Browsing through the endlessly diverse gauntlet of humans bearing their soul and persona for your consumption.

He has real pretty eyes, she has a great smile, welp thats a mighty fine torso shot, fuckable for sho, not looking for a hookup? WTF are you doing here? Is that person even real? Ew, he is holding a dead deer in his pic and those guys all have fish they murdered. That one likes their truck more than the earth. Military or cop not for me. She seems cool but she has seven kids. That one doesn’t like cats. He’s seems ok but somehow lives 200 miles away. That’s just a blank screen. Lots of couples looking for unicorns (usually a female that will fuck both you and your partner), then the jerks who say they are lesbians when they are actually straight cis men, and then BOOM out of the blue someone you know in REAL life. HMM…

Imagine a friend or acquaintance coming up. You have always found this person attractive but never spoke up. Maybe you just never really got to know them.

They look super hot in these photos, fuck it, swipe right. Ok, whats the harm? Let’s see what happens, they probably swiped left anyways, oh well, here goes nothing, drumroll… IT’S A MATCH!

Holy fuck! Wait, does this mean they are DOWN? Or is it just like yo bro, what up I KNOW YOU! Like are you trying to fuck though? This is a hookup app and we are on here for the same thing right?

It’s super awkward the next time you see them. Do you bring up the match? Do you say anything? How does one put these kind of feelers out?

It’s so hard to do this face to face (like people have done for fucking centuries, hope you can hear the ironic tone there). What did people do before dating apps determined compatibility?

So you match with your super duper sexy friend on Tinder… but what now? They like you back, how do you know if they are DTF or JK lol?

It’s downright scary to approach people sometimes. Hiding behind the little itty bitty screen seems like a cop out, like it is just too scary to be rejected in person.

Swiping away on the hottest hook up app seems so second nature, it is so easy just to place judgement on those we don’t know (or want to know better) based on several photos and a tag line. It is dangerous and sad to merely say I like you or I don’t based on only looks alone, hot or not.

I really think its sad that we have come to this. People sitting next to each other in bars swiping when they should be interacting with other humans in the same room.

My friend matched with a bartender he knew, she was his friend, they always laughed a lot, but until faced with the absolute yes or no of this app he had not pondered the idea of sleeping with her. After all, a lot of people in the service industry use Tinder to bring people into their bars.

“I bet she swiped right for everyone,” he thought. She’s cute, really funny, yea, that’s something I like! So he super liked her at 4am drunk.

The next time they hung out it was obvious that the feelers were being put out on her end. He may not have been entirely serious about the super like, but is still down to fuck if she is. It came down to an awkward moment at the end of the night, she stuck around until closing time and they were the only two left.

The ball is in his court now. Now you have to go deeper than just bullshit ice breakers. You are already past this. It’s now or never, take the plunge and see if she bites.

He did not pursue, figuring that if she liked him for realzies she would have moved in. He must have not liked her that much to not ever really notice it or say it out loud, right?

An impossible filter that I wish was on Tinder is the EX’s and EX’s of your besties. It’s a real bummer to come across someone who is hot and interesting and then realize that your best friend had a bad breakup or hookup story with them. Then you come to the EX’s of your current squeezes and that builds a whole new level of crazy.

Also relatives, that just creeps me out. I would never want to come across one of my cousins on a dating app.

The moment we have all been waiting for, the other day I came across one of my crushes on Tinder. I have always liked her lots, but never felt like I was her “type” (whatever the fuck that means).

She’s hot and talented, we have an incredible friend chemistry, it’s so easy to talk to her, but I never ever imagined she would like me back. I was afraid so I swiped left. Days later she told me that she swiped right.

FUCK! I done screwed up. I told her that I didn’t even see her pop up. I lied. In that moment I should have confessed it all, but I didn’t and now I feel like the moment has passed. Now I will never know if she actually likes me or not, woe is me!

Actually, no, cut the shit, if you like someone tell them IN PERSON. My roomie saw one of my other long term from a distance crushes on Tinder and I literally swiped for two hours straight to find him to no avail. I hope I didn’t go too fast and accidentally missed him!

I won’t pay for this app, not even to go back and swipe the correct way for my future soulmate. What if I go through all of that and we don’t match after all?

Tinder keeps coming up in my regular conversations. I am new to polyamory, so this is one of my new outlets for exploration, although I have not met a single person from it, mostly just small talk.

I got called out for not messaging a friend/acquaintance I matched with. He clearly wants it. This doesn’t mean I am required to go on a date with this person. It just means that I thought they had a cute photo. I was going so fast that I didn’t even know it was him.

I put all this faith in a swipe from someone I like and then I don’t think too hard when swiping myself. There are reasons why I never pursued this dude to begin with, so why now?

Knowing that a person likes you should not be the only reason to go for it. You must like them back and be honest, I am really good at making things awkward and really afraid of rejection.

But how will you know if you don’t just throw it out there? Why are we all so goddamn afraid of rejection? If someone doesn’t like you like that then just accept it and move on. You don’t need them to find worth and love yourself.

I must learn to be my own primary partner. There will always be someone else to date! I swear.

It’s a little more weighted in this case. If you have an established friendship and then are faced with the “Wait, if they want it, do I want it?” moment then you really have to put your cards on the table before you make an irrational move.

I have had a few friendships where I thought that I was unrequited with my feeling shift for years, too scared of losing the friendship over one awkward confession. It would have been awesome to read their mind, and know that even for the moment of the swipe I was an option.

The moral is don’t be scared to tell someone you love them. Life is too short.

If you rely solely on a silly dating app for your happiness you will not be a very happy person. True love, passion, and continuous joy are sparked by real life moments: catching eyes, brushing knees, petting the same cat, volunteering at the same shelter, reading books at the same coffee shop, or just a chance encounter on the street can bring you to your soulmate of the moment.

Keep your eyes open. You never know when they might come up!

* Featured image by Denis Bocquet via Flickr via Creative Commons

So it finally happens, I meet someone who is brilliant and beautiful, funny, sweet, and holy shit INTERESTED IN ME. We talk all night, maybe even share an innocent kiss, and exchange numbers. I am excited for the first time in months.

Then BOOM, I do a teenie bit of Facebook stalking through our one mutual friend just to find out that they have a girlfriend. Dude, we live in a place and time where it seems that everyone is polyamorous. There is no need to lie to me or be unfaithful to your partner.

You have to be honest, and if you are poly but your partner is not, that throws a big curve ball into the situation. Perhaps rethink your monogamous relationship before bringing someone else into your shit. I have never cheated on someone I was dating.

My friend has gone through the same situation time and time again. After just ending a relationship where her mate came out as having a pregnant girlfriend at home, you would think her luck would get better. The next person she sleeps with is a good friend, who happens to be in an unhappy relationship that he won’t end. She then meets a handsome man at work, he flirts hard, they exchange info because he expressed interest in her show later that night.

Pretty quickly in he says that he has a girlfriend, he is “disappointed that he has a girlfriend,” waaaait, what? HE is disappointed? Then dump her and live your life! Don’t ever be with someone you are disappointed to be with, it’s not fair to her or you. My friend backed off on the conversation only to be textually bombarded by this same guy drunk a few days later begging her to come fuck him.

NO! Not allowed to do that. How dirty and second rate do you think she feels now? Gross bro, just stop.

I have another friend who knowingly had an affair with a married man. Now she feels like that’s the only people she attracts. It is definitely not her goal, she wants love like anyone else. Like they smell the mistress vibe on her or something. There is something about that, wanting to be with someone with no strings, knowing that they will never want more from you but the secret triste that is keeping them hard.

Often the mistress will get the best parts of their lover, they get the fantasy, the sex without the problems. They will also never get the support or companionship of a real relationship, but if that’s what you are looking for, it might be an ideal situation for you.

I remember hooking up with a guy I met on the internet a few years ago. We went on a few dates, he was so great, a poet, a musician, and a fun human. I called him “Big Jon” so you know the sex was amazing.

He must have written 100 poems about how beautiful I was in the short time we were together, I was smitten. He admitted to driving the wrong way on one way streets to get to my house sooner, he carried my bags and held the door for me. A total gentleman, until one night the truth came out.

After a session he said “I don’t want to smell like woman.” What? We just had sex, what to you expect to smell like? Flowers?

I asked him why and he said he didn’t want his wife to know about us. It must have been the whiskey and weed that made him so honest that night. It was the last time I ever saw him, I am NOBODY’S secret side bitch.

I actually did run into him in a dollar store maybe two months later. He had his son in the cart and a small, beautiful, tattooed woman with him putting stuff in the cart that I assume was his wife. They looked like a happy, functioning family.

I saw the panic in his eyes but just kept on walking without even acknowledging his existence. I am no home wrecker.

It’s a shock that people actually lie on online dating profiles, right? You know the guy who says he is 6’1 and single is probably 5’8 and married. There is no need to lie on these things, people are looking for all kinds of hook ups.

