Happy 2014!
I thought I'd start off the new year with some new news. I know that I have not blogged in a really long time and I hope to never go this long without blogging or updating my loyal followers and friends.  God, I miss blogging.

So, if you haven't already figured it out... I'm officially off the market. Yes, I said off. *cheers, applause, boos?* (But is anyone really ever off the market unless there's a metal band on it?) Isn't it awful how we fall off the (blogging) planet once we have a significant beau in the picture? I will make it my 2014 mission not to do this again. I miss you! But, I digress.  If trying to date one man every week for 52 weeks wasn't challenging enough, try being in a relationship. I forgot what it was like to be with someone, to be partnered with someone.  Better yet, be attached to one someone. Not one someone a week. I know what some of you are thinking -- being in a real relationship shouldn't feel like a challenge. It should feel natural, it should feel like you're with your best friend, it should feel like home. Right... Well, it sometimes feels like work. Like a full-time job. A job that offers great benefits in the hopes of being permanent, and not on a monthly contract.  Nevertheless, work.

Do you ever feel like just when you think you've landed the best job/man the city has to offer... another opportunity pops up? With a vengeance.  Another door to open. One with the possibility of greater benefits, more money, more excitement, more novelty, more freedom. What do you do?  It's like the old saying 'the grass is always greener'.... and sometimes the grass is so green and so full of fertilizer, it's impossible not to want to play in it.

The Tempter
I recently went on a trip to Atlanta to watch a concert with the ladies. No boys club. We jammed out, shared many laughs, awesome memories, ate way too many Steak n' Shake Burgers (have you tried those? To. Die. For) All in all, one hell of a good weekend. By the time the 3rd day rolled around, I needed a vacation. My friends and I parted ways, homeward bound on different flights. I hadn't showered all day, wasn't quite sure what I was wearing or why, just visions of my glorious queen-sized bed danced in my head -- I was exhausted. Catching WiFi areas in Heartfield-Jackson airport, I messaged my boyfriend as much as I could. Messages of hearts and smiley faces were being sent through the airwaves, I told him how much I couldn't wait to see him. And I couldn't. I people-watched as I impatiently waited for my flight to be announced. I caught the attention of an extremely, irresistibly handsome man on the other side of the waiting area. We played the eyeballing game for a while (God, I love that game) and then I had to stop because it's a stupid fucking game, and my hand was getting numb from the phone/text vibrations my boyfriend was sending me.

Fast forward what felt like seven hours, I am sitting comfortably on the plane (they put me in the exit row! Booyah for more leg room) I rested my head on the window and shut my eyes happily, thinking about how many hours sleep I could potentially get. Two? Two and a half? Just as I was mentally preparing, the seat beside me gets occupied... by none other than the hot piece of ass, eye fuck I was softly mind riding from across the wait lounge. He's so tall. And big. Did I mention he was tall and big? Some great benefits right there. I immediately knew I was screwed. Like, seriously? I wondered why God would arrange such a promising future between us. I mean, the odds? The odds. Too effing perfect. I tried ignoring his overwhelming presence and hoped he was a douche. So, I reverted to plan A: sleep. Well, that was an epic fail because not even three minutes of silence between us before he broke the ice. And two and a half hours later, I can honestly say I had the most amazing, most hilarious, most entertaining plane ride I've ever had in my life. Not one moment of silence. Tears of laughter poured down our faces. We were in stitches.  He was humble, and smart, and charming, and sporty, and cultured, and witty. And tall. I. was. screwed. I didn't want the plane ride to end, and by the looks of it, neither did he!  We had an immediate connection. We exited the plane together, went through customs together, collected our bags together and alas, arrived at the last possible stop of our short-lived relationship. The exit door.  I would proceed to walk through it, as he would continue towards his connecting flight. My one saving grace: he lives in Edmonton, and I live in Toronto. Two different cities, very, very far away from each other.

