Hello all! I feel like I've been on a dating hiatus ever since my three dates with The Z Man. Did he and his ex jinx me? Probably. So to get out of my dating rut, I immediately went online, chatted up a few cuties, selected the least desperate one and here we are: Date #17 - The Hockey Player.

Because we met online, there's no real good background to this one - all I knew was that he was cute, very much into hockey, kept me interested by keeping up great conversations online and in text (which is actually so difficult to do, especially right at the beginning on any new relationship) and that he had good grammar.  So for a minute, I was actually quite intrigued to meet this guy.  We decided to meet after I finished work and check out Earl's Kitchen, one of Toronto's most happening bars, full of suits, the most eligible bachelors and/or cheating bastards.  Perfect, I thought. If it doesn't work out with The Hockey Player, I can always find another option. Imagine. That would be so badass. Moving on...prior to the date, he mentioned that he had a dentist appointment but he would be ready by 6pm. No problem there, I finished work at 530 - so I powdered my nose, touched up my nails and anxiously waited the extra half hour.

6pm rolled around - no word. I hadn't heard from him for at least an hour at that point. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I messaged "hello?"... Nothing. I shook my head in silence and gave the kid a 15 minutes grace period before I peaced the eff out. 6:13pm a message - he just got out of the dentist but needed another 15 minutes to get ready. Uh huh. I have zero patience (I'm working on this, I swear!!) but at least he wasn't bailing. A part of me, though, wanted to very badly. I waited some more, sucked it up and headed to Earl's where he was waiting.

As I approached the awkward man standing outside of a packed bar, I was thankful that my Date #17 actually looked like he did in his pics. Bonus. And he was tall, and definitely supported 'hockey player' type features (minus the black eyes and broken teeth). We, along with the rest of Toronto, tried our luck at getting a seat at Earl's.  It was absolutely packed. With suits. I had to actively stop myself from checking out every man in sight. Note to self: come back EVERY Thursday.  Needless to say there was no room whatsoever and the wait time was over an hour. So we decided to head up the street to a less-overwhelming atmosphere - to one of the many Firkin & Bulls or Pheasants or Ducks or Cows or whatever they are... one of those bars.

At first, I couldn't tell if he was nervous, or just a douche because he wouldn't look me directly in the eye, and acted a bit standoffish. But naturally once the brew kicked in, all was well in the land of dating/ liquid courage.  He was definitely a chatty Cathy which I appreciate.  An Ottawa native, I could tell right away from his tone of voice and character - he really reminded me of my many Ottawite friends and I thought how great he'd get along with them (if he was so lucky to meet them). He loves house music, traveling and hockey. The more I got to talking with him the more he reminded me of someone I knew very well. Oh yeah...that someone was ME. He was actually me; male version. It kind of freaked me right out. The things he would say, I would say. Reaction to certain situations he's been in, I would react in the same way.  We shared the same sarcasm and dry sense of humour.  The world with two La Blondes could either be a blessing or a complete fucking disaster, especially a male version.  He also drinks, like, all the the time and listed the many Vegas vacations, all-inclusive getaways, boat and cottage parties he's blacked out to and all the house concerts he will be attending this summer.  A complete frat boy - fuck, where were you in my early 20s? 

Inevitably, we got to chatting about our past/ current dating life. Again, with the help of a little liquid courage, he told me that back in December he noticed my profile and had sent me a message. I guess I must have missed it, because I never responded. Annoyed, he deleted his profile. Fast forward a couple of months, he re-signed up and there appeared my profile again for the attacking... and the rest is Date #17.

In conclusion, I rated the date a 7 of 10 (huge!) He's super fun, probably not my husband (how many times have I said that before?)  but I definitely was interested in giving this puck star another chance. At this point we had chatted for four hours straight and I had a long subway ride home ahead of me. He asked to see me again soon and I happily accepted.

He walked me to the subway stop, we hugged and went our separate ways.  I was excited at the prospect of this one, mainly because dating myself would be super cool, but I promised not to get too excited about any date I go on... You just never know. Not to mention, I'm prone to having a third date curse.

Love to get your feedback...
A bientôt mes amis!

La Blonde xx

So, you know absolutely nothing about NFL football.
But you’ve heard talk about a so called “Super Bowl” going on tonight. And like any young, hip, fun chick you’re heading to the bar with your friends to go celebrate the big game, duh. Maybe even invited to a Super Bowl Party? Even though you have no idea who’s playing, how many points a touch down is, or wait… what’s a touch down?

