_Well. Before I begin sharing details of my date with Toronto's eligible bachelor #14, you must know that this man comes with a lot of interesting background. Allow me to fill you on all the juicy gossip. Eeek, I love gossip, don't you?

The Man:
Recently, I was contacted via Twitter by one of my followers - let's call her M - and asked if I was interested in being set up on a date with her ex boyfriend. Dangerous territory? Probably, so immediate red flags, whistles, bells, pretty much everything red was thrown at me. But I was curious/ desperate for a new date and blog post so, eventually, I accepted the challenge. I wasn't sure how this would all go about; remember she's never met me, has no idea what I look like, she just 'knows' me from reading my blog.  In other words, we pretty much became twitter bffs. From the way M and I interacted, (in 140 characters or less) it seemed pretty clear that she was no longer interested in her ex and that he was fair game.  But I assumed M had ulterior motives for our arranged rendez-vous and that it wasn't meant in a friendly, peaceful 'I hope they live happily ever after' manner. She just wanted to get a brutally honest review of her ex, and like I do with all of my victims... I mean dates, I wouldn't lie about my first impressions. Here's to a date with a twist...bring on The Z Man!  

Before I had the chance to let The Roommate in on my newest quest, that very night, she let me in on a little bit of gossip herself; her coworker is friends with M. When he had 'liked' my 52firstdatesTO Facebook page (which all of you probably should too, peer pressure) M noticed this, intrigued by the concept of the blog and offered her ex as a possible date, then contacted me via Twitter. Oh, the power of social media.  I also found out through my roommate's coworker that The Z Man is in fact a huge douchebag, in the end treated M terribly, broke her heart and as things got rocky between the two, M thought he was acting weird because he was going to propose...au contraire, he broke up with her. A lot to swallow?  I definitely had a 'you've been warned sticker' slapped on forehead.  Still, the news didn't deter me from wanting to meet the inevitable dick.  I tried not to judge The Z Man solely by what I heard, but to save my judgments for our eventual meet - because, well, that's fair.  Days went by, and it seemed like the whole set up had been dropped. Until I got a new submission to my contact form on 52firstdates.ca from none other than the infamous man, I'm not allowed to judge, himself.

As I reluctantly read through The Z Man's email, I couldn't help but notice his wonderful grammar and sentence structures. #Winning! Punctuation? Check. Proper use of your and you're, too and to, than and then? Check, check, OMG check! Lack of LOLs and hahabahahas, I secretly questioned whether M had hacked into The Z Man's Gmail account to make it seem like he was a well-respected, educated non jock. We continued to email and his grammar never slipped: I was immediately intrigued to meet this man more and more.  At this point, I was pretty convinced that no douche, no real douche could pull off such excellent writing skills. Right, bro?  Through our conversation, he admitted that M had suggested he go on a date with me just to spite him, and just to spite her, he accepted.  I was stuck right in the middle of this fucked up love/break up triangle.  They were both seeking evil revenge or some kind of twisted way to get back at each other for their lack d'amour. Lucky me. Still, he was willing to have me judge him, blog about him how I please, just be completely brutally like I am of my other dates.

"I'm looking forward to the blunt blogging. Have you ever gone on a date, either good or bad, and had no idea what the person across the table was actually thinking?  Maybe it didn't workout because I took them to all you can eat sushi and ate all I could, maybe my gingery stache was too real for them. Whatever the case, I'll usually never know what went wrong/right and I'll go forward with no personal growth or development. Be blunt as hell. All constructive feedback will help me in the long run and if I'm truly a dick, which I'm not, it'll make for a good read!"

