How to Have a Fake Affair with a Real Celebrity (NOW AVAILABLE FOR DIGITAL DOWNLOAD)

How to Have a Fake Affair with a Real Celebrity is a non-fiction short story written by Victoria Young. The story was recently published in the Spring & Summer issue of Cream City Review (41.1).

The story is a comical and tragic rumination of what it’s like when powerful men shine their spotlight in your direction and the ethics of fidelity in the internet age. At times hysterically self-deprecating, at others poignant and painfully relatable, this work of non-fiction is both a joke and a broken heart. The point is not to avoid the hurt, but instead to understand why we keep going back for more. And to find a salve in the laughter.

 

Writer. Dater. Masturbator. Victoria Young’s work has appeared in PRISM magazine (after winning second runner-up in the 2015 creative non-fiction contest). She currently holds two BAs, an MA, and whole lot of grudges. Her first collection of short stories Love Poems for Butchers may get published one day, who the fuck knows, amirite. Her work was shortlisted for the 2016 Constance Rooke creative non-fiction prize.

Life Update: November 16, 2014

Dating

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,

 

Victoria

 

aka SSDated

aka The Cheesecake Queen

aka That girl crying in the squat rack

Notes on a Plane, Or Why Bullying with Kindness Isn’t a Thing

Bullying

Imagine for a moment, the following scene:

It’s Thanksgiving weekend and you’re stuck at the airport.

Maybe you’re having a bad day.  You’ve lost perspective.  You know you’re acting like an asshole but somehow can’t manage to contain yourself.

Maybe you’re worried that if you miss your non-refundable connecting flight that you’ll get stuck in some unknown city halfway between your home and your destination and given that you could barely afford the ticket price to begin with, will be shit out of luck.

Maybe your partner just left you.

Maybe you just got fired from your job.

Maybe you fall on the Autism spectrum and have abnormal responses to sensory stimuli, find it difficult to maintain social relationships or to understand social cues, or struggle to communicate.

Maybe you just found out you have cancer and have to fly home to break the news to your parents.

Maybe you’re just an entitled shitty person who maintains a total lack self-awareness.

Maybe you’re completely fictional.  (for argument sake let’s assume this isn’t the case, regardless of the fact that this is obviously the case).

It doesn’t really matter.  But there you are, at the airport on Thanksgiving and your flight is delayed and you’re acting like a total dick.  And then whew! you’re on the plane and getting set for your journey home when suddenly you get this note from a stranger on the plane…

Read the story here:  “This Epic Note-Passing War On A Delayed Flight Won Thanksgiving

So, what is so wrong with this (and the people who think it’s funny)?  Well, let me tell you.  There are really only two possibilities for what this guy must have been thinking to provoke this confrontation:

Hey, look at this total asshole who can’t possibly be upset enough.  I’m going to go out of my way to be cruel to her and taunt her and hopefully she’ll have a total fucking breakdown that I can tweet about and people will think I’m a hilarious hero.  PS. I’m going to make sure I use some language that incorporates both violence and sex to really let her know that I think her place in the world is beneath me regardless of any supposed provocation.

Or he thought

Hey, look at this woman, who is obviously pained in some way, and though I could probably try to make her day a little better (and thus in some small way improve the days of everyone around her) I’m still going to go out of my way to be cruel to her and taunt her and hopefully she’ll have a total fucking breakdown that I can tweet about and people will think I’m a hilarious hero.  PS. I’m going to make sure I use some language that incorporates both violence and sex to really let her know that I think her place in the world is beneath me regardless of any supposed provocation.

 

I almost can’t even write this because I’m so out-of-my-mind with confusion/rage/frustration/disillusionment, especially after reading Elan’s follow up statement on his blog where he starts out by admitting that he’s just an IRL Troll or as is more commonly known, a goddamn bully:

I had a great time antagonizing her, reading your responses, and just generally trying to have fun with an irritating person.

(emphasis mine)

Then, he makes an attempt to justify his bullshit behavior with some nonsense about how it’s unforgivable to be unkind to people while they’re working (which btw is nonsense not because that’s a bad idea, which it isn’t, but because the very fact that he was harassing this fictional woman on a plane – a specifically dangerous place to antagonize and provoke people, particularly on the people’s whose job it is to then have to keep them calm and placated).  He was fucking with the flight attendants and the other passengers as much as he was fucking with Diane.

Then, he reaffirms what I am already certain of, that he is, in fact, no hero.

And finally, he sums up his final point, which is that we should all be nice to each other.  wait?!? what?!?!  The guy who just harassed a woman for hours, did so to make the point that kindness should be spread and being nice is what is most important.  *brain explodes*

What I did today was just point out something we all know: Be nice. It’s Thanksgiving. Be nice.

Be nice everyday, but if you see a man or a woman working on a holiday you better respect that they would like to be with their family too.

But before I can let you go to just think about the sadness of this whole facade and how horrible people are and how maybe this is why I can’t sleep at night.  What I really want to point out is just how wrong this dude is about how to change the world.

So have some compassion and have some appreciation.

Most people do. Most people are great. And then there are a bunch of Diane’s in the world.

And it’s OUR job to tell every Diane to shut up.

It’s OUR duty to put the Diane’s of the world in their place.

We need to REMIND them about the way of things.

We outnumber them.

So, I’m really glad we had fun today, but I really hope you guys join me, look a jerk in the eye, and tell them to eat a piece of your body, because really, that’s what the holidays are all about.

And while I know this man is, in his own fucked up way, trying to make this lighthearted and just a joke, the problem is that like rape jokes or bum fights, or all the other disgusting things humanity does in the hopes of hilarity, this falls far short of actually being funny.

