Last week, at a bar, I had my tarot cards read. Though this wasn’t my first time, I am not much of a believer. Sure, it’s entirely possible that everything she said could happen, but I’m not changing my plans because of it. Among the other hoopla that she said, about how I am a really great person, how I have my pick of the litter, how everyone wants me, etc, there was one significant thing she told me. She told me I would be engaged within 6 months. She followed that up by saying it would be a surprise. Well no shit.
Anyway, she said that he will have something to do with my job, either he will be my boss, or he will help me find a job…because he is very entrepreneurial…and appreciates honesty. So, I get back to my beer and tell my friends, we have a good chuckle and make jokes about where the wedding will be (the Caribbean actually- the psychic said).
Then I start thinking…while I haven’t been fortunate enough to have an interview with anyone yet, knowing that my new boss could potentially be my husband really changes how I dress for the interview. I need to look both professional, and sexy. Not only that, but the whole interview itself will change. After we go through my resume, and he asks me if I have any questions for him, I wont only be asking about the company, but also about him. How awkward would it be in a first interview to ask about marital status? Sexual orientation? Love of pets? How many kids does he want? (btw- my girl will be a professional athelete. I’m thinking figure skating). What if my new boss is female? Do I need to start batting for the other team?
Going to interviews makes me nervous as it is. Meeting potential husbands? That’s a whole new degree of deodorant I will need to buy.
For the record, she did ask me if I’ve ever competed in figure competitions. That’s a little freaky. Then again, you can just look at my AWESOME body and assume that I would have.
I’ve been trying to do things cheaply lately, which means I am opting for house parties over going to the bar. Bringing a case of beer to a party is much cheaper than buying a few at a bar. I’ve been to half a dozen or so house parties in the last few months. They have all sucked. I’m not talking about dinner parties, or BBQ’s, but parties that are deemed to be rip-roaring good times.
I remember a time, when house parties were things to go to. You can get completely drunk, and know that if you pass-out where you stand (or lie), you’ll be ok. I think the last good houseparty I went to, I walked in on people doing it in the bathroom. That’s what house parties are all about- safe environments to get completely messed up.
I was at a party a few weeks ago, where I knew most of the people there. They were all regular drinkers, who I have partied with several times. Only this time I didn’t drink. I was driving, and I never drink and drive. The result was me checking my watch every 10 minutes, waiting for my party-partner to be done with the scene so we could leave. Here is what that party did wrong:
1) It was in a house, but the party wasn’t delegated to one area. The food was upstairs, the poker table was downstairs. There were not enough people in the house to make that work.
2) The tv was on, both upstairs and down. A party should be planned after the game, not during it
3) Seating was arranged theatre style. I have no idea what the fuck that was supposed to do, but it didn’t work.
4) There was a kid there. One kid. A bunch of drunks.
5) Most of the people there grew up together. Doesn’t allow for new people to get into the circle.
The next disaster of a party occured this past weekend. It was a housewarming party. Despite the fact that I got rediculously loaded, I still had a terrible time. Here’s what the host did wrong:
1) His furniture had not yet arrived. No table, no couch, no nothing. While it’s nice to have the big space, you need to comensate by having more people.
2) There were approximately 30 people there. 5 were male. 4 were taken. While I understand that this may have been thought out by the host, it didn’t make any of the women there very happy.
3) The layout was all wrong. He had a room open that had nothing but a tv and a folding chair in it, which should have been closed for the party completely. It was a beautiful night, so most people congregated on the balcony and at the food counter, but there was too much empty space in between.
4) The guy hadn’t figured out how to use his buzzer. We had to call him 3 times to get him to open the door for us.
I have one to go to this weekend. I hope for their sake they read this before I show up.
A few years back, I worked in sales. I sold shoes to be exact. Not in a shoe store, but to a shoe stores. Oddly, the ladies shoe industry was run primarily by old men. On one such sales call to a store in a Toronto suburb, I met the older man who owned the store I was hoping I could get my shoes into.