There are  websites dedicated to cheaters. Cheat with other cheaters! That’s a killer concept.

About a month ago I was at my favorite local watering hole when I saw man I had never seen before. He was beautiful, we danced, we chatted. He was a children’s book author!

I was in heaven, he touched my butt and kissed me and I thought, wow, finally an artist! Then all of a sudden he just said he couldn’t do this, no explanation.

I remembered the name of one of his books and googled him when I got home. He is married. Of course him and his wife write books together about their kids. Makes sense.

I do not accept being hidden in the shadows. You love me fully and out loud or you can’t have me at all. I am open to being with a polyamorous partner but have not successfully done so. I want to think that I can be open and communicate my needs, but it is not simple.

I know myself, I am passionate, I am all or nothing. I really want to be in love. I want to take care of someone, I want a human to love me, I want to be their serenity, I want to travel the world with someone who is proud to be with me.

Being single, I do have an active sexual lifestyle. I know I can get laid every day of the week if I really wanted to, but I don’t because I have respect for myself. I know that some people just want to get off and run.

Being single and beautiful makes me a target for assholes who put their wedding rings in their pocket on a Saturday night.

Married folks might be bored and I am certainly exciting. These people are looking for validation, they are looking for excitement, something that can often times be lost in long term relationships.

My availability is NOT an invitation. Just because I am single and looking does not mean I am looking for you, asshole. There is no burly football player boyfriend looming over me saying hands off buck, just lil ol me and my shining smile alone in the world.

I have learned to just hold out for what I want and never accept less. I will not compromise my morals for my libido. I will never knowingly take part in breaking up a relationship or marginalizing my own needs.

Maybe I should stop looking for love at bars? Or just come to terms with the fact that it seems most people over 30 are taken. Sadly, there is no way to safeguard yourself from these advances. Assholes happen, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!

We all deserve nothing but the best even though we must swim through a stream of shit to get there.

Today I met a salsa dancing Peruvian clown. High wire trapeze and juggles. I’ve always wanted to run away with the circus, do something fun and be free. You really never know who a person is until you talk to them.

Then one of my Dreamlander friends stopped by wearing a bat onesie with big fluffy ears and played a half ass game off chess with me. We talked about a warehouse party we both attended, I was a glam leprechaun, and about having to create a scene versus joining into an established one.

My wanderlust is strong, my need to quench my quest for fun, for fantastical adventures and caravans of freaks. I want to roam, I want to be with someone who understands that life.

The clown I met today said he has had girlfriends but it was hard, like they didn’t really understand the circus life. The only thing I can’t approve of is being part of a circus that still uses animals, I can’t support that ever. It’s abuse and it is wrong.

There are plenty of awesome circuses that are animal free, which means all participants gave their consent. Animals cannot consent. I adore fire dancers, sword swallowing, aerial silk dancers, clowns, dirt bike tricks, and other human tricks. I want that ethical circus life.

clowning aroundI surround myself with performers. Everyone I live with is incredible and creative. I get home and lay on the couch with my cat , eating my dumpster grapes, surrounded by smoke and candlelight.

The door opens, cold rushing in, enveloping the living room with a bitter chill that cut right through my rainbow sweater, and then in walks in my roommate and her friends: a future male burlesque dancer named Chocolate Fantasy, the most beautiful Asian girl with all of the daddies, and a low key drag queen.

My best friend is a clown, think balloons full of blood. We even did a special performance on her birthday at the Cirque De La Lune where we re-created a scene from the 1920s silent clown movie He Who Gets Slapped. I really called in the clowns for that one. I had to go in to the venue to scrub blood off the walls, it was so worth it. What a magical night.

Juggalos are so easy to make fun of, but why? I bet the Gathering of the Juggalos is a blast. They do what they want and are ridiculous. I love anyone who isn’t afraid to wear makeup. If you ever get the chance please for the love of all that is good watch Tom Green at the Gathering of the Juggalos, it’s the funniest.

I had a clown hit on me once on OKcupid, he said he liked clown farts, is that a sex act?

ok cupid clownMy roommate met a clown on Tinder in New York City, but he didn’t come out as a clown at first. He tells his friends he is a party entertainer so they all think he is a stripper. Why so ashamed bro? That’s an awesome way to pay the bills.

Lucy and I literally had the same fantasy at the same time, painting faces! So jealous of that life, I would be the happiest clown ever, that’s what I am doing after I retire from burlesque.

I love performing so much, I always fall for musicians. I want to be with someone who’s voice makes me tingle, wiggle and writhe.

Once a burlesque couple guest performed- a dancer and a musician, so funny he even mimicked her number. I wanted that life so bad, conquer the world out of a giant bus run on vegetable oil that is set up so my three cats can come with us (don’t worry I will NEVER exploit them for the show). Maybe this pussy palace on wheels will have some solar panels and a garden on it, too.

I need a fearless artist, performer, comedian, quick witted, willing to make a fool of themselves, basically me. People all say opposites attract- fuck that I will never date a racist Trump voting bigot asshat- I only want like minded fools in my life. I am extreme so my opposite is also extreme.

I love in the movie The Punk Singer. Kathleen Hanna talks about falling for her husband, Ad-Rock from The Beastie Boys. She is a feminist riot grrrl and he is in a bro rap group that objectifies women. They were idealistically opposite with their art, but both still artists, they met in the middle and he even stood up against violence towards women during an award acceptance speech.

It is important to have some differences, because that sparks great communication and conversation. Positive change and mutual inspiration. I need someone to take the lead and lead me to somewhere good and not dark. I know that light needs dark to look brighter, but two bright explosions together is also a spectacular site.

What about a photographer, a dancer, a poet, or even a clown? Sometimes the people you least expect could be incredible, perhaps your next soulmate, future tour parter, love of this moment.

It’s all we have, those spontaneous seconds where new ideas form, where people change you so profoundly they could not imagine. I want to collaborate with someone I have never met yet. I know people who run away and follow their dreams instantly without thought or premeditation. Planning is for those who don’t truly succeed.

It’s interesting to me that letting someone in just a little bit can take life into all kinds of crazy adventures. It feels like things are literally piling up on top of you- work, dishes, piles of clothes, health problems, family stuff, drama llamas, ect. and you need to escape or be trapped. I must spin a globe and go where it lands.

I was once told that I did not give adequate blow jobs. This infuriated me, just the fact that I am putting your dirty little pee hole in my mouth at all should be enough right? He then proceeded to show me some porn videos that he liked as tips. I remember studying the technique, how they ran their fingers down the shaft, keeping pressure on the base, not just focusing on one part but all of it. All of these movies have the same ending, a girl covered in mangasm. Gross.

My blow job skills are subjective, another dude I hooked up with told me I was the best he ever had (but maybe he tells that to everyone) and he still fantasizes about me. The best art is getting it over my pretty-little-innocent-porcelin- face. Right? Thats like the goal isn’t it? Gross!

People get really turned on by my phone sex operator voice and lush red laquored mouth. Im not always total freak in bed, she exists only lost in a fleeting moment or lost in love. Let go and be crazy. I don’t know if I have ever really had an orgasm or been in love. Or if I had then it didn’t change my life like a fairytale.

The way people write about and describe orgasms and love I would think that you would know if you had it. I just don’t. I have such high expectations for things that sometimes its impossible for all of them to come true.

It’s the same with my shows and art, but with those things it is almost easier because it is so on a stage and public. I can have flaws and they are celebrated. People enjoy the fact that I am funny and imperfect, they can relate to me. Fake it till you make it.

I can never complain about lack of sex l, I know I can get it whenever I want, its just a matter of wanting. I yearn for substance, not talking money or stuff, but compatibility in ways that nobody else understands.

My problem with relationships is that I always move too fast, and I am not immediately good at things. I need to practice being with this person, learn what they like, what makes them purr. That can’t happen in one night.

It is possible to have instant attraction, electric turn on lust rush. That’s what songs are written about, but every time that has happened to me it was fueled by an alcohol/ drug/ vacation induced confidence.

I was the most charming woman ever. They didn’t see my flaws yet, they saw what I wanted to show them, they never knew about my dandruff or wonky toenails. I know what to cover up and what to expose to make me seem perfect and sexy.
starfish sex

Am I a starfish? Do I just sit there and let them take me? I don’t think so… I enjoy switching it up. I wonder when people decide not to become repeat offenders? Now unfuckable?

I wish the end of every relationship or even one night stand could have a proper autopsy. I would like to learn about what went so wrong and know how to get better. Having bad sex is the absolute worst, you should never be sitting there waiting for it to end, that means you are doing it wrong.

I need to feel invited to join in. I was recently in a situation where three people started having sex in the same bed as me. For some reason I did not really participate, I didn’t leave either. I just watched, front row seat. Studied the way they touched each other, listened to the noises, basically being a real creep.

For some reason I just didn’t feel compelled to join in, they were all incredibly attractive humans doing hot stuff to each other, it was like live action porn, what is wrong with me? I am thrust into opportunities that I need to grab on to. I needed to just lick some nipples, kiss some lips, and caress.

