So, I left off yesterday about the young guy I met at the club. Well, I didn’t mention that I actually walked out of the club with him. I have no idea what happened to him, or why I lost him…it was probably my own doing, but it didn’t matter, another man appeared almost as if on cue.

A few nights earlier, we had the Bachelorette party. For the party, we hoped from hotel to hotel on the resort to have a drink at each lobby bar. We were on our third, and drunk enough to be on our 7th, when we walk into the hotel to find a group of men as large as our group of men almost in waiting for us. They were all from France, and, since most of us were from Canada, most of us spoke French, so it went pretty well.

So, the night of the wedding, as I was leaving the club with the young guy, I run into one of these French men. His name was Nicholas. I let him walk me back to my hotel. I’m Bachelorette-party drunk, and my French gets pretty bad when I’ve booze, so the conversation wasn’t that interesting. All he did was tell me how much money he makes. I told him I never drink and that moment I was totally sober.

We get to my hotel, and I’m slowly beginning to vaguely sober up. A few thoughts start to run through my mind:

“This guy is really not that good-looking”

“I don’t take guys back to my hotel room”

“I especially don’t take ugly guys back to my hotel room”

“I have a roommate in my hotel room”

“I really need to ditch this guy”

So we get as far as the walkway, and I turn to him and say: “I just remembered that my friend is in the room. We can’t go back there.”

Under different circumstances, the walkway would have been romantic. Thanks Randy for the pic I stole.

Seeing that his chances are now slim, despite what was probably an exciting 30 minute walk for him (side note, it would have been 10 if I could walk straight), he decides to act quick. He grabs me, pushes me up against the pillar, and starts macking on me….like sticking his tongue directly onto my tonsils. For a French guy, he couldn’t kiss worth a shit.

I push off of him and turn to just walk away. He grabs me by the arm and pushes me up against the pillar again. Luckily for me, I am really strong and I pushed him off again, then RAN to my hotel room.

I tried to think where I led him astray and why he thought he had a chance of getting lucky with me. It dawned on me: on a resort in some tropical paradise; I’m the drunk chick; I let him walk me all the way back to my hotel; I let him walk me within 100 feet of my hotel room; and I’m the drunk chick.

Poor guy.

In yesterday’s post, I said that I hadn’t a chance in hell of hooking up while on my trip to Mexico. The situation seemed more and more desperate when I looked around and saw only two types of people: couples, and couples with children. I searched ever bar, pool, pool bars then every bar again. Nothing. Of course, my chances were decreased even more by the huge rash I developed on my back the first day from god-knows-what.

The night of the Bachelorette party, we walked around with penis straws and whistles…still, no attention. For a brief period that night, I had the Bachelorette’s penis flashy headband on. Nothing. I spent the majority of my time third wheeling with Charlene and Joe (btw- thanks guys).

The night of the wedding, I (naturally) go myself quite wrecked. The rest of the folks who were also quite wrecked went out to the club on the resort.

My crew taking a nap before heading out to the club

So we get to the club. It was not busy. The resort in general was at about 40% capacity, and from that about 90% were, as I mentioned yesterday, there with their spouse. So there were slim pickings. I did my best though. Because I dance so awesomely (for those who have never seen me dance, I just flat out lied there), some kid came up almost immediately after arriving and started grinding with me. I didn’t push him off for a song or two, I mean, it’s not like I had a ton of options, but I needed a drink, so I left him and walked to the bar.

If you’ve never seen me drunk, let me tell you that I am usually a happy drunk (unless you are asking me if I am ok, then, as another of the wedding guests will tell you, I am not a happy drunk). So, standing at the bar, I immediately made friends. Unfortunately, the only person around to be friendly with was a skinny biker guy, probably old enough to be my uncle. I made excuses about why I couldn’t dance with him, but then he just grabbed me out to the dance floor.

