He Sucks, She Sucks, We All Suck Vancouver



[dropcap]The truth is[/dropcap] I hadn’t planned to write anything.  I was busy with school and papers and grad school apps etc.  But there came a point when I just couldn’t bite my tongue anymore and the things that were being said…well…just seemed…so…totally and completely off the fucking mark.  And with that, here is my “response” to the 2 articles stirring up a dating storm in Vancouver (though you don’t have to read them to understand my post, I don’t think…): Do Vancouver Men Suck & Do Vancouver Women Suck, A Reader’s Response


Dear Vancouver,

I hear it all the time.  I experience it myself.  Dating in Vancouver sucks.  And according to this article, we might just be able to get away with blaming the men.  And to be honest, I completely agree, men in Vancouver absolutely suck.  But then again so do the women.  See that’s the thing about being dicks.  Just because you’re one doesn’t mean I’m not one too.  And the same goes for the gender issue brought up in this article.  Just because men here suck at dating, and possibly life, doesn’t mean women don’t too.  And while I know I’ve just thrown a truckload of double negatives your way, I want to make something perfectly clear.  I agree with the article.  I disagree with the article.  I think it said some things worth saying.  I think it missed the mark completely.  So ya know.  Crystal clear right?

The problem with dating in Vancouver is actually pretty simple.  Well, at least knowing what the problem is, is simple, everything else like how it got this way and how to change it…well those are up for grabs.  But here it is, this is what I know about dating in Vancouver:

1.  Vancouver Men are Pansies
2.  Vancouver Women are Bitches
3.  Everybody is still fucking
4.  We’ve become the “American School System of Dating”

Just so we’re clear.  I don’t have all the answers.  But I do know that dudes here are pansies.  Full stop.  And I know it’s politically incorrect.  And I know reverse-gender oppression and all that.  But the truth is, if I wanted to date someone more feminine than me, I’d pick a chick…they’re much prettier and smell nicer.  I want a man.  I want a man who can grow a full beard.  I want a man who’s balls are too big to wear skinny jeans.  I want a dude who knows how to make a decision, was smart enough to do something with his life, has a plan and takes some action.  Truth is I want more than this, but this will suffice for the moment.


1.  Vancouver Men are Pansies.
Men in Vancouver are shy.  And quiet.  The only time I ever see any aggression is in the most negative of ways, bar fights, street fights, etc.  Ironically the exact things that are working against getting them laid, which is what all that fighting is about isn’t it…sexual frustration?  And while you can try to claim that men are like this in every city I assure you, it’s simply not true.  And I’m not a ten, so you can’t blame it on that either.  I can go anywhere in the States, and boys are talking to me.  Spain and they’re hollering down the street.  When I was in Paris, I had a Chef (in his full Chef get-up) leave his restaurant and come across the street into the launder-mat I was using and chat me up…and he didn’t even have any laundry!  The list goes on.  But in Vancouver, it’s few and far between.  And most of the time I’m not even certain they’re chatting me up.

And that’s out in public.  People claim the internet is so different and online dating is so easy and guys will say anything.  This is true.  To some extent.  While I won’t get into the idiocy that are the messages of Vancouver men (that’s…uh…basically the rest of this blog)…I will say that this lack-of-assertiveness translates onto the net as well.  While here in Vancouver I get anywhere between 0-5 messages a day, and at least 80% of those are bullshit like hot tiiiiiiiiiiits and messages that make you think you’re Drowning in a Sea of Idiocy, this isn’t the case in every city.  And how do I know??  Because I’m a woman who appreciates a little Science and Dating and who doesn’t love a good experiment.

So, one day I changed my dating profile, just for the day, to say Boston (since, after all I am considering grad school there, might as well see what’s up with the dating).  And within that one single day I had over 50 messages, at least 75% of which were eloquent and interesting.  Now it’s not perfect science, perhaps Vancouver is small and we have to factor in that I was a “new” profile in Boston and not in Van but still, that’s a pretty huge increase.  We simply can’t ignore it. [Update: the messages are just as fucking stupid in Montreal (see my SSDated instagram for proof), so clearly I just need to move to Boston *half joking*]

So to sum up.  Vancouver men are more feminine than men in other cities and I have no idea why.  Vancouver men are shy and less likely to approach a woman, in public or online, and I have a partial idea why.  And that’s how we get to point number two.  Vancouver women are bitches.


