MOVING HANS SOLO

The greatest adventure in life, is to try it alone. Who said that? I did fuckers. When I was in my mid-twenties, I decided to peace out of this place and move 5000 km away from my friends and family.

I had some time to transition to this new world, as a friend of mine was a mere hour away. I was working at a Provincial Park and became very close to the people I lived and worked with at the park.

As the summer came to an end along with my contract, I decided to get a job in the nearby town and stick around. I was living in Northern Alberta, and I enjoyed how close the wilderness was to me.

I landed a decent job and decided to make a career of it. As the leaves started to fall and the first frost came, I found myself moving out of an almost empty park house into a new city where I knew no one.

The last of the park crew left in November, and suddenly I found myself alone, in an unfurnished apartment and wondering what the FUCK I was thinking. The first night you spend alone in such a place is surreal, much like the first night at summer camp.

You hear strange noises and you miss the comforts of your home almost instantly. In my case, I had but a futon mattress, dishes and clothing and a mini portable dvd player, that is all. I felt as if I was in complete isolation.

I passed my time by watching every available season of The Simpson's and having strange dance parties alone in my kitchen. The first little while was indeed tough to handle. I felt like I was talking to myself way to much and going crazy without the feel of someone else's touch, even if just a hug.

The reason I felt the need to write about this time in my life, is because I was asked by a friend if I had any tips for moving to a new city alone. It brought me back, and I have thought upon some tips I learned along the way.

TIPS FOR MOVING ALONE

GET A HAIRCUT - AND GET A REAL JOB

Getting a job is what kept me in this new area. I was working at a Women's Shelter which meant I was working somewhere I wanted too. I found that important, but I understand not always possible.

Whether it's school, a placement, a minimum wage job or the career of your dreams, get out there and be a part of something full time. This will keep you busy, and around people.

Not only will this deal give you less time to thing about being alone, you will meet people and get more connected to this strange new place.

FIND PUBLIC PLACES TO HANG OUT

If you decide to hide in your dwelling feeling sad for yourself you will be miserable. Find places to go where you will be around other people to avoid crying constantly, or worse, crasturbating because you just can't stop (crying that is).


I always found grocery shopping to be comforting, so I would buy less and go twice a week. There was always lots of interesting people shopping, and I could exchange pleasantries with the cashier. I recommend this, the conversation has no awkward ending because your shit is packed and it's time to go - perfect because you leave feeling fulfilled.

Also works - parks, the library, a pub, the movies, and an active downtown area.

Even if you can't be with people out in these places, doesn't mean it's not nice to be around them. Besides, you've moved to a new place, go check shit out.

MAKE "FOR NOW" FRIENDS

I am not normally one to encourage lowering your standards, but here's the deal, if you meet someone you maybe wouldn't normally hang around with but they seem to want to...go with it.


So what if they are known as the town bicycle, they have a birthmark that makes them look like Hitler or they have an odd obsession with cheese. You can look past these things for now.

It's someone to hang out with and show you around, load up on that shit, just remember not to share to much personal information, and for goodness sake do not apply this rule to dating.

My "for now" friend was a little on the mentally and emotionally unstable side, but for the first bit she made for a great person to hit the bars with (yes, drinking helps with being on your own, but only when you are with at least one other person you "know"). 

PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE - THE FRIEND DATE

How to ask out a potential friend without seeming like you are asking them on a date. Extremely tough if they are either gender (especially when you are confused as a lesbian as often as I am).


This is a tough one, cause let's face it sometimes people get the wrong idea, especially if you ask them out to dinner. My suggestion leads back to the first tip, which is getting a something to do full time.

After the thing that you do, ie work, ask this person if they want to catch a drink or a coffee. Make sure it's not someone you find sexually attractive, as it's just not a good idea to date right away.

The friend date can lead to wonderful things, or a for now friend. Either way, it's an outing you can hopefully enjoy and tell the folks back home about.

SEE THE LOCAL ATTRACTIONS

I don't care if it's the giant beaver attraction in the next town over, go see that shit. While there, take a picture and put it on facebook. You will enjoy showing off where you are, and knowing what people back home think about it.

Secretly, you will also make them jealous. Guess why? They are stuck in the same old place doing the same old thing, which will lose it's comfort when they see the adventure you are having.

