Bibbity bobbity boo

It was snowing like a mofo when I realized that I absolutely NEEDED oatmeal for some muffins I was making, and therefore NEEDED to get to the grocery store ASAP. It was seconds later that I realized that once again, I hadn’t put my car in the garage when I got home from my day. It was no biggie though, it was just that cute fluffy-type of snow that was falling, nothing I couldn’t handle.

I got dressed and headed out, and it was while I was brushing the snow off my windows that I remembered what happened last time I was clearing the snow from my car. Ooooooh!!!! All I could think of from then on was imagine this is my La La Land moment?!  What if that cute, bearded, BMW-driving guy zoomed over to me once again and cleaned my car for me, once again! (if you’re asking “bearded guy who?” see this post).  I got way too excited at this idea, I mean I was wearing a cute tuque, my hair looked great, and I was even wearing mascara! I was so ready for him this time. What if he was my fairy god-mother of snow clearing, or like, my fairy god sexy-awesome-guy-who-I-then-fell-in-love-with-and-married mother? Maybe not mother… But holy sh*t maybe this is how it’s meant to happen for me!  He obviously didn’t show up this time, but maybe he will next time, or the time after that!

Maybe I should stop parking my car in the garage every time they call for snow, just in case. What do you think?

Don’t answer that.


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Yoga Guy (update #1)

It was a typical weeknight of doing a bit of work followed by a lot of TV watching when I reached to check my phone and realized I had a missed call from “unknown number”. I didn’t think much of it, other than Whatever, I probably didn’t want to speak to you anyway, and continued on with episode 3 of The Sinner.

The next night I was in the middle of episode 5 when “unknown number” called again.  I was a little annoyed to see that whatever telemarketer was sneakily trying to call me last night with their incognito number hadn’t given up and was trying to disturb my night once again. As my inner bitchiness was growing by the second, I picked up with an uncontrollably obnoxious hello.  All I could hear on the other end was two Mississippi’s worth of background noise followed by a fuzzy “hi, Jessica?”, to which I responded “what? ya…”, “Hey, it’s Yoga Guy McYogaGuy, your sister-in-law Melissa’s friend. She said she’d tell you I was going to call….?” She said what? “Oh, no she definitely did NOT tell me that.” She really didn’t.

Now, I know many girls would think it was so nice and refreshing for a guy to actually pick up the phone and call, but all I could think was f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, while I immediately started to sweat all over.  A phone call??? Dude, it’s not 2008, no need for that kind of unannounced live interaction. Now I needed to be awake, chatty, AND charming, with no notice at all? I would have been so much happier with a nice impersonal text. But a little voice inside of me said ok girl, get it together, maybe this guy is the love of your life. Pause your tv show, put on your big girl panties and deal. So I did. The convo went something like this:

Me: Anyways, how’s it going?
Him: Pretty good, you?
Me: Good thanks. What are you up to?
Him: Just leaving work.
Me: Nice. What do you do?
Him: Bla bla accounting bla bla big company.
Me: That sounds cool.
Him: *nothing*
Me: *wtf*

The rest of the phone call was just as staccato. I know that first interactions are usually awkward no matter, how could they not be, but this was beyond. Making conversation was like pulling teeth. I asked questions and he responded with long-winded answers that trailed off to no where, to the point that I would be waiting for the point of his story so I could respond, but then he would just stop talking, indicating that his story was done, and I still didn’t see what he was getting at, so would just change the subject. I tried to tell myself that some people are just not phone people (but then maybe send a text instead?), or maybe he was super nervous (we’re all adults, calm the f down), but then the kicker happened.

In a desperate attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence for the third time in 10 minutes, I brought up a song that I had heard earlier in the day that my friends and I were obsessed with in high school and that I hadn’t heard in ages.  It took him a few seconds to realize what song I was referring to, but said it was from waaaay after high school, did I mean I loved it during university?  I was like, no man definitely high school, don’t you remember? Then it hit me that maybe we just aren’t the same age, duh. So I straight up asked how old he was, maybe that was the source of our conflicting timelines. In that moment the phone went fuzzy again and all I heard was “forty se——n”. Assuming I didn’t hear what I thought I had heard I asked him to repeat it. Nope, I heard right the first time. FORTY SEVEN!!!!! That’s over 10 years older than me!!!!!! Whaaaaat? Should I just call him Dad?? And let me get this straight, he’s been alive for 47 years and is STILL this awkward with the ladies? Holy moly. Does he even want kids? Does he already have kids? So many new questions came up.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that in some cases age is just a number, and if I met some amazing guy who happened to be that much older than me, I would totally go for it, no question. But my sis-in-law thought I would hit it off with this awkward dinosaur? Thanks for the compliment, sis.

