The LBD Project

In April, I decided to join a program at a local gym called The Little Black Dress Project. A couple girls at work had done it a couple of times, and it looked like something I might be interested in. I had already done a month of Whole30 and I was walking with my dog every day and was feeling pretty good and I was looking for a fun way to get more physical activity in. And since I’m single and the perfect casual sex partner has not yet graced my vagina with his presence, I had to find something else. The gym is called Readiness Fitness and it’s very unique. It is not your typical stop by after work and beat up the treadmill for 45 minutes. It is all women (except for the Spartan training), and it is all classes. It is essentially a big warehouse with a padded floor. The floor is my favourite part. No shoes required! The LBD project is a 6 week program with fitness classes, a meal plan, 3D body scan, daily emails/encouragement, weekly check-ins, challenges, and a celebration at the end of it all. I enjoyed most of the classes I took. Surprisingly, my favourite class happened at 530am, and I dragged my ass out of bed more mornings that I would have guessed to go to that class! Within the first couple of weeks, I could feel my workout clothes getting bigger. It became a problem in some classes where you were constantly moving around on your feet. Since my clothes were getting bigger, that meant ALL my clothes were getting bigger. Including my underwear. I don’t consider this and go into a dance based class where I’m on my feet and bouncing around for an hour, and believe me, things did bounce. And not only are my pants falling down, but so is my underwear. I’m already “dancing” like a newborn giraffe that came out head first a little too fast, and now I have to start sticking my hands down my pants, pull up my panties, and hope the wedgie holds for the rest of the class.

I went to a class during a lunch hour once that was changed last minute from a class that I love to a class that I loathe. It’s called I Hate You and I’m Going to Kill You, but for short, they call it Wave. It’s 4 of the worst moves ever and you do them in increasing and decreasing time frames until your soul leaves your body to take you away from the trauma. This particular day it was burpees, squats, pushups, and planks. I’m not very strong yet and can’t physically do all the moves, so I do modifications. Let me tell you though, modifications don’t mean shit in this class. My body still died, one muscle at a time. So what we started with was 30 seconds of burpees. Then rest. Then 45 seconds of burpees and 30 seconds of squats, then rest. Then 60 seconds, 45 seconds, and 30 seconds of pushups. Then 75, 60, 45, and 30 seconds of planks. Then you finally get to start decreasing the first exercises while increasing the latter. Like a wave. I was angry the entire class and it took me 4 days to be able to walk properly. I couldn’t sit down on the toilet without supporting myself. I broke my towel rack. My thighs burned with the fire of a thousand suns and a mere drawing of a staircase could make me cry.

But besides that one, I enjoyed all the classes I tried out. It’s a very comfortable, welcoming vibe in the gym. I didn’t talk to a lot of people, I just went and did my thing, leaving a pool of sweat wherever I went. I have been to other gyms before. Even all female gyms, and this one was just different. I liked that there were only classes. It made me work harder. There’s very much a cheerleader vibe about the place, rah rah, warrior women. If that’s your thing, you can be right in the thick of it. If you’re more like me, you can watch it at arm’s length and take in the amount you need to aide in your success.

Every week with the email checkins, my answers about my struggles were always the same. Even if I didn’t make it to a class, I still went on a walk for at least an hour. Food was not as easy. I did ok, but if I hadn’t already done Whole30, I don’t think I would have been as successful. There were definitely more committed women there than I was, but the great part is that for the entire 6 weeks, you only work against yourself. There are no “stats” or weigh-ins for the entire time. Using the scale is discouraged because your body is changing in so many ways that the scale doesn’t measure.

So at the end, I lost 19 pounds of fat and gained 6 pounds of lean muscle (About 30 lbs total since February). My body composition improved, I lost 16 inches, and my BMI went down a few points. We get all this information from our 3D scan at Neurofitness. You stand on this rotating disc and a laser records your body. Then you can sign into your account and look at this suuuper flattering 3D picture of your mostly naked body 🙄 They really capture the magic of every bump, roll, and divet. Overall, I was pretty happy with the results. I’ve decided to join the next round in the fall to see how much I can improve. Seeing all the women at the end celebration and their victories was encouraging.

Since it ended, I have been slacking. I haven’t been using the gym at my apartment, I’ve been walking less frequently, and my food choices have been poor. My food prep has been non-existent for the last couple of weeks. I eat bad, then I feel bad. I get so tired and all the energy is sucked out of me. Which makes it hard to prepare healthy meals when all I want to do is sleep and eat whatever is fast and makes me feel good in that moment. It’s a shitty cycle to get trapped in. I’m going to start another round of Whole30 right away and get back on track. When I think I can relax, I get too relaxed. If I cheat once, I’ll cheat twice. Fuuuuuck.

My Adoption Part 2

I had half forgotten about my request for information on my birth record. The non-identifying information is sent out fairly quickly with a letter saying the birth record is handled by Post Adoption Services. And that took longer to arrive.