So be sure to have 'em. 

LEARN ABOUT YOURSELF - FIND SOME HOBBIES 

Being isolated at times, meant I had time to really think about how I wanted to fill my time. I discovered things I didn't know about myself.


When I was in grade school, I didn't like art. My shit never looked like what it was suppose to and often times I ended up just accidentally gluing shit to myself and loosing points on my overall self esteem.

When I moved alone, and had oodles of time to myself, I started to paint. I was really bored one afternoon and found myself at the dollar store buying random art supplies.

Now, I love to paint. It helps me relax, I enjoy the ideas I can splash on a canvas and it has provided full decoration for my current apartment.

Find what makes you tip, you now officially have the time. 

GET YOURSELF A COMPANION 

For me, this meant flying back from my Christmas vacation with my cat. Once I had her in my life, I felt better. When I came home from work I was greeted with prrs and love, and I could tell at least someone about my day (yeah, it probably looked a little fucked).


Pets provide love, give you a time filler and make being on your own less lonely. If you have no pet option (remember, fish count) then I suggest a plant. Something you can take care of, and give love too.

I had a plant before my cat came to live with me, and his name was Mario.

COME HOME WITH STORIES TO TELL

Don't be a shit head and spend all of your time at work or at home with your six cats, make sure you get out there and do some silly shit. The benefit of moving to a new area alone, is NO ONE KNOWS YOU.

You can suddenly get away with things you just didn't feel comfortable doing in your home town/city/etc. Nobody is going to tell your parents they saw you in the Legalize IT march, you will not run into your ex boyfriend and his wife and kid, and you can get away with smoking in public without the fear of your grandmother catching you (yes this applies even when you are 30).

You can experiment with who you want to be, whether it's to dye your hair bright purple, make out with people at the bar or feel out wearing hammer pants in public. It's a beautiful change to just be you, after all you don't know these people so who gives a fuck.

MEET THE BEST FRIEND YOU EVER COULD

I will sum it up with this last section here. There was a moment when I felt like I was going to be ok, and then there was a later moment when I knew it would be hard to ever leave.


The first moment had an unfortunate start. I had been officially alone in a new city for a month and without any new additions to my apartment, I was feeling very alone. To make matters worse, I came down with a horrible stomach flu.

The degree of this stomach flu was epic, and it pained me to call in to my new job sick, but I had no choice. Before I called, I called my mom, and sobbed to her on the phone about how awful I felt and how lonely I was.

My mom told me after that she almost flew out to be with me, but something changed. I called into work to tell them I was ill, and a placement student answered the phone. I really enjoyed what I knew of her, but she was new in my life.

I started to cry, I couldn't help it. Being sick when alone like that is almost unbearable, and I broke. I told her through sobs that I was very sick and I wouldn't be at work.

She asked me if I needed anything. I paused for a moment, and said, "really?"

I could hear her smile through the phone and she asked if I wanted some ginger ale, and I told her yes. I lived a one minute walk from the shelter (Living close to a your full time gig is a good call at first as well, makes it easy to get comfortable in a new place). She was at my door within twenty minutes, and I greeted her in the front hallway of my apartment building.

I thanked her for coming by, and could feel tears rising again as I stood in front of this almost stranger in my pjs. She looked at me, and said "I moved here alone as well. I know what it's like. If you ever need anything or feel alone, there is a place just down the street full of people who can help."

It lifted a weight off of me I cannot describe. I suddenly felt like I wasn't alone anymore, and I could do it. This moment will come, but you have to give it time.

The moment I knew I would never want to leave, was the night I did a night shift at work with a staff I hadn't worked with yet. I was a bit nervous, as on a night shift it's just you and that other staff.

If they suck balls, your night sucks balls. Within the first twenty minutes of meeting her, I decided she was going to be my new best friend. It was the meeting of a kindred.

We instantly clicked and by the middle of the night were crying from laughter. As the sun came up and I walked home from work that morning, I knew I was going to be at home soon enough.

This amazing woman turned out to be my best in the west. Our friendship is like two kids playing happily in a sandbox (one where both of us have peed and neither cares).

She is a friend I will now have forever, who ended up making my time out there incredible. She is also the friend that asked me for tips, so I wrote a blog.