2. Vancouver Women are Bitches.
Now ladies, before you start freaking out on me…I love you.  To me??  Oh well, to me you’re fucking lovely, amazing, sweethearts, princesses, best ever, love ya…but to guys…well…um…it can get a little rough.  You see the thing is, the whole dating in Vancouver situation is a bit of a snowball.  Because here we are moaning about how guys don’t approach us or talk to us, but when they do, we suddenly become the Simon Cowells of dating…critical bitches, yo.  He’s gay.  He’s too feminine.  Ugh, hipster.  He’s weird.  He’s creepy.  He’s too short.  and the list goes on.  And while I also, don’t really want to date a short feminine hipster who’s a little bit weird or creepy and may or may not be gay…it might be a good idea if I don’t treat him like shit because

a. he’s human
b. he might be a fucking genius (which aside from the gay possibility, could really negate all that other stuff for me) (see #4 coming up) and
c. who knows if he ends up being the most amazing person you’ve ever known and the whole hipster thing is just a phase.
d.  or maybe turns out you love hipsters
e.  or maybe or maybe or maybe…have a fucking imagination…and imagine the possibilities

Plus, in the interest of sisterhood, shouldn’t we all be particularly kind and pleasant to any fellow interested in talking to us, if only to help propagate a species of males who regularly approach chicks in Van?  THINK OF YOUR SISTERS!!

That being said, I take you back to the point above where I mentioned that half the time a boy is chatting me up, it’s so timid and feeble I assume he just wants us to be besties.  And I’m almost certain during the conversation he hasn’t once considered all the dirty things I might be able to do with my mouth (Sidenote:  To be clear he should never SAY any of the dirty things he thinking till at least some of them have been put into action, I mean Social Protocol, yo, but still…he should be thinking them…if he wants me, I mean).

That being said, girls in Vancouver are fickle bitches.  I can’t tell you how many times girls complain about how dudes dress.  But here’s the thing ladies…you can’t ask for a man in a suit and be disappointed when he’s metrosexual.  And you can’t ask for a dude that puts effort into his outfit and then be disappointed when he shows up in skinny jeans and $200 high tops…which you can be damn sure he put some thought into.  So the next time you want to complain about how a guy dresses, just remember that you’re actually asking him to tuck his little purse of man coins (cajones, nuts, love lockets, berries, wedding tackle, etc.) just a little bit further away from you and hey if you’re cool with that then cool.  It’s not my business.  But don’t come crying to me while I love a man with a full beard and a baseball cap (and pants large enough to let his man marbles breathe) ready to talk science and fuck me senseless…uh…er…something like that.  Basically ladies…stop asking for a Pretty Prince when you want a King.  Because you can’t have both.  And the next time some dude says what’s up…give him a shot.  I’m not saying you need to sell your soul or makeout with him in public.    But give the dude a go.  You never know when it turns out he has a PhD. in something other than his pants (though that’s fun too).


3.  Everyone is Still Fucking.
Vancouver is a city you can get laid in.  No doubt.  100%.  No question.  Maybe it’s because we’re liberal.  Maybe it’s because the clubs here suck and what else are you going to do but grind up on someone else.  Maybe it’s because we’re all just so fucking happy to be so close to the mountains, the ocean, and amazing sushi that we’re willing to throw caution (and our panties) to the wind and get down.  And to be clear…this is a judgement free zone…get down with your bad self.  But here’s the one drawback I’ve seen so far.

Why would men want to bother to step their game up?  Why would it even occur to them to be smarter, more interesting, kiss better, or any of the other things we want from them??  THEY’RE STILL GETTING LAID!!!!  And while I’m currently doing my best to limit this phenomenon (which is quite the sacrifice for someone who rallies around the term SLUTmazing)…I can’t do it alone ladies.  I’m just one woman!


