Facebook-Status Worthy

What can happen to you that deems it relevant to post on to Facebook?

This:

"So earlier today, I had some slack-jawed, unkempt wackadoodles objectify me from their pick-up truck as they were puttering by, by honking, cat-calling, and whistling. In my attempt to retaliate, I turned (while still walking) to flip them off, but instead walked and ricocheted off of a standing pole that was directly in front of me. They snickered, and kept driving..
Morals of the story: First, never waste energy (positive or negative) on things that don't deserve your attention. And second, make sure you have the ability to laugh. Mainly, at yourself."

Lesson learned.

Age is Nothing But a Number

Okay, I realize I am probably the world's worst blogger. I am not consistent in keeping up with a potentially good thing, as apparently represented in my dating history.

Anyways.

This is one story I have been waiting to tell. Clearly.

Not because of the unfortunate situation that I happened to find myself within, but the whole scenario was a bit of a disaster from the get-go.

At my old retail job, I met a client who seemed mature, intelligent and promising, three things that hardly coincide and are usually mutually exclusive (at least, in my experiences, they are). That and I couldn't get over his fantastic hipster spectacles. After a few days of chatting about various subjects, he asked me to go out with him...

Let us interject with flaws, right off the bat. I probably shouldn't have agreed to go out with someone to whom I provided a service... then again, who needs rules when it comes to dating? (Me)

It started off with a phone call: "Hi! I would love to take you out for dinner tonight, meet me in front of the mall downtown, and I am going to surprise you in the restaurant we're going to! Don't worry, I think you will like where I am taking you!"

You would think that was a mature, romantic gesture, but let's be honest here: when it comes to me and my relationship with food, no one should ever assume what I like. It's a relationship that has outlasted and is unique to any other, in it's ability to carry my weight.. or as most would say, me carrying it's weight. Nevertheless, we have an unbreakable bond.

Also, if any of us has learned anything from Jack Donaghy from 30 Rock: "Never go with a hippie to a second location."

We met in front of the mall, and proceeded to make our way to the restaurant.. which was in a swanky hotel. On the roof-top over-looking the city, where he reserved a table by the window. And the price of the cheapest meal was equivalent to the Gross Domestic Product of Spain. And Italy. Combined.

It was a restaurant to take your spouse to on your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Instead, I was there on a first date.

I honestly just wanted a greasy burger. Maybe some fries. Definitely some fries.

We sat down, and I scanned the restaurant for the nearest fire exits/assessed how far the fall would be if I broke through and jumped out the window. While deciding what to order, we had started making more small talk, and I noticed even more... how... mature he seemed to be...

After ordering the world's most expensive carrot soup (maybe the broth was made of gold), I decided to be open and honest: "So, I just want to let you know, I am twenty-one. And I figure that you might be a little older, so I must know what the age difference is."

His response: ".... I don't want to say."

Me: "You have to tell me, right now."

Him: "Well, I just turned forty last week. But age is just a number, right? When it comes to love, there are no boundaries."

Wait. WHAT? My mind went to depths unforeseen. He was "mature" because he was essentially twice my age! His hipster glasses WERE BIFOCALS which he actually needed to see better BECAUSE HE WAS OLD. AND WHAT? WHEN IT COMES TO LOVE, THERE ARE NO BOUNDARIES? NO BOUNDARIES?! I AM FAIRLY CERTAIN THAT IS WHAT MARY-KAY LETOURNEAU SAID TO VILI FUALAAU.

I needed to nip this in the bud, and fast. I immediately made up a lie that I had just gotten out of a long, strenuous relationship with someone who was my best-friend for several years and I just couldn't give anyone proper emotional attention, let alone him, who deserved to be happy. His face immediately fell, and started sharing stories with me about the last ten women who broke his heart (of course there were at least ten women... because he was forty) and how he just wanted to find a nice girl with whom he could settle down and get married and start a family, blah, blah, blah. He was in near tears discussing it. For that reason, (perhaps because I was a weak human being for feeling bad) I decided to stay for the dinner, making it clear that I was there enjoying dinner with a newly-found friend.

Apparently, it gave him new, creepy hope. Throughout the dinner, he kept drinking copious amounts of coffee to stay awake, in hopes that we would "go for a midnight walk by the ocean."

.... SO YOU COULD PUT ME IN A BODY BAG? NO WAY, JOSÉ. I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

(His name is not José.)

I needed to officially kibosh it, so I took a couple more sips of the expensive, yet tasteless soup and lied to him about having a really early class to prepare for the next morning. It was then that he insisted on walking me home, because he wanted to ensure my safety... (The irony keeps smacking me in the face every time I think about it.)

I was with it enough to realize that I did NOT want this man to walk me to where I lived, let alone walk me anywhere. I let him walk me to the Legislative Buildings and we parted, not before him giving me a hug goodbye which resulted in him clinging on to me for moments too long, while my arms lay limp along my side, the rest of my body trying to wriggle free.

