The Ongoing Hunt For A Man…

Cold Sunday.

Cold Sunday on an early evening, and I’m warming up with a giant mug of tea.

This is my favourite time of week hands down; the time when I can sit back and look ahead. It’s all about preparation, when it comes to my week-to-week plans to hunt for some grade-A ”man” (or grade B…or C…my standards are lowering by the day).

Here’s what I’ve got for the week of October 6th:

-I’ve increased my dairy intake by two hundred percent in the last two weeks.  And why?  Well when women are “with milk” it lives in their boobs, so consuming more dairy should mean bigger boobs…right?  I don’t have any Science on my side for that one, but it’s either this or those “herbal boob enhancing pills”.  Quite frankly I’m still too weary to give those a try (I need them to do some animal-testing before I’ll actually commit).  So in the meantime I’ve been drinking lots of milk, and surprise, surprise: I think I’ve experienced a five to ten percent growth!  I’ll know for sure when I debut my form-fitting sweater later in the week…wish me luck

-The Toronto Museum has half-admission prices after 4:00pm, and I heard that it’s a hot spot for singles on Friday nights…so hell yes I’m going!  Imagine if I met an attractive, awesome and nerdy kind of dude (like the “triple threat” male version of me); wow I’m already drooling…

-The colder weather inevitably brings about a higher incidence of chapped lips.  This is a problem on the “kissably soft lips” front, but I recently purchased some Kiehl’s lip balm for dried up lips, and it seems like a real winner.  So that’ll be ”step one” in the lip-dressing process, with my whorish shiny lip gloss remaining as the “finisher”.  Phew, another crisis averted…

So those are my latest developments, as I ready myself for another long week in the stalker-girl romance rat race.

Toodles,

The Date That Led Me Here…

To “hit it”, or not to “hit it”…?

That was the question last time out, following my date with a very good-looking but “not so fun” kind of guy.

The comments from my last entry left me with some questions:  do you continue along with someone who doesn’t let you be yourself?  Just so you can have a little “fun”?

The answer of course is “yes”, because even though I’m waiting for a suitable freak who can love all of this (pointing towards myself), I’m starting to wonder if I’m still up to speed with the “intercourse” thing…like have there been any new developments?  Is my “junk” still relevant in the market?

With this burning question in mind (ya, sometimes it burns), I’ve decided that he deserves another chance…

…One small problem though:  he never called.  Never called, never texted, never tried to watch me from my bedroom window, not a single sign of pursuit. 

Huh…go figure.  I suppose he found me as distasteful as I found him “stab-me-in-the-eye-please” boring.

This is normally the part where I’d dust off my copy of “He’s Just Not That In To You”, and eat half a “thaw ‘n serve” cheesecake.  Then I would put on a flowy shirt, and roll down my pajama pants to “half-ass” length.  Eventually of course the stomach-swell would pass, via Biology’s natural de-bloater (i.e. bowel movement).  I’m not proud of any of that, but it’s just the usual process…

…In this case though, I am not quite ready to surrender myself to the dating gods.  This time I simply don’t care enough.  It was only one date, and even though he didn’t do what he said he would do (i.e. call), that’s just what they do (right?).  And okay, even if it DID have something to do with me, my ego will not accept it.  Not tonight baby.

So I will skip the cheesecake and go to bed alone…yet again.  But when I do eventually drift off, I will think of the dude for me; the one who is so damn stupid he hasn’t even found me yet.  And when I do imagine his sweet but firm ass, I will quietly demand that he hurry the hell up…

Year of the Chick: 8 months down…4 to go.

First Date Round-Up: Mr. “Good Guy”

So it happened.  I took some medication, put on my butt-rounding underwear, and went on a date with the man who saved me.

Based on the advice of several readers, I wore a boob-highlighting top, but not necessarily a “low-cut whore shirt”.  You know what they say, why buy the cow when the jugs runneth over?  (or something like that).

I’ll skip the “looks” description, because…he’s a looker…

…As our conversation started rolling, I realized that I’d forgotten to give myself an “out” (i.e. fake emergency phone call).  Then I remembered a scene from Animal Planet.  It’s a clip where the monkeys throw their poop at unwelcome visitors.  Unconventional?  Yes.  But if it came to that, I’d eaten plenty of fibre that day.