4.  Vancouver is the American School System of Dating.
People typically think of Hollywood as a town of beauty-obsessed starlets and airheads, so perhaps I shouldn’t feel so shocked that Vancouver, the Hollywood of the North, has become full of the same.  I almost don’t know how to describe it.  I was to yell at this city, like a frustrated parent screams at their 21 year old who just keeps fucking up…over and over again and all you can do is explode with YOU BETTER GET YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT KIDDO!!!  Because that’s really where the problem lies.  The bigger, more important problem.  It lies in a set of fucked up priorities.  In a city where the dating complaints sound a bit like something George Bush might say.  We have become the American Education System of Dating.

The first article described three young women:

they’re attractive, smartly put together, and fit. They hike the Chief, do the Grouse Grind, ski, bike the seawall, and kayak

And then that’s it.  That’s the end of the description.  I mean, seriously?!  Take a moment.  And let’s think about what’s missing from this list of what I can only assume is supposed to be a description of what makes these women dateable, desirable, worthy, etc. in our fair city.  So, let’s see…they’re attractive and fit.  So that’s good.  And they’re smart…oh no wait…they’re smartly put together…ok…so I guess that’s cool, they have some fashion sense.  And…then we’re back to descriptions of their athletic pursuits.  Super.  And to be honest, this is Vancouver.  A city where being fit and fashionable are your best assets.  I weep for humanity.

But seriously?!  Would you date these girls?  I mean hot bodies and financials aside, what do these chicks have to offer?  And while you could make the argument that for the sake of brevity, details about personality were left out…but in an article that runs for five pages (no judgement, people in glass houses, I’m just saying)…that argument kind of falls flat.

And so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the article focuses greatly on appearances.  Which are valid mind you, attraction is attraction.  Pretending it’s irrelevant isn’t helping anyone.  But if the women of Vancouver were really able to give that hypothetical Genie lamp a rub…is a dude who dresses up for his lady really what we’d ask for???

How about a man who can hold a conversation, who understands the ebb and flow of asking questions and offering things that can be responded to, who has SOMETHING TO SAY!  How about we aim for the stars and ask for intelligent men who have thoughts about science or math, or the history of art, or how a font curves in a way that makes his heart pound, or can tell a joke that is actually funny and not in that stupid I just said something super dumb but I’m going to attempt to cover it up by calling it a joke way that just makes you want to tear your hair out.  What happened to wanting real things that matter??  Who cares if he is wearing a sharp blazer if the man can’t manage to follow an argument from thesis to proof to proof to proof to conclusion.  When did we get so fucking tedious!!

And ladies, you’re not excused either.  Because there are really only three complaints I ever hear from guys.  Stupid, Crazy, Snobs (the nicer way to say Bitches).  And while crazy I have some thoughts on (that’s another article entirely)…they’re often right about the other two.

So this is to everybody (me included, improvement is always possible and required).  Step your game up.  Read a book.  Be more than anyone ever expected you could be.  Say something.  Do something.  Change the world.  Be interesting.  Make a point.  Make a mark.  Hold your head high and be proud of what you’re doing with your life.

And for fuck sakes…ladies…be nicer to the next guy that chats you up…(but if he’s a loser don’t sleep with him…it’s as bad as faking orgasms and you need to start thinking of your fellow woman).  And guys…man the fuck up…put some of that natural testosterone to good use and chat a lady up.  And be clear about it.  Because the only thing worse than being rejected??  Is being rejected by a girl who probably would’ve liked you if only she’d known that weren’t trying to be her new bestie.

Finally, while I applaud @AmigoJor for getting out there and doing his thing.  I have to toss out a few words of advice for the boys because I almost think everything he said was misguided.

1.  Don’t talk to chicks on the bus if it’s anytime before noon.  She’s busy.  She’s trying to get to work on time.  She can’t be bothered with you because her boss wants the blah blah on his desk by noon plus she’s not really a morning person and dammit can’t I just enjoy this latte in peace.  Plus daytime isn’t sexy, yo.  Save that shit for afternoon to evening.

2.  Beaches?  Park?  Sure…those are awesome for July and August…but uh…this is Vancouver.

3.  Yaletown.  I can either buy into the stereotypes…in which case she’s got the nervous jittery look because her body is still trying to recover from all the coke she did last night not because she’s anti-social.  If we want to go the PC route…don’t assume…if you boys want us ladies to see you in your skinny jeans and not think gay! you’re going to have to knock the Snobby girls are from… shit off.  It goes both ways.