Although I eventually moved home and had to hug her farewell, she is still with me everyday. She is in my heart and in my mind, and not a day goes by where I don't at least think of her.

This blog is for you Lloyd, so basically the best tip I have is to find a similar me, in your new city. I love you, and I love you so much, that if this new "me" is closer to you or better in any way, I will kill her.

Then assume her identity. Unless it means loosing weight.

I love you, thanks for making my years in Hickton glorious, and good luck in your new adventures. 

LB Plus None

Wedding invitations, fuck em. Guess what soon to be and current marrieds - as singles - we hate getting this shit in the mail. In the time of email and texting it's rare to get a letter addressed to you, and true, when you pull that shit out of the mailbox you are stoked.

That is, until you see the front. The part where it says "Your Name plus Guest." Fucking guest right? You can already feel your brain searching for a potential date, and no one comes to mind. It's maddening, and it makes you feel like a lonely piece of crap (no matter how full your life seems).

I always had a back up for weddings, a friend of mine I have known for years who has been my constant date. He's perfect for it. He's a great friend of mine, we laugh together, he dances, and he knows my entire family since he's essentially a part of it (long time family friends). I will say that I never experienced too much anxiety because I knew I was single, but covered.

I could save the sad choke back of lonely tears for the wedding ceremony alone and I would be good otherwise. Things changed, the day I got his wedding invitation in the mail.

The wedding invitation, was not sent to my apartment, despite the fact that I moved out almost a decade ago. The wedding invitation did not have a plus guest, in fact the invitation was addressed to my parents plus me.

That's right folks, I am the plus one, and I have plus none.

The sad part of it, is that this now meant the last TWO weddings I've been invited to (in a list of many) there was no plus one. Prior to this my friends sent me an invitation for a wedding out of town for just me.

I guess I am so chronically fucking single the people in my life don't even bother to place a date option for me. I am the poster woman for dateless. I am the embodiment of Bridget Jones, and here I stand, alone, just like the cheese.

I was unable to make the first dateless invite, but indeed I attended the wedding of my long time wedding date.

My father was ill that day, and so my mother let me know not to worry, she would be my date. So now I've gone from plus one status to backup plan or pity date, fuckin eh.

We were not seated together and within the first ten minutes I found myself standing alone in a wedding hall full of couples. Couples and me. Just like the invite. 

I am not sure if you have ever experienced the feeling of complete loneliness, but at that particular moment, I felt it, and I felt it deep. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, I could feel my throat closing in and was sure my nose was already red in anticipation.

I stood there, motionless in my party dress and high heels, completely alone. That's when I saw him, across the room. He was there, on his own, and now was my chance.

I walked as fast as I could in shoes I never wear, and found myself face to face with him in the back corner of the hall.

With no hesitation, it came out so easy. "I'll have a white wine, and can you just fill that shit up to the top so I don't have to come back as much?"

He smiled.

From then on, my night was great. So thank you, to the bartender, who didn't judge my binge drinking to escape my sadness.

Yearly Check Up

 

Fucking shit. Nothing worse than realizing your time is up, and it's time to get personally checked under the hood again. Why on earth would I write about going to see the gyno? Because I had a rather grand visit there recently, that's why.

I can be an anxious person at times, but nothing sends me into a spin more than hitting up this exam. Every year this visit becomes more and more painful, and I don't mean physically, I mean emotionally.

I do not own a scale of any kind (not even for cooking, because I'm not that precise). I don't weigh myself because my clothing tells me enough, and I feel it's just not healthy for me, as I can obsess.

So what's the first thing I get to do upon arrival (after waiting an hour surrounded by pregnant women and small children), I step on the scale. The scale being in the hallway next to the waiting room for all to see. I know they can't fully see the number, I just don't need an audience. It's like having someone at a carnival guess your weight, no one over sixteen picks that option. Eventually we all opt to have them guess our birthday.

At this office, although it sounds like a carnival with all the kids running around,  I step on, the audience is present, but there is no chance of a prize, bullshit. The least they could do is fancy a guess and toss some condoms or pamphlets my way.

After the pain of seeing a number I didn't want to see flash up on the scale, I walked my way down to the room to await doctor claw. I can feel myself fighting tears, and I try to pass it off as allergies when he finally enters the room.