I think about the moments that I let pass by. Moments where I wanted someone but didn’t tell them. Fear kept me planted. It rooted me as a bystander in my own reality. I wonder if it’s a defense mechanism. I suck at making the move and therefore should not go after people who are just like me.

It doesn’t make sense to me when I find someone who is perfect, really gets me and makes me laugh. This person keeps on living, going on just fine without me there, eating, pooping, and creating art with someone else.

Everyone I have thought I loved thus far has been or become unrequited. What does she have that I don’t? Is her pussy tighter, skin softer, sounds sexier? Do you tie her up? Does she peg? Do her nipples squirt whiskey? I don’t get it.

I am the most amazing woman that nobody wants. I wish I could be more open about getting what I desire in this world. The problem is that I need to explore myself to find out what I like and don’t like. Being lousy at sex is due to poor communication and lack of confidence.

berriesJust because I didn’t end up being what all my ex lovers want doesn’t mean I am at all undesirable to someone I haven’t even met yet. Sex is more than just mating or getting off, its emotional, all encompassing. I have been with people who were ravenous for my body. Throw me up against the wall or down on the bed, then to the curb.

I don’t ever want to be owned.  Life is beautiful. I am sick of wasting time wanting the unattainable. I want to be able to love someone and be confident in that but still have freedom to access the world’s fruit. Who cares if I suck at sex? Practice makes perfect right.


I always read the Craigslist missed connections hoping that there is someone out there who wants lil Ol’me. Actually, who am I kidding, I’m on there for the same reason I like John Waters’ movies, it’s all about the filth and unsavory splendor.

Gotta keep check on the creepers of the world, the heavy breathers wearing trench coats in the corner masterfully master-bating sting quietly while you live your life in blissful ignorance.

M for F 30 Spot Coffee Delaware
Amazon woman with blonde and pink hair sitting alone at Spot Coffee reading The Ethical Slut wearing a black dress covered in cat hair. I saw you and the world stopped. I wish I would have said something. Reply with the sports team that was on the shirt I was wearing, hint it matches your ankle tattoo. I swear by your smile we must be soulmates. I want you to tie me up and put out cigarettes on my chest. Let’s go on a long walk into the sunset together. Then you can pee on me because I love you. You complete me.

Woof. That escalated quickly. Some connections are made to be missed. I’m happy to be single. I walk tall and proud, confident and free of the relationship bondage that ruins most humans and the sad yearning that ruins the rest.

cat sunglasses

I do not need you to complete me. There is nothing you can give me that I can’t earn myself. I prefer to roll solo without any unnecessary baggage. Single, young (well young enough), and bisexual. The world my oyster, and oysters are supposed to be the sexiest food because they subliminally remind people of slurping a vagina.

Currently I’m swimming in hot blondes. I don’t know what to do with a girl this hot. All American cheerleader sex kitten angel fell asleep on my boobs the other night, she told me it was like waking up and the dream was still going. I was so sweaty though and the worst horror movie with a guy in a bunny suit was playing and I couldn’t reach the remote. I would have watched it all night instead of making her move. I can’t even…

Drowning in sweet poon and all I want is you baby. There is a boy that I have feelings for and he knows. I respect that he doesn’t want to sleep with me but it doesn’t make things any easier. If he only knew we wanted the same things. Imagine the amount of girls we could pick up together? I can’t even…

cat montreal villageSo instead of choosing one I choose fun.

I remember my early twenties really well, I had just gotten out of a long term relationship with a guy who ended up being uber controlling. It was the beginning of my burlesque career and he told me it was him or burlesque. Well I’ve been doing burlesque for almost eight years now so I guess you can tell what my choice was. See ya later asshole. Remember it’s not love if someone tries to censor or control you! The things you do and love are infinite and important.

After we ended it, the weirdo dude even stowed away in my van and begged me to take him back. I eluded him and never looked back. He married the next girl he dated. Without burlesque that would have been me.

I’m not made to be a housewife and mother. I’m too selfish and messy. I’m an only child who never wants to grow up. Sure, I’ll make you a breakfast sandwich in the morning but then you must be on your way because I have shit to do that just doesn’t involve you.

Rid yourself of the notion that you need to find your soulmate to make yourself whole. You are already perfect, the only thing that will truly satisfy the yearning in your heart is exploring the unknown. There is so much wonder and beauty out there.

My life invokes adventure and passion. My journey involves being free. Life is a stage. My arms are outstretched and the wind caresses my exposed nakedness. I’m not a spinster old maid, I’m a modern woman who will not accept the status quo. I’m the king of the world. I am a lone wolf, hear me howl at the moon. Try it for yourself.

When you are in love with someone it is all consuming. Your life meshes with theirs and nothing else matters. You live to make them smile. But, all good things come to an end. Most crushes end up being, well, crushed.

Moving on after being shot down or dumped can be one of the most difficult things you will ever have to do in your life. I am not the type to stay friends with my ex-lovers, but I know many people who make it work. It takes some time and distance before a new chapter of friendship can be opened. You will survive and endure! It gets better with time.

It is even harder when the unrequited love is with someone you consider to be your friend. Then it’s really difficult to get past. Losing this person as a friend would be unbearable – just not an option. But you gotta give it space to breathe. Don’t smother the fire; feed it with air and possibilities.

Anything is possible. I am one of those people that if told “Don’t make this weird” will immediately make things weird. I can’t help it. When I am into someone, it takes hold of me. I can’t think of anyone else, it’s fucked up and beautiful. My love is passionate – you really need to earn it.

The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. I’m not saying become a raging slut, but take steps to becoming more approachable and open to new experiences and lovers. Keep going, keep doing you, go to new places, talk to new people, and everything will fall into place. Don’t go into things with a defeated attitude. Just go out there and have a good time. Do not obsess about meeting “the one” or trying to replace that someone either, let it happen naturally.

I have recently made a conscious effort to get over someone. Once I decided that I needed to stop trying to beat a dead horse and move on, the results were instant. It was like the universe knew I was emotionally available. The last couple weeks have been some of the best and most exciting moments of my life.

Is this the real life is this just a fantasy? All of the sexiest blonde perfect girls and the hottest guys are hitting on ME?! Are they on drugs? Yes. I am intoxicating. I am worth their effort.

Be confident and you will have everyone hitting on you, see even this guy gets the ladies. Photo by Brandon Perdomo
Be confident and you will have everyone hitting on you, see even this guy gets the ladies. Photo by Brandon Perdomo

It’s time to go any way the wind will blow. You may think that life is over since you lost that person. Life has actually just begun. Relish in this freedom. Face the truth, look it in the eye! You are a force to be reckoned with. Get addicted to loving yourself. In order to get over the past, you need to take an emotional dump and find something new and completely different to excite you. I guarantee that someone will walk into your life who will make you forget you were ever obsessed with the wrong match.

Now that you’ve let go and aren’t blinded by love, you can live life for you! I know it’s not easy to get over something so quickly – I’m not even saying fuck those feelings completely. Just realize that the timing is off. Let them go, perhaps your person will realize what they’ve lost once they see how happy and incredible your life is now. The satisfaction of turning someone who once denied you down is like no other high! To watch them grovel at your feet and beg for the love they once spit on is totally satisfying and will happen if you just stay strong.

You can’t be mad if they don’t come back either and you definitely can’t expect it. People are allowed to not love you too. You can’t tell your heart whom to love or how to feel – you know this though. Their lack of affection for you is as valid as your love for them. It’s just how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

Open up to new experiences and do things you are scared of. I did and It’s like the universe knew I finally let it go, I took it out back and shot it like Old Yeller.

It’s intimidating to talk to someone new as it is, but nearly impossible to talk to someone and their twenty snarling friends.

My advice is to start being independent and going to events by yourself or with a really awesome wingman. If you travel with a pack of besties you will scare away potential suitors. It’s intimidating to talk to someone new as it is, but nearly impossible to talk to someone and their twenty snarling friends. Don’t blend into your friends, you are more than that. Sparkle!

Don’t appear occupied either, that means put the fucking phone down. Nobody wants someone who is sitting in a corner texting away with a glowing face, that’s just sad. Eye contact is the sexiest thing.

You have to look good! Feel confident, get your hair done, buy a new outfit, smile! You don’t have to flaunt all your goods, be provocative and classy. A little tease goes a long way. Once you are looking and feeling cute the world will respond. Accept compliments and believe them, be empowered by them.

Body language is super important. Keep your head up and your posture good, don’t slump or hide. Be proud and powerful. Shoulders back, don’t cross your arms and look intimidating. It’s all about how you carry yourself.

Don’t judge someone based on their appearance. You’ll never know how awesome they are if you don’t give them a chance.

Treat others how you want to be treated. Your newfound confidence will bring the good with the bad. Don’t judge someone based on their appearance. You’ll never know how awesome they are if you don’t give them a chance. It’s ok to turn someone down too. Be respectful with their emotions and let them down with the kindness we all deserve. Remember when the show was on the other foot.