About a half an hour into the date, the “what do you do?” snore-fest was over.  Now it was time for personality-clicking 101.  Here’s how my process works: I’m sort of a freak, as in…I will sniff out the humour wherever possible…like weird-looking babies, or innuendo from innocent topics (i.e. sandwiches), or animal privates, these are the things that amuse me.  At the base of it though, is a soft and serious side.  It’s a fun little combo, but you can’t take one without the other.

That’s a lot for date #1, so my only goal was a light introduction.  On the flip, I’m also intrigued by the many sides of man.  And so the discovery began…

…Sometimes there was an awkward pause, and that’s when I’d make a (tame) remark about a person at the bar.

He didn’t laugh.

To my first remark he awkwardly mentioned his upcoming charity baseball game.

(?)

To my second remark he said that I shouldn’t judge the old lady who kept trying to grope the young men, because I’d never even met her (judge her?? She was my hero!).

After that, I put the jokes on hold, and things turned around.  He was beaming with each new topic, and I even got to tell him about my family (the polished “sane” version). 

Mostly I smiled in response to his wholesome descriptions…it was a good time.

He hugged me goodbye and said he would call for date #2.

***

So here’s the deal:  this is going nowhere because…we only get along when I’m not being myself.

But…he’s hot. 

So now I need to examine how stupidly high my expectations are. 

Not everyone is a potential husband, but who says it’s bad to have a little fun?

Fair enough, analysis done.

But…what about substance?

Hmm…

Well this entire dilemma will solve itself if he never calls, and we all know that guys are awesome at that.

So…here’s hoping that he drops the ball…or not?

 

Redemption For The Ugly…

Actual Model Head-Shot

I grew up in a world where being “ugly” was a bad thing, a condition that could only be treated with pushing, mud-slinging, or constant wedgies.

Being on the receiving end of some of this abuse, I always believed there was no silver lining to being “ugly”, and then…today, I found this headline on MSNBC.com:

“Ugly Is The New Beautiful“

…uhh…what now?

Let me explain:

-according to this news video/article hosted by “ambassador-for-the-everyman” Al Roker himself (sure Al, that’s a compliment!), being ugly pays!

What we’re talking about is the “Ugly Talent Agency”, which hires “unique characters” for print and other media.  This is nothing new, as the London-based agency has been running since 1969.

Recently though, demand for the uggo’s has been through the roof, prompting the creation of a New York branch.

And here’s where my eyes well up with tears and my heart sings regret:

-Why didn’t anyone tell me about this!?!?!??!?!?!

I amassed a huge portfolio of “ugly” in the 20th century:  there was my ugly baby phase where I looked “half monkey/half space creature who eats puppies”; the ugly kiddie phase where I tried to distract from my “bowl haircut/Mr. Potatohead nose” with pearls and frilly dresses; and of course my ugly teenage phase, where everything was coming up “moustache/dumbo ears/mangled teeth”.

Don’t believe me?  Okay big-shot, feast your eyes on this:

I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking: I could have been the Ugly Agency’s top client!  I could have had my own conglomerate by age 18 (like the Olsen Twins)! 

And now you might be thinking THIS:

-Well why not submit a current portfolio of “ugly”?

Good idea, except that…a scientific event took place, approximately five years back.  Darwin could probably explain it better than I, but let’s just say that “survival of the fittest” instincts kicked in, and I underwent some genetic mutations.

Plain English: my appearance is no longer objectionable to society (as long as I spend an hour getting ready every morning).  Whether or not that’s an ego-driven thing to say, I’ll be moving right along…

…So if I’m not ugly enough to apply for the ”Ugly Talent Agency”, and I’m not nearly attractive or barf-focused enough to be a sexy model chick…what am I left with?

Well last time I checked there weren’t any agencies for self-obsessed women who are single-handedly depleting the world’s supply of mascara, so I guess I won’t be making it big.

This categorically sucks, but maybe I can be one of those people who (grudgingly) helps out others.

And how will I do this?

Another Actual Client/Head-Shot

Well I was just perusing the Ugly clientele, and I noticed one section for Men, one for Women, and one for “Specials” (i.e. tattooed people, circus freaks, etc.).  To be perfectly honest, 80% of the people on the client list aren’t even actually “ugly”.  They’re just…normal looking…or old.  This clearly indicates a diluted market of legitimate “uglies”, and more specifically a gaping hole in the market of “18 and unders”. 