4.  Coffee Shops…home run.  What can I say…he’s right (though I see it in a slightly less cynical way).  And I almost kind of hope that one day I might run into this fella in a coffee-shop…and he’ll say something kind and interesting and we’ll have banter.  He’ll ask for my number and I’ll give it.  And perhaps he never calls.  And perhaps I don’t really want him to.  But we’ll both go home and start a snowball effect.  We’ll tell our friends about the time we met a person who was kind and funny and sort of maybe amazing (or at least not creepy and weird/ bitchy and distant) and how he acted like a man and I was a perfect lady.  And it will encourage our friends to do the same.  And they’ll tell their friends and so on and so forth.  All because one day a couple different people wrote articles and then some other people put it into action.  Or ya know.  Something like that.

But one final word of advice…gentlemen…don’t ever say something like this “Ahh, lovely sunrise with those heavy clouds in the distance, eh?” (from article)…because while you think she responds with “yahh” out of disinterest, there’s another much more likely reason.  There is no good response to this.  Or at least not one that someone who’s just be taken aback by someone new talking to her on a bus can come up with in a timely manner.  This is a question for an art gallery or a third date.  When your chatting a new chick up on the bus, on the street, at a pub, you have to make sure she can respond without feeling like an idiot.  This is not the time to quiz her knowledge of 18th century philosophy.  Just relax.  And ask her something normal.  Like how is your night going?  

So good luck out there my lovelies.  Because don’t mistake my harsh no-bullshit approach for anything other than a love for this city and her people.  I love Vancouver.  And I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t care.  I just want you to knock off this teenager-apathetic-I-don’t-need-to-be-amazing-nonsense and get started.  It’s never too late.  Nothing is permanent.  The world is waiting with baited breath.  Now go out and date like I know you can.

Yours Truly,

Something She Dated
aka That girl at Starbucks two seats over
aka Your favorite chat up chick
aka Miss Social Protocol 2012
aka Your dating fairy godmother
aka Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time

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

I’m Not Clingy, I’m Just Smarter Than You

*Disclaimer.  There are clingy chicks in the world. There are clingy boys in the world.  This is about the rest of us.   Who get a bad rep.
I’m a planner.  Some people think that’s a flaw.  Personally, I think it’s brilliant (and FYI: Planning and spontaneity are not mutually exclusive).  My passport is always up to date.  I’m ready for a summer road trip at a moment’s notice.  Camping?  Sure!  House-party in Kelowna tonight?  Fuck yeah…I’ll get gas, you get snacks and we can be there in five hours!  I’m basically up for anything at anytime.  Party at the moon tower? and I’m rounding up money for kegs (for you guys of course, I’ll drink diet coke) and Mathew McConaughey.  But essentially I’m looking for fun fun fun all the time time time.
Now while I may spend the majority of my days egotistically thinking I’m super awesome and RARE, I would hedge my bets that there are lots of lovely ladies out there just like me.  Ladies who have careers.  Ladies who have friends.  Ladies who have goals, dreams and priorities.  Frankly, Ladies who have shit to do.  And yet.  Ladies who have time to date.  Like I have time to date.  Ladies like me, who are available.  And not because we’re clingy.  Or desperate.  Or insecure.  Weak or sad.  Losers or duds.
We’re just simply not retarded.  Allow me to elaborate.
The biggest complaint I hear from men (trying to date me, trying to date others, floundering about) is that they’re busy.  They’re tired.  They’ve just got so much going on *stifles eye roll*   But here’s the thing of the thing.  There are a lot of hours in the day.  There are a lot of days in a week and weeks in a month.  Our lives are fucking filled with time.  So why can’t these men find any of it.
They’re retarded?  They’re confused?  Something in their DNA?  Momma didn’t teach ‘em right?  They’re really just big babies?  They can’t see a big picture?  I honestly couldn’t tell you.  It baffles me to no end.
Logic tells me that fun…uh…ya know…is fun.  Experience tells me that fun is…awesome.  And since you can never have too much awesome in your life, logic tells me that I would want to squeeze every drop I can of it into my life.  I mean honestly.
Therefore, I like to make plans in advance.  Why?  Because then I can fit more in.  I don’t wait till the weekend to make weekend plans.  Why?  Because when three people call Saturday afternoon to kick it Saturday night…I have to pick one.  Only one plan gets made.  I only get 1/3 of the fun.  However, if those same three people call by Wednesday, it’s likely that I can make plans with one on Friday night, one on Saturday night, and possibly one even Sunday afternoon.  Three out of three.  That’s one whole cup of fun. Fucking Awesome.  Now sometimes shit doesn’t work out and schedules collide and other times there simply aren’t plans to be made.  And that leaves all that lovely room for spontaneity.
And I know that often guy’s want to leave their options open.  They don’t want to commit to a plan, a girl, an idea for the weekend.  And that’s fine.  Go ahead and wrap yourself up in your issues.  It could very well work out awesomely for you.  I’m not saying I have all the answers.  I’m just offering an alternative perspective.  A reason she doesn’t answer your weekend texts.  A reason she cuts ties after three weeks without connecting for a date.  So like I said, I don’t know all the answers.  Not by a long shot.  But I do know about smart chicks.  And I know about awesomeness, lol.  And I know about planning.  And I know about having the most fun possible.  So with all that said, I leave you with this:
Boys, I beg you.  Next time you meet a girl who only wants to make advance plans with you.  Or calls you on Tuesday to make plans for the weekend.  Try to remember.  While it is possible she’s clingy or high maintenance.  It’s just as likely that she’s awesome…and quite simply smarter than you.  So do a cross-word or brush your teeth with the other hand and get that brain power up.  Step it up a notch, get your shit together and get the most out of your life.  Or don’t.  I mean do what you want.  But don’t be shocked when you call on Saturday and she’s busy.  And the best thing that might have ever come into your life is booked solid.
Class dismissed.

