the topic they were joking about really struck a chord close to home for me. Basically, Jess, the show's star, finds out that by the age of 30 about 90% of a woman's eggs have died. Jess freaked on the show, while I simultaneously had a mini meltdown in front of my laptop.

After just passing my 27th birthday, and watching some of my friends popping out baby #2, I can't help but start to feel that biological clock ticking away like a little time bomb. I imagine one day it will ding like an egg timer, but instead of it saying dinner is ready, I will find out that my eggs were scrambled too long and are garbage-worthy. (Why did I  use my laptop as a heating pad when I had cramps back in university!?)

Anyway, I brought up the baby-making to my boyfriend and he was totally down (yes I found myself a baby lover), though he reminded me of our combined lack of money, crappy jobs, and living at home with our parents, which might prove to be problematic if we're planning on starting a family.

So, New Year's resolution for 2013: get my crap in order so I can make myself a baby... before all my eggs are fried.

Hook, Line, & Sinker

I recently went out dancing with a friend of mine for a good old fashioned "girl's night out". Too much bubbly, red lips, and skinny jeans had us all set to hit the dance floor. Unfortunately the Motown bar we wanted to go to (where you can dance without dodging dirt bags who grope at you) was full. So instead we opted for a university scene down the street. 

The fact that we were the only people there closer to thirty than twenty seemed very apparent the second we walked in. We didn't know half the music that was being played (apparently I haven't kept us with what is 'cool' these days), and we found ourselves getting picked up by guys a decade younger than us.

However, determined to have a good time, we hit the dance floor. Part way through the night I got a text from my boyfriend and I stepped to the outskirts of the dance floor to respond. After a couple minutes of banter back and forth with him, I had a guy step up from behind me and point to my phone.

"Mike Richards?" he said.

I nodded.

"I know him!" he exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

"No, for real. About 6 feet tall? Brown hair? He plays hockey."

"Yeah," I said partially convinced.

"Lives a bit north of here, right? Yeah, were old pals. Cool that you know him, too."

Okay, let me admit here that I am totally, completely gullible  Hook, line, and sinker. After a couple more tidbits he totally got me. I started chatting with him, thinking how neat it was that he was old friends with my boyfriend. It didn't matter that he had basically just described the most generic, young Canadian guy. I was certain that he knew Mike. 

Thankfully, my friend was a much harder sell. She began grilling this dude about every aspect of my boyfriend until the guy got caught in his lie. He laughed and admitted he had just read the name on my iPhone over my shoulder and guessed the rest. I was impressed at this sneaky but innovative pickup line. 

I am so thankful to not be part of the dating scene at the moment. But for all you gullible, single ladies out there... watch out. It seems like pick up lines have come a long way from "Are you tired? Cause you've been running through my mind all day long..."

Seoul Mates

Well people... it happened. I found an amazing man and am currently in a healthy, happy relationship after the longest search (or so it felt) ever! Funny thing is that after all of the blind dates, online searching, matchmaking, and set up's, I ended up dating a friend that I met while teaching in Seoul, South Korea four years ago. Life has a funny way of working itself out.

A few reasons that I know that he is worth keeping around:

1) He makes plans to see me again each time we hang out. No heart palpitations from scheduling a date *gasp* a week in advance.

2) I've met his parents... more than once. And they didn't call me by some other girl's name. They had actually heard all about me.

3) He knows about my blog, has read it, and has given me permission to continue going on dates to get more material (which he quickly retracted later).

4) After each new friend of mine that he meets, I get a text half an hour later saying "OMG- he is the BEST! I LOVE him with you!" instead of a half-hearted, "As long as you are happy..."

5) He thinks I'm pretty without any make up on. He thinks I'm funny when I get the punch line wrong.... (Okay I know that's a Katy Perry song, but it's true!)

6) He LOVES babies. It makes my ovaries go into overdrive.

7) He is totally down with using a wide array of pet names... from schnookums to schmoopey, from muffin to cupcake, we've got em all covered. 

8) He didn't freak out when I told him about my recent dream about making out with a random in a bar. (Apparently my brain is still wrapping around the fact that I am no longer single.)

9) Every person in my life tells me they haven't seen me this happy in forever. And they're right. (I am working on reeling in my googly eyes when I stand in his presence. I am sure it will get annoying for everyone in my life very quickly).

10) My Nana inspected his picture with a magnifying glass, thought long and hard and then told me, "He's got a good face. I like his face." Nana's approval is very important.