Immediately upon saying good-bye, I ran home, checking behind me every minute or so to make sure I wasn't being followed. A cold shower ensued when I arrived to my apartment.

In hindsight, I understand that he was someone who really wanted to be in love. And I appreciate it, and almost envy his ability to have such raw feeling in rapid waves (for I usually feel nothing). But it was manifested in the wrong person. The wrong person in EVERY POSSIBLE WAY. And maybe I am being somewhat lenient, considering I went on a date with some one who was a potential pedophile, but my hope is that he found his balance in life. Maybe that is the important lesson here. Balance is key to a truly happy life. At least in my perspective.

But then again, I wouldn't have a blog if my life were balanced.

Shameless

Dear faithful friends,

This isn't really an update about a failed date. Just more a confirmed realization that I had a surge in viewership of this blog in the last few days.. by like a couple of hundred hits. Not that it's much of a feat, really. However, it means that collectively, the photo of myself (or a troll doll with glasses, however you perceive it) at eleven years old had been seen a couple hundred times. (274 times to be exact.)

I just wanted to leave this here as a disclaimer that I can in no way be responsible for any immediate blindness this has caused. So no sending me your medical bills for any lasik surgery you may have had. I know your motive.

Sincerely,

Jula

PS: This is a picture of me now, totally authentic:

PPS: Yes, I am Beyoncé. Don't spill the beans though.

Call-out for Candour

I know in this blog so far, I have shared some of my finer moments in my journey through dating. Dating, which lead to retching, then rising from the basin I was using while retching, and then finally moving forward. Then of course, lather, rinse and repeat the whole damn process.

Regardless, I know you, as the reader, keep reading through the cringe-worthy scenarios because you have some level of empathy for me. You may understand what I am going through because you are in the same boat or have been in the past. Or you are just laughing at me. Either way, I invite you to submit your own terrible date stories to me that you wish to publish. I appreciate candour. I will not add names or dates to anything you provide to protect anonymity. Submit stories to fail.date.chronicles@gmail.com and they will make their way to this platform! Or if there are any queries, direct them here as well! Happy writing!

The Onion Date : Layers of Impending Doom

When I was younger, I really hated onions.

I hated the taste, the lack of colour to the vegetable, the texture, the ordeal you go through when peeling back the layers. It was physically and emotionally draining to add it to any meal.

As some form of Hindu torture, my mom would make me cut up onions to add to whatever main dish we were preparing, as she loved onions and needed to have them by her side at all times. I was almost always happy to help because the notion of dicing onions is like forgetting the pain after experiencing child birth. Okay, maybe not to that extent of pain, but you forget how many tears you shed from your burning eyes while peeling back layer after layer. After layer. And then you just keep weeping.

This is much like the first time I had gone on a date, and not realizing that I was indeed, on one.

A few years ago, a friend and I had been house sitting, and were living in the house for a few weeks. One night, she and I were about to go see a movie with another friend. That friend decided to invite one of their friends along, someone who happened to be slightly socially awkward. Let us just refer to him as "The Awkward Boy" from here on out for leisure and privacy's sake. I didn't mind to invite him with us, because I am one to embrace awkward situations, and have a funny story to tell later. 

.... I didn't quite realize that interacting with him, would turn out to be more than just a funny, awkward story, when I got stuck with him on the hour long drive to the movie theater...

My other two friends and I flipped a coin to see which one of us would join The Awkward Boy in his car to travel to the theatre. I had clearly, won the toss. 

On our drive up, this boy had started to display nuances of his... interesting sense of humour. And when I say interesting, I mean morbid. We had witnessed a (bad) fender bender along the drive down the highway, in which his reaction was: "Wouldn't it be funny if (our friends) were in that car crash?"

Oh goodie, I was stuck in a car on the highway with a psychopath. I've always had such a dream.

Anyhow, we ended up reaching the theatre so late, that we couldn't get into the showing that our friends (who ended up getting there on time) were currently in. So, as a consolation, the boy and I decided to go grab a bite to eat at the local Boston Pizza, while waiting for our friends to get out of the movie.

During this dinner, conversation continued to devolve even more than I could have imagined.

Things were going okay for a little while, until he mentioned his weekly party habits, and started listing off the women with whom he had hooked up/tried to hook up, and was having issues with remaining eloquent about it. Thoughts were streaming through my head such as, "Yes, we know you're proud that you have an operational penis" and "Well, at least he thinks of me as his bro, with whom he could degrade other women". At this point, my fingers were tightening further around the fork on the table to shove into my eye socket. Or his.

Then he mentioned, "You know, this is the first proper date I have actually been on."

My response: "Excuse me?"

Him: "We're on a date, aren't we?"

Charleswhatnow? When did I miss that memo? I would have rather died a thousand deaths. Also the fork clutched tightly within my fist had moved it's intended direction from his eye to his groin. Subconsciously, of course.

As you could tell, I was in a bit of a quandary. Do I show my true feelings of disgust and contempt? Or do I keep it on the safe side and concede, as I am out with a potential psychopath? I decided to keep my safety in my best interests, and continued on with the dinner. Because I would at least get a free dinner out of all this, right?

