My First Date Bender- Date #65/#66: Ottawanderlust
I’m back in the city I lost my virginity in- Ottawa.
Hopefully I’ll lose it again this weekend. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but
I haven’t had sex in a long time. If you noticed, don’t think I didn’t. You
just can’t plan these things. There has to be the perfect combination of
connection, wine and astrological compatibility for it to happen.
Before I leave Toronto, I decide to take care of some
business. I haven’t waxed in MONTHS. Sometimes I think I avoid sex NOT because
I’m not horny, but because I’m sporting a Bruno Mars between the thighs.
Everybody likes the Uptown Funk, but NOBODY’s into the Downtown Funk.
Plus, getting the wax will give me that extra dose of confidence I need if I’m
going to score. Like my old roommate Melissa used to say after she
got waxed, “I made turkey dinner, and SOMEBODY’S going to eat it.” (On a side
note, my waxologist says I look like I’ve lost weight. I’m not sure where she thinks I lost that weight, but
I’ll take it.)
I have three nights in Ottawa. One is reserved for shows,
one is reserved for my sorority sister Laura’s birthday (Meghan and I are
here as a surprise,) and my last day/night I totally reserved to fly by the
seat of my pants. Do whatever. And def do some Tindering. Plus the Sens are in
the playoffs (were) so the city’s got some exciting energy. (Even though most
of that energy is coming from Habs fans.)
I’ve narrowed it down to three potential dates. Well, two really, but when I was hammered on Saturday night, I swiped right to a super creep
who just has a picture of his chest as his profile pic. His tagline reads:
9 inches and love to lick. Nothing complicated. No games. Swipe right…
take a chance.
So I swiped right, but only to tell him he shouldn’t start a
sentence with a number. I also asked him where are the pictures of his face? I
don’t know what the male equivalent of “Butter Face” is, cuz “Butthis Face”
doesn’t have the same ring to it, but I’m open to suggestions. I mean, I’m not
that superficial- you don’t have to look like Paul Rudd or anything, you just
need to look like you’re NOT going to murder me. I’m low maintenance. He
ignored my requests for a face pic, and sent a dick pic with a ruler beside it
instead. (To prove the nine-inch thingy, I guess.) You’d think the dick pics in
Ottawa would be more conservative, eh? Anyways, I just wrote back, “where’d you
get that ruler?” Then I passed out. *
My other matches seem way sweeter. One who looks like
Bradley Cooper (see, you don’t have to look like Paul Rudd,) and one who has
the cutest riddle for a profile. I
was instantly charmed.
Picture #1: A post-it
Hi tinder person. Unlike everyone else on here there aren’t any photo
of me skiing…
Picture #2: A post-it
… Or stroking a tiger, or one of me with my shirt off…
Picture #3: A post-it
… instead- here’s a photo of me doing all those things at the same
Picture #4: Another
Only Joking! Sorry- no topless, skiing with a tiger photo for you. But
here’s one of me…
And then, in conclusion, a nice photo of him standing in a
city with palm trees. Not since Romy and Michelle have I seen someone make such
good use of post-its. I write him first.
BEST PROFILE EVER!!!!
And let’s not kid ourselves. I’ve seen A LOT of profiles. We make plans
to meet Sunday night. We can watch the hockey game and have some beers. A date
doesn’t get more Canadian than that folks.
BUT- I also have Bradley Cooper in my box, who has a slight
advantage over the Riddle Man. He’s staying in the same hotel as me. DANG! Now that’s convenient. I figure I can grab
a drink downstairs with Bradley Cooper, before I go meet the Riddler. Brad’s
actually going to the game, so he’ll be gone for however long it takes to get
to Kanata and back without driving.
Since I know Brad is sharing a room with his brother, and
it’s just a casual afternoon drink, I tell him he can bring his brother too.
I’m not looking for some sort of kinky threesome, I just don’t want him to be
bored waiting for his brother. Brad doesn’t invite the brother though, and just
meets me downstairs at the bar. He looks exactly like his photo, which makes
him easy to spot. Plus, we are the only two people drinking in the bar at 3pm,
so we’re both easy to spot. He orders a pint, and I order a glass of wine. (I
had McDonalds for breakfast, so I need to balance out my daily calories before
He’s pretty chill, nice and obviously new to Tinder. I can
spot that right away.
“Lemme guess? You didn’t invite your brother down for a drink because
you’re too embarrassed to tell him you’re on Tinder, right?”
He laughs. I NAILED it! Knew it.
“You could have just lied, and came down here and met me by chance. I
wouldn’t have outed you.”
Since we’re just here for a swift drink, pre-game/pre-date,
we only have the one. He tries to pay for me but I don’t let him. I always get
nervous I owe guys a blow job if they pay for me. We say goodbye,
and leave the idea of meeting after the game open.