You know the old adages Kill them with kindness and You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?  Well, semantics aside, they are spot on.  The world doesn’t need more people telling women to eat their dicks (or whatever violent and misogynistic rhetoric might be the equivalent for men), the world needs more kindness, more empathy, more patience.  Oh, and by the way, that DOES NOT mean less jokes.  It means better, smarter, funnier ones.  Jokes that don’t sacrifice the weak.  And if you can’t write those jokes…well fuck…try harder…or find another way to share joy with the world.

If you see someone in pain, help them ease it.

If you see someone in trouble, try to help.

If they snap at you and act like a jerk, don’t react in kind.

Don’t write them snotty insincere notes in order to get a laugh at their expense, tell them a joke and send them a present.  Maybe they laugh, maybe they don’t.  Maybe they’re thankful or maybe they’re not.  But you tried.  You were a good person.  You made a sincere effort to make the world a better place.

And btw Elan, trolling someone in real life…is just bullying.  You are a bully.  But maybe I can buy you a drink someday, and you can tell me why you’re so upset at the world.  Maybe I can help or maybe I can’t.  But I’ll listen if you need me, I’d listen if any of you need me.  Because honestly, what the fuck else are we doing here, if not trying to make the world a better place for everyone else in it?

The Bird Seed Theory, or Why He Keeps Contacting You

Bird Seed Theory

Something She Said

Stories about sex and dating, screenshots of sexist online dating messages, murder jokes, elaborately long fruit puns–you never quite know what you’re going to get.

Every so often I come to a realization about dating.  An answer to a dating question that feels so long fought for and so hard-battle-done-by that it’s like solving the Riddle of the Sphinx.  Like figuring out what the hell happened to Amelia Earhart.  Like I just destroyed the ring in the fires of Mount Doom.  Like I just solved world hunger.  Like I just figured out where in the world is fucking Carmen San Diego, coherently explained the Matrix, and made cold fusion easily accessible and replicable to the general public.  It’s like I know, like seriously fucking know, exactly how many licks it takes to get to the centre of a Tootsie-Pop.

And it’s finally happened.  I know a thing, about dating, like fucking know it, and thus I give to you:

 

The Bird Seed Theory (or, why he keeps contacting you).

 

Here’s the thing: dating is all about effort.  And the fundamental difference in how men and women view effort is the leading cause of dating frustration.  Okay so I kind of made that bit up…the “leading cause” bit…but bear with me and you might start to agree.  See, if you were to ask most women what is the worst part about dating?  I would hedge my bets that they would say “it’s the uncertainty”.  Sure, rejection hurts and uncomfortable moments suck and after awhile everybody gets frustrated and wants to call it a day, but the worst THE WORST part about dating is the uncertainty.  the waiting.  the fade.  and then the come back charlieness of it all.

I don’t really know how it came to me (that’s a lie, I know exactly how it came to me…so let me just tell you).  Driving home from UBC, the day I moved out of residence back at the end of April 2010, I was talking to my brother (who had so graciously helped me move), about The Nick Name and how I just couldn’t figure out what his fucking deal was and why he kept in contact with me when he obviously didn’t like me so much that he like had to fucking have me.  And just like that, it all came together for me. GENIUS!!!  Sort of like He’s Just Not That Into You…Version 2.0…The Bird Seed Theory.

You see, women are very selective about the effort they put into men and dating.  For those who love a good analogy like I do –> We throw thick chunks of bread at select ducks.  Only the ones we really like.  The ones we see a potential with.  The ones who make us swoon.    Or that can dick us down just right (don’t get it wrong…it’s not always about mush and heart)…but the point is we only throw bread when its worth our while.  Effort is precious and we don’t like to waste.

Guys throw bird seed  *makes bird seed throwing gesture*.  Guys throw bird seed constantly…all the time…every moment…of every day…every heart beat…throwing fucking bird seed…not caring who it lands on.  Now this isn’t to say that boys will date or bang all the ducks they throw seed at.  That’s not the point.  The point is to have the option. Boys are always on the prowl, always having things in the mix.  It’s like it’s in their DNA or something.

And I know what you’re thinking…doesn’t that negate the theory of effort?  And the answer is NO.  Quite the opposite.  Because in fact, men don’t see throwing the seed as effort.  Because it’s all in the name of sex (or whatever motivates them, ego, adrenaline, etc.).  And while we (women) are only keeping the options open with those boys we want right now, boys are inherently thinking…more…possibility…later.

So here’s your real-world-tangible-practical-jesus-I-wish-we’d-known-this-earlier-so-much-wasted-time-lesson.

The next time Come Back Charlie sends text message…a FB wall post…a special Tweet…a phonecall…whatever….that leaves you thinking wow.  He misses me.  He’s thinking about me.  He made a mistake in how he treated me before.  He didn’t mean it when he pulled the fade on me.  He didn’t mean it those other 2 times he bailed on plans.  He thinks I’m special really fucking special.

He Doesn’t.

but but but.  No!  He really really fucking doesn’t.

