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

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

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

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

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

Wish us luck!

The Roommate xo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La Blonde xx

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 admire La Blonde for many things. Her zest for life, her animated drunk ramblings, her ability to work out twice in one day, her confidence, but most importantly, I admire her for embarking on this year-long dating project.

Trust me, I’ve done my fair share of dating with a lot of help of… ugh, the online dating world. I met lots of great guys and I even found the diamond in the rough once. For a split second, he was my future husband/father of our beautiful trilingual children. Well, I am single at this very moment, so…

OK, I digress, what I want to verbalize is that I don’t think I could ever, in a million years, take on this kind of blog project and so I admire La Blonde for that… for communicating with guys on the daily. Yeah, it may sound easy (and even fun!) but it can be draining. Remember, I am around to experience all of the date planning with her, so I know all about the hot bodies, the douchebags, the losers who copy and paste stupid messages to her… I’m around for every single laugh and creepy vibe she encounters.

As her roommate, her support, her side-kick in this whole thing, I try to be the voice of reason, I try to see things on a neutral level… i.e. Me, “Are you waiting hours before texting back!? TEXT HIM NOW! No point in playing the game.” You know, the usual.

I am thoroughly enjoying being a spectator of this whole shenanigan. I have to give props to La Blonde on this one as many people would only TALK about doing something (that takes a lot of dedication) like this but she is actually DOING it (you go, girl!).

AND! I am in the process of setting her up on a date with one of my guy friends who recently broke things off with a girl. Question is… what if my matchmaking skills suck and this date ends horribly? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter because she will have 40 or so dates left to go on!

Kisses,

The Roommate xo