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?
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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...