He was very receptive to my pitch, and we wrote up a big order. I was very happy about all of it. When I was finishing up, he asked me if I had plans that night, said he had to meet someone in the city, and was wondering if I would join him for a drink before he had to meet him.
Being eager, naïve and commission based, I agreed. So I show up at a swanky bar at the top of some hotel in Yorkville. He was waiting at the bar. I sit, we talk shoes, he tells me how beautiful I am, blah blah blah. I knew things were going really far south when he told me that I smelled nice. I can’t think of any appropriate setting where a man older than my father isn’t creepy for telling me I smell nice.
As I tell him that I should perhaps start heading out, and hope that his friend is coming by soon (there was no friend), his hand meets the small of my back. This, gentlemen, is a no-touch area. Knowing that this guy just gave me my biggest sale yet, I was still trying to be polite, I managed to work it into the conversation that my boyfriend was a cop (true), and stressed that he was waiting for me.
This was the conversation that followed:
Dirty Old Man: I know how much commission you make off the sale of shoes. I know it can’t be much.
FitDarcie: This is true, but I love shoes, so that’s why I do it.
Dirty Old Man: Well, if I can ever help you out financially, just let me know. It can be awkward to ask your family for help. I have some property that I wouldn’t mind having a tenant live in.
FitDarcie: Oh, uhm, thanks, but I have a lease and a roommate.
Dirty Old Man: I can set you up rent free, in a nice condo. Maybe even help you out with some expenses. I wouldn’t ask for much in return. Just a friendly visit a few times a week (with his hand now on my thigh and a wink) If you know what I mean.
FitDarcie: (Gets up and leaves, showers immediately, cries).
He called the office the next day and cancelled the order, telling my boss that I was too unprofessional. I didn’t miss the commission.
I don’t know anything about wine. I am comfortable with that fact- my ignorance allows me to purchase and enjoy $10 bottles at home alone when I’m wallowing in self-pity. The fact that no one I know really knows anything about wine is also great, because when I come by with a bottle of $10 wine, they don’t know the difference either.
Early last week, I entered my name to win a spot at a wine tasting event….I’m entering every draw that I see, I am unemployed, and hope that I will someday win the big prize, sell it, so I can pay rent for one more month. My name was luckily drawn, so Saturday night, myself, Shelly and Shorty headed down to Queen West to sample some wine (read: get drunk for free). I should also note, that this wasn’t just a regular wine-tasting thing, it was a singles wine-tasting deal, put on by Meet Market Adventures.
The place we went to was called Cafe Taste and if you ever get the chance, I insist you try it. The guy who runs it, Jeremy knows pretty much everything in the world about wine. We taste 5 kinds of wine, and they were all paired with the appropraite cheese. I honestly don’t think I ever paired wine with cheese in my life, and I don’t think I can ever drink wine without cheese again. One of the cheeses tasted like farm. That was gross.
I must tell you about this guy, Jeremy. The guy was deliciously weird and intriguing. He had two diffent types of sideburns on his face. I would try to describe it, but I wouldn’t be doing it justice.
So, we tasted the wine, had bad conversation with single men, and then I got drunk. It was the sherry. It was probably the first time I had tried it since high-school, and the smell made me nostaligic for stealing booze from the homes of people I babysat. Some things I learned that night at the bar and at the two parties we went to after:
1) I don’t need to feel ashamed about being unemployed, I might still marry a doctor, even if I live in my grandma’s basement. If it can happen to the annoying bald guy with the giant mole on his cheek, then it can happen to me.
2) If a party is bad, drinking more margaritas is not going to make it better.
3) The GPS on blackberries works not only to help you figure out where you’re going, but also where you are.
How was your weekend?
Tags: cafe taste, wine tastingI was out at a stand up comedy thing the other night and the comedian was making fun of women being crazy. I hear this all the time, and I kinda agree…women are a bit nuts. Of course, when I think this, I think of other women, ie: some of my friends. Then he said “there’s probably a woman in the room right now who is crazy and doesn’t even know it.” I laughed, thought it was funny, then developed a complex thinking that maybe I was the crazy woman.
