Life Update: November 16, 2014


Sometimes I forget that you guys don’t live inside my head and that in order for you to know something I have to actually write it here.  My fear of redundancy is what often keeps me silent.  But when it turns out that half of the people on my own Facebook don’t even know that I have moved back to Vancouver (and still think I’m in Montreal) it occurs to me that I might have been remiss about updating people on even the biggest details of my life.  What can I say, I’m silent out of kindness.  I worry about boring you.  Nonetheless here is a brief update on the things that matter (or don’t, that’s really your call to make):

I have been dating up a bit of a storm (Spoiler Alert: there have been approx. 10 “somethings” since I last updated the blog with a post about dating).  So why haven’t I updated the blog?

Because I’m writing a book (well, a collection of short stories really) and most of those stories are going in it.

I’m going to be honest; I’m really hoping you’ll want to buy it and read it.  The hope is that it will be published in e-book format (and/or print on demand) in the next few months.  Obviously, I will keep you lovelies posted.

I’m back in Vancouver and hate/loving it.

I’ve lost 50lbs.  (don’t get too excited, I got super fat in grad school so I still have a really long way to go but you can click here for a quick glimpse of the progress).  I’ve also decided to start blogging more about what I’m doing at the gym, eating at home, and the overall weight loss journey.  Obviously, do not feel compelled to read about it, but my friend suggested it might be of interest to some people and given how much time I’ve spent combing the internet for tips on fitness, healthy recipes, and weight loss, I figure she might be right.  And, if those topics aren’t of interest to you then just skip on through to the other articles (or the book! yay a book!).  Also, if you are interested in this stuff, definitely consider following me on Instagram as I tend to post more there than anywhere else at the moment.

Speaking of Instagram AND book news…I’ve started posting pics using the hashtag #PossibleBookTitle (sorry I can’t make this link clickable here but if you type it in under search hashtags on Instagram you’ll find it easily).  This is legitimately me brainstorming and thinking through possible ideas for titling the upcoming book so if you like being a part of things, feel free to weigh in on your favourite choice(s).

Also, I’ve started using Tumblr a lot more so if that’s your jam, head on over and follow me on there.  I admit, I’m definitely a multi-poster (meaning that if I’ve been known to post a joke on Twitter, take a screenshot and post it on Instagram and Tumblr).  But the truth is, while hopefully there are very few of you who are irritated by this, there are often very different audiences who follow on each site.  An example of this being when I tweeted the following:

Not to be a total egomaniacal dick, but I thought it was pretty cool.  Yet, it only got like 9 favs and 2 RTs.  So, I took a screenshot and posted it on Instagram and then shared it on Tumblr (where it is now, by FAR, the most shared thing I’ve ever posted…at last check with 8000+ notes).  In turn, that bumped up the attention of the tweet a little but still nothing by comparison.  So why am I telling you this?  Basically so that if you are one of the people who gets irritated by multi-posting, I’m sorry but hopefully now you can understand a bit about why I do it (and thus hate that I do it just a tiny bit less)

I am very aware that as I’ve been working on the book, the blog has become a little lacklustre, having posts that are either few and far between or just glimpses of writing exercises.  While I can’t make any promises, the book and fitness have to come before anything else, I will definitely be trying to post more in the coming weeks (not just fitness/food stuff but also sex and dating, and other exciting stuff).

Finally, as always, feel free to email me your dating questions and quandries, and I will be happy to dispense any advice I can.

All my love,




aka SSDated

aka The Cheesecake Queen

aka That girl crying in the squat rack

Vancouver Dating Blog: Playing Hard To Get



[dropcap]So[/dropcap] here it is folks.  The announcement.  That is likely irrelevant to most of  you.  But very important in my life nonetheless.  Because it changes everything.  Completely.  Alters everything.  Wholly and fully.  My approach to dating will be different.  The boys in my life will be different.  Different.  Different.  Different.  The balls in my life, that would have been satisfied in my life, will be denied.  Denied.  Denied.  Denied.

See the thing is.  I’ve always felt I was hard to get.  In the quality sense of the word.  As in.  I’m a quality chick.  A boy would be lucky to have me (as I would him, assuming he’s awesome).  And to get into my heart.  Well that’s pretty fucking hard.  Just sayin’.  But somewhere along the way I got all mixed up with what I thought being nice and breezy and go with the flowy wise.  Plus the whole ya know…used to having sex like a dude…slash…thinking about sex like a dude…slash…wanting sex all the time like a dude.  Really clouds your judgement sometimes.  Just sayin’.

So perhaps I’ve been going about this all wrong.  This whole dating thing.  So here’s the change.  And I know it’ll sound simple at first.  Oh so very simple, you might not even spot the difference at first.

I.  Will.  Be.  Hard.  To.  Get.

Simple I know.  Easy peasy you’d think.  Got it.  But the thing is.  This isn’t a rules type thing.  I’m not going to be playing hard to get I’m actually going to be fucking hard to get.  Genius I know right.  And yes I’m well aware ladies and men the world over are aware of this concept.  But don’t hinder my growth.  This is new for me.  So I’m going to say it again.  One more time.  Just to make it really clear.