The Date:
According to M, The Z Man was a gym whore so she had recommended on several occasions to touch his #abs on the date and ask if he would bench press me. Obviously fond of his personal trainer's bod.  Well, since I was on my I-hate-my-life-eating-bland-food-blows-big-balls diet and he curls weights with his fingertips, we decided to check out a sheesha bar on Ossington, and drink ice water. A no calories soirée.  With all the anticipation and build up for this date, it was the first time I truly felt nervous during my entire 52 first dates experience.  I was the only person in the city of Toronto driving with their windows completely down during an extreme cold alert. I was sweating in anticipation.  This truly was a blind date!  He described himself as the guy wearing a brown, deep V sweater. I immediately thought of Canada's first TV Bachelor Brad Smith, and his infamous "deep Vs" and got excited. I spotted him right away: his sweater wasn't that deep, and he definitely wasn't Brad Smith, but he was a Canadian bachelor indeed. 6'3, blondish/brownish hair, green eyes, built like a tank, arm span of a Boeing 777, nice smile. I instantly understood why M insisted I feel his #abs. Although, not exactly my type, I don't care for guys with Ken doll bodies and protein powder injected into their blood stream.  It's really all about personality. I actually mean that.  Stop laughing.

He started up a sheesha bong, and had ordered me an ice water, as planned. I was secretly afraid to share a common mouth piece with a total stranger and hoped I wouldn't catch a disease or six. Again, I took my chances and I'm here to tell you that my lips are herpes free.  Conversation went as smooth as butter. (Mmmm, butter) I found him to be slightly self absorbed, and obsessed with talking about the gym. But I soon found out he's more than just one large walking muscle; he has a good job something to do with stats/analytics, his speech was just as good as his written dialogue, his random witty one-liners really got me chuckling, and he sets goals for himself. He's really into fitness (no shit) he's a part-time personal trainer and to further his fitness 'career', he's entering a competition in the next few months. Could you get more vain than that? Probably not. But hey, a goal is a goal.  And I could probably use him for some tips on how to look like Britney -- pre shaved head mental breakdown.  

The topic of M did come up at times - pretty much because I would pry into that subject like a good Scorpio PI investigator should...I wanted to know the dirt!  As much as I tried to get The Z Man to act like a douche... he wouldn't. It's highly possible he was on his best behaviour for the sake of the blog, but in my opinion you can't fake douchiness. That quality is inbred, you're either a douche or you're not. No use of the words bro, bra, dude or yo, no calling the waitress 'babe' (fuck off, FG), no swearing every 2nd word. His cellphone was placed on the table and not once did he interrupt the conversation to check it. (fuck off, FG)  Even as I'm trying to get the dirt on M, he kept it so politically correct and polite. He didn't have rude things to say.  He just said it didn't work out between the two of them, that they argued often, and that in the end, the bad outweighed the good.  Chances are he could be a dick, but not a douche. There's a difference. 
  
There was a moment where I questioned whether or not he was gay.  It's only natural to question this, not only because of his female Ken doll looks and his flaring hand motions when he spoke,  but mainly because of his passion for being lathered up in oil, (probably by another man) getting an orange fake-and-bake tan, prancing around in front of a panel of judges in skimpy spandex booty shorts and strutting his stuff on stage to, I can only imagine, the "I'm too sexy" theme song.  Oh, and he likes musicals. M too shared her initial concerns for his closeted homosexuality when she first met him. I don't think he's gay, but it did cross my mind. So, naturally, I asked him straight up. He responded with a very hearty NO.  Convincing enough for me and we dropped that subject.

The sheesha let out its last flavoured puff, we were all watered out, and The Z Man finally grabbed his phone to check the time: it was a quarter past 11. We had been chatting for 4 hours.  And didn't even notice! He paid for the bill and we bundled up to brace Toronto's frigid winter weather. Ironically for once, the goodbye wasn't awkward: we hugged and at the point he told me he'd like to see me again.  I questioned whether or not this was a good idea, whether M would be hurt or angry or secretly stalk and kill me (please don't), whether The Roommate's coworker would come up with other reasons why I shouldn't date the supposed douchebag, whether the date itself was just a ploy to get blog famous.

So, I told him I'd let him know...

What to do? What to do! Thoughts? My guard will definitely need to stay up with this one. 

To be continued....

