I just finished having the best family Christmas dinner, courtesy of myself. Lobster bisque, escargot, rack of lamb. You name it, I made it. It was a great night, I may have gained 7lbs, but what the hey...it’s the Holidays! The night before, I went my first double digit date with The Friendly Giant. And, it went pretty great. I couldn’t fully concentrate on the buttery goodness I created for my family because I was secretly thinking about The Friendly Giant -- when/if a second date was in my near future.  

Dammit folks, I think I’m keen about this one:

We met at my work Christmas party.  What’s ironic was that very same morning, I had made a vow to myself to eff online dating altogether after the disappointing date I had with The Groupie, and to focus on organic meetings only. Well, by the end of the party, The Friendly Giant had asked me for my digits. As organic as it gets. He messaged me as he was driving home that night and asked to see me the next day. I gleefully accepted. To paint a picture; he’s not hot, but he’s super charming. And huge. Like 6’5 huge. 275 lbs man huge.  I’m an NFL linebacker huge. Polish. Witty. Intelligent. Life of the party type. Just my type.

The date worked in my favour; because we went to the friendly neighbourhood bar. Again. I’ve been there 3 times in the past 4 weeks with 3 different guys. I swear, I’m going to be known as the friendly neighbourhood sloore. The waitresses were asking if I want the usual!... awkward!

We chatted and laughed, and chatted, and drank. (Ps. This one drinks. Halleluiah!)  After a few, thoughts of a night-night cap at my place came up. Wine and a shisha bong?  Who wouldn't say yes! I casually agreed to the idea, but was secretly shitting my pants... at the thought that I might have to actually take off my pants.  In reality,  I'm pretty prude-ish.  Having intercourse on a first date isn't how I roll. Although I was breaking out into hives, I felt like he was too into me, too gentlemanly-like, to want to just get his dick wet. So, I took my chances and ultimately let a total stranger, horny or not, into my condo.

We drank. So. Much. Red. Wine.  And talked about everything. I have an actual scientific mental problem called "I don’t shut the fuck up when I drink". I’m the complete opposite of an introvert; more so of an extrovert on speed. I’ll tell you my entire life story in under 47 minutes, promise. He kept telling me that I was ‘glowing’ and that I have this ‘aura’ about me. It could have been the red wine – the fermented grapes make me look like I was left in the sun for 9 hours. Whatever, I took it as a compliment though, only because he kept repeating it.

Not sure how it happened, but I recall having The Friendly Giant’s tongue in my mouth, and loving every second of my life. What an awesome kisser he was. So passionate. Did I mention he was a Scorpio? Well, two Scorpios sharing saliva (among other bodily fluids) is what dreams are made of. Although, we kept it PG.  Scouts honour.  (Trust me, I would be glad to share all the juicy deets of my sex life with you!) 

After that, I pretty much blacked out from the point when we were grade 10 make out sesh on the couch until I rolled over the next morning and there was The FG in my bed. Clothed, phew! I, however, was in my royal blue flannel pj bottoms and the same shirt as the day before. (God, why am I so sexy?)  On a good note, my vag wasn’t throbbing, it felt intact and untouched.  A clear indication we didn’t have intercourse that night. I mean, I would have remembered… right??

The morning was, well kind of awkward? It may have something to do with the fact that I have no fucking clue what happened during the time frame when I had my jeans on and then changed into my grandmother’s pjs.  Combined with the fact that I haven’t had a male body in my bed for quite some time, so I was spooning him as though we had been married for years. It was so bloody hot in there too; I sweat all over my date. Orrrr, it could have been the fact that he told me I snored. All night.  Oh wait, wait... there’s more.  As he was about to leave, I decide, at the precise moment, to take out the garbage. Smart. Because I know what men love: they love the homeless, hung over, no makeup, messy hair, sweaty, flannel pyjama, garbage bags in my hands, Uggs on my feet look. That’s the last image of me he had in his head. Going on to 48 hours now... no message, no call. Wonder why the fuck that is. Maybe he just wanted sex and I didn't hit the homer. Maybe it was because I drooled all over him. 

The only reason why I’m secretly freaking out is for obvious reasons... but dare I say/type it out loud? I actually l.i.k.e. him? Gulp. Dare I have felt a slight c.o.n.n.e.c.t.i.o.n? Gulp. Gulp. So I'll just sit here and wait. It's as though I enjoy self-sabotage: really though, were the fucking garbage bags necessary??

