I’m 27

I unconciously started lying about my age after I turned 30 in 2011. Not all the time, but some of the time. It seems to be happening more often though since I recently found out some of my friends thought I was only 27, and not 31. I wondered why they thought that, and it turns out, I told them that! Whoops. I really don’t have a problem with my age. I don’t think I do. Maybe. But Sunday morning makes me wonder. I wake up and start talking to the guy laying next to me. I ask the question, “how old are you?” “21,” he says. “How old are you?” Stifling a laugh/choke, I say, “27”.

Feel free to high five me next time you see me.

That Escalated Quickly

As you know, I recently signed up for plenty of fish again. So far, it’s been alright. I’ve been chatting with a few men, but no one too interesting yet. I’ll just tell you about the ones who have made me laugh. There was the opening message that said “Hey, wanna hook up?” Yep, everything in my profile points to hooking up with you.

There was the opening message that included dick pics and his message to go along with them said “Hey i’m ****. A young athletic, honest, and well endowed man. I’m looking to talk and see hwere it goes, i’m open to the possibilities. So how are you tonight. I’m not just looking for sex, believe me. I only sent these pics to show i’m being honest, you are very sexy, and i’m very interested”. I’m glad he told me he’s not just looking for sex. I almost got the wrong idea there! I didn’t respond right away so he sent me a follow up, asking what I thought of his pictures. I told him they were inappropriate. His response was, “sorry. if it was. are the pics bad.” I did not respond so he sent another message: “well do you like what you see.” If I had responded, it would have been something like, “Gross, no, go away, pencils down.” I won’t post the pictures he sent me, but I would be happy to share them if you see me in person and you can judge for yourself.

And my favourite, the guy who called me a cunt. He sent me a pleasant enough message, so I responded a couple of times and then didn’t read or respond to most of my messages Saturday night or yesterday. I check them this morning and there are a few new ones from this guy. They went as follows:

“Don’t smoke straws, they taste bad” (Ok, this one is weird out of context. He thought I was smoking in one of my pictures and I said it was the straw from my drink.)

“How are you tonight?”


“Get off fat cunt”

“michelin ****hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

I assume that last word is “bitch” and he was too stupid to drag out the “i” instead of the “h”.

I didn’t bother responding, but I did block him. He seems like the kind of guy who already feels pretty bad about his life and would be easy for me to destroy. High fives for taking the high road!!


It started out with me driving all the way to work and then realizing I left my work laptop at home. But it picked up from there when I inadvertently told off a coworker and then she thanked me for giving me a different perspective. But the best part was when I was telling another coworker who is vacationing in Puerto Vallarta soon that he should go to the same strip club I went to the last time I was in PV. I couldn’t remember the name so I was googling. It’s called Candy’s and I remembered that I had written about it in a post from 2011 and that it’s also a brothel. Do you know how I figured that out that I’d written about it before? Go ahead and google image candy’s puerto vallarta. See what comes up.


Sometimes I forget what I’ve already posted. So if I’ve told this story, just read it and enjoy it again 🙂

I don’t know what his actual name was. Something African, but he went by Baba. (Ohhh, this just reminded me of Don Juan! I don’t think I’ve shared that story yet. Future post!) I met him at Habanos, I think, 6 or so years ago. Anyways, we ended up going to his apartment at the end of the night. He got the cab to stop at Burger King first, and then didn’t have enough money left to pay the cab and had to ask me for some.

His apartment was sparse at best. He had the smallest…tv…I’d ever seen. And he watched the one french channel available. While he ate his burgers, we chatted and he told me some stories about Africa, his ex, his daughter. Riveting stuff, but I just couldn’t wait to get that stanky burger king breath all over my face and in my vodka soaked mouth. We made our way to the bedroom. It had a bed in it. And us. Now, back to his small tv. Expectations were big (haha), based on my previous experience, and those persistent rumours I know you’ve all heard. He managed to lower my expectation, inch by lacking inch. But, hey, maybe he’s got skills, motion in the ocean and blah blah blah, right? We had sex twice. Well, he did.

In the morning, he woke me up with a breast massage. I don’t know how he knew that is my favourite way of being woken up when I’m hungover and already confused about where I am, let alone who is attached to the hand tweaking my nipple, but he knew. He wanted to have sex again. My words were something along the lines of “are you fucking kidding? I’m going the fuck home.”

Longest walk of shame EVER. First, I had to figure out where the fuck I was, and since it was a Friday at 9am, everyone I knew was at work and I was low on cash. I walked to the nearest bus stop, transferred buses downtown, and ended up 5 or so blocks from my house. It took me over an hour to get home. Not worth it.

And then this guy called me for months after! I kept running into him at the bar. It didn’t matter which one I went to, he was there. And even though I never answered his calls, he would ask me out every single time I saw him. He was persistent.

And there you go. The story of Baba.

Happy 2013

Welcome back everyone! Resolutions are bunk. I started some of mine late. And haven’t even started others. This one for instance: To be a regular blogger again. It’s already almost halfway through January and I’m just posting something now. And I’ll warn you now, it may not be that interesting. I don’t have a clear idea of what I want to write about tonight so I’ll likely be all over the place.

I started my healthy lifestyle again this week. So far, it’s going good. I’m tracking all my food and I’m well-stocked up on frozen weight watcher meals. I’m not following weight watchers, but I am using www.myfitnesspal.com to track everything I eat. It’s helping. And I’ve started going to deep water aquasize with my friend, Angela. I lost over 6 pounds this week. Yay me!

I didn’t think 2012 was my best year. There were definitely some high moments, like reuniting with old friends and making new ones, Sasquatch, Jamaica, feeling feelings I had never felt before, two of the best weddings I have ever been to, enjoying work again, no family deaths, and many things that aren’t coming to my mind right now. But 2012 just didn’t feel like a great year overall. I stopped writing, I gained some weight back, family health issues that haven’t been resolved, my heart was stomped on, I gave up on dating, I gained a cousin due to the suicide of her father (she’s living with my aunt and uncle now), I got no further ahead financially, I had to apologize for the things that came out of my mouth more than once, and just generally felt less than my normal level of awesome for about half the year. I have no expectations for 2013, but I hope it doesn’t get worse.

On less of a downer note, I’ve decided to put a profile on plenty of fish again. I don’t know about you, but I’m really excited to once again share crazy online dating stories with you. Which reminds me! I believe I promised you all a story. I think it may have been a Russian story, but in honour of Black Ops Mission (a bar challenge centred around men of a certain race. You guess the rest), I think I will tell the story of Baba. Coming up in the very next post!