La Blonde xx

I can hardly believe that I've been on three dates with The Friendly Giant. That's like... marriage! But alas, after three dates, I'm just as confused as ever:
1. About his feelings
2. About my own

Let's begin. You can determine my fate, I trust your judgment:  We decided to go bowling (seriously, when was the last time you went bowling?!) I ventured out to his neck of the woods, to the west end's Bowlerama.  The moment we met, The FG warned me he was a little 'under the weather' and felt flu like symptoms coming on (like why even meet up with me in that case?) Either way, we still made the best of it, still ordered beers, still put on those sexy bowling shoes - he asked for a size 14, but who's noticing - and away we bowled.  I haven't gone bowling since I was a preteen, so I expected to be a complete embarrassment... but to my surprise, and his, I was actually a pro. No, seriously. I'm considering taking up professional bowling.  I nailed strikes and spares like I've been a part of a secret senior's bowling league for years. The FG's face was priceless, and there was a lot of swearing going on, on his part.  He's super competitive, so it was a riot to see him get all riled up whenever I'd bang out another beauty strike. I'd say things to get him going like, "man, I haven't played in years, I guess I'm just a natural!" and bat my eyelashes.  It was awesome.  

Truthfully, I was expecting a bit more flirting on the date. After all this was our 3rd, we've practically slept together, (albeit, fully clothed) shared very personal info about ourselves, made out... like I said, marriage. So what's the harm in sneaking in a kiss here and there? Hell, a pat on the head or a even a flirty grade school nudge?  Instead, I settled for a couple of high fives and romantic 'What the fucks?' whenever I'd bowl a perfect strike.  Oh wait, he called me 'babe' a few times too, which I thought was odd. I didn't take it too seriously, I figured it was just a tick, or a nickname or maybe he forgot my actual name and called me babe instead? Either way, I let it slide. The point is, I can't read him. And although it's intriguing, at the same time it's extremely annoying. 

After five rounds of bowling, I kicked his ass 3 of 5 of them, just saying, we headed down the street to good ol' Wacky Wings. PS. Did I mention that I'm currently on a really strict low-carb, I-hate-my-life, why-do-I-torture-myself, I-miss-good-food, limited-booze, all-this-dieting-better-be-fucking-worth-it-or-I'll-fucking-snap, diet? Well, I am. And where else to go and tease myself more than a bar with $14.95 all-you-can-eat-wings.  As, one my biggest challenges to date, I sat and salivated as The FG inhaled 3 full pounds of the greasiest, saltiest, juiciest most scrumptious looking wings I've ever laid my eyeballs on.  And they came with fries, no big deal.  Whiffs of greasy goodness filled my nostrils with every bite. I breathed in the calories and pretended like my big intestine wasn't eating my little intestine. I sipped on my lemon water. Mmm, refreshing! 

Now, isn't there some kind of saying where if a woman eats wings in front of her date she's either really comfortable with him, or she just doesn't care to like him very much?  Basically, you can't possibly date a man and be serious about him, if you're eating wings. So, I wondered if eating 3 lbs of wings in front a girl whom is on a death diet counted as him not liking her very much?

Conversation at that point, sucked. Between The FG's blatant food coma and the dozens of 80 inch TVs blaring out sports highlights, his attention was definitely not focused on the cute blonde across the table.  At one point he poked my ear, but that was about the extent of our conversation/ acknowledgment that I was still physically there.  Oh, and by the way, the waitress' name is 'babe' too. Ironic.

My water was done, his basket full of bones, crumbs and blue cheese sauce; we decided to get out of there. Interesting, for someone with 'flu-like symptoms' he sure had a good appetite.... The goodbye was as awkward as ever; (note to self; I really need to work on these!) we thanked each other for the night and at that point he leaned in to kiss me. For whatever reason, my gut reaction was to turn my face... so he ended up kissing the side of my mouth. And to make matters worse, when he asked me when I was free next, I replied with a lame "probably, never! hahaha".  He smiled awkwardly, "Uh, OK then. I guess I'll see you around."  Ugh. Way to kill that one, me.  I rolled my eyes all the way to my car, feeling like a total idiot. Obvs, he was asking because he wanted to see me again, right? I guess I was just a little disappointed that a next date wasn't set in stone, like the others.  So, a little later on,  I mustered up the courage and messaged him asking if he'd like to see me again soon (just to triple check, that he is in fact still into me) and that I didn't kill it with my sarcastic retardation.  He, without any hesitation, replied with a simple "Yes".  That was good enough for me.

