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