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