At this point I still felt an obligation to at least meet him for a drink, maybe Yoga Guy isn’t sooo bad in person, and I definitely couldn’t tell my sis-in-law that I shut the operation down after one phone call, that’s just rude. Thankfully he soon wrapped up the call by asking if/when I’d be up for a drink. We agreed on Tuesday next week and he said he would get in touch later in the week to discuss the details.

I said no problem, just text me.

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Not really, but ok.

My sister-in-law texted me last night to ask if she can give my number to some single guy she knows from her yoga class. My first thought was, eww yoga, but like an obnoxious girl pretending to be nice, I asked her to tell me more about this Yoga Guy. To my disappointment (but not to my surprise), she didn’t have much to tell me other than he’s soooo nice. Soooo nice. Nothing else. In my experience that description is synonymous with boring.  That, added to the fact that my sister-in-law and I have very different views on what it takes to be “husband material”, suffice it to say that I was not overly enthused about this Yoga Guy prospect. But in an effort to “keep an open mind” and not to shut down my sis-in-law’s good intentions, I said ok.

Stay tuned.

Hey, remember me?

It’s my 3rd day of vacation, which means it’s my 3rd day of being completely out of touch with the outside world. This also means I had no idea that they were calling for 15 cm of snow last night when I decided to leave my car on the street, too lazy to leave my couch to put it in the garage. So this morning I awoke to the surprise of a hefty amount of beautiful snow outside my window. I was so excited about having an actual white Christmas, until I remembered I was Jewish, and more importantly that my freaking car was on the street. As I pictured my adorable hatchback under a huge mound of icy snow that I would need to shovel for what would likely feel like hours, I threw my hair in a ponytail, put on my warmest sweats, some deodorant (this would surely count as my morning cardio), and all the winter gear I could find.

I went out with my snow brush and shovel and started going at it, when a silver BMW stopped right behind my car, and an adorable, bearded, smiley guy got out. As he walked to the cafe that I was parked in front of, he asked if I needed any help. I giggled inside and said no I’m ok (I really was fine, strong woman and all), but thank you. If the story ended there I probably would have been perfectly giddy, but it doesn’t. Once he got closer to the cafe, he realized it was closed (duh, it’s Christmas) and turned back to his car, and AGAIN asked to help me. Feminism aside, I also don’t know how to flirt with guys, so I panicked and just said I really appreciate the offer, but I only have one shovel anyway! So like a misguided gentleman, he said ok fine, but I’m waiting in my car till I see you get yours out.

It took about 35 seconds for him to realize how weird that actually was and to get back out of his car to say this feels wrong let me do the shoveling for you. Cue heart eyes emoji. He took my shovel from me and started clearing the snow, while I awkwardly brushed windows that I had already brushed 3 minutes earlier, desperately thinking of ways to make conversation.  It only took a few minutes for him to clear the snow before telling me to try to drive my car out, so we only had a brief chit chat, but it was enough for me to assess that he was not socially awkward, and seemed cool and normal enough. Check and check.  I got into my car and tried to back and forth out of my spot, while he kept shoveling around me each time my car didn’t make it out.  Swoon.  All I could think of in the car was OMG he’s so cute and nice and WTF I’m at my least attractive/pre makeup point of my day, hopefully he at least sees my inner beauty. Haha jokes, as if.  My mind started to race as I wondered if I was supposed to invite him in for the coffee that he didn’t get as a thank you… but then he would need to come into my condo, which I haven’t cleaned since October. Scratch that. But is he even single? Maybe he’s just a nice guy, or maybe he’s gay, or in a rush to get somewhere. Who am I kidding. I have no guts and so asked him nothing. Once I got my car out, he put my shovel back in my trunk for me, and as I thanked him he gave an adorable smile, said no worries and happy holidays, rushed back to his car before I could say anything else, and sexily sped away.

If this was a rom-com, I would have had the guts and opportunity to invite him in, and instead of writing this blog post, we would be making out by the crackling fire channel on my TV, he would bring me to his Christmas dinner, we would fall in love, and be married by Christmas 2018.

But it’s not a rom-com, it’s sad cold reality.

But who knows, maybe this will be my version of La La Land, and we will run into each other a few times over the next week, and I’ll tap dance my way into… Ryan Gosling’s arms!?

Here’s hoping 😉

Sorry for ditching/It’s a wrap

Hi guys, remember me? The aspiring slut?
I’m so sorry that I ditched you halfway through the summer and left you hanging like that.  I found myself in the middle of some drama that felt a tad too personal for the blog, so just dropped it like it was hot. I know, what an a-hole move. However, I’m here now to give you a little recap of what you missed, if you care to read along.

