Money Can't Buy Me Love

The date I am about to describe to you almost makes me uncomfortable just writing about it so I hope you can appreciate JUST how uncomfortable it was to experience it live and in color.

I was set up with a man who we will call "Hefner" as this was the name given by the very observant homeless man who walked us from the restaurant to the car. In 3 short blocks this severely intoxicated man was able to accurately peg my date's personality.

We had agreed to meet outside his posh downtown condo and walk 3 blocks to a near by wine bar. As I pull up in my modest, fuel efficient vehicle I see a young man in a dapper suit waiting on the street corner. As he approaches to greet me I take note of his Michael Buble shuffle - fit for a dance floor - not a street corner. He greets me with a wink and a "Good evening Doll". I immediately begin to disengage. Doll? When did I become your Doll? Between having never met you and shaking your hand? He then puts out his arm inviting me to grab his and stroll merrily towards the restaurant. I hesitate, link arms awkwardly for 37 seconds then make up an excuse to release my arm. I have an itch - the beginning of the rash he was about to give me perhaps?

By the time we reach the restaurant I am well versed in JUST how important he is. After all, he is a wildly successful energy trader who owns 7 houses. As we are getting seated, he puts in a request to have the lights dimmed. I can feel the rash developing. We sit down and take a glance at the menu. Hoping this would be a one glass wonder, I assertively state I will only have a glass of wine. He tells the server we will have a bottle, asks for his suggestion and then orders the opposite. When the wine arrives, he arrogantly swirls it around, sniffs and analyzes and declares he is not quite satisfied but will keep the bottle. He winks again and declares he would like to make a toast "To the beginning of a wonderful blind date". I vomit and then cheers this cheese ball.

"Hefner" made great attempts at getting to know me, but unfortunately every question he asked he was just so eager to answer for himself that there was little room to interrupt. I begin to give him one word answers as that's all I could squeeze in. He acknowledges this and says (wink) "I am sorry, its not my intention to interrupt you, I am not that type of guy. I mean look at me, I wear great suits to work everyday and may be very successful but I am a very laid back, considerate guy." Are you? At this point, I tried very hard to manifest the chandelier above my head to fall down and violently take my life. It didn't budge so I skip out to the washroom. Why I didn't just keep walking is beyond me. I went back for more!

I returned to the table and decided I was going to treat the situation similarly to the way you would when encountering a bear in the wild. I decided to disengage entirely and play dead. Things took a turn for the worse as this only enticed him to try harder. As we were sitting there in silence with nothing but a terrible techno song pounding in the background he says "I just love this jam!". Jam, as in song? Followed by "Speaking of jam, what is your favorite kind?". I give him one word back, "Strawberry" I say. He sneaks out to the bathroom. While he is away the server approaches with a tray of mini strawberry jams. He looks at me with pity, shrugs his shoulders and walks away. When "Hefner" returns he winks again and tells me that he made special arrangements to get me "all the strawberries in the house" and that he "Ok'd it to have them slipped in my purse before we leave." I acknowledge his odd effort and decline the offer to steal 7 jars of jam from a classy establishment. He also proposed we make arrangements to have our table, yes WHOLE table, moved outside to the court yard so we could "enjoy our wine under the moon light". Oh dear god. Fear not, I declined. With the double rejection, he begins to try harder!

He starts to ask me about my family and quickly cuts me off to, of course, tell me about his. He decides he'd like to "sing me a few lines of a special song". I grip my seat and tell him he should not do that. I get fairly adamant about it but nothing stops this tenor. Yes folks, he began to sing "Young at heart" at the table, loud enough for our neighbours to hear. He says "Its the only accurate way to describe my parents" and then requests that we toast his mother and father. WTF?! I don't even know your last name let alone your mother and father. I declare that it is time for me to go. He takes out his money clip, waves his credit card in the air to get our poor servers attention, pushes his chair back and stands up. I am hoping he is about to declare the obvious (TERRIBLE MATCH) but no, he is a getting up to ask me to dance -in the middle of a crowded restaurant - with techno music playing in the background. Thank you Ryan Gossling, but this is not the Notebook. This is actually the worst date of my life, so please, please sit down. I got up and walked past him and hit the ladies room again. I give myself a pep talk and reminded myself that there are only a few more minutes left of this torture.

As we are leaving the restaurant a lovely old man named Clayton Wolf approached us. He was missing 97% of his teeth and slurred the majority of his words but managed to create dialogue. This dialogue being the best conversation I had all night. As "Hefner" tried to encourage the bum to leave us, I encouraged him to stay for the 3 block walk. And so he did. Mid way he stopped, swayed, turned to me and said "Who is this idiot? Hugh Hefner??" and points to the 'dapper' man beside me. I crack up and look around me for cameras. I thank "Hefner" for the glass of wine and bid him farewell, shake Clayton's hand and thank HIM for an enjoyable date.