Wrong. Try again, sucka.

At the end of our seemingly too long meal, I asked for the check. Upon receiving it, he said, "Oh by the way, I have no money, so can you pay for our dinner?"

OH MY GOD. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I almost had an aneurysm at that moment. Wouldn't he have had the money to see the movie?

Although realizing that he was my ride back home, I again, bit my tongue and paid for the whole thing. I had solace in the fact that my night would soon be over and I would be in nice warm bed by myself with some tea.

We met briefly with our friends when they got out of the movie, and parted ways to get back to town again. The girl with whom I was house-sitting went with our mutual friend, and I braved another drive with Awkward Boy. I went on with the notion that things couldn't get worse.

Again, I was wrong, because of two factors that I could not control:
1) The highway had closed off for two hours at certain points during the night at the time because they were expanding it. The boy and I had got past the closure just before it started. Our friends who were just behind us did not make it past the closure.
2) The girl with whom I was house-sitting had the keys to the house. And she was in the other car. Stuck in the closure.

So, he ended up driving me back to the house and left me without offering to stay. When I say it in such light, I make it sound like he wasn't willing to accommodate my needs, but I was rather relieved when he left. In fact, I believe I insisted. For I realized that I would rather spend two hours during a chilly March night sitting in a rocking chair outside a locked house (with incessant barking from the dog in the backyard), than spend one more minute in that situation.

In all those cringe worthy details, there are some lessons to be learned here:
1) Always carry your own keys.
2) When going out with someone in general, you may or may not need to clarify whether or not it's a "date". Do this by either A) asking politely if you are on a date (if the guy is cute and doesn't seem like an axe-murderer - asking questions is always a thumbs up in dating anyways), or B) Loudly yelling out "THIS IS NOT A DATE" (if the guy looks like he may be carrying a weapon in his pocket, i.e: a machete. This will alert the public around you, and it's always good to have your surroundings be aware).
3) Bring a jacket with you, with some extra cash in the pocket in case this sort of situation arises. For example, if you need to cab back to your home in the next city, pack that extra one hundred dollars you had saved up for a Bora Bora vacation fund. Chances are you will never go.

Oh and be sure to pack a sense of humour along with it, stuffed in the opposite pocket. I needed mine.

Serendipitous

This isn't necessarily a failed date, but rather, a failed interaction with a male. One that only I, of all people, would have. So this counts.

As aforementioned, I have a lot of hair. One long, thick mane. I may have been a horse in a previous lifetime.

A few days ago, I was running to catch a bus and the city was undergoing a downpour. Upon seeing the bus I needed to take, I made a dash for it, but not before noticing a tall, gorgeous man under an umbrella, making eye contact with me. At that moment, I entertained a myriad of romantic possibilities in my head, and they were accelerating at rapid speeds. I thought of everything from our first date, to our Bollywood wedding, to our future mixed-race (or as I refer to it: milk chocolate) children. Upon returning eye contact while passing, I failed to notice anything else around me: including the spoke on his umbrella that got caught in my hair, and sent me ricocheting backwards into him.

His reaction (clearly dumbfounded):
"I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

My reaction (while staring into his lovely, dark eyes):
"I'm sorry too!" I cried. "Although, I don't know why. Sorry. There's my bus, I've got to run! See you again!"

And so, I ran.

Chances are I may never see him again. But one can always hope that moments like these will happen again. And I can bet you, this sort of thing will happen to me at least once more. Let's just hope it's with another handsome fellow.

Humble Beginnings

Ah, beginnings. There is always a first time for everything, and thus, there is a first story/anecdote/terrible tale for it all. To mark the birth of this platform, here are my humble beginnings as a cynical, single woman. 

I was one of those girls who didn't start dating until later into high school. I came from a traditional, Indo-Canadian family, which became broken about half-way through my childhood due to divorce. My mom took on the role as father-figure as well as being a mother, and was always willing to share her wisdom with me when it came to making it on my own, sans men.

"No dating until you're well into your forties, laddu." (Lesson: Abstain until you're ready.) 

"Boys are gross. Stupid. No dating, even after you're forty." (Lesson: Relationships can have it's disappointments.)

"You're not allowed to date, even after I die, love. But I want beautiful grandchildren from you." (Lesson: Immaculate conception will be my future.)

As you can see, I had been equipped with all the tools I needed to face the big bad world of boys, along with my bushy, triangle shaped hairstyle, and large pedophile glasses I donned back in the day. In fact, I have real-life proof of my pre-teen glory:

           (I think I may bring those glasses back in my everyday style.)

It brought upon a series of expectations of which future mates and myself had to work towards. The purpose of this first affirmation (and future posts) is not only to remind myself of those standards, but to inspire you, the reader, to laugh and learn (but mostly laugh) from these testimonials. Also, this method of creative therapy is much cheaper than the psychological workouts I would be getting from a trained professional. 

More testimonials to come.