So. I blogged once. I said I would give feedback after every date but clearly I’ve been a major slacker in that department. I would love to blame my busy job, my love life or my extra-curricular activities, but really, I can only blame myself. La Blonde does such a great job at recounting her dating adventures, it’s hard to even add to it.

Here’s what I think so far:



Ultimately, I would LOVE if La Blonde could just find a way to be happily ever after with The Ex.
MAAAAN, this guy would do anything for La Blonde. He plans the cutest little dates and surprises her in
the most amazing ways. But alas, the heart wants what the heart wants.

The Russian just scared me. I told her to get the hell outta there ASAP and thankfully she did. This blog is
a funny one but if I can sober things up for a minute, it’s to warn ladies (and I guess guys too) out there to watch for the online dating creeps. I know it’s common knowledge but some people can be easily swayed to “meeting up for tea at his place”. Ew. Creep.

Dating colleagues can be tricky, but every time La Blonde mentioned The Coworker and how awesome
their dates had been, I only felt positive outcomes. They had some fun times, but it fizzled. And this just
reminded me to ask her what the status is on their work sitsh.

I’m happy it didn’t work out with The Friendly Giant because even though he seemed like a charming
man on the outside, I think he was anything but really. Plus, their date turned into a drinking at the
condo (read: I slept a mere 2 hours that night)… thanks, La Blonde, thanks. Love you!

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST… The Z Man. Well, where to begin with this one. I’m partly responsible for
this whole shenanigan. A friend of my co-worker (Z Man’s ex) saw the link to the blog and the rest is
history. Just because of the way this date came about was so out of left field, I thought to myself, “Shit,
maybe this is where the blog ends. Maybe Z Man is the one.” (my first thought was, “wtf, this is just a
Life 101: don’t take anyone up on their drama.” But anyway, La Blonde went on a few great dates with
him and had nothing but (mostly) positive things to say, but still… it was not meant to be.

So then came date #17 with The Hockey Player… who really, I have nothing to say about.

Stay tuned. Date #18 is right around the corner! A gym date! Sweat is always sexy....

As for me, since the last time I blogged, I fell in love. Hard. Yeah…….. no good stories on my end! I’ll be
leaving AAALLL that juicy stuff to La Blonde.

The Roommate xo

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

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

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