I hop into my car and begin to pull out when Clayton bangs on my window. Expecting him to ask for some change, he simply looks at me with his glossy, tired eyes, he winks and says "Your platinum babe".

I'd like a divorce...

I am now clear on what it would feel like to be in a less then satisfactory marriage to a man. ‘Ken’ and I went directly from date 3 to common law status. This of course, was not my idea.


Date 1-3 were wonderful. Here he was, a handsome, successful, small town boy with funny and enduring quirks. He was affectionate beyond description and this spoke right too my piscean heart. Later on I would learn that this was his only redeeming quality.


Date 4 took a bit of a turn. We had a date night planned. He mentioned he would be late. What he didn’t mention is that he would arrive disheveled, reeking of a combination or Whiskey, bug repellent and body odor with no clean attire to change into. When he arrived I greeted him to help him carry his numerous unorganized, variety of bags up to my apartment. Immediately he declares he needs a shower and I echoed his declaration. He also casually mentioned he needed to wash his clothes as he was getting picked up at 6am for another sporting event tournament. You are sleeping over? Puzzled, I put his clothes in the laundry all the while curious as to what he would put on post shower. Oh, that was not a concern for this man. He decided it was perfectly normal to kick back in his ginch for the remainder of the evening. I found his un-natural ability to be completely comfortable around me to be somewhat enduring. I sure should not have shared that vibe, however.

Fast forward 2 short days. I receive a 5 minute warning that he is back to see me post sporting event again. I give him the benefit of the doubt that he will arrive in better shape then last time. WRONG! Same scent oozing from his pours. How this man ever had hand eye coordination on the field after consuming such a quantity of booze is truly beyond me. I spot a change of clothes and feel relieved. I also spot women's deodorant and feel confused. Shortly after arrival I spot him with his head in my fridge. I acknowledge and he says he is searching for snacks. I cheffed up some 'grub' and we settled in for a movie. Within minutes I had a dead rhinoceros on my lap. So deep into drunk REM sleep that the man cannot be woken. I blast music, vacuum, gab on the phone and nothing. So I leave him, continue on with my date with myself and eventually take myself to bed.

I wake up to a naked beast lying next to me who claims he has been up all night with a particular bowel disturbance. How romantic? He requests to be left in bed for the day. I leave for work and hear no further from him throughout the day aside from a text asking where I hide my bathroom tissue. At this point his once enduring qualities were on trial.

I return to a dehydrated human who's sex appeal was slowly dwindling. This dwindle picked up quite the pace. It appeared as though he had moved in. I got the sense that he was not going home. I admit, I am majorly faulted for giving people too many chances and empathy usually gets the best of me. This is the point I should have taken the man to his home that may or may not exist. However, my faults got the best of me and I didn't kick him out. No, no, I waited 2 more sleeps! 2 more baffling days of a common law relationship. He kicked it in ginch on the couch and now and then I would interrupt him with his hands scratching his man parts. He continued to battle his bowel disturbance's...in my wee one bedroom condo. He ate dinner out of a pot and had to be told to do the dishes. I found dirty socks between the couch cushions and a pair of his underwear behind the bathroom door. He made me privy to the fact that the take out we ate gave him horrendous gas. So bad that at times I had to leave the room. Is this what it is like after a few years of marriage?! One thing was for sure, I could now empathize with those nagging wives out there who's sex life no longer existed in their marriage. I HEAR YOU LADIES!

This morning I evicted my live in boyfriend.

As I watched 'Ken' enter the doors of his apartment, I felt peace. There was nothing to hide with this man. If this is what showed up in the first 4 dates, then it can only get worse from here. I pulled out of his visitor parking with confidence. I am filing for divorce for irreconcilable differences.

A Night of Mansomnia...

A few successful dates have occurred with 'Ken' and most recently this Man of men, spent the night amongst my bamboo sheets. It was more of a sleep-less sleepover in my opinion. No, no - no tangling in these sheets occurred. In fact would you believe me if I told you that this rhinoceros sized stud was more of a Koala bear in bed then ME. Let me remind you that my layer is of size…and I am NOT. At one point around 2:37am I began to slip off the edge as ‘Ken’ had cuddled his way right on top of my pillows. Luckily his tentacle like arms had a solid grip and he must have sensed the slip and gripped tighter.

