A while back, I had the biggest crush on a guy, Steve. He was actually really nice, smart, grounded, and had little baggage. A perfect match. He was part of my group of friends, so I couldn’t pursue him in the usual FitDarcie style. I was more subtle about it. He wasn’t in the ‘core’ of the friends, but on the peripheral. So we’d run into each other from time to time. Then we started hanging out outside the group. We’d go out for drinks or stay in and watch a movie. I was so sure he was into me too.
Then he suddenly dropped off the face of the planet. I thought it was moving in the right direction, so I was shocked that he just ended it between us.
About a year later, I ran into him again at a friend’s event. We were right back where we left off. I ended up drinking too much, and he came back to my place where I promptly fell asleep on the couch. When he woke me up a few hours later, I professed my undying love for him. That’s when he told me he met someone and had a girlfriend, and that things were serious.
So serious that he was my place until 5am?
Though I was humiliated that he didn’t immediately decide he would ditch his new woman for me, I couldn’t help but be a bit flattered. I felt like he came back to my place for one-last-attempt with me…to see if he was making the right decision with this new girl. I think they’re married now.
‘ve been hearing some really good break up stories in the last few weeks. I love a good break up story. I love the kind where someone flips out and behaves completely irrational. I remember dumping a guy once back in University. He flipped. He started crying hysterically, in his underwear, and ran down the stairs. When I went to find him, he was curled up in the fetal position next to the water heater. If I had any doubts about dumping him, they were quashed then and there.
I had another guy vomit, repeatedly.
Another good one, I wrote about here. What I didn’t mention was what happened after the break-up. Like I said in the post, we lived together. He had no friends, and his family lived across the country, so he had no where to go. The first few days, I hardly saw him. Then, when things calmed down a bit, we started talking about the next steps. I told him that he could stay until he had enough money to get home, which I meant to be the following Thursday, when he got his next paycheck. He looked so relieved and said “Thank you! It will probably take me 3 months or so”. What? No buddy, Thursday.
The day after we had broken up, he sent me a dozen roses to the shoe store I was working at. When I got home that evening, he had another dozen waiting for me. I had intended to dry some of them to put in this pretty vase. When he was packing up his stuff and getting ready to go, he said to me: “You should probably pay me for those flowers. If you plan on using them for a decoration, then you owe me for them.”
I kid you not. He said that.
I threw them away.
And the vase.
Getting Your Groove Back After A Breakup
It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything about Mustang. That doesn’t mean things between us have been stagnant. Quite the opposite. I went out with him.
It was a Saturday night, somewhere in May. We went to a pool hall where we had a decent time. Mustang is one of the nicest and sweetest people I have ever had the fortune of knowing in my life. Before going out with him, I knew this. I knew he was a very sweet man. I also knew that he did not stimulate me intellectually. Despite all this, and knowing that I was not interested in him beyond a few good blog posts, and maybe as a friend who could help me move someday. I decided to cave to peer pressure and go out with him.
It wasn’t the pressure of people who comment on this blog, it was more of my nearest and dearest friends who urged me to give it a shot.
So I went out with a nice guy, who had been chasing me for years, knowing that the chances of my image of him wouldn’t change.
The reason I never told you about it before is because I feel like the biggest bitch in the world for it. He is such a nice guy. He seemed content with me batting my eyes at him from across the gym on a weekly basis. Then I went out with him, and never called him again. The look of disappointment in his face when I see him at the gym now destroys me. When he asks me out, in what seems to me a desperate manner, and I turn him down, he looks defeated.
It’s the last week of my membership at that gym, and I will not be renewing it. I occasionally run into Mustang at the Canadian Tire by my place, but I go there very rarely, so I will likely never see him again.
My favorite Toronto Star reporter, Rob Cribb, wrote an article the other day that I didn’t think I had an opinion on. He wrote something about how men are genetically predisposed to stare at beautiful women when out with a different woman.
I’m a huge fan of men who ogle women. This is because I am usually the object being ogled. I act annoyed by it, but every time it happens, I am flattered and my ego is slightly boosted.
I dated a guy a few times last year though that was an ogler. There were a few times I was concerned for his physical safety cause he was whipping his head around so fast. And the women he was checking out, weren’t anywhere near my league. I wasn’t angry or hurt about it, just annoyed. He didn’t have the ability to check out a girl and still pay attention to me. My stories were interrupted or ignored. Anyone who has known me personally knows how much I hate it when I have a great story interrupted. It’s why I blog.
