This Is Not A Real Post

(You were warned).

Every once in a while I have a nightmare that I am still in high school. It’s always the same. Finals are coming and I have skipped far too many of Mr. Willie’s Bio 12 classes and, despite the awkward puberty books we had to read as children, I have no idea where babies come from.

I’m sure there is some deeper meaning to this dream. A modern dream interpreter would probably tell me I have confidence issues. Freud would say I’m in love with my Mother.

My interpretation?

I think I just wanted an excuse to post this picture:

Flirting? No, thank you.

Wednesday on the bus a gentleman came up to me and said “I know you from somewhere, why do I know you?”

My response? “We went on a date once and you called me fat.”

Yes, dear reader, the gentleman to approach me was Mr. “Did you get Skim Milk in your Latte?” from my summer dating blitz.

After my response he went bright red, stuttered a bit and sat down far, far away from me. As for me? The rest of my commute was blissful.

Self High Five.

Man Tracker (or, This Is Not At All What It Sounds Like)

Ok, there is something I have to explain before starting this post. A justification of sorts.

I LOVE Excel.

I don’t mean love in the way that a boy tells his first girlfriend he “loves” her to get to third base. No. My love is All-Caps, underlined and written in bold. A pure love. Through good times (Windows 2003) and bad (Vista), for better (XP) or worse (Open Office), I LOVE Excel.

Understood? Excellent, I can get on with it.

The other night my father found out I have an excel spreadsheet to keep track of men I’ve been on dates with. I know what you’re thinking (“Sarah, you so crazy!” … and not in a good way) but I have a reasonable explanation for this. Or, at least, it’s an explanation.

Last summer I went on a lot of first dates in a short amount of time. Seriously, a lot of them. This naturally compelled me to start a spreadsheet.

I feel the need to tell you, dear reader, that my “Man Tracker” isn’t colour coded. There are no graphs or pie charts, and I haven’t gone near the function features. It’s just a list of names and a brief description of the date. In chronological order, obviously.

Very minimal, very straightforward.

And not at all strange.

(Come on folks, I can’t possibly be the only person who does this?)

Side Note: Having this list will allow me to look back fondly on the Wild Days of my youth, remembering Column A-Line 14 and our lovely walk on the breakwater.

Second Side Note: Perhaps having this spreadsheet implies that “the Wild Days of my youth” aren’t that wild at all …

Bad Dates are Good Stories

To commemorate my return to the wild world of dating I have decided to post a countdown of my “Top 5 Worst Dates”. After all, what better way is there to bring perspective than to remind yourself that it can always be worse?

5) On a first date with a guy, and my first date after my first major breakup, I ended up watching my date’s roommate play video games for nearly two hours while he created a DnD character for himself. (He had actually shooed me away from the computer so he could do this. Yup. That’s right, I was shooed.) This was actually the highlight of that date.

4) This summer I went on a date with a self professed “gentleman scholar”. He had arranged a homemade picnic and an evening at “Symphony Splash” together. While I was watching the parade he unpacked, from Thrifty’s containers, the “homemade” picnic into his own Tupperware. He then got up, threw out the containers, and told me all about his cooking process. After we’d eaten, he repeatedly tried to grope/dry hump me on the Legislature lawn in front of HUNDREDS of people and a little boy wearing a Spiderman costume. We left early because I was tired and walked towards the bus stop, him trying to convince me to come to his house for a bit and “nap” before bussing home. I declined.

3) Another first date, another winner. I met a guy for coffee, who then proceeded to tell me that I could not go buy myself a coffee. You see, since he had arrived before me (10 minutes early) he had already ordered himself one, and he didn’t want to have to wait for me to line up and purchase my own beverage. He then proceeded to interrupt me for an hour every time I tried to prevent him from talking AT me join the conversation with stories of his “rage issues” and why he is “much, much more awesome than every person ever.” And the real highlight? At the end of the date he told me I was boring.

2) My first foray into online dating was with a normal-seeming guy. He took me out for a lovely ($10) dinner … and then had me sit through a half hour of rape and abortion jokes. Afterwards he did the “yawn and stretch” and, after several failed attempts at “getting busy”, was angrily wondering why I was not in the mood for second date sex. He sincerely believed that he deserved “at least 3rd base” because he had bought me dinner. Seriously. This happened.

And for my Numero Uno, worst date of all time …

1) I was taken to a Gun Club/Outdoor Shooting Range on a date once. (Can you tell this date was during my time in Alberta?) I hadn’t really wanted to go, but my date insisted it was going to be fun, and that it was only a “short drive” outside of Edmonton. When I finally agreed, we got into his car and drove for OVER AN HOUR. During the drive my date told me violent hunting stories and confided that he was teased mercilessly in high school all while starring intently at the road. Meanwhile, I was discretely texting everyone I knew to tell them where I was/who I was with just in case I ended up murdered and stuffed into a freezer. The worst part? I didn’t even get to fire a gun.

Armed with past experiences, and a healthy dose of humour (prescription sized), I am ready to date again. And I imagine you, dear reader, are ready for more tragically awful dating stories. I hope to oblige.

Side Note: The following receive honourable mention, though they did not make the list. The 31 year old man who tried to impress my 22 year old self with stories of drunk driving and debauchery all the while asking me if I was “sure I didn’t want another beer, dudette”, and Senior Scumbag who left me stranded in Vancouver so he could “relive the glory days” with two 21 year olds.

Thank you, gentleman, for teaching me what it means to have standards.


There are all kinds of motivations for getting into shape. My motivation? I have a crush on a guy at my gym. It may not be the most noble of causes for exercise but it does the trick.

Nothing gets my plump posterior to the gym faster than a cute guy running on the treadmill in front of me. Is this inappropriate? Probably. Or, at least it would be if I actually checked out said gentleman. Instead I spend my time killing myself on the elliptical “feeling the burn” while I bob my head – and occasionally sing along to – “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO.

If I was any more awesome people’s hearts would break.