I bumble my way along Sparks St, through Poutine Fest (I
know! Hockey play-offs AND a poutine festival- what a time to be ALIVE in Ottawa!) I make
my way into the ByWard Market- so many
bars… it really is a good date city. I walk into the Clocktower Brew Pub, and
see my date sitting at a table. (I should have tipped him off I’m a barfly and
prefer to sit at the bar, but at least this means he probably doesn’t read my
He gets up from his seat, gives me a hug and then I get
those awkward two kisses I’m never ready for when I meet French guys.
“I’m French. We do both cheeks.”
“So does my waxologist. It’s my favourite part.”
Probably shouldn’t have alluded to my wax, but it’s so fresh
in my mind, and in my pants for that matter. Plus, I’m being honest. All the
waxing in the frontal area definitely kills. But when they flip you over and do
in between the butt cheeks, it actually feels kind of good. (NOT that I have a
hairy butt. It’s just standard wax procedure. I swear.)
We sit down and I let the server guide me to the hoppiest
beer on the menu. He already knows I’m a comedian, so I ask him what he does.
“I’m an ass model.”
Tough to tell if that’s true or not, when he’s sitting down.
I could be an ass model too, but only for Penningtons. My date is very bubbly
and sassy, two words that I probably shouldn’t use to describe a man, but you
get it. He’s not boring, that’s for sure. We get our beers, and raise them to
“Cheers, Big Ears,”
He says. I’m confused, but laughing, while touching my ears
wondering if they really are big.
“Now you’re supposed to say, “Same goes, Big Nose.”
“So wait- do I have the big ears, or the big nose? I’m confused.”
“Neither it’s just a saying!”
I’m an idiot. I’ve been saying “cheers” for years. (I did
NOT mean to make that rhyme.) We chat over one beer, then I decide we should
wander to another bar. I definitely want to be somewhere high energy for the
game. We wander through the market, past Chez Lucien, which I know looks creepy
from the outside, but is actually great inside, and past a few more bars that
are either too packed or too empty. Finally, he hit the Earl of Sussex. It’s just right. And I
can tell by the name of this place that I’m having fish & chips for
The game is just starting, and our bonding is continuing. Of
course once the conversation really gets going, and I look away from the TV,
the whole bar erupts in cheers.
“Yay! We scored!”
I say, assuming I’m right. But no, of course we’re in a bar
full of Habs fans. This is going to be confusing. Since I went to university in
Ottawa, I’m totally rooting for the Sens. But like most Canadians, I’ll route
for any Canadian team that manages to stay in the play-offs. Until they all finally get kicked out then we all just change
the channel to CSI Miami re-runs.
He finishes his curry, and I’m almost done my plate. I ate
the fish, and some, but not ALL of my fries (my version of a diet.) He asks me
if I’m done, and I say,
“YES! I need to stop eating the fries.”
I throw my napkin on the plate, and to assist the bartender,
he pushes my plate to the other side of the bar. But as he does, he makes sound
effects, like a giant truck backing up.
“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Vroom Vroom!”
Okay, it’s been a while since somebody drove my plate across a bar. I’m not a toddler anymore. Maybe I should start putting my real age on my Tinder
profile… but still, he’s making me giggle… a LOT. There’s something to be said for that.
I decide to bring up the topic of astrology. I GOTTA find
out this guy’s sign. I know I’m a weirdo like that, but I NEED to know. So I
“I don’t actually read my horoscope every day, but I read all about it
when I was a teenager, and some of it has stuck with me. (Much like my
knowledge of The Young & The Restless.) I’ve noticed that a lot of my
friends just happen to be my compatible matches- well, except Laura- she’s a
Taurus but we still get along great.”
“Well, at least she’s not a FORD Taurus!”
You know when a joke is so bad, it’s almost good?
You can’t help but uncontrollably laugh? That was this joke. He laughed, I
laughed… And just when I think “there’s no way I can bang this guy. What if the
jokes continue in bed? Like what if he waves the condom through the air and
“Here comes Mr. Condom, flying onto Mr. Donger….”
He tells me he’s a Leo. FACK! Of course he’s a perfect match. This is what the universe thinks gets me wet… BUT- I don’t even
know if he’s attracted to me. Maybe these are his moves to ensure I don’t want to take him home…
But I made turkey dinner, and SOMEBODY’S going to eat it….
To Be Continued…
Keep Calm and Tinder On,
*But seriously, what 34 year-old adult has a
ruler hanging around the house? Measuring tape maybe, but not a ruler.