You know, I always get a little kick out of people’s reactions when they find out I’m adopted. It’s almost always the same. Either “me too!” or “I didn’t know you were adopted.” Well duh. How could you have possibly known? You mean you didn’t notice the ‘adopted’ look about me? (It’s not like I just revealed that I’m missing my left arm and you’re surprised you didn’t know that.) Are you sure I didn’t casually slip it into conversation somewhere along the lines? “Hey Amy, how was your weekend at the farm?” “Oh, it was really good! I drove my adopted ass out there after work and then spent the whole time with my adopted family who adopted me when I was a baby. I’m adopted.” I suppose that although it’s normal to me, it’s interesting/awkward for other people because they don’t know how to react to that information. And just like any other situation in life, it’s ok to ask questions. If a person reveals something about themselves, they probably don’t mind talking about it. But if they do seem uncomfortable, then stop asking questions.

So, I get this letter. I wasn’t sure what it was when I opened it. It had been several months since my initial request, so I wasn’t really considering what it could have been when I opened it. It was my record of birth. With my birth mother’s name, her date of birth, and where she was born. I couldn’t believe I had this information now. I was a little shaky and sat down to consider this information. I’d always been interested in learning more about her and meeting her “someday”, and now I have the piece I need to find her. But, it also means that now I have the piece of information I need to find her and someday could be now. I knew from previous records that at the time of my birth, she did not have any desire to have contact with me in the future. But I feel like she already got to make enough decisions about our lives and this one is mine to make.

I did some quick online searches. Social media was a bust, but google did lead me to an obituary of the woman I believe to be my birth mother’s mother. The family members listed match my birth mother’s name, and the number of and genders of siblings I know her to have. Side note: I’d love to shorten birth mother, but I can’t start calling her my bm, right? No. How about bmo? That’s what I’ll use. Anyways, so I know her mother and father have both passed. And I know the names of her brother and sisters and their spouses and children. My bmo did not have any children listed. I searched her siblings names as well and not much came up. A couple of leads I could follow. But, I want to be very respectful here. Her family may still have no idea, and I don’t want to be the one to “out” her secret. So at this point, I won’t be using her name, I won’t be contacting her family and revealing who I am, and you won’t see me holding up a sign on a FB post asking for help. I told my mom everything I found out so far and I know she is dying to know everything and to meet this woman and thank her and cry about it because I’m so damn awesome and made all her baby dreams come true. She has a very sweet story about her and my dad driving to Saskatoon the night before picking me up. Just before the city, there is a phone tower or something and there is a flashing red light at the top. And when my mom saw it that night, she knew her baby was close. She somehow keeps it together and lets me go on this journey in my own time.

I know people who have found their birth parents. And I know birth parents who have found the children they gave up for adoption. Every journey is different, and there are challenges. There was no information listed about my birth father on the record of birth, but post adoption does give you an option to indicate if you are interested in performing a search for him as well. I don’t know how they plan on doing that. I assume they’ll have to try to make contact with my bmo and go from there. I’m not sure what will come of that. I think I have a plan of how I am going to contact my bmo, but I’m not quite ready to execute said plan yet. I am gathering my courage. I mean, I’m not looking for another family, I don’t need another mother all up in my business, I just want to know her story. I’m not putting a lot of expectations on it. That being said, I’m not sure how I’m going to react if she just flat out rejects any meaningful contact at all. Even typing this out makes me a little emotional. It’s hard to explain how I feel about this. If I never go any further than I have right now, I will be fine. I will wonder every now and again, but it will not affect my life in any way. But if I keep going, whatever the outcome, it will leave a mark on my heart forever.

The Soft Launch

As you know, I am a part of the online dating world. I haven’t been too active with it over the last 6 months or so, but I recently created a new POF profile, as well as started swiping on Tinder again. (If you don’t already, you can check out my screenshot adventures on my Instagram @soupsworld) I decided I should be having more sex because only having sex with one guy since September that I’m not even dating wasn’t doing it for me. This lead to me swiping right on The Soft Launch. TSL had a shirtless torso picture as his main picture. And his secondary picture. Not normally someone I would consider, but I was looking to get laid. He messaged me after we matched and I found out he didn’t have a face picture because he was trying to be discrete. Because of his girlfriend, who would not be involved in knowing about his extracurricular activities. I asked him why he was looking for something more on the side and he said he has a much higher sex drive and that he only gets to see her about 3 times a week because she lives out of town. Slight eyeroll, but whatever. I reserve my judgement on this one, especially since I’m about to be a willing participant.
We texted for about a week and a half or so and he seemed like a nice enough guy. The sexting was decent, he was really excited to meet. Our schedules finally lined up and I invited him over. I was initially going to meet him for coffee first, but meh. By this point, I felt good enough inviting him over.
So he shows up, and I’m immediately a little turned off by his energy. He’s sort of nervous and I don’t really like his voice and he’s just not someone I would spend real time with. But quality time wasn’t really what I was meeting him for, so let’s get naked. I was already in lingerie, so I was mostly there anyways. He kissed me. Not bad. We made out for a bit before laying down on the bed. Once we got there, he went to work with him mouth and hands all over my body. The handwork was great! The mouth work, well let’s just say I’m still waiting for my own personal tongue of ecstasy J When I was ready to return the favour, he wasn’t even hard yet. No problem, I can help with that. And help I did. My mouth work is usually pretty on point. When he couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to fuck, he put on the condom and we got to it. He didn’t last too long before he went soft. It happens. We took a little break and then I went down on him some more and we tried sex again. Except now, my original turn off at meeting him had snowballed and I was quickly becoming less of a rainforest and more of desert. Especially when he once again couldn’t stay hard. He made some excuses about going to the gym before he got there, blah blah. Now, to be clear, I don’t fault him for not staying hard. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was the gym. Maybe it was his conscience. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was just biology and it just fucking happens sometimes. I don’t know. But what I do know is that he talked himself up the whole week and made it clear how high his sex drive was, and considering he was only 34, I was expecting a little bit more.