So, after the slew of assholes, douchebags, dummies, and boys posing as men that I have dated, it is so refreshing and encouraging to know that a few good men truly do exist and are out there. So don't give up ladies... I had to extend my search to Seoul in order to find my potential soul mate.

Going To The Chapel

No, I am not engaged, but as it seems to happen in every young woman's life, almost every single one of my friends now is.

In fact, this past summer involved little else than me driving to different corners of the country to ring in a friend or family member's happily ever after. The crazy thing is that as much as I love weddings from the teary vows to the bouquet toss, I have realized that I am living and working to pay for everyone else's celebrations.

With seven weddings over the past few months I have learned that weddings don't come cheap. One friend's happy engagement usually means:

-an engagement party (nice bottle of vintage wine in hand)
-a stag and doe (raffle tickets and drinks)
-a bridal shower (something boring off the registry like cereal bowls)
-a bachelorette (an assortment of penis-related items, drinks galore)
-the big day (new outfit, hotel, gift)

SHEESH.

I suppose I may come across as bitter because I am not married yet, but I just can't wrap my head around the financial and time commitment an outsider has to make for each wedding. 

Who knows... maybe when it's my turn I will forget the frustration that I feel now and demand what every Bridezilla feels entitled too. In the meantime I have to hit up the mall to find a new dress for wedding number eight.

Pick Up Trick #5

Lady In Red

A few weeks ago I was invited to a university reunion and I obviously wanted to look my best. I picked out a fifties style high-waisted navy dress with a red frilly top. I curled my hair, did my makeup, and as a last minute decision I threw on some fire engine red lipstick.

I cannot tell you how much positive feedback I got from girls and guys alike. I guess the whole ensemble made me look like a pin up girl and it was turning heads.

A couple guys actually noted, "I like how your lips match your dress."  Or from some of the less articulate, simply, "Red... that's hot." Classy or not, I'll take the compliment.

So, for the rest of the summer I am keeping that ensemble and lipstick as my go-to feel good outfit. And if you are needing a night to stand out, try being the lady in red for size.

The Ex Factor

The other night I awoke from an incredibly vivid dream where I drove across the country to my ex (and first love's) house, professed my undying love in a very Julia Roberts film kind of way, he called off his engagement, and we went off skydiving to celebrate and live happily ever after.


As I lay in the dark, in a sleepy haze, I thought, "Yes. That makes perfect sense. I'll go tomorrow."


Luckily, come morning, my senses had returned and I realized that it would be insane to ever act on such a dream, especially when we broke up close to seven years ago. So what was my problem then? How was my ex still sneaking his way into my dreams nearly a decade after we split?


I decided that the dreaded "ex factor" means that the first true love you have, will never really leave you. It will always hold a very special piece of your heart. There is something so pure and honest and completely unjaded about the first time you allow yourself to fall for someone... it can never really be duplicated. Sure, you can love again, but it's a different kind of love.


As I thought about my wild dream, I realized that my ex's recent engagement clearly rattled me more than I gave it credit for. But, instead of driving to him in a Hollywood fashion, I took off to my cottage for some quality reflection time. During the car ride I realized that I didn't really want my ex back - rather I wanted the idea of what our relationship represented.


And then, I had a horrible realization. If I died tomorrow, my ex would go down as my one great love thus far. But I am no longer his great love... he has found something greater than what we shared. As I processed this depressing thought, Adele's "Someone Like You" came onto the radio (I kid you not... God sure has a funny sense of humour). I began ugly crying while crooning along to Adele's lonely lyrics. [Warning: I do not suggest doing this while driving. I almost ran over an unsuspecting rabbit]


Anyway, post-blubber session, I remembered the gazillion reasons why my ex and I split and I felt much better knowing that I did not have to spend a lifetime dealing with our problems.


The dreaded ex factor is fun for no one- but I have decided to leave the dramatic cross-country pursuit and love confession to the romantic comedies for the time being. Something tells me that there would be no happy ending for this love story.


Attached: an amazing Saturday Night Live skit on the power of Adele's melancholy melody:


http://perezhilton.com/tv/SNL_Emma_Stone_Plays_With_Adeles_Someone_Like_You_/?id=3237b7dac57fc&autoplay=false

The Cock Block

Last week, I went to my friend's house for a summer backyard BBQ and was taken aback by the most incredibly handsome Russian guy. Dressed casual but classy, with a killer smile, and tons of swagger. I had to get to know this man.