Sure it’s quite possible he cares about you in the same sense that I generally hope people in the world are happy and leading joyful lives and all that.  But to be totally honest, he doesn’t give a shit about you.  Nothing has changed.  I promise.  He is NOT the exception.  You are NOT the exception.  Maybe he enjoys your conversation, maybe he thinks you’re hot and would be cool with a bang (pending that it fit his schedule, pending that some other chick he has been throwing bird seed at and that he wanted more wasn’t available) but honestly, it doesn’t matter.  Whatever his circumstances or reasons are…this dude is not interested in you enough for you to give him the time of day.  Even a proper booty call knows how to be blunt, honest and respect your time.  A dude throwing bird seed has no concern for your time.  Because while throwing bread at him is exacting effort on your part…you’re just another duck on his row to throw some seed up.  *seed throwing gestures*

And to make sure you all listen.  And really know that this isn’t just something I’m saying but can’t back up with actual facts.  I give you both Garbage Man and The Nick Name.  Both these dudes were done with me by the 2nd date (possibly even before).  And after that 2nd date…they kept in contact.  For months.  Like seriously fucking months.  The Nick Name actually kept in contact for years!! though I never saw him again after that 2nd date.  And while in my mind I cannot fathom exerting that much effort to stay in contact with someone you had no real interest in hanging out with again…for them I imagine I was just one in a ton of other chicks.  Or one in a ton of other hobbies.  Or one in a ton of whatever-the-fuck-they-do-with-their-time.  But while I assumed the continued contact was a reflection on the good so-so satisfactory meh times we had spent together and the connection we had.  I was wrong.  So so fucking wrong.  They were just throwing bird seed.  And I was just a duck running around with my head cut off.  Does that analogy work?  I think so.  You get the idea anyway.

So the next time a dude who isn’t treating you like you think he should.  Or a dude that ditched you comes back with a less than grand gesture.  Or really you just have an inkling that you’re doing all the work.  STOP THROWING BREAD at his bird seed throwing ass and find yourself another pond to go loiter at.  Because this one is not good for you.

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

10 MORE Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing On Twitter

 

 

Continued from Ten Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing On Twitter

 

11.  Twitter is not for porn

There’s no need to post porn on Twitter and there’s no need to RT porn on Twitter because ALL THE REST OF THE INTERNET!!!  Anyone who is old enough to be cool watching/seeing porn knows damn well how to look for it on the internet.  Tweeting or RTing porn is really just a sign that you’re old and out of touch, sorry, that’s all there really is to it.  And honestly, you should keep that weirdness to yourself.

 

12.  Manually RTing (and Quote Tweet)

Some people will disagree on this one (the explanation I’m usually given when I ask why is–because the person believes that their followers need some kind of explanation or contextualization–however, this really only explains the manual RTing of links etc. and wouldn’t explain anything for most tweets).  The only time “quoting a tweet” is fine is when someone has said something that will contextualize the hilarious/poignant thing you plan to tweet.  However, and this is a big one, if what you’re adding isn’t a joke or important message and is simply a reply to the original tweet, quoting it is just annoying because now all your followers have to see this tedious tweet.  There’s a reason you don’t always hit “reply all” on an email and a response to a tweet isn’t that much different; if it’s not a joke that could potentially stand on its own, don’t bother.

The reason Manually RTing a tweet is bullshit is twofold.  One, by manually RTing instead of just hitting that lovely little retweet button, what you’re doing (whether you mean to or not) is hijacking this person’s work to claim a little bit of the glory for yourself.  Though you’re not stealing or plagiarizing the tweet, you’re trying to ride the coattails of someone else (it’s a little bit like name dropping in a way, trying to elevate yourself on the shoulders of another).  Two, you’re essentially stopping the thread of RTing.  Nobody is going to want to retweet the joke with the stupid quotations marks and your even stupider addition to it and thus, the RTing cycle stops with you.  And even if, by some miracle, people do retweet your manual retweet, the original tweeter will never know and we’re back with reason one, you’ve hijacked their joke.  Don’t be a dick.  If you like someone’s tweet and want to pass it along to your followers (which I always encourage), simply hit the retweet button, nbd.

 

13.  Typing in front of the @

Now this one isn’t an all or nothing as sometimes, many times even, it’s totally kosher to type something in front of an @.  Good reasons for doing this are:  your response is hilarious, your response is really important, your response is interesting.  When you type in front of the @ sign, it means that now everyone who follows you (not just those who follow you and the person you @ed) will now see your tweet.  This can be great if, like I said above, your tweet is worth sharing.  However, long back and forth conversations, boring chit chat, etc. are not good reasons to bother doing this.  Generally speaking, have some humility and don’t assume that a conversation is so fucking interesting that everyone would want to read it (because let’s be honest, they most likely don’t).

 

14.  Tweeting about unfollowers (whether organically or through a third party bullshit service)

You know how it’s super embarassing and awkward to tell a total stranger about how you have no friends and everyone hates you?  This is just like that.  While I’m all for honesty and authenticity, certain things just don’t need to be talked about, ever.  Additionally, you have no idea why these people unfollowed you and let’s be real, talking about people not being interested in what you have to say is about as clear of an example as possible that they were right because you’re boring as fuck.  Don’t be a crybaby.  Either you care that they left (in which case keep that shit to yourself) or you don’t and then you wouldn’t bother tweeting this nonsense.  Plus, the people who do still follow you really don’t care so don’t alienate them too.

 

15.  Don’t click the DM links

You know how you think your account got hacked because now weird shit is being posted on your behalf?  Yeah, you didn’t.  You’re not important enough to be hacked, no one gives a shit.  You’ve been phished, and unless you’re brand new to the internet, this makes you an idiot.  No one is saying mean shit about you on their blog, and no one is passing around a photo of you.  Don’t click weird links, don’t click links from people you don’t know, and if you do click a link for goodness sake don’t enter important information.  And if you do fuck up and make this mistake, change your password.