After he realized we weren’t going to be able to have sex, he asked if I would consider sucking him off. That’s a hard no. hahahahaha So he got dressed and talked the whole time and commented how I didn’t have air conditioning and he was soo hot and sweaty. I do, but I didn’t have it on because it wasn’t that hot out, and frankly, if I’m not hot, no one else should be. My temperature runs high. Plus, the guy who came over two nights before didn’t complain 😉 He did not kiss me goodbye. And he did not text me again and I did not message him. 

I was fine with it ending that way. But a few days later, I got a Snapchat notification that he had added me. I added him back and he immediately sent me a message asking if I had randomly added him. Uh, no. He said a few more things and I realized he didn’t even know who he added. He even asked me how old I was and when I told him and asked why, he said he wanted to make sure I wasn’t 14 or something because that would be weird, “especially what he uses the app for”. Ok, creep. I still didn’t tell him who I was. Even after he said my name showed up as Amy Campbell and he doesn’t know anyone by that name. Granted, he doesn’t know my last name, but his dick was JUST inside of me a couple of days before. Surely he could put that together. Unless he erased the embarrassment from his memory with some sort of men in black device. That’s probably it. I felt like maybe he figured it soon after because then he was no longer my friend. But then he re-added me. So I don’t know if he remembered or if he was still really curious about who I was. I didn’t care, I blocked him. And that was The Soft Launch.

 

My Adoption

I’ve known for as long as I can remember that I’m adopted. I was 2 months old when my mom and dad adopted me. My younger brother is adopted too. When I was growing up, I remember telling people that I’m adopted like it was an interesting, but completely normal fact about me. And that’s how I was raised to think about it. One of my cousins is also adopted, some close family friends are all adopted, and I went through most of my elementary and high school with a couple of kids in my class that were also adopted. As far as I can remember, I never felt like my parents weren’t my parents. I wasn’t even one to get mad and say things like, “You’re not my real mom/dad”. My brother used to do that. I felt the opposite. Like they were (and are) my real mom and dad, but these other people out there brought me into being.

I’ve always been curious, but acted like I wasn’t really that interested. Especially as I got older. I didn’t want my parents to feel threatened (I needn’t have worried about that), but I was also worried about rejection if I did start looking into it some more. I felt like I needed to know myself better and be really comfortable with who I am before I started anything. And so I held off.

When I was in my mid-20’s, maybe 23-24, my mom gave me a box and told me it was made for me and that whatever I chose to do with the information, she would support it. The box was covered in wallpaper and it contained a framed drawing of a cat, a baby blanket, a doll, and an old, yellowed letter from social services. The box and it’s contents (minus the letter) were made for me by my birth mother. The letter contained information from the social worker regarding general information about my birth mother and her family, and the circumstances around my birth. It also included the name given to me at birth, which included my birth mother’s last name.

She was 18 at the time. She had moved to Saskatoon from her small town to go to school and she met a young man who was about 24 at the time. They dated casually for a few months and had split up by the time she found out she was pregnant. She kept her pregnancy from everyone, including my birth father and her own family. Her parents found out when she went into labour. It was 1981, she was young and single, the hospital called them. She had already made her decision to give me up for adoption and so they decided they would keep the whole thing a secret from the rest of the family. She had 2 younger sisters and a younger brother. There were not many details about my birth father except that he was tall, had a moustache, and was of metis descent. And to this day, likely doesn’t know about my existence. There was also some basic family healthy history, physical descriptions, and personality traits described. Her background is Russian and Ukrainian. 

A few years after I received this information, I sent a request to social services to get any additional information they had and to see about a search for my birth mother. They sent me all the documents surrounding my adoption. Most of it was after the adoption and detailing the home visits from the social worker. In the documents leading up to my adoption, my birth mother expressed several times how she did not wish to seek future contact with me. That wasn’t easy to read, but I let it play out however it would play out. I didn’t hear anything back and I left it at that.

Recently, the rules about adoption documents in Saskatchewan have changed and you can now request your birth record, which has information about birth parents on it. So I sent my request in December. And received a letter back last month.

 

