Sure I love Carrie Underwood as much as the next person, but that song will never sound the same to me after going on a date with an ex-pastor that lives in his car.

Buckle up y’all…

I get it – it’s been a while since I wrote on here and all 7 of you readers were hungry for some new content, but would the person who planted Adam* on me please identify yourself? Because honestly given the level of unbelievable this date was – Ashton Kutcher is unfashionably late for his appearance.

It was a busy summer for me, not in regards to dating – but professionally, so once I moved back home and got settled (read: have unpacked a total of 3 t-shirts into my closet) I got to swiping, hard. Enter Adam – 6 feet 3 inches of man in a sea of online daters pushing 5’9. It would be fair to assume that I may have been just too happy to find a man tall enough to meet my standards and that I got a little trigger happy – but Adam was a babe.

Adam was also forward. Poor guy, I  probably shouldn’t air his shit on the internet but there really is no way to summarize this in a way that truly captures all that it has to offer. Shockingly, I agreed to meet Adam after he sent me the below:

Maybe it’s because it had been a while since I had been on a legitimate date – or maybe I had just crushed the last 4 episodes of Bachelor in Paradise and was hoping to be catfished by Dean Unglert, but I agreed to meet up.

I got dressed up – (well not really, for all I knew Adam was legitimately homeless) and hit the town, to my surprise Adam was not a member of the bachelor franchise but was however big, burly, and looked a lot like this guy I once tried to wheel on vacation – I was not mad.

We were both kind of nervous at the start, but fast forward to a beer or two later and your girl was comfortable – wish we could say the same for Adam. You might say Adam had a tendency to overshare when his nerves were coupled with a pint of Kilkenny.

First, I got clear on the whole living in your car thing… bottom line, he hates Ontario winters and just wanted to be somewhere warm instead (can’t fault the man). However, then it all just came pouring out of him. Adam – 38, has been divorced for 6 years and is recently out of a 5 year relationship, so to say the man was on the rebound was likely obvious to most – I however chose to believe that he was clear on what he wanted. Now it’s not totally uncommon to share your relationship history on a date, but in my experience that’s about as deep as it usually gets – not for Adam. Adam also let me know that he just left his 12 year career in the church, as a pastor (on Tinder he told me he just got out of “the service industry” – a little too vague, Adam). He also asked for my zodiac sign, and by the time I came back from the bathroom – he shared the results of his “Sagittarius and Pisces compatibility” google search – spoiler: we are sexually compatible, and I am an enigma (WHAT?). Also, if you’re wondering Adam’s current stance on the church: “It should die.”

Looking back now, how I remained at the table is actually beyond me but it’s worth it if not only for storytelling – so you’re welcome.

Another pint down and I have now learned that Adam is bipolar, struggles with depression (not just of the seasonal variety), has ADHD, is undergoing some serious family drama, is a smoker, and is really enjoying my presence. Now please don’t read any of the above as judgement  – rather that we had been on this date for maybe 40 minutes and I could be brought in as a lead consultant in a movie about his life. To be fair – I kind of asked for it, earlier when Adam asked me why I was still single I shared my highlight reel that basically exposes how I am notoriously attracted to someone that I think that I can “fix” (cue him sharing the list of his current struggles). Adam saw an open door, ran through it, and is now in love with me.

A few drinks later – and upon Adam discovering he doesn’t have his wallet (thankfully just enough cash to cover his half of the bill), I have somehow stuck around. Let me recap: divorced ex-pastor, newly single, a tendency to overshare about some really personal information, lives in his car, is hot.

After a good chat outside and a few PG-13 activities, I followed through with the promises that I made to some friends (and myself) to not go anywhere near Adam’s Camry. I said goodnight, as he had a 30-ish minute drive ahead of him to sleep in his car at his buddy’s house. We did however make plans to hang again before he hit the road the next day.

Cut to: a good morning text message where he offered to bring me a coffee. I also learned that he never made it to his destination, and instead slept in his car… in the parking lot of where we had been on a date the night before. Somehow I agreed to the coffee (again, he’s hot.)

Shortly after, Adam shows up to my house (after some convincing on his end, and me reminding him that my brother in law is a cop), without coffee… he remembered about his missing wallet after he had made the original offer and was worried that coffee was the only way to get through my door. Somehow (…hot) our second meeting turned a little more NC-17, and in the spirit of saving you all (mostly my mother) the not-so-fortunate details, I will instead offer some advice: never host a man to your home without the A/C being on – I don’t care what time of year it is, blow some cool air through your damn house at all times. Nothing gets a man’s sweat out of your eyelash extensions, literally nothing.

