I was reading Women’s Health magazine (the June 2008 edition) and it had this page full of odd relationship stats. The thing that always gets me about these surveys, is that they exist in the first place. Who decided that knowing how many women have dumped a guy because he was a bad dancer (2%) was important to know?

Some of the stats in here include:

- Number of men the average woman has slept with (including husband): 6

- The average woman is most likely to dump a guy on a Monday in January than any other day (my last boyfriend dumped on a Sunday in January. Right after Desperate Housewives).

- 11% of Americans think it’s ok to dump someone via text message. Wow.

- 27% of single women are still pining over an ex; 50% of single men are still pining over an ex.

It’s that last stat that grabbed my attention. Twice as many men are still in love with their exes as women are. I’ve always had a theory that men fall way harder for women than women fall for men. We women fall way more often, and way sooner, but when men fall for women, they fall HARD. But we’re so used to the ups and down, so it never phases us long when we get dumped (and 73% of us keep gifts from our ex’s. Duh.).

As a single girl out there in the dating world, I find this stat rather discouraging. With everything else I have to fight against to get a date, I now have to deal with the fact that half of the dateable men are too emotionally unready to move on.

Pansies. Get over it.

A game I play with myself to pass the time on the subway or in a lame bar is “If I Had To…” where I pretend that the entire world has blown up and I am the only woman left on the planet and the only men left are those in the room with me and I have to choose one to help me save mankind. (Note, this is the opposite of the male version where the object is to pick one they couldn’t do it with).

Usually, it takes me the entire subway ride to decide which one. Not because there are so many to choose from, but because it’s hard to decide which one wouldn’t make me puke my brains out.

Last night, I discovered a new version of this. At the gym, I picked two guys standing in close proximity and decide of the two, If I Had To, which would it be. I was surprised with the results. Of the 30 pairs at the gym, I managed to cleanly pick 28 men who could be my partner in saving the world. 1 pair resulted in a tie, where I could either way, and 1 pair resulted in mankind being completely wiped out.

Helped to pass the time at the gym anyway, but I do hope the world doesn’t blow up unless I am at the photo shoot for the firefighter’s calendar.

I am often the only female working out at my gym. Trust me, I am totally ok with this. I have no self-confidence issues and am not shy around men at all. The only thing that pisses me off about being the only female is having to wait for the girlie machines or weights.

I can’t think of any reason for a man to be using 12lbs weights. It’s worse when I have to wait for them cause some pansy is hogging them. He’d better be injured cause that’s the only excuse you can have for using such small weights. That’s how much my purse weighs for crying out loud. Or the abductor/adductor machines. First of all, these were created  by an idiot and only work the intended areas if you REALLY know what you are doing (and this is rare). I personally only use them for a brief 6 week period in a year, and merely to give the rest of my legs a break. There isn’t even huge benefit to working these muscles unless you plan on walking or running sideways a lot. So when some asshole hogs one of these machines for 45 (FOURTY FIVE) minutes, I get irate. The asshole looks even more ridiculous when he puts his head between his legs after every set. He must be a post-man with a strict “walk sideways” rule. Moron.

I was driving the other day with my friend (I’ll call her Shelly) in the car. We were discussing the recent break up of a friend of ours. Regarding the break up, Shelly said “Well, she’s a pretty girl, she’ll find a boyfriend in no time.” I had nothing to say really, so there was a 5 second pause in the conversation, so Shelly piped up again and said “Not that you’re not pretty. I mean, you’ve been single for a long time and all, but you’re still pretty.”

I can see how Shelly would have thought she might have insulted me (though she didn’t, and totally slipped by me at the time). She had said that our other friend could easily get a guy because she’s really pretty, but then realised that I am single and thought that maybe what she would have said would’ve implied that I am not pretty, and therefore single.

Now, the only reason I would write about such a conversation is that Shelly just recently got into a relationship after a very long stint in the singles club. By long I mean longer than mine. So, not only did she call me ugly and single, but also put herself into the “hot-enough-to-get-a-man” category.

Thanks Shelly. Your trying-to-make-me-feel-better-words were worse than the originals.

It has become obvious to me that I am probably not going to find Mr Right at my gym. For the sake of this blog, and my ego, I have started with online dating. I am not new to this. I met my last ex 3.5 years ago on lavalife, and have been on and off every since (with no luck). A few months ago, I tried lavalife again, and when I entered in the qualities of my preferred guy, I got 4 results back, and I’d already dated 2 of them.