35 is Old

Well hello there! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? You’re probably hoping for some dirty sex story, but I’m going to switch gears over to my health. In November of last year, I started having this weird pain. And thinking back, I’d actually been having this pain for a long time, especially in my hands and feet, but just ignored it and chalked it up to sleeping weird or wearing bad shoes. And right before the pain got worse, I remember commenting to my coworkers that it felt like I’d been punching walls all night while I was sleeping. I asked my mom what arthritis felt like and her description sounded similar to what I had in my hands. I thought, Oh great, I’m getting so old! About a week later, I woke up and my ankle hurt. It was swollen and there were red spots on my foot. It had gotten better by the next day, but the morning after that, one of my knees was all red and swollen up like a balloon and it hurt to bend it. I tried going for a walk that day to loosen it up, but my knee just kept locking up on me. And it just got worse from there. Every one or two days, I woke up with a new pain location, just one joint at a time. Ankles, knees, hips, wrists, fingers, shoulders…They all hurt at some point. By the second week, the pain was becoming unbearable. I would wake up in the middle of the night feeling like I’d broken a bone and then lit it on fire. I could.not.get.comfortable. I would have to get up and move around and take some Tylenol or whatever I had just to try to obtain enough relief to go back to bed. And then in the morning, if it was anywhere in my upper body, I would have trouble getting dressed. My parents happened to be visiting in the middle of this and my mom had to put my socks on for me one day. Every woman has a different way she likes to put on a bra. Some do the hook and twist, some hook and pull over their heads, I prefer the bend and hook. If you don’t understand this, you’re probably a man. I slip my arms through the straps, bend slightly to fill the cups with my tits, then straighten up, reach back, and hook it up. That was impossible for me to do on the days that either my wrists, fingers, or shoulders were inflamed.Clearly I knew this was not normal, but I kept putting off going to the doctor until the day I couldn’t wait anymore. I was at work and we had a staff meeting for the first part of the day. My hands hurt, but I could handle it since I was just sitting there. When I had to go back to work and start using a computer and answering the phone, the pain almost made me cry. I dropped the phone receiver because it hurt just to have my right hand touching anything. I left and went straight to a medi clinic. Which was as helpful as you can imagine. The doctor asked me some questions and said it was probably a virus that would go away in a week or two. Ohhhhkaaaaay. But, just in case, he sent me for bloodwork too. I had to ask him about painkillers. He looked at me and said, oh, well how bad is it? Taking a breath because I’d already told him how it felt, I said It’s bad. It’s an 11 on a scale of one to ten. I left work to come here because I can’t do my job. So he gave me a high dose of naproxen and sent me on my way. The naproxen didn’t do much. I would still wake up in the night and have to take Tylenol with it to get some relief. The next week, the doctor’s office called me to come in and gave me the results of my blood test and referred me to a rheumatologist. The problem with that was the waiting list for the referral I was given was close to 3 years. 3 years! So I put it on facebook and I got a couple responses from friends who either worked in, or knew someone in the medical field who could help. One referred me to a family doctor who would hopefully take me on as a patient and be able to move the referral along quicker, and the other actually has a rheumatologist for a sister-in-law. It’s good to know people who know people. I had an appointment within a week of the rheumatologist seeing my bloodwork results. And, even though it took a couple months to get an appointment with him, I also now have a family doctor.

During my first appointment with the rheumatologist, she diagnosed me with rheumatoid arthritis. I started taking medication for it and had almost immediate relief from my symptoms. And limited side effects. I now give myself an injection of the medication every week, as well as taking folic acid to counteract some of the possible side effects of the drug. I’m on an aggressive plan right now to get the RA into remission as soon as we can. It’s important to treat it as quickly as possible to prevent permanent damage to the joints, but even with remission, the rheumatologist told me I’ll be on medication the rest of my life. Cool. One of the side effects means I should not get pregnant while on the drug because it causes miscarriages. So if I do want to have a family the “natural” way, I will have to talk to my rheumatologist and switch to a possibly less effective drug that I can safely take while pregnant. And then if I do go back to the original medication, there is no guarantee that it will work as well for me as it does right now. There’s also a chance it could stop working for me altogether without going off of it and I’ll have to switch anyways.

In February I decided to try Whole30. You can google it to find out all the details, but basically it’s an elimination diet. You take out things like dairy, sugar, alcohol, grains, etc for 30 days and then slowly reintroduce them to gauge the affects they have on your body. At first, it sounds terrible. All the fun, good stuff is gone haha But it’s not the bad! Admittedly, I didn’t follow it 100%. And if you don’t follow to the letter, you’re supposed to start over. Fuck that. I made it work for me and did a 90-10 split. I followed it exactly 90% of the time and the other 10, I gave myself some leeway. That doesn’t mean that I went crazy, but if I couldn’t find whole30 compliant something, or if I was at the farm and mom used an ingredient that wasn’t compliant, I didn’t freak out over it and start over. I just kept living my goddman life! About 2 weeks in, I noticed that I had more energy. Maybe about 6 months before my diagnosis, I started losing all energy. Now, I know some of that was just due to my weight and poor diet, but it dropped to zero. All I wanted to do all the time was sleep. Fatigue is a symptom of both RA and the medication, but it’s better than losing my hair! BUT! Two weeks into Whole30, suddenly I had energy again. I mean, I wasn’t jumping up to go for a run or anything (gross), but I also wasn’t falling asleep as soon as I got home from work or needing a nap every day. My skin improved, my stomach didn’t hurt, and I didn’t have any joint pain. Now, the pain had already mostly gone away because of the medication I’d already been on for a month and a half, but it stayed away for that month. Oh, and I lost about 12 pounds.

As I started reintroducing foods, I began to really pay attention to how certain foods made me feel. White rice and sugar, especially white sugar, causes me pain. If I have just a little bit of it, I can feel it almost immediately. The first knuckle on my right hand has become my inflammation indicator. The first time I felt it was when I had a twizzler and 3 pieces of candy. The pain radiated around that knuckle within a half hour. If I have more than just a little bit of sugar, it starts in my knuckle and then will move around. I had sugar yesterday in some pancake syrup, ketchup, and a few pieces of candy. Yesterday my knuckle hurt. Today, I can feel it in my feet.