Not all places create the right scenario for new conversations. If you want someone to approach you, pick a place that’s perfect. Coffee shops, go to bars over loud clubs, volunteering, or even book or record stores offer limitless opportunities for someone new to start a conversation with you. Always be positive and have fun, people will want to join in. Ask that hot guy about the record that he is holding. Chances are he’s passionate about it. Lean in slightly to make the conversation more intimate. You will be irresistible.

I love being the lone wolf. I thrive on being thrust into slightly uncomfortable moments. Getting hit on is not a game of chance. You also just can’t sit around waiting, you have to put yourself out there and be more approachable. I have never regretted the things I’ve done that scared me at first. It’s amazing how easy it is just to smile at someone or compliment them. Boom, you are suddenly engaged in an interesting conversation and not alone.

It’s incredible how good you will feel once you put yourself out there and stop obsessing over finding the perfect relationship. One you stop looking it finds you. Being happy with yourself and doing new and fantastic things is the only way to live

As of late, a series of unrelated events have brought me to think about second chances. To give, or not to give?

Clearly, you don’t go looking for happiness in the same place you lost it. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results (Albert Einstein). I mean, fool me once…

I want to be the bigger person. I want to believe in the good of others. But simply put, there are people for whom I would never ever (cue Taylor Swift) consider giving another chance to. My stalker sociopathic ex is a prime example of this. The one labelled as “The Asshole” in my phone and possibly a future topic of this column.

It’s a shame to say, but the core of certain someones will never truly change, let alone improve. And soon as you accept this reality, hesitation is easy to chuck and not looking back is just as easily done than said. Sayo-fucking-nara.

However, life ain’t a one-size-fits-all deal and the same principles don’t always apply to every situation. Relationships are, within themselves, an amalgamation of nuances in contexts and histories. As such, there are glitches in the matrix of Never Agains. Some people can indeed change for the better.

I, for one, was a handful back in my youth. I could’ve turned into another statistic. But I pulled my shit together, with time and accrued wisdom (and a couple of prayers from a concerned father). Today, I can look at myself in the mirror and honestly say, “Hell yeah, I’d totally be friends with me.”

Acknowledging our own self-betterment means we can’t ignore the possibility of it occurring for others as well. There are some instances in which you shouldn’t write off someone’s integrity permanently. We need to weight all the variables; give credit where credit is due. But how do we differentiate the exceptions to the rule amongst a bag of bad apples?

As everything else in life, little is truly black and white. It usually requires several trials and errors before having a sure-fire answer. Which is why some people come back knocking, and others are willing to open the door to them again.

We can also find ourselves in states of perpetually holding the door ajar. We like to keep our options open, regardless of whether we need them to be. Let’s admit it: we’re greedy assholes sometimes.

Second chances. You can say yes, maybe to banish the what ifs. Or you can say no, as the responsible choice or maybe as to diffuse the responsibility in case round two fucks up.

So how do you handle a blast from the past with a second (chance) agenda? Same you would an old pair of socks.

We all end up with that ONE pair of socks that never stays together, amirite? Always one missing. And what do you do? You keep the loyal one aside until the other one shows up, of course. Stick it in some dark corner of your underwear drawer. It’ll turn up eventually, probably in the next load of laundry.

And you forget about it for a while until, one day, you finally stumble upon that missing other half. The pair can be reunited at last! But wait. Now you can’t seem to locate the other one, the OG that stayed behind. Ye faithful is no longer where you thought you last left it.

Two lovers that constantly have bad timing; always ending up at the right place, just never at the same time.

After consolidating the factors behind the relationship that wasn’t meant to be the first time around, is a second chance truly viable? It’s certainly possible to let go of negativity and gravitate toward a more positive dynamic, but you can’t un-know every single intertwining thought and reservation you’ve ended up establishing about the never-before-succeeded relationship.

Unlike dirty garments, you can’t wash people clean of their shortcomings at the push of a button. It takes times, words, and the actions that back up these words, to prove that things have indeed changed (and for the better).

And after washing those socks, will they feel just as good as you last remember slipping them on? Fabric softener can only do so much. Maybe you’ll find you’ve outgrown them.

I would imagine that chemistry between two people changes on some level. Physically, emotionally, or a bit of both. Even if chemistry is present, how are you certain it’s built on true desire and not simply on familiarity?

Nobody fixes the holes in their socks anyways. Easier to just toss em’ and go to Simons to buy new ones. It’s the age-old Tupperware conundrum: we measure the benefits of tossing over the cost of replacement.

At the end of the day, should someone deserve a second chance, it should be within the context where he or she takes initiative in coming forth to make things right, and not where you have to run after them offering the option of a do-over. You don’t need to give them a map; they should already know where to go.

That said, if you’re in a situation where we’re talking about 3rd, 4th or 5th chances… Bro, I can’t help you there. But you need to start helping yourself a little better.

Over a recent convo with my friend, and as if experiencing some sort of outer body experience, I heard myself say: “Nah man, I just don’t feel insecure compared to other women anymore. I’m not being narcissistic or self-centered – I’ve just come to a point where I know I’m the shit. And if someone doesn’t feel that way about me, that’s fine. I haven’t lost anything… Why bother with someone who’d prefer I was someone else? It’s just a waste of my time to give my energy to a person who doesn’t think I’m the bee’s knees – or who don’t treat me that way, for that matter.”

After twenty-four years… Finally. Fucking. Nailed it.

And it’s no secret how.

I have to rewind a bit, to gain some perspective into the source of this newly discovered pool of self-confidence. In the past few months (after traumatizing breakup number umpteen, eugh) I just haven’t had the time or the emotional space to let anyone new into my life – not even for a fling.

I’ve been busy looking for a job with a viable salary, which could also allow me to fulfill creative potential, looking for an apartment, starting side projects and, after one hell of a hectic year, simply taking a deep breath and coming back to me. Start laughing again, Christ.

And, as it turns out, for first time ever, I have no man drama. And I only realized this because I’ve been listening to my friend’s romantic/unromantic drama and now I have question marks appear on my forehead. Totally removed. For the first time in my LIFE, I haven’t been looking for anyone, bothered by a dysfunctional relationship, or pining over confusing signals. And this is coming from the woman who always has at least one prospect in sight, or her radar on, ready to pick up a signal. Maybe it’s a side effect of recovering from an overdose, or maybe that last hammer finally nailed it in.

I’m not thinking about sex. The sex I’m not having, or the sex I wish I was having. I’m not thinking about getting close to someone, or wishing they would see and get to know me. Come to think of it, it might have something to do with spending the past year falling asleep in the arms of someone who revealed themselves to be a total stranger to me in the end.

And I’m not giving up, nor am I choosing to become skeptical, I think I actually just lost my man boner. And I have no idea where it went. Heck, I found myself flirting with a woman at New Year’s, just to take a break from bloody testosterone.

I know my knight in shining armor is out there, and he’ll come trotting along eventually, but in the meantime, I think I’ve just given up the drama. No more Miss Nice Girl. Sure, men say women are dramatic, and sure, we are, but that’s only because they’re so good at making us feel fucking crazy.

Being turned-off men also incidentally propelled me into a state of complete lack of insecurity and complete self-confidence – well, not in life, or for everything – but at least concerning who I am. I’m not looking to please anyone anymore. Just myself. I’m not currently trying to prove my worth through a man’s approval. Just proving it through my own. My integrity. I mean, I know I’m a good person, always have been, always will be. And after giving the best of me (and what I had) and having it slapped back in my face for the millionth-time, I’ve also come to the very liberating conclusion that… it’s not me. I’m not the problem. It’s not that I’m not nice enough, understanding enough, tolerant enough, forgiving enough, it’s bloody them! Assholes just all wear nice guy disguises.


I don’t mean to sound cynical, but I’ve spent my life giving everyone the benefit of the doubt, looking to see the good in others instead of the bad, and my conclusion after living the experiences is that there are, in fact, few truly good, honest and whole people alive today. I mean, I knew there were assholes our there. But I just happened to know how to pick the good ones. That is, until they turned out not to be so great. Right?

I’d usually have thoughts like: No no, it’s just him, he’s troubled by his childhood… our relationship is different. I’m different than all the other women he’s been with. He sees me. I’m special. If I had a penny for every time I’ve thought I could be the one who made the real difference. I’d have a lot of useless currency.

So it took some time to realize just how fucked up people actually are. And here’s my idea: can we develop a CHEATER/LIAR/MANIPULATOR FaceBook button, so ex’s can leave their cliff notes? If this shit could be detected in plain sight, we might all save each other the heartache.

I know not everyone else is to blame. I was so eager to please and to be loved that I’d just let men treat me in ways that kept me in a state of perpetual misery. I’d always be hanging on to just enough love or communication to get me by. To keep up the illusion that if someone said “I love you” it meant the same thing as when I said it to them. But just enough isn’t enough, people.