We messaged a few times back and forth the next day, nothing groundbreaking, and then I didn't hear from The FG for five days, which is like a month in #singlegirlproblems land. I have a tendency to give up real easily on men, so just when I thought it was over between us, I received a message saying he was all cured from the flu. (Funny, I didn't know that the flu affected people's finger too... that's rare.) Well, the 'three day rule' was blown right out the window on this one, but, naturally, I was secretly excited that he had hadn't forgotten about me.

A few days went by and again, and nothing.  So, naturally, I gave up again. And then BAM...out of nowhere The FG offered random invites: "You should come to a party tonight"; "I'm going to shoot guns, you should come". No planning involved, just sporadic messages and random invites. Now, I'm confused. Is this normal dating behaviour?  Is it normal to be in touch and out of touch like that in the normal dating world? Shit, what is normal anymore?  I'm so out of the loop!

I assume he's still interested in me?  I could be wrong. Am I still interested in him?  I can't pinpoint what it is exactly that I'm not digging about this 'relationship' between The FG and I.  Why is it so difficult to maintain a connection, any interest, or excitement in a relationship that is still so fresh?  Maybe I should take initiative and ask him out on a formal date, maybe it's worth one last hurrah? Well, this may or may not be the last time we hear of The Friendly Giant.

Hmm, I'm going to go gnaw on my carrot stick now and ponder this one out.

Thanks for reading, and I would love to get your thoughts!

La Blonde xx

Hey, actors aren't the only ones celebrating their victory nominations... we bloggers are too!

Ain't she purdy? I was so pleased to hear that I, moi, ich, have been nominated for the Liebster Award! Special thanks, merci, danke, to a lovely lady and wonderful blogger by the name of Amie - creator of Bombay Girl on an Island who nominated me for this award. What a way to encourage us to keep on truckin', bloggin' (and datin')! Originally from Bombay, now persuing her PHD in London, Amie's blog has got some great photography, and awesome fashion tips! Check it out!


What’s a Liebster Award you ask? The award is for new bloggers with less than 200 followers, who deserve some support, recognition and encouragement. ‘Liebster’ comes from the German verb ‘lieben’ – to love, meaning dearest or beloved... I am flattered, Dear Amie! :)

It's good Karma folks, let's reward the well-deserved!

Here are the rules should you choose to accept:  1. List 3/5/11 facts about yourself (I've decided to keep this to 5 facts) 2. Answer the 3/5/11 questions given to you.  3. Create 3/5/11 new questions for the bloggers you nominate for the award.  4. Choose 5 bloggers with 200 or less followers to nominate.  5. Go to each bloggers page and let them know about the award.  6. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to their blog.

Et voilà, so let's begin!

A few facts about yours truly:
1. I love sports and a massive Toronto Maple Leafs fan (no judgement, people!)
2. I'm a huge emotional sap, I weep at everything from puppy commercials to marriage proposals, even if I've never met you. If I'm in a crowd of people - like at a sporting event or a concert - and there's a standing ovation... it's over.
3. Although, I have tear ducts for eyeballs, I've got a black belt in Karate and I'm currently training for a Muay Thai competition in February. Hi-ya! No tears in the ring!
4. I have a dog, Mickey, A Japanese Spitz and he's 15 years old.
5. I tend to blackout when I drink, although I'm getting much better at controlling myself in my late-20s age.

Here are my responses to Amie's questions:
1. What makes you happy?
-My family, they always know how to put a smile on my face.
-Food. Good food also knows how to put a smile on my face.
-Traveling.

2. If you could go back in time, and be a historical figure, who would it be and why?
- John Lennon.To me, he is the definition of YOLO. He was a musical genius, who wasn't afraid to express himself, who loved love and loved to show love to his wife, friends and ultimately to the world.