I.  Will.  Be.  Hard.  To.  Get.
So this is me, SSDated, telling all of you.  Kind of like a contract.  I will be accepting no shit.  I will not be stooping from my station.  I will not be getting down and dirty in heated nights of passion strings flapping in the breeze.  I will be sexless.  And focused.  Mamma’s got her head on straight.  Because you know what.  Even in the conceptual round of booty calls.  I’ve been accepting too little.  In the future I will only be dating boys who are gentlemen, who think I’m beyond fantastic, who swoon for me.  In the future I will only be taking part in raucous romps with a man who is so intensely into me he can barely contain himself.  He should think I’m so beautiful it hurts.  So funny he might die.  So delicious he never needs food again (don’t worry though I make a mean sandwich, I’ll keep him fed).  Now I’m not saying he has to be nuts…and fall in love with me overnight because that’s not what I mean.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  I will not hold my breath for boys who think I’m awesome but there’s something “missing”.  I will not waste time on boys who feel I’m “awesome” just “not awesome enough”.
And who knows.  Maybe between all the studying.  I might find that I.  Meet a boy.  Worth swooning over.  And not simply because we’re feeling lusty at that exact moment.  A fickle bitch that lust is.  But someone of quality.  Who sees that I’m of quality.  And feels swoony for me in return.  And his Chuck Norris sized balls.  To go after what he makes.  To claim his prize.  Me.  Because after all.  Maybe there is a boy out there worth  waiting for, who one day might say those words that I would then return right back [I’m Out of My Mind For You (fix links)]

Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

T.I.T.S: Top Investigative Tracking Sisters



[one_half last=”no”][colored_box color=”blue”]Dear Hottie McGymerson,

Hi. It’s me. *Drool* *Swoon* *Falls off treadmill*

Tearsy Sweaterson[/colored_box][/one_half]  [dropcap]It’s his ass.[/dropcap] I mean. His buns. Like. They’re so.  Nice.  And I’m not even really into bums.  But as he runs on the treadmill directly in front of me.  Every day.  I can’t help but take a look.  Sneak a peak.  Lurk.  Hawk eyes.  Leer.  Whatever.  But wait.  It’s also his back.  And he’s so tall.  And it’s also his arms.  And the way he looks back over his shoulder all the time.  At me?  More likely the clock.  Or waiting for a friend to arrive.  But I’ll pretend he’s checking for me.

So that’s what happens.  For six weeks.  The last six weeks really.  As I’ve been working my ass off at the Steve Nash Sports Club (Morgan Crossing).  I stare at him.  Casually.  Non-chalantly.  And sometimes I even think he stares back.  But then again.  It might be the clock.  And one time.  He was talking to (presumably) a friend at the gym.  And the friend looked and kind of pointed at me.  Did that just really happen?  And at the time I was mortified.  The conversation in my head went like this.

Friend:  Dude…did you see that chubby chick.  Kind of looks like she’s going to have a heart attack.
Hottie McGymerson:  Yeah.  She’s here everyday.  Sure is sweaty.  Don’t point…she’ll see…oh…

Detour.  The funny thing is this moment stuck with me for days.  Like seriously hindering my gym experience.  Until one day I went for coffee with a friend.  And as we’re walking through the parking lot she says check out that hot guy and being the stealthy chick that I am.  I turn my head and look right at him.  This is obviously the moment he looks up and catches us.  We turn away in mortified laughter.  And no lie.  I’m guessing dude probably thought we were making fun of him.  When in fact.  We were basking in the heat of his hotness and only laughing out of embarassment.

Back on Track.  So yeah.  Time flies by.  And I’m at the gym.  Literally just shy of every day of my six week pass.  He’s always there too.  Every night.  We’re like clockwork.  But do I talk to him?  Fuck no.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I think I’m pretty.  Cute.  I can be hot.  But not at the gym.  At the gym.  I’m a sweaty bitch working my ass off trying not to cry or vomit.  So I’m saying.  I’m not about to start flirting up a storm.  Not to mention I SUCK at flirting.  And then add to that the fact that it’s not like when you’re at a bar and you can smile naturally.  Because it just looks normal.  Or like you’re in a conversation.

But at the gym.  On the treadmill.  Trying not to slip on my drool.  Trying to catch my ipod as I snag my arm on my headphone cord.  At incline 9.  Wiping sweat.  Trying not to cramp.  Drink water.  Drink water.  Go Go Go.  If I flash a smile when he walks by.  I’m going to look like a serial killer having just spotted fresh meat.  Seriously.  So the weeks end.  The gym pass ends.  My chance to talk to him ends.  Well.  Sort of.

See the thing is.  Part of what made me recognize him.  Lust after him.  Be attracted to him.  Over the other guys who are also there everyday.  Was his workout attire.  Warm up gear.  Like an athlete would wear.  Like an athlete who plays for a university would wear.  Often doing the double shirt.  And we all know how I love the double shirt 😛  So on the second to last day.  When I managed to un-shy myself long enough to read his shirt.  I got my first clue.  That began the detective work for which I’m famous.  Just call me motherfuckin’ KGB baby…I got this.  Or as my friend recently referred to us.

T.I.T.S.  Top Investigative Tracking Sisters.

So I like I said.  I read his shirt.  And it lists a university.  Obviously he plays varsity.  So I check the media rosters (with pictures duh!).  Football?  no.  Basketball?  no.  Rugby?  bingo.  And if there was any doubt.  The “hometown” of our hottie clears it up.  Whiterock, BC.  And where’s our gym?  Whiterock baby.  So I facebook the name.  And there, my friends.  Is Hottie McGymerson.  And for reference.  His wall is not private.  Just Sayin’.  I mean people seriously.  Control your shit.  Privatize your business.  For real.