Part of the reason I lay awake for 6 of the 8 hours spent in bed last night, was due to the fact that my core temperature was reflective of the Sahara desert as I used a 6’3 male as my quilt. The other reason is that I have some sort of a psychological barrier built up around the ability to get shut eye with an attractive unfamiliar man in arms reach. Unfortunately I believe this is a reaction to the fact that it has been sometime since I shared space with a male. The sad truth. Here is how it all goes down:

• 1st sleepless hour goes by and I begin to notice the insomnia taking over
• 1:45am - I begin to really stress. I have an 8am meeting and I remember I am running very low on under eye concealer.
• 2:20am - begin to feel rage for the man next to me who is on the brink of snoring. Snoring makes me SNAP
• 2:50am - I wake the snoring man up to declare to him that I am STILL wide awake.
• 2:51am - the man reacts gently, kindly, compassionately with a sweet ‘I know babe’ and my rage immediately disappears. Love is in the air again
• 3:30am - I begin to tear up and formulate my ‘calling in sick’ phone call. Then I ingest 1 gravol.
• 3:50am - I ingest a 2nd gravol
• 4:30am - after waffling between rage, grogginess and depression my body finally surrenders to the sedatives and I pass out.
• 6:30am - alarm goes off, I sneak out of bed careful not to disturb the sleeping giant, put coffee on, try to squeeze the last drops out of my tube of concealer, and then finally just cut open the tube and scrape the inside to cake over my large black bags under these eyes.

Next sleepover I am hoping to get 3 hours instead of 2. I figure if I push on through, it can only get easier from here. That is, if Ken sticks around long enough to break the cycle of mansomnia.

...In a Barbie World

Live sporting events are back on as far as date options go! A real success this was!


A long over due blind date occurred last night. ‘Ken’ (for his uncanny resemblance to Barbie and KEN’) finally became real the other night. I virtually met this man 2 years ago when I first fired up the online dating profile. We chatted, but failed to unite in person. Our paths crossed again. At first I was concerned that he was STILL single and then quickly remembered that I too, am STILL single so I invited the banter.

Our first ‘meeting’ - a real live baseball game… with his FAMILY?! Oh, no big deal I can handle this. I primp myself up in sexy yet athletic evening wear and venture off to a small town to enjoy a local game. All was well right up until ‘Ken’ asked if I wanted a hot dog. I tensed up and feared the worst. Past experiences have left me with the overwhelming sense of abandonment. Would he ever return from the concession? Or would I be left lonesome, sitting yet again with the opposing teams fans?

'Ken' returned. At this very point I considered the date a success. All the rest was icing on the cake. He continued to charm me with his stunning blue eyes, chivalrous behaviour, inquisitive persona and manly stature. Second date is scheduled and I am in charge of planning it. All I know is it will be something 'active'. Let's see what those man hands are made of 'Ken'! Wink wink!

I have had a re-lapse...

Admitting it is the first step...

Who could it be? Man child? Ferris Bueller? Hockey guy? Cheese guy? Zeus?

"Blue eyes" struck the heart string...again!

While out gallivanting at a large outdoor festival in the city, 2 date run ins occur. First I see Hockey Guy. I spot, eyes meet, he approaches, we embrace and I continue on. Re-lapse free! Very impressed with myself, I acknowledge how far I have come in my dating world. This lasted about 38 minutes until the next sighting occur ed.

After a couple drinks in a crowded bar I decide to pull up a stool and people watch. Being quite the scene, I was enjoying a good chuckle glancing around at the drunken debauchery that is unfolding around me. All was well until MY blue eyes crossed paths with a pair of wildly familiar, striking blue eyes...and at that very point my stomach dropped into my right cowboy boot.

"Blue Eyes" was sharing an evening at this very same establishment. I immediately approach him. He awkwardly exchange salutations and stare at each other a few short moments. We wish each other well and carry on... I am overwhelmed with a desire to cuddle with this man once again.

I leave shortly after this encounter as it shocked me right into sobriety. I must contact 'Blue Eyes' but HOW?! I deleted his digits and his friend status on FB. Ah, nothing gets in the way of JiJi striking a match. I send him a FB message as we do not have to be friends for that to happen. I make it short and sweet...He responds, I respond, he responds, I respond, he responds, I respond and now I have a date with 'Blue Eyes' next Wednesday. Whether or not this is a terrific or terrifically horrible idea is up to the universe at this point.

In this case, I know 'Iron Fist' would NOT be proud, but sometimes one must stray from the strategic plan and take risks in order to grow the business. And this, my friends, is definitely a risk. To be continued a week today!

Never date a man that quotes Nickelback lyrics...

I am almost ashamed to admit this one.

We will call this man "Hollywood" simply because he has this word TATTOOED ACROSS HIS BACK! This should have been my first clue to turn the other direction, but nope, I just had to see for myself.