Dairy. Now that I’m paying attention, I am figuring out how dairy affects me. It doesn’t cause any arthritis pain, but it sure fucks up my stomach. I’m sure all you lactose intolerants out there can identify with this. Milk does not do this body good. I recently had a London Fog and didn’t even think to ask for almond milk and it killed my stomach. Some cheeses are good, some are not so good. Sometimes I don’t care and it’s completely worth it.

So that’s that. Stay tuned for my participation in the Little Black Dress Project at a local gym, a search I have started, and, of course, some sex stories!

 

Hi-Vis and Man Chowder

It was an evening a few months, and I received a message on Pof from this guy. It’s a normal message, just a “Hi, how are you” kind of thing. So I take a look at his profile and his profession says he’s a PLT. Now my curiosity is piqued. Because first of all, who doesn’t love a man in hi-vis? And secondly, do I know him? (If you don’t know me personally, I have spoken to a lot of PLT’s throughout my time at my job.) So I respond. His response to my response is to apologize and say he shouldn’t have messaged me. I ask why. He says because it’s because it’s late and he’s horny. *eyeroll* I ask him if he wants to start over in the morning then. And he says yes, but then chats normally with me for a little bit. I start asking him questions about his job and where he works and and if he’s on a crew and he finally senses something and asks why I know so much about his job and I half-lie and tell him I know some PLT’s so I was just wondering. He accepted that. From his answers, and where he’s from, I figured out who he was, based on who I knew he wasn’t. We hadn’t exchanged names by this point, I was trying to guess on my own lol 
I had given him my number to text me the next day and he did. He messaged me with his name which just confirmed my guess at who he was. We chatted for a bit and then asked if I wanted to see what he had been up to the night before. I started to feel a little guilty at this point about not telling him I knew who he was so I told him that the reason I had been asking about his job is because I used to talk to him on the phone when he was working for the same company that I work for. And then I asked if he still wanted to show me what he had been doing. He said No, but then did anyways. Obviously. Men want to show me their dicks. I got a picture AND a video! This guy definitely had some dick to work with! And I had an interest in getting on the crew to work with it too. So we kept texting.

We talked about what we were looking for. When you’re online dating, that’s always the big question. “So what are you looking for?” He was into casual. Great. I wasn’t interested in dating him, so that worked for me. We moved onto sexting. He’s a kinky fuck. Which I can get behind. And he was pretty open to me getting behind him as well. Ifyouknowwhatimean winkwink nudg nudge. BUT, he was very wrapped up in himself. I think I’m fairly generous in bed, and I put that through in my sexting as well. I had to tell him to make it more about me when we were texting. He was also an exhibitionist. He rarely asked me for a picture, preferring to send me pictures instead. And CONSTANTLY trying to get me to facetime him so I could watch him jerk off. Like, every time we texted. Now, as you know, when I’m in the right mood, I like watching men masturbate. I’ve never met this man, but from what I already knew about him, I knew I wouldn’t be able to produce the reaction that he wanted. It felt like he wanted me to have to mop up the floor after watching what he surely imagined was the dick equivalent of Canada Day fireworks to be because my pussy would have no choice except to start gushing in awe and wonder. So I kept refusing, and finally told him that if there ever came a point where I wanted a live viewing of Top Chef, Man Chowder edition, I would let him know.

He just kept pushing. I was losing interest fast. Because of his schedule working out of town, and my schedule, there weren’t a lot of opportunities for us to meet. I was trying to keep him at a distance because I didn’t want a bunch of built-up expectations. For either of us. I don’t think it worked. One night he messaged me and asked how come I never message him first. Ummm….what? I told him that because it was just a casual thing, I didn’t think a lot of attention was required. To which he replied that he wasn’t closed off to a relationship, it was just that he didn’t want to put any pressure on anything, and he did want to talk to me. Ooookaaaaay.

After this, he asked if I was sleeping with anyone (I was) and that if we started fucking/dating exclusively, would I stop sleeping with other men. What.The.Fuck. Who fucks exclusively, but isn’t dating? That seems unfair. Anyways, I told him if the agreement was to not fuck anyone else, then yes.

I’m not sure if I meant it. I probably did. Maybe. I dunno man, don’t try to put me in a box!

We had plans to meet up at his place, but the closer it got, the more I realized I was really not into it. Not even a ding dong ditch. I had been unfairly leading him on and dragging the whole thing out and should have ended it awhile ago, especially when he basically told me he was interested in more than sex. So I cancelled. He didn’t text me for 2-3 weeks after that. But then he did. I didn’t respond. So he texted again a couple weeks after that. Again, no response. He messaged me on Christmas. I responded with a Merry Christmas. He asked if I was free. I said no. That was the end.

Boring

So, sometimes I just want to get drunk and fuck, you know? And that’s exactly what happened about 5 weeks ago. I went out for a friend’s birthday and when I got home, was texting this guy. Ok, 2 guys. But I needed to play the odds. There may have been one point where I forgot which was which, but it all worked out in the end. Sort of. My first choice had to work in a couple of hours, so he couldn’t come over. But I’m sure I’ll get around to sleeping with him, and then tell you all about it! He has a girlfriend, they’re in an open relationship and he moves around a lot for work, so they both use that opportunity to play with other people. And since no commitment is kind of my jam, it’s only a matter of time before our schedules line up. But, I digress.