So, as casually as I could, I began mingling, trying to find a nice segue into conversation with him. When my friend hosting the party asked if I could make rounds with some cupcakes, I was delighted. Time to make my move. 

With my baking buffer I was able to introduce myself, learn his hot name that I could not pronounce, and then, right when I was about to dive into a real conversation with him... his dorky buddy cut in and took over. No matter how many times I tried to get a word in with the hot Russian, the pudgy sidekick would not relent. Eventually, the Russian who was now entirely left out of the conversation, wandered off.

And since I didn't have the heart to tell Mr. Cock Block that I was after his hot friend, I ended up spending the entire evening chatting with him instead. He told me he thought I was "something" and that we should grab a coffee sometime. I thought of asking if his handsome friend might join.

So, at the end of the evening I found my Facebook friend list moving up by one, with a pending request by a guy I would only ever see as the most annoying cock block.

Now & Then

I recently bumped into an elementary school friend, and after an evening of catching up, we ended up back at his place. The night did not go how he hoped, I'm sure, as I somehow reverted back into the awkward, shy, blushing school girl that he once knew over a decade ago. And because I could not shake my former innocent self, the night ended at first base: the make out.


That night has made me think about our generation's tendency to rush ahead physically. Having sex on a first or second date seems to be the norm these days, and lost in its wake is the underrated, totally hot make out. There is something so much sexier than sex when you both want more, but hold back... just a little.


Maybe I am just old-fashioned. Maybe the whole one night stand has just lost its appeal to me. But when I heard The Beatles "I Want To Hold Your Hand" playing on the radio the other day, I couldn't help but wish I had been born in a previous, more innocent era. Oh please, say to me, you'll let me be your man. And please say to me, you'll let me hold your hand. 


Instead, on a dated rap CD of mine, I found "What's Your Fantasy" by Ludicrous, which seemed to sum up our generation's idea of romance nicely. I want to l-l-l-lick you from your head to your toes, and I want to move from the bed d-d-down to the floor...


Ahh, there you have it- romance at its best. So maybe I am too late and that innocence is lost on our generation. But, I can assure you: I'm bringing the make out back.


And so I ask you all... Which do you prefer? 


Now:

OR... Then: 

Matchmaker

One of the most tiring, but often amusing things a single person must endure is the "set up". Everybody in your life wants claim to a speech on your wedding night saying, "I just knew that they were right for each other." Everybody wants to play matchmaker.


Throughout my single life I have prided myself for embracing these set up's with an open mind from family, friends, family friends, and so on. But, my most recent challenge has been my 86 year old Nana's matchmaking, which has cranked up to full throttle. I think she has promised herself that she will not leave this earth until she sees me walk down the aisle. Nana is on a husband hunt for yours truly.


The first date she set up for me was with a young handsome man who she saw in church. She literally went up to this stranger, whipped out my photo from her wallet and shoved it in his face. "You must go on a date with her. She's gorgeous! A super model!" (Gotta love the ego boost from grandparents- I am by no means a supermodel). Well who can turn down a little old granny, in the house of God, no less? We went on the date, but much to Nana's chagrin, it did not work out.

So, as of recent, Nana has been trying to play matchmaker a tad more aggressively. At restaurants she will literally thrust me with great force upon any "handsome young lad". Unfortunately, a young lad can range anywhere from 15-65. It's all perspective, right?


Now, last weekend while I mingled around my cousin's wedding reception, I saw my Nana flailing and waving towards me as she spoke to a middle-age, Asian man, wearing a wedding ring. Apparently, neither the age or marital status were a problem in my Nana's eyes. He was very successful.  


"Your grandmother tells me that you're looking for a Harley?" the man asked me, confused.


I laughed and shook my head. "A hottie is probably what she said. I'm looking for a hottie." I smiled apologetically and walked away, downing my champagne. 


But, I've got to give Nana credit for persistence. Truthfully, with the amount of gusto she's putting into the matchmaking task, she will likely end up successful. I just hope, for everyone's sake, she finds me that hottie... and fast.

It's Raining Men

So, since my recent Jekyll & Hyde experience, which left me completely fed up with the male species as a whole, I have found insight into one overused expression. The whole "You'll find someone when you're not looking" is entirely true.


The problem for me is that instead of finding someone, I have been the recent pursuit of a few men. Okay, that's being modest. More like a LOT of men.