 

16.  Don’t thank someone (or shout them out or #NF anyone) for following

I often follow a list of people, like 100 at a time (perhaps on a list called “Montreal Awesomeness” or something because I live in Montreal now so I’m all about the locals).  That being said, I may have read your bio, or a couple of tweets, but I didn’t sign on for a lifetime.  I’m a bit like that highschool teacher who gives you the speech about how everyone starts with an A and it’s up to you to keep it.  Meaning, just because I followed doesn’t mean I can’t just as easily unfollow and shouting me out or thanking me for following just makes me feel weird and pressured.  I didn’t follow you as a favor or to be nice (logical reasons to thank someone).  This is Twitter, and at its core is totally selfish.  I followed you for me, so let’s not make a big thing of it eh?  Don’t make this weird.

 

17.  Auto DM, Auto Follow, Auto Unfollow, Auto anything really

Auto anything is bullshit.  If you can’t do something on Twitter yourself, you shouldn’t be doing it.  It lacks effort, integrity, and interest.  Don’t be boring and annoying.  Stop this shit.

 

18.  Be Interesting (subtweeting, vague tweeting, boring tweeting)

If the subtweet can’t stand on its own as an interesting message or a funny joke, don’t bother.  If the name you’re using won’t be recognized by your followers (either as a joke name, like the way I often address a nonspecific Chad, or someone you often reference), don’t bother.  If the tweet is something obvious like good people are good and respect women and I suck at tweeting, don’t bother.  If the tweet would fit more accurately in a your daily log of activities, went to the gymmom made dinnerso tired gotta shower, don’t fucking bother.

 

19.  Checking in to anything (foursquare, yelp, getglue, etc.)

Nobody cares where you are, are eating, are watching, etc.  And, if they do care, they’ll follow you on those specific apps themselves.  If you’re worried people don’t know you exist on these other platforms, a tweet once a month or every two months, just so they know, is fine I guess.

 

20.  Instagram on Twitter

Look, I know, I hate it too, how Twitter/Instagram severed the ability to find people via the app when Facebook bought them.  But, that doesn’t mean you need to post 5 pics in a row on your Twitter feed.  One link to instagram, every so often, when it’s a really good pic or (even better) a really great caption, is fine.  But more than one link in a row is annoying, if I wanted to see your pics, the first link would’ve already had me clicking follow (particularly now that you can follow etc. via a webpage and not just on your phone).

 

Disagree with any of these?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments (but make sure you offer up some *logic* on why I’m wrong and you’re right).  Have any more to add?  

10 Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing on Twitter

People will tell you that you should do Twitter your own way and in many ways they are right.  You should express yourself how you want to express yourself, that is, after all, what self-expression is all about, no?  That being said, people do a lot of stupid things (in no particular order).

 

1.  Team Follow Back

Under no circumstances should you involve yourself with anything #TeamFollowBack related or anyone who says “I follow back” and here’s why.  Team follow back and all people who automatically follow back are really telling you that they’ll follow anyone and who wants to be followed by someone who will follow anyone.  This is not a third grade birthday party and it’s time to be a selective grown up.  Moreover, how good can someone’s tweets really be if they only gain followers by promising to return the favor?  Follow people because they’re awesome.  Follow people because they interest you.  Follow people because you’ve created elaborate fantasies where you do all kinds of illicit things and everyone is always happy, or whatever.

 

2. Don’t beg celebrities (or others) to follow you back

I know this is similar to number 1. but it happens so often and is even more aggressive and uncomfortable than simply being un-discerning like team follow back that it needs to be addressed.  Asking if someone follows back, begging to be followed, and any sort of angry @ mention where you bitterly state that someone won’t follow you back because of their follower ratio is about as pathetic as it gets.  This is sad and you’re not only embarrassing yourself but humanity as a whole.  Get a clue.  And as stated in 1. if you’re following a person simply so they will follow you back, knock it off, you’re doing it wrong anyway.

 

3.  #FF (Follow Friday)

This one is a bit of a double edged sword.  In theory, it should work great, the people who you think are awesome recommend other awesome people to follow and then you do, in fact, follow them.  In reality, Fridays are the worst on Twitter.  People #FF entire lists of people without offering any kind of explanation as to why (or when they do, the reason is often stupid like #HotChicks or #MyFavoriteGuys – both which are stupid reasons to follow as judgments like hot and favorite are about as relative as its gets and let’s be honest, if your #FF is a whole list of people you’re not very discerning to begin with and thus your recommendation means nada).

That being said, I was recently reminded of the one positive of this whole thing.  It can make someone feel really special.  Someone recently did a #FF for me that was about how they thought I was great etc. etc. and dammit if it didn’t make my entire day.  That being said, if the person did it all the time or even for a bunch of people on the same day, it would start to feel a little like bullshit.  So, if you decide to do #FF, do it sparingly and with real thought and emotion.

 

4.  Stop Careless (Moronic) RTing (retweeting)

For the love of intelligent things, if someone does #FF you, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES RT it (you may be able to get away with doing so if the tweet is incredibly hilarious and well written but otherwise, no exceptions).  See, here’s the thing – the people you’re RTing it to ALREADY FOLLOW YOU! So now it just looks like you’re either a moron who doesn’t realize this or a total jackass who RTs compliments (have some humility, yo).  Even worse than this is RTing it if the #FF is a list of however many names the person could squeeze into 140 characters.  Now, not only are you okaying this foolish behavior of pandering and idiocy but you’re propagating it to your followers (who I assure you don’t care that you were on a nondescript list) and are not going to then follow all the people on said nondescript list anyway.  Hell, they might even unfollow you for this annoying behavior (I know I do).