Hello. My name is La Blonde and I’m one classy dame.

La Blonde xx

Well. To my dismay, the post about The Groupie is totally accurate. For the first time since this experiment started, La Blonde came home looking like the most depressed human being on the planet. This girl has had bad dates - trust me, I know - but she usually comes home laughing and seeing the bright side of the horror show. In this instance, she looked as though her puppy had died and I could only stare and think "What the fuck, how am I supposed to make her happy!?... SHE CAN'T STOP BLOGGING NOW! NO! This shit is too good. THINK! Positive side of a bad date!"

Apart from the fact that I'm all for the hipster boys (well, in the looks category anyway...that hair, those boots, those tats, that cool look of sex appeal, AH!), I was genuinely hoping this date would turn into a second one because she was legitimately interested in him (pre-date, anyway).  I mean, I knew he wasn't The One (because, c'mon, what are the chances she finds him on date #9) but I hoped for a connection on some level at least, because even though I enjoy all the juicy post-date horror stories, I still really do want her to fall in... barf... love. 

So she may be hungover now (which, by the way, I have yet to know why... deets, La Blonde?) and assessing her dating life from a low point, but TRUST, readers, she will be back in the game in no time. Especially since I am about to play cupid. 

Wish us luck!

The Roommate xo

I’m currently so hungover that it hurts to type, but for the sake of all my 11 die hard followers, I will write this blog about my 9th date (holy mother, I have another 43 dates to go) with The Groupie.

You can tell from the get go that this one was a real sweetheart. And I’m being sincere.  I know y'all aren’t used to me complimenting many of my dates, but he was a genuine nice dude.  He had given me his digits early in the game to “get off this God awful website” and I couldn’t agree more. When I first texted him, maybe half a millisecond had gone by, and he replied with “Hi!!!! My phone’s going to die. I have hockey tonight. I will be done in about an hour. Maybe longer. I’ll text you as soon as I’m done!” and then told me about the dinner he had, and about the expected weather conditions, and his entire life story as a 26-year-old white boy. Or so you would expect following such a detailed first text message.  When he texted me 66 minutes later, we pretty much discussed  all that I just mentioned and some. Including what to do on our first date, who's area it should be in, which bar, which day, what time, how we would get there, what we would be wearing, suggestions on what we should wear, what we should drink, what we should drink in the event that they don’t have that drink, what we should do to prepare in the event of a hurricane. Needless to say, this date was happening! Shit be planned, yo.

The date worked out in my favour as we opted for the friendly neighbourhood bar approximately 148 steps from my place, but who’s counting. He wore his best gray sweatshirt, skinny jeans, converse shoes combined with just rolled-out-of-bed messy hairdo… also known as a pure hipster. According to the urbandictionnary.com slash myownpersonaldictionary.com, a hipster is defined as a person who values independent thinking, an appreciation of art and love for the worst indie-rock music ever. They dress like an urban bohemian meets your grandparent’s closet, they have this effortless cool look and feel. They own over 18 scarfs, they love hats, and just look lazy all the time.

After our quick meet and greet, the next obvious step was to grab a drink. I told him I felt like a beer to which he replied “I don’t really drink”.  My jaw dropped like he told me there was no Santa Claus. "Ew, I thought. We’re never going to work. It’s over."  I wanted to use a dating lifeline SO bad, but I toughed it out. He ended up getting a beer because I pretty much told him he had to.

Conversation went… interestingly. He really had a hard time expressing himself and would often say ‘you know what I mean?’ (not a clue) and gave reasons why he was such a groupie to his no-name hipster boy bands. “Do you ever, like, listen to music?  Like really listen? You know what I mean?” (not a clue) I ordered another drink. At times, he would awkwardly stare at me for so long that I legitimately thought he was born without any eyelids. Like, what are you staring at?! My soul is not for sale.

I think the reason why I was slightly intrigued, yet slightly annoyed by The Groupie was because a lot of him reminded me of my ex-boyfriend. Not THE Ex. But the ex I wish I never had. This rotten odor of “I am the shit, women love me. I do cocaine on special occasions, but I’m secretly addicted to it. Women get tattoos of my name on their bodies. I stopped doing sports because I got into women.” filled the air. All things that made me want to punch him simultaneously in both testicles. Okay, it’s not fair to compare The Groupie to my ex since he was the epitome of a douche bucket.  I still did everything in the little time I had to put his ego six-feet under. However, the more I poked fun at him, the more he seemed to like it. He would even giggle! Pff, men.