Philandering eyes aren’t all the same though. I was out with a new eharmony.com guy last week. We were sitting in an upscale restaurant in Toronto’s classy King West area, when a tall, leggy, flowy-haired, scantily clad woman walked in. I interrupted my own story to stare at her. My date looked up to see what had caught my attention, and immediately turned his eyes back to me and urged me to finish my story.
I expect men to stare at beautiful women. I agree with the Toronto Star’s column, that it’s probably some defect in the man to do so despite the company he is in. But when a man doesn’t do it when expected, I’m drawn to him so much more.
Love is out there. Go get it. Join eHarmony today because Love Begins Here.
I’ve been saying for a while now that I enjoy the company of men that are slightly older than me. They are more grounded, sophisticated and gentlemanly. They also come with a lot of baggage.
I’ve been playing soccer all summer on a team full of young men in their early twenties. I gotta tell ya, they are very refreshing. These are men completely unjaded by the world. They still believe the world is their oyster and that tomorrow is going to be a fabulous day. Their optimism is toxic. My favorite part of soccer is just listening to them tell me how the world is. I don’t even smirk when they start a story with “When I was younger….”
I can definitely see how cougars are made. I’m adding unbridled optimism to the list of things I’m looking for in a man.
Lately, I’ve been getting comments about “Toronto” men (and women). Not just on here, but in person, and via e-mail. The general argument is that men (or women, depending on who is making the complaint) in Toronto suck. I know most of my readers are American, and I’m sorry to all the non-Torontonians out there who don’t give a fuck. I loathe any comments referring to a type of person bred by the culture in Toronto.
I’ve heard different comments about why each party sucks, but the gist is that Toronto women are high maintenance and demanding, while Toronto men are balless losers.
I agree with neither. As I said in a comment a while back, I have lived in 3 provinces across Canada throughout my life. I can tell you, that people are the same everywhere.
During my second year of University, I had a small close-knit group of ladies that I hung out with regularly (you might recognize comments from Janice, a FitDarcie regular, she was 1). There was a particular bar that we used to go to frequently, and for a short period, a group of guys that we hung out with. One of the ladies, Tracey, was a real bitch. I was smokin’ hot back in those days, and got tons of attention from men. I was really positive and outgoing, which didn’t hurt at all. One particular night out, we were hanging out with this group of guys (I don’t remember the names of any of them), and the guys were buying me drinks. Before I knew it, Tracey was trying to pick a fight with me, then started crying.
She cried, at the bar.
The issue? The guy she liked was buying me drinks.
Let’s think about this. She glared at me from her corner across the room all night while I danced and flirted with these guys, then she started crying. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I was getting the attention and not her.
A person’s inability to meet someone has nothing to do with the location you are in. Blaming a person’s inability to meet someone special on the city they live in is only an excuse for something else, probably an bad attitude.
I love Toronto men. I love men anywhere, actually. I meet guys all the time. None of them have been my dream-man yet. I don’t meet one particular type of man. Last week I had 3 dates, all of them extremely different, and all of them were from Toronto.
So, I have 2 friends, one is really short, and one is really tall. I always hate going out with them because I get ignored by men. It’s not that they are hotter than me, but they stand out given their height. I am pretty average for a chick at 5′6″. I would say we are all equal in our beauty, and have the same types of beauty, but, without fail, when I’m with them, I might as well be Cinderella’s step sister. I get nothing.
I’ve always thought this is because men like the novelty of dating someone who is either really tall or really short.
Thoughts on this?
I met a guy named Kenny back in 1997. Calculus class in my first year of University. We got along splendidly, and remained joined at the hip. We did everything together: celebrated birthdays, had dinner with each others families, went to see movies, ate junk food in bed while bitching about our recent break-ups. I even picked his mom up from the grocery store. He was essentially my bestie, kinda like a sister. He was my heterosexual best friend. Through thick and thin.
Our relationship wasn’t exactly platonic. I was aware he had feelings for me. I recall running into his friends at the mall, and they referred to Kenny as my boyfriend. I corrected them. He never really made a move, but, remained in the background hoping that one day I would. The dude’s only real girlfriend was named “Marcie”. Come on.
I was aware of this, but chose to ignore it. I loved being with Kenny. We had a lot in common. He was like family. I was myself when I was around him. I never felt like I needed to impress him. It was so comfortable.