When I did my post about how much I hate it when men don’t call back, Bobby, in the comments was saying that men don’t call us to dump us because they are scared we’ll go all crazy on them. While I don’t deny really wanting to scratch a guy’s eyes out, and maybe throw a cheap drink in his face, I’ve never actually done it. In fact, the last time a guy broke up with me, I just asked him to leave, then fake cried in case he was listening outside the door (which I thought was nice on my part). I save the violent thoughts for myself and a few close friends who are often too willing to help.
So I spent the whole day yesterday trying to decide if I was crazy, and what I might have done in my past that would indicate I am a nut, and that men should fear dumping me. After weeding out anything that I did while under the influence of alcohol, I came up mostly blank.
The only thing I am ashamed to admit I did, but am putting it on the web for the entire world to see, was when I lost my phone, and all the phone numbers in it. I had just started dating a guy whose number was among those lost. Knowing very little about him, I spent two full nights looking up men on Facebook in Toronto named “Sean” or “Shawn” (over 1000 results in his age group). After leaving two messages at his place of work, we finally went out again, and he told me it was spelled “Shaun” (less than 50).
That being said, I have always wanted to flip out like a madman…show up at someone’s house and throw rocks at the windows; pee on his car; show up at his place of work crying my eyeballs out yelling that I am pregnant; just “happen” to show up at the same place I know he goes to (because I actually stalk him day and night…I have no job).
What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done/had done to you? I need some tips.
Last night (after dinner and drinks at Jack Astors, my favorite place in the world), I headed over to watch stand-up comedy at Yuk Yuk’s. We all know we have comedy clubs in Toronto, we walk by them all the time on our way to dinner or the theatre, or wherever it is we go. But, having been in Toronto for over 5 years now, I’ve never really gone to them.
I’ve been when my friend was performing (just because people laugh at you in regular conversation, does not mean you are cut out for stand-up), I’ve been for Christmas parties, and I’ve been with tourists…but never really just gone for no reason. I regret this.
To go on a Wednesday/Thursday, it only costs $12…I think that’s less expensive than seeing a movie…and you can drink while you’re there! I don’t remember exactly how many acts we saw, but the show ran from 8 until 10, some were hillarious, some were less than funny…but for $12, yeah, I think we got our money’s worth.
The only complaint I have is directed at female comedians. I realize that women are less funny than men. I can see this…I laugh more at male standup than at female standup. But ladies, if your jokes revolve around your kids, no one is going to think it’s funny except their grand-parents. You’re not helping the female comedian’s cause by talking about your kids.
This pic was sent to me by Teenwolf. It is me, and I am indeed holding up a white-board, and I did drink a bit before that pic was taken, but that writting looks a little computer generated for a white board.
Tags: stalkers, teenwolfI have a girlfriend that plays rugby. She plays on the Toronto Scottish Rugby team, and I saw my first ever rugby game 2 years ago when she first invited me to come and watch. I don’t know a thing about rugby. At that time, i had never even seen men play. I knew it always looked muddy, but beyond that, I had no clue what the hell was going on.
I never really thought about it again until she asked me earlier this year if I would go and practice with the team. I figured I’m probably tough enough to handle it, so I went. I’m a rather agressive woman, normally the alpha female, but these chicks were over the top. It was the second practice of the season, and we were just running drills. We actually touched the ball for maybe 5 minutes. During these drills, Igot yelled at 3 times. I decided then and there that I would appreciate the sport from the stands only. I don’t like being yelled at by women who could probably kick my ass.
So this Saturday I went out to watch my friend Cathy play, and we planned on staying to watch the men’s team play right after. I was looking forward to an inexpensive afternoon in the sun (I ended up with a sun burn). When I got there, Cathy’s team was already playing. I sat in the stands with a guy named Dumpy, whom I had met previously. That’s right, Dumpy. His name is Dumpy.