 I’m here to provide you with a little quick insight on how to ‘look’ like a total sports buff, and even carry a convo without looking like you’re just jumping on the pretend-football-I’m-just-here-to-check-out-all-the-hot-jocks-at-the-bar-bandwagon. Slash, the best bandwagon to be on. Ever. I love that bandwagon.

Mixed with a little liquid courage, you're sure to impress any dude (or lady!!) at tonight's Super Bowl!

So, let’s fake it ‘til we make a 43-yard touchdown pass:

Things you’ll need to know about tonight's big game:

1. 47th Super Bowl: Baltimore Ravens vs. San Francisco 49ers

2. 49ers looking for their 6th championship, Ravens looking for their 2nd

3. Super Bowl 47 is being played in New Orleans

4. Battle of the brothers: Opposing coaches are brothers – The Harbaugh brothers
(Ravens Coach John Harbaugh vs. 49ers coach Jim Harbaugh)

5. Joe Flacco – Ravens quarterback (veteran player)

6. Colin Kaepernick – 49ers quarterback (newer player)

7. A touchdown = 6 points, that team has option for an extra point (kicking the ball between the goal posts) OR option to run in the ball into the enzone= 2 points.

8. 11 players in total, 4 downs – each team has 4 “downs” or tries to make a touchdown.

9. Winning players earn $88,000 each; losing players earn $44,000 each

10. Don’t worry too much about the plays, or how really the game plays…it's so varied, no one really knows.


Fun Super Bowl Facts:

1.      Over 100M people will watch in the U.S. alone; in 2012 there were 111.3 million viewers

2.      $800 is the lowest face value of a ticket

3.      Last year, fans spent $125 million for chicken wings

4.      National Chicken Council predicts people in the U.S. will eat 1.23 billion chicken wings during Super Bowl weekend

5.      The Vince Lombardi Trophy is awarded to the winning team is sterling silver trophy created by Tiffany

6.      Halftime show preformed by Beyoncé… you go girl!!

7.      3,581,385 have attended Super Bowl games

8.       The game will be played in 185 countries and broadcast in 30 languages.

So, now that you're a pro in NFL football, go engage in a confident grid-iron chat with that good-looking jock across the bar that's been eyeballin' you all day!

Remember to occasionally yell "what kind of a pass was that!" or "Woah, did you see that hit?!" while you're at it. That always helps.

As for me, I'll be rooting for the 49ers - they seem to be doing everything that the Ravens are also doing just a little bit better. Their QB is way young, but super dynamic and has been unreal all season. Although, San Fran may be slightly more diverse and may have the advantage, the Ravens have some serious heart and passion for the sport. It will all come down to forced power vs. heart power.

See, I just faked it.... could you tell?

Enjoy yourselves!

La Blonde #18 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

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

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

Because of our completely polarized work schedules, The Coworker and I rarely co-work. However, when we do co-work, we co-flirt. A lot.  His sense of humour genuinely makes me laugh out loud which rarely happens, and suddenly, he became a husband contender.  I'm easy like that; a real sucker for a goofy guy.

The Coworker and I have been on a date already once this summer. He took me to a TFC (Toronto Football Club) game.  Naturally, soccer games and beer go hand in hand, so this made for an excellent first date. After that, more hops and ale to our lips at the nearest bar. By the end of the night, I was a keg.

I truly had a great time until my unsatisfied, I’m-living-in-a-movie-brain takes over my reality  – a quick look from across the room, and she knew he was the one. They kissed and fireworks literally exploded from their lips, harpists from around the world joined in harmony to show their appreciation for their obviously fated love and white bunnies and colourful butterflies of all sorts took over the lands. This SHOULD happen, right?? Oh, and he has to look like James Franco. 

So, in conclusion, when that ever-so-realistic situation doesn’t happen – I'm suddenly not into it. Needless to say, the harpists didn’t show up to the bar, so I wrote it off for months. Until now...

The other day during our co-working flirt fest, I knew The Coworker had a two-hour break (stalk much?) so I ask him to hang out with me during that time.  I thought we would check out the CFL festivities happening by our office.  For all of my non Canadian readers, this Sunday, Nov 25th marked the 100th anniversary of the CFL’s (Canadian Football League) Grey Cup.  Picture the NFL but with about a billion dollars less in funding. Toronto’s main streets shut down to throw a huge tailgate party for all to join. Beer? Tents? Minus 72 degree weather? How much more Canadian can you get?! We ran over.

He grabbed us beers, we laughed, chatted and slowly started to turn into human icicles. It was the best impromptu date ever.  We soon made new friends; two 6’5, 300lbs inebriated, retired Navy men who insisted on buying us rounds of tall boys.  (I love drunk people!)  Naturally, we talked about the most inappropriate things and my face hurt from laughing so much.  Or was that the frost bite?