We stood at our fork in the road, not really moving or knowing what to do; up until this point we had been besties for past three hours. I leaned in for a friendly hug, thanked him for the many laughs and turned away.

"It's really too bad you don't live in Edmonton, I would totally have asked you out on a date!" I heard him holler.

I scrunched my nose, banged my foot on the ground, almost in a pout.  I replied back "that's not fair!"
Because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. Why was I presented to, in the most random fashion, a man whom with I clearly had a connection, a bond, a physical attraction to only to have it taken away from me?  Even though nothing would have come of it, with provinces between us, why did it happen? Why did I meet him? Why did we connect so perfectly? What was the point of our three-hour coincidence? Was it a coincidence?
I would have been happier if he was a douche.

My mind was wandering.  I always think about the people I meet, under the circumstances I meet them in and why I meet them. I could be over analyzing (no shock there) but I'm still trying to figure this one out. I made my way through the exit door, greeted by a crowd of people eager to see their loved ones come home from their destinations. And I made my way towards my boyfriend eagerly awaiting me. I kissed him happily and told him I missed him, because I did.  We drove away from the airport, and he asked how my trip was. I told him about all the amazing people I met, not mentioning Edmonton. It wasn't worth it.

People choose their partner or their job based on different criteria that best suits their needs: money, hours, benefits, stability, location. Some people don't really have a choice. But, I have choice. Although Edmonton seemed like a great opportunity, with many great benefits, exciting and new...he reminds me of the part-time waitress job I had when I was 14 -- fun but expendable.

He's nothing compared to the long-term permanent position I've committed myself to. Complete with a benefit package that kills the competition.

Ps. It's THE Ex. :)

La Blonde xx

_Break ups are never easy. We’ve all had them, dread going through them, find new ways to do them. No one enjoys adding another ex boyfriend or ex girlfriend to their belts. Some go over smoothly, others not so much. I’ve narrowed it down to the three most probable break up scenarios: Scenario 1: Couple breaks up mutually and respectfully, both go their separate way. The preferred, yet rarest of the scenarios.

Scenario 2: Couple hates each others fucking guts, curse the day they were born, cast voodoo spells on their soul, pray to the Lord they never see that person again. Awful, yet the super popular option.

Scenario 3: Couple breaks up, one of the two moves on to the next, gets married, has kids, buys an SUV while the other is still trying to find “the one” in the clubs, bars, at the gym and often questions — what the f just happened. Why am I still alone?

Yeah, my accuracy kills me too.

In Swoops Miss Late Twenties
I’m currently in a state of case scenario numero three. I’ve been thinking a lot of (one of) my ex boyfriends; (for those of you who are following this blog, it's not THE Ex, it's yet another one... Jesus, clearly, I need to find fresh meat) He was my best friend, we loved each other for years and years, he wanted to settle down with me and made that very clear. At the time, him being a number of years older, and I, still in a Girls Gone Wild stage, was nowhere near ready to commit. Naturally, in swoops Miss Late Twenties ready and willing and captures my ex boyfriend heart right from under my nose! Ugh. Now, I numbingly click through all of their happy, loving, joyous wedding pics on Facebook making me more and more nauseous with every click. As painful as it is to go through all 288 pictures of his “Us” album, seventeen times, I am genuinely happy that he had found just that… happiness. But even though we hadn’t dated in years, hadn’t spoken in years, I can’t help but think… “damn, that could have been me!”

Was I crazy to think that way? Maybe. Was I in denial? Probably. But months have gone by since they’ve tied the the knot and suddenly all these questions came rushing through me — does he ever think about me? Is his wife anything like me? When did he stop loving me, and start loving her? We were such good friends, we had so much in common, and truthfully I miss everything about him. So, can’t I just message him? What’s the harm in contacting him? Maybe I should express how I truly feel… I was young, and stupid, but I still care about you and I’m ready?

So, I thought: when it is acceptable to contact an ex?