I sit across from him, and he pulls out my sheet. The conversation goes like this:

DOC: How old are you now?
ME: Thirty
DOC: Married? Do you have a husband?
ME: No
DOC: Any children?
ME: Nope
DOC: Any pregnancies?
ME: No
DOC: Sexually active?
ME: Do I count as a partner?

Or maybe I just said NO and slumped further into my chair looking at my life and wondering if I'll be alone forever.

He proceeded with the medical questions and once he finished and scolded me for smoking, handed me the teeny tiny gown and excused himself. I hate getting into that shit, it's bad enough I suffered through a weigh in and questions that make me depressed, I now get to attempt to get myself into what appears to be a child's apron.

I await the return, and stand awkwardly to conceal my nudity which feels like it's popping out from all sides. The doctor returns with a young woman. He introduces her as a med student, and before he can go on I know what he's about to ask me.

I am all for training. Everyone starts new, and has to practice. But why must they all practice on me? A bad haircut I can get over, a bad exam in my under region, no thank you.

Alas, I say yes and now have an audience of two staring into my vagina. She doesn't even introduce herself and in goes that fucking tool I hate. I call it the claw, even though I am aware of it's true name. She fucks up, and has to do it again.

She fucks up again, and ends up doing it twice more before the doctor steps in. I felt like I should ask to go out for a smoke, because four pokes is short but it's the most action....you know where I'm going with this...

Four times. If you go to get blood taken and they fuck up twice, that's it. This should be an overall rule for anything. To top off my visit, as the doctor has his hands in me and I am staring at the ceiling waiting for it to end (insert married joke here); he looks down at me, and starts asking about my life out west and my new job.

What the fuck?! He wishes me well when all is said and done, and out the room my audience goes, leaving me in a gown, sitting on a table feeling low. Did I want to cry? Yes. Did I wait to do so in the privacy of my car? Yes.

Nothing hotter than a single thirty year old woman driving down the road crying. Did I then get into a Hank Williams frame of mind and start thinking I am so lonesome I could cry? Yes, I did. Then, I did something I've slowly learned to do....

I got over it. I got over it with a trip to see my mom, a swim in her pool, a nice cold beer and a good old fashion hangout with my friend. If I was married with kids, I may not have taken his questioning so harshly, but if I was married with kids, I wouldn't have the freedom to do all those things in a day. 

FIRST DATE F#$K UPS

 

Did he just fart? Did he seriously just let out a silent bomb in the car, and say nothing, as though I would not notice? Can he not smell that? Is he hard of smelling? Does he expect me to think it wasn't him, meaning that it must have been me? It was a first date fart that I could have done without. 

I haven't been on a good date in a long while. In fact, I haven't been on a date period in a long ass time, years even. I am not sure what a successful date looks or feels like, it's simply been to long. I can't provide any advice on the how to's of dating, so instead I am going to try something different.

These are not ideas I have simply plucked out of my head, they are indeed things I have witnessed, done or heard about that have happened on dates. Here is my list, of DO NOT DO'S.

DON'T

Fart, as mentioned prior. If you feel a fart brewing on a first date, I suggest you figure out an exit strategy. Either relieve yourself for a moment, hold that shit tight if you can't, and if you have no choice but to let er rip, admit it after the fact.

I dated a guy who ripped a wicked foul silent mushroom cloud in his fancy leather interior car and say nothing about it. He didn't even roll down the window, he just went on as though it never happened.

I could sense his panic, and I could taste his fart.

Just don't do it.
  
DON'T

 Show up in track pants. I love track pants as much as the next gal, they are easy access after all....but on a first date - what the fuck are you thinking?! No one should have any reason for this, none.

Is it laundry day? I am sure you knew you had a date, giving you time to launder a pair of non track pants. Did you just play some form of sport or work out? Then why the heck didn't you shower and change after, it's a first date shit for brains. Are track pants the only pants you own? I am not materialistic, but come on!

No - good - reason.

I've dated this guy also, and what's worse, he didn't just wear track pants....

.....he tucked his shirt into them.

No, I didn't have sex with him.

DON'T

Get shit faced. No brainer right? Wrong. I am a smart lady, and I just got a bit carried away with the pints of brew...and forgot the fact I don't drink all that much. 

Is a drunk rambling chain smoking lass a good catch? Apparently not.