So normally.  This is where it would have ended.  Aside from on this blog and with my friends.  I rarely like to reveal my stealthy KGB skills.  And contacting him would definitely reveal them.  However.  What good is having a blog for if I can’t use it as an excuse to do ridiculous things?  I mean seriously…what could happen?  (worse case scenario) I get a good story or (best case scenario) a hot date?  So I decide.  Fuck it.  Maybe it’s not balls to the wall like talking to him in real life would have been.  But it’s at the very least balls to the sofa.  no?

So I facebook him.

Subject:  The Girl From The Gym

Hey 🙂

So this is either going to be:

A. The creepiest message you’ve ever gotten (not my favorite choice obviously)
B. An awesome message to tell your friends about the ingenious rad chick, who was too shy to talk to you at the gym but found a way to message you (though sadly you were not interested in responding)
C. (I’m voting for this one btw) An awesome message from an ingenious rad chick, who was too shy to talk to you at the gym but found a way to message you…and now that you see her (not looking like she’s ready to cry/covered in sweat) you’re thinking…nice 🙂

So yeah…I could pretend like I just stumbled across your profile but then that WOULD actually be a bit psycho…instead here’s the tale of my detective skills (which hopefully seems cute and smart and not…er…um…creepy).

Day before my last day at the gym…I managed to un-shy myself long enough to read your shirt…with said what I assumed was likely your uni…figured you seem pretty buff so it seemed likely you were an athlete…found your pic and name in rugby…and then facebooked you…

So yeah I can’t really pretend like I know you have an awesome personality or something (because I don’t know)…but you’re really cute and I could never quite bring myself to talk to you at the gym…so this is me…talking…plus I figured the worst case scenario of me messaging is you don’t message back and at least you’ll have a hilarious story to tell your friends (and I do love me a hilarious story :P)

SS “the sweaty chick who looks so much better when not at the gym” Dated

And maybe he responds positively.  Maybe he responds negatively.  Maybe he never responds at all.  But the hilarity of it will never be lost on me.  And I hope it won’t be lost on you either.  And next time you’re afraid to do something ballsy.  Think of me.  Think of this blog.  And just do it.  Because worst case scenario.  It’ll give you a hilarious story.  And who doesn’t love a hilarious story?


Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Biggest Loser Update: Week 19 aka The End of Summer

Losing weight

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 19

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 5

Total “Somethings” Dated: 7

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 40

Total Best Summers Ever:  1

Wow.  It’s so hard to even know where to start.  I mean there I was.  4 months ago.  Thinking.  I’m really going to do this.  I’m going to have myself some breezy fun with the Boys of Summer (fix links).  And then I’m going to write about it.  And share my fears.  My torments.  My dry spells.  My lusty kisses.  My total slutdamonium.  My weightloss.  My struggles.  My triumphs.  My lessons learned.  My humor.  Perhaps even a tear or two.  With the interweb.  With strangers.  Blogger buddies.  And real life friends alike.  (Didn’t know I’d be sharing it with “somethings” too.)  I mean.  That’s what one could dream about.  Because honestly.  I never really dreamed it would get more than a few hits.  And I expected those to come from TheHell.  And Rain.  And the 3 or 4 other friends I could maybe bribe (with promises of buying them beers and candy at a later date) to read.  I mean.  Would my dating life even be that interesting?  Would people really want to read about it? 

And here I am.  4 months later.  A better person for it all.  Because I lived it.  It happened.  I was open to it.  And even when I was closed to it.  I was still there.  Still experiencing it.  And honestly.  Regardless of the all the idiocy and retardation.  I can honestly say.  I had the summer of my life.  And certainly it wasn’t just the dating.  It was a combination.  The Dating.  The Blog.  Blogger Buddies.  Real life friendships.  Softball.  An amazing new team.  Amazing new friends.  Weightloss.  The Gym.  The Boys.  The Ups and Downs.  The freakin’ hilarity of it all.  A wedding weekend of wildcards and wonderful women.  A softball reunion and old friends.  Saturdays out for food tastings and talk.  Coffee chats.  New friends.  Renewed friendships.  Quality time.  Bonding.  Video games and doritos.  Stizzlicious.  And love.  Perhaps not romantic love.  But family.  Friends.  Dreams.  Happiness.  Love was everywhere this summer.  Love doesn’t care about douchebags and retarded boys.  I am cotton-candy-swaddled in love.  And this summer.  Really was the best ever.  Except for next year.  And every one that follows.  I can only hope.  Yours was as good.

But alas.  With the end of summer.  Comes school.  And with school.  Comes new priorities.  It’s no longer just about fun and flamboyancy.  It’s time to buckle down and be about it.  And what does that mean for you, my cherished readers.  Well.  For right now.  Not a WHOLE lot.  Because I’ve been preparing.  And I’ve got you covered.  Post-wise.  For quite the little while.  And I’ll still be here.  To read your comments.  And correct typos in my posts.  And for me.  It meant.  Removing my profile.  But you never know.  When a story about a “something” might come along.  And under the profession you may very well see.  Student.  Professor.  Coffee Shop Barista.  Librarian.  Or Fitness Trainer.  (in case it wasn’t obvious these are the only people I will be coming in contact with for the next couple of months).