Then he met The Bitch. Her female intuition told her to hate me on sight. She was justified. Kenny first denied my existence to her…saying he was going out with the boys and then getting caught when we were out to dinner together. It initially caused some major friction in their relationship because he stood by me. They broke up once when he told her he was picking me up from the airport on a trip home.
Then, one labour day weekend about 5 years ago, I got a voicemail “Darcie, I proposed to the Bitch. She doesn’t want me talking to you anymore, and she will be my wife, so I am complying. Please don’t contact me anymore.”
That was it.
The longest relationship I’ve ever had with a man ended in a 20 second voicemail.
I really miss having a guy like that. Someone who will do all the boyfriend type stuff with me, like seeing musicals and romantic comedies after a fabulous dinner in our Sunday best. I’ve tried to replicate the relationship a thousand times over in the last 5 years since our divorce, but have never come even close.
I was on an eHarmony date last night. The guy exceeded my expectations….I really feared I was in for an awkward night. But I loved the guy. We had a great time, he was funny, talkative, smart and we shared a lot of interest. The problem? He wasn’t manly enough. It’s not because I’m too picky…I really found him sensitive. And I think I might weigh more than him. As a rule I don’t date guys I think I could beat up. I thought he would make a great candidate for my new Kenny. Do you think I should suggest it?
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Last week, in the comments of one of my posts, the subject of the cock-blocker came up. The first thing I want to reiterate is that 9 times out of 10, when a guy is hitting on a girl and her friend comes up and drags her away, he is not being cock-blocked because he had no chance of getting any in the first place. Cock-blocking is something that guys tell themselves happened so they feel better about being rejected. Having had thousands of girls-nights-out, I can assure you that, from what I can remember, I’ve only ever had someone interfere against my will TWICE. All the other times someone has interfered, it was because I gave them the signal to do so.
Cock-blocking does however exist, and women hate it even more so than men. Men get turned down all the time- they’re used to it. But when a woman decides she wants to hook up with a guy, it’s a big deal. It’s a carefully thought out and planned event. We don’t always tell our friends about it, and that might be our mistake. We’d probably avoid the cock-blockage if we did.
Scenario A:
I had been eyeing up a guy at my gym for over a year. We’d give each other friendly nods, but that was as far as we’d gotten at the gym. Rumor had it he was a football player of some sort. He was super hot, and seemed super cool. Luck was on my side when I ran into him at a bar after I had enough liquid courage in me to last a week. As soon as I recognized him, I walked up to him and we began chatting. I was with him for a good 20 minutes or so before I needed to use the ladies room. When I returned, I noticed my gal pal talking to him. By the time I got back to my seat, he had left.
My girl friend let me know how she had saved me: she told my year-long crush that I was not a whore, and I would not be giving him my number. If it was meant to be, he would find me later, when I was sober, and then he could discuss getting my number from me.
What?
A year’s worth of batting my eyes and coordinating my stretches for maximum effect gone in an instant.
I did see him a few more times at the gym…he never even made eye contact.
Scenario B:
I do have another friend who is a constant cock-blocker. She’s got even higher standards for men than I do, and pretty much sees any guy I’m interested in as a waste of time. Usually, I just like to flirt with men and be complimented, but she will have none of it. She’s also pretty negative and I believe she just has a general hate-on for men. She’s denying me free drinks and compliments on my smokin’ body. That’s not cool, and a breach of the girls-night-out code.
You knew it was coming. I am in love with Isaiah Mustafa- the man my man could smell like (except I don’t have a man, so I will just focus on getting Isaiah Mustafa all to myself).
Reasons why I think we’d make a great couple:
1) He was a football player. Not exactly. He kinda practiced with football players or something. Probably a farm team or something like that. I don’t quite get everything about football. Why does this make us compatible? I love football players.
2) He loves attention. We both have Youtube videos. We could star in each other’s videos. That would make him more famous.
3) In some appearances on some random tv shows, he played a cop. I love cops. A cop AND a football player. Come on!
4) He’s funny. I like to laugh. Win-win.
5) He’s buff, which means he works out. I’m FitDarcie.
Match made in heaven.
When I close my eyes, I envision our lives on a yacht, while he gives me diamonds while riding a horse without wearing a shirt. Then he brings me martini’s while I sunbathe on our private beach in the Caribbean.
FitDarcie Mustafa. That works.