I tell the other one to come over. It’s our first time meeting, but he seems alright and a 26 of vodka is a pretty powerful aphrodisiac and trust enabler. He gets to my apartment and I lead him into my bedroom. We get down to business pretty quickly and I have to say, it was…mediocre. At best. He was a fan of how I sucked his dick though (who isn’t?!) and kept trying to get me to do it some more. I was bored and not really into it. I didn’t even want to have sex with him anymore. So what I did instead was tell him how incredibly hot it would be just to watch him jerk off and make himself cum. “Really? You’d like that?” “Oh yeah baby, I looove it!” Men are so easy. (Admittedly, I actually do like to watch. Masturbation is fascinating, as long as I’m into the guy doing it. This time, not so much, but he didn’t know that.) So I gave him some lube and away he went! It didn’t take long before he was ready and asked me where I wanted him to cum. “I want you to cum aaaall over yourself.” He did.
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And he’s messaged me twice a week since. “That was so hot when I was over, let’s do it again.” I only responded to one message and told him I was really sick with strep throat and his response was, “That’s ok, you can just watch.” What a thoughtful fucking sweetheart. Bye! Blow ya never! (Again)

The Aussie

Before I went on vacation at the end of the summer, I decided to get some lash extensions. I’ve had them in the past and love them. They really brighten up your face and add a little something special, even when you’re not wearing any makeup. For anyone who has never had them, or doesn’t know what they entail, let me tell you about them. You lay on a bed for an hour or more, and the lash technician puts a sticky bandage type thing underneath your eyes. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a little uncomfortable if they don’t get it quite right because it can pull at your bottom lashes and skin. Don’t be afraid to tell them if it’s too uncomfortable. Then they glue lashes onto your own individual lashes. My eyes are a little sensitive and the glue irritates them a bit, but beauty is pain, right? RIGHT? The finished product is worth it, but you do have to take care of them. Try not to get them wet, don’t use oil-based makeup removers, if you feel like you need to use mascara, don’t use waterproof mascara and only use it on the tips, don’t rub your eyes, don’t pull on them, try not to sleep on them, don’t use eyelash curlers, and make sure you brush them out. Ok, so I know that sounds like a pain in the ass, and it is, but whatever. Still worth it. If you take care of them, they’ll last 3-4 weeks before you feel like you really need a fill. The lashes will fall out with your own natural lashes, but will obviously go sooner if you’re rough with them. When I had them done before my trip to Jamaica a few years ago, being in the pool and ocean all week meant they didn’t last as long as I was used to. So anyways, I decided to get them before going on vacation.
I was at a wedding in Wenatchee, Washington and a friend and myself drove back, up through BC and Alberta on our way back to Saskatchewan. We stopped for a couple of nights in Kelowna. Now, I had been on Tinder for most of the trip, checking out what Washington had to offer and had talked to a few men. None of them really interested me much though. I found the same thing when we got to Kelowna. There were some good looking men there, but none sparked my interest too much. There were a couple I talked to a decent amount (as much as you can in 24 hours lol), but they both got super intense. The one still messages me now that I’m home, even though we never met, and wants to come visit me. The other one hasn’t messaged me for a bit now, but he was really into the idea of waking up next to me and spending a day with me. I was not into that. But I did find someone that I WAS into. I can’t say for sure what it was about him. Maybe it was how he made me laugh, or maybe it was his Australian accent, or maybe it was the walking tour of a distillery and two craft breweries I’d done that afternoon. Whatever it was, we had chemistry and he asked if I wanted to have a drink. He said he had a bottle of wine that was begging to be tasted (funnily enough, that wine and I had a lot in common). I told him I was travelling with a friend and that maybe we should go to his place. The problem with that? His place is a van. Stop laughing. He’s an urban planner in Australia, but he really loves BC. So he works in Australia and then takes time off to travel through BC. To do that, he bought a van that he drives around, and sometimes sleeps in when he’s not couch surfing with friends. So I asked my friend if he would mind doing some site-seeing in Kelowna by himself for a couple of hours. He was happy to do so. He’s no clam-jammer!

Aussie comes over with a lovely bottle of wine and tells me about his life, asks me questions, and is a genuinely nice guy. We drink the bottle and he puts the moves on. I love a great makeout and he did not disappoint. He really loved my hair too, everything from the colour to how long and thick it is and he couldn’t stop touching it. His dick was uncut, but I’m not that fussy about it, as long as it’s clean. Wine and dick cheese is not my idea of a good time. He was really concerned about me getting off, which was awesome. He worked really hard at it, figuring out what I liked and listening to my directions. He had a move I’ve never really experienced before too. When he first started doing it, I was laying there thinking, who gave this guy his medical degree? Am I due for a pap already? Is this guy checking on my ovaries? But then I quickly got on board with what he was doing. While he used one hand to slip a couple fingers in and massage my g-spot, he use the other hand to push down on my lower belly. The extra pressure from both sides on my g-spot was incredible! I lended my own hand to the cause it wasn’t long before our teamwork paid off and I was a happy girl. He was rock fucking hard up until he put on the condom. Then, not so much. But, like I said, I’m a team player, and, eager to repay all his hard work, I gave him a blow job. He kneeled in front of me and as he got closer to cumming, he put his hands in my hair and started pulling my head in closer to him. Every time I’d come in after the back swing, I could feel my eyelashes hitting his pelvis and all I could think was, “OMG MY LASHES!!!” I mean, they were only a week old! Hurry the fuck up, amiright ladies?!