Vancouver Dating Blog:  Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Biggest Loser Update: Week 15

Biggest Loser

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 15

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 5

Total “Somethings” Dated: 7

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 34

So it’s week 15 now and I’m down 34 lbs.  And I won’t lie.  Things are stepping up in the boy department.  For starters.  You’ll kindly noticed the increase in the number of “somethings” dated during my summer of boys.  In 2.5 months (may to mid-july) I’d only managed to land 3 dates.  And now.  In the last 3 weeks I’ve managed to almost double that number?  Just Sayin’.  I think the weightloss is really paying off.  Okay well obviously it’s paying off (health, happiness, general awesome sauce) but I mean directly boy/dating/something related.

Now I know this is online dating.  And fuck.  Disappoints are always abound.  Boys without balls are everywhere.  Action (the act of doing something not messing around per se) is sparse.  So I don’t want to get to ahead of myself.  But seriously.  Things are looking up.

Oh and P Sizzle.  I can’t remember my exact waist measurement before I started the summer.  But at the very minimum I’ve lost 6 inches around my waist (and at biggest guestimate…I’ve lost 10).  And I’m down 3 sizes.  Three Whole Sizes.  So yeah.  Come on down boys.  Mamma’s lookin fly!

Third Date: Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part One)

[dropcap]Perhaps[/dropcap] it’s a case of being careful what you ask for.  Because if I recall.  If I recall correctly.  It was me.  Recently talking about how I want dates to take me “out to do fun things”.  And it was also me.  Lamenting against boys who “a. kiss me in public” and “b. pounce way too soon.”  And here I am.  Getting exactly what I asked for.  Trucker Joe.  Taking me on active dates.  Not kissing in public.  No pouncing.

So the weekend passes in fabulous fashion and Tuesday arrives.  Trucker Joe and I have our 3rd date.

This is my first 3rd date since I started this roller coaster of awesome sauce where I am the SHE in the scenario of the Somethings She Dated.  Just Sayin’.  Take notes.  This will be on the exam.

Back on Track.
I have duly noted all the advice about him likely being shy and how I should just make the move.  So we meet and I hop into his big truck again.  And we’re off to the driving range.  It’s hot.  The temperature I mean.  It’s so fucking hot and humid that I swear my shins are sweating.  And by swear I mean.  I look down and there actually fucking sweating.  Okay.  More likely it’s a combo of moisturizing and fucking humidity (it’s hot and the ocean is moments away.  Just Sayin’).  Oh and here’s some more awesome.  Turns out.  You (and by you I mean me) sweat a lot when hitting golf balls.  All that bending over and trying not to show your goodies and thank god you wore shorts under your mini skirt and why are you wearing a mini skirt to hit golf balls? and its because nothing fits with all the weightloss and fuck he’s seen the rest of your outfits that do fit and keeping your boobs in your bra and putting the ball on the tee and trying to look cute and hitting the ball and trying not to be a total spazz.  That shit takes effort.  I mean like excuse yourself to go to the loo and towel off effort.  But here’s the redeemer.  He’s sweating too.  But in a very manly sexy way.  And well.  He appears to not even notice my sweat.  Whether because he’s a gentleman or just thinks I’m sexy doing whatever.  Doesn’t matter.  Because it’s awesome.

And PS…I’m not so great at golf.  Putting balls in my mouth?  sure.  I’m a rockstar.  But whacking balls in a straight line hundreds of metres away.  hmm.  not so much.  But this works out perfectly because I was planning to be all could you show me how and aren’t I demure and cute and teach me something instructor hottie ooh just like this?  So I didn’t even have to fake it.  Because I needed the instruction.  Apparently my boobs will be preventing me from becoming Tiger’s newest competition (and aid me in becoming his newest conquest…jokes).  But I’m not going to lie.  I’m glad he was noticing.  Score one for he’s attracted to me and is just shy.

Golf is over.  He suggests coffee.  And I know you’re probably thinking.  Why not drinksBecause I haven’t sipped the sauce in going on 2 years and 8 months now.  That’s why.  We get coffee.  I make no reach for the wallet.  I made no reach earlier at the driving range.  I’m not going to lie.  At $45 for a pedi, cost of makeup, hair products, perfume, shaving, waxing, special underoos, expensive lip gloss, and the fact that I’m likely (TMI WARNING) to put his dick in my mouth long before I let him put my lady bits in his.  And I think I deserve at least a couple coffees.  Just Sayin’.  I mean shit.  I’m not shotgunning Gin here, a coffee or two is hardly asking for anything.

The thing is though.  Starbucks is closing.  It’s only 830pm.  Guess we chose the wrong one.  But no biggie.  We sit outside.  And for those in the White Rock area.  Go ahead and leave your doors unlocked.  Clearly not a high crime area.  They leave the patio furniture out.  Unlocked.  All night long.  Bizarre.  Anyways.  We sit and chat for like 2 hours.  It’s cute.  It’s adorable.  It’s interesting.  I have my legs positioned in the sexiest (read slimmest and most toned) viewing angle the whole time.  Just Sayin’.

But then the mosquitoes come.  So we leave.  Back to my car.  And that’s when…

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Nope…Still wait for it.

We hug.  Shut The Fuck Up?!!?!  I hear you say.  And I know.  I sat there.  Thinking.  Do it.  Do it.  Fucking lean over and kiss him.  Hold his hand.  Fuck.  Do.  Something.  DO.  Something.  Do SOMETHING!