Vancouver Dating Blog: He Blinded Me With Engineering

Date me, I'm Boring


[dropcap]So[/dropcap] after yesterday’s introduction to the current state of affairs, the “SomeMaybes”.  Here is the second in my current trifecta of stellar choices.  I mean we’re talking serious winners.


The Stats: 6’6 — 28 — Engineer (specializing in physics…works on fuel cells)
The Story:  First he saved me as a favorite.  Than a week or two later he messaged.  He asked about what I was studying and what my career goals are.  Conversation flowed.  He was a smarty pants.  But in a cute way.  Except.  Then it started to be less cute.  As he listed the books he’d recently read, like he was reading from one of my class syllabi, I started to sense a little bit of pretension.  But then he also said something really er…out of place.  I had accidentally hit the send button early on one of my messages that was only half complete.  I sent another message saying as much.  His response was Don’t worry about sending the message prematurely.  I have a little problem with emitting things prematurely myself.  I, of course, assume he’s joking.  I’m still not totally sure.  It was never mentioned again.  Ugh.  Either way not pleased with the presence of this topic.Detour.  Dear Boys, don’t joke about bombs in airports, anything racist and/or premature ejaculation.  Nobody is laughing.  Yours Truly, Uptight-don’t-joke-when-my-potential-satisfaction-is-on-the-line.But we pressed on.  Because honestly he seemed really smart (social awkwardness aside).  And I’m guessing he thought I was hot and/or smart.  But then school got intense with exams and his questions were limited.  And frankly, after one message that though included lots of response, didn’t include a single question back…I just left it.  I had shit to do.The Pros:  He seemed quite smart.  Plus (and this is always assuming someone is telling the truth) his degree in engineering is specialized in Physics (he works with fuel cells or something) so you know I’m digging that.  His mom was and an English Lit prof (aka smart genes?) and though not most important something that delights me…he’s tall.  6’6.  I mean come on!  Yes!