There was no date number two...I totally get why. I should have mixed in some water, ate more for dinner, or skipped the whole thing altogether, because even now I cringe at the thought of the hot mess I must have been (just, less hot and more pukey).

Don't get piss tanked, not on the first date.

Also, don't get wasted a few months later celebrating St.Patty's Day and run into the guy, then rant about how he didn't call you while spilling your beer and slurring your words.

BEER - TWO L.B. - ZERO.

DON'T

Destroy the restaurant. Try to keep the dishes in tack and on the table, along with the table cloth. My mother (yes, she dated once) went out to a nice Italian restaurant with a young suitor.

It happens, and it's not a full don't, but his fly was down. When informed of this, he was quick to the draw, a little to quick. No he didn't zip his member into the pants al la Something About Mary, instead, he zipped in the table cloth.

What's worse, he didn't notice. Mid meal he excused himself to the washroom, and upon getting up and walking took the contents of the table with him.

This young man, is not my father.

DON'T 

Talk about your ex. While on this topic, please don't also talk about how amazing she was, how much you miss her, and how great she looked. Please don't go on to mention her awesome rack, while showing a picture of a bare chested ex-girlfriend on your phone.

I never thought I would have to make a request to not do this, but he did it.

She did have nice boobs, I will admit to that.

DON'T

Show up, if you are anything less that what I am looking for in a partner. Why? I simply don't have the time anymore. 

Palm Reading from Hell

I've had palm readings and tarot cards read, and although deep down I know it's just for entertainment, I use them as a tool.

Each time I have gone I couldn't help but feel my hope renewed because almost each and every time I get told love and a great career is on the way.

The first time I went, I had just turned eighteen, I have gone between then and now (thirty) and mostly it's been all good news. I can't help but wonder now,  where the fuck is he, and why the piss do I not have the golden career?

Perhaps they were all wrong, or worse, the only woman who told me different was right.

I was down in New Orleans with friends in the early 2000's, and somewhere in the French Quarter I sat in the hot humid Louisiana sun, and had my palm read by the most authentic looking palm reader I've ever seen.

She was blind in one eye and it was clouded over, her hair was long and in tattered curls and she had an ongoing outfit of scarves tied together to make a dress type thing. 

This woman was incredible, she told me things I'd never told anyone, and many of her predictions have indeed come true. She was specific about details of my past, and I sat across from her in wide eyed wonder.

Telling me I was set for financial security and a job I will love, made me feel glorious hope, and the fact that she was so dead on with other things, I felt like maybe this woman could see it all in the lines of my hand.

She told me I had dated many snakes (she said snakes, I say assholes) and that I had more to wade my way through, she was right. Then she told me one last bit of information, I wish she hadn't.

After an intense reading, she looked up at me with a sad look, and said the words I'll never forget. "I'm sorry," she said, "but you'll never meet your soul mate."

Boom. There it was smack dab in the middle of my vacation, a clairvoyant gypsy telling me that there really is not point to date. By her vision, I dated a lot of jerks, was going to date even worse only to end up not with my soul mate.

NICE. Thanks a shit load gypsy lady, you really didn't need to tell me that last part. The only good to come out of this, is the calm I now feel knowing I don't even need to worry about dating, indeed there is no reason.

Maybe she was right, maybe I'll never meet my soul mate. Luckily, I have beer, and soon enough I should be getting that career to match this financial security. Unless of course that's the one thing she's wrong about....

Single Female finds the Fish Plenty, but Rotten

It all starts with me spending quality time on my couch watching television and cuddling with my cat. It's my special time of the month, and all I want to do is eat and occasionally cry for no reason. I'm trying to zen out and another one of those damn commercials flashes on my screen.

Did you know that one in five relationships now start online? No shit. It's another website for singles to connect with other singles in an attempt to meet that "one". The commercial causes me to flash back to a time when I thought that this shit was possible.

I can tell you, that the people compiling these advertisements and sites have clearly not spent enough time accessing them, as they have no bloody clue what it's really like.

First off, what's with the people they use to show what a first meeting looks like. Where do they find these people? Did they send them to Extreme Makeover first that included a wardrobe overhaul and teeth whitening?

No one I have ever met off any site has looked remotely close to anyone who I've seen on TV, in fact let's be honest, you are lucky if the guy shows up showered or sober most attempts.