But alas.  I’m chicken shit.  And it became abundantly clear that I am inexperienced in the laying of the mac down.  Here I thought I was a pro.  But maybe I was drunk.  Or maybe I’ve just never really done it before (which seems most likely).  But the boys just always beat me to the punch.  I’ve never needed to.  I think ever.  So I get in my car.  And drive home.  An awesome date.  But no kiss.   no kiss.  no kiss.  seriously?  no kiss.

To Be Continued…In Part Two…Ask and Ye Shall Receive (Part Two)


Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

Biggest Loser Update: Week 10

Weightl oss

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 10

Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 3

Total “Somethings” Dated: 5

Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 23

(This paragraph may be skipped for those that abhor a long read and/or are only interested in dating aspects of blog)
I want to quickly mention.  That I’m a bit disappointed.  With this weightloss.  Or should I say lack of more.  But while I realize that I’m falling well below my goal of 3-5 lbs. a week I also realize that my weightloss is relative to said goal.  Another example of this is my grades.  During my undergrad (BA – Psych) I accomplished astoundingly little (aside from actually obtaining my degree).  I was miserable.  I chose my major in a similar fashion to throwing a dart at a map.  I was lost.  I was not passionate.  I came out with something like a 62% average.  For a reference point.  That is so low that if I had ever left the program.  I wouldn’t qualify to get back in lol.  But I passed.  I got my degree.  Now I’m back.  Working towards something (English Literature) that I have very little experience in (I never took past the required first year English) but hopefully more than enough passion for.  And this last year.  I set my sights very high.  I will need 78% just to qualify.  85% to be competitive.  90% to be really competitive.  95% to go to Harvard (that’s a joke, I’m clearly not going to Harvard).  I didn’t expect it would be easy.  I’m not even sure I expected to get anywhere near on my first try.  But this year I ended with a 82% average.  Fucking Amazing (for me).  But still.  A bit of a disappointment.  Because of where my goals lie.  And the weightloss.  Is kind of like that.  82% compared to the 62% I was pulling back in the day is fucking phenomenal.  Just like 23 lbs. in 10 weeks is.  But don’t worry.  Not reaching my goals yet.  Won’t keep me down.  It’ll just get me working harder.  Time to step my game up.

(start reading here, for those that skipped)
So just a quick update on my journey towards BEING the biggest loser and subsequently my journey away from DATING the biggest losers.  I know I said I was going to take a break from online dating until I lost 25 lbs. but well…I changed my mind (stranger things have happened).  This decision was likely do to the following:

1.  I am feeling pretty darn svelte these days
2.  My desire to practice more so I don’t let wildcards (fix link) slip through my fingers
3.  It’s been about 3-4 weeks since I left POF (just over 2 since I told you guys)
4.  Honestly, to help counteract the urge to meetup with Mega Love (which I’ll be honest still hasn’t officially been decided one way or the other)

So I’m 23 lbs. down and back on PlentyofFish.  Look out boys.  Mamma’s coming to town.  And she’s hungry.  It’s only been about 3 days so I wouldn’t have expected too much.

There was the one guy who IM’d me.  We chatted aimlessly but amicably enough for about an hour.  Haven’t heard from him since.  No huge loss.  The only reason he’s even worth the mention is simply because I plan to mention him in the following post and so this is your little precursor  (take note).

Next were the messages back and forth.  And back and forth.  With the.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  21 year old.  Who actually told me he had balls.  Promising.  But has as of yet failed to use them.  But there’s still potential.

Following him, we have messages back and forth between Trucker Joe* and I.  Numbers have been exchanged and mentions of coffee occured.  But I’ve learned not to put all the ball’s in my mouth (not quite sure about that analogy but you get the gist…ya know…eggs…basket…counting) so I’ll keep you posted.

And last but not least we have Mr. Clean*.  We’re still only at the very most beginning point of messaging.  But frankly he’s a babe.  He’s seems fun.  So he earned himself a mention.  I’ll keep you posted.

*Explanation of names and stats to follow in subsequent posts.

*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*

Biggest Losers Update: Week 8

For those new to the blog or in need of a refresher, this is a continuation from the post Until I’m The Biggest Loser I’ll Have To Settle For The Biggest Losers where I talk about how I’m perfect (joking) except for my weight and that until my weight is on point I’m going to end up dating losers because the winners are chasing the perfect ladies with hottie bodies.  And for reference the term losers is very relative.  There are definitely levels of losers.

Guy who hits chicks = super ridiculous loser
Guy who is unhappy in his job = moderate loser
Guy who isn’t a go getter = moderate loser
Guy who is 40 and living with parents = mega loser
Guy who is boring = moderate loser
Guy who lacks common sense = moderate loser
Guy who wears spandex in public = huge loser
Guy who isn’t awesome funny = moderate loser

So as you can see.  When I say I’m going to have to settle for dating losers.  I’m not talking serial killer losers.  Beating your girlfriend losers.  Steal money from you and put drugs in your purse when the police bust him type losers.  I’m talking about moderate losers.  Lack excitement losers.  Lack social intuition and common sense losers.  Lack hilarity and awesomeness losers.  You get the idea.

So here’s an update on my Summer of Boys and my status as the Biggest Loser.

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began: 8
Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys: 3
Total “Somethings” Dated: 5
Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys: 18

For those of with eagle eyes…you’ll notice that while the weeks passed and pounds lost have changed…the dating has lulled.  And by lulled.  I mean hasn’t budged a fucking inch.  Fuck me.  Now I will admit.  If only to save some fucking face and not look like the hugest retard who can’t manage to get a date.  I’ve done a couple of things that are limiting my dates.