The Cons:  He seemed kind of pretentious.  Now I know I like smart people and I say it all the time.  And I want someone who values their own intelligence.  But still.  There’s ways to go about showing/having/etc. it.  Plus he seemed to be an avid hiker (like every or other weekend).  Which is cool and all but while I’m game for a hike.  It’s not like a passion or something.  Not even something I enjoy all that much.  Finally.  Though tall, aside from that I didn’t find him hugely attractive.
The Standing:  But then exams were over and I thought to myself though I didn’t find him hugely attractive.  Nor ridiculously funny.  We all know I have a thing for brains (fix links).  And so I messaged.  With my apologies about the 2 weeks-ish lapse in response time.  And he responded right quick.  And more convo ensued.  But honestly.  It wasn’t exciting chatter.  There was no flirting.  It was simple stats kind of stuff.  What are you up to for the weekend? and Are you watching the game? and Where did you go hiking? (obvs. that last one was me asking him lol).  And then the messages stopped.  My last message was something about how long it took me to understand a typo.  I was making fun of myself.  Maybe he thought I was making fun of him.  Who knows. Maybe he was just as bored with me as I with him.  But either way.  There it lies. Addendum.  He messaged again.  No joke.  So boring.  Another How’s it going? type message.  But you know.  Eternal optimism and all that.  So I went balls to the wall.  And sent one last message.  One last chance for him to be interesting.  Because I was tired of being the kindling to our conversations.  And I’ll admit it was a bit lame.  And a bit weak sauce.  But it would indicate I was er…um…bored.  And yet also give him an opening.  So I wrote Anything else you want to ask me?  And he responded.  There’s a ton of things I want to ask you but I’m sure you won’t want to answer 😉 and then some other day to day bullshit (weather/hockey/blah/zzzzz).  At first I was like wtf?  Questions I wouldn’t want to answer???  And then it hit me.  Like a retarded ton of bricks.  Sexual questions.  And the thing is we all know I’m a perv.  So it’s not that I don’t get all sexual with it when the time is good and ready.  But this dude had just revealed his flaw.  THIS is why he was on Plenty Of Fish.  And THIS is why I was out.  No response.  Meh.  Better Press On.

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

Dear Boys, I Want to Lick Your Brain



Dear Boys,

I want to lick your brain.  I mean not literally.  Not in like a vampiric-tales from the crypt-serial killer kind of way.  But seriously.  In a metaphorical sense.

Recent conversation goes like this:

Me:  He has a Ph.D…from Harvard
Friend:  Wow! (impressed tone)
Me:  I know right?!?! A Ph.D…from Harvard…seriously…a Ph.D…in English Literature…from motherfucking Harvard
Friend:  Wow! (still impressed tone)
Me:   Seriously.  I would definitely have an affair with him.  And not just for an A. 
Friend:  (laughs) Is he good looking?
Me:  hmm…not really…I mean he’s kind of balding a bit (though covering it up well)…and he’s not really in shape…but he is tall…and probably only about 5 years or so older than me…but I mean….HARVARD…PH.D!
Friend:  (laughs) Yeah you said that

So boys, let me be clear.  I know in the past I’ve talked a lot about Brawn.  And I’m not saying brawn is bad.  By all means.  Brawn is great.  And I’m always taking brawn over no brawn that’s for sure.  But if it’s brawn vs. brains.  No question.  Hands down.  I want to fondle your frontal lobes.  I want to get complex with your cortex.  I want you to quiz me.  I want your brain.  I mean first and foremost I want you to have one.  And then after that I want you to share it with me.  And while I’m wishing.  While I’m dreaming.  While I’m just putting it out there the thing I’d really really love.  Boys, I want you to be smarter than me.  And I don’t mean in a demeaning way or a qualifying way.  You being smarter won’t make you better.  And if you’re not, it doesn’t make me better.  It’s just that I dream of it.  I yearn for it.  Finding a “something” who is leagues smarter than me.  And while knowledge can help, it isn’t everything.  I want you to excite me and challenge me.  Prove me wrong and show me how.  Show me things I’d never considered.  I want you to be curious and eager.  Take us on an adventure.  Boys, I’m looking for one of you, that has a brain so full and voluptuous, that I want to lick it.  Run my metaphorical tongue all over it.  But don’t worry.  I won’t bite.  And I won’t eat it.  Because afterall, I’m no man-eater.  But just sayin’.  Hit the books boys, step your game up.

Yours Truly,

Judgey Wudgey

aka Something She Dated
aka Motivating the masses to higher education
aka Dating University campuses better one smarty pants at a time
aka That girl in the library two study desks over
aka Your coffee shop crush


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?


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