3. What would you like to change about yourself, if anything?
-Physically, I'd like better hair. It's too thin! And to STOP biting my nails.
-Mentally, I'm learning to be more patient. I'm SO impatient. About every aspect of life.

And now, the blogs I think deserve the award... drum roll please!

Lo.Rain:
http://www.misadventuresweekly.blogspot.com

Hella Quirky
http://www.hellaquirky.com

New York Cliché
http://NewYorkCliche.com

Martin Appleby
http://inpursuitofexpression.blogspot.com

Ashley
lovefromhomeblog.com

My questions to YOU:
1. What is your dream job?
2. If you could change one thing about your government's laws what would it be?
3. If you had the chance to kiss, just one kiss, anyone in this world - dead or alive, who would it be and why?

And that's a wrap!

Now, go check out the blogs of these lovely peeps... and I'll let them know about the award!

Très fun!

La Blonde xx

The nickname I've allotted to my 12th date is so perfect it hurts. *thank you, thank you* And for three main reasons:

1. When The Roommate asked how the date went, I replied with a generic 'Meh.' (like vanilla ice cream, it's usually a choice people make if there is no other option.)

2. When The Roommate asked to describe my date, I replied with another solid 'Meh. He's so... vanilla'

                                                              3. He works for Dairy Queen. The irony kills me.

The Vanilla Man and I met online (#singlegirlproblems) we exchanged maybe two inbox messages, and being simply annoyed by the infiltration of dozens of new inbox messages, I offered him my number immediately, just to get the fuck out of the lion's den. Seriously, why is it that men online attack you like they just grew an 8 inch penis overnight,  yet men in real life stay away like they don't even own a penis. Like, where's the middle ground? Suddenly, hiding behind a computer screen gives you Superman confidence.

Moving on. The Vanilla Man didn't have to exert his Superman powers and he didn't attack me with his shlong, but rather, he approached me in a normal, (key word) calm, collective manner -- well, as respectfully as you can get in an online message. Slash, he really just had nice hair and used proper use of 'you're' and 'your'.  Originally, we were going to head to Toronto's infamous Dark Horse Café, but then he mentioned that he's on this 'life mission' to check out every café in Toronto...  Boooooooring. Anywho, we chose a new location so he can check it off his ambitious cocoa bean hunt.

Instead, we met at Strada café in Chinatown; quaint little place indeed!  At first, I didn't recognize him. Did he dye his hair or something? Swear the online dude had black hair, but the man in front of me was a blatant red head. I def would have noticed that... as a blatant red flag. Sorry, no offense, but the Anne of Green Gables look look isn't my thang.

I wish there was more to The Vanilla Man, but the name says it all. I actually dozed off half way through our date, and at times I really tried had to hold back my yawns... and we were drinking coffee! One glass of wine, and I would have been drooling on him.  Signs of a bad date 101.  Other than not digging each other, we had nothing in common: I told him I work for the news, and immediately he sat up and would try to one-up me on my news knowledge. Like, fuck off buddy, knowing about the news is my job. Don't test me motherfucker. But I nodded and smiled as he told me about things I already knew, thinking how quickly I can down this scorching hot latte. Yawn. I told him how I was very interested in martial arts. He told me he didn't care for it because it was too violent. He does marketing for Dairy Queen, so I thought I would at least get a 10 cent coupon off my next Blizzard or something! Nothing. When I asked him what his favourite flavour was... you guessed it. Vanillizle. He plays chess, I play checkers. I like to gamble, he put $20 bucks in a machine once. I live in the burbs, he said he would never leave the downtown core. I'm cool, he's questionable.

After the longest 43 minutes of my life, we decided to part ways. I thanked him for the coffee, and then that awkward moment happened where no one knew what to say.  We blankly stared at one another. It was a silent acknowledgement where we FINALLY agreed on something... we were both just not into each other.