The first thing limiting my number of dates, has been ongoing.  Which is, perhaps I’m being too picky.  And by too picky I’m not saying that I should just go out and bang every guy who shows interest.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  The best sex I’ve had this summer.  Was with Intelligence Officer (fix link).


Which I understand you not really knowing because while you may have gleaned from some notion of this from my vague references I never really got into the nitty gritty for you.  Which sorry I’m not going to here.  Except to say that it was good.  Everything about it was good.  Well everything except for his ghetto-ness of not having a place to repeat the escapade.  But other than that.  All good.

Detour 2.

We all know I have a thing for height.  I always say, the guy has to be tall, because I’m big (and for a girl a decent height at 5’7).  He has to be tall because otherwise I look like the guy and nobody likes that.  So while Intelligence Officer squeaked through because of his personality (and super manliness).  I have been automatically disqualifying any pursuers under 5’11.  Now in fairness to myself, they may have been duds as well as the height…but maybe not, I can’t remember.

Back on Track.

And here’s the point of the point of the thing of the thing.  The best sex of my summer so far has been with a guy who stands a mere 2 inches above me at 5’9 (which let’s cut the shit is basically the same height as me).  And I should actually even go on to mention.  That while you may be thinking well shit she’s gotten frisky with 3 guys recently and you would be right…but I would wager that Intelligence Officer would easily fall into the Top 10 and could quite possibly fall into Top 5 (based on overall experience).  So perhaps I need to start being a little more lenient with height.  Maybe I really need to give these guys a chance…hmm…yes no?  I’m not saying I’ll just go bang them.  But maybe, they should get a date.  Or at the very least a message back.  To see what’s up.  To give them a chance.  Because just as guys can look way worse than their photos.  They’ve also been known to look way better.

The second thing limiting my number of dates, started only about a week ago.  I closed all my dating profiles.  And before I freak you out too much.  Don’t worry.  It’s not a permanent thing.  I’m just taking a little break.  A moment.  A breather.  For one thing, I think it would be nice to have my face off of for a smidge because like I always say, Vancouver is a small ass town (fix link) and frankly I don’t want to be fucking etched into the brains of every guy on there (who doesn’t want me) ya dig?  For another thing, the plan is to join back up when I reach the 25 total pounds lost mark.  I’ll take some new pics.  I’ll look sexy.  I’ll look fresh.  It’ll be top notch.  See how optimism is my thing 🙂

So 7lbs.  It could take 3 weeks.  It could take 1.  We’ll all just have to wait and see.  But don’t worry.  Until then I have a ton of bloggy stuff that’s been back-logging for awhile now.  So wish me luck.  Fingers crossed.

Oh and BTW.

Another reason I’m cool with the date slow-down for the moment is I have a wedding for one of my very bestest closest friends coming up this weekend…and by weekend I mean starting Thursday-ish and running till Monday-ish on the island (for non-locals that’s Vancouver Island, aka Victoria).  I am so brilliantly excited.  I think they’re the cutest couple and I heart them both so so so much.  Not to mention Hellooooo singles table woohoo!!!!  I’ve never even been to a wedding without Mega Love let alone when I’m all confident and ready to flirt MY ASS OFF!!  And final not to mention.  Because of the weightloss I fit this sexy-awesome Rocawear dress that I’ve had for like 3 years and only worn once (when it didn’t look amazing)…and I actually even have to have it tailored (tighter that is :P).

So wish me luck with that too.  That I get some hot singles table ass.  Or at the very least some flirting practice.

*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*

Addendum To Biggest Loser

Losing weight

So I know I can be harsh.  And my love of themes can give the wrong impression.  I thought this might happen with the post about how Until I’m the Biggest Loser I’ll Have to Settle for the Biggest Losers.  And I think it kinda did.

Sometimes.  Wait.  Scratch that.  Most of the time.  It’s hard to get your exact point, your tone, the precise meaning, across the interweb.  It’s kind of like when someone asks you to define the difference between Awesome and Rad.  I mean.  Where do you even start.  But I digress.

Sometimes I forget that you, my blog readers, aren’t my friends in everyday life.  You don’t know what I’ve been through.  You don’t know what my life is like.  You don’t know where I’m coming from.  And while a hurdle, this isn’t usually that big of a roadblock.  But.  Well.  I hate to be misunderstood.  Specificity has no bigger supporter than me.  Vague is no friend of mine.  So because the last post was already pretty long and fumbled…here is an “attempted” point form list of some of the clarifications I’d like to make.  Some are in response to comments left (which PSizzle were awesome and thank you so much for both your support and bringing up new points or things I needed to clarify…I heart you!)  and others are just things I think are important.  For clarity’s sake.

1.  Audience.    The post was about me.  Not women in general.

2.  Location.     Vancouver IS very different than Toronto and London (New York, LA).  Christ, it’s even completely different than Seattle (it’s closest major american city for ya’ll that don’t know).  Vancouver is small.  Vancouver is characterized by health, exercise, affluence, nature, etc.  (for reference all wonderful things).  In Atlanta they love me, New Orleans same thing.  Seattle is golden and Florida is a kingdom of ripe fruit (for my pickin’).  I stress, Vancouver is very different.  And even if it wasn’t for the characterizations as mentioned above…the simple size of Vancouver works against my me.  There’s a reason I use  It’s not because the site is awesome.  It’s because it’s the only one that has a decent amount of local people on it.  Every other website can’t seem to get the same draw.