Optimistic as I am, I decided that maybe I’d have more luck with eHarmony. I mean, the TV commercials tell me I will find love, and I believe everything that TV says. So I spent an hour last night telling eHarmony about my likes/dislikes and my exceptional personality traits. Then I paid $120!!!! Actually, I did that this morning. I had to sleep on it. $120 is a decent pair of shoes, which usually pleases me more than men.

So, I’m new, and I don’t know all the ins and outs to it yet, but it seems they take your info and find matches for you (rather than you searching for what you want). I have 14. FOURTEEN. There are 5 million people in the GTA and a computer generated system believes that only 14 of them are for me. Browsing through them in the 10 minutes I had during breakfast this morning, I can tell you that less than 14 are my type. One guy is 5′3″. I feel bad for this guy. He’s 5′3″. That’s REAL short. I’m 5′6″ and very aggressive. I would probably beat this guy up if he ever disagreed with me. eHarmony- that is NOT a match.

Well, the worst that could come of it is that I spend $120 for three months of good blog posts. Stay tuned.

Tags: eharmony, lavalife

…but no, I don’t want to sleep with you. I was having a conversation with my girlfriends this weekend about how often men totally misread signals and assume we’re having constant sexual fantasies about them.

I hate to disappoint the men out there, but this is simply not true. We’re well aware that everything you say to us can be translated into you wanting to get some, but it isn’t the same for us.

I blame strippers.

Ask any college kid who sees a stripper for the first time, and he will say “She’s actually studying to become a kindergarten teacher. And she was so into me.” Guys, she’s PAID to be into you. That feeling of confidence, attractiveness, being wanted and worthiness you get while paying her to dance for you was bought and paid for (by you). The rest of us girls do not wish to take our clothes off for you the second we lay eyes on you.

I recently overheard one of my male friends saying to another friend “They all wanted me so bad” referring to my group of friends. Uhm. No. My friends are hot and cool. We always get what we want. If we wanted you, we would have had you.

Here are some other examples of where men got it wrong:

(After a first date where I got stuck with the bill)

Him 1: So, can we go out again?

Me: No

Him 1: You’re so hard to read.

(While out with a old high-school friend I ran into)

Him 2: I’d like to take you out on a date. Like with dinner and a movie.

Me: WHY??? We have NOTHING in common and zero chemistry.

Him 2: (leans in for a kiss)

(While on a second date, the guy buys weed from some rapper guy then leaves me for an hour to smoke it. I am storming by and jump into a cab.)

Me (angrily): Have a nice life.

Him 3 (runs up and jumps into the cab with me): Why are you leaving? I thought we had a great time.

Me: Are you kidding? You hit on my friend, you brought friends out on our date and you made me watch your bag while you smoked weed with your friend!!

Him 3: I understand, you are upset. Can I see you again sometime?

…

One of the most frequent comments I get from guys is that I should just be honest with them, and tell them that I’m not interested. In any of the examples above, was I not? And did it work?

This weekend I took a 9 hour drive (14 when you count time out for the flat tire) to Boston to see the Toronto Blue Jays play at Fenway Park. I had planned this trip 2 months ago and was looking forward to it since then. As time was approaching, the guy I was going to see the game with, Kevin, kept telling me how my Jays jersey was going to get the Sox fans riled up, and they were going to make fun of me and possibly beat me up (at that, I’m sure he was joking because I am too pretty for anyone to seriously want to harm).

I was looking forward to this. I’ve always wanted to be one of the few who wears the opposing team’s jersey. I heckle Yankees fans when they come to the Skydome; and Jays fans are, I would assume because of the Canadian thing, the most polite. If we heckle visitors, then surely, the Sox fans would destroy visitors.

I should say that I had a blast at the game. It was a great game (we won) and it was at Fenway Park (my favorite part of the park was the seats…they’re really old) and I had a Fenway Frank (tasted like all other hot dogs in my life).

However, the fans were LAME. I wore my Jays jersey all day, hoping to attract attention (cause I’m an attention whore, we all know that). And nothing. One extremely friendly guy at a banana stand took back his “bless you” from my sneeze when he say my shirt, but that was it! All day! I had a couple of guys from Toronto approach me, and every other Canadian down there asked me where I was from, but other than that nothing. I figured that the reason was because I had stuck to the touristy areas all day.

Walking into the park, the streets were crowded with people, all wearing red shirts and Sox hats. I figured this was where it would start. Nope. Only Jays fans approached me.

Then in the stadium, same thing, I got ignored. I spent the entire game (accidentally) kicking the chicks sitting in front of me. Even they didn’t turn around and call me a bitch.