I was honestly having trouble pinpointing what had changed in my life. It felt as though someone had cast a spell on me, making me irresistible to any man I encountered. It started with the men closest to me in my life... male friends, colleagues, family friends, etc. But since then it has exploded to men I am meeting in random places, including me sitting in the park yesterday reading a book. Seriously, who approaches a girl who is alone with her nose stuck in a book?


It wasn't until today that I realized that there must be some correlation between my complete disinterest in dating and the surplus of eligible men at my doorstep. There is just no other logical explanation.


My friends have been telling me, "When it rains it pours." Okay, so apparently I am currently caught in a man monsoon. Not that I am complaining. After several months of being in a drought, I am not one to shy away from a little male attention. But I am beginning to think that I may be out of my depth here. I don't really know how to casually and confidently date two, three, four men at the same time. 


But, since another drought is sure to arise with the summer heat, for now I will thank my lucky stars that whatever nonchalant vibe I'm exuding is working in my favour. The song doesn't lie... "It's raining men, hallelujah! It's raining men, AMEN!"

Offline Dating

Last weekend I was visiting with some friends when one of them asked me if I was still doing the online dating thing. I told her that I was momentarily fed up with the bullshit that seems to come along with online dating, and how for the past month I had tried a new, novel idea: offline dating.

That's right. I have been meeting men in normal, every day places, and getting to know them in an old-fashioned way, minus the cushion of cyber space. And it has been remarkably refreshing. No awkward "What do I send as a first message" drama. No need to sum up the entirety of myself into one bullshit "About Me" box. Just plain, good ol' fashioned, meet up at a pub and get to know each other dating. 

Once I coined this term to her though it made me wonder if one day, not too far into the future, people will be paying companies to orchestrate their own "Offline Dating" scenario. Picture this: you pay a company (much like eHarmony) who will carefully conjure up a way for you to meet someone with similar interests in a seemingly normal scenario. In line at the supermarket, at the movies, at a mutual friend's house. People paying big money to avoid the tiring world of online dating, where your picture is scrutinized more than your personality. (Now that I think of it, I'm sure such a company probably does exist already...)

And since I have been stuck in a poetry phase (I truly do apologize for this), I put down some of my thoughts about this online obsession in a poem: 

Unplugged

Lost in a world of technology -

It's soaked me up like a wet sponge.

Not sure any more of my identity,

Is it the girl in the mirror,

Or the girl on my Facebook wall?

I'm watching my thoughts becoming extinct

As the world re-names them as 'tweets'.

I've started anonymously blogging to no one,

So maybe I write it to myself.

I long for a time of pen and paper 

And stamps again.

For love letters to hold 

Instead of reading on a screen.

To be kept in my own memory

Instead of my computers.

I long for a time when love was found

On a street corner or a coffee shop,

Instead of a virtual world 

Littered by cheap advertisements.

I think it might be time for me to unplug,

In order to find love and myself

The old-fashioned way.

Pick Up Trick #4

Be A Sport


This past weekend I went to two professional baseball games and learned something interesting... this is the BEST pick up place ever.


Here's why. The guys are hot. Ladies, you keep wondering where all the attractive men are on weekends? Look no further. They are all conveniently crammed into one place for some easy pickin. And since it's baseball there are no missing teeth and mashed in faces like hockey, and no old leathery skin like golf. Fact: baseball attracts attractive guys.


So here is your recipe for success picking up at the game:


SUIT UP: Nothing screams sexy to a guy like an old vintage, stained polyester jersey. Seriously though. I wanted to rock the team spirit all the way, so I dug up an old school jersey from a market and it was a huge hit. I had guys coming up to me before I even entered the stadium telling me "That jersey is SICK."(Sick in the good way, that is) Mustard stains and all ladies... no cleavage necessary.


MAN UP: If you do a little research and actually learn your stuff you can impress the guys at game time. Don't be the annoying girl like the one who sat beside me... "What is the score again?" (Look at the scoreboard dummy.) "How many innings are there?" (Barf.) If you're going to go, man up and learn the rules of the game.


DRINK UP: The sun is shining. The beer is flowing. Even if the beers cost $12 for a tiny cup, everyone is there to have a good time, kick back, and be social. Plus the tiny little seats force new friendships fast. So drink up if you need a little liquid courage to talk to the hottie squished to your left.


PICK UP: You've got everything you need to land a man. So next Saturday, boycott the bar and move the search to your local stadium... I promise you won't be disappointed.