After a couple beers, we decided to head out. He offered to drive me home, even though I could see my house from the bar. It was kind of like Alaska outside so I took the ride. I didn’t want to show him where exactly my home was, but it was late and he didn’t prove to have any real psychotic traits. Although, most mass murderers don’t either... Still, I took my chances. By the end of the night, I wasn’t convinced if I liked him or not... there was something off.  Plus, did I mention he doesn’t like to drink?

As we pulled up to my condo’s front entrance we said our (cue awkward) goodbyes, I felt like he was leaning in for the kiss, and I almost got whiplash as I withdrew from my hug. He texted me as soon as I got in to wish me a good night and say how much he enjoyed himself. Oh, and called me ‘hilarious’. For a second, I considered another sober date, just so he can comment on my amaze sens de l'humour…but I couldn’t.

For whatever reason, I really hyped up this one in my head and it wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. So, as I returned to my condo and The Roommate anxiously awaited the dirty deets, an unusual sense of I fucking HATE dating rushed over me. I described the date to her in tears.  

The Groupie messaged me the next morning asking if I wanted to go on another date with him soon.  He was a really nice guy and I genuinely feel terrible, but I never responded. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about him that I didn’t enjoy. I just know he isn’t going to be my soul’s mate. PS. Did I mention he doesn’t like to drink?

Trying to find love (online) blows. I’m going to try organically next.

La Blonde xx

I’ve been delaying this blog post for some time now because honestly, the date went well… So I really have nothing to write/bitch about. Well, except for one minor detail. I thought maybe I was just being crazy, but the more I think about it, the more I am convinced he's... well, keep reading.

The Meaty Ginger is a perfect gentleman. Prior to our date, he actually used his fingers to DIAL my number and we had voice on voice conversation. It took me by surprise! When has this happened to you lately? Definitely a nice touch and major brownie points for The MG.  After 19 minutes of real live conversation, we decided a quick intro meeting would be best, and he even offered to meet me at a coffee shop right near my place.

My first thoughts; although he's a huge Chatty Cathy, this helped the the conversation go smoothly and effortlessly. It was almost as though I was talking with a long time friend. As the minutes went on, I noticed there was something remarkable about his voice. It was a little too.... pretty? I didn't want to say it, I didn't want to think it, but I couldn't help it: is he, could he be, a chance he may be... gay? I wish I had passed the phone to The Roommate so she can hear it for herself.  Either way, I agreed with the date anyway, and hoped it was just the infrared cellphone waves affecting his vocal cords. Work with me here. 

When we met up, he looked exactly the way he did in his online profile pictures (no imposters here). He was absolutely witty and carried it with confidence. We kept up with each others sarcasm in a comedy sitcom kind of way.  He offered to buy me my $1 small promo latte, which clearly means he’s not afraid to spend the big dollahs. He asked the right questions and said the right things.  In other words, it was a great first date! We hung out for just over two hours, and I didn’t even feel the time go by.

Unfortunately, all the while, I couldn't fully concentrate because I was having a legit full blown debate between the left and right side of my brain:

Right: "He's not gay...he's just got A LOT of female friends. And no real mention of any male friends......"
Left: "Oh, yup, no male friends? It's SO obvious that he is gay."
Right: "Wait. Did he just mention a fantasy football pool? He's straight for sure then!!"
Left: "Shit, was that a squeal? Checkmate."

And my gaydar blew up into flames.

His overly blatant hand gestures didn't help my right brain's debate either. Just to be clear, I love the gay community! But if I'm going to start to like someone, I'd prefer he be looking into my eyes for love, and not looking into my eyes to love my eye makeup, you know? Although, I don't think The Meaty Ginger will be jumping out of the closet in leather chaps any time soon. When he talks about his hockey beer league, I think "he's such a man!" But when he talks about how his female roommate met a pro hockey player at a bar once and the sheer excitement/shrill in his voice when he told her "tell me you fucked him... I tooooootally would have!!"  This. Remains. Questionable. Like, why choose to tell me that part of the story? 

I think I'm just as confused as he is. But the date went so well that I'm debating on giving it another go...what do you think? I mean I'm pretty desperate to find a match, but to date a potentially gay guy? I'm not that desperate... Am I?

La Blonde xx