"Hollywood" was a blind online date. After our first few emails were exchanged he decided to add me to facebook. A standard blind date move. Curious, as his pictures were very intriguing, I accept his friend request. I begin to creep and notice some professional modelling photos. I inquire. This man declares he was Mr.June in a national bachelor calendar. Oh. dear. god. I creep more and discover several pictures of this man with his face rammed between 2 large busted, Pam Anderson look-a-likes. We are a match! True compatibility! Just my style.... oh wait! My overall assessment at this point is: Legit Douche Bag. He puts out the date invite, I decline stating that we are just too 'different'.

A few weeks later I get a phone call from "Hollywood" almost demanding I give him a shot and stop judging him from his facebook page. The hopelessness in me gives in. You're right "Hollywood" - maybe I AM being judgemental! Date 1 takes place and he managed to appear more 'jock' and way less 'loser'. Date 2 occurs and my previous assessments proves accurate - LEGIT Douche Bag. He picked me up in his oversize truck and took me to lunch where he wore his white sunglasses the entire meal while in the shade. We then drove down to the park for a walk. During the ride, he rolled back the sunroof, dropped the windows and CRANKED a mix of Usher, Nickelback and Lil' Wayne at an obnoxious level. This is when I almost wished death upon myself. During the walk I noticed him staring for several minutes at a beautiful women nearby. I acknowledge this lengthy gaze and he declares that he has 'an eye for seeking out potential models and THIS girl should be a model'. Awesome... I contemplate regurgitating my frozen yogurt at this very moment but decide it was the only thing giving me pleasure so I keep it in. Thank baby Jesus that the storm clouds rolled in and tragically we had to end our date prematurely.

"Hollywood" is seeking additional dates, all the while posting new and improved pictures of himself in wife beaters surrounded by trashy women. Fear not...all offers will be declined from this point onward.

A doozy of a date...

There are those that are Monday- Thursday dates and those, that twitterpate on date #1, that skip right to weekend dates. Saturday night is top date real estate. This prime time slot goes to worthy contestants only. Up until Saturday night at 845pm, “Slick” had qualified as a worthy contestant. This fellow blew my socks off on our first mid-week date. Doors were held, bills were paid, seats were tucked in, jackets were assisted on, and follow up was outstanding. He was handsome, successful, charming… and an arrogant asshole! Who knew!

To set the scene, we are in a very popular modern Indian Fusion restaurant in the heart of the city. Its Saturday night, the music is loud but not loud enough to cover the epic argument that is about to go down. Next to our wee table is a pleasant older couple, tourists who happen to fall upon this dynamite establishment. My heart goes to them for destroying there experience.

We have appies, and all seems well aside from “Slick’s” salesman tendencies beginning to ooze out his pours. Is the truth slowly unveiling itself to me? We begin on the discussion of our past travels. How cliché? (Ease up – it was the second date!) We land on a country we both had visited. A tranquil country focused on sustainability, Eco tourism, and preserving their land and culture. “Slick” makes it known that he was intending to invest his overflowing pockets in a high rise on the beach. He asks my opinion and I gently state that I fancy the idea of a small cabin in a quaint tucked away town. He digs for my reasons so I gently share with him that I would have a hard time investing in a high rise as I wouldn’t feel good contributing to a project in a town now full of local prostitutes and drug dealers their to keep the high rise dwellers entertained. Please keep in mind that I presented my opinion in the utmost gentle way sure to not offend him. He snaps and says (air quotes) “I really (sarcasm) appreciate your HIPPY mentality, but my outlook is if shits going to happen anyways, I may as well be a part of it!” He curses under his breath, shakes his head and drops his fork.

What an interesting outlook I think to myself. At first I burst into laughter. Did he JUST say “Hippy mentality”? So I ask him to explain a little further what exactly did he mean by this. His response: “Well, like I bet you recycle and stuff! You know, dead beat hippy mentality? ” Oh shoot! My bad, I am sorry for caring about this precious earth we live upon, but even further, what does recycling even have to do with this conversation? Did you just say DEAD BEAT? Guns are now A-BLAZIN! This is where I paused and asked myself, does this deserve me to quiet down and keep this rip-roaring argument on the low-down or do I unleash and make it known that this man has just ruined any chance he had? I raised my voice. I strike back and question his intriguing outlook and bring up topics such as prostitution, slavery, and any other controversial topics that are ‘happening’ in the world that perhaps he “may as well be a part of”. He retaliates then apologizes and we continue eating our chicken vindaloo in complete silence. Date wraps up, he takes me home and requests another date?!

Hate to tell you “Slick” but your sales-man tactics worked…once! Your true colors are bright and blinding. Good luck destroying the earth and your dreams of ever having a relationship.

On the road again...

It is 7:20pm and in approximately 40 minutes I will be meeting a man, perhaps a boy, none the less a complete stranger for a drink. 3 phone calls, 7 texts and 1 email leave me to beleive the following:

- sweet and reliable: anytime he said he would call, he called!
- a bit of a redneck: 2 out of 5 pictures I saw this man/boy was wearing cowboy attire. He also told me he deepfried a turkey this weekend for no special occasion. No, its not thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter for that matter. I wonder if he drinks almond milk and cooks organic bran muffins on Saturday nights like me?!?