During our liquid courage conversations, the more inebriated one of the two men asked as blatantly as possible “Honestly, how come you two aren’t dating?”  We awkwardly looked at each other, to which The Coworker replied “Ask her, I’ve been trying!”  He’s right. He has tried. After that, a slew of drunken reasons as to why we should be dating were presented:

“You’re good looking, he’s not ugly; you’re both attracted to each other; you both laugh together; you both like to drink…”   Obviously, a match created by the heavens. But, I started to think... if it was clear to two random drunken Navy men that The Coworker and I have a connection, then maybe I was the one who was seeing double?

The Coworker’s break was nearing an end. Four tall boys in and surrounded by some of the rowdiest football loving Canadians, I was having one of the funnest/ random-est nights I've ever had. Camera crews from TV networks were starting to show up to broadcast to the world just how drunk Canadians really roll. Jumping on the opportunity, the more intoxicated of our new friends thought it would be a great idea for The Coworker and I to kiss on camera to prove our love for one another. "It's a kiss cam!"  they shouted, as they cheers'd their beers. I was secretly flattered that they were so involved in our new love life.

Just when I thought we'd covered all grounds of TMI and personal space invasion, it got worse. As the peer pressure persisted, I finally gave in and consented to let The Coworker plant a big, awkward, wet one on my lips in honour of the invisible 'kiss cam'.  On national television. *And the crowd goes wild.*

Was this my realistic romance movie; a sea of cheering frat boys and flavourful beers to replace the unified harpists and colourful butterflies?

My mother would be so proud.

La Blonde xx

_ I may or may not be in love/in lust/in Ijustwannadoyou with The Wild Card. He's been my secret/not so secret crush for 6 years now, ever since we had menu-training sessions together at a part-time restaurant job.  During those 6 years, we would innocently flirt, pretty much at every time we saw each other: whether it was a sultry look from across the room or a casual run in by the back bar waiting for our drinks to be made, my heart probably skipped a beat. The Wild Card is hill-air-rious and charming; he just knows exactly what to say, when to say it.  And naturally during those 6 flirtatious years he had a girlfriend. A live-in girlfriend.  A girlfriend none of us ever really saw.  A girlfriend that no one ever really talked about.  And even though she was virtually non-existent, she inadvertently ruined my chances of being with The Wild Card… until now.

Attention, attention: Mr. Wild Card is single. S-I-N-G-L-E.  Now, I wouldn't normally make such a huge production about something like this... but this is a guy that every woman – big or small, tall or short, old or preteen – wants/ yearns/ needs to be around.  He’s like a very own magnetic force. Truly unique, truly down to earth, truly hilarious, and no matter what, TRULY... the life of the party. Every woman has probably experienced their own version of a Wild Card.  If you haven’t, I highly suggest you find one.

To trust or not to trust the Wild Card, that is the question. With his flirty nature, his free spirit and his ability to charm any woman, it only seems natural to want question his every move. Sigh, he is so unattainable, yet all I want to do is conquer him.

So, you can understand how head over feet (insert Alanis Morrisette’s jam here) I was when he messaged me the day his 6 year relationship ended… to “hangout”.  Was I a rebound? Fuck ya. Did I care? Fuck no. The skanky school girl in me pounced on the opportunity.  Years of anticipation... WELL worth it. Five times in a night worth it. (sorry, roomie!) Getting a little personal, I feel. Welcome to my blog!

Fast forward a couple months, and we are at date #5.  The Wild Card recently moved into a new condo, like a true bachelor.  During the time weren’t doing each other, there were definitely messages of doing each other, but we never actually did each other... until now.  A part of me wanted to just keep him around as a eff buddy, but my more moral/ Iwannagetmarriedandhavekidseventuallyjustloveme part of me was screaming at my skanky side to at LEAST get dinner out of it before you give up the lower nether regions, again. And that’s exactly what I got.

The Wild Card invited me over to his place for dinner.  To my surprise, he actually went all out!  He cooked up a feast – seasoned chicken breast with “bruschetta potatoes” and steamed carrots. And for dessert, frozen oranges to ‘clean the palette’ like they do in many Asian restaurants.  There were candles lit, music softly playing in the background, and the Moscato wine was deliciously chilling in the fridge. Key. To. My. Heart. Unless you don’t have a romantic bone in your body, how can a woman not fall for this?  Damn you.

As the night progressed, the conversation progressed, the music got progressively louder, I got progressively drunker, and the progressive become the inevitable fill in the blanks here.