3.  Pulling.    I’ve pulled hotties.  I’ve pulled notties.  I’ve pulled averages.  I’ve pulled nice guys.  I’ve pulled pro-football players (yes, plural).  I’ve pulled regular joes.  I’ve pulled hard-workers.  I’ve pulled military guys (in more than one country).  I’ve pulled a UFC fighter (not to be confused with MMA guy).  I’ve pulled a bouncer, a promoter, a Chef.  I’ve pulled Canadians, Americans, Eurpoeans, Africans, Latin Americans.  I’ve pulled a fireman, a DJ, a Graphic Designer.  The list goes on.

But you know who I’ve never pulled.

The Smart Guy.  The Physicist.  The Professor.  The Lawyer.  The Doctor.  The Poet.  The Extreme Hacker.  The Guy who’s brain I’d like to lick.  I’ve never pulled the Funny Guy.  And I don’t mean I’ve never pulled a guy who knew how to laugh or tell a joke but I mean the really Funny Guy.  The Witty Repartee Guy.  The Sparring Words Guy.  The challenges and makes me think Guy.  I’ve never met the Changing the World Guy.  I’m thinking this might require a whole post to really get to the bottom of it.  But here’s the gist.  The hottie?  Not even close to a specification that makes someone not a “loser”.

Example.  The first date I went on with someone off of was Barbie.  He was a bartender.  He had the double shirt.  He had…an 8 pack.  I mean seriously, like fucking steel.  He was definitely a pretty boy.  But.  Dumb as bricks.  I mean honestly, borderline retarded.  Super nice guy.  Really sweet.  Absolutely no filter.  Conversation was insane.  And not in a good way.

4.  The “Like Us For Who We Are.”     Maybe it’s a difference between girls who feel they shouldn’t have to be made to feel less for not being a stick figure and girls like me, obese.  But I call bullshit.  Because I don’t want a guy to like me for being obese like that’s some indication of who I am.  That is most definitely NOT who I am.  It’s a flaw.  Something to overcome.  I am not the cheeseburger I ate when stressed for exams.  I am not the blubber it turned into.  I AM the person who sometimes lacks the ability to appropriately deal with stress.  But that’s not something I would want to be dated for.  I’d want to be liked in spite of that.  Plus trying to deny how important sexual attraction is a counterintuitive action much like the actions that made a world in which a book called “he’s just not that into you” even needs to be published.  I’m just sayin’ people.

5.  Health.    To be clear, I am not trying to get model thin.  I won’t be using diet supplements (or anything else that even has the possible potential to damage my brain, body, etc.).  I am losing weight to be healthy. Plain and simple.  People are attracted to health.

6.  Matching.    Though I get shy on first dates, at the beginning of parties, and speaking aloud in class (Christ! I don’t drink…can you really blame me?).  I have a great deal of confidence.  Sure I’m normal.  There are moments, days, the occasional week when self-esteem takes a hit.  But usually.  I think I’m pretty awesome.  Sometimes that might be obnoxious.  Mostly I think it’s just great.  I mean.  Join the party everybody.  You should think you’re pretty awesome too.  And if you don’t, well either the problem is something you can change…in which case go right ahead and become more awesome.  Or the problem is just a thinking thing, in which case…go right ahead and just start recognizing your awesomeness.

But here’s the thing of the thing.

I don’t think my body matches my self-esteem.  I can garauntee you, if I was not obese.  I’d be talking to the fellas.  I’d be flirting on beaches and coffee shops.  I’d be approaching in bars and lounges.  I’d be making buddies with the guys in the next row at the concert.  But I don’t.  Because I don’t want to be the granade in the scenario.  And I know (generalization sorry boys) that they’re not thinking…awesome maybe instead of letting me touch her perky tits and cup her firm ass, she’ll talk about books, and travelling and ask me questions about science.  So I smile.  And I’m nice and friendly.  But I hang back.  I don’t lead the pack.  And I just want to make my body match my stride.  Which would be at the front of the pack, saying….Haaaaaave you met Cindy?

7.  Bodies.    For reference ladies…I think we’re all freaking beautiful!  Go on with your bad selves.  Big boobs?  rock ’em.  Gorgeous smile?  flash it.  Amazon tall?  God your amazing and you damn well better show it off!  Batt those lashes.  Sway those hips.  Point those sexy toes.  Flat stomach? midriff it.  Juicy thighs?  Wear those tiny shorts!  I’m saying….perhaps the saying goes for you too…it’s time to get balls out!  There’s no need to be a carbon copy of Jennifer Aniston.  And my weightloss will be nothing even slightly headed in that direction.  I am not a size 8 trying to get to a size 4.  I am size don’t-want-to-die-at-50 trying to get to a buys-clothes-at-a-regular-store.  Jus sayin’

And in that spirit.  Here is a little spoken word.  About Boobs.  Since as women I don’t think we’re ever more self-concious whether they’re huge, small, different, somewhere in between.

*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*

Until I’m the Biggest Loser I’ll Have to Settle for the Biggest Losers

Losing weight
[dropcap]I am an honest person.  True Story[/dropcap]

And I know what you’re thinking.  “But didn’t you just ask all the boys of summer to white lie you, not tell you the whole truth, wrap you up in sugar coating and all that?”  And the answer is yesEmphatically YES! 