Big and Carrie – Sex and The City Situation
The more I thought about it, the more I thought about Mr. Big and Carrie’s relationship à la Sex and The City. Mr. Big was ‘happily’ married to Nadia until he slept with Carrie and then, well, all hell broke loose, but in the end they lived happily ever after. In my head, writing my ex an email was a brilliant idea. Hey, if he was comfortable in his relationship with his new wife, then my little email shouldn’t shake things too much, right?

So, I began drafting the email… a flood of emotions, a couple tears shed and things left unsaid began being said. Respectfully, I didn’t write anything about getting back together, more of a ‘I hope you’re well, I miss you, congratulations, why didn’t you wait for me? I’m not a rave loving, beer guzzling teenager anymore. I’ve changed, I hope to see you one day.’ style email. That’s fair, no? I was satisfied with my email, was ready to press send, when I thought maybe I’d get a second opinion.

What Are Friends For, Right?
Well, I definitely got several second opinions and in a nut shell, I got called selfish, a home wrecker, insane, a waste of time, and the best piece of advice from my best friend: ‘who the hell do you think you are? He’s married and he probably never thinks about you!’ Harsh but point taken. All I wanted to do was express unexpressed emotions, have a YOLO moment, tell a married ex boyfriend how I feel and if it works to my favour, fabulous. And if it didn’t, well, at least I said what I needed to say, chapter closed. Moving on. In the end, I decided against writing the email. I wonder if there are other women in the same inflatable boat as I am. I wonder if the shoe were on the other foot and a man I once dated sent me an email of repressed emotions, how I would react? Flattered? Annoyed? Happy? Would I leave my current man for him?

All I can bank on now is the ‘Power of the Secret’ to magically bring us together (hopefully in a situation with a lot of liquid courage) and I will have the chance at telling him just how I feel. For now, I’ll settle for creeping his recently tagged pics on Facebook and hoping that one day when both of our little green online lights come on that he’ll message me a simple hello.

You were one of the best men in my life. You deserve nothing but the best.
Missing you like crazy. 143.

La Blonde xx

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

_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’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

_So, I read over my blogs today and realized that on a couple of occasions I mention the possibility of a repeat date…However, I have not repeated a single date yet.  What happened, you ponder?  Here’s a brief update as to where things stand/ went wrong with my last 6 dates.

Date #1 – The Joker
The Joker is kind of a joke.  We messaged each other for a few days after our date, even had plans to meet again!  That week, I went to Ottawa for a couple of days and we stayed out of touch during that time, but I told him I'd be in touch when I got back.  Upon my return, I messaged him something casual, just to ask how he was doing... and I got this,  “Hey, I’m good. So we're meeting with Mat and Chris first right?”   Ummm. Wrong girl? Clearly it was, clearly I wasn’t going to find out.  Peace!


Date #2 – THE Ex
He’s still around, he’s still wonderful, he’s still in love… I’m still confused. 

Date #3 – The Ghost
Well, he's not haunting my dreams and I never heard anything from him. Ever. Not shocking since ‘I’m easy’. Moron.

Date #4 – The Imposter
He clearly got the hint when I let him know (as politely as possible) that I just wasn’t into him. I checked to see if he was still online shortly after that… he wasn’t.

Date #5 – The Wild Card
Oh, wild card… We chat pretty regularly; all the while, he’s been trying to meet up with me again for dinner and to fill in the blanks.  Many unsuccessful attempts. I’m secretly losing interest. You can only tease a person for so long. But, I probably love you.

Date #6 – The Over-Texter
Of all the dates I’ve had, this one was kind of a disappointment. We had arranged to meet up this past Saturday at a pool hall not far from his place. I was going with my friends, he was going to come with his friends, again another fun, casual rendez-vous. So Saturday night rolls around and as time went on, no message, no call, no OT. Hmmm. I waited a little longer...nothing. So I got drunk, slurred my thoughts and had a great night.  1:41 am, I get this:

“Hey listen I’m sorry something happened with my nephew and we all went out to Guelph tonight… my phone died and I just got it now! I’m sorry!”