Time is ticking and I have yet to pick out an outfit. I will report back upon my return.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race...to Singledom

We can add this blog to the 'Lessons Learned' pile:

When a man (or a boy) tells you he doesn't want a relationship at this point in his life, get out immediately. Seems easy enough! Not for this girl. Perhaps I got caught up in his God-like body, but I do believe this one wasn't ENTIRELY my fault.

This man was a connection through a friend. Let's call him Zeus. We hung out, did puzzles, went on adventures, and alas - hung out naked. BIG MISTAKE! Well, not entirely a mistake as this man's God-like body was also almost Holy in the bedroom.

After the first incident I declared the territory unsafe. I am ready for love and my brain is NOT conducive to naked hang outs only. I learned this from 'man-child' back in 09'. So his words were 'Nor am I, lets just take it slow and steady'.

If a man ever says this term 'slow and steady' seek a more detailed description. Cause if it really means 'I will lead you to believe that we are just taking things slow when in actual fact all I want is to spend quality skin to skin contact time between the sheets of your king size, pillow top, Euro touch, individual coil mattress and absolutely NOTHING else.' I would hate to see you in the same situation as me - naked, haggard and alone nursing a pounding, red wine headache all the while, slightly broken hearted.

Is food a replacement of love?

I have gotten out of control. Just a reminder, I am a single woman in my late twenties. Saturday night consisted of me making 4 dozen bran muffins, a vat of soup and cookies. I cooked until 12:30 am. I even declined offers to go OUT and consume a few beverages with crowds of other young, likely single, human beings. The odd part is, I don't actually eat this food myself. I give it away to those around me. They benefit from my lack of love. They tell me the food is delicious but is it? Really? Or are they simply too concerned about my single women sanity to offer their honest opinion?!

Out with the old... in with the new...

I'd like to introduce someone to you. We'll call him 'Iron Fist'. He is Robinder's other half. He gave it to me straight the other day at the dog park. He said 'you got to operate this like a business Jiji. Get a business plan. And go after what you want. Terminate those that don't meet the targets." And this man is a force to be reckoned with. Not only can his stature intimidate you but his intelligence and direction leaves you no choice but to obey.

Quarter 2 focus for 2010: Make 'Iron Fist' proud!

After learning the hard way that there is no use (for anyone involved) in beating around the bush and being 'Nice' about letting people go I decided to clean house. I looked at my life and said "What would 'Iron Fist' do?" and proceeded to rid myself of lingering men.

First stop: Blackberry messenger. Sent 2 farewell notes, saw they were received and deleted contacts.

Second stop: Phone numbers. I searched and deleted all names that are stored by first name only. That means I never knew their last name. If you don't know their last name - don't keep them around. BE GONE!

Last stop: Facebook. 31 'friends' de-friended.

I feel like a brand new women. I must say, the process of brutal honesty gets easier with every contact purged. Give it a try. I got carried away and purged my closet along the way as well. As my mom says, "She won't catch a man wearin' a paper bag". Time to make room for the new!

Oh-asis? Oh no!

My fiery friend DT approached me today to inquire about the lack of action on the blog. My instant reaction - "I got no goods DT! There ain't no material". Then it occurred to me... oh yes there is!

Let's date back a few weeks. A dear gf and I are enjoying a nice hot beverage in a trendy establishment. In walks a hairy, foreign man hiding behind his aviators. We comment and continue. An hour goes by and Nicola escapes to the ladies room leaving me alone, vulnerable in my red HIGH, high heels. I feel the glance and he approaches. Dear god. I am STUCK. Within moments a disaster had unravelled. The conversation went something like this:

Creep: "Hi there. I like your shoes"
Jiji: (flattered) "Well thanks...if only they were comfortable." (awkward giggle)
Creep: "My name is Oasis, may I have yours?"
Jiji:(Oasis?! Like a small body of water in the desert?)"Ah my name is Jiji" (where the eff is Nicola?!)
Oasis: My ex had those shoes. You got them from Payless? No?"
Jiji:(irate)"Payless?? PAYLESS? NO! I got them from White House Black Market"
Oasis:"White what?"
Jiji: "Nothing, nothing, never mind...thanks yes I like my shoes."
Oasis:"May I give you my number."

BREAKDOWN!!!

Jiji: "Sure" (Nicola arrives with a look of horror on her face)
Oasis: "And can I have yours?"
Jiji: "ahhhhhh OK"

And the rest needs no details. Lesson learned: It is OK to lie about you martial status. Next time choose a gentle let down - it will save you from having to describe the man's identity to the security guards at your place of work.