After we filled in the blanks, it was 2 am.  Disclaimer: It’s a Tuesday night.  A work night.  We decided we needed more wine…duh. Income the Shiraz.  Income the tunes. Income the greatest moment I’ve had in a really long time: Picture this – music is blaring with all the amazing jams of the 80’s and 90’s, red wine in one hand, cigarette in the other, belting out song lyrics like we were in a karaoke bar; it was truly an episode right out of Californication.  We harmonized our voices to the tunes of Hootie and the Blowfish.

With a genuine smile on my face during the heat of a karaoke moment, I couldn’t help but think – ‘if nothing ever comes out of the Wild Card and I… I am honestly grateful to have met such a fun loving, unique, legitimate human being.  Everyone needs a Wild Card in their life. I am happy I found mine.’  With that, I put out my smoke, finished my last sip of wine, bid farewell to Pearl Jam, hopped into bed, wrapped my arms tightly around the Wild Card and braced myself for the worst hangover I had felt in months. 

Worth every throbbing moment.

La Blonde xx

_I really couldn't have asked for a better first of fifty-two dates than the one I had with The Joker. 

I met this gem (surprisingly) online. For our first live encounter, he suggested we grab a coffee and take a stroll through one of Toronto's many beautiful parks. (Slash, sure.... take me to a private wooded area, you random stranger. That's a great idea!) The area in which the park was located was unfamiliar to me, so seeing as I had nothing else planned for that day, I thought I'd go early and scope out the scene. Basically, check for cell phone signals, local police stations, emergency escape routes. You know, the usual. Planning the 'perfect' outfit is always a must, so I decided to stick with my go-to number - a pair of black shorts with a sheer, flowy peach-coloured long sleeved top and a pair of flat shoes, just in case the 5'11" height description in his online dating profile was actually closer to 5'2".

After about an hour of roaming the streets of somewhere in the Great Toronto Area, and great cellphone signal later, The Joker and I's fate was finally about to be determined. We decided to meet at a romantic subway entrance location. He was about 15 minutes early (kind of annoying, but points for being prompt?) I told him I'd be right there, but... somehow I misjudged how far a distance the subway stop actually was from me. I soon realized I was no where near our intended meeting spot. Pretty much... I was lost. A wild goose chase then set out to find my exact GPS location. In fact, The Joker actually had to hop onto the subway and head one stop west just to arrive closer to where I was. How embarrassing. To make matters worse, I was speed walking in what was one of the hottest days that Toronto had felt in forever, and my makeup was maybe dripping down my face. By the time we actually met up, my legs felt like jello and my top resembled more of dark orange colour than peach. I tried to play it off like the sweaty look was in. He asked if I was still cool with going for a walk. (He definitely wore his Nike Shox as if we were going on some kind of hike) Almost collapsing at the thought, I instead suggested we take a walk directly... to the bar. Luckily, he's Irish, so he was immediately up for a beer.

First impressions: not bad at all. He's the 'skinny athletic' type, the type where you can eat whatever, whenever and still look ab-o-licious. (I hate those people). Pretty blue eyes, and light brown hair styled in that messy, hipster way. Nice smile. He had this kind of 'I'm too cool for school' attitude about him.  But not in the overly cocky, juice-monkey, I pump iron, stick my chest out like a puffin, my shit don't stink - kind of way.  He had just enough stink. Our conversation went really well and never skipped a beat. We (I) chugged the first beer and then ordered a second without hesitation. He was a lot less Joker/ nerdy than he was via his texts. Sending me knock, knock and why did the chicken cross the road jokes gave me complete nerd vibes, but in person he's definitely got more of a jock swag. Which, I secretly love. He knew a lot about sports, we shared our disgust with the NHL's looming lockout, we had the same sarcastic sense and we were able to keep up with each others' witty banter. He also seemed genuinely into what I had to say; asked the right questions; said the right things; reacted in the right way. Overall, the interview went really well.

Earlier in the week, I fibbed a little and said I had to work super early the next day, just in case of an emergency escape, naturally. So after the second beer, aka I well deserved break the seal moment, The Joker had asked for the bill...and paid!  Check mark!  

As we walked towards the subway to part ways, we poked fun at each others' taste in music, slash he likes indie music (barf) said our goodbyes, and gave each other an awkward first date hug.  I passed out like a homeless man on the subway. The next day, I received a text message from The Joker telling me about the fun he had and how he hopes to do it again soon. Like I said, if all 51 next dates can be as good as this (second half) one, I may survive!

To be continued...........

La Blonde xx