But here’s the thing of the thing.  There’s a big difference between knowing the truth and wanting to hear the truth.  Knowing the truth and sharing that truth with others who didn’t ask for it.  Sometimes the truth should just keep its damn nose to itself.  Boys.  I’m just sayin’.

But other times.  I have to shout it.  I want to shout it.  About myself.  I have to say it.  Outloud.  Because it’s the truth.  I’m okay with it.  And I kinda wish you would be too.  But I won’t force you.

I am self-aware.  True Story

I prefer terms like Chubby Bunny and Pleasantly Plump.  Hate terms like BBW and Obese.  But a spade is a spade and I could be a Biggest Loser contestant.  And before you get all, “But that’s not all you are” and “you’re beautiful and you’re smile…” it’s cool…I know.  But this isn’t that blog post.

This is about dating and it’s correlation to body size.  Specifically MY Vancouver dating pool and its kiddie pool size in relation to the wide net I wish I could cast.  While there may be plenty of fish in the sea there are very few fish swimming in my plus size online bird bath.

So why is my dating pool the size of a bird bath?  Partly it’s a numbers thing (with Vancouver being a fairly small city, not to mention one highly characterized by granola eating hippies and organic produce buying yuppies (love ya :P)) but mostly it’s a Darwinian selection thing.  When selecting a mate, it’s in your best interest to pick one that is strong and durable.  It’s a sexual attraction thing.  It’s a live-for-a-long-time kinda thing.  Sure you can’t predict the future and you’re mate could be hit by a bus tomorrow.  But it’s a hedge-your-bets type thing.

And I get it.  I’m guilty of it too.  I’ve always said I didn’t want to date somebody else who was obese.  Fuck we’d probably just bounce off of each other.  All kidding aside though.  It’s the truth.  I’m not attracted to majorly overweight guys.  And I know you’re thinking that’s cold, girl.  But here’s the thing of the thing.  It has less to do with how they look than what the weight signifies (to me).

To me, the weight reveals everything.  They have issues.  They have stuff to deal with.    And before you say something ignorant like, I know lots of happy fat people.  Think.  I mean really think.  Chris Farley.  Kirstie Alley.  Elvis.  Oprah.  Me anytime before 2 years ago and after I was twelve.  Jus sayin’.  And yes I know everybody has issues.  I had issues.  I have less issues now.  And because I’m looking for fun fun fun dating.  I don’t want boys with issues.  I want boys that have less issues.  Like how I have less issues.

The Tie In.

Okay so maybe losers is a bit harsh.  But spot me some leeway.  Call it wordsmithing and poetic license and dramatic effect and all that.  Thematic significance and we all know I love themes.  It just fits.  And for Christ sakes! I know you’ll at least cosign that the “somethings” and “potential somethings” I’ve been dating aren’t “winners”.

My theory is this…..

Sidebar:  Okay so I’ve written and rewritten the end of that sentence like 20 times and nothing feels…well…like something I could write and not be judged for being a totally politically incorrect asshole.  So I’m just going to be a politically incorrect HONEST asshole.

My theory is this…until I’m the biggest loser (read: not obese) I’ll have to settle for the biggest losers (read: not physicist smart, not highly educated, not super confident/manly/ballsy, not always tall, sometimes no dates at all).  Now don’t get all, Oh SSD?!? (hands on your hips and disapproving pout) on me.  Because frankly I know I deserve to spend time with wonderful awesome guys.  I think I’m awesome.  It’s not a self-esteem thing.  It’s a reality thing.  And I’m okay with that.  most of the time.

I am university educated.  I have big boobs and a nice smile.  Some boys have said nice eyes.  My friends appear to like me.  At parties I’m sociable and said to be funny (people have been known to laugh).  I’m adventurous and I’ve been out in the world (read: I have things to talk about).  I’m independent (read: have lots of my own interests).  I’m a dynamo in bed. (okay that one I’m just hoping is true and if not a girl can always learn with enough enthusiasm right?)

So why wouldn’t the dates be pouring in?  Why aren’t I being bombarded online and courted offline.

I have one theory.  It has something to do with where the men are. The ones with balls of steel and Chuck Norris swagger…Read More Here

For another perspective on this topic there are some amazingly wonderful and lovely ladies who have weighed in on this topic: Cece @ The Big Girl Blog, Lucky Girl @ How Very Lucky, and KB @ KB In NYC. They all make some really awesome points.

Unfortunately unlike Lucky Girl, I haven’t been all sorts of different body sizes.  I’ve just been the one.  Big.  I haven’t been a normal weight since before I had hips (which ironically occurred late though I had boobs by grade four).  So I don’t have anything to compare my current dating life to.

But that’s all about to change.  Because you all know me and science.  I can’t simply accept an idea, a notion, a claim.  I have to test it.  And I’m not going to get into but my life is the peachiest it’s ever been in my entire life.  Except this one last thing.  My weight.  So not only is this the summer of boys.  But it’s also the summer I become the biggest loser.  So wish me luck.  I’ll keep you posted on any inverse correlational details.  And for reference…the tally thus far.

Weeks Since the Summer of Boys Began:  5
Total “Somethings” Dated During the Summer of Boys:  3
Total “Somethings” Dated:  5
Total “Pounds” Shed During the Summer of Boys:  12


*Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One Something at a Time*