As I drove home, Charlie, my stomach, reminded me repeatedly to feed him dinner....and I knew exactly what he was craving. I rushed to the kitchen, whipped out my not-so-secret chocolates stash and wolfed down nearly half a box of the richest goodness Laura Secord has ever created.  Bliss. Well, I pretty much have a cavity now, but it was all worth it....I smacked my teeth with gratification, Charlie and I were content, as this wave of euphoric sugar high rushed over me. And then I realized, you know,  I can never really OD on chocolate.  It's the perfect drug. It satisfies me every time.  But with vanilla, it somehow always leaves me wanting more, yearning for a better buzz. 

And that's simply because vanilla will always just be... vanilla.

La Blonde xx

Hello everyone! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to all!  A new year, a fresh start? Absolutely. I could write a whole post about my new year's resolutions, but for the sake of your boredom, I've narrowed my selection down to three - in no particular order:
                 1. Drop 20 lbs.
                 2. Be less of a spazz and just enjoy the wave of life                     3. Find a husband.

Pish posh, easy as pie! Well, to start off 2013 on the right nose, I had a date with a familiar face; The Friendly Giant. We remained in touch for most of the holidays even tried to get together several times, but between my ridiculous 4 am morning shifts and his previous plans called having a life, nothing panned out. Eventually, we decided after the holidays would work and we decided on a light fun night of playing pool. 

Initially, I was a little bit nervous to see him. And rightfully so. A little recap:  we had a very drunken unromantic 1st date, where I pretty much blacked out at the climax of our make out session and then woke up with the FG in by bed, while I was in my pjs and a pool of sweat. Luckily, I was untouched and unharmed.

Well, this time around I told myself I would refuse, at any cost, to let him to come into my condo. I am not sleeping with him! (Not yet, at least) Of course when we were deciding what to do on our date, he mentioned having some casual drinks at my place, (ya, wonder why...round two?) and I quickly deflected from that idea and mentioned something more in public and virgin-like like shooting pool. No strip pool here!

The FG and I went to a ghetto east end pool hall, shared a pitcher of beer and witnessed the FG almost snap his pool cue in half at least three times in frustration over his missed shots. I was almost in tears laughing. Ah, nothing like a little friendly giant competition. We decided to make the night interesting by revealing a 'secret' or piece of information about ourselves every time we missed a shot. He knows my life story now because I suck balls at sinking balls. After one of my missed shot, he asked me flat out 'so how much of our last date do you actually remember?'  Crap. I admitted the end of night was virtually non-existent for me and it was at that moment that I used the opportunity to express my intercourse concerns with him.

Me: If you haven't noticed, I'm avoiding having you come to my house. Just so you're clear I'm not sleeping with you just yet. I'm sorry, I'm just not like that. (it's because... I actually like you!)
FG: No need to apologize! I did notice, and it's cool. I'm not here just to do that. I would have tried something when I had the chance.... I'm here for a long time.

And with that, I took him to the washroom and we fucked like chimps.  Ha... can you imagine? Well, needless to say, with that comment, I was pretty reassured. I did however, just to keep him intrigued, promise that when we do have sex, it would blow his penis off... in a good way. I said that with the utmost confidence. Two Scorpios, man... magical!

At that exact moment, a couple of dudes at the table beside us offered the FG one of their Jack Daniel's shots (like WHEN the hell does that happen? Not often in Toronto, that's for sure.) because they were driving soon. As if the relationship Gods were listening, he took the shot, cheers'd me in Polish and as though it solidified our intercourse abstinence understanding, he downed it.

On our way home, he asked if I'd like to maybe try bowling next time, and arranged for the following week. This made me feel great! We kissed goodnight and I skipped all the way down my condo's hallway. We've spoken a few times since, but it's now Monday, and I haven't heard from him all weekend. Strange. I've decided that later today, I'm taking the bull by the balls, and messaging him.  What to say, what to say?
The silence is killing me. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't a man who obviously likes a woman want to speak with her every day? Want to see her every day? Want to be with her every day??? Sigh, it's likely I've created yet another fictional movie plot in my brain and that in fact The Friendly Giant is just a Giant dick in a Giant body.

Stay tuned....

La Blonde xx