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

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