I asked the guy sitting next to me a question at one point, after he answered, he got up and moved one seat over. So maybe the Sox fans’ way of giving visitors grief is by ignoring them?

Come on Sox fans!! Was it because we creamed you?

And, why the hell do you sing “Sweet Caroline”? Did she wear red socks?

Tags: Fenway, Red Sox, Toronto Blue Jays

I got a call the other night from someone with a thick Indian accent named Shawn. Shawn told me that a ballot I filled out at a restaurant to win a trip to Vegas was selected and I had the chance to come down and get one of 6 prizes. Ok, first hint that I should be a tad worried was the thick accent for a guy named Shawn. Secondly, I thought it was a trip to Vegas, why do I get one of six prizes?

He goes through my ballot with me (wich I do recall filling out) and verifies all the information. Here’s the rest of the conversation:

Me: Ok, can I get my prize please?

Shawn: Yes, you have to come down to our location by the airport at 8:15pm on Wednesday.

Me: For what?

Shawn: To pick out your prize. You can bring a friend over the age of 16.

Me: Why would I bring a friend?

Shawn: He/She has to be over 16.

Me: But why would I bring someone?

Shawn: Are you going to?

Me: No.

Shawn: If you change your mind, make sure they are over the age of 16. Ok, you need a claim number.

Me: Can I have that?

Shawn: My manager needs to give you a claim number.

Me: Ok, can you hurry? I’m outside of the gym

Manager (female, thicker Indian accent): Hello. Can I confirm the details on your ballot please?

Me: I already did that with Shawn.

Manager: Ok, can you confirm your name is Darcie?

Me: I already did.

Manager: I am going to give you a claim number. You need to come here at 8:15pm on Wednesday to claim one of 6 prizes. We are accross from the airport.

Me: Shawn told me. What’s my claim number?

Manager: Are you bringing a guest who is over the age of 16?

Me: No. What’s my claim number?

Manager: What is your marital status?

(Ok, now I am pissed. Some chick in a call center in India wants me to come to the airport with a friend at night and wants to know what, at age 29, my marital status is).

Me: What do you need to know that for?

Manager: It’s on your ballot. You already told us what your status is. What is your status?

Me: If you know, why are you asking?

Manager: I can fax this to you. I will fax it right now. Then, on Wednesday at 8:15pm, you will come with a friend over the age of 16 and claim one of 6 prizes. We are across from the airport.

Me: I can’t, I don’t have a claim code.

Manager: I can fax this to you right now.

Me: My claim code?

Manager: Your ballot.

Me: You’re freaking me out.

Manager: What is your marital status?

Me: I don’t understand why you need that information.

Manager: I will fax it to you right now.

(I hang up).

What the hell?

Whenever I go to the doctor for my annual check-up, she always asks if I have a steady boyfriend. Now, I’m sure she’s asking just because she wants to know (since I am single and I’m pretty sure our folders are a different color so the doctor can identify us as such) what the chances are that she should check for STD’s as well. She always makes me feel a little ashamed about being single, the same way my mom does (quotes from my mom “You’re a good looking girl…there’s no reason you should be single” and “We would love you even if you like girls”). Of course it doesn’t help that she looks like my mom.

The point is, I get why she asks. It makes sense to ask the question in that way rather than saying “So, have you been slutting around since last time you were here?”.

I started with a new dentist today. On the questionnaire, it asks for my marital status. Uhm. What do my teeth have to do with having a husband? Do people who kiss someone every night have less gingivitis? Is sensitive teeth caused by not being loved? Thanks Dentist, now I feel ashamed about not flossing AND being single.

(Note- on the same application, it asked how I would like to be referred to after the lines where I put my name. I put “Wonderwoman” and they were still calling me “Darcie” the whole time, so I guess they don’t even read the questionnaire).

Like most breathing women, I am attracted to firemen. Society has told us that they are all hot. They have calendars made up every year, they save lives in a heroic manner, they get hot and sweaty…what’s not to love? And, like most breathing women, whenever a fire truck drives by, I crank my head to check out the goods. And I am always disappointed. To be honest, I’ve never really met a hot fireman. They are usually old mustached men. Is that part of the outfit?

Even in that Chuck and Larry movie with Adam Sandler, the hot fireman was ADAM SANDLER!!!! When did we start considering the Water Boy hot?

I’d like to say that I will no longer check out fire trucks, but that is a lie. I will continue to be disappointed though.

Tags: Adam Sandler, Chuck and Larry, Water Boy