Blog = 1 JiJi= 0

First - I just about fell off the blog band wagon. I was lacking content really, so I am back on the saddle and the adventure continues.

It may have appeared that the online dating was a true success and perhaps I got swept away by prince E-Charming...so let me put one thing straight...status: SINGLE

E-Charming did not appear and as it turns out my brother in law's donation was more of a black hole then an investment. For those that have EVER interacted with me for more then 1 min 37 seconds will know that a mustache wearing, 7-11 cashier who's top 3 interests are 1) Video Games 2) weed 3) making explosives, is simply not the man for me. So how is it that after a 46 page painful personality quiz they could have got this match THAT wrong?

Throughout this enticing couple of months of online trauma I managed to 'date' "Blue Eyes". His persistence broke me and I gave into him... I really did. I baked this man 92 Valentines Day cookies of which were then found in perfect un-consumed condition in his cupboard 3 weeks post V-day! For a hopeless romantic V-Day is a VERY special day. A day of LOVE! And I LOVE love. This was a the beginning of a series of small (and large) disappointments. No need to discuss these disappointments at length so lets just jump right to it: I got the old silent treatment suddenly for 2 weeks straight, called him to give HIM the "What's up??" and his Motorola razor died mid-way through the conversation and...I never heard from him again.

Words, or should I say lack there of, that are all too familiar.

Non Secured Investment

After exposing "The Chronicles..." to my sister and brother in law over a bottle of wine, a generous proposition took place. My burly, bearded brother in law casually suggested I sign up for a dating service and he will foot the bill. At first, offended, I decided to reflect on my past online dating experiences. I had not yet been able to choke back the idea of PAYING for such a service, but scrolling through the riff-raff of free dating service gets old and agonizing quickly. So I promptly agree.

3 hours later I had completed the deeply personal and penetrating psychological profiling. The credit card was applied leaving me with 1 month of 'accurately matched' dates, AKA, one month of exhilarating blog entries.

24 hours went by and not a match! My geographical scope of acceptable matches included all provinces in Canada and not. A. Single. Match. This was a hit to the heart. Is it me? Am I the reason dates strangely flee from my existence? To curb the shattered ego I open up my scope to all of North America. If there is not a match by tomorrow am, sweet jesus...

The Arteest

How do these things occur? I discover this amazing musician. I email his website to order a cd. We correspond via email. Happens to be in the same city. We meet in person for the transaction and 4 hours later our "date" comes to an end. The hesitant 'do we kiss do we not kiss' moment where everyone on the sidewalk surrounding you knows whats going down...and then the akward 2 hug goodbye takes place and we part ways. Why do we always fall for the musician? The sheer inconvenience that this man lives on the other side of the country will not stop me from charming him into thinking I am his serendipitous lover. I best be getting mention in his next love ballad. Look for it on itunes soon...just give me some time to lay it on thick.

Who's in the running...

No one man has caught the eye of this tiger. Blue Eyes almost got kicked to the curb when he declared at 2am that I was 'the worst person he ever slept beside'. I DON'T EVEN SNORE! Perhaps a King size bed would just not be big enough for that small man.

We have a new one in the running. We will refer to him as Ferris, for his unnatural resemblance to Ferris Bueler. I spotted him like a lion it's pray. After coaching my friend on how to balls out be bold, I clam up like a school girl. With the help of this coachable friend she strikes convo. Shortly after he drops the line "you are way too beautiful to be in this bar". And I am SOLD! So as we have it, Ferris took me on a real date. He opened doors, paid the bill and helped me up my ice lined stairs. One concern: this man's style. Jeans were a bit too tight and shoes were dirty and grubby, a faux pas for this establishment. However the concern was negated on the drive home where we hesitantly made a comment about how he needs more clothes. "Any suggestions?" says Ferris. He opened the door and I jumped right in. Second Date: the mall!

You can lead them to the lake but they MUST take the first sip.

If by date 2 or 3 they have not yet provoked in me, the desire to bust buttons and rip off their attire then its usually a sure sign it is going no where but south. The guy just has to have 'throw-down'!
Blue Eyes, (coffee guy), who yes - is back in the game after a little perserverance on his part, just hadnt fired up this fantasy yet. So I called Robinder and she gave it to me. Just put my mind into it and give it a good go were her words of advice. Dinner occured... and I knew that I had to bust right through my 'no booze for one month' New Years rezo to loosen up a lil. So I did. 2 glasses deep. Ready for the kiss. It occurs. Short. Sweet. No fantasy. One more time and I just commit. I was committed to get this guy to step up his sexual aggression. 10pm on the clock. 11:56pm I locked my door with all clothes still on the appropriate parts...tame, but damn I cant wait to see him again. Again, Robinder saves the date.