Apparently, the key to getting over insecurity about who you are is to stop looking for someone to love you, to value you, to make you feel special. Hell, if you don’t feel special on your own, you’re always going to compare yourself to others. It’s going to be a hell of a long life if you can only stand to see your reflection in the eyes of another.

And see, our common sickness, or ironically, our common insecurities, keep us perpetually on the prowl. Most of the time, if we’re not in a relationship, we’re looking for one. Or if we’re not having sex, we’re looking for sex. And in some cases, even if we’re in a relationship and having sex, we’re still looking for sex or a relationship elsewhere. No wonder we’re all so fucked up and emotionally drained by fifty. Hell, by twenty-five!

Now, the perspective of going home to paint with a glass of wine is far more appealing than the idea of a date. Is that sad? I don’t know. Isn’t it sad to keep dating someone who treats you sort-of-nicely?

So, in this new mind-set, which, so far, has proven to be quite restful, empowering, liberating, and time saving, it apparently boils down to this: If you don’t like who I am, as I am, without the games and bullshit, (waves arms like flight attendant) there are exits here, here, here and here. I am an opinionated, real, honest, stubborn, loyal, no-nonsense kind of woman. You don’t like it? Well I don’t like you either. Show up to my party and you don’t like the music? Want to make some sort of passive aggressive comment about it? There’s the door. Right there. Ta-tah! You think I’d look sexier if I wore red nail polish instead of multi-colored sparkles? Well, maybe I’d prefer to dye your hair red in your sleep, or put Nair in your shampoo.


Now, on another tangent, have I missed a chapter or has cheating suddenly become a socially accepted trend or something? Last week, my good friend found out (or had it confirmed) that her ex was seeing someone else while they were still together (I will gladly go dump a pile of poo at his doorstep. Still debating on whether it should be human or dog feces though…) and I also recently heard a guy say: “My girlfriend’s in Toronto, time to cheat!” when he stepped into a bar. I almost spat out my Guinness. And that shit is pricey.

Need a punch in the face, much? Or am I the one that seems too intense? And if so, what does that say about where we’re all at on that topic? I mean, I know that not everyone is programmed for monogamy – but your relationship rules are the one’s you’ve established together. The binding unsigned contract of your fucking integrity as a person. And usually “cheat” means: you’d done a bad bad thing. Then again, if you still think it’s cool to be bad then maybe you should put your James Dean poster away.

It’s pretty easy not to cheat, yo. You just don’t put your dick in a vagina that does not belong to your girlfriend. Or lend your vagina to a penis that is not your boyfriend’s. (*no discrimination to the LGBT community, please interpret as personal to your sexual preferences.) Or accidentally lock lips with person who is not your significant other. Or send secret messages to someone else. Oh and “I was drunk”? Tsk tsk. No one buys that as a legit excuse anymore.

Now, since women are apparently confusing and complicated, a guy friend recently asked me this: So, what is it that women want, exactly?

Ok, so tall, dark and handsome… blablabla. Not but seriously, we’ll cut the “have things in common” speech because – duh. Let’s talk realistically:

Given that I can’t speak for my entire gender, I told him what I want. Based on years of trial and error, both in and outside the bedroom. And obviously, will be put back into application when the emotional Viagra kicks in…

First, if you’re cheap, I lose my boner. There is no such thing as being a gentleman for the first couple dates and then going half-zies. If you’re going to be cheap, at least be upfront about it. Now, I don’t need to be taken out for fancy dinners all the time, or to be surprised with diamond bracelets (although flowers are nice). A 3AM St-Viateur bagel pit stop after a pint of beer is fine by me, especially if I like your smile. But if you’re expecting me to split the bill, you can forget the za-za-zoo.

Besides, if a guy is cheap with money, he usually isn’t that generous in bed.

Second, I now want to be someone’s National Anthem. If someone doesn’t think I’m the shit, or treat me like I’m the shit, instead of treating me like shit, it’s no longer my problem, because I don’t need to spend another minute entertaining the illusion that I’m happy with them. It’s about time we start being a little more unapologetic about who we choose to spend our time with and energy on.


Also, it’s one thing to look for Mr. or Mrs. Right, but what about first making damn sure someone isn’t Mr. or Mrs. Wrong? Before we get into a whole courtship dance, why don’t we save ourselves some time and be upfront about how we’re both mad to see if we might just end up driving eachother crazy down the line. No little secrets, no “showing me the best of who you are” and letting me find out about the rest over time… Show me the best of your worst. Ok, I’ll go first: I’m not a morning person. I can’t stand it when people slurp hot beverages from a mug, or when they insist on playing “Guess what.” I’m generally pretty intense and will also test/challenge strangers if I suspect they’re playing peacock with me. I like for things to go back to their designated spot. I have a TERRIBLE memory. People who constantly complain about things over which they have no control (aka the weather) boggle my mind. I don’t do yelling. I’m a little OCD about making sure my gas stove is at off. Ok, a lot OCD about that. I can be bossy. But that’s because I’m pretty much always right. I don’t like to be teased in a “seems-innocent-but-is-actually-passive-aggressive” way. I won’t sugar coat it. I don’t watch or read the news (I know, I know, I’m a terrible person). And if you push my head down because you think that will make me go down, your face might just hurt from the giant slap coming your way. So if you’re cool with that, we’re set for life. Now, what are your oddities?

What else? Oh. If you’re not interested in a commitment? Ok, buh-bye! Also, I’m done playing nurse-mommy. Go find a younger less experienced model to trample on. If you want to be with a grown up, get your shit together, learn to wash your dishes and toilet, and learn how to listen. Don’t bunny hump; make love and mean it. And if you’re not that into me, tell me. Or better yet, don’t waste my time and yours. Go, please. You’re not doing anyone any favors by keeping up an act.

We all have enough shit to deal with in this life, without having someone we’re putting our faith in lie to our face.

Now ladies. We seem to have forgotten something fundamental: we get to choose. Not men. It’s the lioness that gets her pick of the crop. Women can walk into a bar and decide; hey, yeah, I want you, and usually, we’ll get it. So Own Your Shit. Up the standards. Expect more from yourself and others. Don’t settle or let the guy think he’s doing you a favor by sleeping with you. And guys, if there is a woman that you want; you better enjoy playing by her rules. I think the smart men have figured this one out.

So, maybe I’ll be single forever, or until someone who fits the ever-growing list comes along. And yes, I’m picky. But he’s gonna be a damn good son of a bitch. And I can’t wait to meet him. But I guess life will be saving the best for last. What can I say. I’m tired of cheap-ass grown-ass men, or tight-ass rich ass womanizers, dirty little secrets, addictions and emotional morons.


And ladies, when you see a gentleman, for God’s sake, don’t chop off their balls. If someone is trying to be chivalrous with you, stop throwing feminism in their face. It’s OK to let a guy hold the door for you. It’s OK to let him be kind and courteous. And considerate. And nice. It’s NOT OK for a man to put his hand up your skirt without asking. Or to treat you as an inferior species. But can we stop emasculating them, please? It’s made them all confused. I know it’s cute, but then we collectively complain about how there are no more decent guys.

Here are some personal suggestions: Stop dating 8 people at once, to weigh out your options. Maybe, stop multitasking until someone who you actually give a shit about comes along – or better yet, someone who actually gives a shit about you. And if all you want or need at the moment is sex, be upfront about it. There is nothing wrong with one-night-stands, but don’t be all like “Oh baby, we’ve been seeing each other… in bed… for like four weeks, and I want your babies, etc… but I can’t commit to anyone right now, I’m just not in that place.” – On behalf of all that is sane and good in the world, put your junk back in your trunk, learn to control your sex drive and stop toying with other human beings.

If you want a woman, start acting like a man. If you want a man, start acting like a woman. And if you’re gay, I can’t help you. But throw integrity into the equation and we should all eventually come out all right.

Hold out for someone who deserves you, and if you don’t feel worthy, then work on becoming the person you want to attract into your life. And if you don’t think you’d be worth their time, then maybe start by learning to make yourself worth your own.

Visuals by Jacquie Boyd, Creative Commons.

Some could say I’m impatient. I prefer phrasing it as not taking time for granted. That’s probably why I’m in marketing.

The reality is that life can get overhauled in a matter of minutes. I’ve learned this the hard way. Since then, I’ve developed an internal sense of urgency. It’s not as much about impulse as it is about seizing the moment. And how many minutes are there in a moment, you know?

I say: if you want two desserts, have two desserts. If you love someone, say it right away. If you miss them, tell them (I don’t care how long it’s been since you’ve spoken). Just do it. We should indulge in the moments that are meaningful to us, and indulge others in them as well. Life is short, folks. Even if it’s the longest thing you’ll ever fucking do.

In the past, I would evaluate my relationships based on their long-term appeal. A lot of people do. If you can envision the finish line, the marathon is worth running, correct?