After an awkwardly long linger by our friend Adam – he packed up his Camry and was on his way. I was pretty clear that I would never see Adam again – you know with him moving to Mexico and what not. However if you have learned nothing about Adam by now, you should definitely not be surprised that he texted me almost immediately after he left, from the rock he perched himself on on my street for TWO HOURS. I could see it from my living room window. He felt it important to share that he would like to stay in touch, that he wears his heart on his sleeve, and was thinking of me. He also felt that this was a good time to tell me that on top of really enjoying spending time with me that he is also queer, bisexual, polyamorous, but to not worry as he was currently unattached.

Again – no judgement on who you love, or how you love, but I will close this one out by making a small request. Some things should be shared before a first date occurs – or at the very least before a second one takes place. Those things include (but are not necessarily limited to):

• you having a child
• you currently dating someone else, and that monogamy is jut not for you
• everything that Adam told me within the 5 accumulated hours we spent together

I used to think it was weird that people would share some of the above in their dating profile, that THAT was oversharing. Well to all of you that have that listed your preferences below a picture of you cuddling your puppy – thank you. We are all just out here looking for our person(s) – so lets all do ourselves a favour and lay the big stuff out on the table before anyone catches the feels (Adam).

Well friends, it certainly was not pretty – but she back.

See you in a few swipes.

 

*still protecting the names of the not-so-innocent over here.

 

 

 

 

I have a rule when it comes to online dating, I either need to go out with you immediately and know almost nothing about you (you know let the first date be real terrifying), or if you have chosen to play the long game – I am going to need to know everything, including your great grandmother’s medical history before I feel like I can say yes to a date. I need to have enough information about you to be sure I am not wasting my time and hard earned cash. Yes – I always offer to pay for my half, and I insist on paying my way for shitty dates, feel like it eliminates the need to ghost you later.

This story however falls under an exception, we were in a weird state of in between not knowing much about each other, however I knew enough to know  that he currently lived with his parents – never again will I break my own rule. Tuck in folks, I honestly can’t make this shit up.

We are going to call this guy Ian – because thanks to this glorious website Ian would be the name of a man who “Plays World of Warcraft and drinks Monster energy drinks. Still.” While I think this title suits him now – at the time I was into Ian. I used to have a long list of boxes that you had to check before I ever considered going on a date with you, but 312 dates later and the criteria pretty much whittles down to: if you can punch back at my humour – I will straight up introduce you to my parents. Ian prided himself on his amazing sense of humour, and although he didn’t seem to catch a lot of my wit through text message I decided to give it a go.

As I mentioned Ian and I had probably been talking for just over a week – and it was one of those times where you move from dating app texting, to giving this guy your phone number way too quick. Talking for a week or so is what I like to call the “neutral zone” – I haven’t decided how I feel about you yet and typically would need to drag this out to be sure you’re not going to bore me in public. Ian on the other hand caught the feels really quick, and maybe I was flattered by how quick he was to text me “good morning” every day,  or maybe it was his respectable use of Saved by the Bell gifs, or more likely I was full on intoxicated when I agreed to go on the date while we were still in the “neutral zone.”

After we settled on a date and location he proceeded to tell me how incredibly excited he was to meet me, which ladies – I know I am not alone in this feeling but I was a little turned off. Slow your role Ian you’re already shooting yourself in the foot. So in an attempt to ensure this guy didn’t show up with a ring, I not so subtly tried to explain to Ian with all of my experience in the online dating world that it’s truly better to go into these things with low expectations – better to come out pleasantly surprised if you ask me. Ian both did not catch the slight humour, but also was now incredibly terrified that I might be a man. Nonetheless the date happened.

As I’m parking outside the pub I get a text from Ian “I’m here, dressed like a homeless lumberjack” – great. Truthfully I probably read that, and was thought to myself “yes, this could be the man,” nope – definitely not the man. To be clear I am not here to judge appearances, but personal hygiene is always on the table. Picture an unshowered homeless man and slap some flannel on the guy and you have met Ian.

Ian met me with a hug, and before I could sit down he said: “So do you smoke?” Now while smoking is not necessarily a deal breaker, the urgency in which it seemed that Ian needed a cigarette was of concern.

Ian is a roofer – which after discussing with a few friends I found out that you should never* date a roofer, and after meeting Ian I would have to agree. First of all, Ian thinks he is really funny but probably couldn’t spell sarcasm if it slapped him in the face. So I literally had to explain just about every sentence after it came out of my mouth, which wasn’t boding well for Ian.