 

5.  Stop Careless Thanking

We get it, you’re grateful!  There is no need to thank the person who #FFed you in a list with 6 other people and even less of a need to thank the person, while still @ing all the people in the original tweet – because here’s what – not only does the rest of the list not care that you’re thankful but they now probably hate you a little bit for your stupidity.  USE SOME LOGIC.  Seriously.  And if you RT someone thanking you for your #FF nondescript list, just close your Twitter account now.  Honestly, you’re a blight on society.

 

6.  Don’t ask for Retweets or favs (stars)

Up until recently I didn’t know this was a thing, that people asked each other for this, that people traded these things like a barter system, and my life is infinitely sadder now that I know this exists, so don’t be one of these people.  If your tweets don’t speak for themselves, they weren’t very good anyway.  And if you think your tweets are dynamite (and they actually are) then just engage with people, offer witty quips, RT and star the tweets of others that you enjoy and so that the people you find funny know you exist, just don’t expect things from people like a trade off.  If you’re good, people will eventually see.

 

7.  Don’t worry about follower ratio

If someone makes you laugh or interests you, follow them.  Regardless of how many people you are following.  There is no magic follower ratio, there is no magic if I follow less than 500 people I will be seen as a big deal answer.  Follow who you like, don’t follow who you don’t like.  As a tip though try to remember slow and steady wins the race.  Back in the day I remember my getting dizzy when I tried to keep up with more than 400 people but you adapt, you get better at Twitter.  So don’t sign up and follow 2000 people, start slow, find your groove, and adjust as you go.

 

8.  Think before tweeting

In all honesty, this applies more to @ mentions than anything.  You can tweet whatever the fuck you want to and people will follow or unfollow accordingly.  But @ mentions are a little different.  You see, the people following you signed up for that shit so if you tweet asinine nonsense and they see it, well, they made that choice.  @ mentions, however, don’t have that same limit.  You can @ mention anyone (though that doesn’t mean you should).  Here are some general guidelines to keep in mind:

  1. Don’t repeat the joke back to the person in slightly different words.  Write your own jokes (see also: doing this is never funny).
  2. Don’t @ mention them with the opposite of their tweet.  If I tweet https://twitter.com/SSDated/status/349305174164119554 and you respond with https://twitter.com/raywade1/status/349306633400229888 You can rest assured that I 100% hate you.
  3. Don’t bother @ mentioning with any of the following:  ha!, haha, lol, lolz, lmao, lmfao, so true, etc.  Just star their tweet and be on your way.
  4. Don’t @ mention something off topic.  If the person tweeted about ice cream and you come back with so what do you do for work? you’re a fucking moron.
  5. Don’t bother @ mentioning someone about a tweet older than a week.  In social media time that’s like a year ago and the original tweeter is no longer thinking about it.  Find something newer to respond to.
  6. Use your words.  I can’t tell you how many times an @ mention doesn’t make sense (I’m assuming because the person thinks I can read their mind).  If you can’t be clear in 140 characters than maybe don’t mention them.
  7. Finally, honestly, truly, just put a little thought into your response.  I often get @ mentions where I follow up with several back and forth tweets till the guy (sorry dudes, it always seems to be you) admits that the original @ mention to me was stupid and he didn’t really think it through.  So don’t make me be that bitch that harasses you till you realize you’re a moron.  Just stop the idiocy before we get started.  It’s okay to just star a tweet and not bother @ mentioning.

 

9.  Hashtags

Now this one is a little controversial.  Some people absolutely can’t stand them.  I think they’re okay when used thoughtfully.  I’m okay with a hashtag if it’s cute and/or funny #FatPanda #TheyBuriedMeAliveSomeoneHelpMeImHungry etc.  That being said, even when funny or creative, brevity and moderation are your friends.  Once or twice.  Here and there.  No big deal.  I’m also okay with hashtags when they serve a purpose #StandWithWendy being a favorite of mine recently or my always favorite #PossibleBookTitles or any of the ones about changing movies/bands/etc.  Two rules of thumb to avoid be a super douche when it comes to hashtags:  Don’t hashtag incorrectly (don’t hashtag #montreal #vancouver #sydney #boobs in a tweet about gardening in the hopes someone will care about your tweet, they won’t) and don’t hashtag excessively (this goes for instagram too–there’s no need for #igers, #instagrammers, etc.  A. because we’re all instagrammers, this is instagram, don’t be a fucking moron and B. these are redundant, the same, just pick one).

 

10.  Don’t treat twitter like a chatroom

Don’t tweet Hi or any variation of this at anyone, ever.  If you have something to say, say it.  Not only do public greetings like this seem creepy (and out of touch with social media), but they confuse the person you’re @ing.  First, they’ll probably wonder if they know you somehow.  When that’s not it they’ll wonder what’s going on, why would someone tweet a greeting, that’s so bizarre.  Then, after they’ve wasted sufficient time on this, one of two things will likely happen.  They’ll respond because they’re kind and you’re pathetic and the whole thing makes them uncomfortable or they’ll block you because fuck that.

 

Disagree with any of these?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments (but make sure you offer up some *logic* on why I’m wrong and you’re right).  Have any more to add?  

READ MORE:  Ten More Stupid Things You Should Stop Doing On Twitter

I Am Not Disgusting

Remember:  I am someone’s little sister, someone’s baby girl, someone’s friend, someone’s love.  Please don’t be mean.  My heart breaks the same as yours.

I can show you a picture, paint it on an easel, move your hand across the words in Braille but you’ll never really get it, unless you once tried to talk to someone who thought you were Disgusting. 