The date these people are on is also absolute shite. The couple sits happily at a table, laughing and talking in their nicest business casual attire while sipping wine. The restaurant is high class, and after dinner it pans to them doing activities I would expect out of a romantic comedy, not real life.

The final part of the commercial shows couples who met on said site, the date they contacted and clips of them sharing how happy they now are because they found someone. The person they found always seems to be the same colour and size, and they are usually wearing outfits that match.

I am just doubtful these people even exist. These sites, whether free all the time or tossing free weekends at you, are all the same. In fact, you are likely to find the same people on more that one if your looking.

Common decency was lacking from most messages I received no matter which site I used. The one that claims to have plenty of singles is the worst, the plenty of fish they have are the ones left at the bottom of the ocean.

No one is swimming in the dating pool, we are wading. Why is that my friends? The dating pool is shallow. These sites do not offer anything worth a wade. Every time you check in to these sites to see who's found you, you get a gaggle of messages that are enough to make you consider a switch to the other team.

I know that women are still objectified to a horrid degree in this world, and still I was consistently disturbed with how I was spoken to in messaging. When you log in and see that you have pending messages, there is a moment of excitement, until of course, you open these messages.

Sometimes they would simply say "HI", as though this is going to somehow catch my attention. Often, the message would say something about my picture (cute smile, nice whatever) then follow with a request to see more pics, nude ones.

These potential suitors don't even bother to use proper English most of the time, and so the message is written as "Hey QT got nude pix? send me sum". What a romantic how you met story for the future in-laws.

If they didn't ask for nude pics right away, they eventually did. If they were trying to convince me they were respectful of women, they would instead ask me for a "body shot". Apparently a picture of my shoulders up is not acceptable.

No matter how they try and deny it, they want to know if I am of tiny waist. They want to make sure I'm not a "fatty" and most likely have a "No Fat Chicks" t-shirt kicking around somewhere.

You know what affects more women in Canada than breast cancer? Eating disorders, gee I wonder why we worry.

The men who were asking too see all of me might I add, often looked about three months pregnant with a receding hairline but had they been decent, I would have not cared to notice. 

The dates I was offered were never for a romantic dinner, in fact not even for a simple coffee date for the most part. Common date request (when I've not even met the person) is to go over to their place and watch a movie.

Yeah that sounds safe. Shall I take my pants off when I walk in or wait five minutes? What happened to the days of the bar when people would at least fake small talk and get drunk before asking such a silly thing.

I was asked more times than I care to count if I was good at performing a certain act (rhymes with flowie) and if I had ever thought about having a threesome with another girl. Worse still, the threesome question was often formulated in a question that would include a friend.

Example: 

Me - I can't do a coffee date tomorrow I am having a girlfriend over for coffee, how about the day after? 

HotGuy4U29 - She hot? Wanna do a threesome hahaha lol jk.....maybe 

Sigh, fuckers.

Once you wade through all that shit, you get to the few people you could actually maybe agree to meet, and holy goodness, they want to get a coffee. This is when I would get a bit more excited, get a good shower on and wear my cleanest of clothes.

Nearing the end of my online dating days I stopped wondering if I would hit it off with a date and started to wonder what version of the online person was now going to show up (if at all). When meeting these people, it's not like the commercial.

The commercials should show dates showing up stoned or half drunk, wearing sweat pants and talking about their last girlfriend who broke their heart or was a total psycho. Because that's the shit I've seen walk through the door.

Not only were most of them nothing like the picture they put up, they were also about a full foot shorter than they said. If the guy checked off non-smoker, fuck that shit, he's smoking like it's 1955. Said he'd never date someone who did drugs, and you're getting high off the fumes from his jacket.

It's all the same, a big fucking let down, and again, that's if he shows (nearing the end for me it was usually me not showing up, because something better came up, like Coronation Street was on).

Dating websites are not a place to find Mr Right. They are an online place for people to meet friends with benefits or one night stands. Every profile I checked after getting a raunchy first email would almost always have "Looking for a serious relationship" as their looking for field. Fuck - right - off!

Dating sites offer a bunch of d-bags, some of whom aren't even single. I really loved getting the "hey sweetie im looking for something discreet" messages. I would always respond, with a lashing and recommendation they seek the site for people who are married to have affairs.