We hear it all the time: Find Mr. Right. The guy who’s going to look good in a tux, who wants the same number of kids, who checks everything off your list.

I mean, it’s not entirely wrong to think this way. Don’t invest your time if you’re aware of it being a dead-end from the start. “I don’t like cats.” Check please!

It’s nice and all to look for Mr. Right. Thing is, the guy doesn’t exist.

We get so caught up drawing out what we want our futures to look like, and that’s too much pressure. Life moves pretty fast and it can pass you by. We’re so preoccupied with what’s to come later that we miss out on our now… on our Mr. Right Now, to be precise.

No. Mr. Right Now is not a cliché of questionable one night stands.
Mr. Right Now is the guy who accepts you as you stand today, not the tomorrow that hasn’t come yet.

Potential exists in almost everyone, with enough time and effort invested. It’s called emotional conditioning. We can all learn to care for someone, eventually. But being in love shouldn’t be an eventuality. It should feel extraordinary from the get-go. Sparks. No instructions needed.

I ask myself: Who is the future me?

I used to see myself loving a 9 to 5 job.
Two kids and a Cocker Spaniel.
Groceries on Sundays.
Married to an accountant.

Then, I saw myself jetting around the world.
Adopting my offspring.
Cutting my hair short.
Opening up a bakery as a retirement plan.

We’re constantly growing and evolving as people. And yet we expect to find a partner to fit a mold we haven’t even carved out? A bit unrealistic, isn’t it?

So let’s stop looking for Mr. Right. Let’s stop over-thinking things and skipping steps.

You have to have confidence in the person you are today and find someone who will appreciate you the same way. Look for the one who you can be yourself with, with all your flaws and figuring-outs. Look for the person who makes sense now, however little sense it can seem for the coming months or years. Just find a person you’re excited to share the current news of your life with. Or inside jokes. And zero judgments.

All in all, don’t just look for that “one” right. Look for Mr. All-Kinds-Of-Rights.

I know it feels reassuring to know exactly where you’ll land. But I’m kind of into discovering the journey as it unfolds now. Sure, you can’t confirm the end results this way, but I’m positive that you don’t look back on something you feel you did exactly the way you meant to do it and have regrets.

Whoever you decide to invest in, there’s always going to be a risk when gambling your time. But I think: what better odds to play than on Mr. Right Now? There’s no magic formula for a happy future, but there’s certainly no happy long-term without a happy short-term in the first place.

In light of the New Year, I started to think about the appeal of a blank slate, of starting over. Having something new and fresh to look forward to. You count down from ten, and reset the clock. Maybe even throw in a little confetti. No headaches. Wave bye-bye to last year – it’s so 2014 anyway.

Saying goodbye to expired relationships, however… Not so blissfully clean-cut. Nope. Those are more like the streaks of shit left behind, which you can never seem to wipe off completely. “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” was basically a documentary.

My dad always told me, “Jules, men are like jobs. You don’t leave one until you find another.” (FYI: badass parenting wisdom). But – I must admit – coming from a thrice-married man, this might not have been the soundest of advice. Still, it’s a concept we appropriate to a lot of other scenarios, every day, sans qualms.

Think about it.

If you need to upgrade your car, you don’t just sell your rusty clunker without finding a replacement first. It wouldn’t be practical, right?

And we always have to have a plan B. Restaurants, college alternatives, backup Saturday night plans (in case your TiVo pulls some diva sass on your ass, and you need to put on something else than sweatpants).

It’s a defense mechanism thing. We like to expect the unexpected. Surprises aren’t always good surprises – unless they’re jumping out of a cake.

What’s messed up, though, is how you’re perceived if things don’t workout, and your emotional balance dares to falter for a second. Society holds you accountable for not being better equipped at facing the unpredicted ‘what ifs’ that have smacked you in the face. Because putting all your eggs in one basket is a ludicrous thing. Tsk tsk.

Optimism is dead. No wonder we live in a world of prenups and trust issues.


And as a result, we’ve perfected the art of coping mechanisms when it comes to love and other hot messes, which is why you don’t ever really get over someone until you find someone new.

Now, now, hakuna your tatas everyone, because this isn’t meant to argue with how we need to be happy by ourselves before sharing our life with another, or similar self-empowerment hoopla of sorts. Because I agree with this notion, 100%.

What I’m talking about here is not in regards to the actual letting go, but in regards to points of reference your donzo relationship still provides in the aftermath.

You see, mourning a relationship (or an idea of a relationship) is a two-part deal: letting go of the entity that you (thought) was so important, and adjusting to your reality 2.0. It’s pretty much a face fuck-full of emotions. And I mean this literally because, believe me, nobody cries pretty.

Thing is, no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many arts and crafts classes you sign up to, or how many holes you burn through your credit card with shopping sprees every second Sunday…

Repeat after me:
You never get over someone until you find someone new.

Last date? That jerk.
Last fancy dinner? Ugh, right.
Last person you swapped spit with? You guessed it.

No matter how amazeballs your life is, or how comfortable you are with being a dinner-for-one, your last special someone will remain your last reference for all romantic contexts. Until you find a new replacement piece. Fact.

And there’s no shame in that. It’s perfectly normal.

What I’m trying to say is: we can’t judge anyone on the time it takes for him or her to move on. And we need to cut ourselves some slack too, for that matter. Sometimes, one just needs to jump right into a get-laid-parade to break the ice for themselves and their newfound singlehood. Other times, it takes a little longer to experience butterflies again, even if just dick butterflies for a night.

All in all, take your time. Everyone is entitled to his or her own process.

Unless you’re hitting expert-level “sad single,” where your cat is eating your Michelina’s sad-ghetti leftovers by the side of your bed. In which case: get up, shower off and go kiss a stranger. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.

Ah, Tinder. The latest buzz-making matchmaking app and my last obsession. Cause yeah, no more mooching off my friends to play… I created my own account! Hey man, no shame; everybody with a smartphone is drinking that Kool-Aid.

One great thing about Tinder is the fact that it’s semi-anonymous. No last names and few pictures paint an illusion of privacy to unashamedly pursue your online quest for booty. But it feels legit enough, requiring you to sign up with a valid Facebook profile, that finding yourself trapped in some psycho’s car trunk is not as high on the list of fears if meeting up. The person you are viewing is (almost always) real, and the information (first name and age) is probably accurate.

Unless you’re my sister who created Sloth McSlow to satisfy her Tinderiosity:

sloth mcslow
This guy is awesome.

Either you go on Tinder, or you play Tinder. How people talk about the app is a good indication of how seriously they take its hook-up potential. Sorry to crush your dreams bros, but many ladies are solely on there for an ego boost. There are just as many thundercunts as there are douchebags in this world.

But in regards to those who are really on Tinder to ignite some sparks, the app is no different than any other virtual dating playground. You’ll get all sorts of users ranging from seeking DTFs, real connections, right down to friendly acquaintances. I’ve even swiped through a few couples looking to add a little extra somethin’ somethin’ to the bedroom.

What’s crazy is how addictive it is. Like fo’ real. You will literally spend hours nope-ing the hell out of rando after rando. And for what? Honestly it’s like maintenance stroking your hard-on until the good porn finishes loading; you keep swiping with tired determination until you fall upon an actual “maybe” – or better yet – until you find an absolute YES (the unicorn of Tinder). That or your battery dies.

As a girl, and for simplicity’s sake, there are two types of men: Jerks and Nice Guys. Jerks are players who want to score with your pretty face but not pay for breakfast. Nice Guys always put on a condom and sometimes wear sweaters.

But hold the fuck up. With Tinder, jerk-o-meters get fuzzy. Because even if you think you found a Nice Guy, the dude’s gotta be superficial on some level, right? Tinder matches are founded on aesthetic compatibility after all. It’s a real Catch 22.

So what about superficial assumptions? My swiping system goes as such:

If you’re wearing sunglasses, I assume you have a lazy eye.
Swipe left.
Ed Hardy t-shirt wearers and swagfags alike.
Swipe left.

If you take a selfie while driving? That’s dangerous road conduct and terrible camera angle.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing in a mirror, you probably have short arms.
Swipe left.

If you quote James Dean, it’s just too cliche.
Swipe left.
If you have a tribal tattoo, you’re either 450 or have Chlamydia (don’t know which is worst).
Swipe left.
If you’re smoking a cigar, you have a small penis.
Swipe left.
If you’re shown traveling by backpack, you can’t afford a hotel and you’re probably broke.
Swipe left.
If you’re wearing a fedora, you’re the taint that girls try to bleach off their assholes.
Swipe left.
If you’re doing the Zoolander eyebrow thing, the equivalent of the male “duck face”.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing next to GSP, you look underwhelming by comparison no matter what.
Swipe left.
If you have kids, awwwwww…
Swipe left.

So basically, all guys. Swipe left. I’m window shopping 90% of the time.