It’s a special kind of hurt the moment you find out you’re a sideshow Freak, a detour to chubby town, a vacation gone whale hunting, and you’re swimming for your life from men who want to mount your head on their wall.

You are an endangered species, in a world of bridges and railroad tracks and ceilings with beams not strong enough to hold you, like arms that should cradle you but hang you out to dry and then forget until they look and you’ve blown away.

This post is not in response to this awesome SO BRAVE beautifully written post because that just feels way too antagonistic or in opposition, which is not what this is.  This is an addition.  A plus(size).  An addendum.  So here goes…

When you see a picture of a woman, exposed with the flaws she thinks she hasbut you see none, you stand up and applaud.  She has value.  Her hurt should be taken away.  You think I have no say in how she should live her life.  Who am I to judge.  She has the right to feel beautiful, be beautiful, goddamn it she is beautiful (because honestly, aren’t we all?)

And to be clear, her hurt is in no way less important or worthy than mine.  But, I have to wonder if that same go grrrrl reaction happens when an actual fat person, bares their flaws for you to see.  And though I dream that it does.  I beg for it to be so.  I would give almost anything for that to be true, for this to be a world where you don’t think you have any fucking say over my body.  I have a lifetime of experience that says otherwise.

I’ve never worn a bikini.  Bikini season means nothing to me, though I’ve spent most of life swimming away from whale hunters.  No insult is ever equal when it comes to fat people.  I’m never just a bitch like all you other lucky bitches get to be.  I’m always a fat bitch.  I live in constant fear that teenage boys will spit on me (and I’m thirtyfuckingone).  When I reject a man while online dating (politely), I’m never just a girl who rejected him.  Suddenly I’m a fat bitch that no one wants anyway.

I’m not really going to go into why I’m fat (which I am).  Because the truth is it shouldn’t matter, to you.  This is my body.  I am allowed to eat (which I do).  I am allowed to fuck (which I do).  I am allowed to be happy and not harassed or stared at.  I should be able to workout and not live in fear that you think I’m disgusting.  I should be allowed to just be me, in whatever shape that comes in.

I’m not lazy.  I’m not worthless.  (though even if I was, who are you to judge?).  I have value.  I hold two BA degrees.  I’m currently getting my MA at Concordia in English Literature.  I’m kind to people.  I get choked up on phone calls with my parents because I love them so much.  I want to make the world a better place.  I want to protect young girls whose sexuality is judged and mocked and held hostage.  I want to be the naked tits on the internet that makes it so no girl ever commits suicide after she couldn’t stand being harassed and bullied for amistake.  I want to bear the burdens so other little girls never have to.  I have a family who loves me.  I have friends who love me.  I have people whose hearts break every time you hurt me.  I have no less value because I’m fat.  You don’t get a say in how I deal with my body or my issues.  I spend my days trying to make people laugh for no other reason than the world needs more joy.  MORE FUCKING JOY.  I should be allowed to sit by a pool, any pool, public or otherwise and not have you think that my grotesque form is somehow obstructing your otherwise perfect existence.

And so here I am.  At a summer BBQ.  Unaware of a photo being taken of me.  By a friend.  Who doesn’t see anything other than her friend, the one who makes her laugh and writes “about the most boring shit in the world but in a way that makes it seem sooo interesting”, making a burger (or something lol I don’t really even know what I was doing) on her thighs, on a day when we were all just so fucking happy.

HUGE Thanks to @MmeSurly and her beautiful brave post that has allowed me to be brave and bare my body and heart.

UPDATE:  In my rush to get this post out quickly yesterday, I worry that it feels unfinished, that I never actually said the thing I meant to say which is this:  That I am enough.  You are enough.  Our bodies are our own.  Life is hard enough as it is without having people tell us what we can or can’t do, what we should or shouldn’t show the world, or how much fun and happiness we are allotted.  

That being said, by the absolutely amazing left-me-near-speechless outpouring of love and support and stories from other women and men about emotions and hurt and strength and bravery and desires to be stronger (I could go on but this sentence is turning into a grammatical nightmare of love)…by what this post has inspired you all to say, I know that even without these extra words you somehow understood exactly what I was trying to say.  So thank you, you beautiful brave people.  My heart, it runneth over.

swimsuit

Third Date with France (Part I): He Calls Me Sweet

Dating

 

He calls me sweet.

I think it’s a language barrier thing. But it makes me swoon.

There’s a saying that goes something like ‘the only difference between a guy saying something creepy and a guy say something sweet, is how good looking he is’. And in a roundabout way, there’s some validity to this. Though it’s not all about the looks. It’s in the way he says it, in the way he looks at you, in the way you two are together. It doesn’t have to be love, it doesn’t have to be soul mate stuff, it doesn’t even have to be the same with every guy. But what can be creepy or a turn off with one guy, can in fact be totally adorable in another.

Like pet names.

The Nick Name once called me schmoopy. I almost died of disgust. That being said, I might’ve even let it slide with France. Okay, admittedly, schmoopy is ridiculous in any language, but you get my drift.

So when he called me Vampire because of my late night hours (see: writer/grad student/nightowl), it was adorable.

And when he calls me sweet, instead of sweetie, I make no effort to correct him. Because it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t even want him to use the correct term. Because, sweet.

After our Friday night makeout session, I was hooked.

We texted. We made chatter about work and training (at the gym), about school and writing, about the sturdiness of my newly put together Ikea bed and whether or not it would hold our combined weight. He would happily help me test it out, he said, force te garanti.

And then I did something I don’t normally like to do. I put away all the bullshit rules I feel are implied of a relationship where the guy actually likes me and isn’t just throwing bird seed, and I asked him

So, when do I get to see you next?