Lessons Learned

After my not-so-happy New Year I felt it necessary to reflect on the horrific dating year of 2009. What have I learned about dating? God, I must have learned something. So I posed the question to two of my closest allies, the ones that had to endure detailed reports of how each tragic date had played out. What was the biggest mistake I made when it came to the male species? Fortunately, or unfortunately, this was an easy question for them both and answers were spat back within minutes. And after that, there was no writer’s block. Unfortunately the keys practically typed themselves...


1 . Not seeing the forest for the trees
Hope comes before reality. We all do it, just in my case I do it with every man that tickles my fancy. It begins with my declaration of new found love to all those in a close proximity of my world (And sometimes to those that aren’t so close.) Descriptor words such as incredible, amazing, smart, down to earth, successful, and ‘great man’ are commonly tossed around. At 2 weeks is when it all comes undone. His douche bagginess is exposed...to me, and to the rest of the world he’s been a DB this whole time. 14 days you won’t get back. Just like the hockey player - fucks yah and chucks yah.

2. He’s going to get over her – he promises
False. This will NEVER ring true. You know who you are in this situation? Your just the hot naked girl in his bed with her face pasted on yours .Commitment? Not a chance. If you find yourself knowing facts about the ex like what kind of puppy she just got, what award she just won at work, where she bought her most recent furniture collection – girl he is far from over it...’he promises’. BOUNCE!

3. Converting old friends to lovers
Sounds like a brilliant idea, the beginning to a fairy tale, just think of the stories that could be told when you tie the knot...WRONG! Don’t let this ever so appealing idea cross that impulsive head of yours. I was a victim to this twice this year. As if I didn’t learn the first time. Cow tipping and beer bonging in your teens doesn’t equate to a fiery sex life in the present. Both cases were ahem, underperformers to say the least. One way to narrow down your facebook friends list?!

4. Opposites do attract...sometimes
Do a little research. If his passion is spending time at the lab researching cures for particular ocular diseases and yours is workin a crowd, maybe dig deeper... and if there is nothing there just state the obvious. You don’t want to be getting email invitations to hit the morgue to collect eye lids off dead bodies in order to take the research to the ‘next level’– There will be no next level - abandoned ship.

5. Blind dates and hot coffee don’t mix well... or do they?
Blind dates are like job interviews only with cocktails and in this case it was a Venti dark roast sans cream...extra hot. Lesson One in this scenario: Never run late for a blind date. I arrived like a hurricane, 20 minutes late, dishevelled and sweating. I spot him. Whoah, chiselled chin, fit, well dressed eyes that make your inner thighs tremble. I approach, he stands up, our hands embrace for a good shake and then it happened. Must have been my gale force, but that Venti covered his front from his bulging pecs, passed his man parts and all the way into his shoe. 6 seconds! 6 SECONDS! It gets worse. I run to the Barista and spill the news. I ask for a stack of napkins, a cloth and some quick advice. “Should I run?” I ask. It takes her awhile and she tells me to man up and scoot back to the table. There I find Blue Eyes still standing, shocked, in a pool of Pike Place. Lesson Two: Let him pat his own crotch region dry. There I was, on my knees, unfortunately not completely the task he had in his fantasy, patting his body down from pecs, to penis...all the way to his foot. Surprisingly, he took it all in well. He put his hand on my back and gently told me to get off the floor. You would think this would have sealed the deal...but quite the contrary. Blue Eyes still exists...after a month or so has passed we had a reunite. He dropped off some drugs to cure this ailing flu. Could he genuinely have interest in me after such an episode or am I his only hope now that he can’t reproduce?

2009 in Review: The Best and The Worst

(Excerpted from Blackberry messenger convo)

Robinder: You should hibernate every New Years. It is just not your time.
JiJi: Tell me about it.
JiJi: This just in. John just caught me on facebook.
Robinder: JOHN!! Oh god.
Robinder: What a way to start 2010.
JiJi: Wants to set me up with his little bro.
Robinder: NOOOOOOOO! Geek Squad. No. Definitely no.
Robinder: Good God. This John fellow is an endless source of dumb fuckery.
Robinder: Other than the house being super beautiful, that family has nothing for you JiJi.
Robinder: So what did you tell him about his bro?
JiJi: I said I dont think so. He was relentless.
Robinder: He is one of the weirder ones of 2009 for sure. Hot, yes, but off his rocker.
Robinder: Who was your favorite overall of 2009?
JiJi: I need a category as none of them are my favorites anymore.
Robinder: Ahh, good point. Ok we will break it into categories

And so we did...

Best Date of 2009: Golf guy, although I don't remember his name. It was a great meal, great convo, handsome man, tres exciting! Wait, he talked about his cat Gerald a lot. If I remember the cat and not the man that was an ill advised coupling for sure.