He came, my lashes were mostly intact, we made out some more, and he texted to make sure I made it home from BC. Thanks, Aussie.

St Fatrick’s Day

I think we can all relate to having someone try to make us feel back about ourselves, whether it be a backhanded comment or a blatant in-your-face insult. I was not a popular kid growing up. I had a couple close friends and I got along pretty well with most people, but I was definitely not part of the “in” crowd. It’s unbelievable to me that even in a school of only 120 kids, kindergarten to grade 12, cliques still managed to exist. What’s even more unbelievable is that when I make a trip home and run into the so-called popular kids as adults, most of them still think they’re a part of this socially constructed group with made-up prerequisites established between a bunch of mutually self-loathing individuals. As kids, these people deliberately said things to me and about me to make me feel bad about how I looked. It wasn’t constant, but even so, as soon as I was able to pick the classes I could take, I chose not to participate in gym class. Because it didn’t matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough. I was never good enough. I was too slow, too uncoordinated, too nerdy, too unpopular, too whatever. So I chose to remove myself from those 40 minute reminders of all that. I kept a lot of my feelings bottled up, never talking about them, telling myself it didn’t matter, that what they thought and said didn’t matter, while secretly, desperately, wanting to be friends with them. And not even because I thought they were cool or good-looking or funny (because they weren’t), but because I wouldn’t have to feel I didn’t belong and the boys wouldn’t make jokes about never wanting to date me.

I recall the time I wore a pink dress to school. I think it was about grade 2. It was recess and it was by the monkey bars and one of the boys in my class told me I looked pretty. It still makes me smile when I think about it. But moments like that were few and far between. So when I was 13 and visiting some family at the lake and a cute boy from the next town asked me if I would go to a movie with him, I was skeptical and I thought he was setting me up for something. I said no.

God, writing this out, I wish I could travel back in time and tell myself that I was right. That these people and the things they said really don’t matter. That these experiences would be short-lived and in the future, I would have an amazing circle of friends who love me unconditionally and I would find out that men DO want to date me. And they want tosleep with me. Like, A LOT of men want these things. And I get to choose which ones I let into my life and my bed. And on the couch and over the kitchen table and against the truck and in the pool and so on and so forth.

This got a little deeper than I had intended. (Thatswhatshesaid!) But I wanted to set up some background for my thoughts on the events that took place this past St Patrick’s Day. And I feel a little nervous that I just bared a piece of my soul to you.

So, it’s St Patrick’s Day. And I look good. I mean, really good. Both men and women were hitting on me. And I feel good. I head out to my favourite pub, O’hanlon’s, with a couple of my best friends and the beer starts flowing. We are laughing and joking around and dancing and having a great time when a cute young man comes over and starts talking to us. I couldn’t really hear most of the conversation that was happening with him, but I caught snippets of something at the end before he walked away and can see the disgusted looks on the faces of my friends. I asked what he said and it was something like, “Yeah, well I only came over here because my friends dared me to find out how much your combined weight is.” I laaaauuuughed! Because, how ridiculous! Who says shit like that? But I could see that both of my friends were affected by it, and offended, for themselves and for me. I tried to joke it off, but it didn’t work. A short time later, one of my friends and I were upstairs and saw him again. Well, my friend saw him. I didn’t even register that it was the same guy. He wanted to go over and lose it on him, but I said no, I would go.

So I go over to where this guy, kid really, is talking to his friend and our conversation goes something like this:

Me: Hey

D-bag Jones: Hi

Me: What makes you think it’s ok for you to insult me and my friends like you did?

D-bag Jones: Your girfriend made fun of me.

Me: So? You couldn’t handle it like the joke that it was and needed to make a fat joke to insult everyone? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Asshat Martin (friend of D-bag Jones): Hey, you can’t just come over here and start talking to him like that!

Me: *turns to Asshat* Shut up, no one is talking to you, your friend was an asshole and needs to hear why it’s ok not to behave that way. *turns to D-bag* You’re a douche. My friends are beautiful and amazing. You can make any joke you want about me, but fuck you. I am 350 pounds and confident and sexy as fuck and *gets cut off by D-bag*

D-bag Jones: I know! You are! You’re so sexy! You’re hot. You’re the reason I came over, because I wanted to talk to you.

Me: Uh. Well then what the fuck is wrong with you?! Why would you say something that immediately eliminated any chance with me?

D-bag Jones: Because I’m insecure. Your friend made fun of me and my instinct was to be a dick. I’m really sorry. (I studied him for a moment. He seemed sincere.)

Me: You should be sorry. And you should be apologizing to my friends. Be a better person.

I turned around and walked away, never noticing him again.

This incident did not make me feel bad about myself, but it did make me think the next day about how no one should have to put up with shit like that. Why should I have had to spend the last 34 years working so hard at loving and accepting myself and giving zero fucks because cunts like that exist in both child and adulthood? Why should my friends? Why should you?