His response?

When do you want!!

Oh Jesus. Look at the excitement or language barrier. Swoon. Tomorrow night? To which he answered YES!! Now that’s the kind of enthusiasm I could get behind and in front. And that was that, we would hang out Sunday night. The chatter continued. He had to go to work again soon. This time he was working security. And then he asked have you eaten yet? I had, which is what I told him. Apparently, he wanted to get something to eat and wanted me to join him. I know it seems meaningless but honestly, swoon. The fact that he wanted to hang out with me in a situation that absolutely negated any possibility of sex or action of any kind…well…made me feel good. Simple as that. I told him next time. And he said you bet sexy!

The next afternoon, Sunday, he texted

Hi sweet.

We talked for a bit and eventually I asked

what time he wanted to hang out tonight?

His response was

I don’t know but maybe late, is probleme?

And honestly it was a problem. I had just gone from feeling secure, feeling liked, feeling like we were dating to feeling like a jump off in less time than it takes to explain what a jump off is.

[For those that don’t know…because when I tweeted this term awhile back I realized it wasn’t as commonly used as I would think…it’s about the same as a booty call…or a side chick…it’s the chick you don’t claim…it’s the girl who’s just for sex…it’s friends with benefits but without the friends…just ask Lil Kim]

Admittedly I was hurt. Not devastated or anything. I mean, what had I really been expecting to happen between us? Could a language barrier be that easily overcome (especially given my love of communication)? Did we even have anything in common? Did we have any of the same values? Hopes for our future? Dreams for the world? Could we even ever have a phone conversation? So I mean…I guess it wasn’t the end of the world. It certainly wasn’t going to keep me from participating in all kinds of sexy shenanigans with him.

All that being said, I like to know where I stand.

Because I can put up my walls and be a grown up and prepare myself for a relationship based purely on amazing sex (and enjoy the fuck out of it…don’t get me wrong). And I can be the sweet girl that shares things with you and lets you in and is all giggles and sunshine and wants to talk about (fun and interesting) things till 2am (and THEN have the amazing sex). But I need to know which girl to be. Both girls are me. Both girls are authentic. Both girls are the truth. But I need to know which girl to be if we don’t want to end this thing with me playing psycho killer on repeat and ripping you to shreds on the blog.

And so I asked, because that’s how I roll,

How come?

Which he thought meant, what time are you coming? And thus answered 9pm or 10pn

I told him I meant – why? But yeah that’s fine. And it was. Truthfully, when he had said late I had been thinking midnight or 1am or something.

And then he answered my question

Because is only my day off per week i don’t want stress for speed, be relax.

Which was fine with me, and something I completely understood. I hate being rushed for a date, because then I show up all flustered and stressed and it taints things a bit. And being that I’m a nightowl, I didn’t really have a problem with this.

Still, there was a bit of a sting from the whole thing. Okay, sure maybe I wasn’t a jumpoff, but I didn’t feel great about it. I mean, he was still just coming over to my place, and the whole coming over late thing, and blah. Meh. Boo.

Except.

Then he threw a change up.

And asked if I wanted to go see a movie.

Which I most definitely did. Did I have any idea what was playing at the theatres here?? No clue. Did I have a particular movie in mind?? Not a chance. Did it really matter in the slightest?? Not one single bit.

I met him on the corner of Saint Catherine and Saint Mathieu. Now, here’s where I’m going to say something. That might sound…a tad…racist? no…that’s not the word…but well…maybe just a generalization? I don’t know. You decide. But here’s the thing, he was wearing sweat pants, joggers, the kind of thing that I spend almost everyday studying in the winter (except without UBC stamped on the butt, obviously). Only…I didn’t mind.

Now I know what you’re thinking. a. Ugh. Gross. and b. Um…hasn’t this chick given dudes the hardest time for wearing the same thing on previous dates (see: Garbage Man and Cry Baby Romeo). Okay, actually I just realized that Cry Baby Romeo would negate this theory…so it’s definitely not a race thing…maybe it’s just a hot guy thing? or a muscle bound sex god thing? I don’t know.

See I was going to write this whole big thing about how white dudes wearing jogging pants is totally unacceptable for anything shy of spending the weekend together. But then, what about Cry Baby Romeo ?? Admittedly, he was a step up from Garbage man, his joggers were nicer, newer, more stylish. But nonetheless, it still wasn’t great. So humph. There’s go that theory. Or maybe the theory works and Cry Baby Romeo was just the exception to the rule. More thought on this required.

Needless to say, when France showed up in what looked like brand new joggers and a tight t-shirt, I couldn’t have cared less. He has an amazing shoe game too so I guess it kind of just worked. And honestly, with arms like that who’s even looking at the bottoms.

And so after hugs, and hellos, we walked. For like 10 blocks. Which really isn’t the biggest deal except I was wearing these sandals that sometimes give me blisters when I walk too much (and which I’d worn because I’d assumed we were going to go to the theatre that was only 4 blocks away in the other direction). But I rolled with the punches be breezy and all that like it was no big thing.

The walk, as walks tend to do, gave us plenty of time to talk. On our first date he had asked me if I stayed friends with exes. I had answered yes, because generally speaking, anyone I’ve had a relationship with is a good enough person that I would want to. And at the very least I like things to be amiable. But then I guess the conversation had turned to something else because I never got to ask it back. This walk would give me such an opportunity.

In a very small window of time, I found out a few things, that were…um…not great.

He has kids (not a bad thing on its own). They’re back in Paris. He’s not with the mom, obviously. Hmmm.