I learned a lot about the roofing profession and if you have ever had your roof done and it took longer than quoted, here’s why: “Yeah roofing, we work a long time without taking a break. Probably start at like 7am and go until 12 or 1 before we stop for lunch.” I empathized (prematurely), “then we go to lunch and order a shit ton of beer, drink a lot and decide if we’re going to go back to work.” – Ian. Then the beers came.

The first thing I noticed about Ian’s beer drinking habits, was that he doesn’t sip his beer. He takes anywhere from 1/4 to 1/3 of the thing back at a time, fitting based on how he spends his lunch hour(s). The man had 3 beers in the time it took me to finish one, and to be clear I am not an abnormally slow drinker. When beer number two came I noticed something that I wish I hadn’t. Ian was drinking the daily tap, which is usually poured fast and comes with a decent amount of head. Ian however, knew his way around a beer with some head on it. With his visibly unclean pointer finger Ian rubbed his nose from bridge to tip 3 or 4 times. When I noticed this, I swear everything slowed down as if it were right out of a movie when I immediately knew where I had seen this before; beer number one and I knew where this was going. Ian then took his newly lubed up pointer finger and dunked it into his beer and gave it a few heavy swirls to eliminate the entirely drinkable foam. I then was tasked with the important job of ensuring puke did not make an appearance at the table. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions on who was ready to vom.

I could not tell you anything else Ian said for the rest of the night as all I could focus on was the glare on his nose, the dirt under his fingernails, and his pint of beer. However when the server came back around to check on our drinks and Ian didn’t hesitate in getting a third pint (shocker), I ordered another one even though I was barely half way through my first. It was then that I decided that tonight was a night where it was going to be a slow to reach for the bill and while I was at it, I might as well make him pay for at least two drinks – felt like a fair trade for all of my suffering.

Sure enough when I saw the amount of head on Ian’s third pint I excused myself to the washroom.

Finally the date came to a close and Ian graciously picked up the entire tab without hesitation and insisted on walking me to my car, dart in hand. He then did the awkward dance of “Sooooo, what now?” which of course I understood that he wanted to know if we were going to hang out again, however the fact that he was way more comfortable asking about my smoking habits 14 seconds into the date than he was asking me out again, pushed me to make Ian sweat this one out.

“What do you mean what now?” I said.

Ian smiled and laughed, and just repeated himself “what now?”

No thank you Ian. Happy roofing.

*dear roofers, sorry but Ian has ruined the chance for you to disprove this theory.

I had to think pretty hard about which story to pull from the bag of shame to kick off my first official post, and while the title suggests a very socially relevant storyline please trust me there is no hidden agenda here. This event still makes my skin crawl, so it felt right that I try to make the same occur for all of you. So, hear me again, I am not trying to preach my views on the female empowerment movement on anyone (however, I will gladly share them with you – you probably don’t even have to ask) the title is literally a direct quote from a friend after the first time I shared this story. No accusations, no drama, I promise. This was perhaps the only occasion I did in fact let a guy know where he went wrong, even though he did not ask.

Honestly the dilemma for this to be the first post was huge, after all I did credit most of my dating distress to all those dating apps, but I did not meet this man on tinder, or bumble, or hinge, or plenty of fish. It was however a damn nightmare. It needs to be shared, if for no other reason that some single man out there will read this and never ever repeat.

I met Ted (no that is not his real name, I honestly couldn’t tell you what his real name is – but let’s just say I changed his name to protect the innocent or whatever), so I met Ted at a bar (shock) when I was living in a very small town populated mostly by rich white men who were planning their 70th trip around the sun, Ted was not one of these men. I had some friends in town and one of them, bless her heart was looking to find me some new friends in this tiny town. She came across Ted and introduced me to him, he was tall and looked normal or, so I thought. It was Halloween weekend and I was dressed like Garth Algar (cute), Ted had no costume (yes the only guy in the bar without a costume should have been red flag number one, but please be reminded I was in a bar dressed like a man from 1994 so my judgment had seen better days), and he didn’t creep me out within the first five minutes so – game on Ted.

As the night went on, I drank more, Ted drank more, and we can all probably guess where the night with Ted was headed. To spare you the least exciting details about that evening, and because I am pretty sure my mother reads this blog we will fast forward to the next morning.