Play ball!

Another You

So in my last post (slash rant about the most recent douchebag in my life), I mentioned I might give you a peek at some sad, self-indulgent, Adele-worthy poetry that I wrote mid-breakdown. After looking at it again I decided against it. It's just too damn depressing. Even my friend looked like she wanted to remove all sharp objects out of my reach after I shared one particularly dark one about me "slipping through the cracks". Barf.


Soooo I opted for an angrier one that I wrote. This one is more Alanis- worthy. Enjoy.


Another You


Crush me, hush me, and lie to my face.
Seduce me, confuse me, then leave without a trace.


You yearn for me, burn for me, and long to consume.
You use me, abuse me, but get bored all too soon.


Kiss me, miss me, gaze deep into my eyes.
Then hit me, hurt me, and say no goodbyes.


You bruise me, you use me where it will not show.
You pruned me, attuned me to stay where you go.


I met you, then let you just pick up the reigns.
I licked all my wounds, and I hid all the pains.


I've had it, your habits have shown your untrue.
You crossed me, you lost me... I'll find another you.


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


Ahhh, the cathartic release that comes from such self-indulgent writing. 


And, just for fun, I thought I would attach the moving, bluesy original "I'm Gonna Find Another You" by the much more talented John Mayer. 

Jekyll & Hyde

So after a few dates on eHarmony that ranged from disappointing to disaster, I encountered a man who seemed scarily perfect for me. I'm talking, show's over, slap a ring on my finger and let's walk down the aisle.


Aside from the fact that this man (we will call him Jekyll) was obscenely gorgeous, built like a rock from years of working in construction, well-mannered, funny, and kind, he also showered me with a wide array of compliments and was refreshingly open with his emotions. After the first date, he told his clients about me. After the second, he told his mom about me. Then he told me he was sure that us meeting involved a higher being and that just being near me was surreal. Then he admitted that he kept wondering if "this could be it".


Needless to say I was swept off my feet. Where I normally I am jaded and guarded, I was open and vulnerable, relishing in this new, quick developing relationship. Jekyll was a keeper, and apparently he thought the same of me.


Cut to last week when he randomly dropped off the face of the earth. I'm talking gone without a trace. I called the first day. I texted the second. By the third day, I convinced myself that he had lost his phone so I emailed him. By day five there was still no word and I worried that he was dead in a ditch somewhere. So on day six I decided to be bold and drive to his house.


Let me tell you my surprise when I found Jekyll (or Hyde should I say) happily working away on his basement, humming away to some tunes as he hammered. So, despite feeling like a crazy stalker barging in on his house, I tapped him on the shoulder.

I told him I thought he was dead and was glad to see I was wrong. 
He laughed. 
I asked him what happened. 
He nonchalantly shrugged and said he was busy. 
I asked him why he didn't just tell me that.
He said he didn't want a relationship.
I asked him why he didn't tell me that.
He shrugged again.


I stood there in total shock, not sure who this monster of a man was that I was talking to. How had he morphed so quickly? And better yet, WHY??


So I told him he should grow a pair of balls and man up and be honest versus some chicken shit asshole who makes a sweet, innocent girl worry about him all week. He didn't respond to that. (Which gave me satisfaction- all about the small victories!)


The last thing I told him was to try out honesty with the next girl he dated instead of ignoring her. He snorted, rolled his eyes and muttered, "Whatever."


And so I left my former Prince Charming's house wondering who the hell had cast a spell on him and turned him into the world's biggest douchebag.


Anyway, a week has passed. I cried and listened to some angry Alanis for one day while I wrote some sad poetry (which maybe I will share soon). Then I washed my hands clean of both him and online dating for a while. I've realized I'm totally over it now, but the next time I meet a man who seems too good to be true... I'll know he probably is.

Sexy Spinning

A couple of days ago I felt like a total fatty after a week of overindulging at endless social events. I decided to start the week with a bang by going to a spinning class at my gym. Spinning is by no means my strong suit, but I always admire the skinny toned bodies I see as I waddle my way down to the pool (okay, I am not a hippo, but beside these skinny bitches I feel like I'm waddling).


I really didn't really know what to expect when I arrived, but after seeing my hot, buff instructor set up his bike, I was hopeful that it wouldn't be a total waste of my time.


Hot Spinning Instructor (we will refer to him as HSI from now on) cranked up some techno beats and had us all sweating before the end of the first song. And yes, I will admit that I was sweating from the exercise, but my heart rate was rising even more with his very sexual commands at us.