I was making barfy faces at the others in my group, and I found out the next that they saw, thought about rescuing me, and decided it was ok to let me finish the song in agony. The young guy from before was not quite as cruel. He stepped up to the biker dude and pushed him out of the way, blocking any chance the guy had touching my body by completely covering it with his. I didn’t mind. The biker guy did. He kept trying to pull me back to him…but I mean come on….on a resort, that I’m at for only a week, you think I’m going to waste it on the skinny biker dude? No, I am going to accept my position under the young guy who looks pretty great without a shirt.

This is the young guy walking away a day or two later.

There was some back and forth that went on, but, unfortunately, no real physical altercation took place.

The next day, I was lounging on the beach with some of the other wedding goers, when the young guy walked up. Here is how our conversation went:

Him: Hey. Don’t I know you from somewhere?

Me: Yeah, we met at the club last night.

Him: Huh. Oh. Sorry, I was probably inappropriate, I was really drunk.

Me: I didn’t mind. I was drunk too.

Him: Ok, well see you around. (Then he sees me reading a book- Slash’s autobiography). I like to read. Do you like to read.

Me: Yeah. That’s why I’m doing it.

I probably should have asked him to go for a drink or something. It’s not like I had anything else going on.

I posted eons ago about Mustang. He’s a guy that works out at my gym, who I talk to everyday, whose name I don’t think I ever knew. I posted about him again here when I complained about his passive/aggressiveness. He got over it today, because he asked for my number. I gave it to him. Here are some pros and cons about this situation.

Pro: He’s a big black guy.

Con: I don’t know his name.

Pro: He’s a really big black guy.

Con: This may lead to me having to tell him about my blog.

Pro: He asked for my number so he can call me on Christmas when I am home alone…

Con: …so that he can stop by.

Pro: He’s the biggest guy at my gym.

Con: He’s coming over on Christmas.

Pro: Then I wont be drinking alone.

Con: I have to clean my house.

Pro: …

Con: This is sounding worse and worse.

I just got back from a trip to Mexico last night. I was there for 8 days/7 nights for a friend’s wedding. We stayed at a beautiful all-inclusive on the Mayan Riviera. I believe the total count for the people who came for the wedding was 35, which is a pretty good turnout for a destination wedding, in my mind.

The pool where I spent most of my time, and most of my tip money

So, before I was leaving, I had these fantasies about meeting some exotic man and having a romantic week-long love affair…or, better yet, having a romantic week-long love affair with a guy from Toronto that would turn into a romantic life-long love affair. Within an hour of getting off the plane, I realized that was not going to happen.

I went down there with 5 of my close friends, Charlene and Joe, who I blog about all the time, and Dharshan and Dilini, who just got married in June. Naturally, Randy and I, as the two singles, travelled together and split a room.

The six of us. Randy is the one standing with his back turned

This story starts at customs in Mexico. You have to push a button that shows up as green (go on through) or red (they manually check your bags). Randy pushed green and forged ahead. I pushed red and walked 2 feet. The Mexican customs dude tells me to put my bag up on this table so they can search it. I heave all 40lbs of it up with one hand and make a bit of a show of it so that people will notice my strength. The two Mexican agents start riffling through it, talking in Spanish to each other, looking ahead at Randy, and laughing. Then one of them says to me “Is that your boyfriend?”, I say “We’re traveling together”, he talks in Spanish to the other guy, then says “Why he no help you?” and continues to laugh.

Shit. This guy assumes we’re a couple. I bet everyone does.

I don’t even have time to get this story out to Randy before some woman in the airport stops him and says “Honeymooners?” He laughs loudly and says “No!” to which she replied “Sometime soon perhaps?” Maybe it was the pissed off look and my shouting at him to hurry the hell up that indicated we might be in a relationship.

We get on the bus and head to the resort (Barcelo Mayan Palace, if you ever want to go. Excellent hotel. I recommend the Japonese restaurant.) and are checking in. I remind the hotel clerk that it’s to be two beds, not one. He looks up from his computer screen and says “Are you sure?” Charlene and Joe, standing 6 feet behind us heard this and yelled from their spot “NO! NO! NO!”