That’s all besides the point. It was quite an exciting afternoon. During the women’s game, I sat with the men. I was surrounded my agressive, stong, masucline men. A large majority of them with Scottish, Australian or British accents. Being surrounded by men on a hot afternoon is quite enough…but the men changed right there, in the stands….An entire men’s rugby team, in their undies… Ladies. I give you reason to come watch the game with me. They changed before they went to warm-up, again into their team shirts, and then again when their game was done. I’m bringing my camera next time.
I couldn’t even tell you if Cathy’s team won or lost.
Just a taste of what it was like.
This story is about 5 months old, but it still baffles me. I met a guy in a bar through a friend, who I will call Wasabi (there is a reason, but that’s an inside joke). We hit it off right away, and exchanged numbers that night. I had high hopes for this prospect. I was also really pleased with myself, because despite being a 5/10 for intoxication, I managed to appear completely sober…and even made it seem as though I was taking care of my drunk friend Shelly.
It took forever to set up a date, which I never think is a good thing. For a guy I like, I will change plans…not drop plans with a friend, but maybe move things around to make it happen. This guy just seemed to busy doing nothing. Finally, we set up a date, and went out. It was a pretty typical first date, nothing majorly good nor bad happened, I was still interested. I believe we shook hands at the end of the date.
The second date, was more of a meet-up. I was out, he was out, we met up. I was probably 7/10 for intoxication last night, but managed to pull off another fine showing, and he left thinking I was taking care of my very drunk friends (one of whom, a male who comments on this blog regularly, dry humped him). It was understandable that I never received a kiss that night, we were in a crowded bar, and it wasn’t really a date anyway.
I think I lost interest after the second rendez-vous. I knew then that he was a little uptight for my tastes. But I needed the reassurance of my hotness that only a guy attempting to sleep with me could provide, so I kept at it. Why wouldn’t this guy at least try to kiss me? We made it though date 3 and 4, and nothing. After date #4, I texted him, asking if he wanted to come over and “watch movies” (I think I blogged about this briefly before). “Watching movies” in girl-speak means make-out. His response was “I don’t feel like getting off the couch”.
….
What? You don’t feel like getting off the couch??? FITDARCIE IS ASKING YOU TO WATCH A MOVIE AT HER PLACE AND YOU WONT GET OFF THE COUCH???
Until that day, I had thought he was a smart guy.
So, date #5 rolls around.
Side note: This date, he took me out with ALL his friends. Considering he hadn’t even as much as pecked me on the cheek, I thought that was a bit odd. But at one point, some girl wanted to take a picture of the two of us together. I absolutely didn’t want that, so I pretended I didn’t like getting my picture taken. I knew then and there that the relationship wouldn’t work. That is a lie I wouldn’t be able to keep up for long. I LOVE getting my picture taken.
It was a freezing cold day, and I was wearing tiny shoes. He offered to drive me home, and I accepted, because I might have died of frostbite if not. I also thought this would be a great chance for him to walk me to the door, and maybe try for a little action. We get to my apartment, I awkwardly lean in half way, giving him clear body signals that I would reciprocate a kiss back to him. He didn’t even put the car in park. He kept his hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. He smiled and said goodnight. I got nothing.
Clearly, the man was a homosexual, but nonetheless, my ego was bruised and my self-esteem knocked down a notch or two. He never called again. 
I went to the gym today at 3pm, instead of 8pm like I normally do. I was very excited about the idea of having a new, fresh audience who would no doubt provide me with tons of great stories. I left disappointed.
First off, I recognized most of the people there…either from my midday weekend workouts, or from my evening workouts. Maybe they are all unemployed as well. Secondly, most of my new audience members were in high school, or thereabouts. I’m sure there is some sort of law against seducing them, so I kept my distance.
Finally, the reason it sucked the most, there was a woman there, probably 5 years older than me, way hotter, and with a mildly better body. I had psyched myself up over the past few weeks thinking that within a month, I would go from awesome bod to AWESOME bod, so perhaps this new competition might be a good thing. I really want to make fun of her for being at the gym during work hours and assume that she is jobless, but I am in no state to make fun of people for things like that.
Tags: enemployed, working out
