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.