Yup, that was pretty much when I realized I was NOT getting any this trip.

I have a few more good stories from the trip, so stay tuned this week!

Talking with the ladies last night, I was reminded of a story from when I first moved from Saskatchewan to Toronto. I was 25 years old and I moved into a basement suite. The guy living upstairs (who remained in my phone as Creepy Dude Upstairs) was 40 years old, with 2 teenage kids. Within my first week of living there, we bumped into each other and he said he’d take me out to show me Toronto, as a welcome gift. At 25, I never in a million years thought that a 40-year-old would be hitting on me, because that was just gross (see my post about how 20-year-olds are ruining it), so I agreed to go.

A few nights later, he showed up at my door with flowers, chocolates and wine. At that point, I just thought that’s what old people did when they were being nice to younger people. We went out for dinner, and then martinis, then to a cougar bar. I still didn’t clue in…until he put his hand on my thigh and leaned in to kiss me. I was able to shrug him off pretending to lose my balance due to alcohol (ok, maybe I didn’t pretend), then I left to use that washroom. On my way back from the washroom, so guy approached me and asked if I was ok because I looked really uncomfortable. It was that bad.

Though I think I have become somewhat wiser in the 5 years since that happened, it still happens from time-to-time that guys will pretend they just want to be friends, but then WHAMO, you’re ducking from their slobbery mouths. This goes back to what I’ve complained about before- passive-aggressive men. If a man wants to go out with me, he should just say so- that way I can make an informed decision about whether to go out with him or not. It’s probably in their best interest anyway. Think about Creepy Dude. If he had told me he wanted to go out with me rather than “welcome me to the city”, I would have said no, he would have saved $200, and I wouldn’t have yelled at the hookers (no, I didn’t tell that part of the story).

Where I come from, we don’t hug and kiss people we aren’t sleeping with. We shake hands, nod, breifly make eye contact, anything that doesn’t require too much touching. When I moved to Toronto 5 years ago, I found that it was common place to hug friends and even people you just met. From the start, I decided I wouldn’t let that happen to me, so my friends quickly got to know to leave me alone when parting at the end of the night. I mean, I can understand hugging someone you haven’t seen in a year, but I see my friend Alex once a month and she always wants to hug when we meet and then again when we part. I’ve since gotten more comfortable with the whole thing, and I do hug Alex now when she wants it, but I do often get awkward during a double-cheek kiss.

But then some people take it to extremes. I think my friend Alex from above is a little over-the-top, but she can get away with it because she’s a girl. When I see two hetero guys doing it, it just seems out of place.

I was out a few nights ago with a bunch of old friends. One guy, who I don’t ever remember having a girlfriend, and his buddy were all over each other. The rest of us had to stand back and wonder if there was something going on between them.

Of course, the guy has since hit on me, so I guess they weren’t as close as we rumored them to be.

This is an old one, but I just thought about it and it made me angry.

I’ve complained at lenght about men who don’t pay on the first date. I know that it’s the 21st Century, and we’re supposed to be all equal and all that, but it’s still expected, and quite nice to have the guy pay. I wouldn’t say it’s neccessary to do in order to get a 2nd date, but if you have 2 strikes, not paying will put you out of the running.

Last summer, I had met a guy through some friends who I thought was really interesting. He didn’t have much going on in the looks department, but luckily for him, we spent a lot of forced time together, and I thought he seemed nice and funny. So we decided to get together for some drinks.

He picks me up at my house in some beat up old car (note: I drive a ‘98 Dodge Neon, so if I am making fun of somebody’s car, you know it has to be bad). The interior was shit to begin with, the panelling was fading and torn, and the seats were all cut up and had cigarette burns in them. That wasn’t the worst part. The car was FILTHY. I’m not talking some parking receipts and a coffee cup here and there. I’m talking like full on fast-food containers ALL OVER. Dude had to put a t-shirt over the seat for me to sit on something clean. At least there was that.