It is insanity trying to find love on these sites. They are to dating what infomercials are to shopping. Attempting these sites you will not find love, maybe just get some sweet sweet chlamydia.

 I gave up on the prospect and stopped buying into the idea that just maybe I was going to be the lucky one who stumbled upon that guy. The one who has given up on the bar scene and is looking for long term.

He doesn't exist. He says that's what he wants, but here's the deal. That same guy is on five other sites and has been at it for ten years, FYI. There's also a reason he's still single.

Forget dating sites, and take the commercials advice. Four out of five relationships don't start online. 

Story Time with Balls

The sweet taste of having wonderful friends is what makes my life of singletude completely bearable. My friend, we will call her Balls (at least that's what she's in my phone under) is an effervescent lady who delights me with her childhood stories. Like me, she has lived through some horrifically embarrassing moments, and to be able to sit down and share them, makes for good times.

The other night, we were discussing certain items we had dropped over the years. I started by telling her about my ballet days. As a child, I was round like Garfield, perhaps a side effect of watching him on Saturday mornings. My mother had to literally hold on to my leotard, and I would jump up and down to simply get into the damn things.

I am not sure how then, during a concert while dancing around in a circle to some bullshit peter pan music, my tutu fell down. I almost stepped out of the damn thing, but made a fast pull up and kept on going. Perhaps my round middle pushed the item of clothing in a downward motion, otherwise I am not sure how this occurred.

Balls fired back by telling me of a time when she danced as well. Grade eight brought her to the stage, and in her time to shine she had a major shoe malfunction. I've had these as well, I am sure you have too. It's when the tip of your shoe gets caught in something, a wood panel, the sidewalk, your other foot, causing you to do a silly skip forward.

When holding on to something, it occasionally causes you to drop that item. In the middle of a chorus of students waving their tambourines in the air, she did a trip, slip and drop. The tambourine went down, but her spirits did not. We are kindreds you see, as I pulled up my tutu and went on, she simply waved her hands along side her stage mates, in an attempt to either act like nothing happened, or to at least value that the show must go on.

The conversation rolled from there, and brought me to an unfortunate even in the hallway when I was in grade eight. When you are female, it is terribly embarrassing to admit to anyone that you have your period. It's something you try and pretend does not exist in any capacity.

It was a winter day and I was at my locker happy to be at the end of the school day. I grabbed my winter jacket out of my locker and threw it on over my head (recall the style in the 90s included pull over short jackets riddled with florescent shapes). I went on with my routine of collecting all my items while trying not to let all the garbage in my locker fall out, when a very shy classmate turned to me.

His face was beat red and he said, "um, I think you dropped something."

I looked down and in horror saw it sitting there in the hallway of the Public School I attended. It was a pink kotex pad, and it lay there laughing at me. I did what any 13 year old would do in a situation like this, I said immediately, "that's not mine."

He looked away asking nothing more, but he knew. He saw it fly out of my front pocket and land on the ground. To make matters worse, the janitor came by with his big broom, and pushed that pad all the way down the hall. I left school in a hurry that day.

Balls came back at me, with what is now my favourite of her stories. She recalled a moment in the hallway at school, high school. It was grade 11 and she was also prepping for the end of the school day. High school hallways are scary as fuck, even walking through them as an adult I can still feel a tingle of insecurity. Every move you make in that hallway is calculated as a teenager, most of us just trying to blend in.

Balls was collecting her items, and was jolted by a loud smashing sound as a juice bottle crashed onto the hard cold floor next to her. Being concerned she reacted by calling out to the other students down the hall, "Somebody dropped their juice!"

She then turned to look at the damaged beverage on the ground and realized, it was her juice. She did it, she is that somebody. And she just yelled down the hall to alert everyone.

Adding to her original question she informed her classmates that it was indeed hers, and to never mind. I pictured this story from her angle, and after catching my breath from laughter, I pictured it to anyone else standing in that hallway looking at her.

What you would see, is a young girl drop her juice (I am assuming fruitopia) and yell out asking who done it. She done it. Then the look on her face once realizing, that indeed, she dropped the juice. I think that's a good lesson on life, perhaps if I could relive my pad incident, I would own up to that shit the way she did.

Story time with Balls is always a fun affair, as long as no one drops their juice.