The next day he has to go see his ex, I guess they lived together because his name is on the phone, cable, etc. and he has to go get that all sorted out. Hmmm.

And then I asked, so do you stay friends with your exes?

[For reference, boys, the correct answer is yes. Sure, we don’t want you to be all in love with them still and you don’t even really have to be buddies, but what we don’t want is anger. Nobody likes Angry Anthony. Real Talk].

Unfortunately, his answers was not great. He seemed a little unsure how to answer or how to say it. I suggested, like do you stay friendly or when you’re done with them, you’re done with them?

He chose the latter. Oh. Hmmm.

Maybe it was the horrified look on my face or the fact that I literally said that was awful to hear as someone who’s just started dating him. I mean, is that what I have too look forward to? If we ever stop seeing each other he’ll just toss me aside, all angry like?

And then he became all cute again. There were hugs in the street, jokes about not needing to be scared. Real sweet shit. But the moment can’t be erased. But, I mean, was I really looking for something serious? No. In which case, does it really matter? I guess not. Though I don’t like the idea of anyone being that angry at me that they would cut me out of their life. I mean damn. But I guess, you can’t worry about that stuff so, let’s just press on.

We finally arrived at the theatre. Discussed movie choices. Settled on TED. To be honest, I picked TED and he let me pick. So yeah. Cute. And then came the thing that I love. Came the thing that says to me, I am man and I’ve got this. I know it’s sexist. I know many of you people disagree with how I view a guy paying for things. But the truth is, it’s not about the money. It’s about the gesture. It’s the fact that he just strode right up to the counter, ordered two tickets, and then paid for them. Case closed. Done. Butterflies. It’s the same way I’d swoon if while walking down a sidewalk, the dude walks on the outside with me on the inside, or the way I’d want him to grab my hand if it looked like I was going to walk across a street when it was unsafe. What can I say, my dad taught me this stuff as my protector, my hero, my rock. And I find it important.

We rode the 10 escalators to the top. Okay maybe there were only 4 but whatever. I was wearing one of my many maxi dresses and made a joke about how I always have to hold them when I get on and off an escalator because I’m worried they’ll get caught in the gears and rip right off. His response? That if that happened he would take off all his clothes and give them to me. He would walk around in his boxers for me. Now maybe I’m too easy. Or maybe he’s too hot. But dammit if that shit didn’t make me swoon some more. *stands closer, touches him more, is happier*

Once at the top, he asked if I wanted anything to eat. I’ve been really watching what I eat since coming to Montreal (hence the 20lbs. weightloss) and I didn’t really want to spoil it so I said no thanks, I’m good. He was hungry. And I know you’re probably thinking, wow, this sounds really tedious, is this chick really just rambling on about movie theatre food? But I assure you, it’s to highlight a bigger situation.

See, he looked at the line for the popcorn etc. and then he looked at the line for Tim Hortons (yes…they have Tim Hortons in the movie theatre here). The line was 10 deep at the popcorn and only 2 guys at Timmy Hos so that’s where he went. Now, we weren’t late for our movie, we had lots of time. But real talk, he chose Timmy Hos because of the no-line. Now who among us doesn’t hate a lineup. I mean, you’re basically a serial killer if you enjoy it. That being said, it seemed a bit odd to me, like was it really that big of a deal.

Until, I watched as he got more and more irritated. I swear the two dudes in front of us managed to take as long as humanly possible with their order, and there seemed to be some confusions. And I stood there, watching, as this dude beside me got angrier…I mean I could almost literally see his blood pressure rising. I did my best to be adorable and distract him which seemed to work (because fuck yo…this isn’t my city and I’m not about to have some crazy awkward situation where buddy flips out on someone). That being said, the night was a bit of an eye opener both with this and the whole not staying kosher with exes thing. Apparently dude was a tad angry. And honestly I should’ve probably picked up on the that when on the first date he wouldn’t explain any of his tatoos to me (and not because he was tired of doing so or blah blah blah) but more like because he had walls, emotional walls.

Nonetheless, he waited for the food and since Timmy Hos didn’t have water, I had to join the other line to get some. And in the end I ended up offering to get his drink…so really reinforcing, the whole him paying for the movie really isn’t about the money, it’s about the gesture, which I’m happy to return when it presents itself.

 

They Call Him Top Secret (Well, Actually I’m the Only One Who Calls Him that Because He’s Top Secret)

Top Secret

 

[dropcap]S[/dropcap]o this one time, I went out with this super awesome guy.  He was sweet.  He was interesting.  He was absolutely fucking hilarious.  And he didn’t want me to blog about him.  Blargh.

And I told him I wouldn’t.  But there has to be a loophole right?  A way to talk about something really awesome that happened in the 3  weeks before I left for Montreal?  I mean there just has to be.  Because the problem isn’t really me blogging about him is it?  It’s that he doesn’t want anyone to read it, him included.  So.  I guess I could write about it.  But use the tools of the CIA or whoever else blotts out important documents.

We met by chance. Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. And in so many ways we were a perfect match.  He possessed a quality very few of the dudes I’ve dated have had.

Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  logistical problems Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. You can only get “so” familiar when you’re out for dinner or drinks.

We went on 3 dates.  Er.  Well.  We hung out 3 times.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  kissing Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  in a park. Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that.  Obviously I thought of that. 

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And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.  And the rest of the story goes like this.

And that was that.  Time flew by.  My 3 weeks were up.  And it was time to move to Montreal.  We said we’d keep in touch and honestly I really hope we do.  Even if it’s just as friends, or who knows…a rad guy is a rad guy and that’s how I feel about this new “something” who I call…Top Secret.

 

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