Maybe a month or so after that, I was out and made some new friends at a club and we ended up at O’hans again. Again, I looked good. Really good. And I didn’t notice some girls noticing me when we walked in. But my new friends did. And after we got a drink, the one told me he told these girls to shut up because of some comment they made about me. I don’t know what it was, but it was in regards to the dress I was wearing, which hugs every soft, delicious curve on my body, and they obviously didn’t think I should be wearing it. At this point in my life, I choose to let it go. It’s not always easy, but I try to remember one thing: It must be hard to look at me and be filled with the very real fear that I could steal your boyfriend with just a wink and a smile.

Dumbass Roommate: Part 3

Ok, so I give him notice and I tell him that if he wants to keep any of the stuff I’m using, he’s welcome to it. I am moving into a small apartment and need to get of so much stuff, so he’d be doing me a favour by taking it anyways. I do this in a text. No response. The only time he responds to me is when I ask him a direct question. I tell him that he needs to clean his room because the landlord will want to show it to prospective tenants. And I make a point to tell him he should air his bedroom out and make sure it smells ok. Even with the door closed, it had a rather…pungent odour. If I were to tell you it smelled like teenage boy, would you know what I meant? If not, read this:

This fresh, woody fragrance is effervescent with dark, musky notes of body odour, feet, stale beer, and semen. A fragrance of contrasts, it is a unique, aromatic combination.

Imagine testing that out in Sephora. Or getting in a 3-wick at Bath and Body Works. Maybe it could be the latest fragrance from Viktor & Rolph. Spicebomb Junior.

Try not smelling that now. You can’t. Once smelled, it cannot be unsmelled. Even in your imagination.

He did tidy up. The smell was less pronounced once he aired the room out and covered it with some air freshener.

I purge a lot of my stuff, sell a lot, and still I haven’t heard from him about the things I let him use. So I have to ask again. He says no, he won’t be needing to take anything with him. Ok. This kid who moved in with almost nothing besides his clothes a tv doesn’t need any furniture. Sure. I tell him to clean everything up then and take it out of his room so I can try and sell it. He moves the shelves out, but is still using the bed. Which is fine. Until the day comes when I have someone coming to take a couple loads of garbage to the dump. He hasn’t moved the bed out yet so I go into his room to pull the mattress out and put it in the yard. I lift it up off the floor (remember, he put the box spring back in the garage shortly after moving in and had the mattress directly on the floor) and there’s a wet spot. I should have taken a picture of this, but I was so perplexed, i didn’t even think about it. Where did this wet spot come from? It had obviously been there awhile because the sheet on the mattress wasn’t wet. But underneath the mattress was. And when I looked at the bottom of the mattress, there were a bunch of holes in it. 15-20 small holes that I assume had been eaten through by mould. WTF happened? Did he spill a glass of water? Did he spill beer? Did he piss the bed? I don’t know. But it was weird. He obvious spilled something and then didn’t clean it up and just kept sleeping on it. Probably for weeks. The worst part was that the guy I had hauling the garbage away probably wondered wtf was wrong with me after seeing that mattress with the holes. Oh, and I had lent him some bedding when he moved in because he didn’t even come with a blanket. I don’t know what happened to the blankets, but I saw them in the garbage. I guess if they were anything like the mattress, the garbage is exactly where they belong instead of turning me into Regina’s very own Outbreak monkey. 

On the day that I was cleaning the house, he was a big help. Seriously. I wasn’t expecting him to do much more than clean his bedroom, but he spent the whole day cleaning with me. I had talked to the landlord and we were going to wait until the next week to do the walk through because they were really busy and I didn’t mind waiting. So I go to leave and my roommate asks me about the damage deposit. The entire year and a half we lived together, he had zero common sense, knew nothing about living on his own or with other people, but he knew that he had a damage deposit coming back to him. I told him it would probably be the next week. I felt a little bad because it was the long weekend coming up and he could probably use the money since he had no job. But that wasn’t my problem. All the times this kid made me wait for rent money, he could wait an extra week.

When I got my damage deposit back, I texted him and said I would e-transfer it to him. He asked if I could meet him somewhere and give him cash. He was overdrawn on his account and he was trying to move to Winnipeg and could use all the money he could get. Fair enough, we’ve all been there. So I tell him to meet me at the Cornwall downtown at 2pm the next day. That works for him. I get there early, do a bit of shopping and at 155 I text him to tell him I’m by the escalators. 10 minutes later, I text him to ask if he’s in the mall and will be there soon because I have to leave in 10 minutes for work. No response. I hang out for another 15 minutes and then I leave to go to work. At 240, he texts me saying he was helping his grandma with something and waiting out the rain and was on his way. I shouldn’t be surprised that he thought I’d still be waiting around around for him. I told him I’d already left, so he said ok, just transfer the money then. So I did. The next day he texts me and gives me his email address to transfer the deposit to. I say I sent it yesterday to his phone number and ask if he got the text notification about it. He informs me that his phone was cut off so he can only use iChat when he’s on wifi. So I have to cancel the transfer and resend it. And that’s the last contact I’ve had with him. Hopefully he made it to Winnipeg. Obviously all the stories are the funny/weird/gross/dumbass ones, but he is also a nice guy. He was always good about pet sitting when I was away and doing the things I asked him to do, like shovel snow, or clean something up, and he didn’t smoke crack or steal my stufd. So I wish him the best. And now I am living in a small apartment with zero human roommates, life is good, and I am naked all of the time!