Of course the “young ‘n gross” segment would have been addressed in the 90′s if I’d submitted my portfolio, but alas it was not to be. 

Henceforth, I’ll be starting up my own agency, called ”Ugly Youth Talent”.  Not only will I profit heavily from this endeavour (subsequently draping myself in the sort of jewels that are usually reserved for Sultans), but I’ll be helping out the youth that nature forgot.

Let them have what I never had…you know?

You’re welcome Oprah (I don’t know, I feel like she’d be proud of me for this…)

Pimp My “Side-Profile”!

Whilst thumbing through my favourite Ancient Egypt books, something occurred to me (PS: there is no better way to spend a Sunday than reading Ancient Egypt books, ask around if you don’t believe me):

-Ancient Egyptians were all about the “side-profile” shot

Check it out:

 Even when their bodies presented themselves full-frontal, it was ”side-face action” each and every time.

I actually learned this in grade school (or “The Learning Channel”, whichever came first), but it’s a fact I’d long forgotten.  So for today, a new revelation.

Since it’s not enough to read about Ancient Egypt without applying it to my own all-important existence, I started to mull things over…

…I always grew up thinking “I hate my side-profile, I hate my side-profile, I hate it!”.  This hate for all things “side-face” was deeply ingrained in my psyche, from many years of teasing.

I wouldn’t say that I was “deformed” as a child, but you know how kittens are born with adult-sized ears, making them seem like “feline Yodas” at first?  Well same deal with me, but imagine a 12-year-old with a (BIG) adult-sized nose (in other words no stolen kisses behind the oak trees for this chick).

When looking back on my gene pool, it’s not my dad who’s to blame, what with his button-sized sniffer (or as button-sized as you can get for an Indian man), but it’s mother who’s in fact responsible.

My mom has the stern kind of lengthy nose, the one that points downward in disdain (how appropriate).

I picked up the length from mommy dearest, but instead of the downward-point, I had some crazy “outward obtrusiveness” happening.

Which brings me back to the teasing, or specifically, the nickname I was given in the awkward years:

“Wicked Witch of Southwestern Ontario”

Rather than lament the fact that I’d always be the villain in the school play, I embraced it, turning myself into a crass, insulting and acidic kind of chick.

It was awesome at first, but the angry “high” was fleeting.  I wanted to be the princess, not the wart-ridden broad with the poisoned apple.

It wasn’t a total loss, as I eventually became a woman…a.k.a. my face grew into my nose!

In fact, as I examine my photographic record of recent years, it seems that my side-face is actually WAY more attractive than the full-frontal offering (damn, can’t there just be a happy medium?).

Now of course, I’ve been around long enough to know that words alone won’t convince you, so let’s have a look:

THE GOOD:

      

THE BAD AND THE UGLY:

     

As I compare the two Romi-Murals, I’m astounded.  I mean to go from angled, hot, and cool to: 1. “I just ate a baby”, 2. “Look at me and my fish-lips” and 3. “Can someone please direct me to the “Special Bus”?!?!

Let’s just say it is not a coincidence (and some of these discrepancies are from the same night!).

And now, thinking back to those Ancient Egyptians, to them I can only tip my hat.  They understood that we’re not all blessed with nicely angled faces.  There are those who can never cut their hair to chin-length or shorter, for fear of revealing “pancake-face” (and it only took me ’till 2006 to learn that…jeez).

And so in the absence of structured jaws, we cling to our profiles to give us shape and hotness.  The only trouble is, I don’t exist in a mural, nor am I confined to the wall of an ancient tomb.

Instead I have to show myself “head on”, pretty much every day.

I wonder if there’s a way to improve things though, if not entirely cure them.  Like maybe a rogue scientist could re-bolt my head/neck combo, to give me a permanent profile (facing “right” I think).  Of course, everyone to my right would see my pancake-face, but 80% of interactions are had facing forward (that’s a fact).  Ergo, 80% of people would see my sexy-angled “side face”, vs. the original pancake/slow-kid version (I like those odds).

So umm…is Dr. Jekyll in the Yellow Pages?