I kid you not. This was the "motivational words" that HSI growled at us:


"Turn it! Add it! Slide it! Push it!"


"Harder! Don't stop! Harder! Push it!"


Over and over again. In fairness, he meant for us to turn the knob (see it's still sexual), add intensity on the wheel (are you sensing a theme yet?), slide our asses back over the seat to work our thighs more (I don't need to be told twice), and push our bodies HARDER. Umm, OKAY?!


I literally had to bite my tongue from crying out, "I'm coming!" I wanted all the other skinny bitches to take a hike and leave me alone for a private sexy spinning session for two. 


Anyway, by the end of the 45 minute workout I had not only burned a gazillion calories from pedaling my ass off, but I also had an extra flush from being extremely turned on for 45 minutes straight. The up and downs on the seat mixed with HSI's "Push it harder, ladies! Don't stop!" left me in a delirious state of foreplay ecstasy. 


I'm not sure if all those other women go to that particular class with HSI for the same benefits that I got, but I must say if I do land a man, I will have to boycott that class, cause it would sure as hell feel like cheating getting that much pleasure from a total stranger.


But for now, HSI, my butt, my thighs, and my libido thank you.

What's In A Name?

In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet expresses that a name is an artificial and meaningless convention. But I say that she is wrong. I know, who am I to argue with Shakespeare? But in a name.... is everything!


I came to this conclusion after completing my first grueling month on eHarmony. I haven't been on the site long enough to pick up many observations, with the exception of one : countless "matches" of mine have the most horrendous names.


I know that this is totally superficial, but I went through my matches and thought I would share the best of the worst names I have come across. 


Here is a list of names of some of my potential future husbands:


1) Gary/ Gerry/ Gerard/ Bernard : An ugly theme I found of old man sounding names.


2) Boris : He just sounds boring. What do you shorten it to? "Bor"?


3) Vicken : I want a man, not something cool to smear on my chest.


4) Floyd : The "oy" sound makes me think of my least favourite word... moist. (*shudder*)


5) T.J/ T.P/ T.C : Seriously, what does the mysterious "t" stand for? Toad? Turd?? Testes???


6) Igor : Igor the Ogre? Perhaps a new children's series...


7) Bran : Mmm fiber. That's sexy.


8) Kikarapa : It sounds like "kick a rapper" when I say it out loud. 


9) Aventinus : Sounds more like James Cameron's next big blockbuster than a man's name.


10) Spyro : All I can picture is a cartoon villain from a kid's TV show in the 80's.


Now, to any reader who is married to someone with a name on my list, I apologize. I am sure he is lovely, despite his unfortunate name. But, to anyone who named their child one of these names... what were you thinking? It seems that at birth these men were destined to end up on an online dating site. Like the name was a catalyst for a self-fulfilling prophecy of awkward lonliness.


Again, I know how shallow this sounds. But no matter how many times I play it in my head, I just can't picture my wedding day.... "I, Crystal, take thee, Kikarapa, to be my lawfully wedded husband...."


It just doesn't fly. So sue me.

How To Lose A Girl in Ten Steps

I had my very first eHarmony date. It was terrible. But, I figure if you start out poorly, you can only go up from there! The interesting thing is that Fraser was perfect on paper (minus his unfortunate name). Handsome, well-dressed, CEO of his own company, incredibly smart, wealthy... I should be taking him home to meet the parents, right? Wrong. Although Fraser was ideal in his credentials, he lacked one very important thing: social skills. 


I don't want to go as far as to say that he had Asperger's, but I have never encountered someone as socially inept as him. So if anyone ever intends to be a terrible date I thought I would give you a winning recipe, courtesy of Fraser :


1) When setting up your first time to talk on the phone and the girl suggests 10pm, tell her that is too late and maybe you will text instead. Changing your bedtime routine for her would be a sign of weakness.


2) When you do talk on the phone, tell the girl that you want to make sure you meet in the daytime so you can see her in "really good lighting". A girl needs that important reminder that you will be scrutinizing her down to her very pores.


3) When the girl asks you to arrange the date half an hour later because she will be rushing from lunch with a friend, don't compromise at all. Instead, say, "No, no we'll meet at 3pm." This doesn't show that you are rigid or controlling. Just lovably inflexible.