The second incident that told me that this date was heading south, was that he was ordering bottled beer. I may be a bit of a beer snob (I write another blog, by the way, BrewHa-Ha) but I rarely see people my age ordering domestic beer in bottles. It was just weird.

And strike 3 occured when he said that he could feel the presense of spirits. Not right at that moment, but whenever they happen to be present.  I’ve never met a sane person who has admitted that before.

Then the bill comes. It sits on the table for a good 10 minutes, and he has made no effort to reach for it. Thinking that maybe he doesn’t want to do the whole “I’ll pay my half” song-and-dance, I go to the washroom, expecting the bill to be gone by the time I got back.

Nope. It hadn’t even been touched. Then HE gets up to go to the washroom. What? That’s my trick. Shit. I’m paying my half. So then he comes back, and it’s a work-night and I want to get rid of this guy, so I reach for the bill. While pretending to look it over, when really, I was still hoping he would grab it out of my hands, he says “Yeah, I have no cash and they don’t take debit here. Sorry.” The bill was $100. Plus tip. So I ask “Do you have your credit card.” “Uh, no. I can’t get a card because of my poor credit.”

Sigh.

So I pay the bill and tell him I’m taking a cab home. Of course he insists on driving me, and since I don’t have any more money, I agree to let him. He pulls up in front of my house and he turns off the ignition. What? Does he expect to stay longer than it takes for me to slam the door behind me?

Me: What are you doing? Why did you turn your car off?

Him: I was hoping I could come up.

Me: Are you serious? What part of this date did you think went well?

Him: I just can’t figure you out. I don’t know where I stand with you. I can’t wait for our second date.

Are you serious. I often hear that men “can’t figure me out”, and sometimes I get it. I can be hot-and-cold. But I was nothing but cold to this guy. There was no way a sane person couldn’t have figured out that I thought he was an idiot.

To make matters worse. HE removed ME from his friends list on Facebook, and complained to our mutual friends that he thought I was mad at him and didn’t know why.

I’m nice to him now when I see him.

According to Wikipedia, an anniversary is “a day that commemorates and/or celebrates a past event that occurred on the same day of the year as the initial event.”

This makes it impossible to have a one-month anniversary, since you need a full year to pass in order for the day to be an anniversary. Though I wouldn’t mind getting presents every month, I don’t think I have ever celebrated a one-month anniversary of anything.

Back in high school, I remember people celebrating one-month anniversaries. This made some sense. Most relationships didn’t last much longer than that. No one I know celebrates one-month anniversaries of the day they met. Who remembers that stuff anyway?

The other day, a friend of mine was telling me that her and her boyfriend were celebrating an anniversary. Having been there the day they met 6 months ago, I knew that it couldn’t have been their anniversary. So I asked what anniversary they were celebrating…they were celebrating the one-month anniversary of the first time she told him she loved him.

…

Are you JOKING???? THAT is something to get dressed up and go out to dinner for??? Not only that, but HE was the one who brought it up! Things like that make me glad I am still single.

Check out what my friends over at Dating Dames posted. Stupid eHarmony.

Tonight is our office Christmas party. About a month ago, I posted that I had rsvp’d with +1. When it came time to actually book (our tickets were prepaid), I backed out. Just over a week ago, one of the guys here backed out of his prepaid ticket, and I was so sure I would be able to find a date. Yeah right. I’ve been chronically single for 3 years but in a week I thought I could find a date.

I would’ve asked my good friend Randy to come,  but we’re going to Mexico together in a few days and I don’t want to run out things to say to him on that trip, so I’m minimizing my Randy-time. Josh, b5’s Advertising Manager offered up his roomate Dumpy. I don’t know. I’d rather eat the cost of the ticket then go with a guy named Dumpy.