Now as a preface, one thing I realized this summer is that I’m just not, in fact, a slut. It’s not actually my thang to get with someone that I’m into solely on a physical level. Not to worry though, I did have to learn that through experience!!  All to say, however, that I didn’t reach my slutty summer number, but in hindsight, I do believe my experiences in TO were about quality over quantity.

But first, my success:

I had a mini make-out sesh with an ex, slept with a reeeeally cute and cool Brit on the first date, and then again on the second date the next day, (PS. only to discover that he was married with kids back in the UK, motherfucker), and then got with a friend of a friend for an unemotional, no strings attached night.  In addition to this, the tables were turned when I myself was slutty studied by an old friend I met up with who clearly thought he could get a home-run out of me, and then pulled every wrong move in the book, killing the slight chance he may have had. In fact, I’d love to write a book about how to fail at sealing the deal based on that horrific night, but that’s another post entirely.

On Quality vs. Quantity:

So as you can see, I definitely didn’t get to 5, but I’m still proud that my few experiences were new, outside of my comfort zone, and surely slut style, ie. not waiting a bunch of dates before making it to the boudoir, and getting with someone really just because they were there and willing.  I’m sure to some of you this is just another Tuesday, but to me it was quite the achievement to stop over-thinking, let go of my inhibitions, and just go for it, all the while, maintaining my dignity, which I now realize is what the Slutty Study was all about.

As the summer comes to an end and I am back in my hometown, I’m happy with what (and who ;)) I did, and feel that the Slutty Study of 2015 was a great learning experience and success.

Thanks so much for coming along!

First date- just practice, right?

So I had my first date here in Toronto. It was a Tinder date, and because I’m on a tight schedule (remember? 1 guy/week), and it’s Tinder after all, I only got to know so much about him, with a vague idea of what he looked like from a few blurry pics.

I have to say, I only realized once the date was over how different it is to meet a guy with the hopes of dating him long-term vs. the hope of 1+ nights of fun.  This is where my problems began.

I normally schedule a first date at a time where it’s easy to escape if he’s a weirdo, and never for dinner, that’s way too big a commitment.  So in my usual style, I said let’s meet for early drinks on Friday, since I have (possibly fake) plans later on.  Mistake #1, apparently.
We went for a beer downtown, sat outside on a terrasse, oops sorry Torontonians, that’s what we call a patio where I’m from.  I later found out those were mistakes #2 and #3.

To my surprise, once I got there, my first impression wasn’t my usual “Oh god, an hour with this guy?”, but more along the lines of “Ok, I can work with this.”  I then realized, shockingly, that even the conversation was decent; by no means fireworks, but again, something I can work with.  I wasn’t even being my usual sass-hole self, just a nice pleasant girl!  So far so good. We had 2 beers, he walked me to the streetcar and waited for it with me, and then well, we went our separate ways :S

I then met up with M and her pro-slut friends for the postmortem.  As I described what I thought was a successful date and got their feedback, I realized that it wasn’t a successful slut-date after all, just a decent “regular” date. Wtf? Now I don’t know what anyone expected, but I realized (thanks to D) that I couldn’t take it from 0 to 10 in just one date! Who do I think I am?!  In addition, I realized that I need to approach dating in a very different way than I’m used to- not my usual I’m a cute dorky girl who asks lots of questions and listens really well, but more I’m a flirty girl who leans in to the convo and smiles a lot.
Then L showed up with lots of tips for me, like all kindz, the type that I can totally apply (as opposed to other people’s nonsense advice like give him a hand-job under the table, what?).  This was when I realized what mistakes #1, #2, and #3 were.  When dating as a slut, make the 1-2 hours of the date starting later at night, like once it’s dark, so there is the option to end the night “together” at one of your places, while still being able to escape an hour after meeting if things didn’t go to in that direction.  Brilliant and very easy to apply.  Mistake #2 was sitting on a patio. Apparently a true slut sits at the bar so you can get all tight and cozy next to the guy if you want to, whereas you can’t do that sitting across from each other at a table. As for the last mistake, if the guy is cute and you think you want to hit a home run with him (do people still say that?), then drink some hard booze, not beer, so you can get drunk more quickly and make the flirting turn more easily into some bow-chica-wow-wow, know what I’m saying?

While realizing the things I did wrong, and him being a bang-worthy dude, I figured that if I can apply my new-found knowledge to a possible date #2 with him, then I can should be able to make a home run out of it.  In the mean time I have other dates to tend to!

I’ll be out of town for the weekend so check back with me next week 🙂