Noobs take time to view your account. They appreciate the funny picture where you’re wearing that 3 Amigos sombrero. They give you points for writing a quirky bio. They feel morally obliged to answer your message if you matched.

Pros (you get your badge after, like, 3 days) need less than 0.75 seconds to process your picture. Your face becomes a blur along with every other stranger’s. Swipe, swipe, swi- Awe shit! I just swiped left a ‘maybe’!  Oh well, you continue compulsively worsening your tinderitis.

You have to wonder… Would you have really picked out your boyfriends or girlfriends if you had come across them on Tinder? Most likely not.

It’s such a commentary on today’s gen. Entitled, expecting immediate results, and ADD-level commitment. Tinder is the epitome of today’s Grass Is Always Greener society. It’s kind of sad, actually.

The app is fun and it definitely delivers what it promises. But after a couple of weeks, and a few numbers exchanged, and ONE super friendly meet… I decided Tinder wasn’t for me. I started to over-think it, see the bigger picture, and it cheapened the experience of making a connection with someone. So I quit that bitch. Bye Felicia.

And then I got a cat, my new obsession. Now I can never die alone!

I think I’m doing a really good job embracing the single life, don’t you?

Featured photo credit: Denis Bocquet, Flickr CC.

‘Tis the seasons of breakups, everyone! Holidays are approaching, and the pressure’s on. It’s now or never, folks.

Hey – it’s never fun to be the bearer of bad news. Preparing to give the pink slip to your girlfriend or boyfriend can be a stressful thing. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

Still, too often I hear of less than tactful breakups. And man, I’ve been there.

So far, my biggest heartbreak happened with a come-to-life Seth Cohen; preppy, great taste in music, and an inherent neuroticism not even Modest Mouse could sooth. We dated for less than a year, but it was serious enough. Or so I thought, until I got slapped in the face by the bitch that is unrequited love.

No doubt, being dumped sucks, no matter how it’s done. But a sprinkle of common fucking decency when parting ways is better for all parties involved. And I’m here to help.

If you want to avoid being known as an epic douche canoe for the rest of your life, here are 6 rules to follow:

Rule #1: Timing is everything.

There’s never good timing to break someone’s heart. There is, however, such a thing as ‘least worst’ timing.

Don’t put off the inevitable, but (in some cases) a day or two can make a difference for your partner. You’re about to take a massive shit on their hearts, so not letting it ricochet onto other aspects of their lives is the least you can do.

My neurotic Seth decided to do the deed right after picking me up from the library where I was studying for my exams. Sure, I got over it a few months later, but it’s a different story for my GPA. Guy could’ve waited 12 hours for my finals to be over.

Rule #2: Forget about your feelings.

One thing I observed, as I was being broken up with, was the oblivious selfishness that came from ‘the explanation.’ I got the full A to Z, a whole spiel of How, When, What, Whys. Dude kept going on and on and oh my god just shoot me now. I was dragged through the mud of his never ending justifications because he was unconsciously seeking my O.K.

Look, no one likes to feel like the bad guy. But we can’t always be the hero of every scenario. And it’s not your ex’s job to sooth your ‘I’m sowwies’.

Rule #3: Don’t trust anything they say.

If the wound is still fresh, anything from your ex’s mouth that seems remotely mature is not to be trusted. That person is a wounded animal; they’re in survival mode, for fuck’s sake! Lying, bargaining and denial are cards that will be played.

“I’m fine if we sleep together one last time!” is an obvious one.

Basically, anything that completes the sentence: “You and I can [enter any kind of continued interaction] because I’m being an adult about this” is a trap.

Yes, they will get over your lame-ass, but for now you can flatter yourself enough to know that today is not that day, so respect that (even if they can’t).

Rule #4: Don’t try to make them feel better.

Cringe-worthy breakup moments always ensue when you don’t follow this rule. If you just made someone cry, you are not the best fit to make that person feel better.

“I’m still very attracted to you.”
Read: I don’t want to marry you, but I’d still fuck you.

From the guy I thought I’d have babies with. Yo, thanks a lot.

I wanted to punch him in the throat. Maybe it would’ve helped dislodge the foot in his mouth.

Anyways, you get my drift. No matter how good it sounds in your head – don’t.

Rule #5: Don’t say you’ll stay in touch.

“Don’t worry, we’re still friends!” How the ever-loving fuck does anyone think that ever works?

Maybe you’ll be friends one day. But right now, we both know you won’t maintain the kind of consistent contact that accompanies friendship after your breakup. So don’t make empty promises. Follow-through is important; don’t do a sloppy job on both breaking up AND being friends.  It’ll just lend to more confusion in the short run.

“Don’t half-ass two things; Whole-ass one thing” – Ron Swanson

Rule #6: Acknowledge the relationship

The worst thing about someone breaking up with you is when you remember how little you thought about the people you broke up with and you realize that’s how little they’re thinking of you. (Before Sunrise. Great movie, go see it)

It’s important to at least acknowledge your shared past, especially if it was a happy one. I think it’s showing respect, if not to your ex, then to yourself. After all, you did learn a thing or two with them.

*Author’s note: I’ll give credits to Seth for at least doing this.

At the end of the day, every breakup story is unique, so feel free to add your own twist to it.

I just think that you’re already getting your way in the relationship by ending it, so giving your S.O. a dignified notice is a nice courtesy. Try to go about it gracefully.

Today, my train-wreck of a breakup is water under the bridge. Everybody has moved on. But in hindsight, it’s the way the breakup was handled, not the breakup itself, that left a bitter taste in my mouth. So Seth and I don’t stay in touch. Guess terrible last impressions can really tarnish great first ones.

Eh. Then again, I don’t know if I could’ve expected anything better coming from a 29 year old whose parents still buy his toilet paper.

Featured photo credit: woodleywonderworks , Flickr CC.

In last week’s article, I spoke about what motivates long distance romances. Since we’ve already covered the whys of the subject, I wanted to talk about the hows. Today, I’ve outlined a few key concepts to help you handle this clusterfuck of an emotional yo-yo that is long distance dating, if you ever find yourself wrapped up in one like I did.

Because, yes, at times you’ll be pulling out your hair. No relationship is ever easy, but shit, with the right person? Abso-fucking-lutely worth it.

Tip # 1: Make it temporary

Plan the end of your long distance from the get-go. Even if months or years down the road, getting over the hurdles is totally possible as long as there’s an end to all that crap. Things to look forwards to, right? You want a return on investment somewhere down line.

In the beginning of my LDR with Mr. W.A. (previously introduced), long-term end goals were part of the equation. Eventually living together, for example, was part of it. Not having that, flying back and forth would’ve felt redundant. You’ve got to clock-in before your time (or patience) runs out. If the distance isn’t temporary, what’s the point?

Tip # 2: Prioritize small things 

Would you stand up your girlfriend or boyfriend at a restaurant? Of course not, you’re not an asshat. Well, in LDRs, planned Skype conversations are real dates and should be treated as such. Might seem trivial to give such importance to little things, but bottom-line is it’s all about connecting. Emails, texts, Face-time, phone calls. Ever heard of FTD? Get on that shit! Small things, big impact. So don’t forget about them. Trust me, nothing will make your partner brain hemorrhage through their nose like the frustration of being left hanging or the worry that they’re taken for granted. That’s valid for ANY relationship, you just need to be extra vigilant in LDRs.

I rode the shorter end of that stick with Mr. W.A., and it sucked harder than a whore in a vacuum to feel forgotten. Small lapses can devastate long-distance relationships, but small thoughtful gestures have just as much exponential impact to improve them. So please, do sweat the small stuff.

Tip # 3: Quality over quantity

Quality words. Those emails? Make them colourful. Express the FEELS. Take out your thesaurus and use adjectives. Increase the value of your connecting moments by highlighting the sentiments behind them. It’ll take the same amount of time and have longer lasting impact on your honey, trust me. Bang for your buck, people.

Quality actions. Those visits?  Make them count! Sometimes shit happens and bad timing falls on “that” weekend. Well, tighten your big kid Pull-Ups and suck it up. Push yourself to be present and at your best on the rare occasions you have together. You can’t just “make up for it next weekend” if you act like a moody little bitch because, hello, in LDRs “next weekend” comes next month. Prioritize the Now. Or you might have to pay for it. For a long ass while. Because of your disgruntled better half.

[Pro-tip: If that happens: FTD. Stat.]

So there you go. Super simple stuff to nurture your LDR. Based on a personal and completely biased opinion.

Hey, at least I’m honest.

Disclosure: my long-distance relationship with W.A. didn’t really work out, unfortunately. I don’t necessarily blame the long distance so much as the lack of synchronicity with our priorities. Timing? Anyways, sometimes you got the right ingredients, the right chemistry, but the formula you have to work with is just off.

So, I had to call it. I had to take ol’ Bessie out in the back barn and shoot her between the eyes. Bang.

Calling it with W.A. gave me the big sads (Kleenex and Ben & Jerry’s jumped in profit margins that week) but time is never wasted when learning about yourself and what you need from others. Or you know, whatever cheese-tastic inspirational quote that floats your boat.