Hab bis 18Uhr 30 Zeit was zu schreiben. Bin auf der Republika / Republica? Baden Württemberg spendierte mir eine Limo und ein Glas Weisswein. Wie geht das Macbook Air von meinem Sohn auf? Wie ist mein tumblr Passwort? Alles geschafft. Zerre meinen Notizblock aus dem Rucksack, um mich zu erinnern. Oder fange ich von hinten an? Bin nun allein hier, Katia ist schon weg. Heute abend treffe ich sie auf einem Blogger Abendessen wieder. Bin aufgeregt. Mein ersten Blogger- Abendessen. Vielleicht verliere ich dann endlich die Scheu vor den Internet- Menschen. Verstohlen tippe ich die Twitter Namen auf den Badges der Menschen neben mir in mein Smartphone ein. Überlege, sie anzuschreiben und zu twittern: Ich stehe neben dir. Ich trau mich nicht. Da steh ich lieber neben mir selber. Ich ärgere mich über mich, dass ich meinen Twitternamen nicht auf mein Badge geschrieben habe. Nur meine Blog Adresse und die Website meines Arbeitgebers. Andererseits: Anonymität ist mein zweiter Vorname. Bisher war ich bei: “Original Programming: TV made in Europe” Lutz Marmor der beim WDR oder NDR arbeitet (bitte selbständig googeln) bringt es fertig innerhalb von fünf Minuten zu sagen: “Die Zeit des Sowohl-als-auch ist vorbei.” und “Das Eine schließt das Andere nicht aus.” Dann treffe ich endlich Katia im Hof, nach dem Austausch von mindestens 7 SMS. Wir gehen zusammen erst zu Olaf Scholz, weil wir ins Storytelling im medialen Zeitalter nicht mehr reinkommen, weil die Kopfhörer alle sind. Olaf Scholz kommt mit Bodyguards und sagt als erstes: Die Welt hat sich geändert. Und ist auch sonst langweilig. Von Storytelling hat er keine Ahnung. Ganz anders natürlich der Netflix CEO Reed Hastings. Typisch Ami, die habens einfach drauf. er vergleicht das lineare TV mit Pferden und ist auch sonst effizient und amüsant. Ich bin auch Netflix Abonnent, aber die haben nichts was ich sehen will. Kein Tarkowski, kein Fellini, kein sonstiges Hochkulturkramzeugs wofür ich mich als Intellektuelle selbstverständlich am meisten interessiere. Dann kurz zu H. F., der unsympathisch und sich selbst wiederholend, wie erwartet ist. Der Große Fanfiction Workshop fällt aus, wie ich auf Twitter erfahre und ich quetsche mich stattdessen in die total überfüllte Stage J, wo ein maskierter Herr einen Vortrag über Online Dating als Job hält. “Weiße Männer suchen die Liebe mit Fotos von unerigierten Penissen.” ist eines der markanten Zitate dort. Dann werden Chatprotokolle mit weiblicher Computerstimme vorgelesen und ich bekomme seltsame Gefühle anhand der Sehnsüchte verheirateter Männer, die hunderte von Euro im Monat ausgeben, um mit einem Phantom zu chatten. Die Welt ist verrückt. Um 18 Uhr 30 gehe ich zu “Film und TV made in Germany” weiß aber gar nicht sorecht, warum mich das eigentlich interessiert. Vielleicht entscheide ich mich noch um zu “Hoax Kampagnen: Opium für das Volk” ??? Ich werde weiter berichten.
As more than a few women can tell you, making an online dating profile makes you a target for harassment, fat-shaming and insults. The rate at which the word “cunt” is thrown around makes you wonder if someone’s offered a prize to the man who can use it the most. It’s 2015, let’s abolish all of the above and 2 more rules about promises and so-called “craziness.”
Erik and Josephine matched on Tinder. The only issue? They were long-lost siblings.
When their parents split in 1999, siblings Erik de Vries and
Josephine Egberts were broken apart. De Vries, along with his twin
brother Maarten, moved with their father to Belgium, while his little
sister remained in the Dutch city of Breda. De Vries, now 24, eventually moved back to the Netherlands
for school, and in March, like any other young adult, joined Tinder and
started swiping. His match with Josephine started out (awkwardly) like any other.
Posted in a photo on Mariela and Tiago Silvas’ joint Instagram account is a quote: “Tattoos are the stories in your heart, written on your skin.”
For the Silvas, tattoos are also what brought them together. Mariela, a photographer, and Tiago, a finishing carpenter, met online, but not through the typical platforms like Tinder or OkCupid. Instead, they found each other through the little-known dating website Tattoo Dating Site.
Why did each of them get so specific in their search? “Tattoos are a big part of my life,” Mariela told Mic. “I’ve always seen myself covered in them.” Back in February 2012, Mariela had become bored in her neighborhood of Rego Park, Queens, and was looking to make friends who shared in that same specific interest. “It’s not important in my choice of partner, but it is preferable.”
For Tiago, tattoos had always been a part of his identity. “Since an early age I always loved tattoos and my objective is to end up with 80% of my body tattooed,” he explained to Mic.
Naturally, the two were drawn to each other. By their second date, Mariela and Tiago took a plunge and got some ink together. “We got together to hang out and go to Tiago’s rib tattoo session, which he hasn’t finished yet. I decided to randomly get a tattoo that same day because I love them.” Mariela told Mic she got a tattoo of an eye on her arm. “[It] reminds me a lot of that day.”
The two fell fast in love and soon married. They are now raising their first child together.