Worst Date of 2009: Hands down Cory. And he doesn't even deserve an alias. First football game of my life! Things are going well to me, the naive and optimistic one. Cory says, "Would you like a hamburger?", and I reply with a sweet, "No thank you!". He disapears for his suculant beef patty and....NEVER RETURNS! There I sit, infront of the rival team's fans, hamburgerless and dateless. How does this even happen?

Best Sex of 2009: Hockey guy. Without a doubt. He might even take the title for my lifetime. A shame he was so short lived. He was a charmer, a fit, handsome, athlete and his experience in the bedroom was for sure a result of frequency. Oh, I did my best to negate the stereo type that hockey players have, but it rang true in the end, player yes, master in the sack, yes! It was worth the heart ache.

Worst Sex of 2009: Cory takes another grammy for this one. Dont worry, it occured prior to being abadoned at the football game. Two words: Jack Rabbit. Ew!

Weirdest Date of 2009: Robinder said it, John. The rocker. Every girl loves a musician. And so his inconsistent, sparatic, oddball nature was not turned away fast enough by this girl. The type of guy that calls once a month and then 7 months go by and he tries to set you up with his brother. WHAT?!

Worst Repeat Offender: Man Child takes the cake. Hanging out naked occured for a solid year. My god, when does a girl learn. He had that scent, that edge, the kind of guy who could just brush the back of your arm and your clothes fell off. He was dangerous for a girl like me, the idealist. If I had a nickle for everytime I thought that guy was ready to commit, I wouldn't have a fake Dolce & Gabana, let me tell you!

Fastest Love to Hate Date of 2009: This goes to the Cheese guy. First couple dates was pure love. He picked me up in his sparkling sports car with my favorite Starbucks drink just waiting for me in the cup holder, takes me to my favorite restaurant and has my favorite dish, the cheese platter, pre-ordered so it greets us as we are seated. ALL the right moves to win this bursting heart over. Then things goes south rapidly. Date #4 and we decide to do our own wine and cheese. We head to the store and pick out a basketful full of expensive, orgasmic cheeses, hit the cash register and just casually he tells me he forgot his wallet. WHAT! You drove here A$$HOLE and I can see the wallet in you back pocket! I skip the wine store as obviously yours truly would be paying. Head home, he eats the cheese and helps himself to my wine collection. I fake a friend emergency, kick him out of the house and Cheese guy was never to be seen again. Chivalry please!

Where do I find these men?

That, my friends, should give you a taste of the past and an insight into the possible future of 2010...

A Much Needed Introdcution

Before I continue, I'd like to introduce to you a key character who frequents my existance. Her name is Robinder. She is a dear friend. She dishes it out straight up. She's got uncomparable wit about her and my GOD is she a good listener. Alright, lets carry on.

Drop This Ball Dick Clark

Traditionally New Year's Eve is celebrate with social gatherings spanning the transition into the new year. Mine, on the other hand, was celebrated with a bailey's and hot chocolate and a game of Crib to curb the wrath that the day prior had brought on.

Was New Year's Eve just a conclusion of what the past year has encompassed? Or god forbid, a forshadowing of my year to come? My dating life of 2009 was a force to be reconned with. It was a goddamn disaster. And now, so was my New Year's celebration.

On December 31, I, JiJi, was dumped, axed, discarded, via email. What a way to go. There I was, mowing down a spicy tuna roll with a friend, that little red light on my blackberry begins to blink and I cant resist. Subject reads: "You & I". You know this is a note of doom. At first I laugh, at the sheer audacity of delivery choice of such a communication! Is this the way of the world today? Has it become acceptable to dump via electronic device? I share this news with my fellow sushi eater across the table and he, being he, shrugs it off and offers me more of his Dynamite roll. I am not hungry, the rage is setting in and all I want is booze and cigarettes.

After a 2 hour pity party with my male friend who clearly is not too concerned with my state of being, I think to myself, what cures a broken heart better then a little make out session. And alas, right before my eyes lies the perfect candidate. We've done it before so it would be an easy conquer. I invited, he accepted. A little midafternoon, broken hearted make out session. Did it help the heal? Not a bit, if only 'The Emailer' knew about this.

The day carries on and I meet up with my lesbian friend. Crossing over to the other side is almost appealing after this horrendous dating streak. Instead, we get some ice cream, smoke some cigarettes and she listened to me erupt with rage over 'The Emailer'. No wonder the girls LOVE her. She's cute, caring and willing to listen to a girl bitch. Alas, I fly back to my home city to ring-a-ding-ding the New Year in.

This broken heart couldn't deal with much more then a hot chocolate and game of Crib and then it struck... the flu. And here I lay, aching from my head to my heart, alone in my quaint apartment...and so it begins.