I haven’t ruled out long distance romance entirely. I’ll just have a more elaborate checklist to consult from before considering committing again. But that’s like for any new relationship, isn’t it?

Because I couldn’t find a functional relationship in my own city, apparently I thought getting involved in a long distance relationship would help my situation. Cue the Hahahahahas. Don’t ask me what I was thinking. It was probably something along the lines of: Bah! All you need is love! How could this ever go wrong? 


You know, I do suffer from blonde moments from time to time and it’s safe to say this was clearly one of them. I just forgot how to brain for a hot minute and didn’t realize what I was signing up for. The six-pack and dimples caught me off guard. Summer of 2014 wasn’t chock-full of sound decisions.

Maybe I’m one of those people who suffered an unfortunate streak of bad luck or just caught a real case of the fuckits, but I ended up in a place where I was willing to try something different. I dated some absolute morons back in the day, maybe I just needed to retire the Montreal scene for a while and branch out. I’m not saying it was the best idea. I guess it’s like anal sex; can’t knock it ’til you try it.

According to Stats Can, 7% of Canadians are engaged in a long distance relationship. That’s like 2.4 million people having phone sex! The real kicker? Roughly 1/3 of young adults are in a LDR. Well color me fifty shades of shocked.

Before you pity those who find themselves in this situation, just remember that’s one in three people who’d rather have a long distance relationship over the option of dating your ass, who lives next door. Ouch. I’ll just let that sink in for a second.

Every relationship is different. LDRs are no exception. For one thing, most long-distance ménages don’t necessarily start out that way. Change of circumstances, like professional or academic obligations, is often the reason behind LDRs. I have a friend who once sustained a long distance relationship for a year while studying overseas.

A year of blue balls is a long fucking time, but 4 years were already invested in her relationship. Makes sense! You figure the reason behind any sane person willingly adding MORE challenges to their relationship is to preserve an already existing one; one you’ve actually poured time, energy, and sometimes tears into.

So why on earth begin a relationship in a long-distance context? You’d think that something like a border and 1000 km would discourage one from pursuing said relationship. It’s not like I couldn’t score a date in Montreal if I set my mind to it.

Why go the extra mile?

As previously mentioned, I met Mr. Washboard Abs this past summer while he was visiting Montreal. I was never unaware of the distance factor. Spending his last night in town together happened because… well, DAMN GURL, that’s what happens after too many glasses of Sauvignon Blanc with a cute stranger. A one night stand!

Until it wasn’t.

I didn’t really choose to be in a long distance relationship so much as I accidentally stumbled into one. When I said yes to seeing W.A. again, it was with absolute fucking naiveté. I truly believed I was in full control of my emotions.

Let’s be honest; I’m a terrible flyer and wouldn’t be taking several planes if I didn’t really, like really, like the guy in the first place. And what happens when you spend more time getting to know somebody you have great chemistry with? Bingo. You fall for him. I’m telling you, you can’t outsmart your heart’s stupidity.

Never would I have willingly signed up for an LDR. I simply brushed off reality long enough to find myself too invested in something that just calling off wasn’t the easiest of options anymore. Shit happens.

If you take W.A.’s case however, his motivations for taking up a long distance relationship were out of necessity. Guy work-travels so much that my living in Montreal made little difference anyways. Sometimes, it’s what suits someone’s lifestyle.

In the end, it’s all about the desire to connect. It’s that fucking simple. Clearly, our needs in romantic relationships are more emotional than physical.

Granted, sharing your day in-person is ten times better than exchanging over a pixilated Skype session. Yes, it’s hard to sustain a long distance relationship, but then again it’s just as hard to find somebody to connect with in the first place.

There’s no secret to it. You take it day by day, just like any other couple. ‘Normal’ relationship or not, we’re all in the same fucking boat.

When I’m single, I usually have very short windows of opportunity to embrace singlehood to the fullest. I know this might pass off as wildly obnoxious, it is, but that’s just how it’s happened for me (so bite me).

There are downsides to this however: being the “perpetually-in-a-relationship” one within your mostly single group of friends feels like you’re missing out on the fun stupid shit and raunchy/sexy/embarrassing tale-telling that usually result from bachelordom. And so, when the chance came around again during summer of 2014, yours truly jumped on the virtual bandwagon.

I had never done online dating nor been on a blind date before, so, being an overachiever on a time-constraint, I orchestrated an online-dating blind first date. Yup, you heard me. How the fuck does that happen? Guy and I exchanged many emails, but no pictures. I thought, hell, here’s an intelligent motherfucker that can hold a conversation. How refreshing! So screw the pictures, let’s just meet. And why not; two birds one stone, right? As it turns out, I clearly needed to rethink my strategy because that meet-up was the first and the last nail in the coffin of my budding tech-savvy dating life.

Worst date ever. On the plus side, it’s also my best “worst date” story to date.

So, I meet this guy, Old Port, public area. Oh dear god.

Let’s just say I was banking on his “really nice personality”.

Jardin Nelson, the place I suggested, had too long of a wait, so we went elsewhere. RELIEF. I can still show my face there! But hey, calm your tits. Before you start labeling me as a shallow bitch (I am, but not the point), let me clarify: this guy was a world-class jerk.

The fake name, fake age, and what I suspect as fake teeth, should’ve sounded the first alarm. I tell myself to be open-minded. Personality, Personality, Personality. We sit down, order a pitcher of sangria.

Rookie mistake. Never commit to more than a glass of anything before the other person can open his/her mouth. Because once we were served, my “intelligent conversationalist” (cannot air quote this enough) went on a tirade about questions like “Why men make more money than women?” [Hint: they’re the smarter gender, apparently] And ,continued his monologue on the things he loves most in life: cars, money, bitches. Surprise surprise, his parents were not on that list. Way to leave a lasting impression, bro.

This experience made me realize a couple of things.

First, I’m way too polite for my own good because, yes, I stayed to finish the whole pitcher. I had a “Let’s embrace the insanity” moment. Plus, I can’t think of a more appropriate time for alcohol. Next time, I know to pick my jaw off the table and unapologetically walk the fuck out.

Second, it’s too easy to get enthralled over the ‘ideal’ picture someone paints about themselves online. Over half the people admit to lying online on some level, if that’s not the shadiest shit you’ve ever heard. Face-to-face real-time responses, that’s a better indicator of someone’s true nature; not the well thought-up words put on paper, or a webpage.

Would I ever try online dating again? Holy fuck. Not at this point in my life. Maybe one day, when I can dedicate some proper time in getting to know somebody, do my homework, and not rush through the process the way I did. For now, I’ll stick to good ol’ fashioned bar hookups, cause that’s still working fine for me. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!

Til then, I’ll remain content by online dating vicariously through my friends, snatching their phones and playing the “hot or not” game on their Tinder accounts. Shhh!

Living in this city is one hell of a social experiment. You come to face, and sometimes date, a variety of people from different backgrounds and with different personalities. All sorts of shapes and sizes… if you know what I mean. Still, you’ll always encounter some kind of crazy. If you’ve ever left the house, you know what I’m talking about.

Yeah yeah, it’s an opportunity for gaining fresh perspectives. Still. Dating is hard, it’ll Jedi mind fuck with your head, and when you fall it’s rarely graceful.

I am an adult (I checked) and I still screw up. A lot. I wear too short skirts on windy days, forget to pack an adequate amount of tampons before heading out, or occasionally get blackout drunk on a Tuesday night. Dating, however, takes the cake. Or the pie. Whatever gets thrown in my face first.

Oddly enough, I tend to be the go-to person among my friends when it comes to relationship troubles. Don’t know if I should be flattered because I’m a comforting person, or slightly offended because I’m seen as an expert in failed relationships? Eh, maybe my friends haven’t caught on to that last part yet.

Clearly, there’s no shortage of dumbass-baggery in my little black book. I can’t say I know everything there is to know about relationship dynamics (false modesty- I do). Point being, this isn’t an advice column.

I was told once that the point of life is to fail at greater and greater things. Meaning our cumulative fuck-ups are a measure of ascension. Mildly comforting? Look, the way I see it: life tends to come served with a heaping side of “fuck you”, and since we’re all in it for the long haul (optimistically) we need to cut ourselves some slack, right? I do so with a sprinkle of sarcasm and self-deprecation in my morning coffee. What’s your coping mechanism?

I have no issue spreading it for the world to see (pun intended), but I don’t want this to turn into some narcissistic platform either. My goal here is to simply start a conversation. With firsthand account stuff.

Some horror stories, mostly reflections, definitely lots of questioning. It’s a learning-on-the-job kinda thing, ya feel me?

But whatever the case, no cookie-cutter bullshit. If you want “47 ways to please your man”, then go to your nearest pharmacy and pick up a Marie-Claire.

Hi, I’m Jules. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Relationship Rants.

Featured photo by Albert Zablit /