4) When you do meet the girl, make sure to pick a fight with the first topic she brings up. Women love to be challenged. You may hurt her feelings, but at least she can see what a great debater you are!

5) When the girl shows you a picture of her brand new baby niece, ignore the photo all together and instead point out the lovely icon arrangement on her iPhone. Paternalism is for losers. Show her she can have full rights and responsibilities of praising your unborn children.


6) When the girl is about three sips into her coffee, put on your coat and tell her you feel like doing something else. That isn't rude at all... it's spontaneous!


7) When you bring the girl to this new place (a book store), wait until she shows interest in some section, then promptly leave and do your own shopping. This way she can see how much independence you will give her.


8) When the girl points out a book that she is interested in reading, tell her it looks like crap. No sense in letting her waste her money. You know how to judge a book by its cover!


9) When you leave the store, walk slightly in front, as opposed to beside her. This will help reinforce to her that you are a leader.


10) When you abruptly decide that the date is over, tell her you would like to do this again sometime. She surely must have had as an enjoyable time as you!


Well, that's it my friends. My first eHarmony date, beginning to end. No embellishments necessary. (May I remind you that I'm now paying for this shit.) 


Lesson learned? Don't let your date get to number ten. I should have bailed on Fraser after number three. Lesson definitely learned. 

Can't Buy Me Love

So I've tried Plenty of Fish. All I found were freaks.
I've tried OKCupid. I didn't find my Valentine.
I've tried pretty much everything... free, that is.


Apparently these "free" sites aren't where you land a husband, so I've been told by my mother, sister, and best friend. If you want to find a man serious about commitment, you've got to pay. And damn, love don't come cheap! (Sorry, don't know why I turned all ghetto superstar there... back to me).


Apparently, love comes at the low cost of $49.99 a month. No guarantee you will find Mr. Right. No guarantee of landing a date even, but if you want to see who might be your match it's going to cost you. So after my sister told me that she had almost purchased me an eHarmony membership for Christmas (thoughtful, but OUCH) I decided to do it myself. I bit the bullet, told myself my good years are getting shorter, and the supply of good men is dwindling, so now is my time to act. I signed up for eHarmony.


I got pretty excited filling out my online profile. It kept flashing happy couples at me, smiling. I want to be them, I thought. I want to be Gerry and Julia. Meghan and Mark. Dan and Diane. I want to be one of those smiling, gushing, nobody-can-stand-to-look-at-you-cause-you're-so-in-love couples. I became even more encouraged when the screen flashed at me saying that there were something like 12 million people on this site. I just need one! That's pretty good odds!

So imagine my disappointment upon completing my profile, when I was sent seven measly matches. That's right, seven. How much of an anomaly am I? Seven?! So I judiciously went through my seven matches to discover the following:


-Two were trolls
-Two looked my father's age, though apparently were mine
-One had fourteen spelling mistakes in his profile
-Two looked... mediocre.


So from twelve million to two. I began sweating as I frantically digested ever inch of their profiles. One of these men had to be my future husband! Plenty of fish in the sea, my ass.


As it turns out, neither of those two were my match made in heaven. But I was sent seven new matches the following morning, and every morning thereafter. So maybe my prince is somewhere still in cyber space and a little computer robot will match us up any day now. 


Cause at $50 a month, I've gotta find him, and fast.

Pick Up Trick #3

Sexy Scent

Most women like to put a splash of something on in order to smell nice, but I think that it is really important to take the time to pick the perfect scent... for you. Not all perfumes smell the same on each person because of the oils in our skin, so scents can change person to person.


For me, it's Calvin Klein's "Euphoria". I got a tester of it about four years ago, and each night that I dabbed some on I had guys fawn all over me. I'm not even exaggerating when I say that guy's literally stopped me on the sidewalk and said wide-eyed "You smell AMAZING." I smiled bashfully and replied, "Thanks. It's my euphoria." So, after countless confirmations from male strangers, I decided that whatever this scent was doing mixing with my oils, it was working. I bought myself a bottle and for four years I have shooed all other scents away, determined to make this scent my own.


I have always wanted a sexy smell associated with me, so when some random woman walks in a room with MY scent on, it makes all the men think of me. And after four dedicated years, I finally got confirmation of this from a male friend of mine. He had "smelled" me at a party that I didn't attend. I was attending a different party where my spicy scent had been... approved.


Mission accomplished.


Euphoria may not be the scent for you, but taking the time to find out what perfume turns magic on your skin, is worth the fireworks it could bring.