I woke up with a serious hangover and view of Ted’s Old Navy cargo jeans on the floor of my bedroom, and I immediately went upstairs to check on my out of town guests and to devise a plan to remove Ted from my life forever. “Ted, thanks so much but we’re going to grab brunch and do a few lame lady activities,” and I gestured to the door. Naturally Ted invited himself to brunch and the lame lady activities. “So sorry Ted, just us gals,” and he was reluctantly on his way.

After attempting to drink off my hangover, my friends were on their way back to their respective much larger cities and I was on my way to a date on my couch with Lorelai and Rory Gilmore, when suddenly Ted texted me. How and when did I give Ted my number? Ted was at the bar across the street from my house where we had met. It turns out Ted had been there since he left my house that morning. Insert a boozy brunch and visiting two vineyards later, Ted had chosen to stay within spitting distance of my house THE*clap*WHOLE*clap*TIME*clap*, I guess he had also decided that going home to shower was not for him. Ted was wondering if he could come back over. “So sorry Ted, I’m really tired (please do not read that as a compliment) and will probably just watch some shitty TV and take a nap.” Ted then informed me that he loved shitty TV and napping, and then tried to convince me again that he should be allowed to join in on my plans. After some serious back and forth and trying to gently tell Ted no thank you, I felt like the message had been received and my life would be Ted-free forever. Cue solo Netflix binge.

I am now somewhere between sleep and awake when I hear my phone buzzing from a phone call while at the same time I see some mysterious man legs walk by my window (I lived in a very glamourous basement apartment thank you, so I could only see approaching visitors from the knees down). Old Navy cargo jeans, they were back – and he was calling me. Ted did not get the message. I was frozen. Then, Ted walked down the steps to my front door and tried to walk in uninvited. Thankfully the door was locked, which must have shocked Ted because he tried to call again. Naturally I did not answer, nor could I text my neighbours to shoo Ted off my stoop as I was seriously convinced he would see the glow of my cell phone moving through my shitty curtains, thus revealing I was both awake and home. Ted then proceeded to smoke not one, but TWO whole cigarettes on my front steps (I know this because I saw the glow of them through my shitty curtains), all while trying to call and text me incessantly. Yes, I now had a stalker and was still frozen on my couch.

Eventually Ted and his cargo jeans were on their way. I called my upstairs neighbours to ensure he wasn’t lurking elsewhere and then dialed my best male friend immediately faulting him and every man for what had just happened to me. He laughed through the entire story, apologized and then said: “Man, being a girl is hard. You can either hope the guy is not a serial killer and go back to his place or let him know where you live so he can swing by whenever he wants – all stuff I never have to think about. I don’t envy you” I guess I then let out a sigh of relief, went to bed and then woke up to respond to Ted’s 407th text message. I can’t remember exactly what was said but I am pretty sure it was something like: “Not cool Ted, you can’t just try to walk in to people’s houses whenever you want – please work hard to lose my number forever.” He apologized, and we never spoke again.

So boys, if you’re out there please do not repeat. Do not be a Ted, because being a girl is hard.*

*yes I am fully aware that women are also crazy, and that plenty of women have become incessant clingers and shown up unannounced on your doorsteps too – but this is not your blog. Bye Ted.

 

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Well, here it is. The blog I have joked about, danced around, and have been writing in my head for a prefer-not-to disclose amount of time.

A little about me, I’m 31, have a great career – that I almost always prioritize over my love life (hello excuse #1)…and have been on every single dating app there is. Truth is, I probably have some deep rooted commitment issues, but until I meet someone remotely normal – I will blame everyone else. I have in fact moved around a lot for work, which can definitely make it more difficult to commit to a person, but it’s not for a lack of effort (cue: Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, etc. which are all discreetly filed in my phone under “sports” – because honestly, this shit is a workout).

I have, to date been on anywhere between 35-700 blind dates and while I am 99% sure that I am in fact decently normal, and that there is most definitely something wrong with the guys I have chosen to spend time with, my experiences have always made for a good story.

I’m aware that there are a few blogs like this out there, and one thing I want to be so clear on is that I am not in this simply to create content. I am not going on 5 dates every week just to be able to write about them all (although I have thought about it, that’s a lot of free dinner). I have however, been entertaining my closest pals with these stories for a while now, and am currently exploring what writing does for me as a creative outlet. So whenever my future husband decides to show up, this blog will either be forced to evolve, or get cut.

I will slowly expose you to some of the more memorable dates that I have been on, and I will most definitely keep you posted on any comical ones as they come. No scheduled weekly updates yet, no real structure – let’s just see how this thing goes.

Buckle up.

“It’s Not ‘GreatCupid’ or even ‘GoodCupid’. It’s OkCupid.” – Helen Hong, comedian