To believe or not to believe, that is the question.  The next day I got a slew of apology messages. Maybe something really was wrong with his nephew?  Up until last night, we’ve been casually chatting but with no real mentions of meeting up again. NEXT. I think the OT finally lost things to type about.

Date #7 – FML
 
So, there you have it. No repeats. And kind of a blessing.
Thanks all for being a part of my dysfunctional journey. Stayed tuned for more dysfunction!

La Blonde xx

 

I saw this instagramed Drake quote and wanted to die.  Because it is so damn true.  Leave it to the Torontonian...

The reason I capitalize THE in “THE” ex is because he is just that; the one ex who always stuck around. The one who was only a call away no matter what time you needed him, the one who wants to meet up with you for no reason at all just to see your pretty face, the one who would change his plans just to accommodate yours, the one you just can’t seem to keep away from.  

Some BG for you: THE ex and I dated for five years when we were 17 years old.  Like many teen relationships, we had our share of make ups and break ups and 'I hate you/ I love you' moments. But ever since the official break up –  we’ve never really stayed out of touch.  I promise, I haven’t touched him since 2009, and yet somehow he is still in love with me. I know this because he recently professed his undying love. Le sigh. 

On paper, THE ex is perfect. He's has a very nice, supportive family, a good stable job, he’s cute, attractive, smart, funny, drives a nice car (I'm not a gold digger but come on, this help!), loyal friends, he's a Pisces (fact: Pisces and Scorpio are a match made by the stars, they go together like white on rice) he has a great head on his shoulders, and a positive attitude on life. Let’s just say my friends like him more than they like me.

Overall, he is the perfect catch.  Easy ladies, don't get too excited.  

So what’s my problem?  I know what you're going to say:  people are exes for a reason… but is it possible we just dated when we were too young?  He wanted to settle down at the age of 19. Meanwhile, I wanted to go to Vegas and star on Girls Gone Wild.  We were just on two different pages.  Obviously now, my thoughts have changed. (Shit, I would hope so!) I want a husband.  I want a family.  Meanwhile, I hate dating.  So, what do I have to lose, should just I give us another chance?  We've both dated other people, but yet, somehow we seem to find our way back to each other. Shouldn’t that be enough?  All of these questions run through my brain, literally every second.  It’s quite frustrating. But, again, we did break up for a reason. I seriously do not know what to do. Another sigh.

The date: It went flawlessly. We both love to fish and there's this great little spot up north we used to go to many times.  He came to pick me up, with my usual Timmy's order waiting for me in the cup holder, and away we went... except it rained the entire time, like torrential rains.  (Ironically) He had the keys to his best friend's cottage which is just up the road from the infamous fishing spot. We decided to nestle in there. THE ex packed the cutest little snacks for our day trip; Friulano cheese, crackers, Italian green olives, spicy salami and two bottles of red wine. Talk about the key to a woman’s heart??  For hours, we sat on the couch, talked, drank and listened to the rain.  We chatted about our lives, our future, our goals, everything.  All the while, as the wine was flowing, I had to actively stop myself from leaning over and planting the biggest kiss on his, third sigh, great lips.  I just don’t want to go there yet, not until I’m a million per cent sure. Because if we date, we are getting married. No questions. 

That was the date. This is my dilemma. What’s my problem? Why can’t I commit?  It’s not like I’ve foundanyone better in all of the years we’ve broken up. What am I afraid of? On this journey, there are still another 50 dates to go. Is it possible to meet the man of my 'dreams'?  Or is my love already waiting for me with my medium two milk, one sweetner Tim's order in hand?  

Please stick around for the ride!  I'd love to hear what you all think about my love dilemma, or, my blantanly obvious non love dilemma.

Either way, stay tuned to find out more about who the eff I'm going to end up with.

La Blonde xx